Homosexual Abuse During Colonial Era

A former colonial officer recounts how the white man introduced innocent Nigerian youths to homosexuality



By HAROLD SMITH



The employment schedule or section of which I was assigned was very quiet because it operated on the lines laid down by Peter Cook. It was Reg Lewis who was delegated to show me the ropes. No one quite knew how Reg came into the department, but a similar mystery shrouded the backgrounds of several labour officers. As some had a trade union background, it was generally assumed that those labour officers, who were not ex-Army and insisted on being called major or captain, were ex-trade union officials. One or two had slipped in sideways from public works or the railways like Peter Cook and the ex-army types did not have much regard for them either.

Reg went to the door and looked up the walkways. It was quite safe. The messengers outside each office were fast asleep. Sometimes a labour officer would awake from a nap himself and creep up on his sleeping messenger and roar in his ear giving the poor man a fit.

“Wake up, you lazy bastard,” he would shout.

Or they did in 1955. As independence approached in 1960 African staff began to be treated more politely, and ‘wog’, ‘coon’ ‘black monkey’, and other racist language went underground.

Reg returned to his desk where he had insisted that I be seated. Looking around from time to time to make sure no one was listening, Reg gave me the key advice on how to survive at labour headquarters.

“Remember,” he said. “You’ve got to keep your head down in this place. Know what I mean? Peter Cook… he’s a bit fly… know what I mean? It’s not just that he’s one of them. Know what I mean?”

“You mean he’s homosexual?”

I was prepared to defend Peter Cook’s sexual preference, though I hardly knew what homosexuality was in the innocent 1950s, as I would have defended Oscar Wilde, an ex-Magdalen man whom I revered.

“It’s the kids from the Alakoro Labour Exchange and the juveniles from the youth office, those trying to get government jobs. They get sent up in twos and threes for interview by old Cookie”.

“I see,” I said.

This sounded all right to me.

“It’s not what you think,” said Reg in a whisper. “He takes them home and puts it to them.”

“Puts it to them?”

“You know. Come and have a bit of fun and I’ll be your friend and look after you.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“These kids are desperate of jobs,” said Reg. “I suppose they’re used to it. Brought up in the jungle. Come to Lagos to go to school and live in a slum. Nobody’s going to give them something for nothing…”

“And everybody knows?”

“Of course they do. Every other day there are two or three sitting under Foggon’s window in the shade waiting for Cookie. You’ve got to watch your step here, Smithy. You don’t have to do anything. If you do you’ll only step on someone’s toes. Just take it easy. Read the papers. Slope off for a coffee or a beer. Back for two and home for lunch and a little death…”

The ‘little death’ was how it felt to take a nap in the steamy heat of a Lagos afternoon. Awakening was like dragging yourself from the grave.

I felt sick with the whole situation. What had I let myself in for? It was not that Peter Cook was a homosexual. That need not have been anyone’s concern, but his own and his friends. I was going to be responsible for the running of the juvenile bureau and the proper and fair handing out of jobs, and Peter Cook would be – and I was to find he was indeed – seducing and raping the boys in my charge. Edgar Parry in London knew this. Foggon the commissioner knew this. Apparently everybody in Lagos knew. How could it be allowed? This was a question I tortured myself with. I still do.

The above is an extract from Tell Magazine the story of how British colonial masters bastardised the Nigerian culture during the colonial era, written by Harold Smith, the late District Officer who broke ranks with the British colonial establishment in Nigeria.