“So when did you know that you are queer?” Chike asked.

I was taken aback. I hadn’t expected that. Chike was someone I met on Grindr late last year. We vibed well and became friends. I wanted us to be a thing, to date, but he didn’t. I pushed, but was met with a brick wall of his refusal. So, I grudgingly let go and settled into being just friends with him. We’d meet and fuck sometimes, but it never got more serious than that.

I’d visited him that day, and had just gotten home when he called to know if I was home safe. We had talked for about fifteen minutes, discussing stuff, from politics to academics; Chike is an unapologetic IPOB supporter and we don’t quite agree on that.

And then, he asked me that question.

When did you know that you were queer?

As I thought about his question, one face rose up into my consciousness. A face I’d grown to loathe even years after I saw it last.

“I was about ten years old when I discovered my sexuality,” I said to Chike. “But I was taken advantage of in the worst possible way. In fact, should I ever get to see him again, I think I might kill Nwachukwu.”

I said this with much venom, that I could feel Chike’s startle coming through the connection. I was also surprised by how suddenly furious I’d gotten, considering how I hadn’t talked about the hurt and abuse I suffered from Nwachukwu since it happened about fourteen years ago.

I figured it was finally time to change that, to open the doors and windows on the hurt I didn’t even know until that day that I’d been carrying about for years.

It was in the second term of my JSS1 in an all-boys boarding school in Delta State in the year 2006. The school had resumed for a new term, and the ten-year-old me was vibrant and eager to carry on with life as a secondary school junior. I was the smallest in my class, and because I was somewhat intelligent, I was also a favorite amongst most of my teachers and seniors.

Nwachukwu was also in my class, but he had repeated the class so much, he was older than the rest of us. He was also bigger and quite intimidating.

That day, we were seated in a corner in class, there was no teacher in the room, and then he turned to me and said three words that startled me: “Suck my dick.”

No, I wasn’t startled. I was shocked. Shocked and strangely excited. Before then, I’d always known that I didn’t like girls the way other boys did. I didn’t know why. I also found myself being drawn to other boys. I couldn’t explain these desires, and so, I kept them hidden and unspoken, especially because I’d looked around me and couldn’t find any other boy who seemed like they felt the same things I did.

And suddenly, here was this boy, the biggest boy in my class, putting into words what I didn’t even know I’d always wanted to do.

I hesitated. But with little persuasion from him, I finally gave in.

He took me out of the classroom to one of the toilets and dropped down his shorts. I stood there, enraptured by the sight of his penis. To my very inexperienced eyes, Nwachukwu had the most beautiful penis in the world. Dark, firm and quite long. I took it in my hands, knelt down and proceeded to give him my very first blowjob.

Seconds into it, and he suddenly yanked the penis out of my mouth. In that quick moment, I remember thinking that I was obviously not doing it right, and was prepared to beg him to teach me how to do it right for him. I just wanted that dick back in my mouth.

But my hell was just about to begin. Nwachukwu zipped his penis back into his shorts and then turned a very ugly look to me. He told me that he was going to tell the school that I am a homo and had tried sucking his dick. I was horror-stricken. My ten-year-old mind was instantly paralyzed with fear; even at that young age, I knew how much I’d be destroyed if Nwachukwu said anything to anyone. I began begging him. He seemed intractable. I begged and begged, until I found myself promising to do anything for him to not mention this incident to anyone.

I signed my soul to the devil right then.

Nwachukwu heard me say I would do anything for him, and smiled a wicked smile at me, before proceeding to list out all the things he expected me to do to maintain his silence.

I would give him the spare key to my cupboard, surrender my Sunday eggs, and fetch his water and any other thing he required of me. I begged for leniency, but this devil of a boy refused to back down. And so, believing that this would be my punishment for a few weeks, after which he would let me go, I reluctantly agreed to his terms.

But this hell did not last for a few weeks.

After I gave him my spare key, Nwachukwu moved my provisions out of my locker, leaving me with little or nothing to survive on. Then, after a few days, he called on me and told me that I would have to start surrendering half of ALL my meals to him.

“Your provisions have finished,” he said, “and I need to be maintained.”

It pained me, but I agreed. I was still afraid of the secret he held over my head.

But I was giving him more power over me. He got greedier. He started demanding for everything and anything that he knew I could give, and I gave him, too afraid to say no to. And this went on for three years! All through my JSS1 to JSS3, this guy tormented me with a secret I was too afraid to defy him over.

And I was only able to escape from that hell, not because I eventually got the courage to say no, but because he was expelled from school.

He was caught red-handed breaking into a fellow student’s locker, and because stealing was an unforgivable offense in the school – plus he already didn’t have a stellar record as a student of the school –, he was promptly expelled.

And I got my freedom.

Thinking about it all now filled me a new kind of rage that I didn’t know how to control. It happened over a decade ago, but remembering it led me to the discovery of a badly healed wound of the three years of torture, starvation and emotional abuse that I was made to go through simply because I agreed to suck a boy’s dick – something he asked for! I know someone might ask why I didn’t call his bluff, but I was just a child, with no worldliness, and I was at that age where I was still trying to figure out who and what I was.

Nobody saw nor heard from Nwachukwu since that fateful afternoon when he was expelled. Remembering him now made me long to see him so I could hurt him for all the pain he made me suffer through for three years.

After graduation from secondary school, I would later go on to meet and fall in love with someone. We have since broken up, but being with him was one of the things that helped me along the journey to figuring out who I am, a journey that was almost disrupted by Nwachukwu’s manipulative wickedness.

Written by Benjamin

Previous Anti-Gay Uproar Follows After The Opening Of LGBTQ+ Community Center In Ghana, Establishing The Country's Widespread Homophobia

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  1. Mitch
    February 25, 08:26 Reply

    This took me down memory lane.
    I remember being this child. A classmate in Primary school, Primary 5 to be precise, kissed me in the school’s toilet. And I felt really special in that moment.

    Only for the SoB to turn what he initiated into a weapon to bludgeon me with. Every time we were having a test or exam, Aris would make sure he sat next to me. And he’d demand that I open my papers for him, whispering that he’d tell people “…what happened in the toilet.” And, everytime, I reacted with fear and gave him what he wanted.

    It soon proceeded to shutting me up whenever I had an opinion in class or countered something he said when our classmates were in a group. And, everytime, I cringed whenever he said, “Remember what happened that day.”

    Till the day I got very angry. That was in Primary 6. We were discussing some bit of current affairs, I think about governors in the South-East or so, when I corrected something he said. And he flared up and was like I shouldn’t annoy him, that have I forgotten what happened that day.

    I think that was when my madness started manifesting😂😂😂

    I flared right back up and asked him, “You mean the day you met me in the toilet and kissed me? Because I remember how it happened!”

    Negro was shocked! All my classmates there were stunned. And I walked away from them.

    And even though he and I were flogged for, as our teachers called it, ‘moral decadence’, I had my freedom.

    Inukwam threatening me with something we both did? Thunder fire you, dear! Ị karọ m ayi ala! I will show you that madness dị n’ụdị n’ụdị. Highest highest, they will punish the two both of us for it. But, my freedom? That, I must have!

    PS: Find a way to let go of that hurt. Weights like that are just scars on your soul, scars you shouldn’t bear.

  2. ken
    February 25, 10:03 Reply

    Ok i am not a racist but i always assume every Igbo guy i come across is either a homophobe or suffering from some level of internalized homophobia. Unfortunately i am often proved right than wrong. I do not understand why this is so. But also their is no more romantic tribe than igbos. lol. As in if u manage to snatch one with the right cap on, u might just die from being over pampered.

    That said, Nwachukwu is a beast! I hate bullies with passion. I recall beating up one silly boy back in secondary school for attempting to bully my friend. The animal would just pick on the poor guy out of the blue for nothing. Till the day my anger filled my chest and i dared him to say just one word against this my friend. Before the bully could utter a word, my fist met with his jaw in one swift move. dude fell several seats backwards and started to cry. lol. Since then, everybody gave me and my friend chance.

    Bullies are often secretly weaklings. Most times if u stand up to them, they just recoil and flee

  3. Peace
    February 28, 09:59 Reply

    Benjamin! I’m so sorry you had to go through this. One thing is evident from reading this, you’re yet to heal from this trauma and abuse. Please you need to see maybe a therapist or talk to someone.

    Here’s on thing I know. Most times we think that time makes things right, we forget and move on, but that’s not always the case. We never forget, it just stays dormant in our mind and takes us back that dark hole whenever we remember. So instead I’d say we should work towards healing.. It’s a slow and gradual process but it’s worth it.

    Benji nna, you need to heal, and I’m sure you’re going to heal from this.

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