You are guilty of murder! Before you rush to defend your innocence, pause and answer this sincerely: what would be your first reaction if your brother, father, son or male friend sought you out in tears, weeping heavily with mucus running down his nose because his partner broke up with him or divorced him? Would you offer comfort, or would you mock him, laugh at him, tell him to man up or hide his shame? Your honest answer is the mirror of our collective failure, and it is the reason we must confront this truth.
The heartbreaking story of fourteen-year-old Pelumi from Ogun State still sits heavily on my chest. A boy gave a gift and a letter to a girl he liked. A harmless expression of young affection.Something most of us once did or wished we had the courage to do. Instead of receiving gentle teasing that ends in laughter, he was mocked in a way that cut deep. Hours later, he reportedly took his own life. And in a twist that made the tragedy even more painful, the police allegedly arrested the girl, her mother and others, extorting money from people who were already shaken. It was as though compassion was a crime and tenderness needed to be punished. I asked myself one question over and over: How did we get here as a society?
Pelumi’s story forces us to look inward as a society. It makes us ask uncomfortable questions about how Nigerian boys are raised and how our culture handles male vulnerability. We love to talk about the toughness of the African man. We say men must never cry. We tell boys to be strong even when their world is falling apart. And somewhere along the line, we created a culture that sees love as weakness and heartbreak as something shameful.
In today’s Nigeria, especially among young people, a boy who shows affection is branded a simp. Caring too much is mocked. Being expressive is treated like a flaw. A boy who gets hurt becomes an object of jokes.
Recently , a man and X user admitted to being suicidal after a breakup online and the comments of many netizens mostly men was far from encouraging. “How you go sick because woman give you breakfast.” Another announced his mastery of stoicism, “No woman go make me cry.” Others wrote what they thought was encouraging “Now let the beast in you rise,” as if being unfeeling is the height of masculinity. No one wrote “How are you, holding up brother?” Just blame, insult masked as joke and insensitive comparison of emotional muteness.
Yet, these empty slogans sound like strength but what they really reveal is fear. Fear of vulnerability. Fear of appearing soft. Fear of being human. Fear of being hurt. Many men have been taught that emotions diminish their manhood. And because they believe it, they repress everything. They go quiet when they should speak. They pretend when they should ask for help. They swallow heartbreak like poison and smile for the world while bleeding inside.
Pelumi didn’t commit suicide. HE WAS MURDERED BY US. HE WAS KILLED AS A RESULT OF OUR CONTINUOUS FAILING AND SILENT ENCOURAGEMENT OF TOXICITY TERMED MASCULINITY. WE FAILED A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD BOY because he felt something. He did what so many boys are silently trying to do.He took a risk. He expressed something gentle. But the cultural script he had been exposed to told him that this softness was shameful. The teasing that followed may have felt like confirmation that love was a mistake and that he had somehow failed a test of masculinity. When you grow up in a world where men are encouraged to bottle up everything, even ordinary teasing can feel like public humiliation.
And no the morality script of “What business does a fourteen year old have to do with love?” No! Emotions happen regardless of age. He was a teenager experiencing something he had never felt before. He needed guidance and counselling on what to do with the emotion he felt. He was a child attempting to communicate what he felt the best way he could and rather than guide, he was teased for it. His masculine care took a dip and he knew he’d be teased for the rest of his life so he ended it. That’s how dangerous the masculine narrative is!
The saddest part is that none of the so-called brotherhood that men claim to belong to stepped in with care. Male friends encourage one another to hide pain. They cheer each other on to pretend. They push their peers to appear unmoved. But very few of them sit down and say, “My guy, talk to me. How your heart dey.” The absence of emotional support among men is loud, especially in moments when it is needed most. Yet men quickly reiterate “Women don’t care about men” but I ask do men care for one another deeply and sincerely, without judgement and female vs male solidarity agenda? Do they care for each other’s growth? Do they support each other with need to push hierarchies and agenda? Do men love one another?
And it is not that men do not feel. They feel intensely, but they have been trained to act like stone. Nigerian boys grow up hearing that a real man does not break. A real man remains composed. A real man is feared, not emotionally open. Yet the same society that preaches toughness does not provide healthy outlets for emotional expression. So when heartbreak comes, when rejection stings, when life overwhelms, many men do not know what to do with their pain.
Pelumi was a child, yet he carried the expectations placed on grown men. Expectations to be unmoved. Expectations to be strong. Expectations to laugh off everything. No one paused to consider that a young boy could feel heartbreak just as deeply as a grown adult. Instead of pulling him aside and saying, “Your feelings are valid,” people ridiculed him for having them.
Our culture must confront the truth: we have made emotional isolation a rite of passage for men. We praise hardness so much that softness feels like a sin. But the human heart does not recognize gendered rules. It feels what it feels. And heartbreak, whether at fourteen or forty, can be devastating when there is no one to help you navigate the storm.
This is why the language we use matters. Words like simp, breakfast, beast mode and all the mocking comments men throw at each other may seem playful but they create a climate where tenderness feels dangerous and vulnerability feels fatal. They make young men feel like their emotions betray them. They make boys feel alone in moments they should be surrounded by care.
We need a return to community. Real community. Not the loud, performative camaraderie that mocks emotions, but the one our elders practiced when they gathered under trees, talked through challenges and prayed for one another. Our forefathers were not perfect, but they understood something we seem to have forgotten: emotional burdens are lighter when shared.
A society that tells men not to cry must not be surprised when boys suffer in silence. A society that celebrates stoicism above emotional honesty should not pretend to be shocked when that silence turns deadly. And a society that mocks young boys for loving cannot act confused when those boys grow into men who do not know how to give or receive love.
It is not simping to love. It is not foolish to express affection. It is not embarrassing to care deeply. Loving is what makes us human. A man who loves sincerely is not weak. He is alive. And his ability to feel is not a flaw but a gift.
If Pelumi had been surrounded by voices that encouraged openness rather than shame, he might still be here. If he had grown up hearing that it is alright to talk about hurt, he might have found the strength to ask for help. And if the culture around him had allowed him to be a softhearted boy for just a moment, this story would be different.
We owe boys and men better. We owe them a world that does not punish their tenderness or ridicule their emotions. We owe them a brotherhood rooted not in mockery but in support. And we owe them the simple but powerful truth that love is never a weakness.
It is not simping to love. It is simply human.
Nusrat Lasisi is a women rights activist, creative writer and student. She can be reached via email @nusratlasisi2000@gmail.com, Facebook, Instagram, X(Twitter) @ nusratdreteller.