I found a letter in the mail the other day. It has been a long while since I checked. Nobody ever sends snail mail these days anyway, its bills that just keep coming. Nothing good in there. Anyway, I am not sure if it is mine, it was in my mail though. Maybe you can help me understand. Have a look.


To him who needs this,

This life is like the story of the sword of Damocles in a way. Now Damocles was one of the court flatterers (yes, the kings then had people to flatter him so as to boost his ego) in the realm of King Dionysius, the tyrannical ruler of Syracuse. He (Damocles) often praised the king on his wealth and power until one day, the king asked him if he thought such power came with ease and luxury. On responding positively, the king organized for a feast to be thrown. Damocles was to sit on the king’s seat at the table. He was heartily enjoying himself when he realized that a sharp sword had been hung over his head. Up until now, he had not seen the sword. With his shock came the king’s explanation of the sword, “That is how the life of a ruler really is like.”  Such was the event that led to the expression the sword of Damocles.

There is always something hanging over your head, a curse, a trap, a sin. It waits, it lurks in the dark, and it searches for you. Waiting, waiting to destroy you. For me, the modern day Damocles, there are more swords than one .Despite my seemingly lovely life; there is one huge sword, that has always been there. I can’t seem to get rid of it.

I don’t understand why things get so complicated. I believe its supposed to be simple. If the bible says its wrong, then, its wrong. There is supposed to be a point where you just overcome. A point where salvation drives you to be more than a conqueror. Not so for me. Not so for the self professing Christian. Sin has taken another turn and the victory has been wrenched lose from my grip. Now I enjoy sin like a warm glass of milk, after a hot supper.

It has been so with me for quite a while. I go to church and say praise the Lord on Saturday at the leader’s meeting and on Sunday when am leading the bible study. Monday, I am making out secretly in my campus room with a hottie from my class. His name is Dennis, Dennis Mwangi. I like him and he likes me, and a few other men. He though is not the crux of my story; there was one I loved more.

It has been a long journey to this point .One full of confusion, confusion and men. When I was young I thought that being like this was abnormal. That I was the only one who liked other boys, or wanted to ‘explore’ them. I always wanted to be the one who was different because I knew deep inside I was different. I wanted to wear my mother’s heels and play around in her pretty dress. I wanted to be able to catwalk down the runway like all the famous models, I still practice to date. I loved the colour and the make up. I knew beautiful women and handsome men. Most of all I wanted to be set on fire. I wanted to experience the freedom from the touch of a man. A liberating feeling that would course through me and cause me to tremble with excitement. I wanted to experience men.

Then I had to go back to church on Sunday. I had to listen to the preacher and my Sunday school teachers tell me about God and holiness.  I had to experience the guilt and condemnation, the price to pay for my sins. I had to struggle with my identity and personality. I went through the everyday hoops of explaining why I don’t like soccer, and play with the girls more than the boys. I had to suffer humiliation in school when I was called all kinds of names, fag, chichi and many more. I was not sick. I was not an alien. I was a human being, I still am. My urges unrelenting, my conscience unwavering. Confusion reigned. What to do?

Well, I am tired of hiding any longer. I am tired of pretending about my feelings and desires. I am ready to fight, and not just fight but win. I must make it through the maze that is my destiny. I must deal with it. I may be hurt, but I am willing to try.

© Samson De Lui

(Read part II here)