When that door flung open that night, my life — past, present, and future — froze right before my eyes. I remembered the first time I got my period, and my dad freaking out. I thought about my chances of graduating with a first class. Or even graduating at all. I wondered what it would be like to move out of my parent’s house after twenty-something odd years and if I’d move in with Deina. I watched the 6-foot tall man in my doorway, equally as frozen as my life, staring at me with a confounding look on his face. It was a lot to process, even for me.

Images of the scene crystallized in my head. My mostly unkempt room lit by two candles on my desk and now the light bulb from the passageway. The naked limbs of Deina and I entangled on the sheets, our torsos fused. My thoughts stemmed not only from being caught but also that at that moment, the realization of my sexuality gave me the unwavering courage to look into my father’s face. I had never had doubts about my sexuality, but growing up in an African Christian family left no room for such discussions. I knew I had to tell them. The secrecy was eating into my very existence. But not today, or not this way at least.

Deinabo was that childhood friend you could never shake off. We always found our way back into each other’s lives somehow. Our parents knew separating us was like invoking the wrath of Áres. So, they let us attend the same schools, plan vacations, and because we were born just days apart, celebrate our birthdays together. Our youthful innocence was memorable; slowly counting down like a bomb.

The timer went off the day we played a game of truth or dare and Deina was dared to kiss me. What started out an awkward moment exploded into the fierce romance we share today. We were in our first year of university. As much as we tried getting into the same university, fate had its way of pulling us apart. I ended up in the west and her in the south. We spoke daily. During school breaks, we would do everything together from shopping to parties, to family events, traveling… name it!

I couldn’t contain my excitement when she called to say she was spending her school break at mine. It had been six months since I’d seen her. The day she arrived, it was halfway through my journey to Murtala Muhammed Airport that I realized I had on mismatched slippers. What love does! I smiled at the thought. I immediately forgot my feet when her face came into view. Deina had an exceptional taste in fashion regardless of the occasion. She wore an above-knee fitted dress that revealed her hourglass curves and had her hair down about her shoulders. She was a sight to behold, and more so, she was mine.

As I pulled into the driveway, Mum was at the door to welcome us. Dinner was Jollof rice, fried plantains, and peppered meat. Deina was lost in what seemed to be an unending conversation with my parents, and I wanted some of that attention too. I was anticipating the night ahead when I felt her warm feet on my legs. This jolted me back to reality, and I choked.

“Pinky are you alright?” My Mum asked, startled.

I nodded.

A mischievous smile played across Deina ‘s lips as she asked too,

“Are you sure?”

Dinner lasted a bit longer than usual, and Deina assisted me with the dishes. Eventually, we were alone in my room. I had lit some scented candles while she freshened up. As she stepped out of the shower, I knew I had to have her. I pulled her into me while she teased my lips. I let myself drown in her body moaning softly as our bodies moved in rhythm.

I could have sworn I heard my dad’s voice and something about Deina leaving her phone in the kitchen. The door was locked. We had nothing to worry about. It all happened so fast. There was Dad by the door, eyes fixed on us. I was too lost to speak. He quickly apologized and shut the door behind him. Deina had pulled the duvet over her head. She was trembling. I told her not to worry, as I will have a conversation with my dad later. Little did she know that I was shattered on the inside. My world was about to change.

As I counted the steps to the living room where dad was watching a game of basketball, I could feel my heart thumping in my chest.

He looked up with a smile as I stepped in. Was this real? Why the smile?

“Good morning Daddy.” I greeted and sat next to him.

He patted me on the back while responding to my greeting still smiling.

“Mm! How are you?”

Did I imagine it? Was it a dream?

I had to break the silence.

“Dad, I whispered, “there’s something I would like to talk to you about. Actually, about—”

“Last night?” He completed my statement as he nodded his head, “I’ve always known Pinky.”

Pinky was the nickname my family called me from my childhood because I always made pinky promises for everything.

“I see the way you both look at each other. I wondered when you’d summon the courage to tell me. Love in its purest form is beautiful. Sometimes people find it in the weirdest place, while some keep searching a lifetime. I think you found it but unfortunately, not in the package our society terms acceptable. We have tried to raise you up in Christianity and guide you towards your decisions. But this is one you have to make yourself.”

“At the end of it all,” he continued, “your happiness matters to me, and I see Deina makes you happy. Many people may not accept this, your mother included, but never trade your happiness just to please someone. It’s going to be a challenging road Pinky, but if this is the life you choose to live, I’ll be here. Tell Deina, if you girls ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me.”

The tears gathered in my eyes as I hugged him tightly replaying every word in my head. I will always remember this moment. As I walked back to my room, I mumbled to myself.

Really?! My dad knew all the while and never said anything? Did that mean mum knew too? Was she in denial or also waiting for me to say something? There was only one way to find out.

The next few weeks were awkward but in a nice way. I would kiss my girlfriend on the cheek in front of dad, hold her hand, and steal a few glances. It felt new again, a fire being rekindled. I had even involved dad in my Valentine’s Day surprise I had planned for Deina weeks away. I felt more confident about my sexuality. Life was good. Or so I thought.

I decided the spa would be the best place to tell mum about Deina. Maybe because I thought she would be relaxed after a good massage. I left dad out of this, a mistake I gravely regret.

“You said what?” she asked.

“I’m in love with Deina Mummy. Like we are in a relationship… dating.”

“Pinky, are you a lesbian? You are a lesbian.’’ She seemed to say this more to herself than me. Placing a hand on her forehead, mum wobbled. I tried to reach out, but she shoved my hand swiftly.

“Don’t touch me! Where did I go wrong with you? Where?”

I could see the hurt in her eyes. Tears streamed down my face as I watched her walk away. She stopped a taxi and got in. I knew she was broken. But why did she have to make this about her? Shouldn’t my happiness be more important?

I needed to clear my head. I got an Uber to Sailors, a bar in Lekki Phase 1, then put my phone off. Being by the water calms me. I don’t drink or smoke often because it worsens my ulcer, but today I didn’t care. Three shots and one long island later, I turned my phone on and immediately Dad called asking my whereabouts. I slurred my location and hung up. When the car pulled up, Deina practically jumped out before the car came to a stop.

“You got me worried.” I knew she meant it. She led me to the car, and that was the last thing I remembered.

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. I turned to look at the clock only to see my mum’s last sibling, Aunty Boma, reading a magazine on my bed. I was thrilled to see her. Sometimes I feel she’s the only one in the family that gets me. I leaped on her almost knocking her over.

“Hey! I missed you too Pinky,” she said laughing as I sat on the edge of the bed. “I must have missed the memo saying my niece is now the town drunk.”

“Ah ah, aunty! You know I don’t drink. I must have overdone it last night.” I replied.

We chatted for a while before she asked, “What have you gotten yourself into Pinky? Your mother has summoned all her sisters, and everyone is in the living room waiting for you.”

“Everyone?” I asked, my eyes widening.

She nodded and gave my hand a squeeze.

“Clean up and come out,” she said smiling as she left my room.

I was motioned to sit in the middle of the living room. Everyone’s eyes followed me. Mum had a pained look on her face, and it saddened me to look at her.

Aunty Siya, a pastor, kept mumbling prayers from a corner of the room. I turned to look for dad, but he was nowhere in sight, and neither was Deina.

As soon I sat down, the questions poured from all angles.

“Do you want to disgrace us?” “What is wrong with you?” “Don’t you want to get married and have children?” “Don’t you know it is a sin?” “How can you do something like this?”

It felt like the FBI was interrogating me.

Finally, Aunty Boma spoke up, and everyone stopped to listen.

“It is sad that none of you figured out that Pinky has always had a thing for girls. I knew. No boy ever came to visit, and even when the girls did, she locked her door and played loud music. What did you think they were doing? Praying?” Some hissed in response. Others shifted in their seats.

Undeterred, Aunty Boma continued. “I have always said before you remove the log from another’s eye, look at yours first. Yes! We’re all married, but how many of us here are happy in our homes. This isn’t about us. It’s about a girl who is bold enough to go against the norm in search of what makes her happy. And she is happy. You all should be happy for her, try to guide and support her. Other than trying to impose your choices on her. Acceptable or not, Pinky has made her choice, and that choice is Deina.”

The room stayed quiet for a while. I guess she gave everyone something to think about.

Finally, mum spoke up. “Pinky, is this what you truly want?”

“No Mummy,” I answered. “This is who I am.”

She stood up and walked towards me. I had expected a slap, but instead, she placed her hand on my shoulder. “If this makes you happy, then I am happy. There’s still a lot I don’t know about your world, but I’m willing to learn.”

With that, she strolled away.

About the Writer

Pinky Erete is a young African lesbian raised in a Christian home navigating her sexuality in her career, relationships, family and culture. She loves to travel, explore technology and write with her editor (LS).