Abimbola Adebayo

Emeka twitched; he did not want to talk about Seun. “I met some hippies in my class in London, at first I thought they were insane, but I found out that they were good and fun-loving people. They were unassuming, liberal and helpful and they gave me some money to support myself. We were all taking hard drugs and having group sex and I became interested in John, a British Caucasian about my age. He is not overly sensitive like Seun. Women are sensitive and complex, and I don’t need that right now,” he said.

Mrs. Adeniyi heaved a deep sigh. It was not the time to talk, she just wanted to listen.

The door opened suddenly. They were all startled. Mr. Adeniyi barged into the sitting room; his face was cold and wrinkled. Emeka jumped up from the sofa. “Hello sir,” he said.

“Emeka what’s all this nonsense I’m hearing about you being gay? Where did this emanate from?” Mr. Adeniyi asked standoffishly. “This is not acceptable at all. I need you to clean up your acts at once. If not I will give you a good whipping. Do you understand?” He asked angrily. He looked at his family and beckoned to them. “We must leave now,” he said, dignified. His mission was a standoff.

Emeka swallowed hard as he watched Mr. Adeniyi storm out of the house with his family tailing behind him. Kunle and Wole told him nothing about their father’s reaction to his gayness. They only told him that their parents were surprised that they met him in London. Emeka reached for his mobile phone in his butt pocket; he wanted to share his experience with John. There were all kinds of them, both of them were dehumanized and victimized because of their sexual preferences and racial differences, but this one was somewhat unusual. It was personal to him.

At a party in London, one of Uncle Bayo’s guests had refused to take food from Emeka when he served her. “Are you a boy or a girl? Who brought you into this respectable family?” she had asked him disdainfully, looking intently at his long braids. Emeka was sulky.

Kunle, who observed them from afar walked up to Emeka and asked him what the lady had said to make him downcast. “Emeka to be honest with you, I think that lady is jealous of your hairdo, did you notice that she is bald,” Kunle whispered to Emeka that evening. Both of them laughed hard, their bodies quivered as they did. The lady looked at them and let out a loud hiss. She knew they were talking about her and making jest of her; so she took her bag and left the house, slighted.

Emeka looked into his phone, there was a new chat from John. He glanced at the last sentence; he suspected that there was trouble. Emeka closed his eyes for a few seconds and hoped for the best. He read it anxiously, his heart raced as he did.

 Hi.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before you left. My parents have been threatening to bequeath their estates to charity if I do not break up with you. As a result of that I can no longer continue this relationship. Also, they have hooked me up with Catherine, a nice neighbor. Emeka I’m afraid you will no longer hear from me. Please forgive me.

Emeka lost his balance. He did not see it coming, the signs were implicit. How familiar; John too, could not stand up to his kins and he was panic-stricken at the mention of an unread testament.  “I must be jinxed,” Emeka murmured. He managed to find the floor and sat on it, demoralized, he knocked his feeble knees together. “Déjà vu!” he lamented. It was happening all over again.

***

Mr. Adeniyi slouched in the bedroom couch; his emotions have been running high and low since he was told that Emeka was gay. Emeka’s homosexualism created a divide in his home and he was not pleased about it. His wife and children were sympathetic in their view of him and his brother had let him into his home without much ado; only he was struggling with good conscience. It was amoral to accept Emeka’s gayness; that was all he knew. Mr. Adeniyi was raised to be critical of others; it was difficult to evolve from that mentality.

He and his brother were brought up by their dad to abhor wrongdoers, as young boys they had complied with their father’s instructions painstakingly; because, according to him, obeying him meant that they loved him and it meant that they would be loved in return, else they would be severely penalized. Their dad also made factotums out of them and he whipped them at his slightest provocation; he was surly unforgiving and disagreeable. Both brothers would hide until their mother told them that it was okay to come out.

Those days were over, but the repercussion lingered.

Mr. Adeniyi sighed. The Afghanistani’s kind heartedness towards the American soldier was a formidable act of benevolence, his head would have gone for it; but he showed empathy all the same. It was an act his sons wished he could replicate and approve, but he could not; he was ashamed of himself. A pang of conscience ran through him. He sighed again and watched his wife sway across the large bedroom. “Good morning. A penny for your thoughts,” she said to him. He shifted himself on the couch and looked away from her. She smiled. She knew he was thinking about Emeka. “Darling, Emeka needs sympathy from us and not torture. At this point, we should be careful what we say or do to him; more than ever before because isolated and censured people tend to be harmful to themselves and those around them. If we do not embrace Emeka, he will easily take to people that identify with him; even fiends or hostile groups,” she said.

Mr. Adeniyi shuddered in fear; he could not bear to think of Emeka as a menace to society. Emeka was like his own son and the thought of losing a son to an antipathetic faction was heartrending.

“Honey, I am not asking you for the head of John the Baptist, I need you to look past Emeka’s shortcomings; there is more to Emeka than just his sexuality-. The real Emeka is right here,” she said thumping her heart. “Darling, the heart is where the man is.”

Mr. Adeniyi sighed again. He wanted to act judiciously; he also wanted to stay in character as a good example to his sons, but it was not as easy as that. “If one of our boys decides to be gay, do we allow him to act foolishly?” Mr. Adeniyi asked his wife soberly.

“No we will not and we will not beat him on the head over it if he insists on doing otherwise because things spiral out of control when force is used. Rather we will apply empathy. Empathy is a catalyst, for better things to come,” she replied. “Condemnation reduces ones self-esteem, his failures are our failures too; you know.”

Mr. Adeniyi looked into his wife’s eyes. She was perfect; he felt small and stupid. There were tears in his eyes, he looked away from her. “I’m afraid that I cannot love a son beyond how my father loved me,” he said painfully.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, stroking him gently and searching for his eyes; “I am also afraid that I can love a son immeasurably. Sometimes I am afraid of my capabilities and tolerances. We are not different from each other,” she replied and smiled.

Mr. Adeniyi took a deep breath and managed to smile back.

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