Queer teens in nigeria
Non-Fiction

“I was told a homosexual is worse than an animal”: The Reality of Queer Teens in Nigeria

by Nwodo Divine

  • Ikenna, 15, and Osato, 16, were expelled from their respective schools for their queer sexual orientation after they were caught engaging in intimate acts with the same sex. Using their experience, this article investigates the profound suffering of Nigerian queer teenagers.
  • We agreed to use the pseudonyms Ikenna and Osato to protect the teenagers’ identities.

In a secluded corner of a Catholic boarding school in Benin city, fifteen-year-old Ikenna sat alone, his back pressed against the cold wall of the dormitory. The air was thick with the whispers of his classmates, who had discovered his secret—a secret that, in their eyes, was a sin, an abomination.

Ikenna had been caught in an intimate moment with another boy, and the repercussions were swift and brutal: expulsion, public shaming, and a call to his parents.

When his parents arrived, his mother screamed, “What have you done to our family?” while his father silently fumed, fists clenched at his sides.

When Ikenna recounted his story, his voice trembled, and his eyes looked distant. “They called me fag,” he said, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. “My parents couldn’t even look at me. My mother said, ‘I regret the day I gave birth to you.'”

Ikenna’s story is far from unique. Across Nigeria, queer teens like him endure profound  suffering, hidden in the shadows of a society that rejects their very existence. The discrimination they face is not just social but institutional, as schools, communities, and even families turn against them. 

The Roots of Discrimination

In Nigeria, alternate sexual orientations are criminalized, and societal norms are deeply rooted in conservative religious beliefs.

These attitudes trickle down, creating an environment where queer teens live in constant fear of being discovered and ostracized.

But the attitude is even worse towards teenagers; parents often assume that their children are too young to be certain about their sexual orientation, and in some cases, may threaten them with homelessness for not conforming to societal (traditional) expectations.

I remember speaking with Mrs. Adebola, a mother of three, who told me with a stern face, “If my son ever told me he was gay, I would throw him out of the house. He’s too young to do that rubbish.”

Her words echo the sentiments of many Nigerian parents and illustrate the harsh reality of the average queer teen living in Nigeria.

Conversion therapy is another brutal reality for these teens. Sixteen-year-old Osato, speaking with tears in her eyes, recounted, “My parents took me to a counselor to fix me.”

What they described as ‘fixing’ was actually conversion therapy—an attempt to change her sexual orientation through psychological or physical means. Aisha’s voice shook as she recalled the sessions. ‘I went in feeling bad and left feeling worse. The counselor told me I was confused, misdirected. He said… he said a homosexual is worse than an animal.’

Conversion therapy is not only ineffective but profoundly damaging. According to a 2019 report by UCLA’s Williams Institute, queer youth who experienced conversion therapy were almost twice as likely to contemplate and attempt suicide compared to their peers who did not undergo such methods. 

These so-called therapies leave deep mental and emotional scars and reinforce the deceitful message that their very identity is wrong.

Loneliness is another companion for these teens. The fear of being outed, combined with a lack of understanding from peers and family, forces them to isolate as a coping mechanism.

“Since they found out, my friends no longer talk to me,” Ikenna said. “One of them told me, ‘You’re disgusting. Stay away from us. Some even blocked my number”

Once queer teens in Nigeria are caught in the act, their friendships are fraught with mistrust, as even the most innocent relationship can be misread. The result is a pervasive sense of loneliness that eats away at their self-esteem and mental health.

This loneliness leads to severe mental health issues, including depression and anxiety. It took a toll on Ikenna’s health. “‘Some nights, I couldn’t sleep,’ he admitted. ‘I felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts, but there was no one I could talk to.”

Queer teens who live in Nigeria often suffer in silence, unable to seek help for fear of exposure.

The stigma surrounding their identity makes it difficult to find supportive mental health resources, leaving them to navigate their struggles alone.

Expulsion

The harrowing experiences of these teens extend from their families into their classrooms. In Nigerian schools, which are expected to be safe environments for young people, students like Ikenna who are found to be gay or exhibit traits not traditionally seen as masculine, face expulsion.

This punishment sends a clear message: you are not welcome here.

It informs the teens that their identity is so abhorrent that it warrants exclusion from the very institution meant to nurture their development.

Too Young To Understand Sexuality?

Teens in Nigeria are often told they are too young to understand their sexual orientation; too young to be queer. I asked Ikenna’s mother about her thoughts on his sexuality, and she said, ‘I don’t think he knows what he’s doing; he’s confused; he’s still young. Hopefully, he will come to his senses when he grows up.’

This belief is scientifically flawed. According to Medscape, the education of identities, gender and sexual alike, is not something that can be postponed until adulthood; it is a fundamental aspect of who we are from birth.

It is equally problematic to assume teenagers cannot form meaningful connections. It is a reductive view that intently dismisses the profound nature of their experiences.

Adolescence is the age of identity formation. During these formative years, teens explore various aspects of their identities, including their sexual orientation and capacity for intimacy.

To argue that teens like Ikenna and Osato are incapable of understanding or engaging their sexuality is to overlook the scientifically proven reality that many teens possess a keen awareness of their own biological desires and sociological boundaries. 

Last words

Ikenna and Osato’s story—as well as the stories of countless others that we know and hear of—must not be forgotten. Their suffering is real and unjust.

As a civilised human society, we must not only strive to be a powerful voice that collectively decries the diverse suffering of queer teens in Nigeria, but advocate for their right to be their harmless, natural selves openly–without fear or stigmatisation.  

These young individuals deserve to live free from fear, shame, and violence.

Lastly, we must create environments where teens can openly discuss their feelings, ask questions, and receive guidance without fear of judgement or punishment.

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