Uganda Ethics Minister: homosexual behavior is ‘repugnant’


By Mick Krever, CNN

Homosexual behavior is “repugnant to the lives of the people of Uganda,” Simon Lokodo, the Minister for Ethics and Integrity, told CNN’s Hala Gorani, sitting in for Christiane Amanpour, on Wednesday.

A Ugandan bill passed by parliament in December would punish gay and lesbian people with lengthy prison sentences – including, in some cases, life behind bars.

Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni has just signed that bill, according to the minister, but has not yet handed it over to parliament.

“If you want to do your thing, do it yourself,” Lokodo said. “But please, don’t embarrass, don’t involve, don’t bring any Ugandan to this activity, because it’s not acceptable.”

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by Kosisochukwu Nnebe


A first reaction

We had just finished installing my piece when two women walked in. The only other occupants of the exhibition room were the artists, curators and technicians, so when the women entered, it became obvious from the perplexity written across both their faces that they had no prior knowledge of the event. The smaller of the two, slowly freeing herself from the confines of her winter wear, headed straight to my installation, stopping only when she stood directly in front of it.

I watched anxiously from across the room; trying my best to read the slightest lift of an eyebrow, tilt of the head or tug of the lip. My heart lifted when her lips suddenly curled into a small smile.

“I love it”, she said, turning back to beckon her friend toward the piece.

“It shows all the different kinds of black women! I can relate to all of them”, she continued, voice rising as her excitement became more apparent.

Her subsequent silence came as a surprise and I watched as her gaze trailed over to the third sheet of Plexiglas. In my mind’s eye I retraced the lines that I had painted onto that piece, recreating the image:  a black woman standing with a cigarette dangling from her mouth, a lace top baring her midriff, shorts riding high on her waist and a pair of black converse on her feet. She took a few steps closer, going around the piece to stand right in front of the fictional character that I had created – a character that nonetheless represented one aspect of me.

“I hate that woman.”

My heart skipped a beat and I waited with baited breath for her next words. Her eyes were still fixated on the painting as the curator made her way to the woman’s  side.

“That woman is ruining it for us!” she said, voice getting louder as her frustration and anger towards this one, singular representation of black womanhood rose.

Pointing at the other three women depicted in the installation she continued: “Those threewomen I can identify with – they are respectable; they are queens. That third woman isn’t. I hate her. She’s all you see in the media. She ruins it for us.”

And all at once, I realized that I had been right to include this woman in my installation, to include her in my understanding of the modern black woman.

The black female body

As a black woman, I struggle to reclaim the image of my body. I may have reconstructed,
re-envisioned and reinterpreted it, but in the eyes of another, those attempts fall to pieces and my body takes on a different meaning. In a fashion that dates back to colonialism, slavery andpast and present ethnographic exhibitions, our bodies take on contrasting roles as tools of both our oppression and our liberation.

I remember the feeling of bubbling frustration, of rising bile and disgust as I first heard, and later researched, the story of Saartjie Baartman, the Hottentot Venus: a Khoisan woman who found herself exhibited as a freak show attraction in 19th century Europe. The Hottentot Venus’ story is one in which the black woman’s “strange” and “grotesque” body marks her as “other”, as outside the boundaries of perfection, progress and modernity. Her large behind, and her exaggerated genitals were seen as proof of her animalistic sexuality and constructed as antithetical to the purity of the European woman.

There was an element of the installation that I had debated whether or not to include for which I had already bought the canvas and sketched out the outline: a black woman posing in the nude, self-assured and proud.  By including her in the installation, I wanted to highlight that themodern black woman has reclaimed her body. It is hers and no one else’s.

My family didn’t see it in the same way.  Profuse and winding explanations were required before I could get them to understand my message. The black female body is one that is not easily interpreted. In need for advice, I called up a friend who told me what I already knew: “ If it were a white woman, you could easily find it in a doctor’s office, but to have a painting of a nakedblack woman… that’s a different story. It’s not seen the same way”.

This, I later came to realize, consisted of a process of “unmirroring”.  Black feminist artist and theorist Lorraine O’Grady writes “To name ourselves rather than be named we must first see ourselves. For some of us, this will not be easy. So long unmirrored, we may have forgotten how we look”.  Carla Williams, a black photographer specializing in nude self-portraits, would come to describe this same phenomenon. In selecting her portraits for exhibition, as her body became subject to “unmirroring”, Williams came to realize that “my body could never be simply formal, or emotional, or personal. Most viewers would always see a black body regardless of my intent”.

In her article, “The Batty Politic: Toward an Aesthetic of the Black Female Body”, Janell Hobson explains the significance of the “batty” as a liberatory and unashamed view of the body.  An exploration of the batty as a site of resistance and decolonization is a sharp contrast from its use as a way to reinforce shame. For a dancehall dancer for example, the disapproval of her rear end incites her to “shove it all the more, as a defiant gesture that dares to claim the black female batty as visible, pronounced, sexy and beautiful”.  And so the batty, in addition to the black female body, is used to defy a historical tradition that has served to degrade it.  However, intent oftentimes becomes lost as a black woman’s body becomes subject to misinterpretation and mislabeling.

In the same way, I, as an artist, yearn to reclaim the black female body – to extricate it from a narrative that labels it “grotesque”, “hypersexualized”, “strange” or “lascivious” and rather, present it as the work of art that I believe it to be. In the words of Hobson, “The creation of a black feminist aesthetic must challenge dominant culture’s discourse of the black body grotesque and articulate a black liberation discourse on the black body beautiful”.

That I decided not to include the element speaks louder than my words. I am still struggling with the process of “unmirroring”, whereby my vision of the black woman’s sexuality and body remains clouded by the viewers predispositions towards it.

The queen and the hoe

To engage with the white supremacist structure in which they were situated, some black womenengaged in the creation of positive spaces wherein they could develop performative strategies for safety. For example, in the antebellum south, the kitchen became a space within the hostile space of the “big house, wherein black female slaves could articulate and teach such rhetorical strategies. As described by Patricia Hills Collins, safe spaces were constructed to “dispel the false and negative stereotypes of black femininity”, but were also “social spaces where black women [could] speak freely”.

These spaces were re-imagined during the era of black “club women” in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. They provided protection from violence and abuse, as black women came to perform “the good woman”, participating in a cult of “true” womanhood mediated around 4 cardinal values: piety, purity, submissiveness and domesticity.

The performance of the black “lady” was in many ways a defense against a more dominant characterization of the black body and sexuality as “lascivious” and “grotesque” and thus entailed an adherence to rigorous moral values. A “tucking” in of their “too large behinds” located them within the boundaries of respectability, whereas any behavior that called deliberate attention to their anatomy was seen as encouraging the labeling of their bodies as “deviant”.

This creation of a safe-space resulted in an exclusion of women who step outside the boundaries of the construction of black femininity, as the black “lady” is defined in opposition to the hypersexualized Jezebel. In other words, a dichotomy was created between “queen” and “hoe”.

And so, the safe-space finds itself interlinked with the concept of shame. Those who do not perform acceptable femininity are punished for their deviations through exclusion, thus reinforcing the normative practices of black femininity. In the words of black female scholar Shanara Reid-Brinkley, “If black women may choose only between the subjectivity of the black queen or the whore, they will find themselves trapped in an identity that depends upon the negation of other black women”.

The women who have decided to challenge the racist, patriarchal and classist society in which they find themselves, by embracing their sexuality and desiring that their body be seen, who like any other individual may make mistakes, but also push against the boundaries of society, should not be shamed. To shame these women, to reject them from such safe-spaces created for protection, is to ultimately justify any violence committed against them. 

A faulty system and a lack of narratives 

“She ruins it for us.”

Those are strong, meaningful words. Those are hurtful words. Those are words that make me realize the extent to which the system has succeeded in creating a rift between us, in drawing at the threads that unite us and leaving us to stare at each other from across an ever-widening schism—knowing how to build a bridge but not necessarily willing to do so.

We have become our own enemies. As melodramatic and hyperbolic as this statement may first appear, this woman’s reaction to my decision to include a black woman with a cigarette held between tinted lips, a crop-top riding up her abdomen and shorts hitched up high on her thighs is telling. The image is one we are well accustomed to. It is constantly shown on the media, be it in music videos or on reality television. It is a dominant image that follows black women – clinging to their heels like a shadow, changing shape and size depending on the context, but impossible to shake off.

A study published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology in 2010 offered the thesis that black women are socially invisible. The study had two conclusions: first, black women are more likely than black men or white men and white women to go unnoticed by others in a group or social situation; second, comments made by black women are more likely to go unheard when made to a largely white audience. Both experiments also highlighted that for many of the participants, black women are seen as relatively interchangeable. This means that as black women, dealing with the double burden of race and gender, we have to fight twice as hard to stand out and have our individual and unique voices heard.

What this should highlight is the fact that our enemy is not the black woman performing her own version of black female sexuality, but rather the system that denies a place for our own narrative in the media. One image is chosen among many, and is used to perpetuate a stereotype that then goes on to affect an entire group. In this way, the stereotyping of all members of a group based on a selection of assumed negative characteristics becomes a characteristic of the manner in which racism operates.

That my decision to include within my own safe-space a woman whose shadow looms over black women could elicit such a reaction is surprising. It is a reaction that is conducive to the feeling of shame that is already so rampant among black women, that isolates them and breaks them down. In her book, “Sister Citizen”, Melissa Harris-Perry explains how “racial shaming is deployed to enforce hierarchy, sustain inequality, and create scapegoats”.

Harris-Perry is a woman I admire greatly and even more so after “Black Female Voices”, her public dialogue with bell hooks. During the question period, one woman took the microphone to recount her experience with the mental impact of being shamed by other black women for having multiple children with different fathers. Harris-Perry, in a very symbolic moment,  left her seat on-stage and stepped down to wrap her arms around this woman who bore the scars not only of racism, but also of shame enforced on her by women who were meant to be her sisters. This act of shaming, as Harris-Perry went on to say, “is the most dangerous thing in marginalized communities”. In shaming women because of their deviations from certain boundaries of constructed black femininity, we are in effect justifying any violence committed against them;
we are leaving them to fend for themselves.

Rather than putting down one voice, one representation of black womanhood, we should challenge a system that does not give our respective voices credence. Black women are complex – we are daughters, sisters, mothers, wives, single parents, CEOS, artists, writers, academics, performers, scientists, journalists, singers, dancers, and the list goes on. We need a plethora of different narratives that reflect the multitude of identities that are no less black, no less feminine, and no less worthy of respect and protection than any other. We need to challenge this system that will only let one voice be heard, that will turn us against one another, that will use us as a tool for our own oppression.

We’re getting there.

I remember the feeling of joy and excitement I experienced upon first watching The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl by Issa Rae. Finally, someone who understood me, someone who knew that black girls could be funny, creative and (most importantly) awkward! We loved the show – we loved it so much that the system took notice and HBO offered Issa Rae a chance to have her own television show. And we can’t forget about Scandal starring Kerry Washington, a beautiful, educated black woman, as a former White House Communications Director for the President of the US who has now started her own crisis management firm.  We need to celebrate these narratives and push for the breakthrough of many more.

With my installation, I wanted to redefine my own subjective definition of the modern black woman: a woman who is complex, multifaceted, and capable of making choices based not on the desires of others, but solely on her own. In doing so, I created my own safe-space and included within it all the dynamic and diverse identities with which I, as a Nigerian-Canadian woman, identify. The women who are represented in my installation have every right to exist, have every right to be protected, have every right to be respected and have every right to be represented. I am each and every one of these women, and to reject one would be a negation of my complexity as an individual.

As a friend once told me, astutely and with no hesitation “Beyoncé is not the problem. The problem is that we only get Beyoncé”.

It is time for us to challenge the system rather than create scapegoats.

Nigerian-Canadian Artist Kosisochukwu Nnebe’s latest project which is currently on display at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts as part of their Black History Month program, focuses on the identity of the modern black woman.

No Longer Silent: Guerrilla Writing Against Injustice

No Longer Silent: Guerrilla Writing Against Injustice

Is her happiness contagious?
I take for granted that ‘foreign-ness’ affords one a safety blanket not available to locals. So as they laze on the beach, she nestles her head between another’s bosom and strokes her side with her middle finger in a rather suggestive manner and at no point does she stop to think if this makes them uncomfortable. She never for a moment stops to think how her behaviour might impact them, in fact it is just in the moment before she closes her eyes in deep reverie that she realises why they choose to go to the beach at night because at least when the darkness falls those who plague the beach are all delinquent in some way, yet their kind…only their kind of delinquency is perhaps the most inadmissible. She doesn’t stop to think for a moment that her loud, boisterous games that cause her to speak of ideas and laws unimaginable to them and theirs may in fact be more than risqué and actually put them at risk. She doesn’t stop to think that when the time comes she can go back to her home where the law of the land and the law of the God she serves are separate, sovereign institutions. Institutions which she can choose to abide by or not, and yet she forgets they will remain here in this land where the law of man and that of the god they serve have been collapsed into one and the same code. So, she asks herself, “how does my happy differ from yours. Do our rainbows have the same colours? Do our hearts beat and break for the same reason? And is our struggle really the same?” Because while she can playfully look forward to the day when marriage could be a viable option for her, they dread the day their wedding bells will ring for a match will not have been made. While she speaks of her independence and freedom from eternal familial control, she forgets that here, in this place family defines who they are and will be. So again she asks herself, “does your happy differ from mine. Does my happy offend you? Does it colour you a colour to be recognised and scorned? Does my happy taint yours? Is it contagious?”


Due to the pervasive heteronomative cultures in many African nations, Nigeria inclusive, people in same-sex relationships face multiple layers of discrimination and are sworn to silence and often forced into hiding.

Home spits me out about three weeks into every visit. Home vehemently spits me out, and instead of standing my ground and fighting I pack my bags and run! I say no more of that because in the words of Audre Lorde, “your silence will not protect you.”[1] Feminist scholar Zora Neale Hurston wrote, “if you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”[2] So even if physically distanced from my Naija kin I join my voice to theirs and choose to guerrilla write my way to our collective freedom.

Even as I pen these words I question my authority and position as a liminal player at best. Admittedly I come to this struggle from a certain position of privilege having never truly lived out the sum of my identities in the land of my birth, Nigeria. The land that now challenges my very existence and right to human dignity. What I represent, and that of so many others like me poses such a threat to the heteronormative, patriarchal, islamo-judeo-christian Nigerian establishment that with the stroke of his pen our Oga at the top, President Goodluck Jonathan has deemed us criminal elements. Alas in the sea of corrupt politicians, human trafficking rings, 419ers, would be paedophiles, Boko Haram and other maleficent characters in Nigeria it is the homosexual person that is most frightful and dangerous. We are so dangerous in fact that just these words could land me in the slammer from anywhere between 10-14 years depending on what a judge requires as sufficient burden of proof, or indeed lack thereof.

One might ask why in the face of issues such as poverty, infant mortality, HIV/Aids, and Polio etc., I dare suggest fighting for the human rights of the LGBTQI community. The late Nelson Mandela said “to deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.”[3] Simply because gay rights are human rights and it is the responsibility of any good and just government to dedicate itself to creating legislature that ensures the full recognition and protection of every citizen under the law and in accordance to international human rights standards and not at the expense of the lives and livelihoods of the particularly vulnerable minority populations. Development and Queer theorist Susan Jolly asserts, the “assumption that while in the North people need sex and love, in the South they just need to eat”[4], has become an impediment to defending the human rights of ALL people in the global South. Jolly goes on to say that “in fact, lack of freedom to express sexuality can threaten survival, the most basic of human needs”[5] companionship and love which are essentially private matters should be of no concern to lawmakers. And yet in the words of Anthropologist ElIen Gruenbaum, “the emotional tenor of the rituals {and process surrounding suppressing articulations of sexual desire and sexuality} seems to have played the role symbolic anthropologists identified as transferring physical sensations and emotions from the individual into loyalty to society’s rules.”[6] Thus the Nigerian government has essentially made policing sexuality and peoples most intimate lives an affair of the state, whereas they should be concerned with protecting the rights and full humanity of all its citizens and not just a privileged few.

On January 20th this year we commemorated his legacy, which remains a source of inspiration for liberation and human rights struggles the world over. Writing from the Birmingham jail, on justice, legislation and human rights, Dr Martin Luther King Jr., invokes St Thomas Aquinas, “…any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statuses are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the segregated a false sense of inferiority.”[7] With this new law President Jonathan and his cohorts in the Nigerian senate have connived to segregate and imprison all non-heterosexual persons and those who know them in Nigeria. They hope to erode the personality and human dignity of these persons, and parade them as fodder for corruption and mob justice. Environmental Geographer Jon Binnie argues, “sexuality can be defined as a private affair- belonging in the private sphere”[8] and as such should not be debated and legislated by government; as there are many more pressing issues at stake than who consenting adults love and what they choose to do in private. By legislating sexuality the government is denying citizens the full expression of their humanity and thus engaging in gross discrimination of people with same-sex sexuality. The Nigerian gay community has never rallied or demanded for marriage rights, this has never been on the agenda, and The Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act has now been signed into law. This ruse of a law has essentially put a bull’s eye on the backs of otherwise perfectly law abiding citizens and made us Nigeria’s scapegoat.

Before I go any further I want to declare who I am for it is from the intersection of these identities that my authority, audacity and right come. I am a human being. I am a woman (cis-gendered female). I am a Nigerian, I am Edo, and I am an African. I am a Black person. I am also a God-respecting woman. Now pay attention to this part of my identity because it is this part that now renders me criminal, alien and fit for imprisonment in the land of my birth. I realise though that there is power in naming a thing for in naming my (our) sexuality and sexual identity, much like in naming a child into their destiny, we cease to be the person that was once invisible and explained away. At no other point in my young life than now have I appreciated the urgency and import of feminist Carol Hainsch’s words “the personal is political!”[9]

I am a Zami woman; this is my preferred term second to Amazon because both are rooted in the experiences of other women like me. Zami (n) is “a Carriacou word meaning women who work together as friends and lovers.”[10] Amazon, taken from the Dahomean Amazons[11], an elite group of warrior women who took an oath of loyalty to each other and swore to abstain from sexual relations with men. In fact men were forbidden to even touch or look at them, the punishment for which was death. Others understand this part of my identity to mean lesbian, Sapphic, dyke (another powerful term) or simply put a same-sex/gender loving woman. However one understands this, the bottom line is, I and other women like me are predisposed to pursuing romantic interactions with other women, much to the disdain of some straight men who consider women as objects for their pleasure and unfettered access.  Particularly when it dawns on them that this in fact means we are not very likely to “pullover”[12] and “wind am well”[13] for their sport or for any other reason.

While it is very difficult to know what pre-colonial African histories offered definitively on this subject, there are several instances that serve as clues in the historical archive that allow us to debunk this notion of homosexual/homosocial behaviour as fundamentally ‘unAfrican’. If we look at the examples in many cultures the continent over, we can begin to understand the local mechanisms, through which same-sex sexuality was and still is permissible in various African states, Nigeria inclusive. The Southern African archive provides many examples of this. Kendall investigates “motsoalle (special woman-woman friendships) relationships in Lesotho. She explains that the value placed on the need for companionship and love, over physical pleasure and penile penetrations, creates a safe space for women”[14]. Ruth Morgan tackles the issue of same-sex coupling amongst sangomas (female traditional healers) in Southern Africa. Through her observation she cites other female same-sex communities and traditions across the continent. In each instance there exist social parameters – social, economic, spiritual, or simply cultural, namely adolescent rites of passage that all allow for the exploration and elaboration of same-sex sexuality.[15] Here in Nigeria we have the tradition of the fattening rooms[16], where young women are pampered and taught by the older generation of women. These lessons include things from beautification, mercantilism and domestic behaviours, the young women also “receive instructions on how to achieve sexual fulfilment”[17] from their elders.  Yan Daudu[18] of the Hausa tradition provides yet another example of same-sex coupling. Chaka Zulus army considered intimacy between the male soldiers as fundamental in building battle loyalty. Let’s not forget the Igbo tradition of Female Husbands[19]researched extensively by scholar Ifi Amadiume. These examples may not speak directly to the issue of bodies coupling, but they do provide valid examples of same-sex communities that were revered, accepted and embedded in our cultural fabrics the continent over. Through this brief overview of various African traditions, it is clear that homosexual/homosocial behaviour is part of how African societies have forged communities and shaped identity throughout our known histories. What could be considered foreign, imported or borrowed is the overt sexual imagery and seemingly hedonistic values heralded as part of the protest of the western gay movement. These forms of protest are extremely context specific and cannot be translated on the rather conservative landscape of Nigerian and indeed other African cultural tapestries. That’s not to say that we do not have our examples of flamboyance, just look at the Wodaabe or Bororo[20] tradition amongst the Fulani’s in Niger or the reed dance of Swaziland where the maidens dance for the King and each other. Undeniably African cultural aesthetics tend to be sexually demure and frown on profligate displays be they homosexual or heterosexual.

A popular image floating around social media land now describes homophobia as “the fear that gay men are going to treat you the way you treat women and that a lesbian will treat your women better than you do.” The truth is such an analysis may in fact be too profound for Goodluck Jonathan and his fictitious 90%. For this descriptor to apply to the Nigerian case, people would have to be willing to question patriarchy, heteronormativity and hyper religious group-think and then be willing to accept that these models are deeply flawed and a better option exists.

Articles 3 and 5 of the Universal Declaration of Human Right state, “everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person” and “everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law”[21]respectively. The preamble of the Nigerian Constitution states, “to provide for a Constitution for the purpose of promoting the good government and welfare of all persons in our country, on the principles of freedom, equality and justice, and for the purpose of consolidating the unity of our people.”[22] As the highest law in the land, the constitution goes on to discuss the principles of democracy, social justice equality of status, and claims to frown upon discrimination of any kind. Clearly President Jonathan hasn’t read those parts. Aside from being a violation of international human rights, and the protections and rights enshrined in the Nigerian constitution, this law will also prevent people from accessing vital public health services and threaten their very survival. This law also doesn’t account for those between genders, intersex and transgender/sexual persons.  Professor Wole Soyinka affirms “the biological truth is this: some are born with imprecise gender definition, even when they have sexual organs that appear to define them male or female. Years, indeed decades of scientific research have gone into this, so what is needed is understanding and acceptance, not emotionalism and the championing of ‘moral’ or ‘traditional’ claims.”[23] I would argue that this law is yet another desperate attempt by our Oga at the top at misdirection. With this law, he has effectively thrown the masses a rather cheap and scanty bone to further distract them from the actual problems with governance in our society. The smoke screen is successfully deflecting attention because Nigerians seem to be susceptible to the same tricks throughout our history. We delight in creating vacuous binaries, highlighting difference, searching for otherness instead of looking for points of coalition in hopes of improving our collective situation. Nigeria’s own rapper and cultural icon M.I. admits, “life is bisexual anybody can blow.”[24] Indeed human beings are very complex and nuanced creatures, no one, not even Jonathan Goodluck, his cohorts and the fictitious 90% can begin to fathom the fullness of human condition. We are all the sum of our parts, and the law should strive to preserve, embrace, and protect the diversity of its population at all costs.

 By: OsaZami -lobuhle- Oh




[1] Lorde, Audre. “The Transformation of Silence Into Language and Action.” “Lesbian and Literature Panel”. Modern Language Association, Chicago, Illinois. 28 Dec. 1977. Lecture

[2] Hurston, Zora Neale, speaking on civil rights and discrimination see “Crazy for This Democracy” in Negro Digest December 1945 | “How It Feels to Be Colored Me”, in The World Tomorrow May 1928.

[3]Mandela, Nelson R. “Address to the Joint Session of the House of Congress of the USA.” Joint Session of Houses of Congress. House of Congress, Washington, DC United States of America. 26 June 1990. Speech.

[4] Jolly, Susan. “‘Queering’ Development: Exploring the Links between Same-Sex Sexualities, Gender, and Development.” Gender and Development, 8.1 (2000): 78-88. Print.

[5] Jolly, Susan. “‘Queering’ Development: Exploring the Links between Same-Sex Sexualities, Gender, and Development.” Gender and Development, 8.1 (2000): 78-88. Print.

[6] Gruenbaum, Ellen. “Sexuality Issues in the Movement to Abolish Female Genital Cutting in Sudan.” Medical Anthropology Quarterly 20.1 (2006): 121-38. Print.

[7] King Jr, Martin L. “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” Letter to Fellow Clergymen. 16 Apr. 1963. MS. Jail, Birmingham, Alabama. Via

[8] Binnie, Jon. The Globalization of Sexuality. London: Sage, 2004. Print.

[9] Hainsch, Carol. The Personal Is Political: The Original Feminist Theory. Notes from the Second Year: Women’s Liberation. February 1969. Essay. Via


[10] Lorde, Audre.  Zami, a new spelling of my name. Crossing Press. 1982. | DiBernard, Barbara, “ZAMI: A PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST AS A BLACK LESBIAN” (1991).Faculty Publications — Department of English.Paper 28.

[11] Cummins, Joseph. History’s Great Untold Stories. National Geographic, 2007. | Edgerton, Robert B. Warrior Women. Westview, 2000. | Forbes, Frederick Edwyn. Dahomey and the Dahomans. Longman, 1851. | Shaw, Albert. The Review of Reviews. Review of Reviews, 1892. Via | See also Libyan amazons

[12] Kcee. “Pullover.” Pullover. Kcee Featuring Wizkid. Five Star Music, 2014. MP3.

[13] Ikechukwu. Wind Am Well. Ikechukwu Featuring Don Jazzy. Don Jazzy, 2008. MP3.

[14]Blackwood, Evelyn, and Saskia Wieringa. Female Desires: Same-sex Relations and Transgender Practices across Cultures. New York: Columbia UP, 1999. Print.

[15]Morgan, Ruth, and Graeme Reid. “‘I’ve Got Two Men and One Woman’: Ancestors, Sexuality and Identity among Same Sex Identified Women Traditional Healers in South Africa.” Culture, Health & Sexuality 5.5 (2003): 375-91. Print. | Gunkel, H., The Cultural Politics of Female Sexuality in South Africa, Routledge Research in Gender and Society, 2012, Taylor & Francis

[16]Effiong, Philip. Nigerian “Fattening” Rooms: Reinventing the total Woman. 2013 Via

[17]Effiong, Philip. Nigerian “Fattening” Rooms: Reinventing the total Woman. 2013 Via

[18] Epprecht, Marc  Allah Made Us: Sexual Outlaws in an Islamic African CityAfrican Studies Review
Volume 53, Number 1, April 2010.

[19]Amadiume, Ifi. Male Daughters, Female Husbands: Gender and Sex in an African Society. London: Zed, 1987. Print.

[21] Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) Articles 3, 5, 6, 7, 21, 27, 29, 36 and 38. It is also in violation of the African Charter on Human and Peoples Rights, the Convention against Torture, Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW), International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR).

[22]Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, § Preamble ( 1999). Online.

[23]Soyinka, Wole. “The Sexual Minority and Legislative Zealotry.” This Day Live, 7 Dec. 2012. Web. 27 Jan. 2014.

[24] M.I. “Anybody.” MI2 the Movie. M.I Featuring Timaya & Loose Kaynon. Chocolate City Music, 2011. MP3.