Invisible, Invincible: Navigating Queerness from the Shadows

By Anonymous

Artwork by Moriam Orekan

I was five years old when I first encountered the notion of queerness as an “othered” experience. It’s one of my earliest memories but one that is so deeply ingrained in my mind. It was an election year in my country and while that doesn’t really mean much because we have had the same ruling party since independence from the British, the propaganda machine is in full effect every five years. Late that evening, I happened upon an image on the television screen that was set to the single national broadcast channel. The image was of a man in the likeness of the opposition leader in bed with another man. I didn’t understand what the voiceover was saying exactly but I picked up on the tone. I never came across that image again and nobody ever talked about it but that was the first time I realized that the world was not as accepting as I had been led to believe. 

In the early 2000s, my mother started working for an organization whose main goal was advocacy for LGBTQ+ rights. I did not know it then but it was one of the first of its kind and its offices became sort of a safe haven for queer people from all walks of life. There were two flag poles outside the offices. One for the country’s flag and one pride flag displayed proudly. That was my entire world for the first five years of my life so naturally and perhaps naively, I believed that extended to the rest of the world until that image planted the first seed of fear. 

When I reached the school-going age, I would go back to those offices every afternoon. They felt like home to me in a way that some family’s homes never could but in my mind, I still maintained the idea that the rest of the world shared the ideals of the organization. It was only in the seventh grade that this idea completely shattered. One afternoon, some classmates were engaged in a friendly albeit wildly misinformed debate about why our country had been subjected to U.S. sanctions. We all agreed that it was because of corruption within the government but one girl argued that corruption wasn’t the only thing, it was our refusal to accept American ideals such as same-sex marriage. This topic was one nobody ever talked about so when the girl had paved the way, everyone erupted into a cacophony of suppressed opinions about the LGBTQ+ community. What stuck out to me was a girl who said, “It’s not our fault we don’t have gay people here.” This echoed the words of our president at the time’s very infamous proclamation at the UN: “We are not gays!” I had stayed silent for most of the argument as I often did but when I saw virtually everyone agreeing, I couldn’t help it. “But we do,” I said and was immediately bombarded with questions, the most important one being, “How do you know?” That is when I learned the power of invisibility.

Based on my experiences, there are two main sentiments toward queer people. The first is that they do not exist here. Whether it is denial, ignorance or something else, it’s still a prevalent belief, especially among younger people. It’s thought to be a societal ill unique to the Western world. Surely, nothing like that can happen in our wonderful Christian nation. The second sentiment, mostly shared by older generations, is that they do exist here and are an abominable result of Western influence. If you’re young and happen to acknowledge queer people with anything short of vitriol, the suspicion is that you have been corrupted and have become one of them. Overall, it’s a very hostile environment to be in as a bisexual person myself so I elect to remain silent in public and find and create private safe spaces for other queer people.

Due to the successes of the organization my mother worked at, many others have been created since then with specialized focuses and open doors. Unfortunately, their visibility remains a bit low due to the fact that they do have to protect themselves as well. A lot of people hear about these organizations via word of mouth and while they do exist online now as well and can advertise there is always a fear that what you see online may be a government laid trap. As a result, word of mouth remains king and most community building strategies are built from there. 

Throughout high school, I managed to find other queer people through media analysis. I wrote the culture section of the student magazine and often invited people to discuss the books, TV shows and films I wrote about. I, of course, could never write about any explicitly queer media but it was media that had popular queer readings that I wrote about the most. Films like The Matrix, Persona, the poetry of Stephen Spender and so much more led to the sharing of experiences and safe spaces between people across various identities. I even learned about different places in the city that were accepting that I previously did not know about. 

However, physical meetings still pose a significant risk of arrest and attacks so digital spaces have also been increasingly utilized by different organizations. People use pseudonyms, throwaway email addresses and VPNs just to have a sense of freedom online and for the most part, it works. You can talk about your identity and sexuality in a way that is unrestrained without fear of backlash. You’re directly in contact with people who’ve shared the same experiences so you know they’ll understand. Strangers become more precious than family. They reaffirm your existence in a way that most families don’t. These online relationships gradually seep through into the real world but it’s all about trust. For many people, it’s terrifying to bare your true self here, but you can do it with people who are just like you, albeit in the shadows. It’s not necessarily ideal, but a widespread belief among the queer youth is: “If they can’t see us, they can’t hurt us,” which is essentially true. It feels as though just seeing each other will suffice for now.

Homosexuality is criminalized in my country but the laws and their enforcement are rarely as harsh as in countries such as Uganda. Foreign aid has helped local organizations provide healthcare and other resources to the LGBTQ community. Safe spaces exist in the major cities and so is legal help. Due to this, there’s not much of a desire to fight for same-sex marriage. A lot of people believe that would be drawing in the unnecessary attention of the public which would only make our lives harder. In the grand scheme of things, queer joy exists in tiny, invisible pockets. However, while we are invisible in those pockets, we can’t help but feel invincible because of it.

For some insight on LGBTQ+ activism on the African continent, check out the African Queer Youth Initiative on their website and Instagram. ♦