Now is not the time to hide our heads in shame

Ade FBDuring a visit to Nigeria in 2004, my mother told me about a massive row she had recently had with her neighbour. The row had started because the neighbour had put up some cables in front of my mother’s apartment without her permission. My mother in anger had pulled down the cables and hence this massive row  – during which they shouted and called each other names. It went on for ages. My mother said, out of nowhere the neighbour shouted “Don’t take your frustrations out on me, just because your son is a homosexual”. My mother said “that just destroyed me and I went inside and started crying”. More

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Dreaming of Tomorrow

My Sexuality - Collage

Yesterday I read yet another story
from the land of my ancestors
talking about how ‘gays
were a Western phenomena
and a cultural taboo’.

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Going beneath our differences by sharing our stories

Ade FBA few weeks ago I was with a friend, when I got out my pen to write something. ‘Oh, you’re left-handed he said’, ‘Yes, I replied’; conscious of the fact that it’s something I hardly think about and to an extent assume everyone knows. Curious, I asked whether he was too and he replied ‘yes’. I mentioned that I had never noticed, we both laughed and the conversation moved on to something else.

In my early childhood, when we moved from London to Nigeria, members of my family tried many futile attempts to get me to use my right hand. It was deemed an abomination to be left-handed and many of them were not having it. When none of their efforts worked, they gave up. These day its a subject far from my thoughts, until I am reminded like I was in that conversation. And on those occasions, when asked I don’t go to that place of fear of rejection, being vulnerable, being uncertain, and no old wounds of friends or family members disowning me for being left-handed are triggered. More

Lets talk about Race, Culture, Religion and Homophobia

So earlier this week, I stumbled on a blogpost entitled ‘What’s wrong with being gay‘. I was taken by the content of the post and left a comment. The author, Demola Rewaju, got in touch and we had a chat…….. here is the subsequent blog he wrote……

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“This above all: to thine own self be true”

In late September 2010, I visited Nigeria with the purpose of reconnecting with my mother. It was not a journey that I had planned to take, but I had reached a point of where I knew that if I was truly committed to living an integrated and congruent life, then I would need to come out to my mother all over again.

I had come out to her as gay, 15 years prior and in the years that followed, the subject was never discussed again. I knew she was hoping that I would grow out of it. And on my part, I simply did not want to relive the painful events of the night I had come out to her. More

The story of my Coming Out

From a young, tender, innocent age, I always knew that I was different in ways that I couldn’t explain to myself, let alone to anybody else – I know it is a cliché or whatever, but trust me when I say some of us, at least those that pay attention to their bodies, know what I am talking about.

We lived in Ondo State (Nigeria) and my father’s cousin, Matthew was staying with us.  He was in High School and hanging around him for comfort and security made things better for me (my oldest sister was always taking advantage and bullying me, till I was taller than her of course!). While I hung around him for those things, he also had this fondness for me and I am not talking about tickling me or taking interest in me learning ABC. His fondness was in terms of me touching his genitals and vice versa. During those times – which didn’t last, because we moved to Akure – I never once thought I was abused for the simple fact that I enjoyed him touching me and since my dad and mum weren’t around as much, this was my toy; sure I had Transformers and all those stuff, but this was human with tender feelings with little abrasive twist to it. More

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