week one: on realizations

trigger warning | homophobia

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Things have been… rough. Which should be surprising, because before Saturday, the week had been perfect. I was up-to-task every day, and though the work I had to do was simple, it was crucial to setting up this project’s success. I was all set and on schedule until-

My mom visited my room Saturday evening. My parents had returned from their trip to Uganda on Friday. Though I had been keeping them fully up-to-date on this project before they left, when my project changed to focus more on my identity, including my queerness, I became a lot more reluctant to provide so many detailed updates. I got away with it while they were preoccupied in Uganda and me in San Francisco, but it wasn’t a surprise when my mom almost immediately checked in with me once we were in the same house again.

I avoided the forbidden topic as long as I could, but when I finally mentioned the proceeds going to charity, my mom asked about the charity, and that was it. I, reluctantly, told her about the charity, and its mission to support the LGBTQ community in Uganda. There was a moment of silence, and then my mom was talking, and the conversation veered into something aggressive, triggering, and really, really, hateful.

I can’t summarize what she said — my body tenses up just thinking about it. But there were some things she said that echoed in my mind more than anything else.

• Uganda’s “Kill the Gays” law is now in full effect, and it criminalizes not just LGBT people, but any and all “supporters” (anyone who knows, or even suspects you’re queer, and doesn’t immediately report you). What I share could put my extended family in a tough position.

• My dad is a candidate to become a Bishop in Uganda (the political equivalent of being a Governor). What I share could ruin his career.

• Uganda is under the dictatorship of Yoweri Museveni. Publishing any criticisms of the government as a Ugandan is risky and dangerous. What I share could put myself, and the people I care about, on the wrong side of some very powerful people.

• She was glad I didn’t visit Uganda this summer.
  

And one thing she didn’t say. A realization that didn’t hit until she had long left my room, hours into the night.

• Once I share this, I can never visit Uganda again.

This thought echoes in my head the most.

I think I need a bit more time to finish this reflection. Don’t worry, the issue has since been resolved. I’m set to continue working on the project this week, though the proposal and timeline must be readjusted. I just need time, to articulate it without crying, or panicking, or other theatrics.

Week Two’s reflection will include the rest of this reflection.

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SM