For Pride Month, I was looking to speak with queer people who have found solace, community and enriching relationships when I found Jason*.
He shares how he found love in the village on a trip to bury his mother and how distance dashed the hopes of his budding love story.
As Told To Adeyinka
It’s hard to find love when you’re vulnerable, broken, and grieving. During this time, people want to take advantage of you. But this wasn’t the case with my partner.
I met my Femi* during one of the darkest periods of my life. I’d had several depressive episodes, but this felt different; it was triggered by grief. I’d just lost my mum and travelled from Lagos to our village for the funeral arrangements.
Burying my mum was hard on me. It took me a while to come to terms with her demise and come out of my state of mourning.
Initially, the plan was to attend the funeral, which would last a few days, and then return to base. But because of the scale of the preparations, I ended up spending about three weeks in the village.
During one of those days in the village, I needed an escape from the grief that had overcome me, making me numb to what was going on around me. I was on social media to mindlessly scroll my sorrows away and landed on a dating app. The idea of interacting with a stranger seemed like a good distraction. A few minutes after I logged in, an account viewed my profile and texted me, and I responded.
As with most interactions I’d had on the platform, the chat dragged. This wasn’t surprising because a lot of people came on the platform for different reasons. People came seeking sex, companionship, relationships or the thrill of meeting new people. I was there seeking an escape from the grief I was feeling, so a part of me was largely indifferent.
Shortly after we started talking, he broached a topic that piqued my interest, and that was how we hit it off. We talked about different things until the interaction fizzled out.
After that first encounter, I fell back into my shell; I was still deep in grief and wasn’t keen on making new friends. Even though it felt refreshing to have random, interesting conversations with a stranger, it was all I had strength for.
But in a way, that first encounter with him also stayed with me. I’d not felt that free and unburdened to live life since my mum died. For starters, he wasn’t a reminder of what I was going through, unlike the relatives around me. Soon, I found myself coming online more frequently to text him. We’d also moved the conversation from the platform since we exchanged phone numbers. Our interactions were a rich mix of shared interests and life in general.
We texted for hours between days, and soon enough, I was hooked. I was deeply fascinated by this person who had the range to converse in a way that pulled me out of grief. It wasn’t like I didn’t have other people around who’d tried to talk me out of my sadness, but they just didn’t hit the mark like he did.
Fast-forward to a few weeks after we met, I started getting a weird vibe from him. It felt like he was giving me an attitude, and I wasn’t sure why. The truth is, I’d been inconsistent at some point. Grief is weird. There were days I came alive and days nothing interested me, not even the charm of this person who, on many occasions, had successfully yanked me from the claws of grief.
But was this the reason why he was giving me the cold shoulder? Was it because we hadn’t defined what we were doing? A friendship, relationship, or just two horny guys? It wasn’t clear. Whatever it was, his attitude wasn’t what I needed, so I also stepped back and withdrew. I stopped texting as frequently and didn’t bother to reach out.
I’d expected him to return the same energy and keep his distance. However, instead of withdrawing, he became more present. He reached out as often as he could.
Soon, we decided to meet in person.
During the early stages of our interaction, we’d both mentioned our love for taking long walks. So, we decided to walk the first time we met. We both agreed it would give us the opportunity to know each other even better without the pressure of sexual expectations.
Unfortunately, I was held up on the day and couldn’t make the agreed-upon time. I didn’t show up until 8 p.m., and even though I expected him to be mad, he kept his cool. By that time, it was pointless to take a walk, so we decided to hang out at his house since I was already in the area. When I arrived, he was outside to receive me and even offered to pay my cab fare.
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When we got to his room, I realised he didn’t have chairs, so we had to stay on the bed — which wasn’t the ideal situation considering we wanted to avoid sexual tension.
We spent the whole night talking just like we used to while texting, and the conversation was just as good. While all this was happening, I expected him to make a move. Yes, we didn’t want to smash on our first date, but I was already in his house and on his bed. I thought we might as well get down to business.
Surprisingly, he didn’t make any sexual advances toward me. He kept it casual and even got me contemplating that he wasn’t attracted to me. With other people I’d met in the past, they’d try to make a move and only stopped when I refused. With him, we carried on as usual until I left his house. That whole experience made me see the potential of what we had brewing in a different light. It felt like we were laying the foundation for what could be a true and genuine relationship.
After the first visit, I visited his place thrice and spent the night once. We still didn’t get intimate; I especially needed cerebral conversations, laughter, and companionship at that point in my life. He was attentive when I went on and on about my mum and always knew the right things to say when I was near breaking point.
I remember crying one night while reminiscing about my mum, and he simply pulled me closer, rocking me into a peaceful calmness.
I’ve met quite a handful of queer men, and sex is always on the table for most. Deep connections or genuine friendships are simply add-ons that aren’t guaranteed. It was refreshing to find someone different. He only offered solace as I struggled to reclaim the shattered pieces of myself from the grip of loss.
About five weeks later, it was finally time to return to Lagos. I paid him a visit to say my goodbyes, and I still remember how his eyes swelled with tears as he muttered, “I love you.”
I honestly felt the same way about him. On the day I left the village, I was as heartbroken as the day I arrived to bury my mum. I’d found love but knew it was one I couldn’t keep because we were almost a thousand miles apart.
We both value the physical quality of time spent together, so a long-distance relationship was out of the question. We still text like lovers even though our relationship remains undefined.
