Writer’s Note: I stumbled upon this website by accident and, I must say, it’s been quite the fortunate accident. Reading all the tragic and sometimes funny kito stories shared by readers led me to share mine. I actually have three stories but I’ll just talk about the scariest one. If this bodes well, then maybe later I’ll share more.
It was a few summers ago and I was done with school, so I had a bit of an extended stay in Lagos. I got bored not long after the start of my extended stay and I decided to go to Ghana on holiday, after a friend (let’s call him Tolu) convinced me. I’d been to Accra a few times and the friends I’d made there were always a fun reason to go back. Their gay community seemed so close-knit and fun. We’d always go their now-defunct gay club on Wednesdays and dance the night away. It was fun.
The holiday was all we wanted it to be: amazing (cheap) restaurants, lots of R&R, and the ever enjoyable company of our hosts. Before we got there, our Ghanaian friends planned for us to stay at their friend’s house in the Trassaco Valley (basically their Ikoyi) instead of spending money on a hotel. Unfortunately, that plan fell through as the guy had to travel for work the day we got there. Scrambling and feeling bad, they got us a hotel (more guesthouse than hotel) in Dansoman, as it was all they could find on short notice. They were feeling bad about the change, so they even paid for the entire length of our stay. Wasn’t the best area, but who says no to saving money, right?
Throughout our time there, Tolu had been chatting with guys on Grindr and Hornet and making plans to meet with them. I was apprehensive as our Ghanaian friend had warned us to stay off apps and online hookups as they were riddled with rogues. He said this when we were heading to the hotel from the airport and I immediately deleted all my apps. Tolu kept his however and met up with one of his guys and they had quite the steamy session. Empowered by his luck, I decided to try mine.
Let’s just say I was terribly unlucky.
The day I met him (Bernard is his real name), I’d just re-downloaded Hornet. His message came up like clockwork not up to a minute after I first opened the app. I thought about how brazen it was that he actually had a face photo up and immediately decided he must be a fraud. But I was intrigued, and I decided to indulge him and replied to his message. We chatted all through that day. He sent me several (and I mean like 15) different photos, all matching the face in his profile picture. He was very handsome indeed. I asked if he wasn’t scared of having his face out there and he said wasn’t really scared because if you’re on a gay app, then obviously you’re looking for the same thing he is. Sounded silly to me but I thought: To each his own. He added that aside from that, he was half-Nigerian/half-Ghanaian but based in Nigeria. He was in Accra for an extended stopover as he was a flight attendant for Arik Air and only flew in from Lagos two days ago, so he took the opportunity to visit his family.
We exchanged WhatsApp numbers, and when I saw that his number was Nigerian, I felt a bit more at ease as that part of his story checked out. Still unsure (with my Ghanaian friend’s warning ringing in my ears), I indicated that his profile said he was a top, and as I was a top as well, a hookup wouldn’t work for us. I was trying to put him off meeting up. He went around that quickly and said he wouldn’t mind bottoming for me as I was very cute. Rather than see this as a red flag, my fragile ego took it as a compliment. lol.
Next up, he sent me an ass picture. The ass in that picture! Ghanaian guys have fantastic derrieres, but Bernard’s would make even Flex Xtremmo and Hot Rod green with envy, especially coupled with that face. We couldn’t meet that night though, as my Ghanaian friends wanted to take me and Tolu out to dinner. So I told him we would meet some other time.
The following morning, he messaged me bright and early on WhatsApp and we started chatting. The conversation flowed so easily. We talked about his nosey family wondering when he would marry (he said he was 28), how he ventured into his career etc.
Later, Tolu and I went to Osu to shop for vintage bags in the market, and after that, we went to the casino and some afrocentric restaurant. There was a guy I’d had a crush on since the first time I ever came to Ghana and he told me to come visit. We’d hung out a few times so I knew he was legit. Excited, I went to his and we chilled. I’d just discovered the green monster and we indulged a bit. Then he took me to his room. We were about to fool around when his annoying friend walked in and started admonishing him about how he just started dating someone and shouldn’t do this or he would report. After a small back and forth between them, we had to get dressed, and you can only imagine how livid I was from my hefty blue balls.
I retrieved my phone, to see a message from Bernard asking how my evening was going. I responded with ‘boring’, and he asked if I would like to meet up so he could make it better. I said no at first, but he begged that his flight back to Lagos was the next morning and he’d be going on another flight to Calabar once he lands, so that night was the only time we had. I’m not sure if it was the blue balls, but I said sure and hopped in a cab to the location he gave me (Ghanaian addresses are the WORST).
The cab pulled up outside a Winner’s Chapel and I refused to get down until he got there and showed himself as I was apprehensive people would fly out and drag me inside to “pray away the gay”. Eventually, a grey Honda Passport came rolling down the bumpy road and he called me. My phone died once I hung up as I hadn’t had a chance to charge all day. I was carrying my laptop that day as I was meant to download a series at a friend’s house; I had the laptop in the new bag I’d purchased that afternoon. I paid the cab man, came out, and got into the SUV. In my head, I thought: “Ah, dude can’t be a hustler in this car.” Granted it wasn’t the newest model but it was ok. We talked and talked and just like our chats, the conversation was easy and flowing. He had a Nigerian flag in his car, so that further corroborated his story. He had two phones: a Samsung S5 and an iPhone 5s, so he didn’t even have the “look” of someone desperate for money at all. One thing that stood out however was that he did not look like the photos. It was pretty dark already but I could still see his face. He was a lot slimmer and though I couldn’t see it sitting down, I couldn’t see his ass being what it was in that photo. Rather than see the obvious red flag, I figured the photos must not be fairly recent.
We drove for almost thirty minutes further away from Osu. I was quite carried away with the gist until I saw we’d passed Dansoman, where my friend and I were staying. Worried about how far we’d gone, I asked where exactly we were going, and he said his friend had a guesthouse he let him use whenever he wanted to hookup in Accra. It didn’t add up because earlier he told me that he already got us a room in a guesthouse and would be a shame if it went to waste. I felt a slight panic at that point, but as I was already in this man’s car, what was I to do?
We eventually turned off the highway into a bit of an uncouth area. We drove into an estate and the guesthouse wasn’t far into the entrance from the estate gate. Opposite it was a big field and he said he wanted to park his car in the field so it wouldn’t get scratched. The road was pretty narrow so I figured it made sense. We got down from the car and walked to the guesthouse. He got in and said his friend (me) just landed from Lagos and wanted a room for the night before leaving for Kumasi the next morning. The receptionist said unfortunately there was no room, so we left.
When we got back into the car, he asked if there was any point looking for another guesthouse as his car was comfortable enough. The field was very dark except from the light from the guesthouse behind us and he assured me no one could see us as we were parked deep inside it. Before I could protest he lunged over and kissed me. As he kissed me, he panted that he’d been wanting to do that since we met. I was now fully at ease and quite turned on by his unabashed approach. We made our way to the back seat where he started trying to undress me. I told him I wasn’t really comfortable having full-on sex in the car as it would be hard if we had to rush off. He agreed so he pulled my trousers down to my ankle. We started going at it with making out first, then he slid down and gave me head. Making himself more comfortable, he pulled one leg out of my pants while he removed his shirt. As I got more comfortable, he slipped the other legs of my jeans off. My head was resting on the window with my eyes closed, enjoying the sensation.
Then suddenly, I couldn’t feel his mouth on my dick anymore. As I opened my eyes to see why, he said in the iciest voice ever, “CAN YOU SEE HOW YOU WANT TO FOLLOW THE DEVIL TO HELL?”
You know in Tom & Jerry, when they’d scare the ghosts out of Tom and all nine would appear behind him? That was me in that moment.
I stuttered, “What do you mean?”
He said, “You just came to another man’s country and you followed him to where you’ve never been at night?”
I was about to scream and as if anticipating that instinct, he said, “If you make a sound or movement, I will call my boys to come and carry you. Just shut up.”
I was instantly paralysed with fear and genuinely thought I would die as he took his phone motioning to dial. I begged him to put down the phone and he did. In the time he was talking, he’d gotten dressed and made me hand him my jeans. Then he started to lecture me about the evils of “gayism”, and all I could think was how that same preaching mouth had just slobbered all over my dick. He asked me to give him my phone and I told him it had died. He quickly pulled out his own charger as I also had a 5S, and began juicing up the battery. He told me about what a shame I must be to my parents who thought I was responsible. When my phone came on, he deleted my Hornet app and started quizzing me on each of my BBM & WhatsApp contacts. Then he opened my bag and told me I’d have to pay him 500cedis to teach me a lesson. I begged him that I only had 200cedis with me at that point as my bank card wasn’t working in Accra. He took the money and said he’d have to punish me another way. He made me get completely naked (with the looming threat of having boys beat me) and then got back in the driver seat. He started the car and started to drive around. I finally started crying and begging. He said he would drop me naked in the middle of the ghetto and expose that I was a faggot. The back windows had a light tint but I was petrified that people could see me as he drove slowly through the unkempt streets. I thought about attacking him while he drove but the fear that paralysed me earlier quickly killed the thought as I could barely move. After what seemed like an hour of pleading and hiding from blaring lights of other motorists, we ended up back in the field and he parked in the same spot and told me to get out of the car naked. I begged for my clothes and bag. He threw my clothes outside and said he’d drive around with my things while he let me think of the evils of my shameful lifestyle. Of course I didn’t believe he was coming back.
The only fortunate thing for me was that he dropped my wallet (with all my IDs) on the floor of the car after taking all my money. So as I left the car, I kicked it out and he drove off.
Like the night wasn’t tragic enough, it began pouring rain seconds later. I quickly dressed up in the rain and ran back to the guesthouse. I told them the guy was a cab driver and had robbed me at gun point when we got back in the car, so I had no money. The receptionist helped me with 20cedis and I hopped in a cab back to my hotel.
After my ordeal, I learned from my Ghanaian friends that the guy did the same thing to their friend the night before. The Samsung was their friend’s own, and they are still trying to find the thief till today.
Written by Marc Francis of Chelsea