I was attacked by someone posing as queer on Tinder. In Nigeria, this is reality for too many.

I don’t remember when I joined Tinder – but I quickly became an active user to meet new people like me. In an anti-gay nation like Nigeria, where people can’t exist publicly because of their sexuality, the virtual world has become the go-to place for anyone seeking a community. 

Before I signed up for a Tinder account, Twitter was the closest to a safe place for me. But I longed for the feeling of exploring and connecting elsewhere.

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I met Emmy, a supposed queer person, sometime in April after matching with him on Tinder. We exchanged greetings and our conversation died down after a while. I assumed I had been ghosted. I wasn’t new to dating apps; before Tinder, I tested the waters of Grindr. After exchanging pleasantries and random pictures, I knew that if the conversation ceased to continue, it meant rejection.

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But Emmy later texted me on a sunny Sunday afternoon in May, and we picked up where our conversation had left off. From the pictures on his Tinder profile, he was attractive, and he said he found me good-looking, too. He told me he wanted to hook up.

In Nigeria, being queer and choosing to meet with strangers online is extremely dangerous. Before I met Emmy, I had heard about people’s “hook-up gone wrong” experiences, usually referred to as “being kitoed.” A typical “kito” incident involves the victim being assaulted and mostly extorted. In some cases, victims have been killed.

After establishing an interest in hooking up, I did a quick background check on Emmy to clear my doubts about him. I requested his Instagram handle, which he provided, and I ignored probably one of the biggest red flags: We shared no mutual friends.

Since the LGBTQ+ community in the country is relatively small, it has over time become probable to at least share a few mutual friends with anyone you meet on a dating app. This helps to be safe and avoid the risk of “being kitoed”. But I ignored this, and my fate was sealed. As I prepared to meet up with Emmy, my doubts heightened, and I became highly anxious. It was as if I knew I was walking into a trap, but I kept shutting out that voice inside my head. 

My supposed date and I agreed to meet around 7:30pm, so I moved swiftly. I traveled approximately sixty-three kilometers to meet Emmy. Before I eventually met this person, I feared they might not show up where we agreed to meet. It’s happened to others I know. But Emmy showed up and apologized for keeping me waiting. We both proceeded to a supposed cheap hotel where we were to spend the night together. We made small talk as we walked.

“I’m finding it hard to look at your eyes,” he said.

“Why?” I asked back, feeling a bit confused and surprised.

“It’s like you have fire in them.” Emmy retorted.

I didn’t know whether to feel offended by the response, and I felt some tingling inside me. Was his response a compliment? I might have blushed a little. 

At the hotel, Emmy proceeded to secure a room while I waited outside. My anxiety was back, but I tried to remain calm. Soon we were in the hotel room, and our small talk continued. He stepped out minutes later to go and get food, returning with a loaf of bread, a soda drink, and a bottle of water- the latter I had requested. However, I noticed something off about Emmy. He kept complaining about how he wasn’t comfortable with the room we were staying in. If I had met up with him earlier than I arrived, there was a better hotel we could have stayed in.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. Before the knock, I had undressed myself down to my underwear. The knock startled me, making me put my clothes back on. At the entrance, an unfamiliar person entered the room, and I immediately knew I was no longer safe. I panicked.

Emmy and the other guy approached me, requesting my phone. I obliged, still panicking. What followed next was my cry for help. I was soon overpowered by Emmy, who had become verbally violent, as well as the other guy. At that moment, I felt powerless and hopeless; I had been stripped down to my underwear and a trouser and brought out of the hotel room by Emmy and the stranger.

Emmy spoke pidgin to some strangers who tried to intervene while he and the other guy assaulted me: “Na gay, he won con f**k my yansh”(“He is gay, and he wants to come and have sex with me”). This sparked more disgust from the passerby. In the twinkle of an eye, I was surrounded by an angry mob of homophobes.

I was being beaten, hit severally. I was crying and pleading, and I thought I would die. I was forced to reveal my sexuality while being filmed, and they requested 500,000 nairas (about $634.00). I called my relatives, and I was compelled to come out to them, revealing how I was now in danger and could get killed if I didn’t get help. I also contacted a few of my close friends that knew about my sexuality.

I spent about 2-3 hours with my attackers while being verbally and physically abused. After much pleading and begging from my relatives for 25,000 nairas, ($31), I was allowed to walk away freely. That morning, around 2:00 am, I got home safe to my family. Their reaction concerning my sexuality was unwelcoming. I could have denied being gay upon my arrival, but I saw no point. Before my fateful experience with the homophobes, I had come to terms with my queerness. I knew my family wouldn’t accept me if I came out to them. I had no intention of ever revealing my sexuality to them. The plan was to become as financially independent as possible to be away from them. 

That morning, they threw a lot of homophobic rhetoric at me, ignoring that the previous night’s events had left me traumatized and in bad mental health. To them, homosexuality was a lifestyle that I needed to leave behind. I was going to die a painful death If I didn’t. I noticed they harbored much misinformation and myth concerning sexuality, and I wasn’t allowed to correct and re-orientate them.

I knew I had to stay away from them. I needed my sanity back. I was going crazy in the aftermath of my attack. I kept hearing and seeing images from that night, and I could hear the voices of my attackers in my head. 

So I shaved off all my hair and fled home. I traveled two hundred and nineteen kilometers to a close and safe friend’s place. A couple of friends reached out to me following the attack, mainly offering words of comfort. Their words and support helped; they have kept me going up to this moment. It has been over a month since my attack, and the days leading up to this moment haven’t been easy. On some days, I am optimistic that I will pull through. On other days, the words and disgust of my family stick in my head.

As for my attacker, I believe he is still out there posing to be queer to lure more people. It was a money-making scheme for him. Immediately after my unfortunate encounter, I notified a few people about him and even went further and reported his Instagram account. It was all I could do since such an incident cannot be reported to the police, as Nigeria still has harsh anti-gay laws. 

This near-death experience taught me to further prioritize my safety and reminded me I still need to be overly cautious. For most queer people living in the country, this is reality.