Wezi
Thamm Rule of Thamm
RAISING MEN
Spending time with my girlfriend (African sister) always
makes me feel good. She is one the few people who makes me realise there are
sisters out there moving with the times and who can hold their own in conversations
about politics, personal development, fashion and, most importantly, living
with HIV.
Marita had managed to leave her lying, cheating no-good husband and was trying
to support herself and three children on benefits while working part-time.
Times were not always easy.
One particular evening, like many others past, we were discussing God, the
world and generally putting the universe to rights, in between cooking and
ironing. Every now and then the conversation would turn to news from the HIV
sector.
Marita did not get out much and was interested to hear what was going on in
the African communities around us. I had a job as sales rep travelling the
country, so I always had a nugget or two of news. At times we do not see eye
to eye but we agree on most things. There is a strong binding trust between
us, which made my shock all the greater to a reaction she displayed during
our discussion.
I was telling her how difficult HIV organisations found it to engage black
gay men and black men who have sex with men in information and prevention
work, which would, of course, in turn benefit their communities. NHS statistics
show high figures, but there is a continuous struggle to find men to take
part. Incentives ranging from goody-bags to hard cash have failed to tempt
them.
Marita didn’t say anything while I rattled on, and we agreed there were
a lot of black men in the UK affected with HIV. The African community alone
was very big, let alone the Caribbean and other communities who counted as
black.
We
talked about unfaithful husbands, men who did not (or would not) use condoms
and about the millions still dying in Africa and other parts of the world.
We discussed the pace of change back home in Africa and how the young people
were changing with it. Boys raised in the UK had a very different upbringing
from us, we said. And then we talked about how the black man tries to retain
his role in the constantly changing society he was part of.
Conversation returned to elusive black gay men and black MSM. Some of my closest
friends are gay, black men and I tried to picture the scene in our parental
home if one of my brothers (I have five) had been gay or any one of my many
cousins for that matter.
Despite my vivid imagination I could not picture it. Then I asked Marita how
she would react if one of her brothers disclosed to her family as being gay.
Her reaction was completely unexpected. She spun around and faced me with
such venom in her voice and hissed: “He would not do this! He would
not do this! My brother would not do such a thing!” I was at a total
loss for words.
I believe the key to stopping the spread of HIV in Africa and black communities
everywhere lies with parents - mothers in particular.
If we, as black mothers, sisters and daughters, can acknowledge that being
gay is not a personal choice, is not shameful, and that we should love people,
brothers/men/sons regardless, we would be one step nearer to fighting the
spread of HIV. Maybe this is where we should concentrate our efforts: getting
the women on board first. After all, they are the ones who raise the men.
Marita’s reaction convinced me more than anything that this was the
way forward and the magnitude of this realisation made me feel weak at the
knees. I wondered how many other women felt like my good friend Marita? Why
hadn’t I noticed it before? Who else in my circle of modern African
women harboured similar feelings?
I then experienced a sinking feeling when it dawned on me that Marita’s
three children were all boys...
