Awareness

“ I just like to take a bath”, he said.

“I don’t enjoy playing football or doing anything that makes me sweat. I like taking a bath and    watching television”, David said when I asked him what he enjoys doing. 

A family friend was visiting from the United States after about five years. She was excited about being in Nigeria but was more excited about seeing me again after such a long time as we had a lot of things to catch up on. She was staying at her friend’s house in the outskirts of Abuja and I drove there to see her. 

The compound was spacious. The beautiful burgundy-coloured raft sheltered us from the heat of the sun. The dark-brown furniture on the patio complimented the well manicured lawn of lush green grass. Around the corner was an array of beautiful flowers, contrasting each other with the multi-coloured arrangement. 

As we sat on the patio catching up, a red Toyota Venza drove in and a little boy and girl emerged from the car in their school uniforms. They came over to say hello before running into the house to take off their school uniforms. The little boy caught my attention and I was looking forward to talking with him. While I did not explicitly ask him to come outside again, I hoped that he would. 

Before too long, the little boy came outside and stood by the flowers as if he was admiring them for the first time. I got up from my seat and walked towards him.

"Whats your name?", I asked.

“David”, he said.

"Nice to meet you, David. How old are you?"

“Seven. I’ll be eight in three months.”

"Wow! You’re a big boy! So, David, what do you do for fun?"

“I like to take a bath.”

Take a bath? I wondered.

No one had ever told me that they took a bath for fun. I had to ask him the same question again, but in a different way and he still gave me the same answer. Then I knew he was serious when he told me his friends at school laughed at him and called him a “sissy” because he did not play football. David was very soft-spoken, spoke gently, and was visibly fragile, albeit a little chubby. His little clean feet sat comfortably inside his rainbow-coloured slippers. It was obvious that his fingernails were cut not too long ago. For a seven year old boy, he was conspicuously very neat and unhurried. 

David reminded me of me… 

I was not your average little girl. I did not care much for baby dolls. In fact, I took them apart and used the motor to make fans. I hated dresses but loved jeans. I loved to ride bicycles on rough roads, which, of course, led to many accidents and I still have the scars.

When I started developing breasts, I hated them. I wanted to wear big shirts to hide my protruding nipples but my mum insisted my breasts were nothing to be ashamed of because I was a girl and “girls wore dresses”. I did not enjoy braiding my hair or crossing my legs and watching television, but you would find me outside with my brother crashing the toy cars our parents bought for us.

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We are rarely allowed to be ourselves. From the moment we are born, we begin to learn the social construct that is gender. We quickly adjust our behaviour to suit roles assigned to the gender which we belong. Before we know it, we no longer recognise the person we have become. 

My mother knew I hated dresses and makeup, but she forced me to wear both. She knew I hated cooking, yet she insisted I spend time in the kitchen learning how to cook so I can be a good wife. Sometimes, I even suspect my mother always knew that I was lesbian but maybe it was more comfortable to remain in denial. 

I almost fell into the trap of living a false life. In fact, I fell into it when I believed after graduating with a Masters degree I was not yet complete until a man married me, even though I had meaningful romantic relationships with women. 

But I became aware.