What They Say III

Mr-Universe-Nigeria-2014-August-2014-pulseThe blogosphere knew him as Francis Beaon at the time of his win of the Mr Universe Nigeria contest. And, according to his recent interview with nationonlineng.net, he is Francis Egwuatu, final year student of the Federal University of Technology, Owerri. I don’t know which one is which, and that is none of my business.

My business however are some of the things he said during this interview with Tolu George originally published on nationonlineng.net. It was the usual may-we-know-you oh-you’re-so-famous-now yada-yada.

And then they got around to what usually interests me in these celebrity interviews – the controversial aspects, in this case, the gay talk.

The interviewer questioned: Some people believe Mr. Universe Nigeria is a pageant for gays. What is your view on this assertion? Continue reading

We Are Still Very Far

2 KD farI wanted to share an entirely different story with you until a dramatic twist of events occurred recently.  It is just how awestruck I am at how far away we are in this fight for gay rights.

We were given diversity projects by our lecturer right here in the USA, where I am currently attending a youth seminar. The project was aimed at making everybody become aware of each other’s diverse cultures. When I was called out to speak, I started my PowerPoint slide showing the different cultures and traditions that exists in my traditional Igbo culture, including the ceremonial wine-carrying by the bride to her groom and how she has to kneel to present him the drink.

This is when the presentation took a huge jaw dropping twist. Continue reading


Blog_Suits & TiesMy name is JBoy. The first thing you should know about me is that I can be bold, brazen, really sharp-tongued and borderline insolent. Growing up, I was all that with no restraint. But as an older person, I have learned to curb my wildness. Instead, I have cultivated that attitude into a fortitude that keeps me in control throughout the adversities I have faced so far in my life.

One of those adversities was getting a job after I finished my youth service. Thankfully, I didn’t labour too long in the job market, before I got employed in the finance industry. You know, that industry that glories in its pristine attires of starched shirts tucked into trousers, and topped off with suits and ties. The industry wasn’t new to me; its employment opportunities were what I’d prepared for in school. So I knew I was going to be in my element at work.

I hadn’t reckoned with my workplace, however. Continue reading

A Kito Story Gone Wrong . . . Or Right

bigstock-Happy-Black-Man-4158483It depresses me when I read kito stories of brothers who are bashed, battered, robbed and extorted by unscrupulous human beings whose final resting place is as much in hell as the rest of the Nigerian public say ours is. But it’s one thing when an anti-homosexual lot entraps a gay man. When the entrapment is orchestrated by a fellow gay man, it hurts. It burns like a wound inflicted by a pressing iron, and which is so searing it promises to take a long time to heal. Someone once said on this blog that there’s a special fiery hot place in hell for such disloyal brothers. I believe that. I also believe that such hell can be manifested for them right here on earth.

That is why this kito story I’m about to narrate is one I savoured with great relish when I heard it. Continue reading

He Eats My Cakes And Has Hers

bisexual-menMy name is Lami. I am 24 years old and a fresh graduate. Here’s why I’ll NEVER again date a bisexual guy.

His name is Funsho. We met at a friend’s mother’s 55th birthday party. You see, it wasn’t even a gay party. My friend, Allen had told me, “I’m inviting a few of my close friends, but it’s not a TB party o. Abeg man up, no bitching or flinging of hands. A lot of my straight friends are also coming.”

So on that day, I dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a tucked-in shirt with a simple pair of loafers. I wasn’t dressed to kill or to attract attention. I walked in, went over to Allen’s mother to wish her a happy birthday, flattered her a bit about how pretty she looked for a 55-year-old woman, exchanged greetings with Allen and the few other guys I knew there, and settled down to enjoy the lavish food and drink I could see waiting on the table.

At some point in the party, one of the guys who I didn’t quite know came to occupy the empty seat beside, and we got talking. He introduced himself as Funsho, and said he worked with a logistics company somewhere in Lagos. He was Allen’s friend, and we had never met. For some reason, I assumed he was one of Allen’s straight friends. Nevertheless, he was an interesting dude, as we talked on a wide range of issues from current affairs to politics. Continue reading

My Prayer For Us All

First, a fellow kitodiariesian mentioned it in one of his comments, about a friend of his who was murdered in a hook-up gone wrong. Then a friend sent me the link to where it was reported online. He’d been abducted, ransomed and later killed. A young, good-looking, promising gay man with his whole life ahead of him – that life now suddenly, brutally cut short.

And his crime was simply that he lusted after who this country thinks he shouldn’t desire.

I didn’t want to say anything on KD about this. I rejected outrightly the notion of even updating a post on the murder. But as I contemplated it, I felt a deep grief in my heart. I don’t even know the deceased, but I can imagine the horror, the despair he must have felt in the final moments of his life. And my imagination of it, my relation to his pain, brought tears to my eyes.

And it made me say a prayer, one I’d like to now share with y’all. Continue reading


200019237-001My name is Lexy, I am in my mid–twenties and I live in the Oil City of Port Harcourt. And this is my Kito Story.

I have over the last few months been reading the other kito stories published on this blog and have been struggling and agonizing over whether to tell my story or not. Eventually, I decided to write, even if doing so brings back haunting and painful memories. If this story can serve to stop someone else from falling victim like I did, then I believe my agony and pain would at least have borne something positive, however small its significance

Max was one of the first few friends I had on Facebook. We chatted often there, and over time we grew really close. Max is gorgeous; he’s of mixed origins, with Mediterranean/Middle Eastern features, flawless alluring skin and a face that made all sorts of wanton thoughts run through my mind each time I looked at his pictures. Despite my deep attraction to him, I resisted his persistent invitations for me to visit him. I don’t know, perhaps my sixth sense had already picked up on something that my other senses, beclouded as they were by my attraction to him, had failed to see. I always felt a faint unease about Max, despite his charming looks. I couldn’t explain it, but this small voice always held me back each time I was close to deciding to pay him a visit. Continue reading


To read WHILE WE WERE YET KIDS (Part 1), click HERE


g1The next morning could not come fast enough. So at the crack of dawn, we were awake and rearing to go. In the daylight, the ugliness and utter dilapidation of the environment in which we spent the night was stark.

One of the runs I came to see, a married guy, had called me the previous night, and I informed him of our relocation from Iyana Ipaja to Shomolu. He offered to come pick us up and drive us over to Shomolu.

So the morning saw us inside the perfumed, air-conditioned, plush-leathered Honda of the man I met for the first time that day, chattering and quickly recovering from our horrendous ordeal the night before, as he drove us to Shomolu. His wife was out of town, and he actually offered us accommodation in his place at Ikeja. But as appealing as that was, I wasn’t ready to curtail the freedom this trip to Lagos was offering. I’d go to stay in his place, and the next thing I’d know, all the excitement I was out to get would take a nosedive. The man (let’s call him Mr. Big) actually believed he was the one reason why I came to Lagos. #shakingmyhead The sheer naïveté. Continue reading

How The Okada Ban Made Things Hard (Pun Intended)

okada-riders-612x300When Abuja enforced the ban on commercial motorcyclists known as Okada, other major cities followed suit.

I wondered how I was going to be making it to work and back, as okadas were the fastest means of transport in the clogged motorways of the bustling city. I patronised a regular okada rider, his name is Chuks. He is a handsome, light-skinned muscular guy in his early twenties. We simply took to each other from the get go; whether it was his looks, his pleasant manners or the fact that he spoke perfect English unlike the other okada drivers, I couldn’t quite tell.

I eventually found out that he had completed his OND already and wanted to go further but had no one to support him, so he had left the east for Abuja, and taken to okada riding to make a living.

His enthusiasm and enterprise made me like him even more, and I wanted to know more about this educated okada boy. I just didn’t know my chance would come so soon.

It was that first day the okada ban was enforced. The police seized motorcycles all over town and traffic was mad. I suffered greatly that evening, like most other commuters who were trying to get home to the suburbs from the city centre.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, the clouds gathered, heaven opened and the downpour descended mercilessly.

I was drenched, and pissed off at my sorry life. Continue reading


200019237-001“Hello… Hey, Gabby, what’s up… For real? Kelvin is coming into town? How long will he be here for? … Ok, no wahala… I am coming, I’m coming…”

And then I ended the call.

Now, Kelvin is my friend, Gabby’s boyfriend, who doesn’t often come around. I secretly have a crush on him, but it’s something I will never act on . . . well, unless he dumps Gabby tomorrow and decides to carry on with me. Kelvin and I enjoy each other company, and as such, he always wants me around whenever he comes to see his boyfriend.

It was then 2:45pm as I left my lodge and hurried over to Gabby’s house, which was in town, so that we could scout for a good hotel for Kelvin’s accommodation, and make a ‘to-do’ list. When I got to his place, he was still getting dressed and took his time to come get the door, and it wasn’t very long before we settled into our usual repartee.

“Bitch, what was keeping you?” I fired as I followed him inside.

“Don’t mind me joor. You know I have to douche very well,” he replied cheekily.

“Oh, slut central,” I jabbed.

He laughed and began pulling on a shirt that looked like it was sprayed on him.

I gasped in exaggerated disbelief, “Bitch, that shirt is too tight, your boobs are screaming SOS.”

“That’s the idea,” he retorted coyly. Continue reading