As I stared out of the window of the plane, looking down at the land I was moving away from, tears started flowing from my eyes.
I didn’t know when I would be returning to Nigeria, but I had to leave to protect myself.
It has been over four years, but I am still unable to return home because I am scared that I will be murdered for being gay.
That’s why I feel really disgusted by the recent things Home Secretary Suella Braverman said.
During a speech yesterday in Washington, she said that just being gay or a woman and fearing discrimination in your home country is not enough to qualify for asylum.
Once again, her remarks show that politicians who make important decisions about life and death are completely disconnected from reality and don’t understand the situation.
When I discovered I was gay when I was young, it was something that everyone knew but no one wanted to talk about.
The Home Secretary says that just being gay or a woman is not sufficient to request asylum.
When I was around eight or nine years old, I loved colors and used to imagine things in different shades. I stood out because I didn’t enjoy typical sports like the other boys who played football all the time.
Growing up in a Christian culture meant that there were strict expectations and norms about how to behave, especially when it came to gender and sexuality. This could be harmful and create a lot of pressure. When I was a teenager, I didn’t like girls and couldn’t understand what my biology teacher was talking about.
I didn’t have anyone to talk to and I couldn’t talk freely because of the highly religious nature of the society I lived in.
Looking back, my childhood seemed happy, but it was actually a lie hiding my sadness, a life that was taken from me, and a happiness that was never real.
Lying about a big part of who I am meant pretending every day for many years, and that is not a good way to live. So, I turned to social justice to help heal from my troubles and find peace with my situation. I really love it a lot.
I began advocating for the rights of refugees in Nigeria eight years ago.
Social media gave me the ability to discuss topics that were usually not allowed, and I worked very hard for causes that were important to me on X (previously called Twitter). When I reflect on my experiences, it’s easy to understand why I am so passionate about bringing about positive transformations.
Joel is hanging up a lot of LGBTQ+ flags in Nigeria.
But in 2019, I realized it was time to speak up about the unfair treatment of LGBTQ+ individuals in my country.
I felt like I had to be really honest and true to myself in order to live my life the way I wanted to. I wanted to start living life how I wanted and make peace with my different sides that want to be acknowledged.
So, me and eight other people decided to plan the very first Pride event in Nigeria.
Drawing inspiration from LGBTQ+ trailblazers of previous generations like Bayard Rustin, Bisi Alimi, and Lady Phyll, and having the privilege of knowing some in my own generation through social media, we joined together to plan a set of demonstrations in 15 important places throughout our country, including the capital city of Abuja and the megacity of Lagos.
In our group, we felt scared, mad, upset, excited, brave, happy, hurt, and most importantly, loved.
However, before the protests, my eight friends decided not to participate because they were worried about their safety and how it would affect their loved ones.
However, I had the intention to attend, so it was decided that this gathering would be an individual celebration of pride. I will be the main face of this LGBTQ+ protest, while others will be there to help and support behind the scenes.
The night before the first day was a strange and restless night. I felt really excited and it seemed like I had reached the end of my journey to freedom (or at least I thought so).
I wore my Pride shoes, Pride clothes, and Pride watch when I went to protests. My outfits had strong messages. That was the belief I needed. Nothing else was important when I wore them.
There were no signs because I was the sign. My shoes and clothes were the main focus, along with the three flags representing LGBTQ, Bisexual and Trans.
My flags and clothes with pride colors got a lot of attention from people passing by and also from the authorities. During the protests, I experienced a mix of fear and strength that made me feel like I went through many cycles of being born again.
It felt like I was by myself, but I had the backup and strength of all my friends and important LGBTQ+ people, both alive and deceased.
We came to show our disagreement with laws in Nigeria that affect the LGBTQ+ community, especially the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act. We want this law to be removed as soon as possible.
Besides not allowing same-sex marriage, the law made oppression acceptable and was used by authorities to explain and support mistreatment.
People can harm LGBTQ+ individuals without getting punished, which happens frequently and often leads to lynching and murder. The protest wanted to get rid of the very strict law, teach and make my community’s experience more humane.
Our Pride event ended with a month-long protest at the National Assembly in Abuja. This is where the strict law had been officially put into effect five years ago.
We voiced our dissatisfaction four times every week, and to our surprise, most people from the general public showed their support.
Every day had difficulties, and we always felt the danger of being lynched – especially in Lagos. It almost happened before my friends calmed the situation down.
In the end, I felt really happy to be a part of such a movement that aimed to make positive changes in society. However, the consequences were very bad and our group found out that we had become people who were being investigated.
We successfully entered the Senate building to protest. However, kind people at the National Assembly advised us to hide. We were caught on camera and people knew that we were there to support LGBTQ+ rights.
Because I stood up for what I believed was right, I experienced persecution from both the Nigerian government and religious groups. My family called me and said that the police were asking weird questions about what I do and what kind of life I live.
In just a few days, it became too dangerous for me to stay in my country, so I had to leave my home and go somewhere else to be safe. There wasn’t enough time to say goodbye.
The Court of Appeal has stopped the government’s plan to send asylum seekers back to Rwanda.
I had the option to go to the USA or Canada, but I chose the UK because I had been there before and it was a place I was familiar with. Also, I didn’t have enough time to get new visas for the other countries.
I believed that all my concerns were over once I boarded the plane to Britain.
I came to the UK on November 5, 2019. When I got to the airport, I talked to the UK officials and explained that I came here because my life was at risk. After waiting for 11 hours, they informed me that I would be placed in an immigration detention center.
I was worried, but I couldn’t feel anything. The good part was that I managed to escape from being hunted and from the dangerous situation I was in.
In detention, there was no safety or protection. I am not ready to explain the bad and unfair treatment I went through there, but what happened to me is not an uncommon occurrence.
It bothers me to know that other people have gone through the same thing. Many of my friends who have been through similar bad experiences in jail are too afraid to talk about it.
After I was arrested, I was put in a place that was not made for people like me.
I was with mean straight people and they treated me badly because of my race, sexual orientation, and behavior. No matter how hard I try, I can’t hide because I am a Black LGBTQ+ non-binary person seeking asylum in Britain.
Since I arrived in the UK, life has been uncertain, especially because Covid-19 started just a few months later.
The pandemic has made life really difficult for asylum seekers like me. We are stuck in a state of uncertainty, living in unsafe and unstable housing, struggling with lack of resources and support. This is taking a toll on our mental, emotional, and physical well-being.
But luckily, I got in touch with nonprofits like Albert Kennedy Trust and Safe Passage International, who always helped me and many others in the past.
AKT is where I first lived and it is still where I live now. I met LGBTQ+ people who were open about their identities, and it felt like a celebration of their pride every day. AKT also took care of my mental, emotional, and physical well-being, such as helping me find a doctor.
Safe Passage helped me find other stories of people who went on journeys to a safe place and they also helped me speak up for safe paths for child refugees. I joined a group called Young Leaders. In this group, we learned how to talk to politicians and promote causes. We also became more confident and learned about our own abilities.
Luckily, I was given refugee status one year after I came to the UK. Receiving this news made me very happy.
But I think Suella Braverman’s recent remarks are very harmful.
Today, it is harder for LGBTQ+ individuals to live and love openly in different parts of the world. We are always losing and never fully recovering from the pain and sadness of death and funerals.
In my home country, I was someone who caught people’s attention and I still am. However, not much has happened since 2019. I think it’s safe to say, things are getting even worse. In certain areas of Africa, like Uganda and Ghana, there are frequent incidents where LGBTQ+ individuals are targeted and persecuted.
Just recently in Nigeria, a large number of people who were thought to be LGBTQ+ were arrested. They were accused of organizing a ‘gay wedding’ which is illegal. There were also violent attacks where LGBTQ+ men were tied to a tree and severely beaten up.
This might have happened to me. I am very angry that Braverman is saying that being afraid of discrimination as a gay person is not a good reason to seek asylum in the UK.
People like me who are seeking safety should not have to wait for something terrible to happen before we leave our homes. Being queer should never feel like taking a risk.
Once again, a few people who make important decisions are hurting humanity. We should be treated with respect and honor.