"I see you, Azerbaijani Lesbians"

My life is great. It was a lesbian visibility week this week and the whole city of Amsterdam was celebrating with lesbian focused parties, community meetings, arts and exhibitions depicting lives and struggles of queer women.

That is where I live now with my girlfriend, and I feel my identity is seen with no threat to me. Originally from Baku, Azerbaijan, I am not out to my family - in fact in all 29 years of my life I haven't made even a meager step towards unveiling the truth about me. I often visit Baku for family weddings and events, and Azerbaijani aunties who are not famous for reserved attitude always ask me when I will get married. To that, I always say “Qismət olanda” - a vague enough answer to steer clear from the real answer that broods in my head: “you would never be able to handle my marriage, at least the kind that I would have if I wanted to”.

I didn’t always know that I was a lesbian. I dated azerbaijani men, thought I was in love, and enjoyed sex with them. Growing up in Baku, I was not exposed to any lesbians or any sapphics. I remember distinctly being in 7th grade and gossiping about how lead singers of T.A.T.u are lesbians. (spoiler alert, they aren’t) My undeveloped prefrontal cortex interpreted the L word as perverse, freaky, taboo, haram. Gay and lesbian were not commonly used words for this community, ridiculous monikers goluboy (baby blue) and rozoviy (pink) were utilized respectively instead. (yes, talk about biresure!)

A few years later I was already engaging in lesbian activities with my best friend from school. It was just like in movies. We were kissing, holding hands, acting jealous when one of us would choose another desk-mate for a class. We did it all, without ever acknowledging the queerness of the act, as we both largely still cared for men. In Azerbaijan, heteronormativity is ever-present and queerness is ever-hidden. I don’t blame myself for not knowing earlier, I blame the scrutiny with which the system erases any traces of my community and stomps on any attempt of adequate sex-ed, where sexuality can be at least mentioned.

2 examples come to mind. I went to public school, like most of my peers in the 2010s, where sex-ed was non-existent. Correction: a chapter in the biology book of 9th grade did cover the reproductive system, however was conveniently skipped by most of the teachers, including mine. Instead, my school organized a gathering in the auditorium for girls only and screened a pro-life propaganda movie. It featured an animated unborn baby with a caricaturistically serious voice-over, persuading its mother that it was worthy of being born. So kitschy. I looked around the room, and some of my classmates were tearing up after this hideous watchparty.

Another attempt was made by a substitute English teacher who was visiting all the way from the USA. She taught us a few things: comics, memes, and sex. Quintessentially American, but so needed in the prude environment we grew up in. Not unlike others, she also failed (or maybe was weary) to mention that family units can look different than what we are used to.

I had sex with a woman for the first time in Baku. I know, I know. You think I must have known then. But I didn’t. I moved to Hungary in 2018 and continued to hook up with women, and still had a hard time claiming that identity. 

I am 29 now and I live in Amsterdam with my partner. Feels like my wildest, queerest dreams came true.

Lately, I have been thinking of my dating future. It seems so bleak and uninspiring, void of any joy that can be shared with family that long for seeing me happily married. Some of my queer friends from similar upbringing advise for coming out - just rip off the band-aid, they say. I hesitate. Like a lot of women from Azerbaijan, I was raised an extreme people-pleaser - we are taught to never upset our parents or bring any shame or dishonor to our families. 

Others and me personally prefer the safety that being in the closet provides. Oftentimes I am asked what might happen if I come out. I simply don’t know the answer. It is simply due to the fact that I have never met an azerbaijani lesbian woman who came out successfully. I am sure there must be some, but the lack of community and exchange of stories makes everyone feel exceptionally lonely in their struggles to figure out life.

I wanted to tell this story to call for Azerbaijani lesbians to come out to each other. Let us gather as a community, bring daylight and hope in knowing that regardless if we are visible to others, we know that we exist, and we can be proud together. 

I am proud of every sapphic from Azerbaijan that does not fight or suppress that identity, and chooses to live and breathe with it. 

I see you, Azerbaijani Lesbian, and I salute you!

Powered by Froala Editor