BEFORE I DIE: 9 (The Doctor’s Appointment 2)

It is my second doctor’s appointment. I had woken up early, but am just too lazy to leave the bed. Maybe, it’s because I know the hospitals are still on strike, and there is a 50/50 chance my time is just going to be wasted again.

Besides, I’ll be leaving Benue State soon. I have just completed my National Youth service year. I don’t want to go through the process of enrolling for treatment here, and then repeating the whole thing when I return home in Asaba.

I grab my phone to say hello to my twitter followers, and – yes, to observe my dick-pic-watching routine. If you’re lucky, you could even get to see short videos, amateur videos to be precise. I start watching my dick pics, when NEPA brings their yeye light back. That is when I know I am not going anywhere today.

Then, I think about calling Batman, to let her know that I won’t be going to the hospital, before she starts bombarding me with questions. I call over three times, and she doesn’t pick up. Then I call my sister.

BEFORE I DIE: 8 (The Sex-Hunger Games 2)

I am still on the journey of reconciling my status with my sex life. My guilt is still there and I know it is going nowhere. I have had sexual advances from friends, which I turned down. If you could see the guys I have been turning down, you would slap the gay out of me. I am doing this on purpose. I am taking time to process. I’m the kind of person that, when I want to feel, I feel very deeply. When I don’t want to, I’m as hard as igneous rock. I am letting myself feel all the guilt there is, so that when I am ready to not feel and someone tries to remind me, I can remind myself that I have been there and back.

And I am getting to that point gradually. All this while, I have been practising self-pleasure, with my PEARS Baby Oil. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to get by. I have also been googling safe sex with a HIV patient, and I think I have it down to a science. It comes down to three things.

1) No blowjobs, no rimming, no matter how big and chocolatey the dick looks.

2) Kiss on the lip only, as passionately as possible, without the tongues touching.

3) Use durex condoms with plenty of lube. It’s known for its durability.

4) And if the condom breaks, it’s not my fault. Someone is manipulating that person’s destiny and it’s certainly not me.

Yes!

BEFORE I DIE: 7 (The Doctor’s Appointment)

“Just call me angel of the morning, baby

 Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby…”

Juice Newton’s version of Angel Of The Morning is playing on the radio when I wake up.

The day for my doctor’s appointment is finally here. It is my first appointment. Some days before my appointment, mum called me on phone and gave me pre-appointment counseling. She was like –

Mum: Bobby, when you reach the hospital, dey patient o. Person wey dey go Teaching Hospital dey get patience.

Me: Okay, ma.

Mum: No be small thing them do you, you vex waka comot. Nah you need the help o.

Me: Mummy, I know.

Mum: Ehen! Just bring ya mind down. Dey do like mumu until you get wetin you want. You hear?

Me: Yes ma.

Mum knows me very well. She knows I am not much of a patient person, and I snap easily. Two statements I hate most are, “Wait for me, I’m coming” and “Please join the queue.” I’d rather you wait for me to come or I come back when you’re free.

BEFORE I DIE: 5 (The Sex-Hunger Games)

It isn’t Monday yet. I am still waiting for my first doctor’s appointment. Batman Mum has sworn an oath to make sure I don’t miss it, particularly to make sure I seek counsel, more precisely to ask the doctor the question that has been troubling her life since I was first diagnosed.

“How can I live with my family without passing the virus on to them?”

That is the question that has been causing her sleepless night. What Batman, sorry, Mum, want to hear from the doctor’s mouth is, “Bring out plate wey e go take dey chop… Bring out him own spoon and cup… No share bucket and towel with am… No dey shake am anyhow…”

That is her business though. I am not planning on committing incest or sharing shaving sticks with any family member, so I know they were safe. I have resumed living my life just like every other normal, cute, sexy queer dude. I have stopped feeling sorry for myself. I have become chatty on BBM, Twitter, Whatsapp, Facebook, Grindr, Planet Romeo, and – Wait for it – 2go. Yes, I’m on 2go too. Any questions?

My Twitter account is quite interesting. I don’t even chat there much; I just go to view pics, dick pics to be precise. Yaaaaaaas! I love dicks. I like them black, with yellow or red head. The ones with red head na the ish sha. Dick pics have gradually begun to make sense to me again. I am beginning to appreciate nice dick shapes, colour and sizes, like I used to. Then I saw this particular one, and I felt it. I felt the blood rush. I hadn’t felt it for a while, maybe because I had a lot going on, but the thirst was real this time. The blood was flowing downwards. I don’t even know when I started caressing my nipples. My cakes became softer, and the muscles around my ‘you-know-what’ was throbbing. I drew my briefs down to let Kratos out. (Yes! My dick has a name) Kratos was fiercer than I remembered. It’s like it was wearing a coat of veins or something. The muscles around my ‘you-know-what’ was throbbing faster, to no particular rhythm. It was just throbbing. That’s when I knew it was official. I WANT TO FUCK. I NEED TO FUCK.

BEFORE I DIE: 4 (There’s A Reason For Everything)

“Undetectable viral load…”

It is all I can think about. I can’t get the words out of my head. Although the e-book has told me what undetectable viral load is, I am not quite satisfied. I want to know all I can about it. It’s like finally getting admission after writing jamb eight times. It’s like winning the visa lottery. You know that feeling you get when you come home and your newly-wedded wife tells you she’s pregnant? Aha! That’s it.

Wait, my readership are gay men (and women). So, of course, most of you don’t now or intend to know that feeling. lol

Anyway, I’m not trying to quantify life or anything of that sort. I just want you to feel what I felt, or at least have an idea. The situations I just mentioned all have one thing in common. Can you guess? You probably can’t, because you’re not standing where I am standing. Well, I will help you. They all have this in common. They all either give you the chance of having a better life or moulding one. In general, you get to live a better, happy life.

Meet The First Man Cured Of HIV

Timothy Ray Brown is the first and only person in the world to be cured of HIV. There are some fascinating parts to his story you may not know, but first, here’s a little background.

In 2007, Timothy was a gravely ill leukemia patient living in Berlin (after his cure he was famously known as “the Berlin patient” before he came forward in 2011 and identified himself). Timothy was also HIV-positive, but at the time, his HIV was the least of his worries.

When Timothy needed a stem cell transplant to treat his leukemia, doctors located a donor who had a rare gene mutation known as CCR5, which makes human cells immune to HIV. The result of the stem cell transplant? Timothy’s immune system was replaced with a brand new immune system minus the HIV, and to this day he remains the only person to be cured.

“The HIV is gone and it is gone for good,” says Timothy, who today lives in Palm Springs. “And I am also cancer free. Two cures. I am really fortunate and blessed.”

His cure is now part of the scientific record, but there are more interesting tidbits to learn about this courageous gay man who risked it all and found himself making history in the process.

Here are five things about Timothy Ray Brown that you may not know:

BEFORE I DIE: 2 (And He Comes Undone)

Dad doesn’t say a word, at least not immediately. He sits heavily on his bed, then turns and looks at me. The silence is really awkward, and I just have to break it. So I continue speaking.

Me: I went for a test yesterday, and it came back positive.

Dad clears his throat, and finally says something.

Dad: Have you been sleeping with girls?

Me: No.

Dad: Are you a homosexual?

A Verse To HIV

You sealed my fate

But I clutch to my faith

No…not faith, ‘cos I’m still afraid

A-quiver under your siege

*

You came bearing VI loads

In CD-4 depleting packages

You astonished my cells

My mind and I…

BEFORE I DIE

“Lights would guide you home

And ignite your path

And I will try, to fix you…”

Those are the words of the song I am listening to. It is Fix You by Coldplay, one of my favourite bands. The song is everything at this moment. It isn’t as though I am broken right now, but I feel as though I need to be fixed. My heart is beating, like I’m running from an angry homophobic mob, yet I’m wearing a calm face. I can’t afford to fall apart right now. Besides, my mum thinks she’s Batman, so I can’t give off any emotion to make her suspect something is wrong.

“And I will try… To fix you…” The song’s final words are followed by the soft thrum of a piano. I know it’s a piano because I have listened to the song thirteen times already. Then I look at the time and it is 2: 10 pm. My heartbeat increases. The lab scientist had asked me to come get my result by 2: 00 pm. I’m already dressed in the same clothes I wore to the lab yesterday. I put on my slippers and walk towards the door.

Mum: Bobby, where you dey go?

A WORD FROM THE ADMIN

I know that Freedom Of Expression is a very valuable and catchpenny commodity in modern society, something the press and media hold dear and social media trolls revel in. And this post wouldn’t exist if that was all I had to talk about, because Kito Diaries has proven to be the home of everyone freely expressing their opinions, bandying them about and sometimes attempting to shove them down other people’s throats. All that I don’t mind. Oftentimes, these opinions have been marinated in cusswords and distasteful language. It’s a struggle, but I have made my peace with that too. It is something I’m after all guilty of.

But there is a line I want to draw.

Kito Diaries may be a hot bed of controversy, but it is what it is today because of the willingness of KDians to tell their stories and share them for the readership, delight, commiseration and admonishment of others. People who pen down write-ups, whether fiction, nonfiction or opinion pieces, know to expect either overwhelming support and pathos from the readers, or intense backlash for having something unpopular to say. And those who go ahead to write, in spite of the Big Bad Wolf known as KD commenters, are commendable. I know of some people who are still mining courage from within themselves to tell their stories, unsure what reaction to expect.

And indeed, all reaction is acceptable; freedom of expression is after all everyone’s precious toy to play with, right?