I squeezed the shower handle, turned it off, and hung my towel on my neck as I stepped out of the bathroom. I started drying my hair as I walked towards my phone, which was ringing while I was taking a bath. 

As I walked past the mirror, I paused. I thought I saw something, so I came back and turned around to stare at my reflection. 

“Damn, girl,” I said to myself with a whistle. “You’re too cute to be single, baby,” I added and licked my lips. 

“I am beautiful, so beautiful,” I added and leaned close to the mirror to kiss myself. 

I got my phone and saw a message from my homegirl Sophia asking if I was in for a road trip the following weekend with the girls. It was going to be my 26th birthday next week, and she wanted to celebrate in style. 

It wasn’t the message that caught my attention, Sophia liked living wild, so this was one of the bonuses of being her friend. It was the picture she sent with the message that intrigued me. A younger version of Sophia and I stared back at me from the screen of my phone. 

I remember when that picture was taken. I remember the story that surrounds it. I remember it all too vividly. 

****

 

Three Years Ago

“Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder,” I said to myself and watched my lips pout afterward from the mirror. 

I blinked my eyelids and gave a mega waltz smile. My smile – that was my greatest flex. 

Unlike other girls, I didn’t have long hair. I didn’t spend hours in the bathroom. I didn’t fix my nails, nor did I wear lashes or heels. I was always looking natural; afterall, I am a black-skinned-tall-tomboy. I didn’t care about my looks so much. 

Yeah, who was I kidding, I was ugly, and I hated myself. 

 

“Come take a picture with us,” Sophia, my best friend in college, called out to me when I stepped out of my dorm room that morning. 

Giving her a warm smile that prevented sadness from leaving its imprint on my face, I politely declined. “Come on, soph, you know I’m not photogenic.” 

“Urgh!” Sophia said in exclamation, lifting her face with closed eyes to the sky as she clenched her hands so tight she strangled air. “But you’re so beautiful,” she screamed, “why wouldn’t you take pictures?”. 

“Come on,” she insisted, grabbing my hands and placing them around her shoulders, “take a picture with me; mark this day.”

“But I won’t look good in it,” I said with a shrug and looked away as she raised her iPhone to the sky. 

I’ve heard iPhones can make anything look good, and I’ve tried several times. It’s always either my smile was not right, my face was too round, or my eyes were too pale. There was always something about my posture; I couldn’t get it right — I couldn’t look pretty. 

 

My name is Isabella Bob-Manuel, and I come from a small village in Nigeria – Kalabari. 

You see, I come from a country that’s known for crime. Matter of fact, youths who dare to change the narrative are laughed at. In my nation, Illegal is a new norm. If you weren’t fraudulent, you weren’t worthy of anything. 

This messed us up, youths, I mean. We couldn’t have ambition. We couldn’t find jobs. If we dared dream, we were woken up rudely by reality. Oh, such agonizing pain. Being broke in this century is a fate worse than death. 

 

Our boys went into terrorism, and our girls into prostitution. Now I probably would have threaded that path if not for my sexuality. You guessed it; I am queer. I’ve been queer my entire life. Now, to the people around me, this was a bigger crime than terror. Somehow looking the way I did, dressing the way I did, walking in the steps I did – these were all worse than shooting and killing people. 

Loving a woman was a bigger sin in comparison to robbing a man of his livelihood. If I was caught, the nation had made it legal that I should be arrested. While some people took it into their hands to make sure my kind was killed. 

 

“How could I love my fellow girl? Didn’t I know it was wrong in the eyes of the Lord and the eyes of man? 

What about my future? Didn’t I want to be a mother?” the surprised look they had on their faces whenever I told them that it would be my wife carrying the children and not me was baffling, it still is. They looked at me with squinted eyes; rage, sometimes sadness lurked. It was fun for a while – to see their reactions to my claims. 

However, it got severe, life got serious for me, and I couldn’t bear to watch their scorn. It continuously fired darts at me, piercing into my heart – my broken heart. 

“It is supposed to be Adam and Eve, not Amy and Eve,” they kept telling me. An aunty dragged my ears so hard I feared it would pull off while reciting some bible verses, shunning my decision. 

I was supposed to submit to a man, not act like one; I’ve been told more than I cared to count. I was a disgrace, and they couldn’t stand me.

My family waited for months, years even, hoping and praying to the heavens I come out of this phase. Sadly, it wasn’t a phase; I was queer, and eventually, I would marry a woman. 

When the realization hit, everyone deserted. No one stayed. I was a sinner, and I was left to my loneliness and empty pockets. 

 

Now I didn’t believe I had to sleep with a man to get my daily bread, and I also couldn’t kill or get rich off scamming anyone. So I picked up my certificate and wandered, looking for a job. 

No one hired me. Why would they? I mean, look at me. 

“I was masculine presenting,” they said, “how could I possibly attract customers to their businesses?” Maybe if I weaved my hair or perhaps put on a short gown and showed a little skin, those men would have hurriedly hired me, but I couldn’t. I was better than that, or at least I liked to believe that I was. 

***

 

Sophia kept down her phone, then turned to the girls she was standing with and signaled for them to go with a wave of her head. They gave a light groan and stared at me awkwardly before raising their chins and walking away – their tiny bums swaying forcefully to the left and then to the right. I couldn’t help but giggle, they forced themselves to walk like that, and I have lost count of how many times I’ve seen them fall on their faces. 

Sophia joined me in laughing. 

“You see, Bella, it’s not about how you look on the outside; it’s about who you are,” she said when we were done sharing a laugh. “And you are good. You are so good.”

“I just hate that I’m masculine. Perhaps if I looked like you with your hair braided back or I walked like them, maybe, just maybe, I might be pleasing in people’s eyes”.

“You want to walk like them and fall? Besides, why are you limiting your life to another person’s gaze? Babe, I look at you, and all I see right now is beauty. Don’t you know you have the nicest smile?” she asked, and I blushed. 

“Bella, when you smile like that, people’s spirits are lifted,” she added. 

“How about your walk? You hate that you walk like that, but behind you, people stare in admiration.”

“No, they stare in scorn,” I cut in. 

“Trust me; they admire you. You display so much strength in your stride, so much control, so much style,” she said dreamily, “hell, I wish I walked the way you did.”

“You’re just being nice,” I replied and looked away, not wanting her to see me blush. 

“You know what else I admire?” she asked and gave me a nudge. 

“What?”

“Your mannerism. It complements your broad shoulders and height. You could be a bully; instead, you chose to be a victim and reach out to cover others who are being stoned. 

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Bella. In and out. 

So much charisma, so much charm. 

Have I mentioned your dimple is perfectly cut across your left cheek? My goodness, how do you not fall in love with yourself when you stare at the mirror?”

I shrugged. 

I didn’t want to tell her that I hardly looked at the mirror, and whenever I did, I saw an unfamiliar face staring back.

“The world is always going to try to bring you down. Bella, don’t define yourself with people’s ideas of beauty. I look at you now, and I see a stunning lady. 

Bella, smile, all you have to do is smile. 

So what? You are muscular, yes! But you are beautiful!”

“I am beautiful,” I replied and put on my biggest smile. It tore across my face and gave wrinkles to my eyes. 

Sophia brought out her phone again and rested her chin on mine as she lifted her phone to the sky, “come on, girl,” she screamed. 

“I am muscular, and I am beautiful!” I screamed back and exposed my shiny white teeth right before she captured a picture, the same image I hold in my hands now, three years later.  

 

WRITTEN BY:

TYPICAL ANGEL