Nollywood And The Homosexual Nigerian

I came out to my colleague some weeks ago. From the first day we met, we had a connection, and that connection quickly led to a fast friendship. She studied abroad, and from the conversations we’d had, she was clearly feminist and agnostic. And her views on sexuality were very pro-LGBT.

So one afternoon, during lunch, she was kvetching about her boyfriend, and at some point in the conversation, she said, “I’m sure for someone like you, your girlfriend wouldn’t have anything to complain about.”

In response, I simply smiled.

She immediately got this quizzical expression in her eyes and asked, “You do have a girlfriend, right?”

I shook my head and said no.

Then she cocked her head and said, “A boyfriend perhaps?”

This was so refreshingly original, that a Nigerian would go from asking if you had a girlfriend to asking if you had a boyfriend, as opposed to going, “Why now? You should get yourself a girlfriend.”

And with a laugh, I said yes. There was no hesitation, no reserve. My answer came with the naturalness of one who was responding to someone he trusts.

Her eyes lit up and she flashed a smile as she gushed, “You hoe! Why didn’t you tell me this before?” And as we giggled our way through my revelation, she said with some excitement, “Now our conversations are about to get freaky and fun, and we can totally check out guys’ butts together.”

Bola (that’s her name, for the purpose of this story) was a delight as a friend. But as a friend who knew the real me, she was absolutely the best. She told me about how I was the first Nigerian gay male she was getting to know. I told her we were everywhere, only visible to those who know. Then she introduced me to her stash of gay comics. Apparently, she likes to watch cute guys make out – you know, in much the same way straight guys are into lesbian porn.

We got even closer, and our friendship didn’t escape the notice of our other colleagues.

One afternoon, we were talking about boys and stuff, when a coworker, a female corper who was attached to us for her NYSC, walked in and made a joke about me and Bola being a couple. The sheer ridiculousness of her joke caused an outburst of laughter from Bola and I. We were laughing so hard, we couldn’t breathe.

And the corper (Felicia, I’ll call her) stood there, looking certain that she hadn’t told a joke that funny.

When Bola and I sobered up, Felicia wanted to know why we’d laughed at her. And Bola turned to give me a ‘Should I tell her?’ look.

I nodded. Felicia didn’t seem like the homophobic type.

So Bola turned to her and told her that I am gay.

The babe was shook! Like she legit looked traumatized by the news. And her response confirmed what I suspected caused her shock. Apparently, because I didn’t fit the limp-wristed, hip-swaying stereotype, she would never have imagined I’d be gay.

A few days later, she called me and asked me if I’d be interested in acting, that she’d just been cast in a movie and that there was a role in it which she thinks I’d be perfect for. She also added that the pay was good.

As I listened to her, I just knew that this role was going to be that of a gay character. But I didn’t want to conclude yet. Perhaps the character was that of a swashbuckling dude with a flair for womanizing, or a brooding thug who becomes Beverly Naya’s love interest.

So I asked to see the script.

The following day, she brought it to work.

And when I read it, I not only confirmed that it was indeed a gay role, but the depiction of the gay character had me feeling royally pissed. (But don’t take my word for it. Check it out yourself.)

As a gay man, I felt really insulted. A gayish Frank dressed in female tight and top? With makeup? He walks like a lady?

This was all the homosexual someone in Nollywood knew?!

I told Felicia that I wanted to speak to the scriptwriter. She gave me the WhatsApp number. The scriptwriter is female.

I buzzed her, and when she responded, I went in on her regarding the vapidity of the gay character she’d created. I mean, what the hell did ‘a gayish Frank’ even mean?

She got quickly defensive, and was going on and on about how she wasn’t well-informed about gay people. But I didn’t let her have that. She was writing a script about a real person; how about you do some research, lady? She was in the movie business, an industry that teems with gay people. It can’t be that hard to get connected to someone who knows someone who knows someone with enough gay in him to impart enough knowledge in her regarding how we are much more than the cross-dressing Bobrisky-type. Even if the character was a hairdresser!

And even if she wasn’t suitably connected, there are shows, movies – there’s fucking Google! It’s 2018! No one can claim, in this day and age, ignorance of the existence of gay people – all sorts of gay people!

I was really upset by her level of stupidity. And when I sent the screenshot of the script to Bola, she was equally incensed. As someone who had worked at the London gay pride for three consecutive years, she knew enough to share my outrage at this tasteless one-dimensional depiction of a Nigerian gay male.

I felt insulted as a gay man, especially because I didn’t even see myself in that character. There is a different kind of homophobia going on in Nollywood, and it is very insidious with the way it has chosen to represent the LGBT community. First there was that disaster of a film, Busted, that starred Kate Henshaw and Liz Benson, with all the fallacies they spun about lesbianism. And now this! Nollywood has a history of steadfastly refusing to get it right when it comes to LGBT representation, and that’s a shame, considering how gay the industry actually is.

I learned that the role eventually went to Kalu Ikeagwu.

Written by Kennedy