Lesley's Requiem Mass

One of the early things Lesley and I found out about each other is the strong Christian protestant nurture from our families. We both grew up Lutheran and at some point in our lives, we were active members of the church. The church as an institution was a safe haven for Black young men and women from predominantly poor communities. We survived Aids, drugs and possibly prison. It is the fate of many of our peers.

When we decided to get married, we could not approach the church because it had alienated homosexuality. Even the priests who knew us, used church protocol to decline blessing our union. We ended up having a non-denominational union and an African traditional ritual to seal what would be nine years of our life together. But that's also where our gripe with the church which carried us throughout our separate childhood began. Lesley walked away very easily from situations that brought him grief or made him sad. I am quite the opposite. I challenged my father, a church elder and my siblings who are staunch members of the church. Going to church fit nicely with their heterosexual life. It didn't stop there, every time the parish pastor asked why I won't help with youth activities, I'd raise this issue and he'd retreat behind church bureaucracy. 

I want to get to the point why I asked Reverend Siza Lugojolo and Vicar (Soon to be ordained priest) Itumeleng Kgapole to give Lesley a Mass fit for a King. But I need to explain the connection and the struggles of committed same-sex couples. They are victimised by institutions like the church who speak in a forked-tongue when it comes to loving your "fellow man" unconditionally. The church in Black communities is hailed as one of the instruments that fought apartheid. But the church failed to remain relevant in post-apartheid South Africa. It didn't take advantage of the fact that it had the loyalty of South Africans who were divided by traditions and beliefs to normalise homosexuality. But I make excuses for the church because in post-1994 South Africa, there were too many socio-political differences and homosexuality was at the bottom of the list despite great efforts by the likes of the late Simon Nkoli and the great Bev Ditsie. 

Pic taken on our 2011 holiday in KwaZulu-Natal

Now back, to why Lesley's funeral was officiated by a priest who wore a white Alb and a Stole in the colours that resembled the gay flag. His coffin draped with a purple pall, a brilliant sermon that comforted me as the husband of the deceased man and the sharing of holy communion. A colleague of mine even joked that the last time she attended a funeral like that, was when Nelson Mandela died. It's an exaggeration, but it was undoubtedly a moving service. 

Lesley had been through so much throughout his childhood and one day in 2012, while we were preparing Sunday lunch for the family, I asked him how he kept on being resilient when life was hard. He gave me an answer that still makes me emotional up to this day. He told me he was about 12 years old when he had to be a parent to his younger sister, while his mom had gone to look for work. No adults. He told me he used to sing or hum a 12-verse Lutheran hymn "Tata Mong Wa Ka" through most of his hardships. Before he told me this, we'd harmonise and sing it together at home. It was during happy times or when he's doing house chores. I'd join in. But I did not know the story behind it. I was amazed that he memorised all the words. 

We made a pact that we'd die in a foreign country, cremate each other and share the ashes with family. I chose to die first because I am older than him. We argued about this, but he agreed. When his sudden death changed our plans, I saw it fit to take him home in the way that helped him cross the river of poverty and pure disadvantage because of where he was born and who he was. But he still didn't want anyone's pity. My friends and colleagues heard me all the time when I said I married rich. Flaws and all, I married rich, because in Lesley I had everything. And so we had to give him a royal send-off. 

Not even death will extinguish my love for this man.  

I love you baby.