Sexuality and Sport in South Africa and Beyond

Back in November, my office administrator told me that there was a gay pride event happening along the beachfront in Port Elizabeth.  I expressed a level of interest in attending, and even if it was a simple nod, in my head, I was jumping for joy.  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting; I’ve been to a bunch of pride parades, including the one in my hometown of New York, probably one of the largest in the world.  Still, there was something exciting about hearing that a pride event was even happening in South Africa, let alone in the small city of PE. 

I ended up passing by the event, a small area right off the beach where people congregated before the parade, equipped with a stage and a rainbow balloon canopy.  A modest crowd was in attendance: mostly groups of queer men and women with their friends and significant others, and one or two cross-dressing folks strewn about.  Once the parade began, anyone could join the procession.  It was more of a group of people walking down the street with a pick-up truck leading the way.  The main road on which they marched was not closed off in any way.  Just one lane of the street was being taken up by the group as they walked along the street, traffic still moving normally on either side of them.  There was a good amount of pomp and circumstance, but after a minute or two, the entire group walked past, and bystanders were free to go on their merry (gay) way.

The quaint gathering was no New York, Rio de Janiero, or even Rochester, which boasts a decently sized parade every summer.  Regardless, it was still a big deal.  It was a joyous occasion for the LGBT community in Port Elizabeth.  It’s called Pride, after all.  No, it didn’t shut down a large portion of the city, with floats and rainbow flags taking over the streets or mostly naked go-go dancers and drag queens on stilts (or whatever else they can think of nowadays), but it meant a lot to the people involved, especially since it was in South Africa.

On the African continent, South Africa, by far, provides the safest haven for gay people. (For the remainder of the article, I will to use the term “gay” to refer to cis-gender gay, lesbian, and bisexual men and women and exclude transgender and other members of the queer spectrum because I do not know their exact status in this country.)  For instance, South Africa was one of the first countries in the entire world to legalize gay marriage back in 2006.  This is a major feat compared to other African nations like Nigeria and Uganda that just further criminalized homosexual acts.  Even other countries around the world are having seemingly basic gay right struggles: India’s upholding the constitutionality of Section 377, and in the USA where states are continuing to debate issues of marriage equality.

Still, regardless of the liberal nature of the South African constitution’s stance on homosexuality, laws do not always transcend into the reality of everyday life.  Policy and culture do not always reflect one another, and this is one case in which that rings true.

Danny Turken’s documentary The Beautiful Game follows the lives of female soccer players who are part of the Port Elizabeth team City Lads.  The team, whose captain I sit next to at work every day, is a nationally renowned club that almost always gets to compete in the national women’s soccer league championships.  More than a dozen of the team members have worked in Grassroot Soccer in some capacity.  The documentary wonderfully depicts the struggles of the team, primarily being women making a name for themselves in a male dominated sport, and the repercussions of playing the sport they love.

The Beautiful Game Promo from Danny Turken on Vimeo.

In South Africa, as expressed by many women in the documentary, female soccer players are often stereotyped as lesbians.  Women playing soccer become social pariahs: do what you love, but risk the consequences of being labeled an outcast.  The most tangible and evident risk of being a lesbian in poor, Black South African society is the possibility of corrective rape, or the rape of supposed lesbians by men in order to “turn them straight again.”  This is a shocking but true reality that these women face every day: becoming a target of rape, not necessarily because of their sexual orientation, but because of their life choices that may hint at their somehow inherent masculinity, which links them to lesbianism.   It is a difficult concept to grapple with, but it is not a unique one.

This is not an isolated issue, as it happens throughout the country.  Members of RV United, a team of female soccer players in Khayelitsha, created by Grassroot Soccer staff and nearly all of whose members have worked or participated in Grassroot Soccer, were highlighted in a short documentary also addressing many of the same problems.  News stories pop up every so often of another case of a young woman being correctively raped, yet there does not seem to be any interest in challenging these stereotypes on a grand scale.

The culture of athleticism in general is incredibly tied to ideas of masculinity and male dominance.  Male athletes are supposed to be excessively macho and straight.  Female athletes are supposed to mimic masculinity and are subsequently thought of as lesbians.  This begs us to ask the vital question: what is innately masculine about sport?  This leads us to two more follow-up questions: what is inherently not masculine about being a gay man, and what about being a lesbian is?

The truth is that there is no concrete correlation between masculinity, sport, and homosexuality; rather, it is a social construct of what masculinity entails.  Society has deemed athleticism and competition with maleness, and sport has become a male-oriented activity.  In that sense, it became a space where gay men, often seen as more feminine, cannot thrive and a place where gay women, seen as more masculine, can. 

In recent years, there have been an increasing number of out gay athletes, especially out gay men, and this is something incredible.  There are high-profile coming outs throughout the gay spectrum in a wide variety of sport, and this is especially meaningful in light of Russia’s anti-gay propaganda policies and the upcoming Sochi Olympics in less than two weeks.  From basketball’s groundbreaking Jason Collins, to my man crush Tom Daley openly dating another man, to my new man crush, soccer player Robbie Rogers, being a up-and-coming advocate.  There’s Chris Kluwe, the outspoken ally in the NFL and Blake Skjellerup, the Kiwi speed skating star.  And so many more, from the small town high school courts to the world’s biggest stadiums, who are continuing to inspire young gay people that homophobia has no place in this world, and especially not in the locker room.

Sh!t I Learned in South Africa (So Far)

If you knew me for the past few years, you might know that every semester in college since Fall 2010, I made a ritual of posting a list of things I had learned in the months previous.  The compilation of around 50 items or so would range in topics like:

-practical life lessons (“People often believe in you more than you do yourself.”, Fall 2011)

-personal revelations (“I am a serious nerd.”, Spring 2012)

-life advice (“Breathe. Drink water. Run in circles. Do some jumping jacks. Twerk. Then keep breathing.", Spring 2013)

-seemingly random facts (“The limbic system does not involve the limbs.”, Fall 2010)

This hodgepodge of things I learned is a great exercise in periodic reflection.

In true Paul fashion, I’m writing another list of what I’ve learned in South Africa so far, both the obvious and the obscure.  Now that I’m at my halfway point, I feel like it’s a natural time to look back on the things I’ve seen and experienced and how those things have left an impression on me.

So here we go.  Sh!t I Learned in South Africa (So Far).

1) Multilingualism is the norm, not the exception.

2) You can take the kid from New York, but you sure as hell can’t take away his love for bagels and pizza.

3) Most times, worrying is pointless.

4) You don’t know what you’re gonna miss until you start missing it.

5) How cricket works (but I still haven’t figured out rugby).

6) Red cappuccinos should be served everywhere.

7) It is important to share your feelings because you never know what will happen when you do.

8) “Irrespective of the situation,” “my worry is” that you might get “pushed against a tight corner,” and “I don’t like that.”

9) The cute guy who works at the gym isn’t hitting on you.  He’s just doing his job.

10) If there’s a chance to take an outdoor shower overlooking the mountains, take it.

11) My writing is worthy of being published on Thought Catalog.

12) Townships are not a death sentence.

13) Sheep’s heads are called smileys, and some people love eating them.

14) Braais are not just barbecues.  They are a way of life.

15) You don’t know what real wind is until you visit Port Elizabeth.

16) Don’t underestimate the expats finding each other.

17) Barthold Bread is awesome.

18) Don’t take the Intercape Bus unless you’re prepared to watch some really peculiar Christian programming.

19) American pop culture reaches into even the farthest corners of the world.

20) Some of the best role models have no idea how inspirational they actually are.

21) Prestik is the most useful product ever made.

22) It’s really hard to recognize girls when their weave changes so often.

23) “Now” never means “now.”

24) “Fear is temporary.  Regret is forever.”

25) You need really strong tongue muscles and oral dexterity to speak Xhosa.

26) I can use Excel pretty well… for downloading upon getting to South Africa.

27) You can get anyone to do anything for you at GRS PE if you bribe them with chicken.

28) You don’t really see any gardens on the Garden Route.

29) Cape Town is still beautiful.

30) Flexibility, of both the mind and body, is not natural; it is skill that needs to be honed.

31) “Travel is the only thing you buy that makes you richer.”

32) You should refrain from putting clip art of a cat as a border around your resume.

33) Don’t try to play a game with young children that consists of imitating animals unless you speak enough of their language to tell them to stop.  Cause they might start pecking you in the balls.  And that hurts.

34) That netball is a thing.

35) I’ve been missing out on good TV for years.

36) I’m not trying (nor am I ready) to get married any time soon.

37) Trevor Noah is hilarious.

38) Most times, the best decisions are made on the fly.

39) Pretty Little Liars is a horrible show.

40) If there’s a possibility for an adventure, take it.

HoliDAZE: My Holiday Trip to Mozambique, Johannesburg, and Namibia

One day at the office, I get a frantic phone call from Scott, my travel partner for my trip to Mozambique, telling me that we might have to change our itinerary.  His worries?  That there would be no accommodations left because everyone who is anyone goes to Mozambique for the holidays, and we were a week away from departure.  A few e-mails later, I get spots confirmed at backpackers lodges in all of the places we were planning to hit, and I get the satisfaction of telling Scott to snap out of it, or in my words exactly (and in all caps), “CALM THE FUCK DOWN.”

Calming the fuck down was exactly what had to happen for my holiday.  For the better part of December into early January, Grassroot Soccer, as well as most of South Africa, shuts down.  As you may remember from basic elementary science class, seasons are switched in the Southern Hemisphere, so while all of my friends and family in America were braving the “polar vortex,” Southern Africa was baking in the hot sun during the heart of the summer.  Having the holiday season during the summer adds to the lax atmosphere, and the entire region seems to slow down for a few weeks (except for the big tourist destinations that see a huge spike), but I guess that’s generally what happens during the summer/holidays anywhere you go in the world.

My first stop, after a few days of serious “me” time in Port Elizabeth was a weeklong jaunt to Mozambique with fellow intern buddy Scott.  Most of the time would be spent in Tofo, a quaint beach town at the end of a small peninsula that is a huge attraction this time of year, a roughly 9-hour bus ride up the coast from the capital of Maputo where we’d spend the rest of our week.

We arrived in Maputo and were immediately transported into what seemed like a very different world.  Much of South Africa can be considered a watered down, aspartame-laden version of Africa.  Africa Lite.  Diet Africa.  Africa for Dummies.  Whatever you want to call it.  Ever since my first trip to South Africa, I had heard this, and I can say that it is quite true (refer to The Spheres of South Africa post from last month).  Maputo feels more like what you would think Africa would be.  More like the photos and the stories you’ve heard in your many years of probably misguided and/or incomplete information about the continent.

Maputo is very stereotypical of a large city in the developing world.  With the remnants of a rough fight for independence from Portugal that only ended in 1975, to poor infrastructure in the aftermath that led to a large struggle with communism and the Soviet Union that eventually broke out into a bloody Civil War lasting until 1992, you can trace a lot of the country’s contemporary history on Maputo’s streets.  Posters for FRELIMO, the Marxist-Leninist party that has been in power since independence, are pasted along almost every flat surface.  The country’s flag, emblazoned with a hoe and an AK-47 and other Marxist symbology, flies proudly everywhere you go.  Our backpackers was on Avenida Mao Tse Tung (or Mao Zedong Street, for us Americans), right near where it intersects with Avenida Vladimir Lenine.  It seemed like much of the city was in disrepair, or was never quite finished in the first place.  Yet nobody seemed to notice.

After a night at an oceanside bar where we had an unexpected run-in with an American guy we met at the gate for our flight and his gay friends (yes, gay friends…  the most gay men I’ve been around while in Africa, to be exact), we had to hit the sack to get on an early morning chapa (or bus) to Tofo.

The chapa was an adventure, a cultural lesson in and of itself.  People and bags packed tightly into small quarters, accented Portuguese and other local languages being spoken all around, phones ringing left and right, peddlers selling their varied wares at the windows every time the bus would stop.  After a few hours sitting on the bus, we finally arrived to Tofo midday and got to our backpackers about a kilometer away from the main town area, meaning that it was on a secluded part of the beach, tucked away from everything else.  The cincher: Scott and I got to stay in a thatched-roof hut.  Pretty cool, if you ask me.

In the few days we had there, we got a lot of beach time, sailed on a small catamaran at sunset, rode standing on the bed of a pick-up, and in my case, instead of snorkeling with a whale shark, I vomited on one.  I’m sure not as many people can say they’ve done that.  I assumed that living on a ship for four months would have calmed my seasickness, but a tiny boat flying through waves James Bond-style is quite a different ride.  Also, in the mix of everything, we ended up running into Melissa Meinhart, a fellow GRS intern stationed in Zambia.  All in all, Tofo was one of the prettiest places I’ve been, and I had a lot of time to unwind and reflect.  Scott was an amazing travel partner, so it was awesome to have him along.

We eventually made it back to Maputo on Christmas Eve because Scott unfortunately had to leave on Christmas Day.  It was quite a peculiar Christmas: the place was deserted, and the mood was eerily somber.  Still, the rest of my time in Maputo gave me ample time to think, explore, and eat a lot of Indian food (it was the only thing open).  After a few more days in Maputo, I made the trek back to South Africa, this time to Johannesburg to meet a few of the interns there: Betsy and Sarah who would be returning from hiking Mount Kilimanjaro and Britt who was returning from Botswana.

Johannesburg was a ghost town, but it was still fun to be around other interns and to be back in South Africa.  Even the week across the border made me realize that South Africa was beginning to feel more like home.  After a lot of catching up, nice dinners, and having interesting conversation with a supposed prostitute, I was off to the next leg of the race.

The next adventure was Namibia with Betsy, Britt, and Mimi, or as it will forever be known, #mibz2014 (look it up on Instagram).  I had already spent the previous few days in Joburg with Bets and Britt, and it was nice to spend some time with Mimi because I had seen her for only 10 minutes tops since leaving America.  The crew was awesome: significantly more adventurous than I probably ever will be.  So many inside jokes were created, most in the form of hashtags, and that’s how you know it was a good trip.

Namibia, along with the rest of Southern Africa, has a fascinating colonial history that is still evident in the present, through its people, architecture, culture, and social structure.  Formerly known as South-West Africa, the country was dominated by German colonists until World War I, and other British spheres of influence existed throughout the territory until it eventually became a part of South Africa.  Since being administered by South Africa for most of the 20^th Century, the laws of apartheid also applied in Namibia, perpetuating the power of the White majority over the native Blacks.  The country fought for full independence from South Africa, eventually getting it in 1990, and because of its fairly recent separation, it still socially resembles South Africa very much.  Not only is the Namibian Dollar pegged equally to the South African Rand and can be used interchangeably in the country, the population of roughly 2 million people has one of the highest discrepancies between the rich and the poor in one of the least densely populated areas in the world, much like its southern neighbor.

Windhoek, like Johannesburg, was unfortunately quite dismal for the holiday time, and we had planned to be there for the first half of the trip.  Still, we tried to create fun for ourselves, and even though nothing was happening and I had roughly R750 (about $75) stolen from my bag by the cleaning ladies at the backpackers, we all stayed very positive.  We spent New Years Eve (#newmibzeve) in style (by “in style,” I mean I was passed out in bed by 10pm) and woke up to find that the only things open on New Year’s Day in Windhoek was the KFC and, thankfully, a supermarket.

Eventually, we left to the coast where the real magic begins.  A few hours west of Windhoek is the town of Swakopmund.  The small resort-town and adventure mecca found where the ocean meets the desert is a huge travel destination for Namibians and foreigners alike.  Situated at the mouth of the Swakop River, which is the literal translation of the town’s name from the German, the colonial presence is ever so strong.  German beer houses and restaurants are spattered about, and it almost feels like the Germany section of Epcot. 

The few days we had there were full of a whirlwind of activities.  Almost immediately after arriving, we all rode camels through the dunes.  What was supposed to be an hour-long trip ended up being over 90 minutes because we had tired and unruly camels, though I guess I’d be tired and unruly if I were walking around the desert with people on my back, too.  To make up time, our guide kept making the camels trot through the sand dunes which, for someone who hasn’t ridden a horse, let alone a camel, hurt like hell.  Thankfully, I didn’t fall off, though there were many close calls. 

The next day, the girls went skydiving as I provided moral support and took photos.  The girls loved it, so I might be compelled to do it one day, even if only for the hilarious video.  On our final full day, we drove ATVs through the dunes and went snowboarding.  ATVing was so incredibly fun, even though halfway through the ride, I caught a bump in a dune, fell off my ATV, and then it rolled over me.  Somehow, I managed to get up immediately and unscathed, though a shoe had flown off in the process.  I just had to dust off the sand and keep going.  It was definitely very exhilarating and beautiful out in the dunes.

While out sandboarding, I had decided to film a music video for “Kaptein,” a trashy Afrikaans pop song by Kurt Darren with which Britt is obsessed and subsequently got the rest of us on board.  In the middle of takes of us belting the song, these two South African men came up the dune to see what we were doing.  They had heard us singing the song and alerted us that the singer, Kurt Darren, was having a concert that night at a venue around the corner from our backpackers.  It was fate.  We had to go.

For our last night, we went to the concert called “Hier kom die manne,” which translates to “Here Come the Men,” that was headlined by none other than Kurt Darren.  The entire concert was in Afrikaans and featured presumably Afrikaaner pop sensations.  Eventually, Kurt Darren got on stage, and we danced the night away with zero idea of what was going on, but we were with good company, mostly middle-aged women and their pre-teen daughters.  The last morning consisted of the drive back to Windhoek and a string of transnational flights back to Port Elizabeth.

Roughly three weeks after leaving, I was returning home to PE with a passport nearly full, a bunch of different currencies stuffed in my pocket, and a lot of amazing memories.  As I approached the landing, I looked at the Google Earth view that I had from the plane window, and five months previously, when I laid eyes upon Port Elizabeth for the first time, I was clueless.  Now, I was looking at home.  I’m roughly halfway through my year here in South Africa, and I cannot wait to see what’s in store for this next step in my experience.

For your pleasure, here's the music video for "Kaptein" that I made from my footage at the dunes featuring an appearance by Kurt Darren himself.

This I Believe: The Happy Dance

During the the holiday time, I was able to read the book This I Believe: The Personal Philosophies of Remarkable Men and Women, a collection of short essays from the NPR series of the same name that asks people from all walks of life to describe in a few paragraphs their most cherished belief.  The eighty entries in the book led me to think of my own life philosophy and jot down my "personal credo."  Many ideas jumped into my head, but this is the one I settled with.  Enjoy.

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When nobody’s home (and even sometimes when somebody is), I like to dance naked in front of the mirror.  Even if it’s just a two-second shimmy or a full-on solo dance party to a trashy pop song, it never fails to put a smile on my face.  Sometimes I do it after my morning shower, right before getting dressed for the long day ahead.  Sometimes I do it upon getting home after said long day, shedding off the layers of clothing and the rest of the day’s burdens along with them.  Whenever I get to dance naked, I get a unique satisfaction that only the act of moving freely in my birthday suit can provide.

Dancing naked in front of the mirror allows me to be myself - all of myself – and see it in its full glory.  There’s no better way to dance like nobody’s watching like doing it in the nude in the privacy of your own room. I allow myself to unabashedly do what I want without judgment or repercussion.  It reminds me that there are already enough pressures in the world, so I don’t need to impose additional ones on myself.  In taking the time to be alone, in the moment, and in tune with my body, for a few seconds or a few minutes, I can let loose and forget about everything else.  For a temporary amount of time, the only thing that matters is my happiness, and I am in full control making it happen.

This ritual helps me to see that regardless of how much the contrary may seem true, we are each in charge of our bodies and the life inside of it.  In that moment, I have complete agency.  I often forget about my kinesthetic freedom and take it for granted.  If I can control my dancing, what’s stopping me from controlling other aspects of my life?  Dancing naked in front of the mirror is my time to claim what’s mine.

The reason the mirror is so integral is because it is important to reflect: to look at yourself; to laugh at yourself; and ultimately, to love yourself.  By seeing myself as I truly am, doing the thing that makes me feel the most free, I can be comfortable with the confident, expressive, quirky, and beautiful person staring back at me.

Dancing naked in front of the mirror has helped me realize that there are billions of other naked dancing bodies out there, all who want the same thing: true happiness.  By taking the time to be bucknaked and shake what your momma gave you, you allow yourself to find that true happiness within yourself.  This is the key to fulfillment.  This I Believe.