Now I am working on a professional certification in Management and I was struggling with it, seeing as my background is in sciences. After forming badoo for a few weeks and finally realizing/accepting that I needed help, I signed up for a tutorial class from an accredited centre. So we were having a class on Saturday (which is sad because I absolutely cherish my weekends), and we were learning something about legal frame work in public relations when the tutor read out that phrase:
Advertising should not contain any content that promotes homosexuality and other sexual perversions…
I looked around my classroom in one of the very small halls of the hotel we were using, and my classmates were quiet and scribbling. My inner subconscious begged me not to say anything, but before I could stop myself, my hand was up. After all, I was paying a lot of money for these classes and, by God, my voice must be heard.
“Sir, I’m a bit confused about the classification of homosexuality from the text as a deviant sexual perversion. Can you shed more light on that?”
Two of the girls in the class said thank god someone was speaking up. These girls had just returned from Europe, where they’d lived for most of their lives, and they were looking to acquire the Nigerian certification. So expectedly they were very progressive minded.
“It is English. How does it confuse you?” the tutor responded.
“Well, I quarrel with the classification. On what grounds was that classification made? Scientific evidence? Or your personal bias?” I queried.
“This is not the UN, young man,” he returned. “Take your campaign there.”
There are few things in this life that annoy me more than being called “young man”, because Nigerians use it as a derogatory term on someone they feel is way beneath them, usually younger or less accomplished.
I stood up at this point and told him that he would teach us established theories only as contained in the syllabus, and not his personal bias or opinions.
At this point, one of the guys in the class said, “Guy why you dey take the matter serious like this? You be gay?”
I felt blood rushing into my head, but I turned and smiled at him that smile that I will always remember the (former) Mrs. M for, the same sweet smile he puts on when he is about to crush you. And I said to him, “Tunde, you do have a degree from Coventry. Even though the ratings of that school are not great, I expect some wisdom from you. You are calling me gay because I spoke up against a bias and against homophobia, and I find it very laughable. You lived in the UK, so I assume you know PETA. It wasn’t founded by two dogs, and Mangari Wathai and Newton Jibunoh trees are not trees either. So your comment baseless, but I will let it slide.”
An awkward silence descended on the class in the wake of my admonishment. The following day was Sunday, and we had another class. This time, that phrase was gone from the slide presentation. Sometimes, speaking up can help.
One of my best friends just moved to Europe. I am very good friends with his family also. His mother has been nagging that since my friend relocated to Europe, I had not visited her to know how she was faring. I am not big on spending time with families, especially ones with little kids running around. But that’s matter for another day. Anyway, I went down to their house one Sunday evening and was ushered into her bedroom, where she was resting. She got up and gave me a very big hug, and from the corner of my eye, I could see she was watching the Ireland gay marriage vote issue. She took the remote control and turned it off, telling me not to mind those evil people that God would eventually bring judgment on, people who were headed to hell.
I wanted to tell her that hell is a metaphor and not an actual geographical location; that even if people were going to hell, it would be people like her brother who got a 90 million naira shell contract to fix their street and embezzled the entire sum, leaving them with heavily-flooded roads whenever it rains; that people like me and her son are not going to be condemned eternally, simply because we do what we are wired to do, and because of who we love.
But I held my peace. Not now, Dennis. Not now.
So, we got chatting about life, work, her health, her business et al. We even called my friend on the phone to let him know we were together.
Finally she dived into the meat of the matter. (You know, when a mother complains that you don’t come to see her often, you just know there’s something she’s waiting to hit you with when you do) “Nna, I called you to find out your plans about marriage, whether you have started considering it. I have been praying to God about it on your behalf, and He has been opening my eyes to wonderful girls that will make good wives to you. You know I know what you like now, eh?” And she laughed.
I shook my head inwardly. What I like, ehn? Hmm, let’s see. Can you serve me Korede Bello and Dammy Krane naked in Timberland boots? At the same time? Are you sure you know what I like, woman? I think not!
I knew this was not the time and place to start this battle. So I lied to her. I made up a fiancé who was in law school in Abuja and would finish in 2016, when we intended to start planning our wedding. She squealed with delight and asked for the girl’s photo. I promptly fished out a pretty girl’s photo from my phone and showed her, and then I went on lying. I even gave her a name – Chinelo –, made up her village (I mean, every Orlu girl is light skinned and pretty, right?), span a yarn about how her father was a retired general and her mother owned a school, yada-yada-yada. Nollywood would have been proud of me that day as I reeled out narrations of my beautiful fiancé and how much I loved her. Shortly before leaving, I promised to bring Chinelo to visit her when next she was in town, and she promised to entertain us with ofe nsala. If wishes were horses!
On the ride home, I had a very good laugh and said to myself, “Sometimes you don’t fight. You just bide your time and fight another day.” When my friend called me about an hour later, we laughed hysterically over the phone. Apparently, she’d called him with the ‘good news’.
Anyway, in 2016, Chinelo and I will develop some problems of compatibility, and we will eventually break up. And then another girl will come into my life, who won’t be able to meet my friend’s mother just yet, because she is serving in faraway Sokoto, and won’t be available until 2017. Hopefully, my friend’s mother will read the handwriting on the wall before 2017, and move on.
If you have been reading this journal, you will know I love to attend weddings. I mean, what’s not to love – there’s jollof rice, Orijin and bridesmaids to flirt shamelessly with. I attended a wedding recently. The groom is a gay man. So, of course, the guest list was full of the crème de la crème of Port Harcourt gaybourhood. The church service started around 10am, and the bride and groom were ushered in. Things got a little awkward when the sermon started, and the priest spent the entire homily dwelling on homosexuality and gay marriage. Preaching against homosexuality and gay marriage in a hall full of gay men? Oh dear, lol! There was pin-drop silence as the priest carried on about how demonic it was and how all practitioners were all headed to hell. *eye roll* I quickly tuned off the sermon, and focused on chatting with hot boys on my BBM.
And then, I heard it.
“Ben, you will have to cut off from the world. You will have to tell those your guy friends that you are married now and that they should stay away from you.”
The eyes I shot back to the front of the church away from my phone had grown so wide, I feared for a second that they’d burst. The priest had stepped off the altar and was addressing the groom directly. Guy friends? I have been to a lot of weddings, and the regular practice is to admonish the groom to stay away from his girlfriends. But . . . guy friends? This was a new one. The nerve of this priest! What nonsense!
During the reception, I scanned the hall looking for where the tea table was set. I knew there was tea to be served, and, by God, I was going to partake of it. Within fifteen minutes of arrival, I spotted “the table”. A few lawyers who I know are gay were seating there, because the groom is a lawyer, I was sure the tea was going to be served there. I quickly went over there, and boy, the tea was steaming hot.
It appears the groom is notorious in that church for being gay. He was in the choir and had fucked half the boys in the choir. He had even come onto a seminarian on apostolic posting (catholic jargon) to the parish. And that was when the shit hit the fan. The seminarian blew up the story, and it spread round the entire diocese. His parents were forced to step down from their positions. (Apparently, by having a homosexual son, they had failed in their responsibilities as parents *shaking my head*) And his parents gave him an ultimatum to get married. That was why the silly Reverend Father (who probably masturbates to twink porn at night) had the guts to shame the groom on his big day. Odiegwu o! The things people put up with in the name of religion! #AintNobodyGotTimeForThat
On a final note, I was on my own jejely watching a movie, when my dear friend Lothario buzzed me and told me to go to YouTube fast, that my very own Korede Bello had a gift for me. I ran off to watch the said video. And as soon as it came on, I felt something growing in my pants. That arched back gave me life; you know, the arch a boy gives you upon first entry, and it hurts him a little…
I can only imagine the warm tightness that Korede will deliver. I remember how I fought and whined and rooted to have him at our family day party last year in my company. But those hoes in my office outvoted me and had Iyanya-The-Akpan instead. *sigh* That would have been my chance to talk to him, that’s if I don’t cum in my pants first when he responds to my hello.
Ok, I should stop talking now.
Have a great week, guys. And it’s good to be back!