http://penastory.com/2015/12/15/because-he-was-different-a-gay-boys-tragedy-sharon-onyinye-abraham/

He closed the door carefully behind him and twisted the key till he heard a reassuring clicking sound. He was glad to be finally alone as he walked excitedly towards his mother’s wardrobe and like one who just discovered a pot of gold. He rummaged in the wardrobe full of large skirts, blouses and dresses till he found what he was looking for. He pulled out the smaller sized skirt and a silk scarf which he stared at with the desire a man would stare at a woman. He slipped into the skirt and tied the scarf around his skinny chest before proceeding to the mirror to inspect himself. He felt excited as he stared at his reflection and smiled gleefully to himself.

Olamide’s twelve years old eyes roved over his own body as he preened and pruned in front of the mirror turning this way and that way like a beauty queen posing for the cameras on a red carpet. At Junior Secondary School Two (JSS2), Olamide did not need to be told that he was different. From an average family, the type that was neither rich nor poor, he felt closer to his mother than his pastor father. His father was too conservative, the type of parent that believed a man should wear his hair low and trim his beard while a woman should be modest in her appearance. In church, he was the perfect man of God. Pastor would smile from ear to ear as he preached to his congregation but his family knew better. Pastor’s wife, Ajoke was one of those quiet women who held on to her husband’s every word, she hated to disappoint him. She had had a rather wild past and her husband appeared to be her one shot at redemption. It didn’t matter how many times pastor shouted or hit her, “I’ll make heaven” she would whisper to herself.

Olamide dared not voice out the things he was experiencing to any of his parents. He had no one to talk to about the strange things he thought and felt. He had always been like this for as long as he culd remember. Since turning 5, he started trying out his mother’s clothes when she wasn’t around, catwalking through the room singing Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” aloud while trying to gyrate his hips the way the Colombian pop singer moved hers as much as he could. He felt happy and alive in those moments. His gestures were different, there was something feminine about his demeanour, pastor would see Olamide swaying his hips as he walked and turn to Ajoke “This cannot be my son.”

“He is but a boy, he would outgrow it, he’s still young” she would reply timidly. He never outgrew it, rather it became worse. At 12 years, Olamide knew he wasn’t like others, he was never going to be as macho as Damilola, the boy who lived next door or as manly as Idris. He knew he liked it when boys touched him, he felt things he probably shouldn’t feel.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, this is how God made me” he would tel himself.

Just as he slipped into his mother’s bra and was cupping his breast in front of the mirror, he heard his father’s voice.

“Why didn’t this boy lock the door.” Olamide stood rooted to the spot in fear and looked at the door to his parent’s room like a rabbit would look at it’s hole after being caught out in the garden. Should he dock under the bed? It was too late, his father’s footsteps were already approaching the room. He bagan to tug at the bra trying to undo the hook when his father opened the door. Pastor stared at his only son in his wife’s bra and the rage burned in him like a mad man possessed. He lunged at his son and Olamide tried to run but his father’s sturdy hands grabbed and jerked him back. They both landed on the floor and the pastor quickly sat astride him as he started punching him and hitting his head on the floor simultaneously.

“You are not my child, your mother is a prostitute, I will kill you today! “

“Papa, I’m sorry, papa please” he wailed as the tears poured out of his eyes before clouding over in fear as the punches and blows became heavier. His tears didn’t move his father as he hit his head repeatedly against the floor blinded by his rage. He didn’t even see the boy’s body had gone limp underneath him till he heard his wife’s scream.

“You have killed him, Jesus!” Ajoke screamed as she rushed into the room and saw the blood on the floor. Pastor stood up then and looked at the limp body in disgust.

“Devil’s child, he is not mine, let him go back to the devil he came from” he muttered and walked out fo the room.

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death to gays