Travelling with Framesby choir to accompany some of the most incredible orchestras and musicians all over Europe was a once in a lifetime experience.
I realised afterwards how much I missed by not being there in that moment. Performing at the most majestic places and cathedrals was heaven.
Singing “Nabucco”, Guiseppe Verdi’s, Hebrew slave chorus at the Italian Embassy in Rome one evening was a gooseflesh experience which nobody could verbalise in that moment nor many years later. The setting, the Italian exuberance, the admiration and camaraderie overwhelmed us all emotionally. Even Mr. Kritzinger seemed close to tears of joy. This magic made us a family of like-minded musical souls, touched to the core of our being.
Traveling across Europe while singing exuberantly with the teachers and Mr. Kritzinger was unforgettable. We wanted it to continue forever and a day. The world around us celebrated. We had just achieved something unthinkably incredible, yet I sensed something inside me was already coming apart. Back in South Africa we returned triumphantly after winning the First Prize at the Silver Tulip Time International Music Festival in Katwijk aan Zee. We were over the moon and spoke incessantly about our experience.
It was probably the most esteemed global musical competition at the time, lasting close to two weeks to allow sufficient time for all the national champions to perform. When it was our turn to sing in an eerily silent hall, the tension was mind-blowing. We performed like never before and the audience roared their admiration in a standing ovation beyond imagination. An encore none of us ever experienced again except perhaps Junita Lamprecht. Being the world champion launched the choir into a golden era and a few years later Junita Lamprecht delivered a special performance to Pope John Paul II in Vatican City.
My last summer as a schoolboy, newly matriculated, was complicated, as I felt despair and faced the summer holidays alone. After my confrontation with Eduard and his parents, I felt guilty and did a lot of soul searching as this would never have happened had I not given cause to it. My anger disappeared. I won nothing. I simply lost him. The stunned silence remained, so I sought consolation in the library and bought some more LPs to soothe the pain.
Not even Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concert no 1 that Louis introduced me to, could remove the pain. Emotionally fragile, I needed powerful uplifting music. Carl Orff’s brilliant “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana suited my psyche better, being about life’s ups and downs. It is about embracing fate while finding solace in the beauty of our resilient human spirit, finding strength to deal with emotional turmoil and remembering that no matter what adversity awaits, there is always hope for the future. Music is a marvellous healer, keeping the shadows at bay during turbulent reflection.
Retreating in silence, I needed a mentor and soulmate who would truly understand. Patience is not one of my virtues, unfortunately, so I headed to Johannesburg to see for myself if it was as decadent as I was told it was. I loved it and found a second home where I learned a hell of a lot in a month before my first semester started. It was the best thing I could possibly have done, and all the amazing gay anthems emboldened me more than either Mozart or Tchaikovsky then. Their simple lyrics resonated with me, and I adored the extremely unapologetic messages. “I am what I am” and “It’s Raining Men” resonated as much through the essence of my being as my Thumper’s single-cylinder vibration at 2500 rpm.
After this divine emotional intoxication, facing first year at university without Eduard was not as difficult. Upon reflection, I realised I needed this anger to drive me as a gay activist from the moment I turned eighteen. This inspired me to never surrender no matter the odds of victory. I never lost my motivation to do my tiny bit to improve the world for millions of gay people everywhere, nor will I ever. Everything alters the outcomes we perceive and experience.
Eduard and I were unable to express ourselves verbally. This emotional handicap caused serious harm. The insensitivity of Eduard’s parents was a sin. No wonder I love “It’s a Sin” by the Pet Shop Boys, released in 1987. Our fluid sexuality took us in different directions and our paths diverted, but “It was raining men,” as sung by the Weather Girls in 1982 that echoed the mood of an era of forbidden love. I saw Eduard regularly by coincidence on campus or in the motorcycle section of the parking lot. Our tension eased slightly, and we attempted uncomfortable conversations. Too much remained unspoken and swept under the rug though. Visiting him even though invited was no longer an option as that wound was too deep. No matter how much I took advantage of my virginal sexual liberation with abandon, no apologies nor explanations, the pain remained. I am what I am. The Weather Girls ruled though with, “It’s Raining Men”.
No boundaries captured me anymore and I roamed and explored my new playing field. I needed this uninhibited stage and required no forgiveness from anybody. Tolerating emotional imprisonment was no longer an option. The clubs were great and being surrounded by gay guys who were no longer the aliens we all once were, was exhilarating. Indulging in total abandon, I connected emotionally, intellectually and sexually with openminded, uninhibited gay guys.
I had so much fun before university started in Johannesburg’s liberated, large, less intimidated gay society. Starting university as a not-so-humble first-year student by challenging every self-righteous tunnel-visioned idiot on my radar was perfect. My uncontrolled anger I felt towards the school bullies returned with a neatly packaged iciness ready to be fired at will. This fearless, free feeling, felt fantastic, and I escaped all chains.
On my first day at university, I rocked up to class wearing my explicit T-shirt that read, “Sex Instructor First Lesson Free.” I instantly attracted attention and became friends with the cutest guy in the class who looked like Rob Lowe’s twin. Shawn Mosterdt asked, “Hey bud, I love your T-shirt, where did you get it?” “At J Bay on the beachfront there is this funky little shop with sexy and funny T-shirts. Come along Shawn, as I love J Bay and its surfers from all over the world,” I replied. I thought to myself, how the hell will I get there before eating him first!
Shawn loved my cheeky attitude and had an almost identical Ford panel van to mine. Just more dented if that was possible. Shawn was a far better surfer than I could ever be. He saw right through me and played along a bit just to drive me nuts. Shawn even asked for the odd body part to be massaged to relieve pain, like an arm, back or thigh, which I willingly did without submitting to my desire! We got on brilliantly, creating an amicable little alliance between the lifesavers, surfers and the two of us. We hailed from opposite tribes. They nicknamed us paraplegic surfers because we used paddle skis. We let it go as rather funny because we could outrun or outswim any of them any day. Arrogant little pipsqueaks. Cute mostly, admittedly. Not that the lifesavers were less cute! Shawn was just unfairly gorgeous with his rock-hard, smooth dolphin-esque physique.
Mervyn and I shared fewer secrets, and he unwillingly became a mentor. Not one for self-pity and dark moods, he offered me work at his terribly kitsch club, Dance-O-Rama as a barman on weekends. His advice was, “Move on Doll, there are plenty of fish in the sea and you’re a dish!” Sage, sweet advice for a serial fun seeker, but maybe harder to identify with, if you dwell on loss, especially with the first sexually fluid boy to step into your life when you were both only sixteen. Admittedly, I felt great gyrating under the mirror ball on the dance floor. I loved “Abra Cadabra” which is the pop version of passion. It uses simple lyrics like “I want to reach and grab you” and “I heat up and can’t cool down.”
Fortunately, the heat was reciprocal with a gorgeous ginger, Neil Potgieter, who had beautiful red-blonde hair and adored this song as much as I did. Being an exhibitionist, little was left to the imagination, with his tight bulging white trousers that glowed in the lighting. Intimacy was not the problem but where to go… Creativity at this age, we all have in abundance and problem- solving is genetically programmed. Intimacy without explanation was ecstatic, but conversation at this age is probably universally limited. Even in Klingon. Maybe boys only learn to talk after 21! My verbotius teenage older sisters never seemed to experience this handicap so never stopped being verbose on a startling range of topics involving boys. Dealing once more with witty older gay men was liberating and vindicating. Suppressed anger tried to break out, but I neatly shoved it into a marked drawer, LATER.
The party continues and nobody should ever have to explain who they are. At the time I did not realise it, but it fired me up to share this lifechanging belief with thousands of people over decades in the Gay Pages. Knowing myself now better than I did at nineteen, I have never lost my passion for expression and will never back down. Our authentic selves cannot be forced underground.
I could hear “O Fortuna” in the thundering waves that I had to navigate through on many days a week, on my yellow three-meter paddle ski, known as a rescue craft. Being in the waves daily this was not just figurative description. If the sea was particularly rough, I would swallow seawater fighting my way through the turbulent ocean.
I moved out of university residence that reminded me too much of school. Finding decent accommodation was difficult, but I found a servant’s quarter close to the University of Port Elizabeth. Quite awful really but I was free from constraints and could now live as an adult finally. Fortunately, by sheer coincidence I met a lecturer Dr Stuart Gatley with an incredible pool cottage two meters from the warm sun drenched pool where I could train daily even in winter. At our first meeting Dr Gatley came floating down the stairs fit for “royalty” in a colourful kaftan. My mouth hung open. He clicked his fingers. “Snap out of it! I’m fabulous. Get used to it. I’ll only tolerate you if you don’t act like somebody from the wrong side of the track. Try to sound intelligent… hard as that may be.” Dr. Gatley’s rules were simple. “I don’t like students and I must be mad choosing to be a lecturer and dealing with idiots every day, like colleagues and students!” “I was taken aback and, unusually passive, said, ‘I’ll be quiet.” “You’ll have to be more than quiet as I like to entertain and then you must vanish!” Just now some gossip thinks I’m into twinks, twunks or toy boys!” Skeletal twinks don’t work for me. I like big hairy muscular guys who are a lot older than you, so you need to know from word go I’m not interested in you. You’re as hairless as a girl! Having worked at Film Fun and with Mervyn a little too long, I started to fume, and a repartee was irresistible… “What a relief as I’m not into camp old queens and I’m proud of not being a gorilla intellectually nor physically!” Stuart glared at me and said, “I’m not old and I’m not just camp, I’m fabulously camp, And I’m not a bitch, I’m THE BITCH, in fact MISS BITCH to you, darling.” I looked at him and burst out laughing and he started laughing when I said, “maybe you’ll end up finding me less nora and quite a bitch that can give as good as it gets”.
“Just slavishly follow my commands then I won’t spank you!” Stuart dictated.
“Now shoo and don’t ask me to help you move because I don’t like exercise!”
I smiled on my way back to fetch my minuscule number of belongings. Being a gypsy, they would easily fit into my ancient little Ford surfer panel van, badly painted in silver, red and black like the big panel van used in the television series many years ago, ‘The A-Team.’ Heading to Humewood and my sunny new cottage I knew the A-Team won and a lot of celebration awaited.
This is a brief excerpt from Rubin van Niekerk’s upcoming Memoir/Autobiography, titled Mentors, Family and Friends Matter, chronicling the people, places and experiences that shaped his life from early childhood to later adulthood. We all relate to this universal experience.
New chapters will be published regularly in the Magazine section of the landing page of Gay Pages website, alongside our favourite archived articles, as the journey unfolds. Chapter 10, “Freedom! You Have Not Seen Anything Yet” follows.
