The price for love(Ewa Gerald Onyebuchi) 1
Earphones fastened to my ears. Asa's Jailer plays continuously, I don't change it. We have been on the plane for so long. I whisper to myself. Somehow I feel the plane is static, and I'm already exhausted like hell. I turn to my side to find the child sleeping, quietly snoring away on her mother's lap. A while ago, she was all restless, disturbing her mother for this and that and asking if the plane had stopped, if we'd arrived already. She's beautiful, I mean the little girl. She could be five or six, maybe ten, and she speaks good English. Her mother is also asleep with a mouth standing agape, she doesn't realize her phone has dropped from a loose fist. She must have been so stressed out. I pick it up and put beside her, my hand brushing hers; still she doesn't feel a thing.
Suddenly I take my eyes off them, pressing all the more to the window on my right, I watch as the birds hover around, some brushing past the body of the plane with such reckless abandon. What if they are hit? They defy the wind and spread their wings.

2
Stop calling me a prisoner... I sing along.
So far so could I have failed to sleep. Not that I don't want to. I can't. I am terrified of what I am going to do when I get home—I would finally have this heart to heart talk with my parents concerning something of crucial interest to me. I don't know how my parents would accept this given that they are religious conservatives. Or maybe, upon hearing what I have to say, they would probably disown me as they did my elder brother, Kunle, who decided to study music at Havard; instead of Law they wanted to force down his throat. The last time I saw him, that was last Christmas, he looked good, slightly chubby on the face, arms, and around the waist. He had gained a few heights, and his trousers drooled halfway down his buttocks. Something that made father to wear a frown and hissed each time he saw him.
I remember making jest of him: Brother, you have grown fat o. Your tummy is no longer flat. And he told me that calling someone fat in America was derogatory. He also said that in America, human rights are taken seriously, not the way they do it in Nigeria. Over there, anyone that tries to infringe on the rights of a person comes under the full weight of the law. He had began to talk about America so much, describing it in way that made my skin flush with the desire to abandon Nigeria for the US.
So grateful he was around last year's Christmas, although he had stayed a few days after Christmas and traveled to Las Vegas before the New year came. We went partying and I attended some of the shows he organized for the rich boys in Lagos. The day Kunle left, mother, Sister Nike, and I saw him off to the airport where he boarded the first flight; but father, who had not uttered a word or two to him upon his arrival, didn't even look his way or wish him farewell following his departure.
'I thought he has changed... Gush! So pathetic of him!' Kunle remarked on the way to the airport.
'Son, he is still your father you know. Please, don't take anything he has done to heart. Just give him some time. I know he will change,' mother opined as she held on the wheels, honking at a careless driver who left his lane, trying to enter another. A driver cusses another. The cussed cussess in return. Cusses rend the frigid morning air. That's Lagos Traffic for you.
'Mummy, you always defend him. Stop it!' Sister Nike interrupted.
'Oya! Shuuhh... No body asked your opinion here,' my mother protested.
'Mami, talk to your husband. Else, you won't see me ever again.'
'Ejo! Please, my son, it hasn't come to this. I will try to talk to him. You know your father now, when he decides anything, he stands by it. But please, promise you will come home any time you are free, and you would call home from time to time...' I kept mute, had so much to say but didn't at that moment. I just stared out through the car window, at the blue sky, the phalanx of yellow buses standing on one side of the road and people rushing to fill them up, and the hawkers displaying their variety of products in ash trays.
'Ok, I will.' We arrived the airport and waited there until his flight was called, and bade him as he hopped on the plane.

3
It's December and Christmas is just in three days. I don't know if Kunle would change his mind about traveling down to Nigeria. We talk via Skype. I have been trying to convince him to come home. I tell him that father has finally forgiven him, as though he did something wrong, and has started to miss him—at least that's what mother told me on phone last night; I have been away from my parents since last Christmas.
My mind is a canister of thoughts. I am thinking about myself... How I have grown into a man not with beards and catchy cubes of muscles, not in the slightest physical appearance (any way, that inclusive) but in the decisions I have made. Positive or good, owning up to them was what mattered.
I have just rounded off youth service; Abuja, thank you for your hospitality. By the way, camp wouldn't have been fun if I hadn't met Somto. From the early morning parades, which was a must, had shortchanged my sleep to the compulsory, but extremely boring SAED lectures which greeted our afternoons—I had to put on my dark shades to avoid been caught while dozing off during the lecture. Sometimes I was unlucky enough to be caught. Every activity on camp was compulsory and some frustrating. Yet, like I said, thanks to Somto who made them less frustrating and boring.

4
Prior to camp, I had no intention of falling in love, not that I had actually gathered my bags and heart all the way from Lagos to Abuja just for that purpose. At least not after surviving a heart break, which lasted for some time and almost drove me insane. I thought deleting my social media accounts and changing my phone numbers would help me forget him, completely alienate myself from the him. But it didn't. Lekan kept appearing like an uninvited guest, in my dreams, everywhere I went; and the worst part was we attended the same university at the time and took some courses together—he was in dentistry and I was in the department of medicine and surgery.
Lekan and myself had something in the past, something beautiful, something strong enough to conjure up suicidal thoughts in me the moment it died and ceased to exist. One day, precisely on those afternoons when the yellow sun was hot and fully baked and already spreading its wings, I had boarded a cab from college of medicine, where I went to see a sick course mate, to his flat just some distance away. I knocked as courtesy demands. I waited for the door to fling open. Nothing happened. I knocked again. Still the door didn't open. The waiting had started to crawl up my skin.
So I pushed my way in, the force almost tossing me off my feet. And there I saw him. Stark naked, shamelessly giving someone doggy style as though it was a home lesson. His chocolate skin streaming drown with sweats. I stood agape before them. At least, he could have had the decency to take her to a hotel if he was so horny or bolted the door. Then the lady stared at me, taking a leaning position on the bed, with her arms spread out, legs crossed, sweat breaking all over her. She gave me that look of and what's your business, Mr man. He tried to come close to me but I cringed. He was about to push me outside as though I was something filthy, a rag that needed to be disposed after serving its purpose. 'Don't touch me,' I screamed, and then, stomped out.

After that day I deleted his contacts and unfriended him from all my social media accounts, before I finally had those accounts deleted. That night in my room, I cried profusely. This was someone I had given my heart to ever since he told me he was gay and that he loved me. I believed him, I believed love. I thought of taking my life (thank goodness I didn't). I thought of who to call that night. Eki. Bimbo. Kemi. My course mates. But they wouldn't understand me, at best they would be so surprised the moment I told them I was gay. I stopped. So I rang my sister up.
'Hello! Aburo mi, what's up?' Sister Nike picks the call
'Sister, I'm so tired,' I said in between hot tears.
'Baby, calm down! Da ekun duro! Tell me, what happened.' I did not say, anything, but she sensed my plight.
'It's him, right? Shey Lekan? I sob and nod as though she could see the act through the phone.
'Shola, forget him. I didn't like that boy the first time I saw him. Please, forget him and focus on your final exams for now. Someone better would come.'
But how can I just forget Lekan and all we had together. But Sister Nike assured that I would; that I would heal, although not immediately. But I didn't heal until we had taken our last MB exams and left the university. Soon, I forgot all about him. Upon graduation, I decided to get new facebook, instagram, and twitter accounts. The least I have heard is that Lekan now has a girlfriend.
I chose Abuja because I wanted to be far away from my parents. I was born and bred in Lagos, attended Primary and Secondary school there. Went to the University of Lagos. Ah-ah, give me some break. I needed a change of environment. Although my father had wanted me to serve in Lagos. But I refused.

5
Now, back to Somto, my heart...
It was at the hostel, one cool evening I had met him. He was strolling in from the parade ground, breathing like someone that had just finished hiking down Kilimanjaro. I was sitting upright on my bed, while he sprawled on his bed located across from mine. Eyes on my phone I didn't notice he had been staring. The moment I lifted my head, my eyes caught his and he shifted his. Then I resumed what I was looking at.
'What's that you are so engrossed with?' He asked.
'Ehm... You are talking to me?' I asked. He didn't respond. But he threw himself on a sitting position beside me.
'Let me see...' He grabbed the phone from my shaky hands. My heart started to race. I could feel butterflies playing around in my belly. I raised an eyebrow, confused, surprised, but already with the sensation in my stomach of something gathering. I felt the warmth of his body pressing hard to mine. I gulp down saliva in fear, quickly. I had been viewing some shirtless hotty guys from a website. I froze the minute he took my palms into his, tickled it and placed the phone on it. Then he smiled and winked at me, in a way that made it so glaring, so crystal clear we were both on the same page. Then we exchanged numbers after getting all chatty.
We went everywhere on camp, always together, in a way that raised eyebrow, laughed when something funny came up—his was usually loud and hard like rock, mine was girlish. We cried when the need arose. I can't remember a single moment we were apart, maybe, except for those times I had to check the patients at the sickbay. The night before we finally left the camp for our ppa's I wore a worried expression. He noticed. We were chilling at mammy market. 'What is it, dear? he asked.
'I don't know. I'm afraid you will leave me for another when we finally leave here or after service.'
'Why? But I have already agreed to work out my ppa, so we would be together. Baby, we will be together even after camp. I won't leave you.' I felt a deep sense of peace and comfort from his words. So, I trusted him.
Luckily we both served at the ministry of health, he didn't have to lobby for it. I served as the doctor while he served at the pharmaceutical department.
One of the flight attendants has announced we were already in Lagos. I take a deep sigh. The woman and child on my side are drawn out of their slumber. Everyone is thanking Jesus for being with us all through the flight. I roll my eyes, wondering where he actually is on the plane. If he actually feels the tension pouring through my veins.

6
I am at home. Mother has prepared my favorite—Efo riro with pounded yam. Sister Nike is in Ibadan with her husband. My father is still at the office and would come later in the night. These days he gets up very early each morning and comes back late at night. Mother complains. He's vying for a seat in the house of assembly and would stop at nothing until he gets it. Mother is the principal of one of the big and popular schools in Lagos, a school for the high-class like herself.
'How is the food, my son. Hope you are enjoying it.' I mumble my yes with a piece of meat in my mouth.
'And how was service?' she asks again.
I gulp down a glass of water. 'Fine ma.'
'I am so happy for you, my son. You are now a doctor. Our doctor. The only thing that remains is marriage. Hope you know.' I look at her, and instantly, turn my face away. Yes I know. But sadly, I don't know if she would like my choice. I don't tell her, yet. I wait till father is back.

7
It's morning and my parents are quarreling. I have told them already; I should have the previous night, but he was too tired to listen. I hear my father call my mother a stupid woman for the first time. I'm so surprised. My heart breaks. Anxiety creeps upon me like a ghost.
'So, he's now my son, shey? When he does something bad, the woman is to blame, and if he does something good, the man takes the praise.
'What did you say?' He lifts a hand as if to hit her and she drifts away. 'Woman, I say talk to your son. I won't take this rubbish. So I sent him to school and this is what I get? For crying out loud, what would people say about me? My campaign? Jesus, I will be a laughing stock!' he yells at her, and slams the door after him. I hear the revving of his car engine before it picks a speed out of the gate. Mother looks at me and shakes her head and it stings my soul.
At that moment, I knew something had died between us. She did not speak to me throughout that day or the following day, neither did my father. I would start to feel like a guest: my name was not called when meals were served, and no body woke me up for the morning family devotion. This feeling weighed down on me until I decided to gather my things and leave the house. They didn't have to tell me they didn't want me, I read it from the stifling distance we maintained, the hurtful glances given, as though I had leprosy. Christmas for me, has ended even before it started.

Somto had told me it wasn't going to be easy coming out. The day he told he came out to his parents, as usual they disowned him. But his father did not stop sending him money for tuition and other fees. The night the incidence transpired, I cried like a baby over the phone. I called Sister Nike and she consoled me and promised to talk some sense into father. But I so much doubt if he would see reasons with her. My brother who also knew I was gay said he wasn't surprised at father's action, but mother's left his jaw hanging in surprise. He promises to talk to her. To maybe convince them that I was neither mad nor cursed.
And I called Somto to inform him of my coming to his place, in Bayelsa; maybe from there, we would leave for America. He owns a big pharmacy, now, if not the biggest in the State.
'I told you that it's not going to be easy. I guess it's just the price that needed to be paid for love,' Somto says.
'I know... But I didn't expect this...'

'Although my parents have finally accepted me after many years, I still feel my father isn't that comfortable, sometimes. But who cares! This is me, and I love who I am. You have taken the major step in coming out and I love you for that. And for your parents, just give them some time, they would begin to accept this reality. What if they don't? Who cares? He laughs, loud enough for me to hear. Baby, can't wait to see you again. Gush! Love you!' The call ends.
Once again, those words force peace and comfort to run down my spine.

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