It’s six in the evening, and police Constables Brent Browning and Sias Strydom are preparing for night duty in one of the North West’s crime hubs: Klerksdorp — known for its prison and its small-town values.
For the past five months the pair have had the highest arrest rate at their station. But, as Strydom explains, they have another — far braver — claim to fame.
They are the only gay married couple in Klerksdorp. They are also the first gay “priscillas” (gay slang for policemen) in the country who pound the beat together.
Browning and Strydom were married on September 29 last year in a Klerksdorp police hall by a “commitment initiator” after a two-year courtship.
According to a senior officer, gay policemen often are more thorough and they take more pride in their work. Browning agrees: “Straight policemen just want to hang around and look at women.”
Browning says that when he first set eyes on Strydom as he stepped off the bus on their first day at police college, he knew he was “the one”. Previously, he had been firmly in the closet.
Every night, after a day’s training, Browning would go to Strydom’s dormitory, sit on his bunk and try to strike up a friendship — to no avail: “I came to the college to study,” Strydom says. “Every time Brent came to visit, I thought ‘Here he comes again’ and didn’t take much notice.”
“And then one day we clicked,” Browning interrupts. At the age of 24, on the eve of the millennium, he proposed to the 23-year-old Strydom. They ordered rings and asked a lawyer to draft the kind of antenuptial agreement that would make a heterosexual man break into a sweat.
The agreement provides that if either partner is unfaithful he must immediately leave the house without the right to remove any property. As his actions must not affect the other partner’s quality of life, the errant partner must continue to pay his share of household bills indefinitely.
“I am more committed to this marriage than half the population in the world,” says Browning.
Before they were married, the commitment initiator held two pre-nuptial meetings, questioning them about their homosexuality, finances, views on children and potential religious conflicts.
Often, these meetings — designed to highlight potential marriage pitfalls — result in months of counselling. Not for Browning and Strydom.
Klerksdorp is far from being South Africa’s hub of alternative living, but the two officers say they rarely encounter prejudice or exclusion in the town or the local police force.
They are reluctant to discuss it, but clearly ran into flak from fellow officers when they first “came out”.
At their wedding, Strydom says, colleagues who were deliberately left off the guest list tried to peer over the wall to see if he was wearing a white dress. But it felt more like curiosity than malice. The fact that the wedding drew a crowd made him feel proud, he says.
Significantly, the local police station allowed them to use a police hall for the wedding. The pair say that from the first day at work, they acted as a couple and were frank if questioned about their relationship.
Being a cop has its advantages. Strydom relates how when an infuriated policewoman tore off his wedding ring, he started writing a theft docket and the matter was quickly resolved.
Dennis Adriao, chairperson of the Gay and Lesbian Police Network, remarked on the couple’s bravery. The network often receives complaints of subtle homophobia in the force, particularly with regard to promotion. Many gay officers do not come out until they are well up the hierarchical ladder.
But daily life for gay married couples remains full of strain. Their biggest headache has come from the fact they are not married in the eyes of the state, complicating many bureaucratic procedures.
“I wish the government would make it possible for same-sex relation- ships to get a marriage or commitment certificate. It would make a lot of things a hell of a lot easier,” Browning says.
Their shared bank account carries Browning’s name, so when his partner uses his credit card shop assistants regularly assume it has been stolen.
He recounts a stand-off with a supermarket manager when, after a lengthy wrangle, he shouted: “Do you know what gay is?” When the manager sheepishly nodded, Browning snapped: “Well then. I don’t want any nonsense.” The transaction was swiftly processed.
Applying for a joint loan is a drawn-out process involving days of phone calls to the bank, the relevant shop and its head office. At every turn, they are forced to account for their sexuality.
Even in a conservative platteland dorp like Klerksdorp, where exposure to the gay world is limited, people are increasingly tolerant of gays and even gay marriage.
The police force, in spite of pockets of homophobia, is also becoming increasingly open. The Klerksdorp station has a monthly gay party.
Browning and Strydom’s case may underscore the fact that despite the Constitution’s protection of gay rights, the state may be lagging behind public opinion.