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.
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