Tag Archives: Cape Town

Sea point me in the right direction.

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The promenade in Sea Point has to be one of the best in the world.
It’s filled with happy new families walking together to the different parks for the kids to play in. There’s fit people running up and down and sometimes working out on the workout bars provided at the end, or beginning (depending where you come from), of the promenade. You will also have the pleasure of viewing some of the sexiest people Cape Town has to offer with one of the most spectacular sun set backdrops behind them. It’s mesmerizing. It’s long, clean and above all else it’s safe. It is one of the best spots in the world…
But when that beautiful sunset has bowed down completely, the path along Beach road starts to sing a different tune.

It was 2001 when I made my first trip to Cape Town, that was not a school trip or family vacation. It was a lover and myself off to explore the apparent gay Mecca of Africa. After much sightseeing I turned to the bf and asked if we could drive down the street cluttered with stray rent boys to which he was more than eager to do. Why? Was this another sight to see? Well, after the heavy expose’ that featured on Carte Blanche a few weeks prior, I just wanted to quench my curiosity. I’m from a small mining town, the idea that there is a street filled with men you could climb on top of for some change was just something I needed to see. So we drove out to the road and true to word as soon as you drive slowly so many men start coming out of the dark to show you what they have on offer. Did we pick one up? No, mainly because it’s sad. It’s not sexy. It’s pathetic, and that makes it sad.

Twelve years down the line and Sea Point is free of hookers and drug pushers… Or so I thought.

After a delicious supper I wanted a stroll down the walkway, partly to get the digestives going, and partly to smoke a j. It was a cold night – I had a leather jacket on. To my right I see a boy standing at the bus stop. Sure, he could be waiting for a bus, but hello, the SA bus services have been on strike for like three weeks and the boy in question is in a tank top and tiny shorts – did I mention I was in a leather jacket? Poor little rent boy. Moments later another man comes towards me and tries to spark a conversation but I know this is just the beginning of his sales technique. I’m a sister with enough rings around my trunk, you feel me? So I know. Say hello, keep it polite, but keep going.

WTF? Have we stepped back in time? Why are the hookers back? And why am I so irked? For one main reason… With online sleaze, bathhouses and action bars there’s really no need to be prowling around a children’s play ground offering sex. Similarly there is no need to solicit sex there either. So who is to blame? “Straight” men… Of course. The reason it’s happening is because the clients that pull up on beach road are not men who would go to the bathhouses or action bars. They won’t have online hookups. Because they’re not gay so they can’t be seen at a gay establishment and it pisses me off. You give homosexuality a sleazy name, one I struggle to combat even only in conversational context… No no no, I’m accusing, and assuming and maybe behaving like a prude.

Everyone needs to make money… Right? Who am I to say how. And some men need to pay for a little something something, who am I to say they can’t?

I let it go. For the meantime.

The next morning I went for the same walk and was lost in the sky and the sea with the mountain and the grass when oops, I stepped in shit. And I am back to where I was last night. It’s not about hating prostitution. It’s about activism. Activism for the park. It is not a place for hookers. It’s is not a place for sex. And tough as it may seem to understand, it is not a place for dogs to drop a coil.

It’s the one place that, seemed to be, free of shit. I would love it to actually be. Just one little place, and I guess it’s as easy as not picking up a hooker – there – and taking your dog to dump on one of the other many walks out there for them… Thats If you can’t pick it up.

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A Sight Beyond Sightings

It began as a boiling morning and the only thing guaranteed for the day is the fact that it will get hotter. What’s a man to do?
I sit for a while contemplating if I should spend the better part of the afternoon in the Cape Town archives digging through some work I need to get done. It did not take long before I flogged the idea off for five p and decided to run to the beach.
Walking down the long path towards Sandy Bay I watched as the sun shine shimmered on the crashing waves.

when did nudity become obscenity? When did our bodies become something to be ashamed of? Is the body not beautiful?

I pronked from rock to rock, splashed in some rock pools and eventually made the stroll down the long beach to have have a swim at the other side with all the other homo’s. The new album by The Field is a pretty awesome listen when zoning out on the waves and the suns gradual movement towards the horizon’s edge. And the entire setting was more than relaxing.

“I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps “Oh look at that!” Then- whoosh, and I’m gone…and they’ll never see anything like it ever again… and they won’t be able to forget me- ever.”

That was Jim Morrison. He was pretty cool. His voice still gets me going.
Now I experienced a Jim sighting on the beach where I felt the quote was well suited only for an entirely different reason.
There was a man with what seemed to be an enlarged scrotum. His balls were the size of two grapefruit. In actual fact I think they were bigger than grapefruit but the fruit will give you an idea. But would a man with an enlarged testicle not be in pain or even just remaining at home, not hiking around in the nude. So clearly that was just the size of his balls.
I was…am shocked. I had no idea they could get so huge. His balls drowned out his rod, actually they drowned out his thighs. And I couldn’t help stare at him. And then he was gone.

Maybe it’s the differences in our bodies that makes the entire idea of nudity and our bodies a thing of salacious profanity and in turn something to be ‘skaam’ about? Surely my amazement of the twin comets crossing the beach was apparent and i consider for a second the idea that i was a judgmental little bitch…but then again, was he just flashing it to get that kind of attention?

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It’s Pride

It has been a week of events to create a build towards the pride march set to take place this Saturday. The view from the street of the happenings around me is met with two very calm currents. On one side I see men rather indifferent to the entire idea of marching through the beautiful streets of Cape Town so they mull on the idea of “what’s the point?”, which is met with a juxtaposition of a few go getters who seem to be doing the good thing but at times there podium seems nothing more than there own little soapbox. And why is there even a divide to begin with?

I have always had this crazy notion that gay men are a special breed of human. The fact that we see past the mere idea of procreation when it comes to sexual gratification or emotional fulfillment speaks very highly to the intuition I believe is so indelibly engraved in our souls. So why is it that we can’t see the middle ground here? Or am I just being a fence sitter? In my opinion, the fence, at the moment, has the best view and I am interested in surveilling the area rather than pioneer through onto either side.

the height of stupidity is doing the same thing over and expecting different results – Albert Einstein

So what are we marching for? Surely a theme to guide? And although it is there, why is it that the get togethers and spending of cash is what is so predominantly advertised and publicized.

I can’t help but think that maybe another rhino just got shot or that the fracking in the Karoo is worse than I think it is. I think of the dam just north about to be destroyed because of a mine. And I way up questions of humanity and nature. I wonder about the rise of unemployment and how expensive it is for a loaf of bread and suddenly worrying about how many colours I have in my costume for the march on Saturday not only seems irrelevant it is actually down right inappropriate.

I am what one would refer to as the cross over homo… Where I was witness to the struggle as it dissipates and similarly, I witnessed the freedom as it started to live or started to take fruition. And I feel privileged that I can see both sides of the spectrum. For the older men who actually did the fighting and the struggling and deserve our respect. And then also the other new boys who know nothing of the plight of the homosexual other than personal demons, and I don’t blame them for not really being as involved as they probably should be.

So where do we make the decision on what to do? What is the course of action we should take? Not attend a parade that one feels does not adequately represent them or join in on the festivities and treat it as one big party?

I can tell you that there is no wrong answer for how you feel about pride and all it represents, should represent or could represent but there is a wrong answer for the course of action you take.

To not attend is the wrong answer! And the buzzer goes off!!!

I will be wearing a Stop Poaching My Rhinos shirt, if not just to satisfy my craving for political angst but also to show how the homo cares. It’s a level we as humans can all somehow find ourselves on, not matter the sexual orientation, race, creed, sex or body type… And that love will help us all connect a little better.

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