We are back with Out, Proud and African, our special Pride Month series that curates stories of Africans on the continent and in the diaspora who are out, visible and living their truths. We recognise that to be out as an African is not easy and we celebrate these individuals who are at the forefront of the fight for equality. Today, our feature is from Nigerian commentator Ani Kayode Somtochukwu. This is his coming out story.
ON COMING OUT
One of the main reasons I decided to come out was as a rejection of the shame society kept trying to foist on me. It was basically me saying, “Yes I’m gay. And what about it? And no I’m not ashamed of it. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” I should probably also say that my coming out wasn’t a conventional one. I didn’t sit friends and family down or anything. I simply started living my life, stopped measuring my words and when anyone asked, “wait are you gay?” I replied, “yeah, I am” and I didn’t think it should have weight. Obviously it did but I didn’t want it to seem like I was seeking permission or approval to be gay. For me, it was about freeing myself completely irrespective of what society or the State thought about it.
TO BE OUT AND AFRICAN
Being gay in Nigeria is hard. There is so much immediately targeted at you the minute you dare to emerge from obscurity. I think I have it easier than many others. The degree of regressiveness in the country varies with political structure, with power structures in the North being more vertical and hierarchical, and religious fundamentalism and lack of educational opportunities alarmingly higher. It is not easy anywhere in Nigeria, obviously. The political establishment at both federal and state levels are equally regressive to social equality and together they strive to create an atmosphere of fear that enables homophobic violence. I have had to deal with an increased level of physical and verbal aggression (many times from old classmates and extended family but mostly from strangers) on account of my sexual orientation. It shocks me the amount of hate messages and threats I receive, even from family. My uncle once threatened to strip me naked and flog me with a machete. And I have been physically assaulted twice on my way to school.
There’s also the verbal aspect of it. Relatives accusing me of demon possession (my aunt once told me I was full of demons), and haranguing me to go to church for deliverance or to seek conversion therapy.
Being Out in Nigeria is basically making yourself a target. People aren’t just surprised that you’re gay, they’re surprised that you aren’t ashamed of it. They’re surprised that it isn’t something you hide. And they cope with that by feeling attacked and amping up the aggression. It’s the go to attack in my class for instance to roll out homophobic slurs at any slightest provocation. It isn’t very often because the provocation rarely happens. I mind my business (mostly). And I think people are a little bit afraid of me because I’m always mean mugging in class. But it’s still there, that having to deal with homophobia constantly, on all fronts.
Still, I would say coming out made me more comfortable with myself. I became less and less apologetic for my sexual orientation. I became less and less worried of how people saw it. It became for the first time completely about me and how I felt and how I saw it.
It also helped me deal with the violence I faced. Before coming out, I was attacked for an LGBT short story I published. In the aftermath of that, I hit rock bottom. The humiliation of it, it took a huge toll on me. And now that I think about it, that’s the whole point, to intimidate us into silence. Being open helped me see those experiences, not solely as a thing of personal humiliation, but also a mark of resistance and struggle against my oppression. Like, “yeah, all this and I survived. They tried but look who’s still rocking every space and existing on his own terms.” I stopped documenting them as some sort of judgement on my moral character but instead as an aggressive resistance to my oppression. Because that’s what it became. I would say in that respect being out has helped me a lot.
It also lifted a burden from my shoulders in terms of how I expressed myself. You know, it means a lot to me to be able to say what I want to say without bothering to censor myself in fear of receiving really uncomfortable questions. And before I was out, I only allowed myself to say certain things and in a certain way, for fear that people might perhaps peg me a in a manner I was afraid to be associated with. Now I just say what I have to say and drink the homophobes’ tears and it clears up my skin.
CHALLENGES OF BEING OUT AND AFRICAN
The verbal harassment is by far the most common. It happens almost daily. On social media, in my school, with family. And it is relentless. I mean it doesn’t ostensibly impair my life but it is burdensome and tiring and it hurts and I have to carry it with me, all those negative voices. I have to constantly fight it. There are many times that it morphs into threats. I once had someone tell me on Facebook that the next time he’s in Enugu, he’s coming to my School to find me and deal with me and I once received a WhatsApp message with my name, my faculty, department and my level. “We are coming for you,” was the message attached to it. The account had no profile name or picture. That was scary, really scary. And I always have to balance this fear because I know it’s a tool to keep me down. To force me back into the shadows. To erase my voice.
I understand that this is the end point of passing even more regressive laws like the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act, to embolden homophobic violence and foster an environment of fear that prevents queer visibility. This I blame, to some extent, for the social ostracism I face from other gay people, especially in my school on account of my bring out. I’m not a very social person so it really doesn’t hit me that hard but it bothers me still that many gay people would not associate with me as soon as they realize I’m open about my sexuality. It’s some sort of precaution I think. They don’t want to be outed by association. It’s like, “yeah, he’s great but like, he’s out. Can you believe that? I can’t associate with that.” It’s a really sad thing that this even happens and that I sort of insulate myself from a lot of community members just by being open. It’s also enraging because that’s basically what the state was going for with its multiple discriminatory laws. To create an atmosphere that makes gay people consciously make themselves as invisible as possible just to stay safe.
There’s also that proximity with violence. It’s a constant that never goes away because like I said being openly gay in Nigeria is making yourself a target. And you never know. People are really pressed and don’t know how to stick their noses to their own business. I never know who is planning or if today’s one of those days when someone feels entitled enough to block my way and harass me because they’re sure there’s no way I can report to police without being revictimized by the police.
ON PRIDE AND ITS IMPORTANCE
Pride to me means solidarity, love, and celebration within the LGBT community. Pride to me means heightened visibility, even if by just a tiny bit. Pride to me means appreciation of the survival of the spirit of this community despite the struggles we have to go through just to be ourselves, just to exist in our own skins. Pride means joy. Pride means keeping homophobes extra pressed and pained. Pride means a celebration of the continued struggle to wrest our narrative from the Right wing religious fundamentalists that manifest themselves in the political establishment. Pride is to possess and direct our own narratives. To challenge the pathologization and demonization of queer identities in Nigeria and Africa as a whole, and in any other place in the world. To reject and resist state oppression and to organize for social and political advancement.
ADVICE TO MEMBERS OF THE LGBT COMMUNITY STRUGGLING WITH THEIR SEXUALITY OR GENDER IDENTITY.
Disclaimer: I’m not really good at advising people. That said, my advice would be to centre yourself. Most queer people struggling with their identity center their parents and family and friends and wider society and it takes a huge toll on their self image. The farther you move away from centering how disappointed your family would be or how society will regard you, the more into your skin you will come. So love yourself. Be kind to yourself. Don’t be afraid to think of yourself first. Don’t be afraid to worry about your own emotional well-being and to prioritize it.
I would also advise some sort of emotional detachment from homophobic friends and family, no matter how close you are to them. It can be hard but it pays, a great deal. You have to first cap how much power they wield over your happiness no matter who they are. If they’re friends, let them go. New ones will come. You will build better and healthier friendships. If they’re family, same. Do not let blood ties hold your happiness and self image hostage. If they’re hateful, let them go. It helps.
All in all, go at your pace. No one can fight that battle for you. Only you can do it. And the best way to win is to stop fighting. To simply let yourself be. To exist the way you are without the constant self deprecation.
HOPE FOR THE LGBT COMMUNITY IN AFRICA
My hope for the LGBT community is to see improvement in visibility of queer identities in African society. There is this image enforced by the political establishment that queerness is foreign, western and incompatible with our cultural and religious way of living. And the best way to fight that narrative is by existing, openly, unapologetically. I’m always glad to see someone else living their lives openly. It’s not an easy choice to make and many queer people in Nigeria, in African as whole, don’t really have that “choice”, in the real sense of the word. Visibility is the first step to us wresting control of our narrative from the State. And I hope that this changes in the non distant past. Because it has to. It just has to. We must be free to be ourselves.
You can follow Ani Kayode Somtochukwu on Twitter.
