The Family We Inherit, the Family We Choose

The Family We Inherit

When I was a child, family was a map already drawn. There were parents at the centre, solid and unquestioned. Grandparents orbited with stories and memory; I even had a great-grandmother into my twenties. Siblings came later, not quite close enough to grow up alongside, as it was to fight with and lean on in the same afternoon.

As I grew, the map widened to include aunts, uncles, cousins, and distant relations whose names carried branches of a tree I had not planted, but to which I undeniably belonged. Nowadays, a name from that stock carries some resonance but no clear recognition.

Family, in those years, was inheritance. You were someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s nephew, someone’s grandson. You did not choose your place; you occupied it.

An Unspoken Expectation

The expectation, though rarely spoken aloud, was that one day you would recreate the pattern. The heteronormative construct was laid out as tradition, without any consideration that you might be differently inclined. You did not create yourself; you became yourself, but you were still required to represent them as part of that genealogical framework.

You would find a wife. You would have children. You would extend the line. The structure felt inevitable, almost architectural: generation building upon generation, each layer confirming the last. The scaffolding stood there as a template, but what sort of building would emerge once it was removed?

The Expected Script

In adulthood, society tends to follow a predictable rhythm of questions:

“Are you married?”
“What does your wife do?”
“Do you have children?”

Closer to the traditions with which I have some affinity, the question is inevitably:

“How are your wife and kids?”

These questions are not malicious; they are rituals. They affirm that you are participating in the established arc, that you have stepped into the role once held by your parents.

Marriage, in that script, is not just about love. It is about continuation, about replication, about becoming what raised you. In fact, the word used is “responsible”, and you are apparently not responsible if your image of adulthood is not framed as husband and wife, home and children, the next branch growing from the familiar tree.

My Reality

My name is Akin, and the centre of my adult life is Brian. Brian is not my wife. He is my husband.

He lives in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. I live in Manchester, England. And regularly, as often as we can, we both travel to Cape Town, South Africa. We met in South Africa and meet there because it was the first country to recognise and legalise same-sex unions.

Cape Town is not just a city for us. It is a promise, a rehearsal for the life we are building. It is where time feels concentrated, intentional, and fiercely protected.

Measuring Life in Countdowns

Everything we do is designed to maximise the hours we have together. Flights are booked with military precision. Calendars are negotiated. Work is arranged around reunions. We measure life in countdowns: how many days until Cape Town.

We have been together for over seven years. Seven years of distance. Seven years of choosing each other. Seven years of making geography bend as much as it possibly can to commitment.

The Conversations of a Marriage

When people speak casually about spouses, they often describe the ordinary:

Morning coffee conversations.
“Darling, what shall we have for dinner?”
“Love, how was your meeting?”
“Babes, did you sleep well?”
“I mean, how are you in yourself?” [I smile at this question.]

Brian and I have those conversations.

I speak to him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. That is not symbolic; it is simply how life works. He is the first voice in my day and the final presence before sleep.

The Fabric of Our Bond

We talk about finances, health, frustrations, politics, and our families. We argue occasionally. We reassure constantly. We plan relentlessly. We discuss where furniture will go in the Cape Town home, we have not yet secured. We imagine neighbourhoods. We calculate costs. We picture morning light in rooms that exist for us only in hope.

These are the conversations of spouses. They are not lesser because they occur across time zones. They are not diluted because they travel through screens. They are not temporary because they are stretched by distance. They are the fabric of a marriage, the centre of what tugs at our hearts.

Recognition and Silence

Yet the world does something subtle.

A man mentions his wife and is met with easy follow-up: “What does she do?” “How did you meet?” “Do you have kids?” The questions flow naturally, as though the script has already been agreed.

But when I speak about Brian, there is sometimes a pause, a recalibration. Not hostility, not necessarily rejection, just a slight disruption of expectation. And often, no further questions come.

While I appreciate that some people need time to get used to that construct, in other cases it is those who give no consideration to that reality who make this conversation necessary.

This relationship will not fade into insignificance or irrelevance; the indifference of the original setting I was born into will not obviate the consequential position of Brian to me and in my life.

The Unfitting Template

It is as though the conversation does not quite know where to place us. We do not fit into the inherited template of husband-wife-children-grandchildren. There is no automatic branch extending from us into the next generation.

We have no children. Our relationship does not replicate the structure we were born into. But it is no less central, no less serious, no less real.

We as individuals might have deigned to conform, satisfying the cultural expectations of tradition whilst complicating the lives of those who, in my view, would have fallen victim to a lavender marriage, one in which our intimate desires were met elsewhere, where a wife could not compete.

We chose instead to be who we are, without scandalising others through the revelations that might have emerged from the liaisons we had proclivities for.

The Myth of Continuation

Much of how society recognises marriage is tied to reproduction. Parenthood acts as proof of adulthood, of stability, of contribution to the future. Children become the visible extension of a couple's bond. Yet even people within those constructs may not have children, for all sorts of reasons.

Without children, a relationship can seem, to some, self-contained. But what if continuation is not only biological?

Brian and I are building continuity of another kind: continuity of devotion, continuity of shared planning, continuity of showing up, again and again, despite visas and airfare and the blunt inconvenience of geography. Our lineage may not be genetic, but our commitment stretches forward just the same.

Cape Town: The Dream

Cape Town is the convergence point. I fly from Manchester. He flies from Bulawayo. Two separate lives narrowing toward the same coastline.

We walk the same streets each time as though tracing the outline of a future. We talk about where we will finally set up home, not as a fantasy, but as an inevitability we are patiently engineering.

The Sacred Mundane

That is our dream: to close the distance permanently. To wake up in the same space without calculating time zones. To make breakfast without screens. To argue about which cupboard the mugs belong in, or the clocks on the oven, for which I have been accused of having OCD.

Domesticity is not mundane to us. It is sacred.

The Centre, Not the Periphery

Whether others like it or not, Brian matters. He is not an aside in my story. He is not an interesting footnote. He is not an exception to a rule.

He is my husband, my partner, my integral and significant companion. The person I consult first. The person whose opinion steadies me. The person who knows the texture of my thoughts before I fully articulate them.

The absence of children does not shrink that reality. The absence of a wife does not make it incomplete. He is my full responsibility, before all others.

The Family I Choose

As a child, I belonged to a family I inherited. As a man, I have formed a family I chose.

It may not look like the one that raised me. It may not produce grandchildren. It may not trigger the standard conversational questions. But it is no less a family.

Brian and I are building something deliberate, intentional, and resilient. Every mile travelled, every reunion planned, every late-night call is a brick in that foundation.

Family is not only about bloodline. It is also about allegiance, about persistence, about saying, across continents and years: “You are my person.”

And that, however quietly the world acknowledges it, is marriage. That is just the way things are.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

On keeping and appreciating the value of my diamond

Working on relationships

There are times I want to believe I have the best of relationships and others where I am doubtful about the strength of what we might have going. The doubts are not about the relationship itself but how to navigate the emotional elements that constitute the relationship to ensure needs and requirements are satisfied.

If there were a rulebook for relationships with 10 Steps to Perfect Relationships, maybe 10 steps would be a bit much, if the whole concept could be condensed to 3 steps or how Jesus paraphrased the 10 Commandments into two of loving God and loving your neighbour as yourself, maybe, just maybe there can be a modicum of assured success.

The demands are demanding

However, human beings are too complex to be subject to the simple mechanisation of rules. The elements that make for a good relationship with anyone are myriad and varied, the commonalities and differences that engender satisfaction for partners would rarely be similar between all sorts of people.

As much as I strive to make relationships work, we all have expectations, some fully and completely met and others quite less so, as to be unsatisfactory. We work at what we have, to make the bad good, and hope to make the good even better or perfect, but there is work involved and communication is key to that.

Making provision for the sulk

Then again, allowances need to be made to vent frustration, anger, or some other emotion in the scheme of things. A quiet spell of being sent to Coventry is probably one of the easier messages to send in the expression of disagreement or more. It is prerogative that members of a partnership are free to exercise at will without the need to answer to anyone.

Not that it makes for any good feeling for the affected party, but these are things that we as human beings need to negotiate even as the burden of disquiet exacerbates stress and unfortunate discomfort.

Seeking a more perfect union

As the old saying, Love is blind, marriage or relationships are the eye opener. My eyes are constantly opened to my inadequacies in satisfying what might be required of me, in as much as they are opened to how people in relationships are flawed people seeking to augment each other to make a more complete union and whole, some of that is in bonding as glue for joinery and at times it is brutal clash of iron sharpening iron with all the sparks that come from the friction.

I guess what matters most is lots of patience and much more endurance to stay the course whatever happens, to prove daily and maybe hourly that the person you have chosen matters more than you have the capacity to express and in the same vein, more than they would ever know. The rest you leave to fate and fortitude, you can never relent in giving your best, the test is whether they trust you enough to accept it as good enough.

When I look back into history, a man was a diamond to a damsel, sadly, the diamond lost its glitter, the amazing gem had lost the colour, the clarity, the cut, and the carat weight that gave it inestimable value, rancour and animosity bedevils that once blessed matrimony. It is a narrative one must prevent from repeating itself.

Remembering my stepmother

 A propinquity nativity

It is a case of interesting provenance for another word cannot be found to describe the fact that my stepmother was only 14 months older than I am. Sadly, today, one speaks in the past tense because today would have been her birthday and she passed on, 4 days after her birthday 2 years ago.

On reflection, I consider the perspectives of relationships and the understanding of what goes on between different people. For there are viewpoints of who she was that my half-brothers whose ages would have been representative of my sons have, and that of who the larger parts of the family have as concerns her.

Deference of association

In my case, I find myself more of a neutral party as I never met her, I only knew of her, and we were introduced over the phone by my father long into their relationship. I immediately adopted a respectful deportment to my father’s wife and accorded her all that it necessitates.

Our interactions over the years that we communicated were cordial and friendly, each deferential to the other even as I fielded concerns and complaints whilst trying to mitigate and ameliorate issues as that relationship became estranged.

In my view, I thought there were situations where my father could have been more gentlemanly, yet I was never conversant with the intricacies of their affair. The history and reports relayed to me would suggest it was a stormy and sometimes unhappy marriage, but I was too distant from the setup to give it any assessment.

In resignation to fate

Therefore, regardless of what others thought of her, I could not fault her even if she had many faults, what I remember was trying to call her on her last birthday and we eventually talked. The call that received on that fateful Wednesday morning from my brother, left me in shock, I was coming to the end of my walking exercise, and I literally collapsed on a bench for a while to get my bearings.

Conversing with my brothers, we worked at facilitating her obsequies as I thought about how our then-recent engagements might have unwittingly been loaded with some premonition; certain critical responsibilities would come my way just as a matter of course and in recognition of the limits to which other parental obligations can be met.

The sadness is palpable in remembrance, more so for my brothers who would surely miss her and her presence for significant life occasions. Life is fleeting, how we leave legacy matters, and for those we have met, we hope we have contributed something significant and positive for them to remember. To my stepmother, rest eternal and may your shortcomings be forgiven.

Blog - A chapter closed suddenly

Talking of natural attraction

Just a natural attraction

Sometimes, you find that you are conditioned by a heteronormative world, and that forms the perspective from which you see things especially in the areas of interest and attraction. Yet, you are informed by difference, a situation that suggests you are predisposed to something different.

Stepping out this morning, I thought about my affinity for a type of male form that is irresistibly attractive and alluring. This is something I have felt from as far back as when I was 7 years old. I remember that feeling washed through me as I watched a slightly older neighbourhood friend of ours come to play with his siblings at my home.

Growing to accept myself

Nothing happened between us, but I can say about myself that this was not some sort of aberration or deviancy, it was a naturally unexplained tendency that I have processed since then and eventually come to terms with. That it has a name, or a label is beside the point. We are who we are seeking to first accept ourselves and hopefully be accepted for who we are and not be judged for being that.

Then, there are places where this is not accepted even though humanity has always been represented in commonality as much as difference and diversity if we are to allow for that simplicity without the issues of influence by belief systems, prejudices, conservatism, or anything that seeks to set others apart for no other reason than they are to any degree different.

To marriage we go

We all desire some sort of companionship, in the general sense and in the particular. The former would comprise people we meet as acquaintances, friends, colleagues, or even strangers, maybe just being in a crowd. In the latter, we might start with family, to relations, extending to community and then one person with whom we desire to be intimate and with whom we share much more than with others.

The heteronormative is a construct that appears to be underpinned by statute that is changing in many dominions to accommodate a broader view of people we choose to partner with and make known that they have become our significant other, in deed first, and then by law. It is going to happen more with people, marriage, regardless of pairing. I have found someone with whom that matters more than anything. It is Brian.

You can't just walk away

Their lives matter too

I might have come across as uncompromising and harsh in my last blog regarding the man who finally accepted the truth of his sexuality conflict, however, to the detriment of other lives, the lives of his wife and two daughters sacrificed to his perfidy.

Blog: On men I cannot respect

I am implacable on the matter; you cannot just walk away as if you have extracted valuables from detritus and so keep the spoils like a rogue miner who panned a nugget of gold and left the mine to completely forget the life before the find.

Looking for an outlet

By coincidence, I came upon a story on the response of an agony aunt to a man similarly married for 25 years who had been cheating on his wife and had previously formed 2 gay relationship unbeknownst to her. He ruefully admits he might have messed up his wife, then attempts an exculpatory angle of suggesting he had always provided for her and they had 2 children together. Bunkum! [Oregon Live: Dear Abby: Gay man’s first step out of the closet should be to tell his wife of 25+ years] [The Advocate: Dear Abby's Vicious Reply to Closeted Man Cheating on Wife of 25 Years]

Reading it, I was left wondering if it was not the one and the same man, between the story I wrote about and the pretensions to residing the United States, writing to the agony aunt. Who knows? The similarities are uncanny, the publication in the magazine probably lagging the reality of events but let us not dwell on speculations.

Face up to the consequences

To the agony aunt, he wondered if it was worth coming out at this time of his life, the corollary being he wanted to continue living a double life and cheating on his wife. A convenient situation for him where he did not have to face the truth. It is a depth of cowardice that it breath-taking in its audacity though writing to the agony aunt might suggest there was a pang of conscience somewhere in his being.

In my view, Abby’s response was not vicious at all, it was straight talking truth, she saw through his chicanery; he was looking for a new gay relationship and once he had it, he would move on unperturbed. Not so fast, she interjected. Tell your wife and once she knows, her life would have to take on a trajectory after you that can be quite consequential in the realisation of the betrayal to which she had lost 25 years of her life. The gravity of that alone might well require professional help.

And again, I cannot excuse the fact that a person knowing their sexuality would then take marital vows of deception to cover for their internal conflict, hoping that satisfying the demands of society might just be curative of an innate state of being. Much I am supposed to have some affinity with the man, my humanity is endeared to those lie to, betrayed, left behind, and hurt.

It is quite consequential

Whether the marriage continues or ends amicably or in acrimony, nothing can fully compensate for the fact that when the spouse to the vows that included, ‘Till death do us part’, and indeed, not all marriages work out, to think what would put it asunder is the heretofore unrevealed sexuality of the person they married might be a shock very few hearts can endure without lasting damage. In the last story, the wife and daughters were nasty to ex-husband and father, I do not blame them.

Without equivocation, I say again, if you have sexuality conflict, regardless of societal pressures and whatever else might inspire you to live a lie, by deceptively involving someone else to cover for your apparent inability to face up to your personal truth. Just don’t do it.

I have written a few blogs on these issues before and they are referenced below:

Blog: To perceptive and accepting parents

Blog: Kenny Badmus: Thank you for coming out wonderfully

Blog: Opinion: Now, a thought for Kenny Badmus' wife

Blog: Opinion: Regardless of our sexuality, our past and future is our whole story

Blog: Thought Picnic: On the price of a marriage contracted to make you straight

On men I cannot respect

He came out

He had a story, in the words that read, “I got divorced last week, after a 25-year marriage to a woman and came out. Huge cloud lifted.” To which I would always have more than a consideration for other parties involved. There is quite a chunk of life in 25 years, I could only hope that the finality of that union was understanding and amicable.

Sadly, in his response, it was not, his ex-wife and two adult daughters had been nasty to him. Who can blame them? Now, I have some sympathy for people who struggle with their sexuality in constructs of community and society where they might suffer rejection, ostracism, persecution, embarrassment, or shame.

He conned her

On the issues where external factors can make one’s life unbearable, there might be some concern for the life and wellbeing of that person. However, when you know your situation is complicated you do not use the life of another to make adjustments without acquainting them fully with the dilemma you are in. In my view, consent is material, understanding must be there, and agreement must be secured for a mutually beneficial arrangement, especially when marriage is involved.

To secret your sexuality and rob your spouse of the truth of your identity, then along with your offspring deign to live a lie is at best reprehensible. And, eventually, you might come to live in the truth of who you are with a huge cloud of self-denial lifted off your life, but you will have betrayed and damaged other lives in the process.

He did wrong

Now, everyone has to live their own lives and maybe the passage of event and time will allow other parties to gain the benefit of a huge cloud lifted off their own lives, but to except acquiescence and acceptance just because you now feel good even after they have been left in palpable shock is naïve, selfish and nigh on unforgivable. Whether any healing will come to them, one cannot say.

My thoughts cannot be too respectful of the man where the woman and the children have been poorly regarded and the man is out there living his wildest dreams. If you have sexuality conflict in your life, do not under any circumstances without consent and full agreement contract a marriage of deception to ameliorate or hopefully convert your sexual attraction because, it will not go away, the burden will continue to stress you until you break and break many lives too. Just don’t do it!

The malign state of cultural programming

The random in Uber rides

I was not going to walk back home with my shopping after visiting the hospital yesterday, so, I called Uber cab to take me home. The name of the driver appeared to be a Christian forename and a Muslim surname; it would have been an interesting conversation point.

When he arrived, the phonetical sounds I heard as he was conversing with someone on his mobile phone was unmistakably Yoruba, so, I engaged him with greetings and a sense of familiarity almost to my regret. The first I have had of a Yoruba person, probably the last I would want if this situation is repeated.

Patriarchy is the default

We seem to have this cultural programming to be first intrusive and probably judgemental. His first inquiry was whether my wife was too busy to do the shopping. There is no accounting for how long our people have lived in the west, some patriarchal views die hard. Even if I were married, nothing regardless of my status stops me from shopping.

So, I answered, I was just returning from the hospital nearby and that presented an opportunity to do some shopping. However, he would not let go, he wanted to know about my wife and my kids. An apparently essential demonstration of my whatever it might be. Wisely, this was not the time to introduce a radically implausible issue as sexuality, but some matters needed addressing all the same.

Moving on to other things

No, I do not have my own children, I cannot have children by reason of many issues including the consequences of chemotherapy. Then indeed I do have children in my nieces and nephews. Knowing I cannot have children I am pragmatic enough not to involve a woman in my complicated situation leaving her attached and yet bereft of issue.

Then, the matter of issue is one of contentment in terms of whether you do require them or not and whether you have made peace with your circumstances. Whether with issue or not, someone would take up that responsibility for interment when you are gone, the more important thing is to have impacted lives enough to be relevant in life and the hereafter.

That being said, we got to the matter of how frequently I visit home. Home to him is different from home to me, but I humoured him, I have not been to Nigeria in over 30 years. There began another inquisition. I volunteered I am English, though it did not tweak that my grasp of the Yoruba language and completed sentences without interspersing with English was probably commendable. I had committed infractions I should be answerable for.

Coming up for air

Obviously, whereupon that kind of situation within the Yoruba construct might well be considered unfortunate, on wife, on children, and on visits, the fact is to be consumed by circumstances over which you have little control or are not persuaded of will distract you from fulfilling other aspects of life and purpose. I reckon my message was clear from our interaction, I neither castigated nor excoriated him, I just provided another perspective to things.

That he was taking me into the centre of town elicited another comment about me being quite wealthy, to which I responded in Yoruba, the blessing is there to be shared to all. Yet, that cultural programming impervious to review does grate. I bet he has never done any domestic shopping before, but that is none of my business, I just want to get home.

Of the plans and the times

Signposts of the Passion

Two Easter weekends ago, I had arrived in South Africa, met up with Brian in Johannesburg, and we both travelled to Cape Town where we spent 12 days, the blossoming of a new relationship and probably one of the most exciting times in my life. It was an opportunity to get to know each other better, after the sudden opportunity to meet in Johannesburg in late February 2019.

The Easter meeting had been planned from mid-January, I just knew I wanted to see him again and find out if there was a prospect of something between us. After that April meeting, the plans to meet over the summer were thwarted that it was not until September and then December that we met again.

By then, I was sure I was ready for a lifelong relationship with all the formalities that would establish us as a couple and married. My projection was for last year’s Easter, but the pandemic had taken hold, I was out of work and we were in lockdown. Every prospect of meeting up just looked ever so distant, opportunities quickly fizzling out as our host country was not accepting guests and England ended up in a second lockdown.

The plan waits for its time

Surely, when we next meet, I thought again, we could get it done, tie the knot and finalise the formalities. That is what I thought we would do when we met up in December after 11 months apart, but things did not go our way. Bureaucracy, officialdom, and an absence of waivers even in the midst of a pandemic meant we had to schedule it for another time. However, we now knew what to do.

I cannot say we would have been able to consider it this Easter weekend, much as I would have loved to get or steal away. There is an international travel ban from England and our countries are in various forms of lockdown that militates against our plans. We are hopeful and looking forward, and even if our apparently well-laid plans have been tossed by circumstances beyond our control, I have the feeling that by the next Easter weekend, we would be telling a different and amazing story. 

A WEIRD prism is just one perspective

Influences of significance

When my dad said over a decade ago, “You have always thought like a Westerner.” I feigned ignorance of what he implied, but it got me thinking about things that baffle me daily. How it is that my worldview on many issues and situations are so radically different from many with whom I am supposed to share a heritage.

Then again, I realise that I have also fallen into a trap and a misconception about culture and values needing to converge to a Judeo-Christian Western construct with the view that those who appear to deviate from such might not represent the best of our humanity.

How marriage changed us

Indeed, many of our international laws of trade, of industry, of life, or of diplomacy follow a broadly western model that has become a synonym for modern and civilised, we miss out on understanding other constructs, cultures, civilisations, and customs that makes other members of our diverse humanity uniquely different, interesting, and rich.

This was brought into stark relief when I listened to a podcast The West and the Rest by Matthew Syed on BBC Radio 4 on his Sideways series, which started with the observation of different psychological responses to what was studied and expected in the West to how intriguingly the advent of Christianity changed marital norms like forbidding marriage to cousins, opening clans to strangers and birthed the kind of innovation and mindset that typifies the West today. [BBC Radio 4 Sideways Podcast: 3. The West and the Rest]

Weird as we come

It begs the question about who the weird ones are, we in the west or the non-western cultures. Whilst there is no way I will pass for a WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant), I am most definitely one of the WEIRD (Western Educated Industrialised Rich and Democratic), a psychological term that was defined in the 2000 book, The WEIRDest People in the World: How the West Became Psychologically Peculiar and Particularly Prosperous by Joseph Henrich.

Having an audible copy of this book, it would probably give me an appreciation of why I think differently and why I should make ample accommodation for how other cultures will not converge to my worldview. This would mean we need to negotiate and agree on certain principles, attitudes, and rules for the good of humanity even if implementations will differ.

I come away with the insight that cultural divides will only be bridged with an openness of the mind and the putting away of the western hubris that has led us on spectacularly failed escapades of sowing seeds of our kind of civilisation around the world.

Read or listen

The WEIRDest People in the World: How the West Became Psychologically Peculiar and Particularly Prosperous [Amazon]

 

334 days of heartache

Time took longer to endure

Never could we have anticipated that when we said our goodbyes in Johannesburg in January, it would be another 334 days before we saw each other again to say hello and kiss again. We were still in the infancy of our relationship building up our commitments with the determination that we were going to get married soon.

It is quite likely we could have made that decision earlier, we knew our hearts and minds about what we were looking for and what we wanted, but in the normalcy of those times, we were giving ourselves all the opportunities and allowances to steadily make that move without having too many misgivings from our friends about the speed at which we were going at a lifelong commitment.

For a while, I heard repeated statement of Isabelle Allende to the question she was asked, “How do you fall in love at 76?”, her answer was, “Like 26, but with a little more urgency.” I am aware of the life-threatening condition I had over 11 years ago, I am grateful for the quality and goodness of my health today, yet, I cannot live like I have all the time in the world.

We are getting married

I have now, the moments, the opportunities that arise, and the options that present. I fell in love and I have pursued it with vigour and conscientiousness. I am more than fortunate that my partner feels the same way too. Back in July, I was proposed to and it is our hope that despite the situation with the pandemic, we indeed can tie the knot.

If we have learnt anything, every moment counts, what we do whilst we are together matters, it should be purposeful, fulfilling, and rewarding. Long-distance relationships are hard at the best of times. I hope we never have to wait for an extended period of time to see each other again. Meanwhile, every one of the 35 days we will spend together will be a celebration of love, happiness, smiles, and life. I have been gifted the joy of companionship; we will not let it slip listless away. Thank you, Brian, for being the one, I am so blessed to have you in my life and by my side.

Annoyed and disappointment doesn't capture it

One is certainly not amused

It probably did not come as a great shock because he is wont to acting with impunity and a sense of superciliousness that has rarely been challenged to the point that it is indeed impunity.

It is his prerogative whatever he decides to do, the affairs he decides to have, and the ones he decides to commit to matrimony, unholy as it is, in every sense and every way. Here we are still mourning the passing of one and put into a situation supplanted by a complete lack of consideration, I am quite incensed.

The name we all share is not in the exclusive preserve of one, not even the patriarch can use the name without an eye on posterity. We have to carry this name forward in deed and in seed. When I was asked on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the extreme how disappointed I was with him, without hesitation, I said 10. There is much to write and it will be written.

Blog - The parable of Henry VIII

The parable of Henry VIII

The wives and knives

Catherine of Aragon feared for many things of her husband Henry VIII, a man of considerable charm and influence dogged by one particular issue of having an heir to continue his dynasty that he destroyed tradition, principle and religion to attempt to get his way.

It is an irony of history that the heir that succeeded him for just over 6 years, Edward VI, was born of his third wife, Jane Seymour who died soon after childbirth, Bloody Mary, Mary I, daughter of Catherine of Aragon who tried to restore the Catholic hegemony her father destroyed lasted less than 6 years before Anne Boleyn’s daughter who never married reigned for over 44 years as Elizabeth I. [Wikipedia: List of English monarchs]

Our vision is limited

From the perspective of history, it is almost unimaginable that Henry VIII changed the history of the United Kingdom for an heir that was gone in 6 years to then have his female offspring reign for over 50 years.

Futility in the machinations of man and the scandal it portends. You can only wonder how things might have been different if Henry VIII could have seen how the future would turn out. It can be said for bravery, intelligence, ability and regal nous, Elizabeth I was more a daughter of Anne Boleyn than of the insecurities of Henry VIII who after 6 wives and the murder of two, never really achieved the lasting aim of an heir with any longevity.

Mockery is history retold

An allegory lurks in that Catherine of Aragon might often time have feared that she might be killed by her husband who in many ways castigated, excoriated and dehumanised her, yet could not rid himself of her for the forces that secured her place as Queen and consort were more enduring than Henry VIII could find the normal channels to upend.

He had to arrogate to himself powers and dominions in establishing the Church of England, to secure himself the divorce or annulment he required to marry Anne Boleyn whose rapid rise was succeeded by a more precipitous fall at the axe of an executioner. She was hardly dead or mourned when Henry VIII married Jane Seymour. The prospects of a third wife can be quite limited in its historical value or context. History serves to mock the vulnerabilities of powerful men.

A chapter closed suddenly

An alarm at dawn

What a day it was in which it has been difficult to collect my thoughts and reflect on life as a transient. I woke up to the alarm that is both a sound from my mobile phone and the vibrating wristband tracker, it cannot be ignored and that is at 6:05 AM.

I wake up that early with the hope that I can get in 10 to 12 kilometres of brisk walking before I start work, it fulfils my 10,000 steps and a bit more. That is what I had done, and I was on the home straight with just about a kilometre to get home, when my phone started ringing.

As my wristband was not vibrating, it had to be a WhatsApp call, that early, what could be the matter? I saw it was my brother, my middle half-brother and thought we were to continue a conversation we started some days before. I had planned to get a mobile phone for my stepmother and he was going to do some research and get back to me.

Catching up to history

Meanwhile, my stepmother, a young 56 celebrated her birthday on Saturday, we did not get to chat about her birthday until Sunday evening, but I had sent a message to her to congratulate her. Her voice was a bit hoarse and I advised just as I had a few weeks before that she takes some honey to soothe her throat, it was a jocular conversation, we laughed and bantered, wishing each other well.

The conversation I had with my brother the day after related to the mobile phone acquisition, he wanted to touch and feel the phone rather than order it online. He was going to tackle some legal matters the next day at a place that brought some history into view. It was then I learnt that my stepmother and my father met in that town when she was a student at a technical college. Pieces of a backstory were being cobbled together over the last few days, I was listening, learning, and understanding.

Opinions in broad daylight

The union bore some handsome sons, literal carbon copies of my father in his much younger days. It was fraught with issues and problems, everyone with their viewpoints. A marriage encumbered by strife cannot necessarily be the fault of just one. Without bias, I will suggest my father can be the most reasonable person and at another time utterly and implacably unreasonable. I appreciate that my opinion will not be a shared perspective, but at this time, I will not point fingers.

I never met my stepmother, I heard a lot about her, we were introduced on the phone over a decade ago by my father, almost 20 years into their marriage. I maintained a respectful and pragmatic conversation with her and extended my conversation then to my half-siblings without meaningful engagement.

We talked and laughed

Over the years, we built a rapport, and I did find a more fruitful engagement with my second half-sibling. He became the conduit for conversation and communication. My resolution is my half-siblings are very much part of my family regardless of the historical issues and the estrangement between my father and my stepmother.

There is a core responsibility to maintain cordial, friendly and brotherly relations in spite of and despite our parents, I am wedded to that principle, God give me strength.

Now, she’s gone

None of this could have prepared me for what I heard from the other end of the phone, a neighbourly misunderstanding, some agitation, apparently a fainting spell, possibly a collapse, an attempt at resuscitation, but no, all to no avail, my stepmother was no more. The shocking suddenness of it all was like a body blow. I was near St. Peter Square as I sank unto a bench and keeled over, this could not be happening, but it had already happened, a life full of hope and promise had been handed over to the dreams and aspirations of her children.

I could not begin to imagine the palpable sense of grief and sadness that had enveloped my brothers as I began to inform people who knew her and understand what needs to be done. She was interred according to Muslim rites and what we now have to do is embrace our brothers, celebrate her life and look to the future with the hope that dreams and aspirations come true. May the gentle soul of Dasola Akintayo rest in peace.

It cannot be unlooked

A predator without shame

It cannot be a term of praise as the review of someone who for all his achievements is in particular everything a philanderer is. Contemptuously in denial and feigning unconvincing innocence in the face of incontrovertible evidence, the pleadings wear thin to the point of irritation and annoyance.

The roving eye with its propensity to quarry some prey for activities quite reprobate and adulterous is never without its focus. Caught at all times that the force of personality is used to enervate those who might expose the truth.

Sing praise chorus insult

He cast his net when away many times and once netted a pupil for whom a time of matrimony was never one to be termed of any bliss. Animosity finds excitement in first and the second, that any prospects of the third should have a man checking himself for his flaws and faults. Therein, is the problem for which a eulogy will not by any stretch of the imagination be hagiographic.

A church he helped build, but a saint, he never was. Honoured he is, but it cannot honestly be for the remotely honourable for which conduct may be viewed as exemplary. If there is praise to be sung, there are stanzas and choruses of opprobrium to chant. In a human being is the good and the bad, let the story be told of all that makes a man what he has lived.

The village girl is a sex doll

When they decide for you

The village girl made an appearance again in the documentary of the continuant present, beautiful, naïve and unsophisticated, homely, nubile and fertile, presumably pliant and like clay ready to be moulded and sculpted to the desired image or idol that worships you.

The village girl is vehicle of low expectations offered in the failing of decisions you were expected to make that you did not. The assumption that you are lacking in both capacity and audacity, an eye is out there having decided on your behalf that this would work for you.

They got you sex doll

The village girl is an intrusion an expanse of denial of choices you have already made. In some cases, they will enquire of you but are never satisfied by how you respond. Your sexuality being an issue you may not be at liberty to discuss, for it is expected that a heteronormative expression is the only game in town.

The village girl is a doll, plastic to the feel and dressed as you will. Mute that she cannot talk back, though they forget that she is also deaf that she cannot hear. There is nothing sensory in her adoption than to fulfil a predilection. They seek a grandchild, and any would do, you just need to play with the doll and let nature do the rest.

A wife never by your side

The village girl is a slave, a non-person without autonomy or ambition, the calling is to serve and deign eternal gratitude for being rescued from no expectations to great expectations. Rarely do you hear of her for her mission is defined and non-negotiable. Her lot is sealed in the contract that will eventually invite abuse for the union was imposed to satisfy a whim.

The village girl is behind the veil, a woman in purdah that you can’t afford to show. The distance to be bridged in that relationship is probably too great, it would take more than many are willing to give to grow into companionship for display. As you grew up in radically different environments there is no guarantee that things would work out. They do not care for those intricate issues; the fulfilment is in issue and the troubles you must resolve yourselves.

Used and abused for others

The village girl belongs elsewhere where she can be fulfilled in the things she understands. Indeed, her horizons can be broadened, and so should she have prospects, but not at the behest of others interfering in your life to fulfil dreams they have of you at the expense of the destiny of another co-opted into a Machiavellian ploy.

The village girl will leave the village, the village of your grasp, the village of your pact, the village of the grand plan and the village of subservience, when she does, she will go to the city and in that city, even the village of your mind will not survive. I plea, stop sacrificing village girls to machinations of getting your sons into engagements and marriages, they never wanted, ever.

Thought Picnic: Leaving them to grudging and numbing

Refusing the obvious

Denial is probably the desire to live a different reality. Presented with the obvious, we find a delusionary diversion in thought and in deed to create an existence of the utmost deception in the hope that circumstances might just align.

There is the occasion where one exhibits reluctance with grudging acceptance, then another is engaged in persistence with numbing insistence, either way, none can alter the course of events as life and its decisions are primarily that of the principal regardless of expectations or prayers.

Defusing the devious

That one was offered the option of a village girl was quite amusing even as it was deftly declined, there is a city boy to whom one is betrothed, many traditions sacrificed to realities that have more relevance for heart and mind.

It is with warmth though that when in conversation with the dean after the Eucharist yesterday, the mention of marriage was embraced with easy accommodation of all genders not presupposing anything and welcoming of the response given. He is marrying him and whoever is in denial cannot be helped beyond facing the truth of what life really is.

 

Cape Town, a place of love

Then nature set a table for a mount,
And gathered 12 apostles to sit around,
From where we stood and looked,
We saw the shimmering sea and more,
From Lion’s Head to Signal Hill,
Where cannons boom at noon,
The waterfront presents great views,
Of billowing clouds of awe.

It’s a place where love becomes a fount,
In which we land and kisses abound,
The love nest we sought and booked,
To write a story better than folklore,
For nuptial bliss we stake our will,
Even plan the time to honeymoon,
Our union blessed kneeling at pews,
This Cape Town is such a draw.

 

So amazing looking at love

So right

It is impossible to think of anything that has felt so right to me especially in the affairs of the heart than when I saw him two Decembers ago, everything told me that this was so different and quite so different it was, for before him I had looked no nearer nor as interested, I just coasted along.

Then here I was enraptured by things beyond my control, a beauty that captivated me even though I had counted myself out before the barest encounter, and it could never have occurred in my slightest imagination that I would be a person of any interest talk less of having him come to say hello.

So free

Yet, providence works in realms outside the purview of limited perceptions, for whatever forces of the universe or coincidence were in play, we were brought together and from there we were left to explore whether it would be a brief encounter or a prospect for something substantial.

As good fortune would have it, we became friends and lovers, soulmates and betrothed, then engaged to be married soon. If on the first date I has said, you’re looking like love to me [1], I might have been laughed at as a fool just falling in love again, I swear, I never felt so free [1] to be with someone and long to spend my life with him, Brian brings that smile to my face and glow to my heart, I have been blessed with something so amazing that I will follow him to the moon and sky above [2].

References in Italics
1. [Genius: You’re Looking Like Love To Me (Roberta Flack & Peabo Bryson)]
2. [AZLyrics: So Amazing (Luther Vandross)] [YouTube]

[]

Love handles stories with ease

Let’s do love simply

I have ambition, much of it that I want to achieve, yet, even as the Fairy Tales lyrics of Anita Baker become part of my meditation as I walked the treadmill, it was another song playing on my mobile phone and so I was saddened with reality stepping into view. The lady who sang Lead Me Into Love and danced to the Rhythm of Love expecting marital bliss of a future she dreamt of the Men In My Life was sadly with the Wrong Man. [The links are YouTube videos of Anita Baker]

Still, dreams must not die in the story of another, for earlier I read on Twitter of a lavish wedding that presaged a rotten marriage within a year, then the turnaround with another that brought a beautiful marriage beyond an ordinary wedding, from which I got the inspiration for a tweet that spoke my heart and mind.

You know what @Brian07j, we are getting married, we don't need a lavish ceremony, though, if it happens, I am not against it.

What matters the most is our hearts, our love and the future we want to have together, our wedding is a moment, our marriage is a lifetime. I ♥️ U. pic.twitter.com/8wsEITqSnA

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ 🏳️‍🌈 #European (@forakin) July 30, 2020

Easy as I go

Even so, my mind was beginning to play games with me, being alone in the gym, my hairs were beginning to stand on end for no reason at all. My racing heart knocking on the expected heart rate, I began to rationalise before overdrive made it unbearable and soon even with the incline, my heart rate was coming down.

Back to ambition, the mirror ahead was reflecting the majesty of my love handles looking for a stage to perform a slovenly catwalk, I know eventually it would be Sayonara to them, traipse on the treadmill for as long as you want we are on to goodbye eventually.

Rebecca-Louise was back on form today, I did much more than yesterday, and let’s not go into any more detail. Soon, my 50 minutes were up, a good workout, I am not training for the Olympics, I am just doing fine.

[]

Thought Picnic: On the price of a marriage contracted to make you straight

Preamble: The timeframe of the origin of this blog was, in fact, the 8^th of February, the day after he came out, but an abrupt conversation with a friend put this in the cooler until today. Then, in a blog I wrote earlier, I referred to work I was doing on this blog. It would appear, I have been able to conclude the piece and publish it with as close as possible to the fervour that inspired it over a month ago.

Blog - Thought Picnic: My life really does include my partner

Doors falling off the rattled closet

When news broke last month of Philip Schofield’s revelation that he was gay in the midst of a 27-year marriage, I was ready to applaud him for coming out, but I could not completely commit myself to any celebration of the news without consideration of the others besides him involved.

Much was made of the love and support of his wife and two adult daughters to this coming out moment and as is always the case, people contributed messages of support for his courage, his bravery, and his decision to be true to himself.

Yet, I am still here thinking not so much of Philip, but of Stephanie Lowe, his wife of 27 years and everyone else who for all their open-mindedness to the sexuality of others might well be considerably affected by it much closer to home.

Always think of the partners

Now, I cannot speak to the quality of the relationship between Philip, Stephanie, and their daughters, but as the developing news begins to generate other perspectives, one of the headlines does say she was ‘absolutely devastated’ to learn her husband is gay. That she has had the time and space to process the information will not make it any easier for her.

There was a scene in the film, Body of Evidence which starred Madonna where in court she was asked about what she did when she discovered her husband was in a homosexual relationship. She said, “I couldn’t compete.”

It is a fundamental psychological break when your spouse directs their sexual affections to a same-sex liaison. What you can put up to fight for the affectations of your spouse in situations where the object of their affections is the same sex as you is lost in the battle with the opposite sex.

Blog - Opinion: Now, a thought for Kenny Badmus' wife

Knowing is usually a process

However, by the way, I appreciate that sexuality conflict and the point at which one is ready to accept wholeheartedly that they are one way or the other is a complex process of development. It is quite possible that people do not realise who they are until when they are completely committed to a heteronormative path and in it find dissatisfaction and discontent in the relationship they forged in the hope that it would make them whole.

I believe there is a discussion to be had when such issues arise. In my own case, whilst my very first sexual experience was at 7 with a female much older than I, I cannot say that I had a primary sexual attraction to the female. It never developed beyond the appreciation of beauty, intellect, and personality.

From about the age of 7, I do know that something about men made them more attractive to me than I could understand. That attraction was taken advantage of by some people employed to care for us as kids. The little threat here or there to force compliance made me a willing catamite to a few trusted people all into my teens.

Accepting yourself is deep self-discovery

After the age of accountability, I agonised about who and what I was, consumed with guilt especially the religious kind, I sought ways to rid myself of this thing when at the same time, I could not forgo my predilection for same-sex liaisons. With time, I found there were others like me, and we were not evil even if maligned.

At the time I was about to leave Nigeria, I was being blackmailed, I refused to pay up and challenged my blackmailer that when he tells whoever he decides to tell, he should be ready to explain how we both got together without any coercion for the many months of whatever we did. I guess, that put paid to that.

As I arrived in The UK, I was ready to come to terms which who I was, I sought out and found people boldly expressing themselves without fear. In the midst of such confident people, I gained the confidence to accept my own sexuality and to a direct question about it, I gave a clear answer, for I was of the view that if you asked, you just wanted a confirmation rather than a denial.

Peeling the onion of coming out

To my parents, siblings, and relations, I was a bit more circumspect and discreet, it took much longer to broach the subject. In the case of my parents, they were in the UK in The 1960s when the worst thing you could call anyone was a ‘bugger’.

It came with all sorts of connotations of homosexuality, paedophilia, bestiality, and murder, I felt I should save them from such an association, though it did not stop me from having same-sex relationships completely away from the scrutiny of those I didn’t want to know. I had compartmentalised my life.

Blog - Thought Picnic: The onion of truths

With time, the pressure, and the expectation to get married became a constant refrain in conversations with home, I batted away the direct questions and prevaricated on other requirements.

I was offered arranged marriages by many who thought I was the most eligible bachelor around. This all to satisfy the needs of culture and become as it were ‘responsible’, I could easily have contracted a marriage of convenience, even gone along to have children. There were many offers that just required I ask, but I did not step up to any of those opportunities.

In a series of tweets yesterday, whilst using the news as a reference point, I put a perspective to things which are probably not the broadest in terms of issues of sexuality and marriage, I hope it contributes to the discussion.

I decided long ago

It was a clear decision I made in my own life that despite the expectations and pressure, I could not with the complicated issue of my sexuality enter into a lavender marriage, and there were many unbeknownst to them ready to walk up the aisle with me, if I dared ask. /1

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ 🏳️‍🌈 #FBPE (@forakin) February 7, 2020

My life and the issue of sexuality was complicated enough I swore to myself not to embroil anyone else in that situation, it was hard enough to be in the closet, live a false life with the risk of being exposed leading to scandalising a broader relationship tree beyond the close family ties.

If I alone had to deal with the issue, it was contained without compelling anyone else to play to a script they never signed up for in the beginning. In another way, I was not successfully praying away the gay, rather, I was getting more affirmation of who I was towards the maturation of accepting who I am.

Other extenuating factors came to bear, the issue of offspring or heirs, the concept diminished with time as I began to make peace with myself with the likelihood, it might never happen. I did not consign myself to default to the findings that many prematurely born didn’t go on to sire children.

However, I felt after a certain age, it did not matter any more and then post-chemotherapy the natural ability to procreate was lost and I was not going to expend any energy in the quest to regain what rarely was a goal in life.

Be yourself, not another person

Then I concluded that contracting marriage was not a panacea, an antidote, or proven conversion therapy for personal or imposed sexuality conflict. Some people might have found adaptations with this distraction, sexuality variance was not a change of clothes, it is more ingrained than that.

It has now transpired that Philip Schofield’s hand was forced, besides the view that his sexuality was already known in closed circles and certain liaisons were about to be made public that he might lose control of the narrative of his private life, some unscrupulous tabloid editor that gotten hold of the story and was ready to go the press. In view of that, he had no other alternative, but to come clean. [Byline Investigates]

I feel vindicated that I was not immediately celebrating the event and still feel that whilst he might now freely live his truth alone with the support of his wife and daughters, he suspected his sexuality before he contracted the marriage, he could not shake off the urges of his primal sexuality and regardless of the public front presented, lives have been more radically affected than the façade we see. [The Guardian]