Obinna Tony-Francis Ochem writes from the comfort of his tranquillity, exploring the theme of gender, class, sexuality, climate change and shape-shifting monsters. His works are published in Moskedapages, Kalahari Review, Punocracy Longlist ’19 & 20, Tush Magazine essay finalist and The WorkBooth magazine. He was a finalist for 2019 Quramo Writers’ Prize for his manuscripts, Deep Ocean, and one other finalist. He blogs at www.obynofranc.wordpress.com. He tweets, @obynofranc. His article, How to be a Nigerian Gay Man, was longlisted for Punocracy Prize for Satire.
At 5, I found myself preferring the company of girls but only one got my attention. I realised quickly that I would rather be with them than boys. People would say because as a little boy, I was quiet, somehow stubborn. I radiated sweet innocence and naivety. It was different from the trait other boys my age had. I was frail and timid. I did everything together with my best friend, C. She was my age, but she was a bit younger by look. She did not have the innocence that would have matched us together. I did not care because we loved each other’s company. It was as if nothing else mattered. We spent most of our time together, frequently visiting the other’s house, sharing toys, gossiping, grooming feelings, and making memories that will last for several years. At times, I ate at her house, she did in mine. She was calm but had a lot to say to my listening ears. Our memories were fuzzy but would never fade.
At 7, we began to drift apart. Perhaps it was because I transferred to a new school. We stopped seeing each other except when we walked past ourselves on the road. Perhaps she had outgrown our childish banter and would not talk to me anymore. We had been best of friends so I could not think of some other guy or girl that could have snagged her attention away from me. We were getting older. It might be because she no longer wanted to be seen around boys, but I was not the societal definition of a boy she should have been wary of. While growing up, my effeminacy became more pronounced. I had a womanly gait. I did not think it was something bad like I would grow up to realise. Was it really bad? I walked, talked, and acted like a girl. I did not know why but what I knew was that my female cousin defiled me at the age of seven. She spread her legs, allowed me to bury my tongue into her. I thought it tasted like a strand of hair. I can tell how it tasted. It was like the last time my mouth dug into someone’s hair. It had a bland taste which I think was somewhat nice and somewhat puke-worthy. The distance between C and me, further widened with time, the bond of our friendship severed. Read more via Rustin Times