The role of every story teller is simply to tell stories the way they are, barring any biases or perceptions on whether they are “big” or “small”. In doing this, there will be a limitless amount of experiences reflected in literature that cover every form of the human experience. For Olumide Makanjuola, the human experience he is focused on is the queer experience. His new book Love Offers No Safety, co-written by Jude Dibia is a collection of stories of queer men in Nigeria. The book depicts the real lives of queer Nigerians, humanizing them beyond their sexual orientation. Oftentimes in relating with queer individuals, attention is shifted from who they really are as persons to what they identify as. One of the aims of this book is to ensure that the full image of these people are seen, including their joy, love and other problematic societal issues they contribute to. Makanjuola was particular about not portraying queer people as blameless or innocent. Through his journey across Nigeria to collect these stories, he was exposed to the misogynistic views the men held and realised that regardless of one’s sexual orientation, they are equally socialised in a patriarchal way Nigerian children are. The diversity of stories from other states was also important to him to shift the lens from a cosmopolitan setting that suggests only people who are exposed to western education or live in big cities can be queer.
As an LGBTQ activist, Makanjuola has been in the forefront of the fight for equality for almost two decades. In 2005, he founded The Initiative for Equal Rights (TIERs) alongside a couple of his queer friends to address the misinformation concerning HIV and provide quality education on the disease, particularly for queer people. From there, TIERs expanded into advocacy as a response to the discrimination and violence they faced in Nigeria and Makanjuola later reached the position of Executive Director before his exit in 2018. Although the activist does not consider himself a writer or filmmaker, he has co-produced a few films including We Don’t Live Here Anymore directed by Tope Oshin and Walking With Shadows written by Jude Dibia, the co-writer of his latest book Love Offers No Safety. Makanjuola sees himself as an activist utilizing different forms of art like film and literature to promote the work he does, which allows him to collaborate with the true professionals in those fields. Makanjuola’s collaboration with Jude Dibia on their latest book is a full circle moment considering Dibia, in 2005, wrote the first published queer book in Nigeria, Walking With Shadows.
In this interview with Makanjuola, he speaks about his journey to creating Love Offers No Safety with Jude Dibia and the importance of writing stories regardless of how uncomfortable they are.
What was growing up like for you, and how did your family background shape your perspectives on life and writing?
Growing up was really interesting. One thing that was strong was how my thinking was shaped. I come from a very independent family where we are independent thinkers. You can’t think for us. We can argue or disagree but we’ll still have our opinions.
My mother was a very free person. Neither me nor my brothers felt repressed and I think that’s why I can do what I do. The only thing that was a bit different was having an independent mind and having an awareness of my own sexual orientation and how to navigate that. But even at that, I remember when my family found out. I had just returned from England and I think I used a dating site called Adam for Adam and forgot to clear the cache on the computer. She messaged me a few weeks later and asked “when did it start?” When she asked that question I knew what she was on to. I remember saying to my friends and colleagues that this was the opportunity to come out. I remember saying it to her, and she replied “oh, we knew in the family but everybody’s always afraid of you.” Nobody could ask that question. And I think that in itself contributed, because of the way the family is, I never had to make my sexual orientation a subject where we’d sit down to have a full meeting.
Could you talk about your journey of becoming an advocate for LGBTQI rights and the impact it has had on your world view and also your writing?
My involvement in LGBTQ activism wasn’t planned. We were a group of queer friends who were aware of the inequality and danger experienced at that time. We founded TIERs in 2005 to provide access to education and information, particularly during a time where HIV education was becoming more mainstream but heteronormative in Nigeria.
We thought “How do you incorporate mainstream sexual education to cover a wider population – regardless of the kind of sexual orientation you have?” So we started engaging and having informal conversations amongst ourselves, meeting every weekend. One of us worked with an organization in Ibadan, founded by the late Dare Odumoye, founder of the first LGBTQ organization in Abuja, (formerly Alliance Right but now called International Center for Advocacy on Rights to Health (ICARH). His experience at that organization assisted us in organizing parties to educate people about HIV prevention, treatment, care services.
This journey has been deeply personal for me. When people say “thank you for the work that you do” I’m like, “yes, that’s great” but it’s also important to understand that I’m doing this to create a place I want to live. In other aspects of my life, I am always conscious of how I contribute to an environment I can live in. I ask myself “How inclusive are you in this process?” “How inclusive are you in hiring?” “How are you creating safe space for LGBTQ people?” “How are you creating a welcoming environment for everyone?”
Can you share any memorable experiences or encounters you’ve had as a result of your work, whether it be positive or challenging?
There are many memorable experiences but I think one of the most striking ones, to me, is when people don’t believe that I’m queer. I find it bizarre because it also says a lot about how we see people and how we try to put people in a box. I have a lot of straight friends because I make friends generally, not because of sexual orientation. So sometimes I have to defend my own queerness to people and it’s a very complex thing. When people ask “oh are you queer?” I’m wondering “but I thought you knew”. I really thought that was obvious.
Sometimes they require you to explain yourself which can be a bit uncomfortable especially to people that you think you already know. But there’s also some good side to it because sometimes when it happens it also shows that people haven’t projected on me in the first instance, which is great. The only thing is I always have to pay attention to when people ask that question, whether they are asking from a place of curiosity or from a place of condescension. So that will determine how I answer you. I think that’s one of the weirdest experiences.
What challenges did you face as an aspiring writer in Nigeria, and how/what did you do to overcome them?
I think working with some editors or working within the creative space. Sometimes you want to write an article but you’re dealing with an editor who is not open minded or has biases towards the subject.
I don’t engage with editors like that anymore. I think it is a waste of time. If you’re not going to publish it, somebody will. Which is why I say it’s important to constantly appreciate those who are taking the risk. God bless people like Jude Dibia who paved the way for queer writing, Bibi Bakare Yusuf, Lola Shoneyin and a couple of publishers who are taking the risks to publish queer stories. It is one thing to tell the stories, it is another to have an outlet. If you don’t have the outlet that’s ready to absorb that story, it’s pretty difficult. So focus and go where you are enabled.
I’ve also seen people come for Cassava Republic on their Instagram page for celebrating pride month, saying that they are promoting and pushing this agenda of LGBT rights. I think that’s a big challenge.
How do you navigate the cultural and societal challenges surrounding LGBTQI issues in Nigeria while staying true to your artistic vision?
A challenge we have to deal with is censorship. I remember a few years ago I had produced a film directed by Tope Oshin called We Don’t Live Here Anymore and we had applied for censor which was approved with licensing and all of that. As we were premiering at a major film studio in Nigeria, they threatened to shut down the premiere if they didn’t see our approval from the censors board. We have to deal with things like that.
This book has been broadcast in certain quarters and we’ve seen people saying, “oh Cassava Republic is trying to promote and push the narrative of homosexuality to your children” “Don’t let your children read the book”. You also have to deal with censorship from personal prejudice.
It is important to stay true to yourself and the stories you are trying to tell. You have to be daring and not to not care about what people think. I’m generally daring, which is why I always say people cannot use my point of view to evaluate how queer people live, because I can be a gangster. I walk into any space without caring about your opinion because it doesn’t matter.
In what ways do you believe your collaborations and friendships have influenced your writing and advocacy?
People who know me personally know it’s one of the biggest contributors in my life. Wherever I am, whatever I do, I call on my friends. I’m very big on collective work. I don’t think I’ve done anything in the last decade by myself, which is why I always respect people’s profession. I have friends who are writers or filmmakers or artists and I say “you don’t need to be an activist, but what you can do is help us with your skills to advance the work that we’re trying to do”.
Friendships are really big for me, that’s why I’m able to do this with Jude. I could have done this by myself because I was initially the only one who traveled to collect stories before another colleague of mine who used to work at TIERs joined me. And when it was time to write, I could have written this by myself but I thought, how great will it be? He wrote the first queer book and he paved the way. That’s the way I like to operate because one of the things with working with people is that you are able to bounce ideas and get out of your bubble. So friendships are very important. I like to show for people and I like people to show for me.
What was the writing process like with Jude? What did you enjoy most about it?
Jude is such a gentle man. I don’t know how to explain it, he’s so gentle in his thoughts, in his action and the way he just treats things generally. I think that has helped our collaboration and friendship in a way that is not demanding, in a way that there’s no pressure on the friendship. I remember when we were writing, if he didn’t agree with something, he would share it. There was a safe space to share and disagree.
I’m always very appreciative of people who trust me with things that are personal for them. Jude trusted me and my dear friend Funmi … with his book Walking With Shadows to produce into a film. That shows the level of trust we have. It was great just writing with a writer. It was really good to have him on board. I’m happy that when I decided to do this, I recognized my own limitations and I recognized why it was important to partner and collaborate with somebody this was also personal to.
What themes or messages do you aim to convey through your writing, particularly when it comes to exploring the experiences of queer individuals in Nigeria?
I think one of the things I was very particular about us conveying was love, friendship, family and people just finding joy in their life. Finding happiness in an environment like Nigeria is very difficult, then to add your sexual orientation makes it a complex thing.
People need to understand the extent to which love from friends and family means in people’s lives. I remember a story from one of the guys we spoke to. He had this friend he loved so dearly who was not “out”. When the friend found out this guy attended a Human Rights workshop about LGBTQ people, the friend broke up their friendship. He was worried that if people knew this guy attended that workshop and saw them together, they’d automatically assume he is gay. You could tell he was deeply hurt.
The goal is to ensure that people see how to navigate their relationship with family because family is also very important to people. Sometimes when people talk about their family saying hurtful things, you can see how sad it makes them feel because your family is where you’re supposed to go when you’re hurt. Home should be safe, but unfortunately, it’s not. That’s why we say Love Offers No Safety.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers and activists who want to make a difference in the LGBTQI community?
Don’t be afraid, just do it, but also be very clear on why you’re doing this. I always say to people, “you have to be sure why you want to do this”. If you’re unsure, you’d try to fix yourself into some kind of agenda. What is informing why you want to do this? Why is this personal to you?
And don’t be particular about winning all the time because it doesn’t happen that way. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but whichever of them, remember that it’s a process with a lesson. When we tell a story, there is no ending to the story. A story is a continuous thing, so you’re going to keep telling the story, you’re going to keep advocating.
Even if today, Nigeria becomes accommodating or protective of LGBT people, it doesn’t mean that my work has stopped because even in global spaces like the US and the UK where on paper the laws are progressive, it doesn’t mean that things have stopped happening on the ground.
How do you envision the future of queer literature and advocacy in Nigeria, and what role do you see yourself playing in shaping that future?
Oh, it’s going to be bright, it’s going to be beautiful. At some point in my life, I’m going to write a memoir. Nobody is going to miss that. I think the future of queer literature is going to be bright and like I said, I’m thankful to publishers like Cassava Republic who are willing to dare. I’m hoping that in the next few years, it will not only be the Cassava Republic who are willing to publish stories like that.
It’s going to be bright because there’s a lot of queer people in the creative space and literature space and I’m so happy that all the things that they’re doing and the wonders that they are doing will be the ones to turn things around. they’re going to write stories that’ll remind us who we are. They’re going to challenge how we do things, how we think. I have a couple of projects lined up in the next few years. I’m going to keep telling stories because stories, conversation, dialogues are some of the ways I transport my work because I really believe in dialogue. I believe it helps to clarify misconceptions and educate people broadly.
