Mosaic of a Fading Innocence
Ikechukwu Henry
©
Copyright 2024 by Ikechukwu Henry
|
Photo by Layton Diament on Unsplash |
Real
courage is when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin
anyway and see it through no matter what.— To Kill a Mockingbird
by Harper Lee.
My
friend, Obiaranujumwa, asked me which part of my life as a queer was
traumatic. An event I couldn't forget, no matter what. May 31, 2021,
popped up in my head. An automatic remembrance. A day of fading
innocence.
On
that particular day, I meticulously dusted off the remnants of
African breadfruit I just finished peeling for my mum, an activity
undertaken for my mother's benefit when I sighted him shuffling
towards me in his short snicker, swagged below his waist. His dark
skin gleamed under the sun sinking like the Titanic ship across the
horizon. He was nicknamed Aboy—one word and not pronounced as
‘A boy’ but ‘ah boy’—a
nickname he was popularly known by. I didn't smile. I creased my
brows at him, grimacing. He had once wanted us to get intimate, which
would lead to sex, but his touch on my skin irked me. And that was
once.
During
the night, I found him at the primary school's field, which was a few
feet away from my home, engrossed in his phone. I approached him and
found right on time he had just sent a picture to a white young guy.
My eyes were bugged at the picture he sent. When I wanted to confront
him, a message pinged in. I saw it before he flung his phone from my
gaze. It read: “Cool. It's so huge, and I can't wait to insert
my lips in it.” I was at sea, struggling to calm my
bewilderment.
“Aboy,
you know that wasn't yours?” he glared at me.
“How
is it your concern?” Yet both of us knew there was a question
hanging unasked and unanswered that I was not willing to ask. Perhaps
I was, but I was more afraid it would obscure my means of satisfying
my curiosity. Out of inquisition, maybe it was unintentional. My hand
found its way between his thighs, and I flung it back as though
electrocuted. He was having a boner. He smacked my arm. “Don’t
do that again.”
I
became nosey. “What if I do, can you beat me?” I asked,
parodying him to do his worst. He glared at me. The second time, I
did it intentionally and noticed he was on a video call with an
Indian man who kept flinging his hand over him, at the bulb. Aboy
didn't speak, knowing there was nothing he could do to bring a
shimmer of moonlight to distill the broadening, deep darkness
shrouding us.
He
cut the call. A message pinged in from the earlier guy. This time, he
didn't hide his phone. It read; “Please, don't show my
coworkers my picture.”
I
creased my brows. I wondered if the white guy knew Aboy lived in
Nigeria and how would Aboy know of his co-workers. Aboy typed: “Ok.
Nice dick.” I spotted the satirical tone in the text he sent to
the white guy. Then I stood, yawning, and realized it was late. I had
been squatting with him for nearly an hour in the open field of the
school behind us.
A
hand grabbed me. And I turned as he began to shove me into the
uncompleted building beside the field. I whisked my hand from him at
the entrance of the building, glancing at him. Before I could say
something, his hand found its way to my thighs, and I cringed.
“Come
in, let's do it.” No, no. A voice was reprimanding me as my
mind was suddenly clouded with desire. To feel what I had touched
earlier, I followed him in. He was groping me along the way as heat
spammed at my body. I was in the crux of releasing fluid on my pants
before the main thing started when it all came gushing out. I felt
weak, and my sense of reasoning flooded in. I suddenly became
self-conscious due to my wet underwear. I quickly removed his hand
from me and bolted out of the building, embarrassed. And it was never
done again —the intended sex.
Seeing
him again after that night, trudging towards our house, in a proud
gait made my heart quiver. Is he here to tell my mum about what
happened? What now? Questions swirled in my mind. I darted my gaze
around and heaved. My mum wasn't around.
“Come,
let's go to your secondary school hall,” he said the last three
words as though I was the only one who was schooled there. A hall of
shrunk buildings, and uncompleted parts occasionally served as a
haven for smokers or a venue for illicit activities due to its
secluded location surrounded by school farms and bamboo trees.
“To
do what?” I questioned him, defiant, hesitant at why he chose
there of all the places. My brows were furrowed at his shrug.
“I
will wait for you there.” piqued, I watched him leave,
following behind him with forceful, reluctant steps. Is he going to
request sex? To let me know something I don't know? My mind ran amok
with thoughts. It twirled with the possibility of him asking the
former. If so, I wouldn't do it and was determined not to.
With
each step I took, getting closer to my school, my body tinged with
goosebumps; a sudden frosty chill gripped every part of me. In my
mind's eyes, I saw the future, a fog-filled future and wondered how
he, alone, would do that. Perhaps if I had known, I would have been
running away from him after I regained myself.
Strange
things happened along the way. My friend, Isaac, on seeing us headed
to the bush beside my school hall, came forward to the other route
that led to the school hall, too. I glimpsed as Aboy nodded at a
group of boys watching him, clustering at the row of mango trees in
front of the class building in the same vertical line. It seemed
peculiar then. When we arrived, he strode to the uncompleted part
that was—and still is when I am writing this—doorless and
windowless. At that moment, I knew what he wanted. He left me no
breathing space as he shoved me to the nearest wall and grabbed my
dick. I pulled him off me and demanded why we were there even though
I knew. He said nothing and walked out to check if someone was
coming, or that was what I thought.
“Remove
your clothes. All of it,” he ordered. I frowned at the command
in his tone and wondered why I would when his own wasn't off. He came
closer, trying to pull off the tailored trouser I wore. Then I saw
it: someone's head, peeping from the door frame leading outside.
Alarmed, I pushed him off, and in the process, he took my little
phone with him. I raced outside; the room suddenly became
suffocating. I glanced at the spot I saw the head and behold, a manly
figure that might have thought he concealed his body properly, stood
still.
“Aboy,
give me my phone. I'm leaving,” I requested since I wasn't
inside anymore but he was still in and wasn't attempting to come
outside. “Next time, we'll do it. I'm not interested today,”
I tried to reason with him even though I wouldn't be interested again
once I leave there. I turned to walk over to the small fence that
would lead me to another route out of the school hall; then the world
went blank in a second.
“Homo!
So, gị bụ homo!” three lashes of cassava step,
those large ones, whipped on my head simultaneously. I stumbled
forward, shocked because I wasn't expecting anyone behind me. When my
vision cleared, I saw it was the guy who had made numerous attempts
to ‘woo’ my junior sister. Even gifted me money, perhaps
to make her perceive how generous he was. His eyes beamed with
nameless rage, a roaring furnace of anger on his steps as he shoved
me back to the same place I tried to escape. As I staggered in, Aboy
wasn't alone anymore.
The
visage I had earlier witnessed, accompanied by my friend Isaac and
another individual whose name eluded my memory, closed in around me.
Devoid of a moment to mount a defense, I found myself subjected to
the merciless lashings of a cassava step, the stinging impact of a
forceful slap, and amidst this onslaught, Aboy, untouched, seized a
half-molded brick, hurling it with unrestrained animosity.
“Die,
homo!” His voice, thickened with disdain, harbored an enmity
for something I knew nothing of. Had I not instinctively shielded my
head during his calculated throw, I might not be here to recount this
tale. Thus, I extended my arm in the nick of time, intercepting the
brick's trajectory, albeit at the cost of scraping my wrist due to
its formidable weight.
“Remove
that rubbish, you he-goat!” Isaac barked as he stepped closer.
With one tug, my polo shirt shredded into two in his palms.
Encouraged by Isaac's action, Aboy kicked me off my feet, tugging my
trouser until it came off. I wore a pair of jersey shorts with no
boxers in and was forced to remove them too. Then I kneeled before
them all, naked as I came into this world, while all there was on, I
endured the pain of the cassava step landing on my skin frequently.
It dawned on me that they were multiplying as the second ticked.
With
the camera lens pointed at my body, the head I saw earlier, which I
realized belonged to Chinemerem’s (my second friend and the
first closest guy I had ever romantically attracted to) elder
brother. He was nicknamed ‘Elder’ but his name is Ebuka.
Maybe it was because he was the first son in his family. Ebuka came
forward with a calm gait, and as I stared at him, I thought I could
get him over to my side, to defend me and let me go untouched
afterwards. How naive I was then!
“What
happened?” I found his question moronic as I inscribed these
words. With fear skidding across my skin, I recounted the tale from
its inception to the current harrowing moment, each word resonating
with a frightened cadence. Aboy suddenly yelled and smacked my face.
He said it was my phone he saw the dick picture. I wanted to deflect
his accusations but a whip landed on my head, and a voice daring me
to shut up. Did I sob? No. No single tears twinkled down my cheeks,
and I was determined to keep it so. Little did I realize, the mere
contemplation of my emotional resilience may have further fueled
their fury.
“Boys,
let's parade this guy around. We're wasting our time here.” my
sister's wooer said, whacking my brushed back that was now zigzagged
with lines. He seemed eager for action, and I wondered if my sister
rejected him, propelling him to vent his anger on me. Ebuka cooled
his ally and asked, “You be homo? ” He asked that
question in my native language, and later I'd learn that the word
‘homo’ was considered offensive and old-fashioned. I
wagged a negative answer. One sex attempt of the same gender couldn't
tag me as homosexual since I wasn't sexually attracted to males
alone. “Talk true because if I find out later, you're going to
be burned alive.” I gave him the same negative answer.
“So
why did you say ‘Let's do it another time’” I
darted my gaze sharply at the new voice, and my blood ran cold. It
came from Chinemerem’s friend, named Chikwado, who was also my
friend. Chinemerem, as I said earlier, was the first closest guy I
had ever romantically attracted to. I felt comfortable around him
despite the fact he had a girlfriend. Although I suspected he was
attracted to me too but afraid to express himself. I only learnt of
my attraction to him years later after I had researched to discover
what sexual and romantic orientation I fell under. He had made
several sexual advances towards me which I declined. I gazed at his
eyes and I saw in them, hurt anger. Hurt, for allowing myself to fall
into this pitiful situation. Anger for being too revealing, too
exposing. I looked into the eye of Chikwado who asked me questions,
in them were disbelief and disappointment. The same guy that
compliments my personality of being cool-headed. I realized I must
have let all of them down, my admirers even.
“Because
I want to leave, and he was forcing himself on me.” my lips
trembled with each word.
“You
be homo?” the one with the camera, Chinọnso asked.
“I
swear, I'm not,” I said, touching my lips with my dirty finger.
Even in the blink of a death, once I gave them a positive answer, it
would be my end on earth and I couldn't let that happen.
“Where
is your Android phone?” Ebuka asked. I informed him it wasn't
with me; I had left it at the charging center. He instructed me to
put on my clothes. Swiftly, I dressed, grateful that my trousers had
weathered the forceful tugging. When we left the hall, I noticed
there was a football match going on and glances from a few onlookers,
particularly directed at me, heightened my self-consciousness and
embarrassment. I wished fervently for the ground to swallow me whole
under the weight of those scrutinizing gazes. We left the school to
go to the charging centre to bring back my phone. This time, we were
outside for all to gaze. Upon demand, I unblocked my phone password,
and they scrolled through my picture gallery, finding nothing
incriminating, not a trace of the alleged erotic picture.
Just
as my phone was about to be returned to me, Isaac suggested they
check my Facebook and WhatsApp messages. A sudden surge of rage
engulfed me. Isaac, my friend since primary school, considered as a
brother due to the one-month age gap between our birthdays, chose to
betray the years of friendship we had built. It struck me that
despite catching him red-handed sending explicit pictures to older
men and soliciting money from them under the guise of visiting, he
now had the audacity to read my chats out loud. Isaac had never
stayed at his parents' house for a month, always on the move,
ostensibly visiting the men he sought money from. When queried about
his constant travels, he would cite visits to his aunt, conveniently
forgetting the myriad aunts he claimed to have across the states.
Amidst
the onlookers, a dissenting voice of a guy cut through the air,
contending that the judgment meted out was unjust, that I shouldn't
bear the sole brunt of their censure alone, as the accusations were
baseless. Another guy, an accomplice to the rest, sneaked behind me
and smacked my ass, muttering how soft it was and no wonder men were
chasing me. Tears flowed, a torrent of emotion finally breaking
through the dam of my restraint – pain, betrayal, and hurt
cascading forth. Ebuka walked up to me and told me to go home but I
should be expecting a visit from them. I stood and at that moment, I
thought of my mum. How will she feel? Will she believe me or them? I
sifted through my memory to check if my mum had been suspicious of me
but there was none. I requested the new phone I bought with my first
salary. I was barked at to leave and forget about it. With tears in
my eyes, pain in my body, hurt in my heart, and forceful melancholic
steps, I took an isolated pathway leading to my house.
Thankfully,
nobody was home when I arrived. I drifted off to regain my
emotionally drained strength. A loud voice and cries awakened me. The
voice belonged to my mum, who dragged me outside to show our
neighbors who had gathered due to her shouting, my brushed skin. The
cries came from my junior brothers.
With
each passing minute, everyone gathered, requesting what happened. I
told them I was beaten and left the part that led to the beating.
They would hear it later from the children present then. My heart
thumped when my mum said we were heading to the community king who we
call ‘Eze Obodo or Eze for short’. I wanted to refuse
because it would complicate things even if I was guilty. The sky was
still clear at six-thirty p.m. We arrived at the community square, I
would have been burnt alive if they had proceeded to carry the threat
earlier. Eze requested for the people involved in beating me to be
called so we waited for nearly an hour as darkness kissed the earth
now.
My
sister's wooer (I don't know his name, and I'm glad I didn't) and
Ebuka showed up. They narrated what I told them and the version Aboy
must have told them. Aboy's parents were present too. I wanted to
argue at some point when Aboy's version was being narrated, but the
Eze ordered me to shut up, else he would carry out their threat of
burning me alive. He said people like me shouldn't be around others,
and I was mentally unstable. My phone was brought out, and I
unblocked my phone password. They read the sexual conversations I had
with guys I found online in front of my mum. I couldn't see her
expression, and I knew she must be wondering if this was why I bought
a phone.
The
once-revered Henry, celebrated for intellect and a triumphant third
place in the science subjects competition, now found himself at the
center of disgrace. The rest of the Eze’s verdict was lengthy,
but I heard that we are given a month to leave the community since
we're tenants, and I was banished from entering the community so I
wouldn't infect little children with my ‘homo’.
Ikechukwu
Henry is an Igbo- based Nigerian writer, who believes his dreams
could be turned into words through writing. He was 2024 PROFWIC
Valentine's Day Writing Contest Shortlisted writer and Sevhage Prize
longlisted for fiction 2023. His works have appeared/, forthcoming in
The Candid Review, World Voice Magazine, Ta Adesa and others. He
tweets @Ikechukwuhenry_
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
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of the message
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won't know where to send it.)
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