Olaide kayode Timileyin | 5:30pm
Dear Listeners, For the past one week, i have caught myself in between thoughts of who you are.
At 21 i found my lonely queer self under the bridge of campus with the queers, the famous campus open bar for the “TBs” had been one of the spaces i had always gone to enjoy human interactions. Growing up a Dyslexic Queer nerd in Nigeria and Lagos Mainland to be precise means a lot of “alone” time, they roll in like god’s time whether i chose them or not, like skipping social gatherings because i could have my anxiety peaking up there till i probably burn the herb, or me choosing to sneak in between pages of books i love to read and hide because i don’t want to explain why i’m still reading gay books rather than go to the movies with family. Little did i know that that cold breezy April night at campus open bar was going to be the beginning of a journey for myself and you, dear listener.
For once i thought it was never going to end, like a journey where i would just wear a veil and clamour the ways of the lord, i mean ; the gay agenda. An event happened that night at campus and that answers the question of “why” for me, Queercity podcast was birthed from a random conversations i had with random boys, some i had known from the Old Alabama nights of the lagos underground scenes. This night i sat on a fence hidden in the darkness of the car park, i was the only one there, and i could enjoy the view of the gathering, the loud music coming from the lengthy bar mixed with the faint smell of Lagos road side foods and a whiff of exhaust coming fromt the traffic. I met with two acquittances who made interaction that birthed the podcast. i wished i could speak out my heart to them right there in their faces, but i never did, rather i went home, spoke with friends who did the “we-got-you’ part, and the first episode was recorded that night.
Reaching 50 episodes, i laughed, not at the figure but in how much of myself had gone into the podcast, and how much the podcast has given back to me. Dear listener, I’m sure by now, you would have known i started the podcast in one of the bathrooms of my mother’s three bedroom apartment in Lagos, Nigeria, having zero clue and knowledge about the few techie techie things I now know “a lot” about. Due to the loud noise of Lagos streets, I was forced to always record at night on my Tecno Y3, so i could have less noise from human daytime activities. You remember when I did the No one is born gay or lesbian in Nigeria episode, that was an era in Nigeria, when we laughed off the bread seller turned model’s homophobic slurs, or when our first episode went up.
At the end of season one, i just could not wait for the production of season two , which kept me on the roads of Nigeria for 10 days speaking with Queer folx. Dear listener, you can tell i enjoy what i’m doing, sometimes all i do all night is put off the light, put on the herbs, plug in the headphone and edit the podcast or reply to emails. after a long day. I enjoyed recording in these Nigerian cities that have their own unique Queer narratives, with every community came the stories of strength, resilience, and bravery. I never thought that podcast i started from the bathroom would be what you’ll like to listen to, never knew you’ll tell me how much the stories i tell inspire you. The days when i wake up to your short emails or instagram messages, i smiled. I never foresaw the financial responsibilities that comes with the podcast, but you, you , dear listener, have used the donation button few times to keep me going.
By the end of season III, i thought to take a bow out, i waved podcast hosting good bye, with intents of production for other hosts. You again, dear listener asked “Hey Queernerd, i haven’t heard the podcast in a while, i smiled like smacking my lips knowing i don’t intend to sit before this microphone. Dear listener, you have heard me, you have heard me change, i have grown, i have progressed. i have evolved over the years. it’s now three years today since you first found my shy, geeky, and naive self. I remember when i would cry then send my thoughts over a topic to you, you will listen and send to your contact, till i now pride in ten thousand downloads. During the height of Covid 19, when i had lost my phone to the police raid of my apartment, you asked that i speak to you when i was feeling the lowest, dear listener you listened to all six episodes of the covid-19 bonus series, and if only you listened well you could hear my depression.
If i wont lie to myself dear listener, your listenership, reviews and messages, have not just built our relationship, you have helped me grow, if you don’t believe try out the podcast’s first 12 episodes, and be glad you did it, friend, you did it. Finally, We are 3 years together and this is cheers to your support and to myself for allowing myself grow through this. Thank you Dear Listener, Volunteers, Friends, and supporters.
Season IV premiered yesterday, starting with the narratives of police violations across West Africa. Just in the first three months of 2021, Ghana, Nigeria, and Cameroon have recorded cases of Violation of Queer folks. On the soil of west Africa, this isn’t new again to media, with various socio-cultural and governmental institution militating against the decriminalization of LGBTIQ+ rights in Ghana and Nigeria in recent times. I noted the pattern of arrest across these countries, where all these violation of queer folks had happened in the the first months of 2021, comparing them to those of the past. Also, acknowledging the possibilities of the a new form of activism against the police, and the illegal arrest of LGBT folx in West Africa.
Who killed 19 years old John in Lagos ? – QueerCity
- Who killed 19 years old John in Lagos ?
- Getting Justice for Cameroonian Transwomen Shakira and Patricia amidst death threats with Hamlet.
- HIV stigmatization amongst Nigerian Gay men with Raldie Young
- Did Allah make sexuality innate in Islam: A crossover episode with Ynaija Non-Binary Blog
- Queering Our indigenous and traditional literary narrative: A night in Ibadan