Being Gay in Cali, Colombia

I've been out of the closet since I was 13 or 14 years old, and for the first time since, I've had to inch back into it. I came out about a few minutes after making the realization that I was gay. I mean, I didn't scream it in the middle of a class, but when it came up, I told people. Or if they made an incorrect assumption, I corrected them, no more and no less than I would do if someone called me by the wrong name or thought that maybe I didn't eat asparagus. Always the same axiom: Just live life like everyone already knows.

So imagine my surprise when after the first time I was seeing a "special someone" off at the MIO station, they stuck out their hand for me to shake it. I mean, I just fucked you, but we're saying good-bye by shaking hands? A gesture that, occasionally, is meant to express a certain distance and formality (at least in US culture)? I understood immediately of course, but on the five minute walk back to my apartment, I turned the experience over and over in my head, like I was trying to solve a riddle whose answer I already knew.

Most of the time when I'm in a new place, I have a two-pronged plan of attack: 1) Find the artists and 2) find the gays. Both groups tend to be open and accepting groups because they tend to find themselves a bit on the outside of society. There's the sense that we should stick together. Up to now, this has been a pretty decent plan, but in Cali, not quite so.

First, there's no gay neighborhood to really hang out. And while there are gay bars here, you can't go out alone. I mean, you could; it's not illegal. But no one is going to want to talk to you, and no one else has gone out alone, so you're not going to find that other guy who's got the same plan you do: to go out and make a new friend. (And no, I don't mean necessarily pick someone up, you horndogs.) This ends up leaving bars feeling a bit like the cafeteria from Mean Girls. Everyone's sitting with their friends, and no...

As for the online route, there's only Grindr. I had Scruff and Hornet at first, and but I exhausted them in a few days. Everyone's on Grindr, and that makes it hard to weed out the people with bad social skills who just want to send you explicit pictures from someone with half a brain that could be interesting to have a beer with, regardless of the outcome (be it sex, friends, or just the stimulation of meeting someone new). And just like the US, the vast majority on Grindr are the former. I've been trying to use it, but it comes and goes. I have about a week where I tell myself I'm really going to try, but then I realize all it does is bring frustration and stupidity into my little bubble and it's uninstalled once more.

So in short, the gay community functions more or less like the straight community here. Groups and circles and you're not getting in unless you know someone. I acknowledge that the US tendency to be gushy and over the top in our attempt to include and welcome new people might come off as insincere, and sometimes it is, but at least the door is open for you to maybe have a chance. Here, if they don't know you, they're not interested.

So while I have a few gay acquaintances here, I don't have many gay friends. But I've talked about my loneliness and why that is ad nauseum, so if you're interested, check back a few entries and catch yourself up. But long story short, to get a Colombian to stick to a plan and show up on time is a rare thing indeed, like planets aligning, Bigfoot sightings, and winning lottery tickets. In any case, it's the first time that I haven't felt part of a group here, particularly one that included other gay people to some degree. For as much as I like to style myself as independent and like "I am the one man who is an island," I'm finding it rough, guys. Real rough.

Now combine that with having to feel like you have to, in some situations, hide who you are. For some reason, I'm asked if I have a Colombian girlfriend or if I like Colombian girls. In the past, I never thought twice about saying, "I don't date girls" or "I prefer men" or "I'm not straight." The one time I mentioned it in French class--because the teacher in the context of discussion gender roles asked me if I would date a woman who drove a taxi--was met with stares that were a swirl of interest, disbelief, and confusion. ("Did he really mean to say that? Gringos are bad with Spanish/French.") Ultimately instead of asking another version of the question, the discussion was diverted onto another topic. I wasn't embarrassed to say I preferred men in front of a group of people, but their reaction was what embarrassed me. No embarrassed laughter, no apology, no anger, no "okay" or "you're going to hell" or... anything. Just a blank look and then a complete change of subject. I was on the outs again, but this time I wasn't the outs with all the rest of society's freaks. It was just me.

Hi ho the diary-o.












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