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Salvaging Sexuality
By Singto Saro-Wiwa, Nigeria
Nigerians don't talk about sex. There are 140 million of us, so we know that we're having it but nobody talks about it. Oh, we'll hash out the gritty, raw details within the relative "privacy" of our neighborhoods, the juicy gossip flitting furtively from family compound to beer parlor and back. But as far as public discourse is concerned, we might as well all be eunuchs.
Nigerians comprise a sexually charged population, but I've often wondered why we prefer to blindfold ourselves to our own promiscuity at the expense of our collective health and even our culture. Gone are the days when sex and intimacy went hand in hand. Today, just like the oil that sustains Nigeria's economy, or the growing stock market that nurtures its fast-growing commercial sector, sex is just another commodity to be haggled over and sold on the open market.
In recent years, I have heard more and more of our young women refer to their sexuality as a tool with which they can "make ends meet", as though they lack other legitimate resources to do so. Their perspective reflects a large-scale transformation in the overall national psyche. It wasn't too long ago that such women were aggressively eschewed and derided for utilizing their bodies in the pursuit of monetary gain. But things have changed.
It was a gradual, largely imperceptible shift that turned Nigeria into a nation that embraces a casual sort of prostitution and simply calls it by another name. In public circles, women politely speak of "making ends meet" because that, somehow, sounds nobler than admitting the truth.
It is true that, like many other developing countries, Nigeria's considerable wealth is concentrated among a tiny elite class. For the vast majority, financial security is simply a pipe dream. Given this reality, I cannot argue for the swift punishment of young women who feel trapped in a world that values their bodies over their minds. But I do want to understand what has happened to our values over the past decade or so, and why we were so willing to let them go.
"Gone are the days when sex and intimacy went hand in hand. Today, just like the oil that sustains Nigeria’s economy, or the growing stock market that nurtures its fast-growing commercial sector, sex is just another commodity to be haggled over and sold on the open market." -Singto Saro-Wiwa
When did Nigerians decide that it was more important to reward short-lived sexual trysts with cash, rather than create more economic opportunities for the masses? And if casual sex is the new standard for our cultural behavior, why are we so secretive about it? We certainly work very hard to create the illusion of sexual propriety. Who exactly are we trying to deceive?
There was a time in Nigeria's not-so-distant past when female virginity was lauded as a symbol of virtuosity and purity, when the virgin represented all that was good about womankind. Men desired her, women admired her. Her entire community respected her chastity and upheld her honor.
This reverence has been held up, in part, by the religious majority – a significant proportion of the population, comprised of Christians, Muslims and animists. Even today, there are some young women, particularly of the Christian faith, who still think virgins are more virtuous than non-virgins and our young men still find at least the concept of virginity appealing. And who can blame them?
Imagine being the only measure of competence, the first and perhaps sole provider of another's intimate pleasure. And as for the virgins themselves, what a massage to the ego to be viewed as a divine beacon shining through the growing swarm of sexually active (read: tainted) youth. For both, male and female, the appeal alone would be enough to create waves of orgasmic gratification.
Nevertheless, these same young men are simultaneously turned off by the definitive inexperience of a virgin because, though "pure", she's boring. And, to be frank, when a man can walk into the boudoir of a femme fatale, who always knows just the right buttons to push, kiss and tickle, why would he allow himself to be distracted by the divine?
The truth is: there are fewer of us who still believe that a female's virginity is an integral element of our culture. Nowadays Nigerians are all about looking and behaving sexier, in mimicry of popularized Western culture. And for the modern Nigerian woman, an active sex life is as much a part of her personal development as any other component of individual growth. She believes that the freedom to choose her sexual partners rather than prolong innocence is the key to making memorable sexual experiences, whether this occurs in a long-term monogamous relationship or during impassioned short-term couplings.
I can accept this truth. And like many of my Nigerian peers, I do not believe casual sex is inherently evil. But it connotes a serious problem when entire generations of a people turn casual sex into a money-grabbing exercise.
The individual's quest for financial independence has managed to supersede the value systems which once upheld sexual integrity – and not just virginity – and which could have guided us to a natural, healthy acceptance of being a sexually active society. But our dubious actions in the naked pursuit of money have instead turned our nation into one huge brothel.
Faced with this reality, now is the time to publicly and unabashedly address the culture of silence that enshrouds the sexuality issue. Nigerians can no longer afford to take for granted that the youth are either not having sex at all, or that they are being responsible when they do.
I doubt the young boy or girl who rubs on a wealthy Chief's rounded belly and recondite nether regions for a few thousand Naira is in a position to make demands about how his or her body will be used that evening. And if we don't acknowledge that they are in Chief's bed in the first place, then how can we even begin to protect them from the life- and lifestyle-threatening diseases that already plague us? The social, economic and public health ramifications are too grave to be ignored.
Some argue that this is a private matter for the family to deal with. I say the folks at home have failed in their duty and therefore someone else needs to take over the discourse - the media, the government, the private sector – anybody who will facilitate an open, wide-scale debate on how we Nigerians feel, think and act when it comes to sex.
Organizations like the Africa Regional Sexuality Resource Center (ARSRC; http://www.arsrc.org/index.htm) have created initiatives that give a voice to those of us with a pressing desire to have open, realistic discussions about sexuality and how it affects our lives. Of course, the ARSRC's long-term impact remains to be seen, but it is a start.
Without these outlets, we are in danger of inadvertently teaching generations of new Nigerians that the sex act is naught but a tool to be used in the acquisition of material possessions. Gone will be the reverence that we should have for our most intimate selves, and we will have lost the opportunity to see our culture evolve into a more honorable state. But the full tragedy will be the abuse we will have caused and endured, to the detriment of our complete human integrity – sexual and otherwise.
