I had gone from where I live in Festac to Ibafo for a church program. The program was supposed to last a week, with compulsory prayer sessions from 8 AM to 12 PM, and then from 11.30 PM to 3.30 AM. In between those times were other church programs that attendants were not mandated to attend, and it was during that time on Tuesday that I logged into 2go, intending to familiarize myself with any action in the area.
While I browsed the rooms, someone texted me; his username was Shugabou and he asked me to add him up. I did and we began chatting. He introduced himself as Stanley from Edo State and said he stays around Toll Gate. As we chatted and got acquainted, he invited me over to his place. But I’d been reading Kito Diaries long enough to know that such places in Lagos aren’t where you simply up and go see someone. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea and I declined, giving him excuses about how occupied I was with my church program. We however stayed chatting on 2go and talking on the phone.
The program ended on Friday and it was time for me to go home. I’d informed Stanley of my imminent departure from Ibafo and he tried again to get me to come see him. But I was already on my way and after the hassle of getting to Festac, I didn’t think I’d have it in me to come back out again. I told him and we agreed to reschedule. He promised that he would make provisions for us to meet somewhere much more central.
Now, I wasn’t declining these invitations because I had any reservations about this guy. I didn’t. In fact, our chats were normal and he didn’t set off any red flags in my mind, other than the fact that he always seemed in a hurry for us to hook up – which is normal. The gay hookup culture is something that generally operates at warp-speed, so he always asking for us to see wasn’t a red light. I am just naturally a cautious person who’d read way too many kito stories on Kito Diaries to allow myself to be rushed by konji.
Then the following week, Stanley called, wanting us to meet in Ikeja. He said he had a friend who lives in Ikeja, in whose house we could meet, and it could even be a threesome if I wanted. I was cool with it, and we set a date for Tuesday. I was free and horny, and it was time to get my rocks off with this guy.
Tuesday came and before I left the house, I dropped my smartphone at home, setting out instead with my Nokia Torch. It is a rule of mine to never go out for a hookup I’m unfamiliar with, with my smartphone. It’s just something I never do.
On my way to Ikeja, I was a bit irritated by how persistently Stanley called me, wanting to know where I was. I tried several times to let him know that he didn’t have to keep calling me, as I could find my way to Ikeja. That when I get to Ikeja, I would let him know so he can direct me further.
I got to Ikeja Underbridge, and a short trek and bike ride later, I was at the junction where he said we would meet. Another thing I do during first-time hookups is to hide myself until I have confirmed that the person I’m at the rendezvous to meet is the same person I’d been getting to know online. If it turns out to be a catfish, I don’t care how appealing the actual person is or how genuine he might seem, I would just turn around and leave.
When Stanley made himself obvious to me, from my hiding spot, I could see it was truly him in the pictures he sent me. So I emerged and went to meet him. I am 5’11 and he is slightly taller than me at 6’1. He was also physically fit, but not the kind that comes from going to the gym; his fitness is poverty-induced. I, myself, used to go to the gym, but hadn’t been in a while, and so, I’d gotten slightly flabby. I swept my eyes over him, assessing whatever advantages he might have over me physically, and there wasn’t much.
We started walking as he began leading me down the road to where his friend supposedly lived. I inquired about where his friend was staying and he said it wasn’t far. For a while though, it seemed as though we were just moving aimlessly, and when I remarked on that, he said he just wanted us to get to where he can buy something to drink. The way he said it, he seemed to imply that he needed the drink to enhance his performance during the sex we would have, and I felt very pleased and even more turned on by this.
He asked if I could stay the night so we could catch fun to the fullest. I looked at the time. It was about 4 PM. I told him that no amount of fun we’d be catching could possibly make it too late for me to leave for my house that same day. I mean, even if he had the power to go on for hours, we couldn’t possibly go on till past 10 PM. As long as it wasn’t midnight, I’d still want to go home.
We got to a drinking joint and the proprietor wasn’t around. So he bought cigarettes instead from an aboki’s shop close by. As we started off again, I noticed that he seemed very well-known in the area. Almost everyone we passed exchanged greetings or hand waves with him. I tried not to dwell too much on this, even though this was what triggered me into running away from a hookup I once went for. Whether the hookup was kito or not, I never got to find out, because when we started encountering too many people greeting the guy along the way to his place, I found a way to ditch him and scrammed. That kind of neighbourhood familiarity makes me nervous.
Finally, Stanley and I got to a spot and he came to a stop. He asked me to give him my phone so he can call his friend to know where he was. I asked if his friend wasn’t at home and he said no. That he would have to call him so we can go meet him where he is, and all three of us would then go over to his place. So I brought out my Nokia Torch and held it out to him.
When his eyes fell on the phone, I noticed him do a double take, like he couldn’t believe what I called my phone.
“This is your phone?” he said, looking at me.
“Yes,” I said.
“The phone you’ve been using to chat with me on 2go?” he asked, his tone very skeptical.
“Yes,” I lied. “The phone has a browser and all that. I use it for both 2go and Facebook sef. The only problem is that I can’t see profile pictures. But yeah, it’s the phone I use.”
He took the phone, looking oddly displeased. It wasn’t until after everything happened and I was reflecting on the incident that I realized what his displeasure meant: he’d thought that in asking me for my phone to make a call, he’d be getting his hand on a smartphone, not a Nokia Torch.
He made his call, and after what was supposed to be a coded conversation in Pidgin English, he hung up and told me we would have to wait a bit. He didn’t hand me back my phone, and when I asked for it, he hesitated for a moment, gave the phone a look and then gave it back to me. Again, upon thinking back on this moment, I realized that had that phone been a smartphone, he wouldn’t have given it back. The look he gave it before giving it back to me seemed to say: Well, the phone is not even worth it.
We waited longer than was comfortable for me, and I remarked on it, suggesting that I call his friend. He said OK and I called him. The guy on the other end said we should come meet him at a nearby junction. We got there and met him, a skinny guy who Stanley had told me was from Delta State.
When he came up to us, he asked me my name. I lied about my name, giving him the same fake name I gave Stanley. He asked what university I attended. Again, I lied, giving him the name of a university in Lagos.
Nodding, as though he’d finally gotten what he wanted, he turned to Stanley and asked him the question that suddenly changed everything. He said: “Stanley, so na the guy be this?”
Stanley nodded, and when they both turned to me, they’d transformed into the evil they truly were. The friend reached for me and began shoving me, while aggressively saying, “Oh, so na you wey wan come fuck nyash, abi?”
The next several minutes went by in a blur of violent activity. My heartbeat went into overdrive as I shifted swiftly into survival mode. As the two of them began shoving me, I shoved back. There was no way I was going to be the distressed victim. I was determined to match them aggression for aggression.
As we shoved and pushed and pulled at each other, exchanging heated words as well, I realized that we were on a lonely street – and worse still, in an area I didn’t know. I needed at least the advantage of surrounding people. So I broke free from them and began running back the way Stanley and I came. However, I noticed that our kerfuffle had attracted the attention of a couple of guys who had started coming toward us from the direction I was headed. I also remembered Stanley’s popularity in the area and thought about how the “public place” I was running toward may not work to my advantage.
So I changed gears and began running in the direction of some traffic noise that eventually led me to a main road that had pedestrians and moving vehicles on it. I still didn’t know where I was, and I was trying to gain my bearing when Stanley and his friend caught up to me and pounced on me. It was majorly Stanley who was fighting me, and I fought back. We were exchanging blows, throwing punches and grappling with each other, with his friend occasionally lending his muscle to aid Stanley. My shirt was ripped and when it started to inhibit my fight, I pulled it off.
At this point, Stanley began trying to yank my trousers apart as well, and I realised he was trying to increase my vulnerability by stripping me naked. I wasn’t about to let that happen and I fought him off my trousers. Then he began shoving me toward the main road, attempting to push me before oncoming vehicles. This guy had gotten so furious by my resistance that he now wanted to kill me!
And to top it all off, nobody – NOBODY – stepped forward to try to break up our fight. Pedestrians were just standing and watching. Motorists simply drove past. Even when it was apparent that Stanley was trying to shove me to my death, drivers simply swerved out of the way and drove on. Lagosians stood by and watched the fight go on with a detachment that broke my heart even as I fought for my life.
Finally, I broke free from my assailants and fled again. I ran so hard and so far that this time, it was a bike they took to catch up to me. An okada man actually brought my assailants to me!
Honestly, that day, it was hard for me not to totally despise Nigeria and all its inhumanity and deliberate cruelty.
However, this time, the public place I got to before they caught up with me was more crowded and a lot more interested in our altercation. People drew close to us and intervened. Questions began to fly about, people wanting to know what I’d done. The two of them of course began saying I’m a homo who they caught and wanted to teach a lesson. I furiously denied it, denied them, protesting that I didn’t even know who they were, that I’d been minding my business when they pounced on me, wanting to rob me. They objected, saying that they know me and I know them. They called out my name and Stanley began reeling off all other details about me, things I told him during the time we were getting to know each other. Unfortunately, everything I’d ever told him was all lies. And to prove it to the crowd, I brought out my ID card, brandishing it so that people would see that the name they said was mine was a lie.
There was confusion everywhere with nobody knowing who to believe. I was grateful for this. Confusion meant the crowd couldn’t have the hive mind required for them to take action against me. Stanley and his friend seemed to recognise that they were losing and it infuriated them. At one point, Stanley snatched up a bottle from the ground and tried to smash it on my head. He looked very murderous at this time. But the crowd came between him and me. Then his friend pushed me and I fell into one of those big, muddy-watered gullies that line the roads of Ikeja. The crowd intervened again, and one or two people helped me out. I now looked a mess – shirtless and wet and splattered with mud and grime. During the altercation, in addition to some scrapes here and there on my body, I’d also had my finger broken, one of my eyes scratched badly and my right ear drum shattered.
Eventually, the crowd prevailed and I was allowed to break free from my assailants. I got some satisfaction from seeing the impotent fury on Stanley’s face as I jogged away while he was detained from following me.
I was still unfamiliar with where I was, and my situation was now worsened by how I looked. I looked like a crazy person, and as I jogged along, pedestrians leaped out of my way. I saw someone see me approach and she scrambled into her car and bolted her door to escape the crazy man. It got so bad that I feared I’d get videoed by someone who would then get it posted on Instablog9ja. For a few days after that evening, I kept checking Instablog9ja to see if a video of me would pop up on the blog’s news feed. Mercifully, so far, no such thing has happened. Even bike men, that I attempted to stop to ask about where I was, simply drove on from me. It was a military man on his bike who let me approach him. He looked compassionate, and wanted to know what happened to make me look the way I was looking. I told him I was attacked and robbed. He expressed his sympathy, and when I asked, gave me directions to where I would find transport to Oshodi, from where I could go on to Mile 2.
Again, my appearance worked against me, as no keke driver would let me into his vehicle to transport me to where I would enter Oshodi bus. It was after much pleading and reiteration that I wasn’t mad, that one keke driver let me in.
Same thing happened when I got to the place Oshodi busses were loading. The conductor of the loading bus blocked me off from entering the bus, until I insisted over and over that I had the money to pay for my fare. I had to bring money out of my wallet to show him that I could even pay for an entire bench.
Inside the bus, as passenger after passenger got in, I became a museum piece, with everyone eyeing me warily. It didn’t even seem like anyone was going to sit on the bench where I was seated. Finally unable to bear the scrutiny of distrust, I turned and said to the bus, “I was robbed.”
And a collective sigh of relief broke out in the bus, accompanied by reactions that varied from exclamations of “Ehen! I for talk!” and “This Lagos sef, nowhere is safe” to a woman breaking out the story of how her sister was attacked and robbed the other day in broad daylight. The distrust was gone and no one thought I was a crazy person anymore.
When I got to Oshodi, I had to buy a wife-beater from a roadside seller, a woman who exploited my desperation and overcharged me for the top.
I eventually got home and spent the next couple of days having myself checked out. My broken finger has now been fixed, my bruises healing nicely and my ear drum is returning to its normal function.
But I am burning with a desire to avenge myself on Stanley. When I got home, I cussed him out on 2go, taunting him with the failure of his plan, and then I called him on the phone to let him know that I would come back for him. And I very much intend to follow through on that threat. When I’m healed entirely, I will make contact with the army folks I know in Ojo Barracks and I will find that guy and fuck him up.
And his numbers (and that of his friend) are 08057618954, 09019367251 and 09032265292. He appears to still be on 2go, still looking for his next victim.
Written by Daniel