After a very long time of decision of not visiting a friend of mine, I broke my promise by visiting him last week Wednesday, since I had been urging for sex. I said I wasn't going to visit him because I found out he was cheating on his boyfriend, and whenever his boyfriend saw me, he was always biter-faced. My friend and I were fuck buddies, although we've not had a comfortable sex all the while I visited him. It's either I got to his house meeting flood of visitors, or the flood come in after I reached his place. I usually got angry, not because they were around, but because he could avoid me coming over to watch drama with these visitors.
The first time I was going to visit him, I guess I was just matriculated as a student of PEFTI. This day, at his place, he was home with his boyfriend, whom I got to know, but not as his boyfriend. There was no reception to have sex at his place, because his family members would be home soon, so he decided we left for his friends' house, which I later felt uncomfortable with as soon as the arrival and took my leave as soon as I could. I sent a message letting him know that I felt insecured where I was taken, and that place wasn't okay by me. I told him I feared he was planning a rape, because where he took me seemed like a queer empire. He told me he would not do such, and I believed him.
The next I was going to see him was at a conference at Yaba. He saw me, but was so snooty. I greeted him, but his response was nothing to be talked about. I was invited by this guy, Martin, who met me at my mum's bar, followed me to the mallam shop, pretending he was going to buy something so as to ask for my line. I gave Martin my line, and we began to chat. Before Martin told me he was G, in LGBT, it took a while. As he asked if I was queer, I didn't hesitate, I spilled. He told me he was, after about 2 months. His chat with me reads, "I am not gay, I am bisexual." I remember very well. At my end, looking at the message, I laughed and argued a little about his orientation.
At the conference, my friend was busy with other guys whose bodies were easily stricken by the touch of a hand. I was just on my own. I got to talk to a person after the conference, but it wasn't him.
I got home that day and sent him a message, that I saw how he snubbed me at the party. He replied, but I can't figure out his response. We scheduled another rendezvous, which I obliged to, but wasn't satisfied because his house was always having somebody come in. We could be almost penetrating when his brother or sister or boyfriend may appear. And whenever he would complain, he would say I caused it because I was shivering for his dick. It would have been something heart-taking if it was up to 6-inch when it stretches. It is not even close to 5. I told him, "I am afraid of your dick. Yes, I am. I have never taking a dick in before, and I don't want to embarrass myself." I can't tell his inner feeling, but he returned with a smile, the one he always showed whenever he saw me.
The day before the last day I saw him, I think February, I didn't have a misunderstanding with him, but I just cleared the air and told him I wasn't into all the me coming and meeting people kind of thing. He would tell me there was nobody at home with him, but when I got on his Street, some feet from his house, he would say he was sorry, that he didn't call any of them. This day, I got there around 5pm, as I was returning from school. We had discussed that I would be his only guest, and I wouldn't appreciate meeting or having other people around. He assured me, and I believed him. As I got there, there was this guy I met there. He introduced the guy to me as his boyfriend, and I thought, "How many boyfriends does he have? I met Dapo here the last time, now this one?" not still realising that there was a main chick. I wasn't annoyed. I introduced myself to the so-called "boyfriend" and we were friends for that night. The guy eventually left, but by then, his boyfriend, the main chick, whom I had no idea was, came around. He caught us in an erotic period. This time, my friend was already trying to fix himself up before his boyfriend caught us, but he wasn't able to. When the guy came in, I said, "Hi." He replied by nose. I then though something was fishy and waited till the main chick sat outside. After a few minutes that I saw he wasn't coming inside, I asked my friend, "Is that your boyfriend? " He sincerely answered, and then I felt so bad for the side chick, that I was busy cheating with his boo. When he came back inside, I said, "I am so sorry. He was just telling me you are his boyfriend." The guy said it was not a problem, looking gloomy. I later faced my friend and let him know how much I detested cheat, that if it was my boyfriend that tried this with me, he would have suffered for this. I left his house, and then he texted me, asking me when next I was going to come, telling me not to get angry at what I had encountered at his place. I wasn't angry, but I replied him, letting him know I was never going to return to his place, that he had to amend his relationship. Since then, we didn't contact each other, not until last two weeks that his message came in on Facebook, "You can't even chat somebody." I replied it, and we scheduled another meeting for reconciliation. It was supposed to be last two weeks, but it wasn't possible, so we met on Wednesday.
As usual, despite an assurance that he wasn't expecting anyone, I met three people at his house, Dara and Bolaji, including his boyfriend. I didn't bother. We had a good pleasantry, and telling ourselves it was a long time we saw, like we didn't know. He said he had been reading my stories on Facebook, that I was too shouty. He said it was unsafe. I told him about the recent experience with my junior colleagues, and Dara, an average body size guy, was concerned. He asked was school I was going, that I was lucky to be in a private school, although it being private doesn't mean it was safe. He told me about how sisis are being treated in federal schools, talk less of those who out themselves. I thanked him.
In the discussion, whenever I used Gay, my friend told me he preferred T.B for safety. Like when I was talking about the incident at school, I said, "I just told them, 'My name is Seun, and I am gay."
The room was funny. These guys were typical Yoruba mothers. I laughed till I was almost suffocating. The kept my evening so interesting. They were real divas, but when I saw Bolaji walk to the bus stop, he was crazily manly. I was stunned. I was smiling on the street. His character changed. He became the normal the society wanted. I had a crush on him. He was a cute, dark guy, whose voice seemed cracking in the room, but deeper as he walked to the bus stop.
I saw Dara and my friend on Friday, walking. And they were Africanly normal. They walked like an expected African man. My friend told me that it was high time I changed how I walked, that it was better I let my diva manner crawl out of me. I told him I had tried, but it wasn't walking. "I am feeling fine walking this way," I said to him.
Sunday, 18 December 2016
Life Encounter: The Chronicle of a Nigerian Gay Man(part 1)
I didn't know I was a laugh-dust until I had a misunderstanding with one of my lecturers in early October, this year.
She hadn't been my supervisor for my final project, but I heard that there was an official change which could make her my supervisor. The first supervisor I was working with was a young, dark, free man who believed in the ideology of "humanity". This man was daring, so he assigned my topic because it was challenging and knowledge-breaking. He said, before his assertion to my topic, "Are you sure you want to do this?", his eye balls,sceptic. I answered him, not only in words, but through the enthusiastic expression on my face. He smiled. He went on and signed my topic and asked me to bring a more constructive topic for reconsideration. I wasn't able to reconstruct, so he was kind to help me play the puzzle of finding a befitting topic. We discussed a little about the topic; what he was expecting to see, the audience he would love the project to reach-- the discussion was worth it. He gave me the go ahead to bring in my chapter breakdown, but before I gathered my chapter one, I was told my project had been passed on to another supervisor. I wasn't too bothered, but I knew a lot was going to turn wrong. I began the journey.
This day, I think the next day after which my project had been passed on to the new supervisor, I took a step of confronting my initial supervisor, to be sure if it was true, that he would not be taking responsibility of my project. And aye, he did confirm it was true, and he advised me to follow whatever instructions this new supervisor gave. I admitted and left for her office, the new supervisor, Wena.
A Naija-Delta woman, with this endomorph body shape, who spoke broken mostly, who pronounced "Yesterday" as "Yestoday", and whose English most times are not understandable. She often complained she was tired whenever students ran after her or said they should come back because she was feeling sleepy or she was going to call somebody so the student has to come back.
I knocked against her door that noon. She said, "Who dey there? Abeg come inside." I pulled down the door handle and smilingly entered. "Seun, na you?" She met me half way to her desk. "Yes, ma. Good afternoon, ma. I heard you will be in charge of my project now," I gladly replied. "Yes o! I will be in charge of everybody's project now. Who dey inspect you before?"
"Mr. Biodun, ma"
"Okay. I told everybody yestoday that I wee be monitoring everybody's project. So, where you stop?"
I presented my file on her desk, she scanned through it and persistently said "Homophobia." She apparently didn't know what it was, so she told me to move on to bring a clearer chapter one. I said my end pleasantry and darted off, excitingly.
I submitted my file the next morning, with 3 A4 papers between it, ink-filled front and back pages. She wasn't in her office, so I just dropped it on her table and left. I sat in the canteen and later visited Miss Tolu in the staff room. I left the staff room and went back downstairs, to the canteen, and when I got there, she'd dropped a message for me, so I swiftly complied. I took the two storey building stairs with a race, and then hoove and patted my slight-sweaty face at the doorstep of her office. I knocked at her door and she replied hastily.
"Na you. You no tell me say na gay film you dey try do. Homosexuality is never, has never, and will never be accepted in Nigeria. For this reason, you can't do this project." I laughed the kind of laugh that holds rage within. I replied her, "Ma, I don't have another topic, this is all I have."
"Bring another topic. Or make I pick for you?"
I said no and left her office gently but angrily. I went back to the canteen to meet my colleagues that Wena had cancelled my topic, asking me to bring another one. As I was talking, someone cut me, "It is not only you. She wants everybody to do her topic, which is not possible. We are waiting for the M.D to return from her cruising." When I heard this, my rage became more fierce. I was annoyed and shaky that nobody, not even my mother, would hold me from bursting out the words from my mouth.
I walked through the stairs shakily and swiftly. I wasn't bothered about how draining those steps were, I just wanted to burst out. With my file on my sweaty right hand, I respectfully hit the door. "Who be that? You na no get door for una house?" She reacted. I didn't wait for her to tell me to hit the door open, I just slid in. "Seun, na you. Have you thought of another topic?"
"No, ma. I returned this for reconsideration."
She began to shout at me. She said they arrest gay people and all, and the school could not promote gayism. She opened the upper drawer of her desk, by her right, and brought a folded A4 paper that looked like a letter sent to from somebody, to her. It was in there that she had written in the topics she would want students accomplish. She called the topics out to my ears, but I wasn't interested. I did cut her off when I got tired of talking and said I was going to report her to the M.D if she wasn't competent enough. I touched that point in heart. She was almost going to flush in tears. "Leave my office, idiot! Leave here! When she comes, make you tell am say I cancel your project. I go stand tell am say I cancel am! Leave my office and don't come back again! Give Biola your project make she supervise!" It hurt her that she offered me an exit by opening her door, and I angrily, with my diva attitude, swept myself out. I got downstairs and gisted my colleagues, what other students would do if they had such encounter.
At closing, Kareem, one of my friends, asked me what I had done to Wena, that she was gisting him about my sexuality, that one of the Waptv presenters, the one with the teeth of an empty skull, whose shortness was scary to a dwarf, and hair like train rails, tinted in a curry-like gold, had discussed it with her. This same idiot had invited me to his office, thinking he had a job for me, not knowing he wanted his other colleagues to laugh at me, watching me through their control room or so. This same idiot told me he liked my swag and how I was girly.
Kareem told me how Wena was cursing me, and in details, how she was talking about my sexuality and how police would arrest me. I just laughed. Not quite long, as I was sitting on one of the uncomfortable white, four-legged, plastic chairs at the school's car park, she appeared, with her fanciful, leather handbag across her left shoulder, and another clothed one, containing some things that looked like an important set of files, carried by a student. She got out of the pedestrian gate, when Dammy said, "That's Wena. Go and apologise." I just laughed, with this self-assurance, beating my chest that I would never apologise. Wena turned back as she was exiting the second pedestrian gate, she saw me and headed to me, with some nasty, angry words flowing out from her mouth. "See, I no be your mama mate. Gimme some respect. What you can't do to your parents, don't come here and do it for me, " She said, as she got close, her index finger pointed at me. It seems she was going to slap me. I simply threw my face off and did some talk back, because I did know how painful talk backs were. She shouted, talked till she walked out of where my ears sensitivity could reach. Great!
She hadn't been my supervisor for my final project, but I heard that there was an official change which could make her my supervisor. The first supervisor I was working with was a young, dark, free man who believed in the ideology of "humanity". This man was daring, so he assigned my topic because it was challenging and knowledge-breaking. He said, before his assertion to my topic, "Are you sure you want to do this?", his eye balls,sceptic. I answered him, not only in words, but through the enthusiastic expression on my face. He smiled. He went on and signed my topic and asked me to bring a more constructive topic for reconsideration. I wasn't able to reconstruct, so he was kind to help me play the puzzle of finding a befitting topic. We discussed a little about the topic; what he was expecting to see, the audience he would love the project to reach-- the discussion was worth it. He gave me the go ahead to bring in my chapter breakdown, but before I gathered my chapter one, I was told my project had been passed on to another supervisor. I wasn't too bothered, but I knew a lot was going to turn wrong. I began the journey.
This day, I think the next day after which my project had been passed on to the new supervisor, I took a step of confronting my initial supervisor, to be sure if it was true, that he would not be taking responsibility of my project. And aye, he did confirm it was true, and he advised me to follow whatever instructions this new supervisor gave. I admitted and left for her office, the new supervisor, Wena.
A Naija-Delta woman, with this endomorph body shape, who spoke broken mostly, who pronounced "Yesterday" as "Yestoday", and whose English most times are not understandable. She often complained she was tired whenever students ran after her or said they should come back because she was feeling sleepy or she was going to call somebody so the student has to come back.
I knocked against her door that noon. She said, "Who dey there? Abeg come inside." I pulled down the door handle and smilingly entered. "Seun, na you?" She met me half way to her desk. "Yes, ma. Good afternoon, ma. I heard you will be in charge of my project now," I gladly replied. "Yes o! I will be in charge of everybody's project now. Who dey inspect you before?"
"Mr. Biodun, ma"
"Okay. I told everybody yestoday that I wee be monitoring everybody's project. So, where you stop?"
I presented my file on her desk, she scanned through it and persistently said "Homophobia." She apparently didn't know what it was, so she told me to move on to bring a clearer chapter one. I said my end pleasantry and darted off, excitingly.
I submitted my file the next morning, with 3 A4 papers between it, ink-filled front and back pages. She wasn't in her office, so I just dropped it on her table and left. I sat in the canteen and later visited Miss Tolu in the staff room. I left the staff room and went back downstairs, to the canteen, and when I got there, she'd dropped a message for me, so I swiftly complied. I took the two storey building stairs with a race, and then hoove and patted my slight-sweaty face at the doorstep of her office. I knocked at her door and she replied hastily.
"Na you. You no tell me say na gay film you dey try do. Homosexuality is never, has never, and will never be accepted in Nigeria. For this reason, you can't do this project." I laughed the kind of laugh that holds rage within. I replied her, "Ma, I don't have another topic, this is all I have."
"Bring another topic. Or make I pick for you?"
I said no and left her office gently but angrily. I went back to the canteen to meet my colleagues that Wena had cancelled my topic, asking me to bring another one. As I was talking, someone cut me, "It is not only you. She wants everybody to do her topic, which is not possible. We are waiting for the M.D to return from her cruising." When I heard this, my rage became more fierce. I was annoyed and shaky that nobody, not even my mother, would hold me from bursting out the words from my mouth.
I walked through the stairs shakily and swiftly. I wasn't bothered about how draining those steps were, I just wanted to burst out. With my file on my sweaty right hand, I respectfully hit the door. "Who be that? You na no get door for una house?" She reacted. I didn't wait for her to tell me to hit the door open, I just slid in. "Seun, na you. Have you thought of another topic?"
"No, ma. I returned this for reconsideration."
She began to shout at me. She said they arrest gay people and all, and the school could not promote gayism. She opened the upper drawer of her desk, by her right, and brought a folded A4 paper that looked like a letter sent to from somebody, to her. It was in there that she had written in the topics she would want students accomplish. She called the topics out to my ears, but I wasn't interested. I did cut her off when I got tired of talking and said I was going to report her to the M.D if she wasn't competent enough. I touched that point in heart. She was almost going to flush in tears. "Leave my office, idiot! Leave here! When she comes, make you tell am say I cancel your project. I go stand tell am say I cancel am! Leave my office and don't come back again! Give Biola your project make she supervise!" It hurt her that she offered me an exit by opening her door, and I angrily, with my diva attitude, swept myself out. I got downstairs and gisted my colleagues, what other students would do if they had such encounter.
At closing, Kareem, one of my friends, asked me what I had done to Wena, that she was gisting him about my sexuality, that one of the Waptv presenters, the one with the teeth of an empty skull, whose shortness was scary to a dwarf, and hair like train rails, tinted in a curry-like gold, had discussed it with her. This same idiot had invited me to his office, thinking he had a job for me, not knowing he wanted his other colleagues to laugh at me, watching me through their control room or so. This same idiot told me he liked my swag and how I was girly.
Kareem told me how Wena was cursing me, and in details, how she was talking about my sexuality and how police would arrest me. I just laughed. Not quite long, as I was sitting on one of the uncomfortable white, four-legged, plastic chairs at the school's car park, she appeared, with her fanciful, leather handbag across her left shoulder, and another clothed one, containing some things that looked like an important set of files, carried by a student. She got out of the pedestrian gate, when Dammy said, "That's Wena. Go and apologise." I just laughed, with this self-assurance, beating my chest that I would never apologise. Wena turned back as she was exiting the second pedestrian gate, she saw me and headed to me, with some nasty, angry words flowing out from her mouth. "See, I no be your mama mate. Gimme some respect. What you can't do to your parents, don't come here and do it for me, " She said, as she got close, her index finger pointed at me. It seems she was going to slap me. I simply threw my face off and did some talk back, because I did know how painful talk backs were. She shouted, talked till she walked out of where my ears sensitivity could reach. Great!
Tuesday, 13 December 2016
Encountering Age Consent: Story of the Ill-educated Non-smokers
A discussion on age consent, responsibility, smoking, and drinking between my mother, brother, his friend, and myself.
I was supposed to be at school this morning for my final project, but I couldn't go. So, as I woke, I left to have my bath, the only thing I do when I have somewhere to go. I waited for my mum because she went to drop my sisters off at school. She eventually came back and told me to wait behind, that she didn't have money. She farther told me to go on and prepare white rice for breakfast. I swiftly complied because one of my hobbies is cooking. I went on to boil water. This time, while I was boiling water, my brother came to ask me if I'd like to follow him to get my mother's phone from my sister at her school, because she forgot it with her while she(my sister) was playing game. I agreed because we didn't sleep with light and everywhere was hot, so the car's a/c would give me some body revival. So I got my black-net-armless shirt and walked outside happily. As I got outside, my mum said we shouldn't bother, that she could wait till my sis returned. I was just angry, so I went back inside. I got inside, washed the rice in the boiling water, added some salt, and covered the pot well. I went to sit outside, and my brother's friend was already around. My mum was already admiring me as I walked towards them, no idea why. I noticed and started my stupidity; laughing and speaking phoné(phonetics) and praising her OYINBOISTICALLY. She laughed and said, "Kenny said she will be taking you guys out for a night out party, but you don't mix." I laughed hard. I returned, "I mix more than any other person in our family. I greet total strangers at school." Like it was an achievement, she laughed, replying, "I said it! I was doubting it myself. I told Kenny that you guys mix easily when we are not with you." I laughed and said, "Exactly," like I was already planning for her response.
My brother's friend began a conversation of drinking, asking if I could drink alcohol, that I was going to misbehave at just a swig. I told him I had taken some alcohol in the past, including magic moment, although it was just little, moderate not excessive. Then I thought, what does drinking alcohol mean to Africans? Taking more than your gauge daily? Getting home and puking around? I still thought of what achievements it could offer if I drank alcohol at all. I told him, " Of course, I drink! Why am I 20? The age consent of having an alcohol is 18, and I am 2 years older. I do take alcohol, and I darn follow the caution 'drink responsibly', it is alright by me." They all laughed. My mum told them that if I got drunk, I was going to slap all of them till we got home. I now thought about smoking and asked, "Would you say smoking is bad?" They all answered "yes!" I told them about my views on smoking. I said, "To me, smoking is not bad when you have to take it once in a while. Probably having a stick in seven days. Africans abuse cigarette even after reading the pack that says, 'smokers are liable to die young'. Everybody smokes in Nigeria, and mostly youth, and they abuse it. An average Nigerian youth could combust 18 pieces of cigarette a day, which is tantamount to a pack. Why won't they have cancer? Although, I think some who exhaust a pack daily are depressed, and others do it out of influence." My mum looked at me and was skeptical. She asked if I now smoked, and I pulled her legs, "Yes, I do. And I will be smoking cannabis when I am 22." We laughed, and she said, "You dare not," with the assurance I didn't get. She then asked, "Is anybody depressed? What is depression?" I think she didn't know how chronical depression was, that people just live their lives and think, nothing more. I couldn't answer her question on depression, but I still moved on about our smoking discussion, because I knew Nigerians are not deep in knowledge. They basically hear and leave it the way it is. I asked them, "Have any of you heard of second-hand smoking? Did you know the smoky air that the smoker exhales is more dangerous than the smoky air the smoker takes in himself? That is to say, you are prone to cancer or whatever disease contacted by smokers than the smokers." My mother looked in awe. She said I had gotten another lie from the Internet, and I believed it. I just turned deaf ears and went on to check what I was cooking.
I was supposed to be at school this morning for my final project, but I couldn't go. So, as I woke, I left to have my bath, the only thing I do when I have somewhere to go. I waited for my mum because she went to drop my sisters off at school. She eventually came back and told me to wait behind, that she didn't have money. She farther told me to go on and prepare white rice for breakfast. I swiftly complied because one of my hobbies is cooking. I went on to boil water. This time, while I was boiling water, my brother came to ask me if I'd like to follow him to get my mother's phone from my sister at her school, because she forgot it with her while she(my sister) was playing game. I agreed because we didn't sleep with light and everywhere was hot, so the car's a/c would give me some body revival. So I got my black-net-armless shirt and walked outside happily. As I got outside, my mum said we shouldn't bother, that she could wait till my sis returned. I was just angry, so I went back inside. I got inside, washed the rice in the boiling water, added some salt, and covered the pot well. I went to sit outside, and my brother's friend was already around. My mum was already admiring me as I walked towards them, no idea why. I noticed and started my stupidity; laughing and speaking phoné(phonetics) and praising her OYINBOISTICALLY. She laughed and said, "Kenny said she will be taking you guys out for a night out party, but you don't mix." I laughed hard. I returned, "I mix more than any other person in our family. I greet total strangers at school." Like it was an achievement, she laughed, replying, "I said it! I was doubting it myself. I told Kenny that you guys mix easily when we are not with you." I laughed and said, "Exactly," like I was already planning for her response.
My brother's friend began a conversation of drinking, asking if I could drink alcohol, that I was going to misbehave at just a swig. I told him I had taken some alcohol in the past, including magic moment, although it was just little, moderate not excessive. Then I thought, what does drinking alcohol mean to Africans? Taking more than your gauge daily? Getting home and puking around? I still thought of what achievements it could offer if I drank alcohol at all. I told him, " Of course, I drink! Why am I 20? The age consent of having an alcohol is 18, and I am 2 years older. I do take alcohol, and I darn follow the caution 'drink responsibly', it is alright by me." They all laughed. My mum told them that if I got drunk, I was going to slap all of them till we got home. I now thought about smoking and asked, "Would you say smoking is bad?" They all answered "yes!" I told them about my views on smoking. I said, "To me, smoking is not bad when you have to take it once in a while. Probably having a stick in seven days. Africans abuse cigarette even after reading the pack that says, 'smokers are liable to die young'. Everybody smokes in Nigeria, and mostly youth, and they abuse it. An average Nigerian youth could combust 18 pieces of cigarette a day, which is tantamount to a pack. Why won't they have cancer? Although, I think some who exhaust a pack daily are depressed, and others do it out of influence." My mum looked at me and was skeptical. She asked if I now smoked, and I pulled her legs, "Yes, I do. And I will be smoking cannabis when I am 22." We laughed, and she said, "You dare not," with the assurance I didn't get. She then asked, "Is anybody depressed? What is depression?" I think she didn't know how chronical depression was, that people just live their lives and think, nothing more. I couldn't answer her question on depression, but I still moved on about our smoking discussion, because I knew Nigerians are not deep in knowledge. They basically hear and leave it the way it is. I asked them, "Have any of you heard of second-hand smoking? Did you know the smoky air that the smoker exhales is more dangerous than the smoky air the smoker takes in himself? That is to say, you are prone to cancer or whatever disease contacted by smokers than the smokers." My mother looked in awe. She said I had gotten another lie from the Internet, and I believed it. I just turned deaf ears and went on to check what I was cooking.
Monday, 12 December 2016
Mental Illness: Misconception of Mental Health
How is it possible to be crazy by talking with yourself? I mean, Africans! You are that blind? I see this as a process of self-realization and self-actualisation. By talking with yourself, you build your confidence of expression and comfortability. Things scare you a little less than they should because, your reflection seems like an audience of a billion. It stares at you like the audience, but corrects you for a better physical interaction than physical.
As I was growing, my mum would beat me while I was having house chores, talking and laughing with myself. She would say, "Wérè lo n ma da soro," (translation: only a mad person talks to himself.) I honestly was scared. I thought I was GROWING mad. I thought when I grew, I was going to be wearing torn clothes, car tyres slanting over my shoulders, with muddy, flaky hair, wandering the streets. But it never happened, as I was still talking to myself. I got to realise that talking alone was a therapy, and every human should apply it into their daily activities. That it would reduce the extent at which people go mad. Truth be told, I think that 98% of those who are mad were going through some hard time, and they always waited for people to come around before they talked, or they didn't at all. That is to say, majority of mad people were introverted, and most of the talking they do while they wander could have been what they could have said to themselves positively and move on. But they didn't. I am not holding them at fault for what happens to them, but I feel self-therapy could have saved them.
On a daily basis, if I align the hectic horror I pass through, I could have made the choice of running mad, but I am able to help myself. I talk to myself. I think it's a reflection of myself that I see. The beautiful reflection that I can lie to and feel comfortable with. I find solitude with it. It knows everything anyone doesn't, and that is an achievement for me.
My mental health matters, and I can do everything at my reach to make it normal. If I walk on your street, laughing and talking alone, know this, it is not that I am mad, it is just that I am trying to refine myself from my problems and move on. Thank you.
As I was growing, my mum would beat me while I was having house chores, talking and laughing with myself. She would say, "Wérè lo n ma da soro," (translation: only a mad person talks to himself.) I honestly was scared. I thought I was GROWING mad. I thought when I grew, I was going to be wearing torn clothes, car tyres slanting over my shoulders, with muddy, flaky hair, wandering the streets. But it never happened, as I was still talking to myself. I got to realise that talking alone was a therapy, and every human should apply it into their daily activities. That it would reduce the extent at which people go mad. Truth be told, I think that 98% of those who are mad were going through some hard time, and they always waited for people to come around before they talked, or they didn't at all. That is to say, majority of mad people were introverted, and most of the talking they do while they wander could have been what they could have said to themselves positively and move on. But they didn't. I am not holding them at fault for what happens to them, but I feel self-therapy could have saved them.
On a daily basis, if I align the hectic horror I pass through, I could have made the choice of running mad, but I am able to help myself. I talk to myself. I think it's a reflection of myself that I see. The beautiful reflection that I can lie to and feel comfortable with. I find solitude with it. It knows everything anyone doesn't, and that is an achievement for me.
My mental health matters, and I can do everything at my reach to make it normal. If I walk on your street, laughing and talking alone, know this, it is not that I am mad, it is just that I am trying to refine myself from my problems and move on. Thank you.
A Hearty Tribute to Toheeb
Toheeb, my first physical male lover who died last year. I remember you.
Just three days ago, in preparation for my uncle's wedding, I drove in my parents car, with my uncle and my two younger sisters, to collect the bride price from one of our Aunts at Ijesha. Before we got to Ijesha, my uncle drove to Aguda, where he once stayed with another aunt of ours who relocated to the UK in 2010, to drop his heavy bag of clothes and pick his fiancé for the short journey. We were on this street, adjacent to the street where my uncle stayed. This Street, very narrow, rough and under construction, reminded me of this first time I walked it alone, in search for the house where Toheeb stayed, because he said he was sick, and he would not be able to come out to pick me at the bus stop, only if I reached outside, where he stayed.
I was wandering on the street, with my phone, dialing Toheeb's number for direction. "Where are you? Just walk down the street and look right. I am standing at the foyer," He gently spoke. "Okay," I replied.
I took the street down, with my face looking right, and my heart pounding against my chest. I eventually walked down, almost over the house. The house, a large, brown coated, face-me-I-face-you building, with an exaggerated occupant of 10 different families. His whistle awakened me. I looked well to be sure it was him, the average-heighted guy, 21 years old, whose face was a domicile for pimples. As I confirmed it, I smiled towards him, but he didn't reciprocate. I walked towards him and followed him in the dark aisle of rooms after he turned at his confirmation of me approaching. We got inside and talked. I was in a hurry because I didn't leave a note as to where I was going at home, I didn't have the freedom to leave the house, and I knew my mother would be calling me just as soon as we were talking. I told him about this, so we hastily talked. He asked if I had ever had sex, that what role was I, and if we could have sex, although he was having pile. I told him, without a lie, how desperate I was to disvirgin, and how painful I heard playing bottom was, although I felt bottom-ish. We then demonstrated, starting with a moisty smooch, not wanting to leave his French lips. He kissed as though he had a certificate in romance. He then moved on by letting me thrust him, and by then, my mother's call rang on my phone. He made sure I cum before he let me answer the call. It was relieving -- the soothe you feel after you have a good shower. I swiftly grabbed my trousers and shirt, ran in them, and told him we were going to talk later. He said he was going to see me to the bus-stop, which he did and paid for my lift.
Later, when I chatted him and said we should be in a relationship, he left my messages unreplied. He wasn't picking my calls anymore. I think he deleted my number, because he later picked and asked, "Who is speaking?" I felt bad.
Late last year, he messaged me. He said he wanted my number, but I didn't know he was sick, very sick that he was in bed. I didn't know it was going to be our last day chatting. I didn't know the next I was going to hear was a death news of him. I was shocked, but I couldn't cry.
Just three days ago, after more than two years that I reached there last, tears filled my eyes, flashing back to the memory of Toheeb. I hope he is resting in peace.
Just three days ago, in preparation for my uncle's wedding, I drove in my parents car, with my uncle and my two younger sisters, to collect the bride price from one of our Aunts at Ijesha. Before we got to Ijesha, my uncle drove to Aguda, where he once stayed with another aunt of ours who relocated to the UK in 2010, to drop his heavy bag of clothes and pick his fiancé for the short journey. We were on this street, adjacent to the street where my uncle stayed. This Street, very narrow, rough and under construction, reminded me of this first time I walked it alone, in search for the house where Toheeb stayed, because he said he was sick, and he would not be able to come out to pick me at the bus stop, only if I reached outside, where he stayed.
I was wandering on the street, with my phone, dialing Toheeb's number for direction. "Where are you? Just walk down the street and look right. I am standing at the foyer," He gently spoke. "Okay," I replied.
I took the street down, with my face looking right, and my heart pounding against my chest. I eventually walked down, almost over the house. The house, a large, brown coated, face-me-I-face-you building, with an exaggerated occupant of 10 different families. His whistle awakened me. I looked well to be sure it was him, the average-heighted guy, 21 years old, whose face was a domicile for pimples. As I confirmed it, I smiled towards him, but he didn't reciprocate. I walked towards him and followed him in the dark aisle of rooms after he turned at his confirmation of me approaching. We got inside and talked. I was in a hurry because I didn't leave a note as to where I was going at home, I didn't have the freedom to leave the house, and I knew my mother would be calling me just as soon as we were talking. I told him about this, so we hastily talked. He asked if I had ever had sex, that what role was I, and if we could have sex, although he was having pile. I told him, without a lie, how desperate I was to disvirgin, and how painful I heard playing bottom was, although I felt bottom-ish. We then demonstrated, starting with a moisty smooch, not wanting to leave his French lips. He kissed as though he had a certificate in romance. He then moved on by letting me thrust him, and by then, my mother's call rang on my phone. He made sure I cum before he let me answer the call. It was relieving -- the soothe you feel after you have a good shower. I swiftly grabbed my trousers and shirt, ran in them, and told him we were going to talk later. He said he was going to see me to the bus-stop, which he did and paid for my lift.
Later, when I chatted him and said we should be in a relationship, he left my messages unreplied. He wasn't picking my calls anymore. I think he deleted my number, because he later picked and asked, "Who is speaking?" I felt bad.
Late last year, he messaged me. He said he wanted my number, but I didn't know he was sick, very sick that he was in bed. I didn't know it was going to be our last day chatting. I didn't know the next I was going to hear was a death news of him. I was shocked, but I couldn't cry.
Just three days ago, after more than two years that I reached there last, tears filled my eyes, flashing back to the memory of Toheeb. I hope he is resting in peace.
Saturday, 5 November 2016
Be Water
"Be water my friend," is the initial quote from Bruce Lee. I decided to formulate a write up on it because I was inspired by a dear friend, Kunle.
This sounds intriguing, doesn't it? I had been roughing my head, thinking beyond my breath. I was thinking what I had to do as a human being, to totally feel, to extremely reach and understand. As my thoughts were so swift like films being re winded, I was able to hold a grip of the memory of Friday, when Kunle let me know what it is and really means to 'be water'. Let's do this!
We are humans
We have abilities to control
We have the ability to make choices
We know what we want
Be water
We have pains we go through
We tear down when we have nobody to hear us
We feel alone
We feel dead
Be water
We get overjoyed
We see good opportunities
We get embraced
We have come a long way
Be water
We get sacked
We try to re-up
We seek help
We feel frustrated
Be water
We lost contact
We re-unite
We laugh
We share lost memories
Be water
You are scared
They will hit you
They will yell their butts
They they they
Be water
That's a piece of poem. We can choose to be water. Being water is simply being formless and shapeless. Being water is simply shaping yourself around what your circumstances bring. Being water is being capable of flowing with life and all its scenarios. Flow because water is endless! Free your mind and let your nature speak! Just do make sure to 'Be Water'.
Sunday, 23 October 2016
Lain Lame
My thoughts had been tied to my brain
Leaving me stupid
To talk was a sin
I'd lain lame
Having friends was a flu
That I have to buy drugs for the fools
Just to cure their aches
I'd lain lame
My heart had pounded
Beating my chest hard to search
Searched for things I couldn't pour out
I'd lain lame
The pain had forced my metaphoric voice
That which explains my definition through likening
And now I have the freedom
I'd lain lame
Leaving me stupid
To talk was a sin
I'd lain lame
Having friends was a flu
That I have to buy drugs for the fools
Just to cure their aches
I'd lain lame
My heart had pounded
Beating my chest hard to search
Searched for things I couldn't pour out
I'd lain lame
The pain had forced my metaphoric voice
That which explains my definition through likening
And now I have the freedom
I'd lain lame
Saturday, 8 October 2016
I Cry
In the depth of me, I know
I know the damage and the pain
The denial and battering
The refusal and the taunts
I cry
In my heart, I know
I know how heavy it feels
The burden of tears
The feel of alienation
I cry
In my head, I know
I know how it hurts to over think
The acceptance of myself
The open sheer rejection from within
I cry
In my life, I know
I know I feel security
That one which is a mile away
The one that seems unreachable
I cry
My life would be a disaster
Getting along with a high voltage
Crying for help
Sharing my piece
I cry
I feel my life is myopic
That which you would feel is really deep
Not believing the parts I cry to you
Saying OK in my pain
I cry
Depression has me
Making me feel less human
Torturing for my natural ability
Knocking me off myself
I cry
I hope for a light
A light that would lift me
A light that would elucidate a battle fought
That I wait for.
Tuesday, 27 September 2016
My Skin
Over the years, while I was growing, I have learned to embrace my skin the way it is, and not to lose it to any circumstances. I have learned that if everything would have to leave me while I strive for breath, my ego and skin will be there by me. I have learned to honour my skin, and never to forget that it has been a good shield, while and failed and thrived. I have learned that the only way I could overcome fear is through what my skin preaches to me, and how it preaches it.
Through my skin, while I faced discrimination, I got strong. Through my skin, I have learned to respect diversity, and seek for knowledge. Through my skin, I have learned that all pages are not the same. Through it is where I recognised my dignity. Through it is how I have embraced my fears and turned them into unbreakable walls.
My skin is beautiful. My skin stands out in brightness. My skin is an illumination of originality. My skin is a tailor to the definition of humanity and benevolence. My skin is a precious diamond, worth more than you have. My skin is BLACK, and I am PROUD.
Wednesday, 21 September 2016
Saturday, 17 September 2016
Journal, I Love Somebody
Dear Journal,
It's been two years now that I have been carrying the ache of love. In these two years, I have seen facades of whom I love, even though I can't approach him to say, "Hi. I'd love to be your boy-lover." It is not something I am afraid of saying, but I had put into consideration that, this person is straight, and straight by principles.
In very late 2014 was my first clash with him. Then, it was orientation week at my new school, of which I will be an alumni in 5 days time. The first day I saw him, my jaws dropped! I had never seen such cutey in my entire life. I didn't approach him to say "Hi," I just admired from afar.
Weeks later, after three weeks of holiday, after the orientation programme, I returned back to school, now with the intention of housing in the school's hostel, of which I left very early last year, after some health complications. While as a resident there, I made good friendship contact with this guy. I was inquisitive extraordinarily, wishing to know who he was, the kind of heart he had, the kind of principles that he aligned and showcased in his daily endeavours. I fell in love with everything about him. I made him my best friend and confidant. I let him know things nobody would. I gave him a benefit of doubt, but stunningly, I ended up understanding his flaws and perfection. Although he tries to be a little introvert and rock-hearted.
While I lived in the hostel, we were room mates. We slept on different beds, but I made sure it was always beside him. Most times, he entered the room late, and I got bothered why he had to stay in other people's room for so long. At times, I pretended I was outside, at the balcony, for cool, natural air. But nay, I was loitering and holding on till he came up.
I loved when I talked to him. I loved it when I talked about my sexuality with him, and he tried to dust me out of the realm. We've sat and stood by staircases , discussing what a future held for us, the talents we had, our goods and bads, the people we sheltered with and so on.
I have had him in heart since 2014. I had wanted all my life together with him. I had dreamed him as my Honey, the one whom I would throw hugs at when I needed to be warm. The one whose lips would cure my imagination of who thinks what. The one whose advises and playfulness would keep me on track and stronger than the strongest. The one whom I'd like to pour my heart to, and whom I'd stop what everybody wished I stopped, for.
It is not sad that he is straight to blindness, seeing no love or compassion from a man towards him. I think I understand the fact that he holds love for everyone, but with an exception. Not me, nor you. He knows who it is.
My persistent pain, wailing over the thing that is worth me, but can never be mine? Feeling pains that I won't ever have him as the Sun of my mornings?
It is intriguing when this person has striven to understand you way past his knowledge. That this person had gone deep into research to bringing you back to "normal", like I had any dysfunctionality. This person is my world, and my world with him will end in 5days. This upcoming 5days, especially the fifth day, tears are ready to wave over my face. Tears are ready to play to my beat, and flow swifter than the ocean would, in its space.
My lovely Journal, I have missed you, and this is all I have for you. This is the piece that I am giving to you, to help me amend my fallen heart.
It's been two years now that I have been carrying the ache of love. In these two years, I have seen facades of whom I love, even though I can't approach him to say, "Hi. I'd love to be your boy-lover." It is not something I am afraid of saying, but I had put into consideration that, this person is straight, and straight by principles.
In very late 2014 was my first clash with him. Then, it was orientation week at my new school, of which I will be an alumni in 5 days time. The first day I saw him, my jaws dropped! I had never seen such cutey in my entire life. I didn't approach him to say "Hi," I just admired from afar.
Weeks later, after three weeks of holiday, after the orientation programme, I returned back to school, now with the intention of housing in the school's hostel, of which I left very early last year, after some health complications. While as a resident there, I made good friendship contact with this guy. I was inquisitive extraordinarily, wishing to know who he was, the kind of heart he had, the kind of principles that he aligned and showcased in his daily endeavours. I fell in love with everything about him. I made him my best friend and confidant. I let him know things nobody would. I gave him a benefit of doubt, but stunningly, I ended up understanding his flaws and perfection. Although he tries to be a little introvert and rock-hearted.
While I lived in the hostel, we were room mates. We slept on different beds, but I made sure it was always beside him. Most times, he entered the room late, and I got bothered why he had to stay in other people's room for so long. At times, I pretended I was outside, at the balcony, for cool, natural air. But nay, I was loitering and holding on till he came up.
I loved when I talked to him. I loved it when I talked about my sexuality with him, and he tried to dust me out of the realm. We've sat and stood by staircases , discussing what a future held for us, the talents we had, our goods and bads, the people we sheltered with and so on.
I have had him in heart since 2014. I had wanted all my life together with him. I had dreamed him as my Honey, the one whom I would throw hugs at when I needed to be warm. The one whose lips would cure my imagination of who thinks what. The one whose advises and playfulness would keep me on track and stronger than the strongest. The one whom I'd like to pour my heart to, and whom I'd stop what everybody wished I stopped, for.
It is not sad that he is straight to blindness, seeing no love or compassion from a man towards him. I think I understand the fact that he holds love for everyone, but with an exception. Not me, nor you. He knows who it is.
My persistent pain, wailing over the thing that is worth me, but can never be mine? Feeling pains that I won't ever have him as the Sun of my mornings?
It is intriguing when this person has striven to understand you way past his knowledge. That this person had gone deep into research to bringing you back to "normal", like I had any dysfunctionality. This person is my world, and my world with him will end in 5days. This upcoming 5days, especially the fifth day, tears are ready to wave over my face. Tears are ready to play to my beat, and flow swifter than the ocean would, in its space.
My lovely Journal, I have missed you, and this is all I have for you. This is the piece that I am giving to you, to help me amend my fallen heart.
Tuesday, 16 August 2016
Monday, 1 August 2016
Positive Letter to David and Spouse
Dear David Ukre,
I am writing this note in ecstasy, to let you know how immensely I felt about your marriage. It sounded to me strange, but cool. I love you and your confidence, and that's a great deal of attribute.
Your marriage is controversial in Nigerian news, and that's really giving me a smooth life. But, however, your life can't be judged by what they think should be, which I am grateful that you were baseless about them.
Your marriage inspired me, and has triggered me that I have to run through fast lanes. It has made me realise that love is baseless and regardless. It has made me a little more scared of my life, and fantasising what it would look like next year. I bet you cannot identify the blue and creme butterflies that played in my belly when I got the news of your marriage.
By your marriage, you've set a legacy for future LGBTQ, that they can live without validation. That they can live happily, with anyone, only if they are ready to. You are a mentor, and I will repeatedly let you know how much I love you.
Today, as I am just getting the news, I wish you and your partner a blessed and blissful matrimony. I wish you guys a life-long marriage experience, with cute children. Have a wonderful life, hearts! Love wins!
I am writing this note in ecstasy, to let you know how immensely I felt about your marriage. It sounded to me strange, but cool. I love you and your confidence, and that's a great deal of attribute.
Your marriage is controversial in Nigerian news, and that's really giving me a smooth life. But, however, your life can't be judged by what they think should be, which I am grateful that you were baseless about them.
Your marriage inspired me, and has triggered me that I have to run through fast lanes. It has made me realise that love is baseless and regardless. It has made me a little more scared of my life, and fantasising what it would look like next year. I bet you cannot identify the blue and creme butterflies that played in my belly when I got the news of your marriage.
By your marriage, you've set a legacy for future LGBTQ, that they can live without validation. That they can live happily, with anyone, only if they are ready to. You are a mentor, and I will repeatedly let you know how much I love you.
Today, as I am just getting the news, I wish you and your partner a blessed and blissful matrimony. I wish you guys a life-long marriage experience, with cute children. Have a wonderful life, hearts! Love wins!
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Imaginary Future with Jayden
Dear Jaden,
I feel you. I love you. I'd love to keep a relationship with you, even to marriage. You speak me more than I do. You distantly portray what I look like inside. It is so sweet.
If there could be a merge, I'd so entirely appreciate it. It won't be for pain, but for real blessing of attainment.
I remember those days of Karate Kid, when you took me to fight, and you lost, and I flushed in shame. Those days when you were trying hard to become physically more powerful, that you went through a lot of burning times. I remember those scars and broken legs that made you strong. You were great!
Recently, your innocence is mine. I've got nothing to lose. Your gender-fluidity is mine physically, but yours in both. I identify as you identify, but physically. And that's a pleasant joy.
I want to reach Never say Never. As I sat to listen to you record. I felt a string that pulled through my system. I said, "Jaden, we are strong. We are hopeful at teenage."
I love you Jaden. Give me love. It's yours to know me, and mine to love you. I just fantasised and figure it out that there's hope, after all.
I feel you. I love you. I'd love to keep a relationship with you, even to marriage. You speak me more than I do. You distantly portray what I look like inside. It is so sweet.
If there could be a merge, I'd so entirely appreciate it. It won't be for pain, but for real blessing of attainment.
I remember those days of Karate Kid, when you took me to fight, and you lost, and I flushed in shame. Those days when you were trying hard to become physically more powerful, that you went through a lot of burning times. I remember those scars and broken legs that made you strong. You were great!
Recently, your innocence is mine. I've got nothing to lose. Your gender-fluidity is mine physically, but yours in both. I identify as you identify, but physically. And that's a pleasant joy.
I want to reach Never say Never. As I sat to listen to you record. I felt a string that pulled through my system. I said, "Jaden, we are strong. We are hopeful at teenage."
I love you Jaden. Give me love. It's yours to know me, and mine to love you. I just fantasised and figure it out that there's hope, after all.
Thursday, 28 July 2016
My Extortion Experience: internal and external
Something that goes on well within Nigerian folks is extortion! They are quick to extort on different basis. They lie to set you up, and then, threaten you till they get you forcefully compensating them.
It is now based on the current incident in my house. But before I report, I would swiftly like to share with you an external extortion I experienced.
It happened sometime last year, after all my bragging of not having anything to do with 2go. I was convinced by my younger sister to have another account. I opened this account, and on the day, I met this guy. His profile picture was fantastic, against what he naturally looked like. We chatted throughout the night, he had my BlackBerry pin, and then we made an agreement of meeting the next day.
We met the next day. Before he came through, he delayed, as he was surveying me. I began to wander. I wandered for about an hour. During this time, I was chatting with Waheed. Waheed is my Facebook friend, and I have him on BBM. I was chatting with him, asking him why he's on costume, with friends. It was obviously a festivity in Australia, which I thought was Halloween.
As I stood and logged around, I was in fear. I didn't want anyone to come to mess me up because I was loitering. The Lord forsaken animal turned up eventually, after all the stress. He came in with good regard, "Hey. Sorry I kept you waiting. I was trying to get things done." I thoughtlessly replied, "it's not any problem. How are you?" From there, personal introduction began. We didn't stand at a spot. No, we didn't! The wander I had been wandering continued. He took me pass places I won't recognise when heading back. He told me were on our way to his aunt's house, and it is just a ston-throw from were we were. I said okay, exhilaratingly.
We continued to walk pass stone-throw. It was already becoming journey to Canada by legs, from Nigeria. I had two phones then. The one I had been using, and the one I had just been given, which I was supposed to drop one two days after this occurencence. I stopped to check what the time was. It was some minutes before 2, since after 10. I told him I was running out of time, that we had do what we had to. He said, "Okay. Is that your phone? It's fine." "Oh, yes. It's mine. Thank you. I was given just yesterday." I was flushed in honour, but I never knew he doesn't deserve it a drop.
Then he asked, "can I see it?" I didn't think twice, I just handed it over. And then he checked, and then clasped it in his left hand, as we walked. He suddenly stopped walking at about 3minutes time, and asked, "could we talk?" I said yes. We stood by the road, on a pavement. He asked, "what if I said I am not gay?" I looked around, shaking, to be sure if he was talking to me. I said, "it's no problem. How can I leave this place? And can I have my phone? " He looked at me and smiled. He said, "you are tamed. And you aren't going anywhere. There's a military zone around, and I will take you there, if you don't cooperate. Although, I like you. Why are you gay? Don't you know it is against God?" I laughed with less courage. I said to him, "do you know how I feel? I am utterly against gay people who persistently have sex. They are prone to death. I have lost friends. I have cried, and you are here to set me up? So sad!" He looked at me. I talked sense into him. I continued, "listen, I am not afraid to die. People know me for this. You want to shout? You want to take me to your friends at the military zone? Fine! I am ready. But let me have my phone. I'd like to call my parents. " He asked me who my parents were, and I told him not to worry about them. I scared him! He told me if I wanted my phone back, I will have to transport him. fortunately for him, I had #100, which I gave out to benevolently. My phone was returned, and he showed me the way back to my destination.
Further to this year, after my parents found out that I am gay, my phone was later returned sometime last week, my brother has been threatening me. He collects my phone, and asks me to bail it out. He won't and can't be questioned. He has bestowed authority by my parents. I have spoken to Damilola about this, and she told me to employ perseverance, which I have been doing.
I need a better life of security. Thanks for viewing. This is my experience.
It is now based on the current incident in my house. But before I report, I would swiftly like to share with you an external extortion I experienced.
It happened sometime last year, after all my bragging of not having anything to do with 2go. I was convinced by my younger sister to have another account. I opened this account, and on the day, I met this guy. His profile picture was fantastic, against what he naturally looked like. We chatted throughout the night, he had my BlackBerry pin, and then we made an agreement of meeting the next day.
We met the next day. Before he came through, he delayed, as he was surveying me. I began to wander. I wandered for about an hour. During this time, I was chatting with Waheed. Waheed is my Facebook friend, and I have him on BBM. I was chatting with him, asking him why he's on costume, with friends. It was obviously a festivity in Australia, which I thought was Halloween.
As I stood and logged around, I was in fear. I didn't want anyone to come to mess me up because I was loitering. The Lord forsaken animal turned up eventually, after all the stress. He came in with good regard, "Hey. Sorry I kept you waiting. I was trying to get things done." I thoughtlessly replied, "it's not any problem. How are you?" From there, personal introduction began. We didn't stand at a spot. No, we didn't! The wander I had been wandering continued. He took me pass places I won't recognise when heading back. He told me were on our way to his aunt's house, and it is just a ston-throw from were we were. I said okay, exhilaratingly.
We continued to walk pass stone-throw. It was already becoming journey to Canada by legs, from Nigeria. I had two phones then. The one I had been using, and the one I had just been given, which I was supposed to drop one two days after this occurencence. I stopped to check what the time was. It was some minutes before 2, since after 10. I told him I was running out of time, that we had do what we had to. He said, "Okay. Is that your phone? It's fine." "Oh, yes. It's mine. Thank you. I was given just yesterday." I was flushed in honour, but I never knew he doesn't deserve it a drop.
Then he asked, "can I see it?" I didn't think twice, I just handed it over. And then he checked, and then clasped it in his left hand, as we walked. He suddenly stopped walking at about 3minutes time, and asked, "could we talk?" I said yes. We stood by the road, on a pavement. He asked, "what if I said I am not gay?" I looked around, shaking, to be sure if he was talking to me. I said, "it's no problem. How can I leave this place? And can I have my phone? " He looked at me and smiled. He said, "you are tamed. And you aren't going anywhere. There's a military zone around, and I will take you there, if you don't cooperate. Although, I like you. Why are you gay? Don't you know it is against God?" I laughed with less courage. I said to him, "do you know how I feel? I am utterly against gay people who persistently have sex. They are prone to death. I have lost friends. I have cried, and you are here to set me up? So sad!" He looked at me. I talked sense into him. I continued, "listen, I am not afraid to die. People know me for this. You want to shout? You want to take me to your friends at the military zone? Fine! I am ready. But let me have my phone. I'd like to call my parents. " He asked me who my parents were, and I told him not to worry about them. I scared him! He told me if I wanted my phone back, I will have to transport him. fortunately for him, I had #100, which I gave out to benevolently. My phone was returned, and he showed me the way back to my destination.
Further to this year, after my parents found out that I am gay, my phone was later returned sometime last week, my brother has been threatening me. He collects my phone, and asks me to bail it out. He won't and can't be questioned. He has bestowed authority by my parents. I have spoken to Damilola about this, and she told me to employ perseverance, which I have been doing.
I need a better life of security. Thanks for viewing. This is my experience.
Saturday, 23 July 2016
I Pretend
It is not the fear of being who I am, but the interest in not getting asked questions pertaining my mood. I feign happiness, and I am proud to let you know. I am sanguine outside, and melancholic inside. The truth is I am two-phased. And it is a feeling of delight and serene on its own.
I pretend because I have to. It is not that I wouldn't like to share my feelings with nobody, it is only restraint of multi-people in my life.
I pretend to the extent that I make you believe my happiness. How would you tell me to forget the turmoil of the brain that was caused by people? How do you expect me to be fully cheery after all the exposure? You must be toying.
Pretence is a shield for me. It has tuned me to be a coin of two sides. I try as much to love so as to forget what I heal inside, but love is not working. I pretend.
I pretend because I have to. It is not that I wouldn't like to share my feelings with nobody, it is only restraint of multi-people in my life.
I pretend to the extent that I make you believe my happiness. How would you tell me to forget the turmoil of the brain that was caused by people? How do you expect me to be fully cheery after all the exposure? You must be toying.
Pretence is a shield for me. It has tuned me to be a coin of two sides. I try as much to love so as to forget what I heal inside, but love is not working. I pretend.
Thursday, 21 July 2016
Twenty Years and Flashback
Hey, guys. It's been quite an age I did an article. The reason is because I have been under serious pressure, as my parents found out that I am gay. It has been so difficult for me. So many things are running through my blood now, and I feel more febrile and shaken than ever. I smell more violence and pain. But, however, I am not here to give the story of how they found out, as it would be inconsequential to serve unfinished food.
Today is my birthday. I am 20 years today, and I'd like to get the heart of people for better connection and understanding on it. I had once told the story of how I grew, painful. And, yet, I will be doing a better version below. Do not stop reading. It is just as near as the next paragraph.
I anticipate a lot of compliments today. But I don't think it is worth it. How on earth would you congratulate a man whose freedom has been long hung? How would you congratulate a man whose joy has never lasted a whole day? How would you compliment a man that goes through what is so inhuman, and expect him to nod like everything is fine? Now, it is not about the incident that lately happened, but for those which I had grown dealing with.
Would anyone have believed if I told them all my Birthdays so far had been the worst days of my life? Would anyone believe if I said I have never in my life experience the sweetness of Birthdays? Would anyone think I am lying if I said to hell on earth? I am sad, and I have been.
My mother always said; "your birthdays come ill luckily. You do not just have this blessing around you. Your birthdays come and go just ordinary. I don't understand." I am grieved.
Would it not have been beautiful if anyone ever identifies with what I go through? The pain, tears, heartbreak? I am being mentally disturbed. I frequently talk to myself, hoping the life I wanted was here. It is not helping. Everything smells suicide.
I am just 20, and if I align my obstacles while growing, till now, you wouldn't believe. Have you ever been told that you will be killed for being yourself? Have your parents ever called you unfortunate and bastard child because you do not just see what they see wrong in you? Have you ever been extorted. Have you been roped naked and beaten with hose, four-mouthed whip, and belt at the same time because some people wanted you to be masculine? Have you been planked by policemen in the public because you are trying to help a victim, and you are girly? Have you suffered broken lips and eyes because you simply rested your legs on a fellow man? Has Amanda ever broadcasted you like she's done to me, calling all sorts of names, including ugly fag? Has Amanda ever disgraced you in a place as public as a school compound, tearing your clothes, and shouting "see this ugly gay o!"? Has Osas ever told you how lucky you are to not try nonsense with men like him? Has a soldier ever attacked you because you wanted everyone to know you are around? Have you ever risked telling a straight man you love him? Have you ever been deprived and taken differently? Have your friends ever slapped you and say they right because you are girly? Have you ever thought of coming out because you feel what your brother feels is sheer hatred, and you needed to come out for more awareness? Have you ever suffered an injury at the back of your leg for a month and a half, because you are gay? Suffering a deep cut that bled for two days on your temple/forehead because you have to conforn? Has your mother ever told your brother's girlfriend that you are gay? Have you attended weddings with your parents with the sole reason to change your orientation? Have you cried blood to God that you didn't want to be gay? Have you ever attempted suicide trice like I did, and was caught and whipped for trying such? Has your phone ever been seized by your parents and elder brother? Has your mother ever told your younger siblings never to be like you? Have you failed so much like I did in my Junior school to Senior school 1? Have you been attacked by friends, assuring you that they'd stab you if they found out you are what they supposed? Have your gay peeps ever shown hate at you? Have you turned insomnia because you have to help your mum sell at her bar all day through night long? It is sad! I am bittered! I vigorously damaged! This are few things that I could remember I had gone through. Now, this is another fulfilling year. I don't want to be negative, but I have to be. What will be will. Another prospect year, filled with ambiguous understanding. Filled with expected anxiety. How do I have to live? When will I live free? When? I am tortured. I have lost my virtue and my conquest as a gay man. My pride is deprived. I am mentally alone. I don't want my end now, at 20.
This is the piece I've got. I wish myself a happy birthday. I hope things get better.
Today is my birthday. I am 20 years today, and I'd like to get the heart of people for better connection and understanding on it. I had once told the story of how I grew, painful. And, yet, I will be doing a better version below. Do not stop reading. It is just as near as the next paragraph.
I anticipate a lot of compliments today. But I don't think it is worth it. How on earth would you congratulate a man whose freedom has been long hung? How would you congratulate a man whose joy has never lasted a whole day? How would you compliment a man that goes through what is so inhuman, and expect him to nod like everything is fine? Now, it is not about the incident that lately happened, but for those which I had grown dealing with.
Would anyone have believed if I told them all my Birthdays so far had been the worst days of my life? Would anyone believe if I said I have never in my life experience the sweetness of Birthdays? Would anyone think I am lying if I said to hell on earth? I am sad, and I have been.
My mother always said; "your birthdays come ill luckily. You do not just have this blessing around you. Your birthdays come and go just ordinary. I don't understand." I am grieved.
Would it not have been beautiful if anyone ever identifies with what I go through? The pain, tears, heartbreak? I am being mentally disturbed. I frequently talk to myself, hoping the life I wanted was here. It is not helping. Everything smells suicide.
I am just 20, and if I align my obstacles while growing, till now, you wouldn't believe. Have you ever been told that you will be killed for being yourself? Have your parents ever called you unfortunate and bastard child because you do not just see what they see wrong in you? Have you ever been extorted. Have you been roped naked and beaten with hose, four-mouthed whip, and belt at the same time because some people wanted you to be masculine? Have you been planked by policemen in the public because you are trying to help a victim, and you are girly? Have you suffered broken lips and eyes because you simply rested your legs on a fellow man? Has Amanda ever broadcasted you like she's done to me, calling all sorts of names, including ugly fag? Has Amanda ever disgraced you in a place as public as a school compound, tearing your clothes, and shouting "see this ugly gay o!"? Has Osas ever told you how lucky you are to not try nonsense with men like him? Has a soldier ever attacked you because you wanted everyone to know you are around? Have you ever risked telling a straight man you love him? Have you ever been deprived and taken differently? Have your friends ever slapped you and say they right because you are girly? Have you ever thought of coming out because you feel what your brother feels is sheer hatred, and you needed to come out for more awareness? Have you ever suffered an injury at the back of your leg for a month and a half, because you are gay? Suffering a deep cut that bled for two days on your temple/forehead because you have to conforn? Has your mother ever told your brother's girlfriend that you are gay? Have you attended weddings with your parents with the sole reason to change your orientation? Have you cried blood to God that you didn't want to be gay? Have you ever attempted suicide trice like I did, and was caught and whipped for trying such? Has your phone ever been seized by your parents and elder brother? Has your mother ever told your younger siblings never to be like you? Have you failed so much like I did in my Junior school to Senior school 1? Have you been attacked by friends, assuring you that they'd stab you if they found out you are what they supposed? Have your gay peeps ever shown hate at you? Have you turned insomnia because you have to help your mum sell at her bar all day through night long? It is sad! I am bittered! I vigorously damaged! This are few things that I could remember I had gone through. Now, this is another fulfilling year. I don't want to be negative, but I have to be. What will be will. Another prospect year, filled with ambiguous understanding. Filled with expected anxiety. How do I have to live? When will I live free? When? I am tortured. I have lost my virtue and my conquest as a gay man. My pride is deprived. I am mentally alone. I don't want my end now, at 20.
This is the piece I've got. I wish myself a happy birthday. I hope things get better.
Sunday, 26 June 2016
Emotionally Isolated
You can't dream it. No, you don't want it. Sitting out with friends, not pushing aside that fiend disturbing. I wish I could compromise with my heart, but we are always apart. It wants another partner apart from me. I wish it could listen to me. But, no. Instead, it continues to beat my chest heavily.
Talking about emotionally lively, a partner may not do. A people may not do. I think it wants peoples. When I say peoples, I mean in the perception of: different colours,cultures,background, gender, sexual orientation and more. I think my heart will flourish by then.
I am physically blessed with a people. They temporarily heal my aching heart. Albeit, not up to extreme, but it is ample. I tend to keep the ache at height, and reach for it after all the gathering. It is well to suffer this.
Saturday, 25 June 2016
My Self-hating Story: Part 1
At the age of thirteen, my mother had always preached to me to be "against" gay people, as they are all going to burn in hell. She knew I was affiliated with gay people in some way. The way I talked, walked, acted, and everything. She didn't want me to be gay. She said gay people die very quickly. She said their anus tears. She said Dangote was gay, that had 2 wives and many husbands. She said they kidnapped young boys and take them to Dangote's house for marriage. I wasn't surprised. She asked if I wanted to be kidnapped by Dangote's men, but I bodily disagreed. I wanted to go with Dangote's men. But don't like myself gay.
The incident that happened in my secondary school, which I had once talked about, about a friend who came to my house and started talking my girlish attitude in school. I was beaten for that. Severely beaten, and was deprived of having friends. My mother continued to preach to me about the goodness of God.
We relocated to Surulere in 2010. In 2012's Ramadan period, my father was just recovering from a vicious accident, or probably before then. So, I was sent on an errand to get stuff for dinner, as it was almost time to break. I went getting those stuff, without my phone. My phone was very small, useless phone, but could check porn sites and do 2go. There was no security code. I was just there. As I got back, trying to settle down from the stress, my father asked if I usually prayed. Of course I did! Then he asked my mum if she could believe the sites I had been on during the observation of the sawm. He did tell my mum, and she couldn't believe it. I wasn't beaten. No, I wasn't touched. But my mother began her preaches about gay people. How God despised them, and how isolated they will be when they died. I didn't like myself. I was nuts! I wanted to try murder. I had a 2-day-old boyfriend on 2go then. I instantly cursed him and told him he would die soon. I deleted him afterwards. My mum didn't stop, though. My brother's ex-girlfriend came another day, and she told her all about what happened. Since then, till she and my brother broke-up, she called me "my gay brother-in-law."
Flash back to 2010, when my cousin stayed with us. I did not know what Twitter was. He opened an account for me and told me how it functioned. I wa exhilarated that I had an account. But, who knew what I did while operating that account? Well, you guessed right! I was spewing and swearing! I was soliciting for God against gay people. All that came into me was "swear for them!". I was bittered. In one part of me, I knew I was cursing myself, but I continued. I also used to pledge to God that the very first I have sex with a man, let me die hard and in pain. But it never did happen.
In 2013 was the very first time I had a physical contact with a man. We did not do penetration, but there was a contact. It was also during Ramadan, that year. It was suiting, but all full in regrets!
I lied that I was going to mosque that night, so mother told me she needed someone to reach the ATM stand for cash. I agreed to assist, as I knew I was going to meet somebody. It wasn't funny. I left home, like I was going to mosque, then took another route to wait for the person. I waited for about 30minutes, shivering. He eventually arrived, and then we headed for where he stayed. He wasn't alone. His brother was with him. But I never knew what set-up was then, and thank God it wasn't. We got to his place and did all we had to do. During our pleasure, my mum's number rang on my phone. I was scared. I quickly had to leave. I eventually bursted out, sad and shivering, in haste, trying to meet up. It was like three missed calls already. And the next time she would call, I picked and told her I just rounded up praying at the mosque, that I was headed to the ATM. After she dropped, I began to run. I ran and was saying in my heart, "kill me now, Lord. I have betrayed you. It is my promise to you not to have sex with a man. Kill me now, Lord. Let me suffer for this. I want to die and go to hell." I repeated these till I got to the ATM. Getting to the ATM, and slotting in my card into its required space, I waited, shivering ,for the information it had to display. It displayed them, and I pressed them according to what it ought to be. When it was time to print, it hung. And then my hands were already hung over my head. It was a busy road. There was no one I could call. I began to flourish in shame and guilt. I felt remorse. I thought God was already there to take my life. My mum called at that time, and I told her that her card had been stuck to the ATM, and it won't come out. She shouted at me, telling me to get a security man there. But during the call, the ATM ejected the card. I wasn't happy yet. I said "Thank God. What next?"
When I got home, I couldn't attempt withdrawal anymore, my mum asked where the money was, that she had gotten alert by that time she dropped the last call. I was frail. What's happening, I wondered. I was still bothered about my first man-to-man contact. My mum showered insults upon me, and then she forgot about it.
I was now thinking broad. Tears began to evade my face. I started praying in my heart. I started to renew my pledges to God. I told him I didn't want to be gay. I cried all night and slept.
I moved on. I began other days with "God I am not gay", and ended them up with "so help me God."
But feeling for guys never ended. And hating myself never stopped broadening.
I will tell more of my self-hatred story later on. Please, read, view, share, and let me know how you grew up feeling different and self-hating. Thanks. Till soon.
Candle Light: Positivity
In darkness, assurance of uncertainty
In fear, assurance of falling and failing
In trust, assurance of braking
In light, a little candle light, assurance of the future.
In pain, assurance of confessing or dying
In play, assurance to be carried along and freeing
In confession, assurance to leave or stay
In light, a little candle light, assurance of fearlessness.
Candle light! Oh, little dear candle light!
Where are thou?
Mine or theirs?
Up for me, or down?
Candle light!
With you, I can stand tall above my head
With you, I can say I am the head
With you, isolation is racing from height.
Hello, everyone. This is to positive-minded individuals. Stand tall with a candle light.
Friday, 24 June 2016
Stroke-Out: The Fear of Being a Minus in my Family
It would have been so much my wish to talk through my sexuality with my parents, as I had with some of my school colleagues. But the fear continues to heave. It comes like an earth-breaking lightening. It is beautiful, but hazardous.
I wish I could make my parents understand me. I wish I could sit them down and let them know how my heart is apart, being gay. "No, they won't take it! You'll be beaten out of the house, and be called omo ale (bastard in Yoruba), as my dad usually call me," I assured myself. It is discouraging.
Recent times, my mum had called me, saying she's heard some allegations against me, that I am gay. I looked in pain to answer "rara o(no!)" She began to preach to me what the Bible has stated about being homosexual. She chipped in Sodom and Gomora nonsense, telling me that if I were, I should stop, because my space in hell fire is bigger than the earth.
My dad is not a feelings man. He doesn't care. He has disowned me ever since he relocated from Saudi Arabia. Everything I did was useless and bad. I was the most beaten by him. He threw and still throws curses at me. He called me bastard, a lot of times. He shows how he hates gay people, although doesn't talk much about them. I am oh-so sure that my hand and legs will be broken when he learns that I am gay.
My brother should be a support system, but instead, he holds a relevance in antagonising me. I can't talk to him. He can't keep my secrets. He's going to beat me and break my eye as he did, once, when I had a little problem with our mother. He will order me to strip off, like he did sometime last year, when I was caught resting my legs, and whip me bad and good. My parents wouldn't say a thing.
Who do I tell? If I told them, I am just ready to stop my education. My father won't cater for me no more. Nobody would be responsible for how I breathe or where I live my life. They will be happily pained to cast me out of their house. But I don't want to. I am not prepared to. I will have no one to cry to. I will have no security.
They will know soon. Some of my school mates are ready to shout me out to them. My blog could go viral, that they may get to their Facebook pages, seeing links waiting for them. They've been questioning me why I have not been accepting their requests. How would I explain myself? How would I explain to them? Who will ever tell them never to beat me, as great as this Nigeria is?
I cannot seek asylum before the incident. I cannot do my travel on my own. I have tried to convince my mum to get me out, but she gives stories of our ancestors. I think she knows, but wants me to face pain.
I want to remain Idris, but how possible can this be? My parents could be hostile. It could be the end for me. Maybe my siren of burial next.
I Love Drag!
Okay. It's another dark, without moon night. And so, out of everything, I was wondering. I wanted ask who knows how much I love to be Drag? Like the feeling is just like a golden strike in the sky.
I am so thrilled when I get make-up on, wear in heels, wear some wigs, or carry some natural long shit!
When I leave Nigeria, my Fashion style would be manly-girly. I love short dresses! A skirt is just a real no for me! I can't wait to wear off-shoulders with a pair of shorts and vintage sandals. I can't wait to have the cutest make-overs.
I love attention! I am sure it will be the most interesting part everyone would want to be attracted to! Like, a strand of hair must not pass, it will definitely go through some drama!
Drama Queens! Drag Highness! It will be soon.
Wednesday, 22 June 2016
My Afro Journey: Grooming my Hair
Hello, readers! I have returned! So, I woke up three days ago, and decided I wanted to do afro. Wow! So, I went through some articles on hair blogs, and also, YouTube videos. I saw some secrets to keeping a healthy afro. So, follow me through my first day and the products I will be using.
Today, I didn't do much. I just got some products for my hair. I got shampoo and conditioner. But before I got them, I had washed my hair with shampoo alone. I also used olive oil after taking off the shampoo from my hair.
PRODUCTS OF USE
1. Shampoo
3. Conditioner
4. Olive oil.
Note: These are all I have started with. Likewise, your curls could grow by these products. Just follow HOW.
How?
It is not overly difficult. It takes only dedication.
Step 1: rub shampoo on your palms, and take through your hair /scalp. Do not scrub, just rub, while you massage. Do that for a minute or two.
Step 2: get your pick, not comb. Do not use short-tooth combs, as you may be disrupting the hair from growing. Use the pick to detangle knotty hair, if tangled.
Step 3: wash off shampoo from hair.
Step 4: do not damp. Leave wet as you add your conditioner and olive oil. Cover with a shower cap. Do not wash off until a later time.
Step 5: wash off, and feel sexy!!!
Note: do not touch your hair regularly after everything, as it may cause hair breakage.
My hair after everything.
Monday, 20 June 2016
God Adores You: Live!
It is unclear how God adores you (GAY). But he does. It seems like he doesn't care. He appears to be adverse or against you, but no, He isn't. He adores you.
You think He created you for nothing? No! He created you gay because He, GAY. You are blessed. You are given and bestowed the fruit of joy. Do not get deprived. Don't let people's words pull you back. You are strong!
People like you have died. The truth is, I am not a religion activist nor a contributor. But yet, I believe in God. Whenever I remember I am a gay man, I say to myself "God Adores You". I am fearless. I love myself. I can't afford to lose Me for Them.
Always remember, God Adores You! Spread the message!!!
You think He created you for nothing? No! He created you gay because He, GAY. You are blessed. You are given and bestowed the fruit of joy. Do not get deprived. Don't let people's words pull you back. You are strong!
People like you have died. The truth is, I am not a religion activist nor a contributor. But yet, I believe in God. Whenever I remember I am a gay man, I say to myself "God Adores You". I am fearless. I love myself. I can't afford to lose Me for Them.
Always remember, God Adores You! Spread the message!!!
Homophobia Outside Pefti: Another Phase
So, today, as I have not paid my school fees, I was outside class, in the school's compound, with the receptionists, telling me I couldn't go in my class. I unarguably had a seat. My friend, Seyi Olowoyo, had gotten to school before me. She was supposed to meet with a lecturer, but wasn't allowed to,until Damilola came.
Before Damilola came, I felt alive. I was supper thrilled, as I was last week, jumping from one talk to another. I began. Seyi grabbed her camera, and began to video, stating that "Seun, I will make money from you o! All your madness must not go in vain. YouTube must pay me." I laughed out loud, tears almost dropping exhilaratingly from my eyes. It was fantastic! People laughed. My school colleagues watched. Some, smiling while being contempted, some frowning in anger, while others laughed genuinely. I enjoyed the feeling, that moment.
I eventually settled in a seat. People talking. Receptionists still surprised at how agile I could have been, even without having paid my fees. I am close and friendly to one of the receptionists. We laughed at everything I said, including my sexuality. It's not a big deal. Then she started talking so silently, that even, flies could barely hear, to the other receptionist, making my sexuality a subject matter, I am sure, as I eavesdropped, even though her voice was slight and tender. As I heard, I got up, I picked up my DIVA ego, and said to her "Hey, Darling. My husband will be fine. We'll be getting married in five years, and our 2 children, Black and White American will come after five years of marriage." She laughed. Everybody laughed. Then she said "Not in Nigeria here." I replied her, "Of course, who would?" Then Seyi, one of my best friends, said in Yoruba "You will soon die," probably almost in a serious way. "If I die, I don't care. As much as I am concerned, I have a death wish. I have been fantasising about my death. I don't want to die through jungle justice. I just want a peaceful shot of the gun through my body," I said to her. She exclaimed, while everyone laughed.
Osas, a school colleague, was with us. He was laughing, too, then he began "you no fit say you be gay for public. I sure die. They go lynch you. Come my street, na two slap dem go use welcome you. They go beat you and stone you till God receive you for heaven." I laughed. I immediately said "I don't want to die that way. "Go National T.V go broadcast am. Na one guy they beat for Unilag that time, almost to death, wey run away," he stated. I instantly knew who he was trying to say. I said "Oh! Bisi Alimi?" "Yes, that guy. He for Don die." he returned. "He's doing fine now, and will be getting married by the end of this year. He was even in Nigeria lately. He came safe, and he left as he came, even happier." I said laughing to him. He looked at me with a frown rising through his body to his face and said "na him sabi. Why he no let people know?" I shook my head. I felt sad and sorry.
As everything ended, I said "a lot of gay people are around, hiding themselves. They can't come out. They even hate out people more. So terrible. Although, I am not out to my family yet." I never expected a response, but Osas asked, more responsibly, "why haven't you?" I turned to him and said "It's not the right time. They'll know." I felt no regret. I was relieved.
Homophobia is lurking. It is everywhere you go, like MTN network. We all have to learn and play safe. Insecurity is not a good thing. The truth is, I am more afraid of my life now that I am out in college. If I had known that I would have to carry more responsibilities and taunt and torment each day of school, I would have kept myself in the shell, and continued to live the fakest, hidden life.
If it is not at your comfort to come out, hold. Be careful, and play safe. It is not easy. I hope one day, if I didn't die before then, I will live happily in diaspora.
Sunday, 19 June 2016
Why I Am Black?
I had wanted to question the reason why I was born and blessed black. I had wished I was born White and British. It frequently did come to my thoughts that I belonged in another sort of Continent. Probably Europe, or North America. I just wanted to belong there. Until I found the beauty in my race, I was still about, wanting to be American, nor British.
As African, we go through a lot of racial issues. We get abused and deprived of some things. They use signs or some cultural things as a way of indirect racial abuse.
I am not Black for you. I am Black for myself and, really, joy. I am Black for no slavery, but freedom. I am Black for entitlement, not worshipping what doesn't deserve a bow.
I had read some books that talked about Racism. A good example is by one of my best authors, Chimamanda Adichie's "Americanah". Really, I was touched by class. There, I learnt no class for Blacks (as in Rich Blacks; poor Blacks). The Whites refer to all Blacks (rich and poor), as Blacks. When there's a comparison between the Poor Whites and Poor Blacks, they rather generalise Blacks, and classify the poor Whites. They say the Poor Whites and Blacks,rather than "The poor Whites and the poor Black. " I mean, racism is intense and sharp. It is heart-shaking.
As a black man, as gay as I am, I deserve the rest a white-skinned has. I deserve every honour they get. I have learned to become me. I am Black and thick-skinned. I am Black and unlazy. I am Black, agile and upright. I am a man of colour and honour. Why I am Black? I am Black because I am fully branded! Why are you Black?
Let's fight for us! Regardless our identity, what we do, who we work with. Let's let our voices not be tamed. We are powerful. We could make changes. We could give to the unbelievers, in positivity, what they had never foreseen. We are US. We stand in unity for us! No to discrimination of Race!
As African, we go through a lot of racial issues. We get abused and deprived of some things. They use signs or some cultural things as a way of indirect racial abuse.
I am not Black for you. I am Black for myself and, really, joy. I am Black for no slavery, but freedom. I am Black for entitlement, not worshipping what doesn't deserve a bow.
I had read some books that talked about Racism. A good example is by one of my best authors, Chimamanda Adichie's "Americanah". Really, I was touched by class. There, I learnt no class for Blacks (as in Rich Blacks; poor Blacks). The Whites refer to all Blacks (rich and poor), as Blacks. When there's a comparison between the Poor Whites and Poor Blacks, they rather generalise Blacks, and classify the poor Whites. They say the Poor Whites and Blacks,rather than "The poor Whites and the poor Black. " I mean, racism is intense and sharp. It is heart-shaking.
As a black man, as gay as I am, I deserve the rest a white-skinned has. I deserve every honour they get. I have learned to become me. I am Black and thick-skinned. I am Black and unlazy. I am Black, agile and upright. I am a man of colour and honour. Why I am Black? I am Black because I am fully branded! Why are you Black?
Let's fight for us! Regardless our identity, what we do, who we work with. Let's let our voices not be tamed. We are powerful. We could make changes. We could give to the unbelievers, in positivity, what they had never foreseen. We are US. We stand in unity for us! No to discrimination of Race!
Sunday, 12 June 2016
White Blood
In fear, we live
Wanting a place of life
Asking for importance in tears
But all seems far near
On the way,
Our white blood taken for evil
Leaving us in the darkness of obscurity
Letting us know no security
Our white blood, darker
Our originality, lightly
Like an unimportant river
Flowing nowhere ever
Leave our bloods white
We are humans
We are of one form
We are of one realm
Leave our bloods white
For if they turn dark
Evil may purpose us
Not kindness, nor butterflies in our bellies
Thanks as you view. This is for my brothers. #iprayforFlorida #50gaymen #mybrothers #myhearts
Hateful Massacre: We will Survive
To be honest, I hate America from the very time I knew about it. It is such an unlawful country. Although, Miami beach seems like the end of the world. It is a country I can't live in, but could take jaunts to, or some vacation. But, hey guys, this article is not about myself, or what I'd like to do, or where I wanted to live in after I flee Nigeria. But for the society; our society (LGBT).
It downed on me this evening as condolence messages invaded my precious Facebook homepage. I was shocked and bittered. I immediately wondered where this world is sailing to. It is so blurry. So unclear about its prospect.
We, as a community, have suffered over unknown decades. Spite has been nurtured into our minds and thoughts, that of our ancestors, and of the future generations. It's been perceived that we are created different. And so,hence, we are open to violence. We are open to hatred. We are open to xenophobia. We are open to exclusion and vulnerability. This links me to the event that happened overnight at one popular Gay club in Orlando.
Whoever this individual was, could he be proud to say he was born human? Could he have acknowledged the fact that his relatives may fall into this community? Could he had felt the pains he left tens of families? Could he? So draining! So cruel! So bloody! He left people, innocent, dead. He left them dead for no good reason than their sexuality. Is this right?
Over 40 people left dead. This is injustice. This is inhuman! Justice must be served. There must not be mercy. Gay people are human. We do everything everybody does. We cherish ourselves, and we ask for inclusion. It can't be taken from us. Our pride remains ours. It is rainbow that we carry, it is beautiful, and we'll carry it forever.
I can't keep sleeping every night, and always wake up with an unfathomable lots of tragedies. I am not biased about this. I am sure every other gay person identifies with this. And, it really is not dealing with a continent, but intercontinental. The phobia is an elastic. To me, it is not going to cut soon. It needs a scissors-- a well sharpened scissors, and the scissors is us, as a community. We must lend our voices! We must create awareness. We should be included in everything that happens, no matter how small.
I send my condolences, again, to the lovely souls of the massacre. I pray for the fortitude for your families to continue. We love you all! Rest in Peace.
And, I, Seun Idris, assure you that I won't rest. We won't rest until they know. We are ready. Our lights for you, brothers.
Wednesday, 8 June 2016
Close Your Eyes: Meghan Trainor: My feel
Sourced from: Google images
All I have been doing since last night is sleeping with this song, waking up, still listening, and going to school, never stopped. There's a lot of hope and self-love in it. Self-respect and self-conciousness are not omitted.
I am sensitive and retentive. This song brought back my memory to sour things that had been spewed at me, and they look as afresh as the morning sun. All this words brought me to ridicule myself. They brought me down as a human being. It was hectic.
Over the past two years, I have been learning to respect myself- to set principles and standard for myself. Not because I was finding it only unappealing, but because it was also needed. It was needed I earned some self-respect. The degradation of everything about me was higher than a burden for me. I couldn't talk. I laid myself for people's impression. Their torturing impressions. It was all a hard times.
Seriously, on my side, Meghan has constructed another phase of confidence for me, and like-minded people. She's told us to "Close Our Eyes", think less about what people think, and just show them what "beautiful" is. She gave a relevant awareness to hopelessness. That song is thunderous!
I think she stated that we are BORN DIFFERENTLY! And that's so true! We are born to be different. And everybody's source of happiness is different. Do not compare the qualities of a person to another! It is not done!! I can't be you. No, I can't. Thank you.
Saturday, 4 June 2016
To My Sweet, Honey Pie; My Inspiration- Nnanna Ikpo
It's more than a year that I have known you, and you've been excitingly there. It is of great honour that I write this epistle on your birthday, to acknowledge your importance in my life. Read below.
Dear Nnanna,
I am so thrilled about your importance in my life. I am sure your just past year went as you'd foreseen it.
To me, your value in my life mattered, and still does. I have no regret at all, letting you know my challenges as a vulnerable young man. Your solution-finding kind of person made me love you more. Your hopes for me leave me positive. Your activism has taught me to be an inspiration, activist, independent, and a fearless human being.
I remember very well, when I told you I was scared, that I may die soon, following the jungle justice of Akinnifesi. You assured me that everything would be fine. You linked me with TIERs, and no regrets.
I wish I had met you. I know I will, sooner or later. I will tell you sweeter words. LOL. The ones that would sound like an epic.
I must not lie, you have shaped my life and future. You've given me an unphysical gifts. You've taught and groomed me. And for this, I will be grateful forever.
A thunderous cheery Birthday to you, love! It is not a miss-road that I met you. I can't revere you enough. But I pray to the Almighty to do that in folds for me, to you. You are wonderful, beautiful, an idol. You are hold up in high esteem. May God never have a reason to detest and forsake you. Happy New Year, Nnanna Ikpo. Every 20 years would always seem like a year.
Best regards,
Seun Idris.
All pictures sourced from: Facebook.com/ ikpo.nnanna
Dear Nnanna,
I am so thrilled about your importance in my life. I am sure your just past year went as you'd foreseen it.
To me, your value in my life mattered, and still does. I have no regret at all, letting you know my challenges as a vulnerable young man. Your solution-finding kind of person made me love you more. Your hopes for me leave me positive. Your activism has taught me to be an inspiration, activist, independent, and a fearless human being.
I remember very well, when I told you I was scared, that I may die soon, following the jungle justice of Akinnifesi. You assured me that everything would be fine. You linked me with TIERs, and no regrets.
I wish I had met you. I know I will, sooner or later. I will tell you sweeter words. LOL. The ones that would sound like an epic.
I must not lie, you have shaped my life and future. You've given me an unphysical gifts. You've taught and groomed me. And for this, I will be grateful forever.
A thunderous cheery Birthday to you, love! It is not a miss-road that I met you. I can't revere you enough. But I pray to the Almighty to do that in folds for me, to you. You are wonderful, beautiful, an idol. You are hold up in high esteem. May God never have a reason to detest and forsake you. Happy New Year, Nnanna Ikpo. Every 20 years would always seem like a year.
Best regards,
Seun Idris.
All pictures sourced from: Facebook.com/ ikpo.nnanna
Wednesday, 1 June 2016
Bisi Alimi's Matrimony: a Letter to Hope
 |
| Bisi Alimi. Sourced from: Facebook. |
Lately, on my Facebook, I have been getting feeds from Bisi Alimi about his upcoming wedding. Of course, it is a thing of joy. But ,really, I can imagine it.
Bisi has gone through a lot in his sole life. He's the first ever LGBT community member that came out to the world via a television programme in 2004, in Nigeria, where conservatism is a ruler. Following his brave actions came all severe reaction towards him, up to the extent of him fleeing the country through seeking asylum, for life assurance.
His wedding to me is quite not surprising, because he deserves to be happy. But on the other hand, I find it very surprising, and still cannot fathom it. Why? Probably because it is my first time seeing the most fuss-about Nigerian gay wedding.
This brings me to thinking about myself and what the future holds for me. It is heart-crushing how diversity in sexual preference is not validated in this part of the world. I would have loved a life of my own. The one where I can publicly declare my husband. The life that my husband parents would love me, mine, him.
Bisi Alimi is a great lesson to me. His matrimony aches my heart, because I think I don't have a future in this country, to tie the knots with who I want to tie it with. But, it bubbles my heart, because Bisi has to be happy.
Happy Matrimony in advance, Bisi & Anthony. I wish you a blissful life.
Monday, 30 May 2016
Achieving Potential: A Story of Goodness
This is not about being arrogant, but simply a vivid and picture-able fact. Truth be told, I am successful. Albeit, my success is not yet bringing in finances.
I have a very bright future. I have an unreachable potential. I have been working on what I need to work on. I have been getting compliments on my ability, lately.
In the past 5 years, I would be worse. I was scared of myself. Blunders in English language were as close to me as the snail and its shell. There was no pity. I was publicly messed up and laughed at. I was taunted. I couldn't wait to end high school and begin to build myself. It was me being so febrile. I was damn so indifferent. You did not want to meet with me, I could bet.
It was never too painful of an experience for me. The words shelled at me became a moving factor. I began to strive; to read and understand. I began to break sentences into words of sentences, for my betterment. "It wasn't easy. It is not easy. It won't be easy," I continue to state to myself. I posed quite a lot of questions to myself, asking myself if I wanted to grow bigger and speak fluently like Prof. Wole Soyinka, and many other laureates. I asked myself. I became tight to myself. I said I was going to be better than I was. It was a single decision, which required dedication. I wasn't scared anymore. I said regardless of the insults, there is a set goal, and it must be achieved. I climbed ladders, fell, dust myself up, heal my wounds, and I continued.
As Facebook was a medium of communication, I grew into it, seeing all sorts of articles, all sauced up in blunders. I saw articles without punctuation marks. It was an obstacle; they were obstacles. I nearly fell, but, my determination mattered. I ignored. I began to write very indifferently. I didn't use punctuation marks where needed to. I failed my trial, but never gave up. When every other gay guy was worrying about an "Hey, let's sex", I was worried about building myself up. I was worried about an, "Hey. You want to learn?" It was what I had signed for.
Some of Facebook friends are testimonies. I would ask, "please, every sentence I sent, were they right?" "Is my grammatical construction the way?". Some corrected me, while some told me it was fine.
It was a heartbreak, now a potential. It wasn't easy. My head is still up. Every pain is a gain. Keep memories for reference.
I have a very bright future. I have an unreachable potential. I have been working on what I need to work on. I have been getting compliments on my ability, lately.
In the past 5 years, I would be worse. I was scared of myself. Blunders in English language were as close to me as the snail and its shell. There was no pity. I was publicly messed up and laughed at. I was taunted. I couldn't wait to end high school and begin to build myself. It was me being so febrile. I was damn so indifferent. You did not want to meet with me, I could bet.
It was never too painful of an experience for me. The words shelled at me became a moving factor. I began to strive; to read and understand. I began to break sentences into words of sentences, for my betterment. "It wasn't easy. It is not easy. It won't be easy," I continue to state to myself. I posed quite a lot of questions to myself, asking myself if I wanted to grow bigger and speak fluently like Prof. Wole Soyinka, and many other laureates. I asked myself. I became tight to myself. I said I was going to be better than I was. It was a single decision, which required dedication. I wasn't scared anymore. I said regardless of the insults, there is a set goal, and it must be achieved. I climbed ladders, fell, dust myself up, heal my wounds, and I continued.
As Facebook was a medium of communication, I grew into it, seeing all sorts of articles, all sauced up in blunders. I saw articles without punctuation marks. It was an obstacle; they were obstacles. I nearly fell, but, my determination mattered. I ignored. I began to write very indifferently. I didn't use punctuation marks where needed to. I failed my trial, but never gave up. When every other gay guy was worrying about an "Hey, let's sex", I was worried about building myself up. I was worried about an, "Hey. You want to learn?" It was what I had signed for.
Some of Facebook friends are testimonies. I would ask, "please, every sentence I sent, were they right?" "Is my grammatical construction the way?". Some corrected me, while some told me it was fine.
It was a heartbreak, now a potential. It wasn't easy. My head is still up. Every pain is a gain. Keep memories for reference.
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