View Full Version : So What, I Love a Reforemed Homosexual Man

Fashion Yaa
12th June 2011, 08:12 PM
GC Life 101: Would you Marry a Man Whose Has Had a Homosexual Experience?

"Please lets make love tonight," my love said quite frankly. Inside I was exclaiming, dude where's my car alluding to the many talks we had in the past that no one would want a used car for a lifetime so why would a God fearing person go in for a non-virgin spouse! As I unpacked our luggage to stall for time in hopes that this is just some small lapse in judgement. He did not relent, "mi dofo, what do you say," then he come close to hold my hands. I look straight into is hazel eyes and reach out to stroke his shoulder length chemically-relaxed hair(reminiscent of Didier Drogba). The first words that come to my mind are "why now honey?" He gives me a dejected look as though the Porcupine Warriors have been relagated. He doesn't answer me and says, "when you finish unpacking, lets go out to the Fathia Nkrumah Flower Park. I have something to tell you." Before heading out the compound, my love and I went to seek out his parents. We informed them that instead of a siesta, we prefered to enjoy the afternoon in town. "Well, Sofay I hope you get to enjoy our town. It is slower than what you are used to in Cape Coast but you are in good hands," said my mother-in-law to be. She then reached out to embrace me and rubbed her son's back.
As we trek for our destination in the scenic evanescence comprising of every imaginable flower native to Ghana, Wassily held my hand. The local sellers and town folk kept snickering "look at that pair", I could have sworn someone whispered "he's gonna smash tonight". This was all news to me because I definatly was dressed conservatively and while Wassily always sticks out due to his dark skin yet hazel eyes with long permed hair, I could not help but bask in our romance. Finally the park that is the Jata Mountain claim to fame was in sight. Wassily pointed out all the flowers and tree flowers at the Fathia Nkrumah Flower Park, "as you can see the boungainviella is everywhere, and this is the only part of west Africa were you can see the purple, orange, red and blue versions". Slowly I could see the man that I know coming back to life as he pointed out the maidenhair fern, flame tree, halconias, lilies, atheriums, ginger flower, orchids, hibiscus, forget me nots, water grass and finally we stopped front of the porceline roses. There was a large sign that said Cherish The Memory of Our First Lady, Do Not Pluck the Flowers. Being the rebel that he is, Wassily took out his pocket knife and cut one porceline rose stem for me, I smiled and kissed him on the lips. To which he gladly pursued deepening it to the level of an ares kiss. If not for the way I held Wassily surely I would have fainted right there. In an attempt to slow him down, I brought one of my hands to his hair at which point he stopped and looked into my eyes and started humming a Kojo Antwi classic "Mi Dofo Pa". For a celibit couple, we knew how to keep the fire burning and I have thanked God every day for the past 5 months for bringing Wassily into my life. So to hear him wanting to break our pact not to consumate except on our wedding night was baffeling.
As he continued his lament, I could not help but reminice on our backstory. Wassily and I met nearly 3 years ago while he was doing his National Service in Cape Coast. By profession I bake bread, but not any 'ole bread, I bake specialty tea bread delivered fresh every morning and night to a high class clientele. My bakery was handed down to me by my great-grand parents who have a long Nsaba tradition of baking cakes and bread. They were the first in the family to bring our style of the plaited tea bread from Nsaba to Cape Coast. On one of my deliveries to a local Catholic Seminary, Wassily's eyes locked with mine but I did not think anything of it, I just smiled at his peculiar style, thinking "you must be an out-of-town-guy". Then by chance a local newspaper listed names and pictures of National Service interns who would be restoring the Dutch colonial era artifacts by visiting families and institutions in town believed to have airlooms that could contribute to a planned museum. I read out loud his name, "Wassily Afrifa Vanderpuiye". I knew and even delivered to the Vanderpuiye compound but never had I seen Wassily before, not to mention he definately did not look like them in physical features or style. So for three years we never truely talked to eachother, I would see him at Mass, perhaps even greet eachother on my deliveries. I did not think anything of not seeing him anymore because National Service interns like the season, change frequently in most towns.
5 months ago on one of my deliveries to the Vanderpuiye household, the lady of the house asked if I'd be interested in making deliveries to the Ghana Dutch Colonial Museum. Such a proposition could only have come about through "links" as they say in local parlance. On the day I was set to present my business plan for this new delivery, Wassily happened to be present. Our eyes zoned in on one another, it seemed like the skies were a nice baby blue with cartoon smiling faces pouring down. He immediately introduced himself as the assitant curator of the museum followed by an interruption by his companion, "you are welcome Sofay Dontoh, your bread comes with high praise from Madam Vanderpuiye, I am Louisa Obeng local aide of the Cape Coast Metropolitan Authority". As I smiled profusely, slowly my eyes shifted to the aide, "Louisa, Wassily thank you both for the warm reception. Am I right to assume you are related to Madam Vanderpuiye?" Wassily confirmed immediately in the affirmative and left it at that. I presented the documents to both of them and asked to excuse myself, heading outside the office to call for my apprentice-Naana who is also a younger sister-to bring in the samples. On a large circular wood tray, the assortment of cakes and bread were presented with butter, margerine plus an array of cheeses in the center partition. At the end of the meeting, Louisa was begging if she could rescue the rest of the breads and cakes I brought, "the mayor has to try these my dear, you are amazing and I just know your tea bread will boost staff morale every morning, not to mention the revenue we stand to gain from tourist in our canteen. Sofay, pending approval from the Mayor, you will recieve an advance starting this week and start delivering next week. I have no doubt you will win approval." As I rose to leave with my wooden tray, I insisted Louisa add the cowbell cheeses to the samples in case the Mayor wanted a variety in taste. She promptly declined citing that the Mayor's wife would not be happy with her for adding it to his morning bread and tea. Wassily walked me out of the office and engaged me in conversation. Since that day we have been inseperable. As it turned out, he was already an active member of the church I attended and confessed perhaps the reason we never saw eathother at mass was because he attended the English language service late at night. I would never have crossed paths with him three years ago at the Vanderpuiye compound because he often set out early and returned late. Madam Vanderpuiye is a distant cousin of his father several generations back.
When my parents met him, it was like a family reunion because we all had so much in common, you see I have a very jovial family and it was easy for Wassily to keep up with our humor. I never really got to know Wassily's family except through telephone conversations but we promised when the time was right we would meet. We even began wearing matching fabrics and going to the same unisex salon to get our hair done. Being around Wassily felt like the brother I never had and he too confided in me that having grown up an only child, my sister Naana and I felt like a missing puzzle that was finally found. Which is why it came as no suprise to my family and his own that 3 months later on one of my deliveries to the Ghana Dutch Colonial Museum, in front of tourists and staff members, he dropped on one knee and proposed to me with a beautiful Tanzanite encrusted engagement ring. It was a good thing that Naana was present to make the rest of the deliveries cause all I could see that day was Wassily and Sofay sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g. At the on-set we involved our church family in our courtship and we were encouraged in our "Christian walk". We frequented couples retreats, conferences as well as honoring regular appointments to the reverend father. The level of trust we had for eachother just grew in strength, it encouraged me that a duo visit to his people in Jata Mountains, would be just as reassuring.

As Wassily ends his serenade a suprising turn of events that threaten to test our relationship unfolds. "Honey, you are a champion whistler, if only such a contest existed you'd win," I said to my love and we both laugh. "You make me so relaxed with your teasing. This is one of the many reasons I will always love you," responds Wassily. He leads me to a section of the park that has Coptic Chritian inspired architecture that showcases the faith of Fathia Nkrumah. Part of it had minature King Tutukhaman inspired seating area, since the suspence was too much to bare I just forced us to sit here. Wassily breathes a couple of long breathes then segways with, "my father will be watching me very closely making sure there is no doubt about my love for you," to which I responded, "well how can I complain". It was simple to understand, most parents will want the best of love for their children, that much I understood but I could feel there was more to that statement. I kept quiet and let him finish his purging of thoughts hoping that he would reveal why he suddenly wanted make love before the wedding date. He pushed me closer to his seat, held my hands looking deep into my eyes. "You are the woman for my life but Sofay, what I am about to tell you will explain why I insist we make love in the home of my parents as proof of it, I can see what is calculating in your mind. Your concerns are valid, to which you must rest assured that I am still very much the same man you have chosen to love". Wassily stops for a spell and rubbs the sides of my arms. He brings my hands to his lips and closes his eyes as he pecks them individually. "My love!" declares Wassily while placing myhands back, "I am blessed and luck to have found you because there was a time that I thought I could never find an African lady who would stir and fulfill my very essence. I have said it before and I will say it again, you are my missing link, your family makes my life all the more richer. This is why I was hesitant to bring you to Jata Mountains before or even after I proposed to you. If not for the long talks with our Reverend Father, I would not have felt it was best to confess to you at this very moment that my father doubts I am capable of falling in love with a woman." My heart started beating a thousand miles a minute and I even the thought of fainting the way the character played by Yvonne Okoro did in that Gollywood film where her character's hubby played by Omar Sharif Captan declares his weakness for effimanant men.Had I heard him right or was this just another slip of the tongue that people sometimes do like saying her for man instead of his but not realized their verbal grammatical error. "Mi dofo, mi dofo, midofo please are you with me," says Wassily.
What is a girl suppose to say to a situation like this? My body reacted first with the shakes, then my mind took over deciding to stick to my original plan of keeping quiet and letting him talk, I said,"please finish what you have to say." He hesitated for what seemed like forever then said, "I made a plea to God that if he would save the life of my lover, I would commit my life to his works fully and completely." The first time ever I saw Wassily's skin turn plum purple was this very day, the gravity of what he had admitted to me showed on so many levels. "Sofay, I have said severally that you are the woman for me, that is a fact, it is even written in the lambs book of life. My father is a very intuitive person, skeptical for the most part and I attribute this to his many years in academia. He single handedly took care of his destiny during a time when a husband teaching his wife and encouraging her to pursue an education was socially unacceptable," Wassily paused upon finishing this brief statement. "When I started to grow dreadlocks at age 15, he never frowned upon it explaining to me that I am a descendant of a long haired Dutch pirate who sailed the Atlantic seas it was my destiny to be different," Wassily closed with more tidbits about his family. I held my composure, even though I wanted badly to shake him and tell him he's not making sense. "Sofay, before I committed myself to the National Service internship, I spent a semester on a worker's visa in Greece," Wassily said this and in truth I knew about this part of his life but it still did not click. To cut a long story short, Wassily made lots of contacts in Europe that season working as a teacher of 3 Ghanaian languages to the children and sometimes non-Ghanaian spouses of the Ghanaian community. The company that sponsored him was based in Ghana as well as Greece, his salary was guaranteed as long as he did not do the stupid thing violate the terms of his visa such as overstaying it. In that brief stay, Wassily had befriended a Greek family, who ended up coming with him to Ghana, rented a villa in a rich exclusive neighborhood of Takradi for a year. "Remember when I told you about my friend Onasis Galifinokis?" Wassily asked to which I said, "yes, of course." "Well, Onasis insisted on getting to know all parts of Ghana, while his parents and cousins simply enjoyed the tourism in western region. I never knew I was capable of having feelings of a sexual nature for men until I went to Greece. I have never been abused, I had not seen it growing up although my father seemed to suggest pirates who sailed long months in the seas were known to sodomize their mates who were no more than teenagers. I doubt the genes factor, all I know is one night at a club in Greece, music thumping everyone dancing about 300 people in a 150 occupancy, some one dance with my with their back to my back. We were at it for 2 songs and anytime I wanted to turn, it never worked until with one swoope I was kissed on the mouth a kiss I had never experienced. The ares kiss made me faint on the dancefloor, before I got crushed by the crowd, Onasis held me in his arms like a baby, took me to the medic onsight and apologized profusely saying he thought I was a woman blah blah blah. I was foolish to go to that club by myself but the rebel that I am wanted to experience Greece beyond the confines of the Ghanaian community," Wassily paused again detecting my utter dismay at the fact that the kisses I had come to enjoy so much from him is a thing he learned from a homosexual experience.
The facts that he initially told me was Onasis enrolled at his university on a correspondance basis and due to unforseen circumstances, the Galifinokis family flew out of the country. "I won't attempt to explain why or how I remained lovers with Onasis, all we knew was, neither of us had ever had feelings for men but that kiss changed everything. Soon I began spending time with his family, they were so good to me financially, emotionally and though they were not a spiritual family their connection to the earth via many pictures and videos of trips they took around the world proved otherwise. They did not question Onasis dating a man and were tolerant. When my visa was soon to expire, Onasis was insistant that he wanted to experience Ghana with me. I nearly refused if not for his parents who pulled me aside and said they felt it was only fair because they had shown me all of Greece. Whilst on campus, I insisted that we could not publicly display our affection in the day time and he agreed. But as the saying goes, what is done in the night will come to light. We came to Jata Mountains during a long vac. Onasis had kept taking his immunization pills to ward of tropical diseases throughtout our travels so he never got sick. My parents liked him but they truely did not know his status in my life. When we were at the local pubs, we restrained ourselves but one particular night Onasis and I got so drunk in our misery of secrecy that we just embraced and kissed eachother with abandon that it caused a stir. It was as though a town cryer had been called to rally the town for special announcement. As some in the crowed cheered, a growing number became hostile. The owner of the pub called his bouncers to disperse the crowd. I was delirius to my surroundings, the next thing I knew Onasis had been yanked from me and everything went blank, I woke up in my home feeling aches and pains. My father had a long talk with me, my mother hugged me and slapped me for fooling around in town. Due to my mother's influence in town as a women'd advocate, the situations was swept under a rug as one of youthful foolery. My father and I had a gentleman's agreement that I'd change my ways after I told him the truth. The fate of Onasis, was nearly fatal, a mob of people beat him till he was bloody. His parents learned of our situation through evening news due to my unconsciousness I could not communicate so the media took it upon themselves to report it as a robbery gone wrong. Hmph, no one told the truth, it was mostly rumour. The club owner refused comment, the bouncers followed suit. On the night Onasis could talk again I had prayer vigial and made a pact with the patron Saint Kizito. I vowed to God to turn my life around," Wassily concluded his venting, there were tears in my eyes at this point.
I was glad he did not ask me to say something. The humour in me came out almost immediately, I told all the gay jokes I could think of as a way to hide my anger. But why was I angry, it certainly wasn't a secret he'd kept from me cause he'd carefully planned to tell me. Was I angry because I was not his first love? Certainly the vow of chastity did not apply to him, will I still love him knowing he did not meet my criteria of "the male Christian package"? Was I simply a part of his pact with God to change his life and if so why am I jealous of not being privy to this fact? I started to pluck the porceline rose in my hand, not knowing what to say as I had suddenly run out of humour. We walked back to his parent's house with sober looks on our faces. A thousand questions raced through my mind like, could these people -who are admiring Wassily and I-have been part of the mob who tortured Onasis? What would you do if you were in my situation?