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People log in to gay dating apps and pretend to be gay only to connect with people and ambush them. I later learned that I had been what is called “kitoed,” a scam common within the gay community in Nigeria. I made my way to one, where my mother sent me a phone card to sell, to pay for my transport back to school that evening. In Nigeria, people sell phone lines on the streets at umbrella-covered vendor stands. I called my mother and lied to her, saying that I had been mugged. Outside, I had to ask strangers for money to return to school, all to no avail. I begged for my clothes, but all they gave me was my shorts. When the others returned with my card, they stripped me naked, threw my wallet and phone at me, and ordered me to run out and not look back. The last time his belt left my back, I took the liberty and turned with my stomach facing up. He shushed me, but I couldn’t bear the pain any longer. I could not bear it, and I pleaded for him to stop, fearing that he would kill me. He would raise his belt and shout, “Keep quiet, you faggot!” as he continued to lash his belt against my back. I tried to be strong at the beginning, but the belt started to cut through my skin, and I began sobbing. I lay with my face down as he continued to flog me with his belt. He asked me, “Why do you sleep with men when there are so many women?” I began to answer, to explain, only to be met with a punch. He beat me with a belt until he got the call that they’d withdrawn money from my account. A few of them went to an ATM to withdraw money from my account, while one held me hostage. They demanded my wallet and my phone, which I handed over, fearing for my life. That was when three other guys jumped out of his closet. When I finally got inside, he slammed the door shut. He lived in a kind of slum with clustered houses, but he seemed warm and enthusiastic as we hit on each other walking to his apartment. I found myself thinking ahead-that I might have a steady partner to visit regularly in Enugu. This was all so new, and I couldn’t believe my luck: a hot man desired me. He was not tall, but very muscular, which excited me. I took a cab to his place from the bus station in Enugu. While I was fearful of destruction, I could not change who I was. Being pushed away felt like being excommunicated from my own family. I knew I didn’t belong in the church, but I tried because the church had always been an integral part of my life. While my head pastor spoke generally, I began to think he was speaking directly to me. The head pastors at my church always spoke of the destruction of people who acted like Sodom and Gomorrah in the Bible. I believed my relationship with God was solid, but men would make you believe otherwise. Once, after having sex with another man, we prayed together for forgiveness.
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We would meet, have sex, and in the morning, I would pray for forgiveness. The church allowed me not to be questioned by my friends in college, and my neighbors were not suspicious due to my mostly hooking up with straight-passing men who carried big Bibles under their arms too. Being unable to date or marry women as a member of the church, I found myself constantly around men. Though the church was supposed to change me, it just created more shields.