Written by Nnennaya
Finding love in Nigeria is tough—especially when all you want is a healthy, fulfilling connection that’s free from stress and toxicity. After enduring the pain and exhaustion of three stressful relationships in the past, I’ve learned the hard way that love should never come at the cost of your peace. Now, more than ever, I’m determined to prioritize relationships that nurture and uplift me, rather than drain me.
For a queer woman, it’s even tougher. Add the complexity of being closeted, and it feels almost impossible.
I fully accepted my sexuality in 2022 when I met the first woman I loved with all my being. It felt like magic being cuddled by her—warm, safe, and unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Though things didn’t go far for us romantically, we made a mutual decision to remain close friends without intimacy. Our friendship is a beautiful bond we’ve chosen to preserve, rather than risk losing it to the complexities of romance. Since then, I’ve come out to my close friends and sisters as a woman who loves women.
That said, coming out to everyone isn’t on my agenda. I prefer to tread carefully, prioritizing my safety and peace. But as I grow into myself, I’ve begun craving something I’ve never fully experienced – intimacy.
For many queer people, dating isn’t as simple as it is for straight folks. There’s no straightforward approach, no casual meet-cute where someone assumes you’re into the same gender and takes a shot. In Nigeria, we often find ourselves profiling—reading subtle signs to gauge if the person we’re drawn to is queer, or if we’re about to open up to someone who’s either homophobic or staunchly straight.
That uncertainty has kept me in a shell for years. But this year, I decided to try something different. I joined queer-focused social media platforms, hoping to find connections in a way that felt safe. Despite knowing these spaces often get infiltrated by men looking to exploit queer women, I convinced myself it was worth the risk.
One platform stood out: Spicy, a lesbian dating app. I updated my profile, excited but nervous. Within hours, requests poured in. My loneliness and desire for intimacy felt validated, but as I started chatting with a woman who lived in my city, doubt crept in.She seemed lovely, offering her WhatsApp number almost immediately. At first, I saw it as a sign—perhaps the universe was nudging me toward something real. But within days, our conversations fizzled out. I questioned my readiness for this kind of vulnerability. Was I truly prepared to meet strangers offline?
Two weeks later, I deleted my account.It’s okay to admit you’re not ready.I realized I was still untangling feelings for the woman I deeply loved—a situationship that ended when she said she wasn’t ready for another commitment. Even though we were never officially together, it felt like emotional infidelity to explore new connections while my heart lingered on her.
Months passed. The cravings returned: sex, intimacy, touch. I tried watching porn as a distraction, but it always made me sleepy. Masturbation isn’t for me because I find it hard to touch myself. It has never worked or helped in any way, and I haven’t explored sex toys yet. I even created an account on a porn site, hoping to find lesbians nearby through comments under videos.
It felt ridiculous and desperate, but the need to connect was overwhelming as I do not wish for my vagina to remain untouched till I die. What if I wither and rot away? Just kidding.
At one point, a close friend offered tips on how to find “sneaky links.” It was hilarious, but it showed how visibly horny I had become.
I got more requests, more phone numbers, more opportunities—but anxiety held me back. The thought of meeting strangers offline felt too daunting.
I started judging myself for wanting something so badly yet lacking the courage to pursue it.
But here’s what I’ve learned: It’s okay to take your time. Self-compassion matters. If you’re not ready, that’s fine. There’s no race nor deadline to fulfill your desires.
As 2024 draws to a close, I realize I didn’t achieve much in exploring intimacy or taking bolder steps in that regard. However, as 2025 approaches, I remain hopeful. Maybe the coming year will be the year I finally embrace my desires with confidence. Perhaps I’ll explore the option of sex toys while I figure things out, or maybe I’ll meet someone who feels like home—a connection that’s as comforting as it is exciting.
For now, I’m learning to be patient with myself, trusting that everything will unfold in its own time.
