by Ifeoluwa Olutayo
Whether or not Nigerians acknowledge it, love exists not only in the fixtures of hetero-relationships. There has been an attempt, through religion, faulty logic and above all, legislation, to “scare” LGBTQ+ people straight (as evidenced by the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act of 2013, assented by then-president Goodluck Jonathan).
It has, for the most part, resulted in harrowing occurrences of abuse, even from those the victims would call family. All of this could be said to stem from a certain view of LGBTQ+ love as “the other,” this abnormal occurrence, deviancy, and so forth.
Victor Ugoo Njoku and Neec Nonso’s feature-length documentary sets out to change that view, among other things. It is a chronicling of love through three LGBTQ+ couples living in Nigeria, and over the length of its runtime, it does a superb job of bringing people into the normalcy of LGBTQ+ love, and how hetero experiences and ideas of love are not so different.
The documentary opens with a video of the popular content creator, James Brown berating people arrested at an alleged gay wedding for doing too much. It sets the tone, as a figure that is openly queer seeks to police others for the same, even though James Brown’s entire career in influencing was launched in the aftermath of a much-publicized arrest. I pondered on the politics of power and fame, a curated image protected by amusement.
The interviewees provide a deeply personal account of their respective journeys of love and the struggles of living in a country where you are actively hunted for being true to yourself. Names are changed specifically for the documentary, masks are worn by these subjects, and voices are distorted to protect their identities, but the masking also speaks to the hidden lives they have to live to be themselves, the double lives they lead where safety and self-expression are disappointingly mutually exclusive. It provides a harsh reminder of the violent politics of identity in a deeply patriarchal, homophobic and religious Nigerian society.
Despite that harshness, the subjects of this documentary are photographed with care, with a certain softness that I appreciated from start to finish, dwelling on their physical connections to represent their relationships at times (in connecting hands, in the embrace of bodies, in the proximity of working and even in the laxity of rest).
The documentary interviews are broken up by context provided by a narrator, with images of flowers blooming and shining against a monochrome world, providing visual accompaniment to the voice as he moves through poetic narration, historical context, and important information. I think of those flowers as the subjects, thriving in a world that provides little of the colour they possess, unaccepting of their Being.
The lesbian couple, Ijeoma and Emmanuella speak to their jobs, familial conditions, upbringing and their meeting. They are a home of content creation and entertainment, and they bring that very energy into their stories. They are the only couple who are interviewed with their identities revealed, a choice that they made because they are already out there because of the work they do, and even though there are very real dangers in doing that, they push on, as Ella would go on to describe with so many words.
It’s a difficult path they’ve walked to get to this point, with initial troubles dealing with parental (at times physical) abuse (Ijeoma), which she credits Ella for saving her from, and Ella’s family threatening something along the lines of conversion therapy when they found out she was a lesbian. It speaks to the dearth of safe spaces for LGBTQ+ people to assert their identities, even when it is for a familial audience that preaches unconditional love and affection.
With the couple Maya and Silva, and the gay couple CJ and Jeffrey, we find some of the same issues; violent altercations for being themselves, and in the case of Jeffrey, a reticence to let his father know in a bid to preserve his relationship with him. (the dearth of safe spaces makes another appearance).
Jeffrey even provides context to the lengths some gay men have to go to to get some sense of normalcy, entering into marriages with the opposite sex to satisfy family obligations, or to turn suspecting gazes away from them.
Preservation is a thread that runs through this documentary, being careful, and not doing too much. Even when they do this, they fall victim to the ills of Nigerian living, with Maya suffering multiple attacks on his person, for example.
It echoes a harrowing reality for LGBTQ+ people living here in Nigeria, as assailants rarely face justice in Nigeria for attacking (and murdering) them, with many such cases left to fester to this day, even if there are legitimate suspects and a basis for investigation.
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It’s telling that it is mentioned by one of the interviewees that a possible removal of the Prohibition Act won’t protect members of the LGBTQ+ community from such violent acts and may even exacerbate the frequency of such assaults, with the law enforcement also unchanged on their views of who gets justice and protection. It is a chilling thought, this choice to dispense help and support from public servants, based on sexuality and it sets a dangerous precedent for all.
The documentary also touches on their relationships with religion, as one would not be wrong to mention that religious beliefs drive a lot of the hate for LGBTQ+ people in Nigeria. It’s a conflicting mix of emotions when you go to church and the pastor in his sermon goes on to call you a deviant going to hell, but the couples have their unique ways of dealing with religion and spirituality, real and beautiful.
Access to quality healthcare is also something that LGBTQ+ people have to deal with, in a lot of places, due to legislation criminalizing their existence, ill-equipped to provide the care that they need. For the couples and by extension, the large community of LGBTQ+ people in Nigeria, it’s a real worry, and this documentary interrogates this pressing need.
Community is big for LGBTQ+ people in Nigeria, as it provides a sense of belonging and also much-needed safety. Victor and Neec take care in providing some information into what spaces are providing this crucial organizing and documentation, as it provides needed contexts as to what the community experiences on a day-to-day basis.
This Is Love provides a safe space for these three LGBTQ+ couples to be themselves as they relate their quirks, and their relationship considerations, and welcome tales of navigating the harsh realities of existing in Nigerian society. It provides a relation basis for so many LGBTQ+ Nigerians, who need to know that their lives and their love can thrive here, despite the herculean obstructions of criminal legislation.
It also brings a much-needed topic into public discourse and provides a humanizing context, in a country that thrives on dehumanizing members of the LGBTQ+ community. We need that more than ever if we are to transcend the hate that thrives in the hearts and minds of many.
