She was an amazing mom and I will always love her.

My name is Deinde Falase, and I'm from Nigeria. I grew up in Ibadan in the southwestern part of Nigeria. I come from a family of seven: mom, dad and five kids. My dad was a civil engineer and my mom was a diplomatic secretary in one of the government parastatals. My mom had always been the most prominent force in my life. Though she had her own job, my father was the main breadwinner. He was constantly travelling, and he wasn't the kind of dad that was really interested in the day-to-day affairs of the house. His business was to pay our school fees, and that was all he was concerned about. So it was mom that was the administrator, the comforter, the one who would attend the PTA meetings, take you to the doctor or the hospital, take you to parties, take you shopping, supervise homework…  So mom was the reliable one, always present. She was also very fashionable, a fashionista even before the word was invented, a real trendsetter. I was always very proud to be seen with her, to be acknowledged as her son.

I started realizing my sexuality as early as my primary school years. I felt more attracted to boys than girls. And, you know, I just sort of felt that this is weird, why am I the only one with this condition in the world? When I was in high school, I think I was twelve or thirteen, I read a novel by James Hadley Chase. In the novel there was a gay character, although not well presented, but at least that gave me a sense of relief that, okay, I'm not the only one with this affliction in the world. By this stage, all my friends started having girlfriends. They used to tease me, saying, “Where's the girlfriend?” Many girls had crushes on me, but I of course did not pursue them. It was my mom that just sort of knew in a way. She would say, “This is not the time for you to worry about girlfriends. For now, your focus should be on your education. I don't even want to have girls visiting you. I want you to focus on your books, and when you get into university, then you can do whatever you like. But for now, under my roof, your main focus should be your books.” Given the social class my parents belonged to, you had no option but to succeed academically. And that suited me just fine.

My father passed away during my first year at university. We felt his absence physically and economically. As times began to change, and I was growing older,  my mother began to consider it a priority that I have a girlfriend. One evening, she brought out a set of jewellery, little baby bangles, solid gold bangles. She said, “This is for your first child, whether it's a boy or a girl. I had it especially made for you”. How could I tell her then and there that I was never going to get married and have children - there was no way I could tell her.

I was no longer living at home, as I'd moved to the capital city of Nigeria and I was working at the television station. I received news of the passing of a very close friend of mine. Our parents knew each other, we had attended the same primary school, we’d lived in the same neighbourhood. Our parents had been very close, especially our mothers. My mother had loved him to bits – he often visited her, even if I was not there. She was devastated when I broke the news to her. A few days later, she called to let me know that she had discovered that he had been gay and had died from AIDS. “Well that’s life”, I said. She didn’t make any judgemental comments at the time.

When I was in the UK studying for my Masters, I was talking with one of my friends, a gay guy from Europe, and he was telling me about how he disclosed his sexual identity to his family. I told him that I didn’t think I could ever speak to my mom about being gay. He said, “Don't you want your mom to know who you really are? Why not give her the benefit of the doubt? You’re not giving her enough credit – mothers generally love their children unconditionally”. His words really got me thinking, but I just couldn’t broach the topic with her. As my mom grew older, she became increasingly more devout, serving as a deacon in the church. I thought, “If I tell her, how will she reconcile this with the scripture from her bible? How will she deal with it? How will she go to church?”. I just didn't want to put her through it, because she had so much on her plate as it was. I also had another sister who was autistic, and had special needs. So she was dealing with this, in addition to widowhood. Nigerian society is extremely homophobic – I couldn’t deal with my mother having to contend with slurs, and homophobic comments. My mom was a very sensitive person, and whilst she wouldn't react, I knew  she'd bury it deep inside, and it would start to hurt after a while.

By then, I was already something of a TV personality in Nigeria. My mom was obviously very proud of me because everywhere she went, people spoke to her about me. Many would ask, “When is he getting married? I'm sure all these Nigerian girls see him on TV, and fall in love with him!”. When the anti-gay law was passed in 2014, my first thought was that if perchance I am arrested and it becomes a big scandal, the person this is going to most affect is my mom.

I couldn't be there for her in her last years, I couldn't even make it to her funeral. And, in the Nigerian tradition, that is considered the ultimate offence. When I think of my mom, I feel a deep sense of loss, of guilt and deceit. Sometimes I ask myself, “Maybe I should have told her? Maybe I underestimated her? Maybe she would have been able to handle it. And, and, and…”. So those are the inner conflicts I still deal with in relation to my mom. I feel like I did not do right by her. I didn't even tell her that I was leaving Nigeria. It was just a brief goodbye on the phone. As much as I loved my mom, and will always cherish her in my heart, I had to also think about myself. I couldn't continue living in a country where I wouldn't feel safe, constantly looking over my shoulder. You know, I worked as a National Assembly correspondent, worked for and with the very people that passed the law! I was the reporter on duty. I had to report on the passing of the law. I just couldn't continue with this inner turmoil because I'm prone to depression, I've attempted suicide before. I thought, “If I continue like this, I might just go over the edge and kill myself one day”. Isn't it better that I'm alive? At least I'm grateful that I didn't go before her, because in some ways, she had already ‘lost’ me before…

I'm just sorry that my mom had to be a sort of sacrificial lamb. In this case, she deserved much, much better than that. I really feel that I let her down, but then again, I'll always remember a common refrain of hers: “The only thing I want for my children is for them to be very happy.” And so I think my happiness might have made her feel better. Although, I think she had a sense that I wasn’t altogether happy. Sometimes, I’d go home for the weekend. She could tell that there was something wrong, that I had things inside of me that I didn't want to share. And she would say, “Whatever it is, I'm here for you. Let's talk about it. Is it work, stress, a relationship?” I would bat away her questions. Ultimately, I couldn’t deal with her taking it badly – what if she developed high blood pressure, medical complications, and died? I would never be able to forgive myself.

In Nigeria, the church is the dominant broadcaster of homophobia and transphobia. Church was central to her life, and she was a key figure in the church. I sometimes wonder…but I just knew it would have eaten her up, like a cancer! But still, even up till now, I'm still unsure about whether I took the right decision, whether I did right by her or not. But I hope that she has forgiven me and understands. The love will always be there, and she lives on in my heart forever. And I'm very, very grateful for all the sacrifices, all the lessons, all the joys, all the good times we had with her. She was an amazing mom and I will always love her.