This piece was written for The Rustin Times’ #OurStories column by Nigerian Writer, Ado Aminu
My sister first infused the word with the heaviness it will carry for me for years when she spat out the word ‘Lesbian’ like a weightier curse than the phrase ‘disease-carrying prostitute’ she had used moments prior. She was talking about a notorious woman in our neighbourhood who she had a fight within the Islamic school she went to over some minor misunderstanding that boiled down to a turf war between her – a new student flashing her exclusive makeup and style skills – and this woman who had been the reigning queen for years.
That word tipped the balance of the altercation in her favour very quickly, even quicker than the accusation of prostitution, which in the early 2000s Kano was grave indeed. It left me aghast because when I checked my trusty dictionary, I saw that a lesbian is defined as a woman who is attracted to other women.
I was a 12-year-old gay boy who was aware of his attraction to boys. I was at the precipice of exploring my sexuality, and walking into greater awareness of society’s disapproval of my humanity. That encounter both made me aware I had kinship even among women, in the social loathing I’ll come to learn to wear like a toga of pride.
For Lesbian Day of Visibility, I spoke to two women who identify as lesbians about what the day means to them, if anything, and whether they see it as a pathway to greater liberation for queer women.
Yeesha (24)
Strangely, I didn’t know about the day till yesterday. And maybe it isn’t so strange because, really, unless you’re immersed in Western media output or working in queer activism space, these things are easy to miss.
What the Lesbian Day of Visibility means to me is that I get to see the positive affirmation of a term loaded with negativity that I grudgingly learnt to call myself. I am a lesbian, and there are these 1000s of lesbians all over the world, affirming my existence. It is heartwarming.
I believe it helps in the long walk to the liberation of queer women. It is one thing to be yourself, but how are you really yourself if you can’t name yourself without feeling some type of way deep down.
What days like this do for me is that it takes this one aspect of my being, the need to name myself without guilt-loaded hesitation, and makes it a celebration.
I hope every lesbian out there has a great day today.
Tega (30)
It is just a reminder to take stock of where we are and where we could be headed for me. I have never celebrated it beyond a tweet shared wishing lesbians around the world a Happy Lesbian Day of Visibility. Maybe that will change this year.
It is very invaluable, although I see it as being as invaluable as any other day. Living alone is a constant battle, but it still matters. My timeline is gloriously filled with affirming messages from people like myself all over the globe. A stark contrast to days I’m often forced to see people debating the validity of my being. I will choose today every day.
If I worked in the queer activism space I’ll fight extra hard today, but I don’t. So what I’ll do is bask in my delicious timeline. Ogle fine babes on the timeline and breathe as easy as I can.
My sister’s attitude towards lesbians, specifically, and sexual and gender minorities, generally, has improved through the years. While the Lesbian Day of Visibility has nothing to do with it, visibility itself was a key driver of that growth.
We all matter, but like constellations, we are only as beautiful as we are visible. Let’s continue to take up space, today and always.
