A World Cup Letdown: From Golden Boys to the Ugly Game

A Listed Building's Walls

My office sits in a Grade II listed building with uniquely fascinating décor: wallpaper made from a collage of newspaper front pages marking world events.

The Kennedy assassination, the birth of the first test-tube baby, the moon landing, the Beatles arriving in America, the birth of Prince George, the murder of John Lennon, the death of Elvis Presley, Usain Bolt breaking the 100m world record at the 2012 Olympics, and now, crucially, England winning the World Cup.

The Sunday Mirror, 31st July 1966. The morning after the only World Cup that ever truly mattered to me, and I was barely old enough to know it.

It is the little things, the unfairness and the distrust, that have exacerbated my disinterest in global events. The minor infraction of the Formula 1 rules by a race steward, the one that robbed Lewis Hamilton of an eighth world championship, means I have never watched another race since.

Three Flags, One Cup

I was just a few months old when England lifted the trophy against West Germany in 1966, the Sunday Mirror crowing "Golden Boys!" the morning after. To have seen them win it in my lifetime, even if I cannot remember a moment of it, is perhaps why I am no longer troubled by whether they excel or falter in this edition.

My allegiances have wandered as my life has. I have supported England, where I was born; Nigeria, my country of heritage; and the Netherlands, where I lived for twelve years. Each has handed me its own disappointment.

I watched Nigeria play Bulgaria at the Parc des Princes during the 1998 World Cup, and I donned the orange of the Netherlands for the 2010 final, hosted in South Africa, though I watched it on holiday in Spain. Walking back to my hotel in Dutch colours after Spain's victory remains one of the worst sporting indignities I have endured.

Festivals Losing Their Shine

We used to gather in May for Eurovision, but the controversy around Israel's participation, which led to a boycott by five countries, meant I felt it was no longer a contest. Though it produced a new winning country, I refused to watch anything, including the highlights. In 2026, we had Euroblindness, and I do not know what might make it exciting again.

Yesterday, the FIFA World Cup began in Mexico, hosted this time by three countries, including Canada and the United States. The United States is at a war of its own choosing with Iran, a participating nation. Iran has moved its base to Mexico. A FIFA referee from Somalia was denied entry to the US, and FIFA simply shrugged.

Politics Invades the Pitch

The US Immigration and Customs Enforcement is threatening to raid World Cup venues to apprehend and arrest supposed illegal immigrants. President Donald Trump is quite cosy with Gianni Infantino, the FIFA President, who conferred a FIFA World Peace Prize on Donald Trump in a farcical imitation of the Nobel Peace Prize.

With players and officials alike suffering indignities at the behest of the policies prevailing in the US, it is no wonder that interest in this World Cup is not showing up in record hotel bookings. The somewhat exorbitant match tickets will now have to depend on local fans to fill the stadiums, as the prices fall to more reasonable levels.

No Enthusiasm Here

No, I have garnered no enthusiasm for this fiesta at all, apart from snippets that fall into sight from partly obscured social media statuses, informing us why South Africa lost their match against Mexico. This was a reference to the largest number of red cards ever issued in a World Cup match, which left South Africa down to nine men by the end.

Yes, there was one video of Burna Boy being lauded by his mother after his performance at the opening of the tournament, yet I have not turned on my television to watch any clips or updates. I am neither playing nor engaged, and I hope the month slithers away into insignificance whilst we find other joys of living beyond this enterprise of chicanery that pretends to unite the world in the pursuit of a leather ball.

What Is the Point?

Heck, there are 48 teams playing, and yet Nigeria, Italy, India, and China cannot find a minimum of 23 men to fly the flag. What is the point? The way things are going, all countries might as well be invited to a three-month World Cup to cure the world of boredom, and we might enjoy one long holiday from its troubles.

No one could ever have thought that the US, being the main host of a FIFA World Cup, would portend less eagerness than the ones in Qatar or Russia before. But if this ends up being the least entertaining ever, the record alone would leave a big smile on our faces. I can assure you, it would be just deserts.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Mastering the interest in interesting

Interestingly Misunderstood

I have always been fascinated by how the English are viewed by others. There are websites and social media pages devoted to the fact that we are frequently misunderstood: what we have said may not necessarily represent the truth of what we mean.

One such word comes to mind: “interesting”. It does not essentially mean I am interested; it could readily mean I am bored and disengaged.

Then, on the matter of interest, I have had people who have shown interest in me, but their interest in me does not automatically become mutual. Whilst I am entertaining your interest, I would rather you were also engaging and developing my interest in you too.

Interestingly Selfish

What irks me most about these kinds of interactions is that they ask all the questions and volunteer nothing about themselves. I notice this quite easily and urge them to engage in a form of information exchange, hoping that self-awareness would prompt and convict them of selfishness, so they relent without further persuasion.

My patience, however, begins to wear thin, because dialogue is always better than being the cynosure. At least I hope I am not so vain as to need the klieg lights focused on my façade and bearing.

Interestingly Boring

In one such encounter where their interest was overbearing, but after all the exchanges I had learnt nothing about them, I combined the polite with the direct and asked, “What really makes you interesting?” Their answer was, “I like you.”

That kind of flattery might work for most, but if my question were to be properly interpreted and translated to the understanding of the person who was very much an Englishman as I, what I meant was, “You are boring me; please make an attempt to make this conversation worthwhile before I make my excuses.”

Fortunately for me, they failed to grasp the import of my veiled impertinence. When I made my excuses, I also intimated that I had better things to do with my time. In resignation, they said, “Okay!” as I rescued myself from an untenably excruciating and forgettable encounter.

Interesting, you might say, but I was so uninterested I was driven to the arms of disinterest, and it could not have happened to a nicer interlocutor, as they find someone else to bore to death.

An old blog hits 10 million page views

A blog adrift

When I reflect on this blog, it is maintained at my leisure, not to pursue any agenda or shift opinions. I work in the information technology industry, I am probably too old to be considered a geek, I could be curious, sometimes observant, and it is quite likely that I see things differently from others.

Many topics I write about are the concern of activists, yet I am not one. I like to see fairness, justice, communication, and understanding among people. I am not thoroughly lettered, but I have learnt through life the importance of being able to express oneself quite clearly in any language used, to avoid misunderstanding.

I have had no formal training in journalism or the creative arts; it has never been my intention to turn this into a professional pursuit, but almost 22 years of this blog is no mean feat. I do not criticise myself for not being as prolific as I would like to be, I write as I am inspired, urged, or persuaded.

A blog immigrant

I had been blogging for about 7 years when the local hosting service I used decided they were bored with it. I guess the trend was shifting from the written word to podcasting. I do not blame them, but I was left in a quandary, with the prospect of migrating about 1,500 blogs along with all the engagement elsewhere, without migration tools.

I lost the comments, interaction, many graphics, and links in the process, along with the statistics that exceeded 10,000,000 page views a month. By 2011, I was simultaneously publishing blogs at the now-defunct location of akin.blog-city.com and on Google Blogger with the domain name of akinblog.nl; that old hosting location closed on the 1st of January 2012. [WayBack Machine: Akin (Old blog)]

A blogger's thanks

Here, I have ploughed my furrow in near obscurity without seeking fame or creating any sensation for the purpose of popularity or going viral; all that does not really matter, but I am glad for the readership and engagement that have followed my blog since December 2003.

Early yesterday, my blog reached the milestone of 10 million page views since it moved to Google Blogger. Someone somewhere considers my viewpoints interesting, and that is quite gratifying. I do not take the following or readership lightly; it is your interest and engagement that made this happen. Thank you very much.

The world that comes to us

Saying a little prayer

It was one of the strangest requests I had encountered that left me rather unsure of how to respond. He walked in off the street like everyone else who I had greeted that afternoon, now over 200 of them in just over 2 hours, strangers all, interest common.

Before I could greet him, excited as he was, he asked if I could pray for him, I had a sash on and an identity badge, but I had to protest, I am not a member of the clergy. I was at a confluence of belief systems that have shaped my spirituality in interesting ways. I would expect in the Church of England, you might pray with the spectacle of magisterial homiletics, whereas depending on what spectrum of the Evangelical persuasion you are, let’s not even begin to speculate.

He asked me to light him a candle as he was a bit scared of fire and still insisted I pray. So I did with the almost confusion of the laity doing what they were not trained to do and the mumbling of understanding his distress, a few strong words to remedy the situation that bothered him, for which I believe he was full of faith that coming to the church to ask to be prayed for will help. He left, just as he came in.

The world comes to our cathedral

It was the end of my first shift as a welcoming guide to the Cathedral and what an experience it was for me, that I learnt a lot more than I seemed to offer in terms of the basic information about our cathedral. If I do decide to do this regularly, there is a big consideration to have, the strain on my back as I steady myself with my walking cane, in that 3-hour stint, there were times I did have to sit down because the pain was getting uncomfortable and unbearable.

Visitors came from near and far, alone or in numbers, as family, with friends, in groups with purpose or just on a detour, with lots of time and sometimes barely enough to gather the spectacle of architecture before going on their way. When I asked, the nationalities and the small talk made a connection in my wayfaring archive of what a friend calls my library of seemingly useless information that just becomes pertinent for that engagement.

Probably more than a quarter of the guests were someone living in Manchester bringing someone visiting for the first time. I do not think I encountered anyone from Central or South America, but all other regions presented a representative from many places I had been to and could I remember something quite significant in the exchange.

Learning to learn more

For me, there were two things that stood out, visitors who said they were visiting from Kurdistan and if there was any justice in this world, the people should be a country, but I did ask which of the many Kurdistans as I thought they were at least in three countries and I was informed it was 4 countries, I soon realised from my knowledge of geography that was indeed true.

Another couple came in with beautifully trained and behaved dogs and their visit to our cathedral for which they wanted a more substantial guidebook than the simple folder pamphlet on offer that needed updating, they eventually found someone to help. It was in a later conversation that I learnt that there were 42 cathedrals in England, visiting ours was their 39^th, they had two more to visit in Yorkshire and the last was undergoing extensive renovations, so they will have to wait to visit.

To be more effective, I need to develop beyond the platitude of welcoming to becoming an informed tour guide. There is so much to know about our cathedral, its history, the architecture, the windows, the majestic pipe organ, its function, the furnishings, the chapels, the memorials, the statues, the many influences from when there was a building in the same place from the 13^th Century and the 600^th anniversary of its establishment as a collegiate church.

There is a lot more to think about of my experience today, however, what is most important is, I enjoyed welcoming people to our cathedral.

My city living as it happens as nothing happens

Me, myself, and I here

Sometimes, I wonder what separates me from Miss Havisham apart from the promise of a wedding that still endures to be fulfilled in due time and having not stopped any of the clocks in my apartment. Much as I would not leave anything to decay in here, my window blinds are rarely pulled up to let in natural light, there has been a fire, but not here, I quite well can exist in the isolated calm of a hermit, not interacting with the outside world for as long as I want.

None of that should read as being an antisocial being, I love the company of people to converse with, probably enjoy dinner or going out, indeed, I do chat to strangers, yet I am anything but an extrovert, I do not have the mental energy for crowds or big parties, I would soon be sat in a corner alone than be found chatting away network and glad-handing.

Ashes and debris

This morning, as I stepped out for my walking exercise, I saw some debris outside one of the blocks in our village, it is a good three blocks away with a cul-de-sac separating us, but we share the same vast subterranean carpark and the communal gym accessed with registered secure processes. It all looked charred as if consumed with fire and I wondered why anyone would set their rubbish on fire outside the block.

Later, some workmen had arrived to shovel away the debris and I was tempted to ask questions, I did not. It wasn’t till later as I stepped out for some shopping that I met my neighbour in the foyer, and she asked if I knew about the fire in that block. Fire? Yes, there was a fire, a huge one at that with flames shooting out of the roof of the block on the top floor of a 6-storey apartment block, with the main roads in the area cordoned off.

Stranger lights in the nights

It so happens, I never stepped out yesterday, at least not from the afternoon of two days before, there was commotion, and 5 fire engines I was told, and no one even reported the incident on our village Facebook page. This was the same block in which just about a year ago, a human and sex trafficking ring was busted. I cannot find any information about the fire in our city newspaper, like it has been hushed up.

Then I was told there was another fire across the street a few weeks ago that I should have been able to observe from the windows of my side of the apartment complex. There was? I did not ask when exactly, as it might have coincided with when I was away, but I knew nothing of it. It would suggest I am probably not the best candidate for curtain twitching or the Neighbourhood Watch. Much as some might attest to be powers of observation, I have not applied them with any distinction to my immediate environment.

As it happens as nothing happens

Once again, I have been lulled into the apparently deceptive uneventfulness of genteel city living where nothing of note happens and that gives cover to many things you would never imagine happening around here. For a serial sex offender lived nearby, as was the sex trafficking ring, and the Manchester bomber of May 2017 was on the outer side of our village apartment block complex.

Blog - City living in the deception of the genteel

Do I need to get on a nosey parker introductory course or is my penchant for presumably minding my own business in a very English way getting in the way of basic curiosity and awareness? That is something to think about. I might need to start with pulling up my Venetian blinds and I doubt I am ready for that radical change in living arrangements.

The patience medication might not work

A walk of patience

Getting somewhere takes time and deciding to walk there when there are other means to travel faster or possibly safely is a test of patience, I determined to teach myself with the hope it might be beneficial.

Then, I consider the fact that I could be quite impatient, my capacity for endurance gets tested in many ways for which I should muster a lot to contain reactions I would rather not express. In the things that I have been fully persuaded of people or things, I can find a lot more to give whilst expecting little or nothing in return. My heart is in it.

Doing what I won’t

Yet, there are things that I would rather not do, things that have brought remonstration and reticence usually well-expressed but poorly received. My interest is forced, my engagement is coerced, and my patience is too easily exhausted. I rarely wait around to exercised, for my sanity, those chapters find closure long before they are fully written for others, but beyond completed for me.

With one who shares filial piety, that has been my regret. For to be who they could be seems to elude their availability. Too many have called me into situations I would rather not find involvement and when I did, I was quite disappointed. My anger I have contained, the harshest words have been in the phraseology of business-like formality, no excoriation or condemnation, just displeasure with a withdrawal somewhat recondite.

No seconds on minutes

Time is another factor for which my patience is quickly worn, whilst I do not watch my watch with addictive distraction, the use of time and the purposeful adherence to it being kept or where it might slip, communication exists, cannot be overstated. I then must understand that many are not conditioned to timeliness to the extent that one is punctilious.

When I think about it, I might have to admit that I am an in-patient taking treatment in a patient ward. The cure for elements of chronic impatience is being administered in ways no one is sure will produce the expected result. It is in progress, a work of hope and yearning.

City living in the deception of the genteel

Things I should have noticed

A few weeks ago, I missed a Zoom conference that was convened by the local police to chat to occupants of my village complex, I did not at that time consider the importance of it. Then, I could not help but notice the big red notices about Modern Slavery, one in English and the other in Chinese, I just thought it was a general notice.

Then on our village Facebook page, there was a picture of police vans as if they were there to conduct a raid, but there was no update to what it might be. I and maybe a lot of residents of my village complex might have been lured into a sense of genteel out of exclusivity of this neighbourhood to think it is devoid of the vagaries of reprehensible conduct.

Respectable is good cover

Then I am reminded of the fact that just beside our village, something I learnt a few days ago was where the Manchester bomber of May 2017 lived and built his bomb, a few hundred yards away was the home of the serial homosexual sex abuser that could have abused 200 victims, within my village complex in another apartment block was a sex and human trafficking ring exploiting early teenaged girls, one of whom had escaped, and which led to the police raid.

It all begins to make sense, how we need to be observant and sometimes suspicious, quick to notice the strange and make further inquiries of the unusual. Everyone minding their own business to the point of snootiness and snobbery might well leave the innocent open to incomprehensible exploitation.

Curiosity is necessary

You wonder how neighbouring apartments to the sex-ring apartment could not have noticed the comings and goings, the strange faces, and much else. How is it that as we move into the city, we lose that sense of neighbourliness and the neighbourhood, the knowing and conversing with neighbours, not so much to intrude but to create community and some safety in looking out for each other?

It has made us aware that exclusivity and quite sometimes provides a veneer for respectability under which nefarious, notorious, or criminal activity might thrive with everyone none the wiser that like me, we were quite surprised that anything like that could be happening here. The fact is a lot is happening and because we are not curious or just indifferent, heinous crimes take root and thrive. If anything, always strive to know your neighbours and keep an eye out for each other.

Normalising HIV Challenge against stigma

A challenge worth entering

One thing I have learnt about Social Media as I am just an amateur is that you never know what you post that might catch fire and go viral.

Just over two days ago, I joined the Normalising HIV Challenge with the hashtag #NormalizingHIVChallenge, the American spelling notwithstanding. What it involved was a short profile of oneself, one’s HIV status and what one is doing about it. Then, you can add a tagline.

This was all in aid of banishing HIV stigma, for there are many who are HIV-positive and living normal productive happy lives, going about regular and exciting activities the pills helping a long way.

#NormalizingHIVChallenge

Name: Akin
Age: 54
Home: England
Occupation: IT Consultant
Relationship status: Engaged
HIV status: Positive 2002, AIDS 2009
ARVs: Yes (Since September 2009) and undetectable

I'm not dirty and clean is when you've had a shower.

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ 🏳️‍🌈 #European (@forakin) September 28, 2020

I posted my tweet with the tagline, “I'm not dirty and clean is when you've had a shower.” This comes from what I have seen on certain profiles or in conversation where you are asked if you are clean. By implication, anyone who is HIV-positive is not clean or consequently dirty.

Courtesy of The Stigma Project

Blog - Dealing with sexuality and HIV stigma

Blog - Experience is not enough to teach you to understand things

Clean after a shower

This is after well-published and peer-reviewed studies that show HIV-positive people on antiretroviral drugs and by consequence with undetectable viral loads cannot pass the virus on to sexual partners. We can live healthy and passionate sex lives under the right medical supervision.

It does not mean we should be reckless with our sexual health, regular check-ups are necessary and it is unlikely that anyone who is HIV-positive is not completely clued in about this. Yet, ignorance persists in communities that should know better and the wider public who are usually deluded into thinking they are safe without any awareness of their real status.

Owning my experience

Literally, all the responses to my tweet have been supportive apart from one where the person in his cynicism thought I was being paid to demonstrate a false status in my search for clout and to trend. It was a shame that after he apologised, he deleted his tweets and then blocked me, out of embarrassment or shame or the inability to face up to his calumny, I would not know.

However, this much I know, a long time ago, I decided to own my situation, understand my condition and share my experience, if, in any little way, it might help others.

I know there are aspects of life I went through that others might well relate to and seek prompt medical attention rather than delay it. As I alluded to in the blog below.

Blog - When I had the murderous cancer of denial

Even this is normal

For the commendations of bravery or daring, I am thinking of neither, rather it is a simple case of acceptance, I am already a miracle of medical prowess that has come of the body of knowledge acquired through the medical interventions in other lives affected by HIV and related medical conditions. Forthrightly, I have to live with what I have, if I can't, what is the point of living and where is the joy of living?

We will continue to challenge HIV stigma, not so much to normalise being HIV-positive, but to aver that regardless of your HIV status it should not define you and you can live normal and amazingly productive lives. That is the goal of #NormalizingHIVChallenge from my perspective.

Experience is not enough to teach you to understand things

Ignorance is a comfortable shelter

Experience is no guarantee of a quest for knowledge, or enlightened understanding of a situation. Nowhere is this more obvious than what I have seen of the broader gay community’s understanding of the core science and social issues pertaining to HIV/AIDS. [POZ]

Despite the public information and community activities promoted by many LGBTQ+ organisations to people, in places, and at events, the appalling ignorance of people to these issues is frightening.

Now, I do not intend to use this blog as an education aid, there is enough for people to search for and update themselves if so interested. However, I was reminded of a conversation I had years ago when someone aware of my situation treated me with disdain, disgust, and revulsion.

Quite inscrutable to understanding

It did not bother me; I have been a recipient of too many negative attitudes to be concerned about the chance encounters. What surprised me was when this same person years after the first brush informed me his parents have been HIV+ for over 20 years.

I held myself back from saying, how can you have this disease embedded in your family and then treat others badly? I could not understand how he until recently had not acquired knowledge or insight to interact with others with a sense of humanity. The absence of curiosity that belied the original conversation was baffling in the light of the shared experience.

It might well be that seeing his parents who he says are thriving today, on their antiretroviral (ARV) medications and in rude health, there were times in the past when they were poorly and ill, that witnessing those times had mentally scarred him. I did not probe any further, I was just weakened by the thought that experience is no impetus for understanding the ‘how is’ or ‘why is’ of anything.

Mind your language

There needs to be something else, an ingredient of curiosity and determination to learn and appreciate things. There are some many things to understand, the vagaries of prevention (PrEP), exposure (PEP), testing, viral load, CD4 counts, and social campaigns on U=U.

Fundamentally, there is also the matter of language and stigma, people with HIV are not dirty and conversely, not knowing your status if you are sexually active does not make you clean. Whatever your preferences, the greatest thing you can do for human dignity is to treat everyone with consideration, courtesy, and respect. Education is a good thing, with your learning, seek to understand the seemingly difficult and taboo things. [Counselling Today]

Blog - Dealing with sexuality and HIV stigma

Courtesy of the Stigma Project.

Thought Picnic: Reflections of how an old friendship used to be

In the passage

A few weeks ago, I was invited to participate in a group exercise of self-awareness and the development of understanding purpose. This was something I would normally not be persuaded to do, but it was interesting enough to get stuck in.

Some of the exercises brought perspectives and enlightenment to areas of relationships I have cultivated, those that have turned sour and the rest that have lapsed out of the passage of time, the passage of souls, the passage of proximity, or the passage of situation.

The seeds of travel

In reflecting on one aspect, I have someone who would have been one of my oldest friends, we met in a pub, near Bayswater, in November 1991. Something about him in the look, in the appearance, and in the conversation just made him quite attractive. The encounter led to a night back at my place.

Over the years, a friendship that did not result in a relationship developed, he moved around in London and I moved out to Ipswich, his infectious curiosity helping me explore places I would never have been interested in. Then he returned home to Germany and eventually settled in Berlin. It was at his prompting that I first visited Berlin and then began to see the usefulness of travel. I caught a sense of adventure that became a European tour from London to Budapest return, including 10 cities.

Drink to the brink

That friendship soured about 7 years ago when twice in an inebriated state, things were said by him just unforgivable. I decided it was best to cease entertaining the idea of friendship as what is said under the influence is the expression of things that sobriety will constrain. Many attempts by friends to reconcile us, I have rebuffed.

Yet, I hold no grudge, it was just a case that the relationship had become unhealthy, at least for me, if not for him. It is probably not helped by the fact that I hardly drink, I am mostly sober, and I hope I have better control of my tongue, no matter the thoughts going on in my head.

For a better man

So, today, I was asked to reflect on how I might have been hurt in the past, this, of all the other issues I could have brought to the fore is the one that jumped out. This is where the power of thought and meditation begins to change perspectives.

For all the presumed failings of my old friend, there is a lot he has contributed to enrich my life, in exciting my curiosity for travel and exploration and in allowing his vulnerabilities at certain times to reveal some of my shortcomings when I think I am in a better place.

Our friendship has become a different kind of mirror, not so much of him, but now of how I need to make accommodations to acknowledge a broader good over a momentary lapse that could change the trajectory of a relationship when reviewed on the whole is more substantial than the immediate. It is a growth process and I am open to learning to be a better man.

Dealing with sexuality and HIV stigma

 Courtesy of The Stigma Project

In a perfect world

A few weeks ago, I saw this on a dating profile, “In a perfect world, the positive would be open and the negative would be open-minded.” The reference to positive and negative in that statement referred to HIV.

Unfortunately, there is very little knowledge of what HIV is and how it is different from AIDS. This ignorance then feeds into stigma and prejudice against people who happen to be HIV+ (HIV positive).

Yet, there is so much knowledge out there about HIV, AIDS and the treatments that give people opportunities for long productive normal lives, even if there are very few who show any interest in understanding this condition and how it is managed.

My work and my sexuality

In a conversation at work yesterday where many of my colleagues are well aware that I am gay and interact with me like any normal friendly person because I am not going to hit on people in lascivious abandon, just as people who are straight don’t lose their self-control and awareness just because they are attracted to other people, this inadvertently became a topic of conversation.

I had already shared the blog written by Funmi Iyanda about me with my closest colleagues, much of which was not news to them, the conversation is broad including what you might expect from both gay and straight relationships. For a long time in my working life, I have refused to pretend to enjoy homophobic jokes and giggle away with the punchline whilst concealing my sexuality, there is nothing to gain in accepting a situation where you are indirectly the object of abuse and you maintain your silence.

I do not go out of my way to inform people of my sexuality, I do not wear it on my sleeve, but if I am asked a direct question or enquiries are made of my domestic arrangements, I will truthfully tell people about who I am.

Knowledge and information

So, as we were chatting about the fluctuating weights of middle-aged men, I alluded to the fact that I lost a quarter of my weight when I had cancer. The next question was about what the cancer was and how it came about. The cancer was Kaposi’s Sarcoma and it was brought on by as then an untreated HIV infection.

This was divulged to two colleagues with whom I had never had this kind of conversation before, but we have a very good and friendly working relationship. In fact, I first was hesitant before I revealed this condition, the hesitancy borne of experiences with ignorant people who have balked, scooted, blackmailed or involved the law about my status, and I have been no threat to them.

What is even more surprising is when homosexuals and bisexuals who present a risk profile of sorts are completely oblivious of all the basic knowledge of HIV, AIDS, PrEP, ARVs, Viral load, Undetectable, CD4 counts and much else.

On stigma

As the conversation developed, I was taken aback by the interest of my colleagues in the detail of HIV, how it is managed, what life-expectancies are and the stigma that still accompanies being HIV+.

The sincerity and sanguinity they showed was a teaching moment for me that I returned this morning to thank them for their being open-minded and understanding.

On the matter of stigma, nowhere is it felt more than in the gay community when an encounter includes the anxious and atrocious question, “Are you clean?”, which by consequence suggests if you are HIV+, you’re dirty regardless of whether you are on treatment, have an undetectable viral load, are healthy and doing fine. Questions like this mean people do not discuss their status that freely.

The irony of this kind of conversation is the number of people who are in fact, HIV+, but have never tested, don’t know their status and assume there are HIV- and consequently, ‘CLEAN’. Apparently, 1-in-6 people in the UK do not know they are infected. Some of those people project that Clean/Dirty stigma. [Metro]

I say to them, “Clean is when you’ve had a shower and nothing else.” It should never be a euphemism for health status and thereby a vehicle for stigma.

Further Reading

Blog - A primer on cancer and chemotherapy (2009)

Searching For A Cure For HIV And AIDS [Avert]

The Stigma Project

FOR AKIN - …on bravery, honesty and thriving.