Let’s Discuss…About Love In The Gaybourhood

Blog_Let's DiscussI once updated a story (fiction) here about a Nigerian guy who found love with his wealthy European school-mate, who he met abroad during studies. As a refresher, the story is titled ‘THE WHITE CHRISTMAS’ (Click HERE to read). I gave the story a happily-ever-after finish, and some people, commenters and friends, scoffed at that. The general contention was that African gay men don’t do love. And they certainly do not do happily-ever-afters. A slew of friends bombarded my BBM with lectures to prove that point. If it is not kowtowing to what society expects of all men, a friend of mine argued, it is the fact that we are not fashioned to think of men being with men for the long haul. It’s just not in our psyche to buy into the concept of gay marriage, or anything as remotely long-lasting as that.

I disagreed then. I still disagree now. I’m a romantic, not an incurable one though, but I believe that societal demands notwithstanding, it is possible for an average African gay man or lesbian to find someone, love someone and stick with that someone, undisturbed with what society expects.

Yea, well, maybe not in this continent, I’ll concede that. But it is possible.

A friend of mine who schools in a more exotic part of Africa recently told me the story you’ll read below about love in the gaybourhood. It’s a short one. But something I felt I should share.

Read and share your thoughts. Continue reading

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 12)

200019237-001My kito story is not quite the kito story.

I’m Ade, 22 and I have been and known I was gay for all my life. You know that kind of gayness that’s hard to miss and can be spotted from 100 miles away? I was once nominated as the “mother general” of the student hostel where I live (story for another day).

After I finished Secondary school a few years ago, I decided to move to Abuja. I had heard so much about that city, how it flowed with milk and honey, how there were lots and lots of ‘generous’ and rich gays, and how there was an abundance of good sex to be had. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that if I managed to move to Abuja, it would only be a matter of time before I snagged my own rich, loving sugar daddy. I was emboldened by the story of my role model, Madonna, who hitchhiked her way to New York City with just $20 and is today a globally famous star.

Itching to recreate my own story of the rise to stardom, I left my lovely Osun State and moved in with an aunt who lived in one of the slums on the outskirts of Abuja. It was a squalid and depressing place, a universe away from the bright glittering mansion dripping with opulence that I yearned and craved for. But I never once let the ghetto depress me or kill my dreams; I was sure that this was only a temporary phase and soon, I would land exactly where I wished to be – in the arms of someone rich and loving, who would take care of me, and who I would love and give myself to totally.

I held on to that dream for two years. Continue reading

IF YOU ARE GAY, DON’T LIVE IN A SMALL TOWN

others 10You were born here, in this gentle little town where traffic means six cars, each two kilometres apart, cruising to their destinations five minutes to schedule. This gentle little town where birdsong on the windowsill heralds the mornings and the whoosh of the wind through cashew and mango trees is the height of noise pollution; where you attended secondary school with the same peeps from primary school; where fifteen of your schoolteachers belong to your modest church of decent folk straight from a daytime soap opera and each time they said hello to your parents after service, you tensed, expecting them to report a misdeed from school; where the only Mr. Biggs place is located three local government areas away from home and KFC, Shoprite, the cinema and GAYS are simply unheard of.

It is for the last of that list above that you should leave your small town, if you are gay. Homosexuality is a modern invention, you see, a by-product of (Western) civilization; researchers have long concluded that the more local a place is, the less likely TBs exist there. Go to your village or any of these small towns like, uh, Ajaokuta – that’s where we have the decrepit steel company in Kogi State, right? – do the inhabitants look like they know what QAF, The DL Chronicles or The L Word are? Do the guys there carry man-bags? Have you ever heard of TBs in Jigawa State or Okitipupa? Ok, remember when 2go was reigning…did anybody ever type in THAT chatroom: Manly bottoms in Chibok add me I got it big… Or Akoko-Edo guys let’s meet now. Like seriously.

Please do not dull yourself, otherwise OYO is your case. Continue reading

AND THEN HE SAID TO ME…

singles 2We went to the same university, my paternal cousin and I. He was a couple of classes ahead of me, older, of course, than me, and treated me with the avuncular affection of a big brother to a younger one. He always gave me money and provisions whenever mine had depleted, and frequently asked me over to his place for sleepovers. He is tall, dark and handsome, and there were moments then, when I nursed a crush on him.

He graduated from school before me, and it wasn’t long before he relocated to the UK to further his studies. We kept in touch, and he continued to look out for me. A year or two after he left Nigeria, he apparently found his calling as a clergyman, and was soon ordained an Anglican priest.

For some illogical reason, I felt as though he had betrayed me.

This was around the period I’d just started getting disillusioned with my faith and the church. I had battled for so long to accept my sexuality, only to suddenly find myself facing the self-righteous indignation of the church. Disapprobation against homosexuality were starting to salt the teachings in my church, with priest after white-garmented priest standing at the altar and shaking his fist in condemnation of the ‘sin’ of man sleeping with his fellow man, and woman sleeping with her fellow woman. I refused to feel guilty about my desires. I refused to be torn up over my libidinous choices. And so, when it came down to a choice of the church and my sexuality, I found myself resenting the compulsory Sunday morning routines and sulking in the face of the crucifix that frowned down at me from the pulpit with sorrow-faced patronization.  Continue reading

SUITS AND TIES (Part 2)

FOREWORD: Another Kitodiariesian is marking his birthday on the blog, today. He is Xpressive JBoy, and he turns…well, not so old that he can’t still werk it in the bedroom, I think. Lol

Anyway, to commemorate his birthday, he has the offering below. Read and enjoy.

And Happy Birthday, JBoy.

*

Blog_Suits & TiesSo, it’s me, JBoy, and I’m still employed in this workplace where we’re all supposed to be buttoned up and decked out in our suits and ties. I have colleagues, a number of them, but I do not have friends among them. Well, not until several weeks back.

There was co-worker in another department whose acquaintance I made. Let’s call him Luke. Average looks. Average station. Although there was absolutely nothing average about what he has upstairs. Luke is incredibly intelligent. And I’m sapiosexual, so it didn’t take too much for the walls I erected over my inner self to shake to their foundations when he smiled at me that first afternoon, as he asked to accompany me for lunch break. Lunch together led to more lunches together. And then we exchanged numbers. And then he started dropping in on me at my department. And then I started dropping in on him at his department. And then, we started waiting up for each other at the close of work. And then, we were chatting endlessly on Whatsapp. And then, we were sharing jokes and huddling together in corners, giggling and enjoying the moments we shared together.

#sigh Continue reading

I Killed Them…What Is There?

A beautiful outside means nothing if there’s ugly on the inside.

I very recently got engaged in a social media chat with a fine-as-fuck dude on Twitter DM. His name is Stanley Iwezulu. Claims to be a soldier. Young-looking. Well-built. Did I mention he’s good looking? I definitely felt a buzz for him.

But I’m not reckless. So during our chat, I prodded and probed at him, trying to get a feel for his gay disposition, if any. And it wasn’t very long before I got to find out that he was anti-gay. Well, that killed my buzz.

But my curiosity to understand the dynamics of anti-gay individuals kept me on the chat. I wanted to know what his thoughts on the gay issue were. And if the chat was intelligent enough, it might even nudge at my literary creativity. But the chat we had was anything but intelligent. It was poisonous. It was shocking. It was chilling. And it showed me yet again that the ill-will borne against the Nigerian LGBT community isn’t by a faceless, nameless majority, but by real people. Citizens. Individuals. Next-door neighbours. Colleagues. Classroom seatmates.

Or, as is in this case, social media acquaintances. Check out the screengrabbed chat below. Continue reading

The Boy I Never Had (Part 2)

g4My phone beeped as a text message came in. My pulse quickened as my heart sank. I shook off the feeling of dread that settled on me and opened the text. It was from Timi. The words I read chilled my blood instantly.

I think you misunderstood my soft nature and gestures. I am not what you think I am. A guy falling for a guy? Seriously, this is crazy. I’m not into your demeaning lifestyle.

In that instant, I felt like I had just been slammed by a fully-loaded truck traveling at full speed. The blood in my veins turned to ice. My brain reeled and raced in a wild jumble of thoughts. What did I miss? How did this happen? Perhaps it wasn’t him sending this horrible text… There was just no way on earth the caring, loving guy I had been spending so much time with and who gave off all those positive vibes could be sending such a horrible message. I was in a state of shock and disbelief for several long minutes.

And then, I snapped out of it and went into a defensive mode. And I did something I never thought I’d ever do. I denied my sexuality. Rashly and without much thought, I composed a text: I’m sorry if my text made you uncomfortable, I’m not gay, I just have a tendency to form strong emotional connections with anyone (boy or girl).

As I pressed the send button, a part of me realized that I was making a mistake and further complicating issues. His reply came soon after, and before long, we were engaged in a series of back-and-forth texts. Continue reading

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 11)

200019237-001I was about nineteen when we first met. His name is Sydney. I had just started my pre-degree program at the time in my current school. I was new to the place and wanted to meet new people. 2go Men’s Lounge was my next port of call. His username had something like ‘frenzy’ in it, and I remember thinking to myself, maybe we’d get to have frenzied sex if I liked him enough. We chatted a while, exchanged pics and then he called saying he’d like to meet. I was more than happy to oblige. I told him I was in class at the time and would see him on my way home. After lectures, I called him and got directions to where he wanted to meet and was glad that it was a public place – a guestroom-cum-whorehouse close to school. I got there and was having a drink when he came. We exchanged greetings. He sat down for a bit. There was a bit of a lull, that kind you get when two people who haven’t decided how to relate with each other meet for the first time.

Then, he stood up and said he forgot his keys and was going to get them. I was stunned. What a lame excuse. Forgot the keys where exactly, when he was just coming from his room? I was at the time quite chubby, and I understood that not everyone was into that. But heck, I had sent him a couple of pictures, and if he was not Blind Bartimeus, he should have been able to tell. I told curtly him to go and got up to leave too, I was really pissed. Later that night, I gave him a well-deserved piece of my mind for being such a time-waster. He deleted me from his contact list after that. Continue reading

TOP SECURITY

guard-black-backgroundHis name is Moses. From the first time I saw him, I felt this odd rush of magnetism. I couldn’t tell if it was the way he always made eye contact with me whenever we met, or his intense scrutinizing manner, the way he looked at me like he could see into the depths of my soul.

Anyway, he was one of the security men in the complex where my office was located. I had just been posted to Abuja from the Lagos Head Office of our stockbroking company. Though I had been to Abuja a few times in the past, my past visits were never more than one week long. I liked the calm and peace of Abuja as opposed to the insane and unpredictable bustle of Lagos, but I never imagined that I would ever live in Abuja. I was born, raised and educated in Lagos and considered myself a true Lagosian. My only time outside Lagos was during my university days. I had found it difficult to secure admission in any of the universities in or around Lagos, to my extreme annoyance. After two years of sitting at home while my contemporaries were already halfway through their undergraduate studies, and when my parents’ exhortations that I consider a school in the East since it was in my catchment area had reached hysterical levels, I caved and my father was able to pull a few strings. A few months later, I was admitted to study Transport Technology at the Enugu State University. Continue reading

THE CALL

o-CELLPHONE-EAR-facebookRecently, I got the call.

I just don’t mean any phone call. This was the call from mummy dearest. It was the one call that most gay men dread; the call that comes from some member of the family, when they want to bring up the issue of the big M.

One of my cousins got married recently and he is about the same age as me. I did not attend because I have started skipping all extended family related events, so that when the pressure starts, I shall only have immediate family to deal with. I have also started drawing lines with immediate family, but that’s story for another day.

Anyway, so mummy dearest called me and the following conversation ensued:

Mummy Dearest: Did you hear of Ifeanyi’s (not real name) wedding? Nna, you did not come…

ME: Yes, I had an exam that day, I could not make it. (Big lie, I was with Mrs. Macaulay)

MD: The weather is so hot these days, my car AC is not working. So driving under the sun is hard. Your sister’s kids are growing really fast…

Let me tell you something about my mom; if there is an “elephant in the room” that she wants to discuss, she will keep running round the matter in circles, not knowing how to approach it until you help her bring it up. On that day however, I decided that two can play that game, as I already knew where she was headed. So I determinedly let the lead be hers to take.

Finally… Continue reading