Africa, a sibling and an answer

Here is something I wrote for the Battered Women Support Services Newsletter:

I have only recently been introduced to Battered Women Support Services and I’ve been amazed by their ability to effect change in the fight for equality. Growing up in Canada I always heard stories about the horrible things that were happening in other countries but I have only recently come to realize the extent to which these problems are occurring both within our country and on a global scale. Thank you for your work in the journey towards equal opportunity for all people.

 --

Gulu, a place where people sing and dance better than anybody I’ve ever seen on TV. The place where I finally found peace and began seeing the world with the youthful optimism I had misplaced somewhere in my preteen years. I haven’t been there in almost a year and half due to bad timing and warnings of unsafe conditions on my last trip to Uganda but I will never forget the first place I called home. What was I doing in such a place and why do I want to go back so badly? Believe it or not this question was unknowingly answered two weeks ago by one of the leaders at BWSS.

My sister, Bronwyn, was the most important person in my life for most of my childhood and teenage years. On October 3^rd, 2006 she drifted off the side of the road and a fencepost came through the front window killing her instantly; she was the only one in the car. I blamed a lot of people for the accident at the time, including myself. Almost three years later I look back with slightly wiser eyes and realize there is no one to blame, or is there? Although I cannot and never will point fingers at any specific person, until now, I have always felt like there was something left unsaid.

I remember how my sister would rush into the house crying after the men who lived down the street would whistle at her and make obscene comments about how large her breasts were; she was 14. As high school continued she became obsessed with the way she looked and would often turn to me as her unassuming younger brother for fashion advice. I was always truthful and she knew that I thought she was beautiful so she didn’t mind if I told her something looked funny. It wasn’t me she was concerned about though, it was everybody else. As the years went by she increasingly struggled to fit the anorexic standard of beauty that is portrayed in most mainstream media. Nonetheless, by the age of 23 she was on her way to becoming an actor and she realized the sacrifices she would need to make in order to achieve her goals. Unfortunately, she believed the only way to stay thin was a life of drug abuse and forced regurgitation. Sometimes I think back to the battle that she must have been fighting her whole life, a battle I was all but unaware of. Technically her death was caused by a car crash but I now know it was a whole lot more than that. It was the accumulation of stress from the pressure of trying to look like a Barbie doll.

Ironically I gained almost 30 pounds the month she died and badly needed an outlet of some sort to reorient the destructive energy I had accumulated. This lead me to an organization in Uganda called ‘The Bavubuka Foundation’ who I have been working with for almost three years. After returning to Vancouver from her funeral in southern Ontario I got people to donate sports equipment and raised money for what would be my first trip to Uganda. Even though I had done my best to research the country and visualize what it would be like when I got there I could have never imagined what I was about to get myself into.

Northern Uganda is home to one of the worst humanitarian crises on the planet and is notorious for the shocking number of child soldiers. It is less commonly known to have one of the highest rates of HIV/AIDS in the world. In fact, according to World Vision AIDS was responsible for almost 70% of the deaths in Gulu town in 2004. This is a remarkably high percentage considering that international aid agencies in collaboration with the government have been spending millions of dollars annually to educate the Ugandan people and combat the disease for more then 20 years. However, most of the women I had the opportunity to speak with during my time in Gulu gave me a much more horrifying look into the truth behind the statistics. They told me stories about the rapes and sexual defilement that is common in what is the largest Internally Displaced Peoples camp in the world. Just as my sister showed me the brutal reality hidden beneath layers of sexual propaganda in the western media, the women in Gulu taught me that the longest running conflict in Africa isn’t against Joseph Kony and the Lord’s Resistance Army, it’s against the women and children that most of us will never hear of.

Over my time with Bavubuka we have encountered varying levels of bigotry that exist in all shapes and forms from city officials to parents and even volunteers. I believe that education, journalism and new media will be key to the fight against sexual inequality both in Africa and Globally. I have been blessed to meet so many other activists who have realized we are all responsible for protecting the future of this planet. Which leads me to back to the BWSS activist who recently helped me answer one of the most difficult questions I have been asked since I decided to dedicate most of my time to Uganda; why Africa? I have come to recognize the reason I have an affinity towards Uganda is that it is at the forefront of the fight against the sexual injustices that are at the root of human kind’s discombobulated international affairs and subsequently failing global economy. That is why I was there and that is why I want to go back so badly.

Sexism is an invisible plague that is taking the lives of women around the world and continues to deprive women of true equality. Although I am not a woman and I could never pretend to fully understand how arduous sexual prejudice is for females, I have seen the consequences of patriarchal societies both personally and within a global context. As a result of these experiences I have realized that we are all responsible for taking the initiative to end this chauvinistic madness. With that, I ask everybody reading this to get involved with a group that is affecting change if they haven’t already or continue capitalizing on their potential to build a beautiful future.

Mass Debate

As well as halting my sexual relationships with women I have also stopped any affiliation with ‘Palmala Handerson’. This has been a very difficult task as I’m sure many of my young male counterparts will appreciate. Here is an insight into some of the difficulties and misconceptions I have run into as a result of this decision.

Throughout my young life I have been told that regular masturbation is a healthy part of youthful male development. Yesterday, during the morning hours, I signed onto Facebook with the intention of getting to the bottom of an issue that was brought to my attention the night earlier. Was masturbation good for young males and more importantly would there be any negative (cancerous) effects as a result of not partaking in this activity? I changed my Facebook status to “Does not masturbating increase your chance of cancer? (Seriously)”. Here are some of the best (and funniest) responses I got:

“Not masturbating increases the chance of homicides”

 

“I dunno man i heard it decreases ur chance of prostate cancer”

 

“no but i heard they both leave a lump on ur nut… i wouldnt know”

 

“only if your not masturbating in a tanning bed :)”

 

“No way, Seb Think about monks and stuff... they don't have an increased risk of cancer!”

 

“actually sexual release has a lot of benefits for you and i do believe there is a correlation between frequency of masturbating or having sex and less cancer rates...altho im not the authority on it”

 

“what doesn't cause cancer these days... haha I don't think it does”

 

And then suddenly, as though my prayers had been heard by God himself the answer arrived.

 

“By not masturbating your sperm cells undergo their life and death cycle in your body, increasing your protein and adrenaline. So more cells are created but nothing cancerous. Cancer would be an accelerate or some chemical that changes a Stop Codon, by deleting or changing the DNA pattern.

 

“Cell reproduction depends on certain environmental conditions, etc. Some of the scientific BS on the Internet is due to those who fund the research.”

 

Which was rightfully followed by.

 

“Your more likely to get cancer from being outside more cuz ull spend less time in ur room ;)”

 

My suspicions about this online masturbation information were confirmed! I now had a reason to believe that the stories I had read on the Internet were entirely based on false reason and circumstantial evidence. But how could I be sure that I wasn’t being misled once again? This was, after all, a matter of life or death. I left the house for the afternoon and went to have sushi with a beautiful young friend of mine. Seeing as how I had spent much of the morning researching the male anatomy, sushi seemed to be the most reasonable food as I wanted to avoid watching my lunch mate consume anything remotely warm, gooey and/or penis shaped. Like many of the other people I had asked for advice she told me she knew little to nothing about the subject and spent most of the afternoon making sexually explicit comments.

 

After lunch I returned home, packed to the brim with sushi but still feeling empty on the subject of masturbation. I decided to take a walk and see if I could find an old friend who I hadn’t seen in more then a year. She lived not too far from me during our high school years but has been living on Vancouver Island since we both graduated. Nonetheless, I felt compelled to seek her out as I was sure that she could offer some advice on the subject.

 

Upon reaching her house the memories of high school came streaming back and I began reminiscing about our forgotten friendship. As I knocked on her front door I wondered weather she or her family even lived in this house any longer. Moments later that question was answered when her father opened the door. I hadn’t seen him in almost three years and we both exchanged a somewhat confused glance before saying ‘hello’. I reintroduced myself and he warmly invited me into the house after saying that his daughter was on vacation and was planning on being home later in August.

 

We sat and chatted for a while about what his children and I had been up to over the past few years. Then, all at once I remembered that the man I had been talking to for the last 20 minutes was a certified physician. He had worked in both developing and ‘first world’ countries and was a practicing doctor. Immediately I reoriented the conversation and told him the problems I had been encountering with regards to the misconceptions about masturbation. Along with telling me that there was absolutely no proof that masturbation was either good or bad, he stated that the only circumstance he knows of that masturbation (or not masturbating) could be considered harmful is when people with a deranged psyche (pedophiles, murders, etc.) masturbate and fanaticize about the acts they want to commit. He said this was called ‘positive reinforcement’ and that most of the mammals we know of are susceptible to this.

 

He went on to highlight a case study done on rats that found when rats were given the ability to release pleasurable hormones on command, using a button, the rats would kill themselves as a result of overusing the button and forgetting to eat. Although this is an extreme example I think there is a lot of truth to this in our human society. For example, many of us spent our adolescent years chasing girls, talking about how we were going to get them, and then glorifying our actions to our friends after we had disrespected Mother Nature at her essence. At the time it seemed logical to me. All I had ever been taught about being ‘cool’ through ads, TV shows, music videos and movies was that the end goal was to get the girl. This fixation dominated my attention throughout most of my teenage years. As ‘natural’ as it is to be attracted to a woman or even several women, looking back, I would have liked to have had the ability to control my own energy and power within myself to have found another agenda. Who knows what sort of great things I could have achieved if I had not been obsessed with this unfulfilling cycle of egocentric lust. I have come to believe that masturbating is a naive attempt at satisfying my own attachment to the sexual matrix that has been flourishing throughout the environment I live in.

 

On the other hand Dr. Curry also said that there are no scientifically proven negative effects of masturbation, so to each his (or her) own. Just remember; life is too short not to juice it for all it worth… and so is your penis.

 

In abstinence,

 

Celibacy Seb

The Bass Coast Project

INTRODUCTION:

I am a 19-year-old male who is attempting to abstain from all sexual relations for the next year. After surviving the first month (I'm not masturbating either) it is safe to say I am beginning to realize what I have gotten myself into. I have shared a few of my experiences, successes and difficulties with close friends who have all come up with their own nick names and jokes as a response to my new-found initiative. However, one of my friends, Alex, has recently inspired me not only to document this new chapter in my life but also to blog about it so that he and others could share in this journey... and of coarse get a little kick out of it. So, without further ado I will dive into my relatively new world of Celibacy.

THE BASS COAST PROJECT:

For the last few weeks I have been living in Squamish, BC raising money for trips to France and Uganda that I plan on making before the end of 2009. Well, that's not exactly true. As much as I enjoy spending time with nature and painting an old friend's house, I really just needed to escape the temptations of Vancouver. I mean, now that I am attempting not to partake in any sexual activities for the next year, I felt as if I needed some time away to prepare myself for what is now becoming an extremely challenging shift in my life, and I had been doing very well. That was, until I got a phone call from one of my best friends Lucas. The call sounded something like this:

 

"Hey Buddy, how's your penis doing?" Lucas asked in his jokingly sarcastic voice.

 

(Both laugh)

 

"Not too bad, he's starting to get used to only peeing," I responded slyly.

 

"Aww, that's too bad," he shot back.

 

"Why is that?" I asked.

 

"Well, you remember what's coming up this weekend don't ya?" he chuckled.

 

I knew damn well what was coming up that weekend, The Bass Coast Project. A three-day cesspool of an outdoor music festival that would be featuring; alcohol, bare-chested women and of coarse very poor judgment. Oh, and it happened to be taking place less then 15 minutes from where I had been living and trying to avoid temptation for the previous two weeks.

 

"No," I said dryly.

 

"Come on, what's gotten in you?" he said in a disgruntled voice.

 

"I don't know, I've got no money man."

 

"Well, you know I'll spot you if that's actually the problem," he said confidently.

 

"Hmm... let me see what I can do" I said, knowing full well I would not.

 

"Ok man... well you’re going to be missing out on an epic event that will be remembered for decades to come," he laughed back.

 

"Alright, maybe I'll see you there," I said with a confused undertone.

 

"For your sake, I hope so," he said as we both hung up.

 

I spent the next few hours answering emails and doing my best to catch up on some reading I had fallen behind on. But, for some reason I couldn't shake Lucas's last words, "For you’re sake, I hope so". Was he right? Was I in some sort of trouble? Would my testicles explode if I were to continue suppressing and totally disregarding my natural human instincts? As I pondered these things the friend that I had been staying with and his girl friend returned from a road trip into Squamish town to pick up some groceries. Before I continue I would like to state that if it were not for my friend Aaron's girl friend, Phoenix, I probably wouldn't have actually stuck to this whole celibacy thing. She was the person who gave me the final bits of inspiration I needed to take on this immeasurably large challenge. In a nutshell, she explained how powerful semen is and then we further discussed how crazy it was that most young men were constantly giving away this source of power without even thinking about it. 

 

When they returned I immediately started questioning Phoenix about whether or not I should attend this event while Aaron would periodically shoot demoralizing statements my way like, "Man, shut up about celibacy" and "You should go have sex." Phoenix had been invited to The Bass Coast event to DJ on the last day of the festival but she wasn't going to be able to make it because she had already planed a trip out of the country. She told me that I couldn't avoid temptation forever and that I would have an unbelievable time if I went. She also added that it would be a good test. That night, before I went to sleep, as I stretched out in my bed I thought about this 'Bass Coast Project." What could be so bad about attending such an event? Phoenix was probably right, I couldn't avoid temptation forever and even if I didn't go to this event I was bound to end up in some sexually enticing environment at some point. As my eyes closed and my mind drifted into my mixture of past experiences and present desires I thought to myself "Bass Coast Project here I come".

 

Saturday morning I woke up around 10am and starting preparing myself for the adventures that were to ensue over the following day. I had decided that I didn't want to go to the event for the whole weekend for fear that my entire system might go into shock and start randomly ejaculating at inopportune moments. No, I would only go for one night and slowly ease myself back into the world of beautiful women dancing to good music. I spent the entire afternoon making sure I was caught up on all my work and that the house was clean. Around three o'clock I got dropped off near the festival and was picked up by a friend who was also picking up his girl friend and a few other stragglers who had bused from Vancouver. We made our way to the entrance and paid the mandatory fee to get in.

 

As we entered this magical paradise valley located at the base of several seemingly untouched mountain peaks I began to reevaluate my decision to attend such an event. It seemed no matter which way I looked there were beautiful bare-chested (and some times bare in other places too) women who seemed to be smiling back at me and dancing to what were presumably, rhythms perfectly designed to make their bodies shake, shiver and shimmy. I watched for an undefined amount of time as we drove past each new group of free spirits and soul searchers. Was I in the belly of the beast or the Garden of Eden? It was difficult to say.

 

As we drove on I began to realize that the sight of these female bodies elegantly moving to each new melody was not arousing me. For this first time I was free of the sexual tension that had plagued me throughout my teenage and even my preteen years. I felt free. I started to recognize that most of these women were not baring their skin to attract a late-night lover, they were simply freeing themselves of the clothes that society had labeled to market their beauty. And for this first time, I greeted their actions not with desire but with understanding and gratitude. They were no longer the prey and as such I was no longer the predator. I was free.

 

The night continued and I met many other souls who I began to openly express my new objective with. Many of the people who I told (that I was celibate) would react by laughing and mocking my decision asking questions like "How old are you?" and "Are you kidding?". I would answer each question that was asked with complete honesty and I found that somehow by the end of each conversation I had not only won another internal battle but that everybody I talked to would actually praise me for repenting from my sexual desires before our dialogue had ended.

 

By the time the event had ended on Sunday I felt as if I had reinforced my goal to remain celibate for the next year and I also felt as if I was a new man. Turns out The Bass Coast Project was more then 'a three-day cesspool of an outdoor music festival... featuring; alcohol, bare-chested women and of coarse very poor judgment'. In fact, I would say that there was barely any lack in judgment. All and all, I survived my first major test along this long hard journey that is celibacy. On second thoughts, it doesn't have to be 'long' or 'hard' and that's what makes it so fun.

In abstinence,

Celibacy Seb