Why I Feared Coming Out to My Nigerian Father
Nigeria — where being LGBT is illegal and punishable by death
“Nattie, I’ve been thinking about what you told me last night. And… I just want to say that I’m sorry.”
“For what, Dad?”
“For making you feel like you couldn’t tell me sooner.”
These are the words offered by my dad as we sat down to enjoy a beachfront breakfast near his home in Southern Spain.
Possibly the most precious words to ever leave my father’s lips, uttered earnestly against a backdrop of softly rolling waves and calling seagulls.
The night before, over an early dinner, I had confided in him that I was a lesbian—putting an end to his pipe dreams of me settling down with a husband and bearing children in a traditional family setting.
Having already spent several years secretly living as a gay woman, he was the last member of my family I came out to. Partly strategically, and partly because I was just too scared to tell him — unsure of how he might take the news.
You see, my father is Nigerian. Born and raised in Ibadan, the capital city of Oyo State. He wears an agbada for special events, makes egusi and amala every Sunday for lunch, and speaks with a pleasant Yoruba lilt, which, coupled with his joyous laugh and wide-reaching smile, makes him instantly popular with anyone he meets.
Having left Nigeria at the age of 21 to pursue a career as a medical doctor, he spent over 50 years in the UK, making him considerably “modern” as far as African parents go.
However, that modernity is woefully uncommon in his extremely conservative motherland, thus setting him leagues apart from his Nigerian counterparts.
Being gay is a big no-no in Nigeria.
On a social level, it is akin to devil worship, and on a political level, it is illegal nationwide and punishable by death in some states. The Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA), which was signed into law in 2014, criminalises all forms of same-sex unions, same-sex marriage, and LGBT advocacy throughout the country.
In southern Nigeria and under the secular laws of northern Nigeria, the maximum punishment for homosexual activity is 14 years’ imprisonment and, more than likely, total social and familial expulsion. In the northernmost states that operate under Sharia Law, the maximum punishment is death by stoning.
Queer folk in Nigeria are faced with the devastating reality that their society perpetuates homophobia and supports their persecution.
Said criminalisation forced a lot of the LGBT community to go online in order to be able to connect with each other in relative safety. However, it wasn’t long before their digital haven was infiltrated and their security was, once again, massively compromised.
There is a rising epidemic of kitoing happening mainly to male members of the LGBT community. It’s unclear as to where the term kito originates, but it has firmly established itself in Nigerian internet slang.
A kito is someone who pretends to be queer on dating apps and social media, develops a fake online rapport with unsuspecting queer people, convinces them to meet up, and then extorts or physically harms them once they do. The consequences can be fatal.
Since this is done in the name of anti-homosexuality, it is a generally accepted form of abuse.
Videos have circulated online of queer Nigerians being kitoed — beaten and tortured by homophobes who threaten to out them if they don’t empty their bank accounts or hand over their possessions. Sometimes they are sexually assaulted, and in some cases, murdered.
I can’t even begin to quantify the number of times I’ve heard abhorrent remarks from Nigerians about what they would do if they discovered a family member was gay.
“Gay children bring shame upon their parents’ name.”
“Nobody wants that kind of sin in their family.”
“If my son or daughter were gay, I would never want to see them again.”
“I would prefer that they die.”
Entrenched in centuries of religious dogma, they routinely use verses from the Bible to support their vitriol. Religion dictates that homosexuals are a scourge on society; that a man loving a man or a woman loving a woman is the work of Satan; a great blemish on the face of a godless act.
Many reject homosexuality as a weapon of corruption imported from the West — ironic, given that the very religion outlawing homosexuality in the first place was also imported from the West by European missionaries.
Gay Nigerian Youtuber, VicWonder, recorded a conversation he had with his homophobic father, in which his father can be heard declaring:
“I can do without you in the family… it is not our culture… if you want to be gay, you are free, but not in this house.”
Issuing him an ultimatum whereby, if he could not rid himself of his homosexual tendencies by morning, he would be officially disowned by his family. To nobody’s surprise, he did not awaken the next day a heterosexual man with a lust for female companionship, and was, therefore, cast out of his family unit and forced to return to his home in the city.
This is sadly, an all too common reality for queer Nigerians. In 2019, a poll commissioned by Nigerian rights group The Initiative for Equal Rights (TIERs) found that about 60% of Nigerians said they would not accept an LGBT family member — a significant drop from 2017 when the number was a staggering 83%. So while this is somewhat of an improvement, it shows us that homophobia in Nigeria is still very much alive and well.
The topic of homosexuality and its effect on Nigerian families is becoming more and more prevalent in British entertainment.
In Russell T Davies’ It’s a Sin, we are introduced to Omari Douglas who plays Roscoe Babatunde—a second-generation Nigerian immigrant living in England with God-fearing parents who vehemently condemn his homosexuality.
Roscoe’s mother can be seen holding up a copy of the Gay News newspaper and imploring in Yoruba for God to redeem her son, who has “fallen into the pit of sodomy” as his family surrounds him in a prayer circle. Soon after, we witness his uncle approaching the house with the intention of taking Roscoe back to Nigeria to be “cured” — namely beaten, bled, and killed in the name of God.
While jarring to watch, this scene is a bracingly accurate depiction of the realities many queer Nigerians face. Gayness is viewed as an affliction from which the person needs deliverance and as a reason to expel them from their family should they choose not to renounce their lifestyle.
Netflix’s Sex Education features a character called Eric, an openly gay Nigerian/Ghanaian teenager played by Ncuti Gatwa, who grapples with the conflicting topics of his gayness and religious upbringing throughout the show. In S03E06, we see him return to Nigeria for a family wedding, and his mother, who is accepting of his sexual expression back in the UK, forbids him from wearing makeup during their visit.
What we see here is not a tale of repression or shame from a mother to her gay child, but a woman who is realistic about the degree of homophobia in her home country and is thus protective towards her son because she is worried about the dangers that could befall him if he were exposed.
This kind of radical acceptance is rare, and, fortunately for me, much more reflective of the relationship I have with my dad.
To say that he has been accepting of my sexuality is a complete understatement — my coming out has strengthened our relationship a thousandfold. He has warmly embraced me, offering me support and guidance throughout my relationships with women and comforting me when I broke up with my girlfriend earlier this year. But not before welcoming her into his home, stocking the fridge with snacks that he thought she would like, taking us to nice restaurants, and making an effort to bond with her as I busied myself with other things.
I never expected this to be my reality — that my coming out would not only be received positively but that it would bring us closer together.
A Yoruba father and his lesbian daughter.
I will never take my fortune for granted. I will never stop advocating for my Nigerian brothers and sisters, so that they, too, can live freely and comfortably and queerly, all at once.
Thank you very much for reading! If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them below.
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