COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

It was a day like any other in the cold capital city of Plateau State; boring and really shitty, like “kill Ned Stark in the first season of Game of Thrones” kind of shitty. The weather was good though, but quite confusing. I mean, there was a lot of breeze blowing, and yet, the sun felt like it was baking you alive. (Sometimes, when you least expect it, the rains will just open up. You need to be here to understand how spiteful the weather in Jos can be.)

I was at work, oftentimes staring at the clock hanging on the wall, praying for it to run at least ten times its usual speed. I would also occasionally look out the window to ogle the various flavours of Northern delight, with sprinkles of Southern, Eastern and Western eye candies waltzing about the premises.

Now, this may come as a shocker to most, but there is in fact a somewhat thriving gay community in Jos – albeit nothing compared to some power states (Yes, Lagos, I’m looking at you). The gays are very present here, but they’re very, very down-low. Finding them (the good ones anyway) is like looking for Glo 4G network in Sambisa Forest (Yes, it’s that bad). Hooking up with guys is mostly through recommendations from friends, and therein lies my dilemma. I’m an unrepentant introvert. I hardly go out of my way to make acquaintances. Add to that work and other non-leisure-filled engagements, and there often isn’t time for me to have much of a social life.

So, the struggle is often very real.

For this reason, I’m often stuck with trying to meet people in the online space, either Facebook or Grindr. I must confess though, Grindr in Jos is terribly depressing; the profiles are few and most are usually fellow Bottoms. The ones who identify as Tops are mostly not my type, what with how shabby looking they are in their pictures. And then the ones that truly catch my fancy come off as assholes. There was this guy who sent pictures that showed he had a big dick. That big dick must have allowed him get away with a lot of bullshit in his life, because he said to me that as a Top, anything he says regarding sex with a Bottom goes, so we’re just supposed to shut up and take the dick like a bitch.

I couldn’t block him fast enough.

And this story isn’t a story about the idiots of the world.

This story is about a guy named… What’s his name again? Meh… Let’s just call him Musa.

So Musa and I met on Grindr sometime in August. It was a boring day at work and in all my socials, and I was like, ‘Hey, let’s see who’s new in the gayborhood.’ I went on to install (for the umpteenth time) Grindr and the first thing I saw was this profile with a guy who was shirtless.

Okay, he looks toned, I thought as I sized him up. A bit plump around the edges, but he either works out once in a while or he’s got good genes.

Anyway, I slid into his DM and we began a conversation that was a little above mediocre. At some point, he asked my age and I told him. He reacted with surprise, going on about how people at my age don’t exude such maturity in conversations and yada, yada, yada. I was actually more irritated than flattered by this. As in, my peers are supposed to be juvenile twats or what? Oh well.

He mentioned he was married, with kids too. Now, I’m not one to hop into the beds of married gay men. But hey, I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?

We talked about a lot of things. Life things, raunchy things, of how we would rip off each other’s clothes before we got through the door… All that jazz.

Then, for some reason, it was after all this that we settled on work talk. I told him I work in a hospital as a medical practitioner and –

He said he was a soldier.

Hol’up! Rewind! WHAT!

“A soldier, huh?” I typed in response.

He sent a couple of laugh emojis and said I should chill first before I block him.

He must have had an X-men’s ability to read minds from afar because I was about two clicks away from the boy-bye button. Sometimes, I get too paranoid for my own good, especially when dealing with men in uniform. I have an impeccable record of either blocking men of the force or continually postponing out intended hookup until they basically give up and let me be.

I let Musa know about my reservation and how I was close to blocking him, and he laughed, confessing that he usually gets the same reaction from many guys and how he couldn’t blame them, considering all the damage the Nigerian force has done to the community.

He also said he wasn’t a bad person. He said he liked me and would really want to get to know me. He said he’d love to see me, but that he’d leave that to when I was comfortable enough. (Would I though? Would I ever be comfortable enough?)

Sufficiently pacified, I refrained from blocking him and we carried on with our conversation, focusing on his life as a soldier, a married man and a gay man at that. He said it would be a lot to type and asked we move over to WhatsApp. I wasn’t cool with that at this point, and I told him. He was fine with it.

This conversation had been going on for hours, and so, at this time, I was back home from work, and I was exhausted. So, I bade him goodnight and he replied with, “Goodnight. Sleep well, my love.”

I just chuckled to myself – not for the reason you might think, not over the possibility of butterflies fluttering in my belly. No.

I chuckled because of two things. One, I’d more than halfway written this guy off as a kitoer, and at this point, I was just playing along. Two, I’d heard that L word so many times and saying it after we’d just met for like, what, a few hours? Nah!

Anyhoo, the following morning came, and as if my ancestors were working overtime against my destiny that day, I woke up with a raging hard-on. I was hornier than I’d ever been in the two months since I last had sex. I jacked off before I left for work, and when I got to work, I jacked off in the bathroom. Still, I stayed horny. At a point, I had to settle down in an inner room because my boner was becoming visible through my very tight trousers.

Shebi I said this guy has mutant powers… Because, explain to me how at this exact moment of my vulnerability, Musa texted me, “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m good. Just having a really bad day at work…”

“Really? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… I’ve just been on brick since morning and it won’t go away… Already wanked like twice, but Iono…”

He sent some laugh emojis. And then texted, “Maybe it’s waiting for me to do something about it.”

“Very funny… Come on, you know I’m at work.”

“Yea, yea, I know. Hey, I wanted to tell you that I’ll be leaving Jos real soon. The meeting I came for didn’t hold. So I’ll have to go back.”

“Well, this is news. I didn’t know you were a visitor to Jos.”

“Yeah, sorry about that… I wanted to let you know of this development sha, in case you still want us to see.”

“How am I sure you’re not the cause of my predicament sef? Abi you go see baba on top my matter?”

“No now. Haba, I no dey do that kain thing sef. I just wan see you sha.”

I groaned. Suddenly, this aspect of him leaving Jos added an urgency to this whole situation that I wasn’t prepared for.

“Fine,” I replied. “But wait. I have to see your Facebook profile first before I come out to meet you. I can’t be walking in blind now.”

“Come on… Do you need that? I mean, I’ve sent you my pictures, and now you want my Facebook? Nawa for you o.”

“Hian, of course I want your Facebook. In this Nigeria is where you’re acting like I’m asking for too much? You have to send it o. If not, I’m not coming anywhere. I’m too young and too pretty to be kitoed abeg.”

“I promise you I’m for real,” he cajoled.

“Said every kito person who ever set a gay guy up,” I replied, not believing that he actually thought that line would work. “Look, if you’re not sending it to me, then I won’t come see you. It’s that simple.”

Now, this was around 10 in the morning, and after that, I had to get off the phone because work overtook me for the next hour or so. Around noon, I was done with some documentation, and then I snuck a peek at my phone to see a few messages from Musa pleading his case. I reiterated my initial statement, and eventually he capitulated. To be honest, I’d already shut down this hookup in my mind, but when he sent his social media name and I went through his profile, it was as though a signal went off from my brain, zipped down my spine and settled in my crotch, hardening there with the kind of vengeance that had me scrambling to take a seat to hide the boner.

The pictures he sent on Grindr didn’t do him justice. It wasn’t that he was incredibly handsome. No. it was that he had a very, very nice body. And he appeared tall. I could tell from his postures next to other people that he was tall. Not as tall as me, I surmised. I was yet to meet any hookup as tall as me; I always find myself bending the knee to make out with a man.

*sigh* Yet another struggle that is real.

Anyway, after scouring his Facebook profile to my heart’s content, I sent Musa a message on Messenger to confirm his identity. He responded.

Then I checked him out some more. I saw pictures of the woman who seemed to be his wife. I also saw photos of his children.

Then, you know, in case things do go south, I found his wife’s Facebook name through some well-placed clicks and proceeded to store both their profile links in my Google Keep. This was all in case of incasities, you know.

Then, I was finally ready to go see Musa. I informed him and he seemed excited by this, dropping some directions and his number.

So there I was, in a keke headed for Gada biu Overhead Bridge, heart thumping, eyes racing, feeling like – and no doubt feeling like – an Easter goat on Good Friday, all the while mentally begging the Universe for anything, any sign that’ll scream BAD IDEA!!! BAD IDEA!!!

But nothing of that sort was forthcoming.

Upon getting to the bridge, I called my bestie (Shout-out to you, Bestie! I know you’re reading this. Love you so much, XOXO) and briefed him on the situation. I told him about how I met an army man on Grindr and was now on my way to Rukuba Barracks to meet him. Expectedly, he tried to dissuade me, but the stiffness in my pants had other ideas. In a bid to further safeguard myself, I sent him the link to Musa’s Facebook account and that of his wife as well, and told him to call me in the next two to three hours. And if I don’t answer, he should send an SOS to a friend of ours who knows people.

And with all of that done, I was off to meet Mr. Soldier-man.

Going to Rukuba Barracks was a very, very, very long journey. I had never been to the barracks before. I had heard it was far from the main town, but nothing prepared me for the close-to-two-hour journey I spent on the road. Combine that with the basket of nerves I was, constantly second-guessing my decision to make this journey, and you had a panic attack waiting to happen.

It was a rather sunny day with sparse clouding, and for some reason, a memory of my mother telling me I was an anointed priest from birth flashed through my mind at some point in the journey. Well, I suppose this was me putting that anointing to the test, right? So, as a priest of the Most High, I sent a silent prayer up to God, telling Him that if this was going to go bad, then He should send the rains down to spoil the show.

And on that note, I finally sat back and let the sweet melody of Demi Lovato’s Sorry, Not Sorry wash my anxieties away.

Now, sisters and brothers of Rainbow Heaven, remember when I said that Jos weather is a spiteful bitch. Well, this bitch decided to do the Lord’s work. Not more than twenty minutes after Demi Lovato had managed to get me all warmed up and ready to meet Musa, than the first set of gray clouds began to speedily make their way across the sky.

The prayer that I said minutes ago instantly bubbled to the surface of my mind and I found myself visibly panicking. An elderly woman seated beside me snapped at me that I was disturbing her and should better behave myself. My panic short-circuited to fury and I turned my unstable emotions on her, snapping back at her to kindly not let the devil make her unfortunate this afternoon. Aunty was shook and stayed mute for the rest of the journey.

As for me, well, everything from then on appeared to be screaming, “BROS, GO BACK YOUR HOUSE OOO! SHEBI NA SIGN YOU DEY FIND! YOU DON SEE AM, STILL YOU NO WAN GO BACK! YOU WAN CHOP PREEQ!”

But konji is such a bastard. I mean, the universe couldn’t have been clearer.

In addition to the rainfall that I asked for and got, I also missed the turn I was supposed to take to the gates of the barracks. When I realized this, I asked to be dropped and the bus stopped. I got down into the rain.

This rain though! It was as if the angels were taking a bath in preparation for evening mass. It was pouring down in torrents, and there was no keke in sight to take me to the gate. At this point, I was basically going ahead with making this meet due to the thinking that I can’t have come this far without at least seeing this guy.

But out there in the rain, I was distraught, angry, miserable, soaking wet and a few kilometres away from home, and on top of it all, nagged by the thought that Mr. Soldier-man might spell doom for my Narnia-deep closet.

Then I saw a bike. I yelled at the bike man to stop. Then I told him to take me to barracks gate.

UNDER THE RAIN O!

Chai. This ogbono and ewedu wey my village people dey cook for my head ba… E go sweet die.

I got on and we sped off. It was really cold and wet, and I’d just about had it by the time we got to the gate. After settling my fare with the bike man, I headed to a vantage point that would allow me a clear view of anybody stepping out of the barracks without being seen.

The rain had reduced to a light drizzle now. I called Musa, asking him to come get me at the gate.

“You’re at the gate?” he said, sounding pleased. “Okay now, I’ll send someone to come get you.”

Inukwa?!

After being on the road for an hour-plus and getting beaten by the rain?! Ha! It’s like oloriburuku ni e ni! Besides, I’d read waaaaay too many stories on Kito Diaries that talked about how Mr. A sent Mr. B to pick up Mr. C, and C ended up in a kito situation to let that be the story of a Daughter of Zion.

“I don’t understand…” I began, bristling. “You want to send someone for what? I came all this way from Jos, got wet under the rain, and you can’t even come get me yourself? You lie o, it’s not possible. If you can’t come by yourself, I’ll simply turn around and start going back home.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. What’s the difference in me coming to get you and sending someone? In the end, won’t we still meet?”

“It’s respect, Musa. I came all this way to see you. The very least you can do is come out and get me yourself. If you can’t do that, I’m going home and you may not bother speaking to me again. Me, I’ve said my own o.”

A couple of minutes of back and forth later, he grudgingly agreed to come out. A few minutes later, a certain man in uniform walked out from the barracks gate with such a commanding presence, I was tempted to salute in tandem with the army men around who were saluting him.

This was Mr. Soldier-man. This was Musa. Forget Facebook. In real life, he looked like a SNACK! This man could get my honey any day!

I watched him nod at the men who saluted him and then continue away from the gate. Having observed that show of respect, I wondered what his rank was. I saw the men saluting him look confusedly at him, like they didn’t understand why he was there at the gate.

As Musa headed away from the gate, he removed his phone from his pocket and called me. I had earlier set the ringer on silent and I didn’t answer his call until I was satisfied that nothing was posing any immediate danger to me.

Then I picked his call.

“Where are you?” I heard his irate voice snap through the connection. “I’m outside the gate. I thought you said you’re here waiting for me. I don’t see you anywhere.”

Sensing his growing irritation, I came out of my hiding place and began moving in his direction. He was still speaking his aggravation into the phone when I cleared my throat to get his attention. Still holding his phone to his ear, he turned a scowl to me. A vacant expression, like he didn’t know who I was, played across his face for a second, and then he was smiling.

He started walking toward me, while saying, “This guy… This guy… Na you dey order me around like this say make I comot come meet you, eh?”

“Yes now. Abi you don’t know Jos is far? And if you haven’t noticed, I’m soaking wet. So yes, the least you could do is come get me from the gate.”

He gave me a onceover, laughed to himself and motioned for me to follow him.

As we walked past the security check, I noticed scowls directed at me from some of the men that saluted Musa earlier. There was this whole “who be this” energy about them.

But I could care less really. A boy was already daydreaming about the steamy session that lay ahead with Mr. Commander-in-Chief. (By the way, don’t you just love that song by Demi Lovato. I cried.)

As I followed behind Musa, I was checking him out. Like I said, his pictures did him no justice. Dark-skinned just like I love my coffee, he’s much taller than I envisioned. He was in fact exactly my height, which I was more than pleased by. His muscles were way more defined than in his pictures; from his folded sleeves, I could make out his large biceps which looked like they were straining to rip through the fabric. His arms were sinewy and veiny, and his tight-fitting uniform did nothing to hide the hardness of his body, his bulging pecs very visible with that defined cleft that could make a bitch go crazy. His hair was trimmed to a low afro, clothes well laundered, a very expensive scent clung to his body and there was an air of command about him that made others around him seem like lesser beings.

In short, this was a MAN! PERIOD!!!

Ahead of us were suddenly three Hilux trucks, with two soldiers in the first and third vehicles, and a single driver behind the wheel of the one in the middle.

Seeing that we were headed to the trucks suddenly caused fear to bloom inside me. I became petrified. A quiet sob broke out in my heart.

Lord, is this how your son will go? Is this how it will end?

I stopped in my tracks while Musa walked ahead, not noticing my absence from his side until he for to the truck in the middle. Looking to open the door for me, he turned and I wasn’t there. Then he turned around and directed a quizzical look at me.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“I don’t feel comfortable.”

He burst out into a loud laugh. Then he walked over to me.

Damn! That walk though, like a predator cornering its prey. It was both stimulating and frightening.

“Come on, be reasonable,” he said when he got to me. “If I wanted to set you up or anything, I’d probably have done it from the gate.”

He flashed me a grin, but I wasn’t amused.

“Was that supposed to convince me or something?” I said, fighting down a bubble of hysteria. “Why are all these men here with you sef? Why were they saluting you so much at the gate? Why were the soldiers giving me death stares and looking more surprised that you came to meet me than that I was actually here. I’m not okay with this, Musa. I want to go home.”

He’d been smiling as I was talking, but when I finished with the plea that I wanted to go home, that knocked the mirth from his face. His smile faded into a somber look.

“I’m sorry, Danté. I know this is a bit too much –”

“Try a lot. I didn’t sign up for this. Abeg, I beg you in the name of God, just let me go. I don’t have anything to offer. My parents aren’t well-to-do and we’re just trying to get by. Please… Abeg…”

I was getting panicked again, but I tried to look outwardly calm so as not to attract any unwanted attention from all the uniforms around. Even then, the fear was apparent in my countenance as I begged.

“Please, Musa, just let me go home…”

TO BE CONTINUED

Written by Danté