Love Offers No Safety: Nigeria's Queer Men Speak

By Jude Dibia

Love Offers No Safety: Nigeria's Queer Men Speak is a raw and powerful collection of 25 first-person narratives that explore the diverse experience of queer Nigerian men. These stirring stories cut across age, class, religion, ethnicity, family and relationships, offering a glimpse into what it means to survive as a queer man in Nigeria. From Tunji, who takes us back to the thriving networking community before social media, to Chukwori, who struggles to reconcile his need to serve God with his sexuality, and Abdulkarim, who frustratingly wonders if he'll ever stop working twice as hard to be accepted, these stories are full of contradictions, anger, resiliency, profound insight, and radical hope.

With heightened levels of oppression, violence, and discrimination faced by LGBTQ Nigerians due to the Same Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Law, these voices remind us of what the queer community in Nigeria has always been fighting for - the freedom to be themselves, love themselves, and love each other, despite being viewed as unworthy. Love Offers No Safety is a heart-breaking yet hopeful reminder that love knows no boundaries and offers no safety, but it is worth fighting for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CASSAVA REPUBLIC
• Release date: Nov 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781913175498

Book preview

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Contents

Title Page

Introduction

My Sexuality Is Part Of Me, But It Does Not Define Me

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Waiting On The Sidelines For The Life I Desire

I Was Never Alone With My Mother’s Love

Stepping Stones To Happiness

Swinging Both Ways With A Solid Marriage

Despite Pitfalls, I Have Triumphed In My Sexuality

I Am Queer. This is Who I Am

If Your Son Asks For Bread, Will You Give Him A Stone?

Navigating Loneliness

Labels Are Often Fables

Every Man Is Born Gay

It Is Not What I Do, It Is Who I Am

A Divine Life In Darkness, A Liberated Life In Light

My Future Is Not With A Woman

I Always Felt Like I Should Have Been Born A Girl

The Tide Will Determine How Well The Pendulum Will Swing

The Many Faces Of Love Offers No Safety

I Will Continue To Survive Within This Environment

My Activism Is To Protect Vulnerable People

The Past Was More Accepting Than The Future

As Long As I Love Myself, I Will Be Fine

My Sexuality Does Not Affect My Faith

When I Am No Longer Afraid, I Will Stop Being Perfect

I Was Forced To Come Out

Acknowledgements

Copyright

1

Introduction

It is accurate to say that for many Nigerians, LGBTIQ people are tolerated only when they are media celebrities or ‘foreign’ and live outside the country. Once they are at home, living and breathing the same air the average Nigerian breathes, everything changes. So, watching the Netflix drama series, Sex Education with its openly gay Nigerian character who lives abroad but is on a visit and taken to a lavish and thriving underground queer scene gives the impression that although same-sex relationship is prohibited, there is room for queer people in Nigeria with a thriving culture to match. This is not just any culture but an enviable and glamorous one.

But we know better. We know the reality behind this alluring façade. It has been a little over nine years since the pernicious Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA) was signed into law. In the intervening years since the law was signed, much has changed for LGBTIQ people in the country and attitudes are slowly shifting towards acceptance. In 2022, through the collective efforts of local LGBTIQ organisations and activists, the Federal High Court in Lagos delivered a judgement that declared S4(1), S5(2) and S5(3) of the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA) as unconstitutional. Despite this, the LGBTIQ community has continued to, for decades, battle stigma, fear of physical and psychic violence, and unjust imprisonment. The introduction of the SSMPA strengthened and increased infringements on the rights of a community already under siege and denied so many things heteronormative society take for granted, especially the right to simply exist and be recognised. Instead, the existence of queer and non-binary Nigerians is either disputed or dismissed as being a result of Western influence or possession by evil, with the resulting impact being the silencing and distortion of queer voices and their lived experiences.2

We see this contestation of queer existence play out in different mediums, portraying itself to be the only acceptable truth. Early Nollywood movies like Emotional Crack and Men in Love peddled the idea that queerness was inherently evil and detrimental to society. In these movies, queerness was depicted as a self-chosen, anti-social behavioural trait, devoid of morals and completely at odds with Nigerian cultural norms. Emotional Crack tells the story of the destructive actions of a licentious queer woman who pursues a sexual affair with a married woman. Men in Love portrayed queer men as predatory, incapable of accepting boundaries or taking a no for an answer. It is implied that when queer men are unable to get their way, they sexually abuse and pry on the unwilling man, who is then inducted into homosexuality. And so, homosexuality must either be the direct result of a violating encounter or a life choice. These ideas about homosexuality are born out of ignorance, misinformation, and misrepresentation about the reality of queer people. Popular culture such as film, television shows and comedy skits then become pivotal in shaping, perpetuating, and reinscribing these negative perceptions of queerness as evil, degenerate and deviant.

While Nollywood is busying itself with creating negative narratives of queerness, the Nigerian state is also creating its own narrative by either legislating against or erasing the existence of LGBTIQ Nigerians from view. The Immigration and Refuge Board of Canada submitted to the United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHCR):

[…]the Nigerian government reported that [s]exual minorities are not visible in Nigeria (Nigeria 5 Jan. 2009, Para. 76). In February 2009, while addressing the UN Human Rights Council Working Group to present Nigeria’s report, Nigerian Minister of Foreign Affairs Ojo Madueke declared that despite its best efforts, his government had been unable to find any gay, lesbian or transgender persons to consult on homosexual rights issues (Pink News 16 Feb. 2009; Vanguard 14 Feb. 2009; UK Gay News 16 Feb. 2009.)  3

This erasure of queer existence through denial, laws and popular culture reinforces hatred, false representation, and discrimination. The right to exist has become for many queer persons in Nigeria the existential crisis of a lifetime. This perhaps explains why many of the men in this narrative struggle with some form of depression and mental instability. However, by no means are all the stories contained in this collection deflating—far from it.

Queer men’s experiences are as complex as any other group within the LGBTIQ community. And often, their stories are glossed over by society, political and religious figures who want to downplay their existence and lived experience as part of safeguarding a misplaced notion of ‘tradition’, ‘societal values’ and ideas of masculinity. From how men should look and present themselves to the social responsibilities they must meet, these traditional norms and standards are expected of all men regardless of sexuality. As queer men, we must constantly navigate our sexuality around these models, limiting our ability to be fully ourselves and tell our stories. When we embarked on this project, it was important for us to speak with other queer men like us who wanted to tell their stories in their own words, without the fear of being judged. We were also keen on getting the perspective of a vast array of queer men, of different ages, socio-economic and educational backgrounds, religions, and ethnicities. We would have liked to have had the perspective of older men, especially those above 50 and even men in their 80s to give us a deeper perspective of queerness along the ages, but we were unable to find such participants. This does not mean that they don’t exist, but more because of generational differences, or they are living very closeted lives in heterosexual marriages. It could also be that older queer men are not regular users of social media or acquainted with the various mediums we used for communication.

We would have also liked to have heard from trans men and non-binary people, but we had no way of accessing these groups.

In our quest to identify suitable participants, we created a flyer which was distributed across different social media platforms and shared with key influencers and LGBTIQ organisations across the country. Through this process, we identified individuals willing to 4participate in the project and entrust us with their stories. We spent time capturing their early lives, relationships with their friends and families, careers, love lives, and the struggles they face as queer men, both within their immediate environment and in society at large. The stories were collected through one-on-one interviews conducted in their chosen safe space, always with the understanding that they reserved the right to withdraw at any stage of the process if they felt uncomfortable. While recounting their experiences, some contributors requested a timeout as they recalled painful memories. It became clear to us that many queer men are living with layers of traumatic experiences that left them broken, detached from their true selves, and forced to wear different masks to cope with themselves and the world around them.

We ensured that all the contributors who participated in the interview signed a consent form, which provided them with detailed information about the project, the importance of telling their story and the impact of being part of a collection of stories that is focused on the reality and lived experiences of diverse queer men in Nigeria in the 21st century. As expected, many had questions before signing the consent form and they include, but were not limited to, questions relating to security, available support for queer men in the country, why this was important to us and for them, the publishing process, and the potential impact of the book on the wider society. It was only after we had addressed all their questions and concerns that we began to record the stories of the brave men who chose to be part of this project.

The stories captured in this book reflect the experiences and views of the men as narrated to us. During the interviews, there were many recurring themes across all the stories: being queer, sexuality, religion, women, procreation, and acceptance. As to be expected, some of their views were contradictory and we have kept these contradictions within their narratives without attempting to resolve or edit them out because we were keen on capturing and preserving their truths, no matter how alarming and complex they appeared. The goal is that by allowing the readers to experience the stories as narrated by the men, a better understanding of the richness and breadth of their lived experiences is achieved. Further, we feel 5that presenting all the stories as they have been told humanises the narrators and presents an opportunity to further advance the discussion around masculinity, self-identity and most importantly, the expectations that come with being a man and the burden this brings for both queer and heterosexual men in Nigeria.

Many of the men we spoke to opened up about aspects of their lives which they had never shared with anyone before. We felt it was our responsibility to keep their stories safe and only use them for the purpose intended. The men had the option of using their real names or aliases and we encouraged anonymity as this will be safer for them and their associates. We debated on whether to distort or change landmarks and other identifiable locations mentioned to protect the possible identification of the contributors. However, the participants permitted us to keep these details, which in the end was a plus as we also believe this brings the everyday realities of such experiences closer to readers, especially those who may be familiar with these places.

From the onset, we understood that the lives and experiences of queer men were by no means monolithic. There were bound to be generational, regional, ethnic, educational, class and other differences that impacted and shaped their experiences as queer men. Hence why we felt it was necessary to capture stories that bridged these differences. We weren’t always successful in doing this as most of the men we interviewed were in their 30s. Still, the few men in their 40s allowed us to paint a broader picture of queer life from the 1980s to the present day. We saw how queer men were able to build a community during the pre-internet era, networking among themselves and supporting each other.

This is best captured in Tunji’s story, The Past Was More Accepting Than the Future. Tunji’s story brings a detailed and nuanced exploration of queer culture in the 1980s and 1990s to this book and provides some information that many may not be aware of today or have chosen to ignore, even within the community. From same-sex loving men who rendezvoused late at night at film houses in Mushin, Oyingbo, and Onikan areas of Lagos, to how gay men during this period understood social networking and community 6mobilisation for social celebrations in spaces they identified as safe. Tunji’s story illustrates that queer men had perfected a networking matrix of their own, long before social media and online connections became common, especially in major cities. In his story, Tunji reflected on the lack of awareness of HIV/AIDS in that era when queer men had sex without protection due to ignorance about safe sexual practices tailored for them. This ignorance was fuelled by health officials and policymakers who ignored our existence and chose not to include us in the growing HIV/AIDS campaign and advocacy of the time. One can sum it up by saying that in the recent past, there was a culture of silence shrouding queer existence in Nigeria which militated against directing awareness and service provision to the community. While the situation today is slightly different with increased visibility and attention, be it positive or negative, queer lived realities are still steeped in silence, denial, and erasure. This culture of silence has become the norm for many queer-related issues in Nigeria. It’s the equivalent of the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ mentality which several people still practice, as exemplified by statements like, ‘I don’t mind queer men, I just don’t want them in my face’. The function of such statements, even from people who claim they are not homophobic, is to silence us from the fullest expression of our identity.

Homophobia is a sub-theme that runs through many of the stories, which given the prevailing socio-political and cultural environment is unsurprising. Homophobia appears to be a thread woven into the fabric that makes up queer identity and expression in many countries, not just Nigeria. The inherited sodomy laws in many countries that were colonised by Great Britain reinforce homophobia and validate the social discrimination of queer people. In Nigeria, homophobic statements have been proven to result in actual violence against LGBTIQ persons because of the way they look, walk, or express themselves.¹ Homophobia manifests itself through laws, policies, religious beliefs, and everyday social interactions. Queer people are expected to carry the burden of preventing homophobia by conforming to social expectations and roles in their everyday lives, a very unhealthy burden for our mental health and well-being.7

Queer Men & Visibility in Nigeria

Prior to the early 2000s, queer men’s reality and culture in Nigeria had limited visibility in mainstream social and political life. When they were visible, it was to highlight their degeneracy, contagion, and effeminacy. Although mainstream visibility was restricted, the LGBTIQ community cultivated a thriving underground visibility and interaction amongst themselves, even if this was restricted to a small circle of mostly queer men. Men who looked effeminate were generally presumed to be queer and for this reason, they became the yardstick for identifying queer men and they therefore