Thinking about Closets

LGBT Pride 2010…in New York, in San Francisco, in Boston, in Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle, Washington, Philadelphia, Portland, Dallas…all over the US. In Barcelona, Istanbul, Sofia, Lisbon, Mexico City, and Buenos Aires.

But not in Dakar. Or Uganda or Malawi or Nigeria or Kenya or Cote d’Ivoire or Ghana or Morocco or Russia or China or any of other of the 73 countries where it’s just not ok to be gay.

After I arrived here in Senegal, it was fairly easy to disassociate from my sexual orientation. Bigger than my desire to spend time with LGBT people was my desire to communicate, to be known, to begin to speak French well enough that I could converse with others. As the conversations proceeded and we began to be familiar with each other, I expected that my need for connection would be satisfied.

It wasn’t. I was becoming familiar to and with people in the neighborhood, in the shops, in the family, but not known. Not really. Last week at Mami and Papi’s Sunday gathering, there was a fluent English- speaking gentleman who is also Senegalese. He was curious about who I am and what I think. We had a long conversation about issues and ideas: President Obama’s election, immigration reform in the US, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, etc. Not insignificant issues when everyone is speaking the same language. He was uncowed by the language differences. Throughout, he translated my thoughts to other family members, to whom I have essentially been a mysterious non-French speaking, pleasant-enough, happy-looking American for the past three months. They haven’t had any idea who I am or what I think about anything.

As we talked back and forth as a group, with Dominic translating, I felt the connection begin to glow. Paul’s sister Ida (pronounced EE-da) said through Dominic: “Oh, this is wonderful. I’ve been wondering who Stephanie is and what she thinks.”

“I’ve been wondering who you are.” How many times have LGBT people heard that from someone close to them…after revealing fully their sexual identity?

Now, for the first time in 36 years as an out lesbian, I understand how it feels to be in the closet, to be carefully choosing what I say and to whom I say it. For the first time, it’s not a concept but a lived experience. I understand emotionally, as well as intellectually, that, as my friends from IBM communicate so aptly, there is a “cost of thinking twice.”

In the closet, it’s dark and hot and cramped and lonely. It’s uncomfortable. It makes me long for freedom. Today, for anyone who is in any closet for any reason, where they are hiding, only partially known, feeling unsafe and insecure…for all of us, I wish a crack of freedom that gives us courage to step out into the light and the air.