“Oh no!” cried Mwambu, stopping dead still on the grass outside his mother’s kitchen. Or was it an ear-drum illusion? No, it was not. “Poor Wabwire!” he aspirated. “Poor Wabwire! How cruel and how soon!”
Ah, but that knife! Mwambu winced involuntarily as his mind suddenly threw up the memory of the sad, pitiful cries of Wabwire on his back, cruelly fixed down by the hands of unpitying non-clansmen. Ah, that such cruel pain should be inflicted by his people, that such shame, such backwardness…
And behold, it was not Nerima but her brother Wabwire! It was Wabwire in a woman’s dress!
“Peace up-pon you, Wabwire,” stammered Mwambu.
“Her name is no longer Wabwire; she is now called Nabwire.”
But the further he walked the more he started to fear that it was true and not a nightmare. The early afternoon sun did not suddenly set, as it might do in a dream. The path he was treading did not abruptly end in some yawning pit. Every detail of the path was as it had been on his outward journey. The trees still tapered upwards and the scanty clouds sailed unimportantly in the sky. He took hold of a leaf of a nearby ash tree, turned its underside up and observed its network of mid-rib and divergent veins for a lengthy moment. He knew by instinct that in dreams minute details like that never really stand out, certainly not for long, and he concluded that therefore everything he had just been through was real. That Wabwire had now become Nabwire, clad in a woman’s robe.
Poor Wabwire, he ruefully mused. Poor Nabwire. What a change. He had heard of such cases before, but why Wabwire? He had heard of men declaring themselves women. There was Watoya, christened Paulo. In early manhood he had thrown off his kanzu and started wearing a woman’s wrapper and gone about calling himself Paulina. Some people said this was a mere trick to evade paying poll-tax. But others claimed that he had truly become a woman.
But how, ruminated Mwambu, how did Wabwire end up like this? Was he born like that or did it just happen to him later, and if so, when? Before or after circumcision? If before, was that circumcision pain all in vain then? Like flogging a dead dog, or…
Wabwire passing under the tree that may have made him a woman.
He smiled sardonically as he once more puzzled out Macbeth’s ambiguous words: I dare do anything that is proper for a man? That is right for a man? He that does more than that is not a man? Not a single man dares more than me? If anyone dares more than me then he is not a man? He is… what? Mwambu had often wondered. And today as he went through the classroom door, he fleetingly thought: To dare more than a man and be less - was it daring to be Wabwire and end up as Nabwire?
Mwambu’s eyes uneasily wandered from the mattress to the drinkers around a pot of millet brew in the grass shelter, and to his surprise, he recognised among them his cousin Kuloba and Wopata, father of Nabwire that used to be Wabwire.” Upon This Mountain, Timothy Wangusa, 1989.
The pervasive narrative of queer identities as a Western import has become deeply entrenched within Uganda, used as a weapon of cultural preservation and a shield against supposedly foreign influences. However, this narrow understanding of history obscures the existence of non-normative sexualities and gender expressions that have been part of African societies for centuries. Timothy Wangusa's novel, Upon This Mountain, and Jean Sybil La Fontaine's anthropological insights challenge this simplistic view, revealing the complexities of sexuality and gender within the Gisu community.
The transformative journey of Wabwire into Nabwire stands as a powerful testament to the existence of queerness within Gisu traditions, contradicting the myth of cultural invasion. By examining this character, and Mwambu's evolving understanding of gender and sexuality, this essay will critique the ahistorical narratives and Christian fundamentalist ideologies that have contributed to the erasure of queer histories in Uganda. It will argue that a more inclusive Gisu future lies in reclaiming these marginalized narratives and rejecting harmful binaries that pathologize and condemn those who exist outside of heteronormative paradigms.
Debunking the Myth of Western Influence
The deliberate misconception that queerness is an external force foisted upon African societies is a cornerstone of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric in Uganda. This harmful myth serves to legitimize the violence and persecution experienced by queer individuals. Works like Upon This Mountain and La Fontaine's ethnographic studies play a pivotal role in deconstructing these narratives. Wangusa's novel provides a window into pre-colonial and colonial Gisu society, revealing the fluidity of gender roles and the presence of same-sex relationships long before the arrival of European powers.
Examining the character of Wabwire/Nabwire, we witness a transition that, while met with societal anxiety and ostracization, nevertheless demonstrates the existence of non-normative identities within Gisu culture. Mwambu's internal conflict surrounding Wabwire's transition reflects the clash between tradition and a rapidly changing society under the influence of colonialism and Christian missionaries. His initial pity for Wabwire, rooted in a belief that this transformation is unnatural, echoes the contemporary condemnation of queer identities as un-African and ungodly. However, it's crucial to recognize Mwambu as a colonial subject grappling with a divided self. The school and church have violently imposed a new reality, fracturing his understanding of his own culture. His pity for Nabwire stems from the realization that Nabwire has no place in this imposed world, a world that has supplanted the one that embraced a wider spectrum of gender identities. In Mwambu's eyes, Nabwire is not an aberration, but a potential subject to be cast out, as many of the other characters who fail to cross the threshold into the new society.
However, as Mwambu grapples with Wabwire's new identity as Nabwire, the text forces the reader to reconsider the notion that queerness is alien to Gisu culture. The line, "He had heard of such cases before, but why Wabwire?" hints at a deeper history of individuals who challenged rigid gender norms within Gisu society. This revelation undermines the contemporary rhetoric that positions queerness as a purely Western import.
Christian Fundamentalism and the Erasure of Queer Histories
The influence of Christianity, particularly in its fundamentalist forms, has played a significant role in shaping negative attitudes towards queer individuals in Uganda and other African nations. The imposition of rigid Christian morality and the pathologization of same-sex desire contributed to a climate of intolerance and violence. Wangusa's novel offers subtle but powerful critiques of this influence. Mwambu's initial revulsion towards Wabwire/Nabwire stems from his internalization of Christian teachings that view queerness as sinful and unnatural.
Significantly, colonial laws and the teachings of missionaries served to erase pre-existing understandings of gender and sexuality in many African societies. Where fluidity and acceptance might once have existed, colonial powers and religious authorities imposed strict heteronormative frameworks. This erasure effectively rewrote history and paved the way for contemporary claims that position queerness as a "Western disease" threatening traditional African values. This can be seen across the continent as queer panic is stoked up by politicians supported by Christian fundamentalist groups most recently in Ghana and Kenya.*
Reclaiming Queer Narratives
To create a more inclusive future for the Gisu people and all Ugandans, historical and contemporary queer narratives must be reclaimed, celebrated, and integrated into a broader understanding of Ugandan culture. Upon This Mountain provides a starting point for this process by offering a literary representation of a queer Gisu experience. While the portrayal of Wabwire/Nabwire is not without its complexities* and at times may even reinforce negative stereotypes, the novel gives visibility to a marginalized identity.
*“Unnatural offences, such as homosexual acts or sexual offences with animals, were punishable by death. There was not necessarily a formal condemnation by the elders, but the offender was beaten and killed by those who discovered the crime. The alarm would be raised and the resultant action was like that of a lynching.” Excerpt From The Gisu of Uganda J. S. La Fontaine. The critique holds: there was no cultural imperative to deny the existence of queer people but violence was still done to them mostly by men, the core reasons for this are better looked at as a tangent of misogyny, the Gishu culture was (is) violent to anyone not a man (circumcised) see Controlling anger: The Sociology of Gisu Violence
by Heald Suzette.
The Gisu, indeed, see violence as a specifically male problem.Only men have the capacity for it, or at least the kind of violence which is a danger to others. Women categorically do not and, while the facts of daily life might lead one to challenge such a totally unaggressive stereotype, it is nevertheless powerful in shaping judgements about events. A man is held never to have just cause to fear a woman and this affects the way the use of physical violence against women is judged. Women, one is told, are like the slow namakanda, which looks like a snake but is in fact harmless. Other imagery used for women also reflects their essentially benevolent role as help-mates and the bearers of children. p56.
La Fontaine's ethnographic work further supports this effort by providing anthropological evidence of the diversity of gender expressions and sexualities* within Gisu communities. Integrating literary representations with social scientific research provides a more nuanced understanding of how queer experiences intertwine with Gisu traditions and beliefs.
*“Transvesticism occurred traditionally in Gisuland and occasional transvestites can be seen today. It does not seem to have been either more or less frequent formerly than now,though it is said that today transvesticism is associated with homosexuality, whereas formerly it was not, since homosexuality was a sin that would cause the culprit to be killed by the community if he were found out. The condition is known in Gisu as buyazi and is scorned, but not regarded with revulsion. It appears to occur more frequently among men than among women. During the time I was there (1953-1955) I encountered three cases of men dressed as women and heard of one woman who masquerades as a man. These three were not in anyway mentally disordered, nor do the Gisu consider the condition one of mental disease. They think of it as a rather ludicrous desire to ape the other sex and say that it is caused by an evil spirit or by witchcraft.” Excerpt From The Gisu of Uganda J. S. La Fontaine
Mwambu's shifting perspective in the novel, from pity and confusion to a tentative form of acceptance, signals the possibility of change. Although his thoughts reflect internalized societal anxieties and prejudice, the internalised misogyny of the Gishu culture: the man who becomes a woman or is penetrated by another is an aberration not because their identity is a cultural or existential threat but because they exist outside the sexual economy in which sex is for the gratification of the heterosexual man. and this is clear when one looks at our metrics for sexual abuse.
Misogyny is defined quite literally as a hatred of women, and this includes a hatred of anyone perceived to be ‘like a woman’, explaining much of the homophobic aggression towards non-straight men. Homosexual men have long suffered homophobic abuse because they do not conform to heterosexual male norms, including pursuing women. Homophobia is entirely underpinned and propped up by patriarchy, and our patriarchal society encourages the policing of the boundaries of what it means to be a ‘real man’ and behave in a truly ‘male’ way.
Interestingly, LGBT women who identify as ‘butch’ or present themselves in a more ‘masculine’ way, are treated with fear and contempt for trying to encroach on traditionally male territory and not conforming to normative ideals of female beauty. This kind of homophobia is very similar to the sexism that heterosexual women face when attempting to carve out a place in a world that is still dominated by men. opendemocracy, Harriet Williamson
the portrayal of this story in the novel holds space for greater understanding and the potential rejection of harmful stereotypes about those who dare "to be more than a man." and for a robust critique of attempts to calcify violent cultures by refusing to acknowledge that they are flawed and need to be improved. To achieve a well-rounded perspective, I've juxtaposed this anthropological work with my research, my lived experiences and those of others deeply immersed in the culture.
Interesting!
Enlightening read 💐