Growing up Queer
“He is not my son!” my father would shout. “Are you accusing me of infidelity?” my mother would shoot back. This often marked the beginning of a heated argument that would last for days. I knew there wouldn’t be any peace. I was aware at a young age that I was gay, and I was conscious of why there were fights—it was because of me. “He is a curse. We are punished for our sins.” This is the sad belief of many Zimbabwean communities. I hated myself and yearned for peace and to just be invisible. I was so afraid of someone mentioning the term gay that, whenever it came up, I would freeze. Did my family have any idea as to how bad it was, what their fighting was doing to me, and what implications this would have in my life? Acting like a heterosexual, I pretended to have a girlfriend so that no one around me would see that I was gay. However, no matter how many times and how much I tried to conceal it, my true self would always find a crevice to escape through and expose me. Rel...