For queer Ugandans like Entity and Rock, the journey to safety didn’t end at the Kenyan border—it just changed shape. Fleeing from Uganda’s vicious Anti-Homosexuality Act, which reintroduced state violence with medieval brutality, these two men sought solace in Nairobi, hoping to simply exist. But now, Kenya is toying with its own copycat legislation, the so-called Family Protection Bill, and queer refugees are bracing themselves for another round of persecution.
Uganda’s 2023 law remains a humanitarian catastrophe, one that legalized hate and encouraged a frenzy of public humiliation and violence. Entity was among those rounded up at a Kampala bar raid, wrongly accused of drug use, paraded on TV, and subjected to what he calls “hell on earth” behind bars. Rock, once a tech-savvy professional in Kampala, now bears physical scars from being bound with barbed wire and tortured—all for being gay.
“I thought Kenya would be safer,” Entity admitted, “but that illusion didn’t last long.” Weeks after Uganda’s bill passed, Kenya’s own lawmakers began pushing similar rhetoric—driven by MP Peter Kaluma and backed by Western-funded evangelical groups. Kenya’s proposed bill doesn’t just criminalize same-sex relationships; it takes aim at pronouns, gender affirmation, and even sex education.
Shelters of Safety, Shadows of Fear
While Kenya remains one of the only African nations to formally recognize LGBTQ+ asylum claims, that fragile distinction is now under threat. The proposed bill includes a “morality clause” that would disqualify queer asylum seekers from protection altogether. The result? A population that already lives on the edge is being shoved closer to it.
Nairobi’s Nature Network, founded by Ugandan queer refugees, tries to provide shelter, community, and safety—but even that’s precarious. Shelters are raided. Refugees are evicted. Still, in the homes they’ve managed to build on Nairobi’s outskirts, people like Entity and Rock finally feel some sense of humanity. “I live with people who understand me,” Entity said. “That changes everything.”
Mental health support, often overlooked, is a lifeline. In partnership with local health groups, the shelters offer simple but powerful acts of healing—games, chats, and community. “Sometimes we think we’re alone,” said Brian, one of the shelter’s founders. “But we’re not. That feeling of belonging keeps us alive.”
Funding Cut, Hope Cut Short
But hope has been strangled not just by laws, but by money. Funding cuts from U.S. programs like USAID’s “Pride of the Community” project have obliterated half of the budgets sustaining clinics, HIV care, and LGBTQ+ mental health services across Kenya. “We’ve lost over 50% of our capacity to serve,” said John Mathenge of Hoymas, a key local partner.
Meanwhile, visibility through queer culture is trying to survive. A series of balls—complete with fashion walks and performances—serve as both celebration and resistance. But barriers remain. While some queer Kenyans strut in stilettos, others can’t even afford the bus fare to safety. “The people who need these spaces the most are still too scared to attend,” said Andeti, founder of the Haus of Andeti.
The Bigger Picture
This is about more than just Uganda or Kenya. It’s about a continent under siege from Western-funded homophobia and the slow, bureaucratic strangling of queer lives. For LGBTQ+ people in Africa, exile isn’t just a plane ride away—it’s an unending journey. And every time they think they’ve found safety, another shadow looms.
The queer community—already fleeing for their lives—is now pleading for international awareness and pressure. Kenya’s pending bill would not only devastate lives but could set a dangerous precedent for other countries contemplating similar legal atrocities. The LGBTQ+ world must not look away.
Because for Entity, Rock, Brian, and thousands more, this isn’t just policy. It’s survival.