My cousin is visiting and spending some time with me. When she called to tell me that she was coming, I agreed reluctantly, because I did not want to be the Wizard of Oz. What is funny and weird is that, unlike I would have done in the past, I did not go about clearing ‘evidence’ from my house. I do know that if she looks around closely, she’ll probably find a tube of astroglide (which is way better than KY Jelly, by the way) lying around somewhere, and maybe some condoms too. I just did not care and quite frankly, I felt if she found anything and gave me any stress, I’d kick her out. No time.
Now, I am no Bree Van De Kamp, as my bedroom is usually a chaotic mess. However, I thrive in the chaos, and as disorganized as my room often appears to be, I know where everything is. My sweet cousin however thought it wise to clean up my room, and when I got back from work, I practically had a panic attack when I saw the room. All my post-its which I stuck around the room to remind me of stuff to do were all arranged in one part of the room; my notes from Business School were neatly arranged, even though I had scattered and separated them according to modules; my books were stacked neatly, as opposed to the them lying scattered on my desk in the manner I preferred while reading concurrently from them. I totally freaked out and lashed out on her verbally, which I regret in hindsight, as she was only trying to help. This further reminds me why I cannot share my space with someone for life.
Last week I talked about expatriates that patronize with condescending compliments, which is just sad. I am part of the literary scene in Port Harcourt, so I was involved with the World Book Capital events. One of the nights, I went out with a mix of Nigerians and some expats who had come for the festival. Two of the foreign women and I got chatting, and we talked about everything from Beyoncé’s feminism (which I think is fake though, and just a marketing thing) to fiction and culture and the economy. They kept saying silly things like, “How did you get so progressive?” “Wow, you don’t sound like a Nigerian…” as if to say that all Nigerians are dumb and don’t know what is happening in the world around them.
At a point I got pissed and flipped the script on them; I started dropping names of writers that I am certain they will not have heard of. When they answered in the negative, I would be like, “You mean you don’t know Jude Dibia? That’s surprising for an expert on African fiction.” They now had to keep up as I kept subtly zinging them. I also told them that it is very funny that the West, which is supposed to be progressive and ahead of us, is still having the conversation of whether or not to have female members of the clergy for their major Christian denominations. In Africa however, which is supposedly the backward continent, we had women who were priestesses of deities, and they were respected as they brought the word of the gods to us. Not so backward, are we? I left them struggling to explain as I relished my cold glass of orijin.
As part of this series, there will not be sex stories or sexcapades, not that I am a prude or anything, but because I believe that sex is a private matter between two people. This explains why I don’t engage in threesomes or orgies, and won’t even have sex if there is someone else in my house. The things I do in the bedroom will certainly make Christian Grey look like a saint. However I like to keep it in the bedroom as a private experience and I certainly don’t like guys who kiss and tell. You know how you can be with some guys, and someone walks by, and you admire them, and one of the guys points out that he has fucked the guy. I am always like, Dude, no one cares. Men in the gayborhood should learn not to kiss and tell, or is that a tall order?
Speaking of the gaybourhood, one thing that is not cool is discrimination amongst us, especially of effeminate guys. I have said it on this blog before that gay men come in different shapes, sizes and demeanor, and none is inferior to the other. I do realize that people have a right to their personal and sexual preferences, but being nasty to another gay man just because he is effeminate is just wrong. A friend of mine would invite guys over to his house, ask them to wait at a particular junction and hide somewhere to observe them, and upon seeing any trace of femininity, he would turn off his phone and go back, abandoning any contact with the visitor, not minding if you came from Ibadan. I realize that this fear stems from the homophobic society that we live in and the fear of being suspected or outed because of the “flaming queens”. I myself have stopped caring about such things, and I definitely do not lose sleep over what impression my neighbors have about me, which is simply their cup of tea.
Let me tell you something that happened relating to this issue. I went out with my coworkers to a club after work recently. I am not much of a club person as I always have a bad headache afterwards, but I am fast becoming an office outsider and the last to know unofficial things, so I decided to go with them. Midway into our stay at the club, a guy I know walked in. He is very feminine with a big butt that can give Kim K a run for her money. My first thought was that he would come over and greet me noisily in front of my colleagues, so I thought of going to intercept him midway and not draw the attention of my colleagues. I decided against that almost as soon as I thought it, and stayed put till he spotted me and came over with his dramatic greeting. When he left, one of my guys was like, “Is that guy your friend?” And I said, “Yes, we go way back.” Now the old me would have said he was a school mate or a friend of a friend, but I just did not see the need to lie. They are free to assume whatever.
I have made one simple rule to live by: I will do things my way, no matter how unpopular my way is, and the narrative of my life will surely be mine. *singing My Way by Frank Sinatra*
Have a good week, guys.
OAN: I did not want to talk about this, but PP said I should. Unfortunately my boyfriend and I broke up shortly after the holiday season. I don’t want to go into details, but sometimes you may give someone the sun and the moon, and they’d rather have the stars. I hope he still comes around KD, and I hope he starts commenting with another moniker perhaps.
PP was a great friend through all this, and I am very grateful to him.
Written by Dennis Macaulay