- Good afternoon.
Who would choose to
be LGBT and Nigerian?
Recent polls indicate that
more than 90% of Nigerians
support the legal ban
of same sex relations,
and that 86% of Nigerians
say that the country will
be better off without members
of the LGBT community.
Laws enacted in 2014
make homosexuality
a crime punishable by ten years
imprisonment with 14 years
for same sex marriage,
and ten years
for participating
or facilitating
a homosexual gathering.
Nigerians truly believe that
LGBT is a Western concept
and that members of
the LGBT community
are purposefully and actively
choosing to act in this manner,
and that their proclivities can
be undone by pressure, prayer,
violence, imprisonment,
or the threat of death.
I know of no openly
gay persons in Nigeria.
Now, contrary to at
least one opinion,
Nigeria is not a shit hole.
[LAUGHTER] It is rather an
amazing and intriguing country
of approximately 200
million people from 300
different ethnic groups,
each with its unique language
and culture.
Christianity and Islam are
the dominant religions,
and Nigeria has
the fifth largest
Christian and Muslim
population in the world.
Nigerian immigrants
are the most educated
of all immigrants in
the US, and Nigerians
have come first on the poll for
happiest people in the world.
Nigeria is also a country with
immense natural resources.
However, despite incredible
crude oil endowment--
failed leadership and
ruthless corruption
have left the vast majority
of Nigerian citizens
poor and vulnerable,
without access
to decent education, employment,
security, health care,
electricity, or clean water.
Uncertainty is tangible and
fear is a well traded commodity.
In fact, the creation
and propagation of fear
is one of the more profitable
businesses of people in power--
such as the police,
educators, politicians,
and many religious leaders--
in order to exert control
and extort resources
from everyday citizens.
It is here, against this
complicated backdrop,
that I wish to enter this matter
to explore how I may influence
the current narrative and
soften the hearts of Nigerians
towards the LGBT issue.
It is also here
that my work gets
very uncomfortable
in attempting to give
honest voice to the silenced
parties in this matter
and smashing up against a
trifecta of draconian laws,
new sprung intolerance, and
a pervasive religious might.
I was born and raised
in Lagos, Nigeria
by a very Catholic
white American mother
and an Episcopalian
Nigerian father.
At age 17 I left Nigeria
to attend university here
in Boston, and I returned
to Nigeria 20 years later
when I married my husband--
a Nigerian American,
just like me--
who started a business in Lagos.
I am an artist who
is passionately
engaged in creating performance
artwork that positively impacts
the society that I live in.
Now, as Judy said, in 2014
I started a performance art
production company
called iOpenEye,
which creates work that builds
awareness and challenges
the status quo where it limits
the potential for Nigeria.
We are focused on women's issues
and our production, HEREWORD!,
if you haven't seen
it-- plug right here--
is happening next door at the
American Repertory Theater.
I'm neither an academic
nor an intellectual,
and I explore this
current subject
as a storyteller, a witness,
a mother, a concerned Nigerian
citizen, and a
citizen of the world.
Who, indeed, would choose
to be LGBT and Nigerian?
Now, let's go back to
that Nigerian environment
where, for the average citizen,
uncertainty is tangible
and fear a well
traded commodity--
an environment lacking in
decent education, employment,
security, health care,
electricity, or clean water.
As such, and understandably
so, Nigerians flock
to places of worship, seeking
protection, prosperity,
and the promise of heaven.
Religious leaders
promise abundance
and preach about an
ending world filled
with the anguish of
hellfire for nonbelievers,
and a living world where demons,
witches, and homosexuals run
rampant--
snatching up hope, health,
and righteousness, right
where our children play.
So though Nigeria's diverse,
chaotic, and complex,
there is one thing most
Nigerians agree on--
homosexuality is an abomination
and it must be eradicated.
And yet, as I
explore this topic,
there are many Nigerian voices
that are muffled and muted.
Citizens who are LGBT
and live with a portion
of their lives shrouded,
hidden, and disguised.
Citizens who are supportive
friends, relatives,
and families of LGBT persons.
As a teenager in Lagos,
I was aware of what
it meant to be homosexual.
I understood it wasn't ideal.
I had heard boys with
cousins in British boarding
schools use the term, homo, or,
fag, to belittle other boys.
However, no one was
looking for homosexuals
to burn at the stake.
No one felt threatened.
No one was even discussing it.
In fact, what we all heard our
parents whispering about was,
who in our neighborhood
had just embezzled funds
or stolen money?
Our parents shook their heads
and squeezed their faces
at the news headlines of corrupt
government officials or failed
government projects--
projects which ultimately
caused the misery
and death of many Nigerians.
There are many--
there may even be--
there may have even been some
smirking when men they knew
took second wives
or fathered children
outside their marriages,
but certainly, homosexuality
was not a topic of
conversation or concern.
So you can imagine my shock
when, after 20 years in the US,
I return to impassioned,
young, Nigerian graduates,
barely able to write a
decent application letter,
yet freely interpreting
verses from The King James
version of the Bible.
These young fellow citizens
stood sure and convinced
about who and whom would enter
the kingdom of heaven, and why
and who would surely
burn in eternal hellfire.
The guest list heaven
excluded non-christians,
idol worshippers,
those not born again,
and unrepentant sinners--
including members of
the LGBT community
whose special sin was
tied to the destruction
of the city of Gomorrah.
Critical thinking
had become seriously
impaired by a cocktail of
young energy and idle, vacuous,
minds spinning aimlessly
in a failed national system
of education.
It was as if these
young Nigerians believed
that in the 2000 plus years
of Christian theology,
they were the first people
to really get the Bible.
They parroted phrases
that conjured up
the devil, absolving themselves
of every responsibility.
They fearlessly cast and
bound imaginary enemies
responsible for setbacks
they were yet to experience.
No weapon fashioned
against me shall prosper.
Any evil plan for me shall
be returned to sender.
Any enemies shall burn 1,000
times in a pit of hellfire.
It was the same story for
young Muslim fundamentalists.
It was alarming.
I mean, if we now prayed more
and read our Bibles more--
if we were now
holier than before,
why was evil so
much more prevalent?
And what had happened to
those fundamental teachings
of Christ-- you know,
sacrifice, selflessness,
and treating your fellow
human being as yourself?
Where was the love
thy neighbor, the log
in the eye thing,
the forgive one
another as your Father
in heaven forgive you?
It appeared that these had
been placed on the back burner,
and still, ever so
present was that fear.
I wish to share a few
stories with you--
stories that helped to form
my interest in this project.
Several years ago in Lagos,
a happening friend of mine
arrived at my home--
let me go back--
happening, friend of
mine arrived at my home
for a cup of tea and a catch up.
She arrived big and bright,
directly behind her Gucci bag.
The tea and conversation
was sweet and light
until she asked where I
had been and why I had not
shared that I was leaving town?
Now, she was right
to be suspicious.
I had continued to be
purposefully vague.
I went to a wedding
in Scotland, I said,
but she pushed on, hey, these
Nigerians and their destination
weddings.
So whose wedding was it?
You know I know almost
everybody in this town who
can afford to pay
for a wedding abroad,
or at least I know I know
somebody who would know them.
[LAUGHTER]
Now, you can tell by now
that the relationship
between my friend and I
was, at best, still fluid,
so it should not surprise
you that, after noticing how
perfectly red the shoe soles
of her Louboutin shoes were,
I suddenly found
myself boldly stating
that I had been at the most
wonderful Nigerian gay wedding
in a villa, surrounded by
beautiful gardens in Scotland.
Bam.
She rose from my sofa--
what rubbish, she said.
Why would you participate
in such insanity?
And by the way, where
was your husband?
I know you are half-American,
Ifeoma, but for God's sake.
We locked horns-- she
threatened to leave.
She ended the discussion with,
I am ending this discussion now,
because it's obvious
it's the devil that
is speaking through you.
Now, at the time
of this argument,
my morally outraged
and churchgoing friend
was dating a very prominent,
married, public figure,
and toying with the
idea of seeing yet
another popular Lagos biggs
boy-- as we called them.
You see, Nigeria's sweet
Brent crude oil was, then,
selling at a high $110
a barrel, so money
flowed for those with the
right kinds of connections, yet
there was still little or no
infrastructural development
in the country--
almost nothing for the
poor or average citizen.
And yet, the places of worship--
churches and
mosques-- were packed.
Then in 2014, President
Jonathan Goodluck
signed the Same-sex
Marriage Prohibition Act.
It was smart strategy.
His approval ratings
rose, boosting
his chances of a second term.
The headlines read--
President signs ban
on same-sex relations,
dozens arrested for being
gay, US threatens sanctions.
Attention shifted from queries
about a missing $20 billion
in the country's oil revenue.
Nigerians, instead, united
in public conversation
about a gay agenda, the
rise of queer programming
on US television,
conspiracies to remove
prayer in the schools, the
audacity of David Cameron's
AIDS suspension threat
response, and Barack Obama's
massive mistake in endorsing
gays and gay marriage.
Names like Ellen Degeneres
and Rosie O'Donnell
were tossed in
the mud with spit.
Allow me to repeat that the
new law includes the following
provisions--
14 years imprisonment
for gay marriage,
ten years for attending
any gay gathering,
and ten years imprisonment
for same-sex, public, amorous,
show of affection.
That morning, my same friend
texted me the news headlines
and the following comment--
I thank God that there are
still sane people in this world.
Later that year I
attended Sunday service
at a large, popular,
evangelical church in Lagos.
I love lively choirs and I
enjoy theatrical sermons,
even though it's
still uncomfortable
when I hear unfettered talk
of money in a house of God.
The congregation of 1,500
upper middle class Nigerians
listened to the head preacher's
wife give a fervent sermon.
It was a condemnation
of current trends--
the usual concern for the
corruption of our children
by reality TV, film, video
games, and social media.
You know, the usual, world
spinning out of control--
hell in a handbasket stuff.
Anyway, she cautioned the
congregation to be vigilant,
to pray, and to minister to
Muslims, Hindus, and Jews who
needed turning to Christ.
And most importantly,
she warned us all
to use our God given sense.
After all, she said,
even a male dog
has enough sense not to
mount another male dog.
Within the closing three
minutes of this pastor's speech,
she had managed to alienate
three major world religions
and insult members of the
global LGBT community.
The offering plate went
round and the choir sang.
Several months after the
same-sex marriage prohibition
bill was passed, I received
an invitation from the German
Consulate to attend a screening
of an independent Kenyan LGBT
film--
the first of its kind.
The film had been banned
in several countries.
We were a motley crew of about
30 people in the audience--
mostly young artists
and a few journalists.
The screening was to be
followed by a group dialogue,
however, when that portion
of the event began,
nothing more than a
few vague comments
and one foggy hint
of a disgruntlement
trickled from the group.
The German cultural attache
took matters into his hands,
walked to the front of the
room, and made a speech.
He reminded us that legally,
the Consulate compound
was considered German
territory, and as such, we had
the full right to speak freely.
I found the situation
confusing and embarrassing--
to be granted permission by
a foreigner to speak freely
in my own country.
[INAUDIBLE] The matter
was now critical.
We had lost our minds.
We had lost sight
of our history.
We had forgotten our
culture of embrace.
We had replaced it with
something strange--
something intolerant.
No one would choose to
be LGBT and Nigerian--
no one.
Let me share my thinking.
As the West discovers new age
philosophies of inclusiveness,
holistic living, and
natural medicines
from the rest of the
world, it embraces
these wins and
makes them its own.
It documents and repackages
these ancient traditions
and philosophies and makes them
available to its citizens--
it progresses.
I cannot help but think that
as the West sheds its old skin,
we Africans are all too eager
to abandon our useful traditions
and crawl into the discarded
remains of rejected Western
lifestyles.
I have the following thoughts
about the 1980s and 1990s
in Nigeria--
the thick of the military era.
Dry seeds of the US evangelical
movement blew across the world
like tumbleweeds in a
deserted Western town.
And when the
hopelessness of ruthless,
corrupt leadership
was at its worst--
those seeds docked, split
open, drank of the desperation,
and sprung deep and
upward into full bloom.
This is not a bad thing.
Now, we just need enlightened
spiritual leadership.
The matter is more
complicated than I imagined.
I came to Radcliffe intending
to write a poignant play that
would speak to my
community like I have
been able to do with here word.
I have since recognized
that, for safety reasons,
this project would
need to be a film.
It's not easy.
I had chosen to explore
the question from the place
I know best--
from women.
From what is possible from women
in terms of social impact--
Nigerian women, friends,
sisters, mothers, grandmothers.
I believed there was
equity in showcasing
to women the difficulties
faced by their peers
with LGBT children.
However, my initial findings
have changed my thoughts.
I have discovered that the vast
majority of mothers who do not
have LGBT children do not
consider, know of, or empathize
with those who do.
And that those who
have LGBT children
are unable to come together
for many reasons, including
personal safety, the
safety of their loved ones,
and the stated law
which criminalizes
any gathering where gay persons
are present, such as this one.
While here at
Radcliffe, I have been
able to return to Nigeria
twice and interview over
100 people in the streets,
markets, and churches in Lagos.
I have had secret group
meetings with gay men and women,
and I have spoken to parents--
predominantly mothers--
of persons who are LGBT.
And I've been humbled and
stunned by their stories.
I've felt despair,
but I have already
encountered fellow Nigerians who
empathize and question the law.
I've also met members of
the Nigerian LGBT community
with incredible hope
and dreams and dignity--
determined to find a way to live
their most authentic selves.
I'd like to show you
a short film which
illustrates some of my
current work and findings.
[CAR HONKS]
- Hmm.
- Personally?
- Not at all.
Not at all.
- No, not at all.
- God forbid.
- No, I don't know anyone.
- No, I don't.
What of it?
- I'm just hearing it
I've never seen it.
- No.
- No, not at all.
- Have a girlfriend.
- No.
- Yes.
- No, I don't.
- Well, not personally.
- Not really.
No, I don't.
- I think I've seen some of
them in University of Lagos.
- I rarely see them in movies.
I don't know if that's
how they are in real life.
- I don't know
anybody in Nigeria,
but I know it's happening.
- We know this is common
in the Western world
and it's creeping in fast
into our society here.
I know that, presently,
the government
is trying to bring out
a law to imprison anyone
that is found to be homosexual.
- It's not right in the
African culture, per se.
Over there abroad it's
fine, but here It's
not in our culture to
practice lesbianism
and gayism or whatever, so the
government is right with that.
14 years imprisonment, fine,
but would that solve the issue?
That's the problem.
- I think the government
is taking the best right
steps in the right direction.
- It's the law that is very
good of which it would safeguard
the citizenship of such acts.
- When I heard about
it, I was very happy.
- Good.
Perfect.
- So if you look at
Sodom and Gomorrah
you have to go biblical.
These are those things that
ruined the society then,
so if you continue in
this in our society,
it will surely ruin us.
- We have offenses
that is called sin,
and we have the one
that is so grievous
that is called wickedness.
So homosexuality and
lesbianism, all these things
are wickedness.
- You have a lot of lesbians on
gays in this world that we are
right now, so definitely,
they cannot arrest everybody.
- There are lots
more issues to be
tackled in this country
than that silly bill.
- I don't see any
instance of my blood going
to lesbianism or gay.
- I think if I should catch my
own blood brother in that act,
he knows what will happen.
- This is family [LAUGHS]
- I'll kill her.
I'll kill him.
- Yes, I'm going to hand over
the child to the police myself.
Yeah.
- OK, I will reject
her first as a child.
Secondly, I will go
and report her myself,
so they have to lock her up--
or him.
That's it.
- I would talk to the child,
try to talk the child out of it,
do all the praying I can,
and if it's not yielding--
the law.
- I don't need to
report her, I know
how to take action on my own.
I know how to take action.
Be it a girl, I'll quickly
marry her off, and being a boy,
I will marry him off as well.
It can never happen in my house.
- No, it can't happen,
but if it happens,
the parents will report.
But it can happen
to some people who
didn't take proper
care of their child,
and if that happens you
have to go to your pastor,
you go to the police, then
you go to those people who
can counsel.
- Recently, one of my
friends, when I was arguing--
we were talking and she just
said that one of her nieces--
that from the time
the girl was five--
that she doesn't like female
colors, as in bright colors.
If they put on a
pink dress on her
she would be crying
until they remove it.
And what the parents want
now, to even crown it all,
they now took abroad, so I know
that she's going to be lesbian.
If the parents were
sensible enough
they would have tried to
bring the girl out of this,
not take her to a society
and environment where
she'll be encouraged the more.
- Because she has so
many female friends,
I was not bothered when would
you like to settle down.
Eventually, the impression I had
was that, being the first son,
he wanted to achieve
something greater to help
to take care of his siblings.
He's the first son and he's
living up to expectations.
- He's stylish.
- He's a fine boy, too.
- Yes.
- Handsome.
- He's handsome.
- Black and lovely.
[LAUGHS] Anything that
makes me happy he would do,
and the same thing
I would do for him.
That was why I was
at his wedding.
It was something he
treasured, and that we're
all there for him.
I don't think he
will ever forget it.
You may not be gay, but you
cannot predict if your children
or grandchildren
will not be gay.
What do you do?
Are you going to disown them?
Why crucify them?
They do not deprive
you of your pleasures.
They do not steal from you.
Why do you they bill
them as sinners?
Why not drop it and let
them go on with their lives?
We are not all going
to live forever.
Whatever it is, I think,
we should show them love.
The most important
thing, really,
is for your children
to be happy.
They've been born that way
and you cannot change it.
- So as you can see,
there's a lot to unpack.
I continue to be
humbled by the trust
that people have
placed in me, and I'm
cognizant of the need
to get the story right
and tell it in a way that
makes sense to Nigerians.
As a Radcliffe Fellow, I've
been granted a safe space--
a supportive space--
to begin this inquiry.
I approach this subject with
the full knowledge and respect
for the risk this work poses
to my current body of work
and its growing audience
and amazing supporters.
And I believe that
it is by being
in this difficult and
palpably dangerous
space that we will also
find love, tolerance,
and compassion--
the tolerance that I remember
from my childhood in Nigeria.
We are all familiar with what
can happen when a leader uses
fear and false promise to stir
up the worst in the community.
However, the resulting situation
presents an opportunity
to see clearly what lay latent,
and to embrace activism.
This project has pushed
me to begin to think big--
to dream-- to fantasize.
I imagine a room filled with
30 of the most influential
religious leaders in the world.
I see that they are fully
committed to not leaving
the room until a viable
solution to the world's problem
of intolerance is resolved.
In the front row are five of
the most powerful Nigerian
evangelical pastors with
the largest congregations--
some with as many as
one million followers.
I smile, for this is the
quickest way forward.
I have started writing
and I shall make my film.
It shall include a
heartfelt, honest story
of a typical Nigerian family.
It may include this dream.
For the incredible opportunity
to work on this project,
I wish to thank the Radcliffe
Institute, the Associate Dean,
Judy Vichniac, Dean Liz Cohen,
and the entire Radcliffe team
with Rebecca and Sharon.
I thank my nephew [INAUDIBLE],,
and my research assistants
Michelle, Liam, and Amanda.
I thank Leonie Marinovich for
accommodating my last minute
request to edit this video.
I thank the incredible HEARWORD!
Actresses-- Elvina Ibru,
Bimbo Akintola, Rita Edward,
and Odenike, and our
percussionist up there,
[? McCann ?] Blessing--
all who illustrated a
portion of my writing today.
I seriously thank my
sister [INAUDIBLE],,
who believes in almost
everything I do,
and I thank my wonderful
and patient husband, Tani,
and my four children--
Tayo, Daji, Aliya, and
[INAUDIBLE],, all of whom
are sacrificing my presence
in their lives to give me
this special time to create.
I love you all and I
love my country, Nigeria.
Thank you.
