The Apple and The Tree (Tomorrow I'll be Twenty)

In this country, a boss should always be bald and have a big belly. My uncle isn’t bald, he hasn’t got a big belly, and you don’t realise, the first time you see him, that he’s the actual boss of a big office in the centre of town.

My Uncle is not married and has always been a strange man, he would sway his hips when he walked and he would gloss his lips till they gleamed. My Uncle, when he speaks, sings his words and beautiful birds would circle his head, and then he would draw invisible images in the air with his left hand when the talk gets interesting.

Last Christmas, the whole family got together at his house and my uncle felt at home in the company of the women while his brothers, my father included, glared at him. And whenever a guest caught my father's gaze, he would drop his eyes in shame.

When they called him to discuss with the men, his singy voice dwarfed their growly whispers and everyone heard what he was saying. I love my Uncle because he never runs out of tom-tom and when he carries me and throws me up, my stomach squirms like a jelly fish and fear catches me, but before I scream, I would fall into his waiting grip me and he would embrace me. And my father would pat him on the back.

But in the night, my Father would say he doesn't deserve to be the head of the family

"We need men in our family!"

"He behaves like a woman, he might even be gay" my father would say, before slamming his hand angrily on the table.

And the next morning, my father would put me on his okada that laughs twice before starting and we would drive to my Uncle's house to ask him for my school fees, which he promised to pay sometime ago.

During harmattan, my schoolmates shamed me for my cracked lips and when I got home, I got the idea to look through mama's room for her lip-gloss. Upon finding it, I smeared a glob of the scented liquid on my mouth, till it trickled and stained the floor.

And when I was pleased with myself, I smacked my lips and ran to my father in the parlour. "Look at me, Daddy, I am so pretty" said I, and my father did as I asked and he turned red. Something broke in him and he flew into rage. Do you want to be gay like your uncle? He kept repeating as every syllable was whipped into my body.

A knock rasped the door and it was my Uncle, I ran and threw my arms around him and he carried me. Little man, why are you crying, he asked me as he wiped tears from my face. Daddy beat me so that I won't end up gay like you, I said.