queer | Zikoko!

The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Peter* (28) left Nigeria to escape discrimination for his sexuality and find better career prospects. But he faced a tough settling-in period, including almost being evicted for owing rent. He shares how he found love, family and acceptance in the UK.

*This model is not affiliated with the story in any way*

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the United Kingdom (UK), and I left Nigeria in 2023.

What inspired you to leave?

Well, two things inspired me: my sexual orientation and the economic situation in Nigeria. I was bullied a lot because of my sexuality. My secondary schoolmates would call me by female names because I was effeminate.

I actually tried to leave immediately after secondary school, but that did not work out. I tried again in my second year of university, but that also did not work out.

After my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) service, it was really hard to find a good job. I worked at a laboratory for a short period, but I quit because I was owed my salary and they were verbally abusive. After that, I got a job teaching at a government college, but that too was rough. We got daily doses of insults from the principal.

In the end, I just knew I would only be able to find my ideal life abroad.

Sorry you had to experience all of that. How did you finally leave Nigeria?

This was not straightforward at all. I initially got admission to do my master’s in Lithuania. All I had to do was pay some fees, but it happened during the cash crunch period in early 2023, so I ran into some complications as a result. My payment refused to go through, and even though the school extended the deadline for me to sort it out, the challenge persisted, and they could not wait any longer. So that opportunity slipped.

Before that time, I had also applied to some UK universities, but I was not really thinking about them seriously because I could not afford them on my own. For me, the UK was a last resort. But after I lost the Lithuanian opportunity, the UK became my only option. Fortunately, I was able to rely on my father and uncle to help me with funds.

But it was really difficult, especially the first year.

How so?

Academically, it was a bit confusing at the start. So my grades in my first couple of semesters were about average. But after that, my grades were mostly A’s. I love how you can just walk up to your lecturers and talk freely, ask questions about anything you do not understand. I found it really, really weird at first because it was not like that in Nigeria.

The easy access to lecturers helped, but things were still difficult for me because I had to juggle school with work. I missed a lot of classes. It was really tough. There was no time to rest. I barely slept.

What kind of work did you do?

I got two jobs to keep up with the bills. The first was a cleaning job at an event centre that would host weddings, holiday parties, book launches and so on. So I would clean on the weekends. The problem was that it was really far away from where I lived near my school. I had to take three buses to get there, so it could take me around four to five hours to get to work.

The second job was as a quality control officer at a car factory. I did this on weekdays. After classes, I would leave for work around 3 p.m. Then on the weekends, I would head to the event centre for the cleaning job.

The cleaning shifts were really long. I would typically work ten to twelve-hour shifts. I once did sixteen hours each day for three days. It was a brutal experience but I was grateful for that weekend because the bulk sum I got paid for it really helped me take care of my school fees debt.

It must have felt good to be able to offset your debts.

Yes, it did. The pressure was telling on me mentally and even physically. I was barely sleeping and was mostly surviving on spaghetti and rice, because that was what I could cook in bulk.

Do you still work the cleaning job?

I work in care at the moment, but I am working on getting a licence so I can get a laboratory job. I work with people with disabilities. I like my patients; we have a really good rapport. Many of them have a really good sense of humour. I also really like my coworkers. It is just a great environment. Sometimes I would even rather be at work than at home.

That sounds great. How would you sum up your experience in the UK?

Overall, it has been great. I feel like it has been in stages. Early on, you are trying to pay your fees and sort out school stuff, and maybe get a good job. But then if you get through all that, you can really start looking forward to settling down, getting a better job, getting your own house, getting your own car if you need it and stuff like that.

So, so far it has been great. At the moment, I feel like I am in this calm period where I am a bit settled and can now look forward to all of those things, starting with getting my licence and then getting a better job.

Have you visited Nigeria since you travelled?

No, I have not. But I speak with my parents almost every day.

What kind of support system do you have in the UK?

My partner and his family. I also consider my colleagues a sort of family, my work family. They are excellent.

You are in a relationship?

Yes, I am. We actually met on a dating app. I did not feel the connection at first. I went off the app for some time. When I came back, we started talking again and arranged to meet.

Meeting him has been the peak of my experience in the UK. It has really helped me settle in here. I realised that the problem was that I had no one here. I do not have any family members in the UK. I did not really have friends except maybe my roommates in my shared accommodation. So I did not really have anyone I was close to, and I think that is why a lot of people slip into depression.

It was really tough, but when I met him, everything became settled. I now had someone to talk to, someone to cry to, someone to rely on if I needed help. Once I met him, everything changed. I now have family because his family became mine.

Happy to hear you found such a connection. What is dating like in the UK?

I actually dated a few people here and there, but none of them lasted long. The problem with men in the UK is that many of them are not looking for long term relationships.

How does it compare to your experience in Nigeria?

Okay, so the main difference for me has been honesty. In the UK, especially with white men, they will tell you upfront that they do not want a relationship, that they are just looking to have some fun, no commitment.

Nigerians, on the other hand, both at home and even some in the UK, will lie that they are looking for a relationship when they too just want to have fun and go.

I prefer dating here because it is honest, and I quickly understood how it works. But I did have a few good relationships in Nigeria, and I also had one really bad one.

What happened?

While I was in university, I dated a Master’s student. He was older, but he was just dishonest about everything, while I was open. I let him know my house, but he would not let me know his. He kept promising to take me there and then dodging it with one excuse or the other.

In addition to these, he lied about his line of work and made a move on a guy I was mentoring. There was another guy he introduced to me as his brother, but I later found out they were dating. And even though I was still schooling and he was working, I was the one doing the spending in the relationship.

Wow. That sounds rough. Do you have any plans to visit Nigeria?

Yes, I intend to visit Nigeria with my partner soon.

Do you consider the UK home now, or is there a possibility of a permanent return to Nigeria?

The funny thing is that I do see the UK as home, but my partner sees Nigeria as our potential home in the future.

We actually just bought a property in Nigeria. We plan to have kids and want them to experience both countries and cultures. So we want to have homes in both Nigeria and the UK. And maybe in the future, when we are old, we might actually retire in Nigeria. That is the plan. I just worry about the medical services in Nigeria, it is just too poor. But we are hoping it will get better by then.

Fingers crossed. What kind of culture shocks did you experience moving to the UK?

Numbers one and two are really easy; they hardly drink water here, and they do not rinse their dishes. I do not let my partner wash the plates. I hope he does not see this.

The first time I visited him, he offered me juice, but I asked for water. He got me the cup of water, and as I drank it, I could taste soap. Now, I always get my drink myself, or I do the dishes.

Another thing for me is the pets. It is like everyone has a pet here — it could be a dog, cat, bird, or something. And they have insurance for them. Why are you paying £50 for insurance every month for a pet? How can a dog have free MRI scans? People in Nigeria do not even have that.

Also, the Christmas gifts. They really take it seriously here. Last year, our house was filled with gifts and cards. The office, overflowing with gifts. We had to tell people to just start picking their gifts from 1st December because there was no more space under the Christmas tree.

Let us talk about highlights and lowlights. What would you say has been your worst experience in the UK?

That has to be almost getting locked out of my apartment because I could not pay rent. So this was early on, just a few months after I came here, and I had not gotten a job yet. I was at the student accommodation. I was already going nuts worrying about the rent.

We use these keycards to open the doors, and once you are owing, your card deactivates. Luckily for me, the day my card deactivated, I had a shoe at the door, and it stopped the door from shutting.

I had to call my uncle. He sent me some money, and the church I was attending then helped me with the rest, so I was able to pay for three more weeks. Within those weeks, I was able to get a job.

But it was so scary because I just imagined what would have happened if that shoe had not been at the door. What if my uncle had not sent the money, or the church had not helped me out?

Glad it worked out in the end. What about your best experience in the UK?

I feel like there have been a lot of really good experiences. I think I would say going on my first proper holiday. This was late last year. So, you know, coming from Nigeria, going on holiday means going to one relative’s house. So this felt so different.

It was actually a recommendation from my partner’s mother. She told us about this island she thought we would have a great time at. And we did. It was for a week, and it was such a great time for me to reflect, think, and just recharge. All I had to do was see beautiful stuff, sing, visit museums, play games, go to the bar, karaoke, and just chill. I went to bed and woke up whenever I liked. It was just really fun.

Sounds awesome. On a scale of one to ten, how happy would you say you are in the UK, and why?

I would say nine because I strongly believe I have a future here. But it is not a ten because of the whole far right stuff we are starting to see.

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Gabriel* (31) moved to the US to live freely as a queer man. In this story, he shares how loneliness, discrimination, and the toxic culture of the queer community turned out to be a very different reality than he expected.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the US, and I left Nigeria in 2021.

What inspired you to leave?

I left for graduate school. I wanted to do my master’s abroad.

Why the US?

I wasn’t particular about it being the US. I just wanted to leave Nigeria and be as far from home as possible. I considered other countries, Canada, for example, but I got admitted to a university in the US, so I went with that. I just wanted to be anywhere but home.

Why did you want to be anywhere but home?

I wanted to go somewhere I’d be allowed to be myself, to live as a queer man without fear. It’s affected my relationship with my family because I’m always trying to stay away from them, just to have some independence and privacy. So when the opportunity to leave Nigeria came, I grabbed it.

Does your family not approve of your sexuality?

They don’t know.

They might have their suspicions, but I haven’t come out to them yet. I’ve heard my parents talk about other queer people in a homophobic way, so I have a good idea of how they’d react.

I might come out to them eventually, but I don’t know when. Maybe soon, but I’m not quite ready yet.

How was life as a queer man in Nigeria?

During my undergraduate years, I really got to be myself. My university was in a different state from where we lived, so my parents couldn’t visit. I had the freedom to live my life as a queer person. I also had supportive friends. Some were queer too, and even straight ones who were allies.

How did you find the experience in the US?

Surprising and uncomfortable. I’m not having fun here. I’m learning what it means to be a queer Black person, and the experience is entirely different from Nigeria. It hasn’t been pleasant.

You said it’s been surprising. What were your expectations, and what’s the reality?

I think you’ll agree that in Hollywood films we watched back in Nigeria, the US is always shown in a glorious light.

It always looks like everyone lives freely, people having abortions, homosexual and transgender people just everywhere, flaunting their sexuality on the streets. All of that is a bloody lie. It’s just propaganda. It’s really not all that when you get here.

So, you’re experiencing discrimination?

Yes. Homophobia, racism, and xenophobia because I’m an immigrant. It’s just too much. And because I’m effeminate, even being in public is difficult. I live in what they call a “Red State,” which means it’s mostly Republican and very conservative. Some people stare at me.

This current administration is attacking what little freedoms queer people used to have. In some cities, there used to be rainbow-coloured crosswalks as symbols of queer freedom and reminders that homophobia shouldn’t exist. Now they’re repainting them black and white. They remove queer flags wherever they’ve been put up. They’re trying to erase anything supportive of queer rights.

Do you still see your future in the US?

I’m done with my master’s now, and I want to do a doctorate at some point. If I get the chance to do it elsewhere, I’ll take it.

I’d love to go somewhere with better healthcare, better public transport, and where you’re allowed to live your life as a queer Black man. But for now, I’m just trying to survive this administration. I don’t know what my future in the US will look like.

Any chance of a return to Nigeria?

No.

I love my country. I love my people, my heritage, and where I come from. But no.

Do you visit, or have you visited since you left?

No, I haven’t. There’d have to be a serious reason to visit, like if my family really needed my presence for something. But that hasn’t happened since I got here.

I can’t even go right now because Trump is introducing new immigration laws, and I’ve heard people are getting stuck back home when they visit. I don’t want to risk it.

So what’s your connection like with Nigeria?

I have my family, of course. I also have friends in Nigeria that I still talk to. Some of them are planning to come to the US for studies too.

Do you have a support system in the US?

I’d say I have a fair support system. I have friends, but I’m an introvert, so it’s not like I have loads of them. The few I do have are very supportive. Some are classmates, and some are people I met randomly.

But it still gets really lonely sometimes.

You feel lonely?

I think it’s part of being an immigrant. You’ve been transplanted into this new culture that makes you feel like an alien. Americans are very individualistic, so it’s not communal like Nigeria, where you can bond with someone just because you’re neighbours.

I’ve tried being friends with more Nigerians here, but many of them are homophobic, so I can’t. For example, there’s this African Student Association I used to be involved with, but I’m not anymore because they’re a bunch of homophobic, transphobic, and sexist people.

Like I said, I’m visibly feminine, so I’ve had experiences where I’m just minding my business, and a fellow African student will stare at me with disgust. It’s made me very self-conscious, and I’d rather keep to myself.

But sometimes, loneliness creeps in.

Are there any Nigerians in your friend group?

Yes, I have Nigerian friends here, the ones who aren’t homophobic, transphobic, or sexist.

What about romance? Could you compare your experience dating as a queer man in Nigeria versus the US?

The main difficulty with dating in Nigeria is not being able to be public about it. You can’t truly be yourselves.

Dating in the US has its own challenges. The queer community here can be toxic, especially for someone like me who’s an immigrant. People fetishise you. Someone I was seeing once told me they enjoy dating “international people.” What does that even mean? They started listing all the countries their exes were from, like they were ticking off nationalities on a checklist. It felt very strange.

You also meet people who discriminate against you because you’re an immigrant. I’ve even had African-Americans mock my accent. You constantly feel like an outsider when you’re around them.

Even the dating apps aren’t helpful. Most people on there just want to hook up and move on. But I’m a lover boy. I’m looking for a real, monogamous relationship. I’ve had my share of fun in the past; now I just want something committed.

The queer community here can also be very vain. It’s all about appearances. People care about how rich you are, how good you look, what kind of car you drive, or whether you have a six-pack. I’m not someone who’s moved by material things.

Also, even within the queer community, there’s this disdain for effeminate men. So dating here has been difficult and unpleasant for me.

What are the biggest culture shocks you’ve experienced?

You know how Nigerians don’t mind their business? That doesn’t happen here. I barely even know my neighbours. Everyone just keeps to themselves. Sometimes I think it’s nice, other times, I find it unbearable. We’re human, and humans are social creatures. We should try to get to know one another.

Another shock was the lack of public transportation. It’s better in the bigger cities, but where I live, you either have your own car or enough money to use rideshare services. It’s not like Nigeria, where you step outside and there are buses, taxis, tricycles, and motorcycle options to pick from.

The monthly rent system here was also a surprise.

What has been the highlight of your experience in the US, and what has been the lowlight?

The highlights have been the times I’ve met friends from Nigeria here in the US. It’s always great when we link up and have fun.

The low points are when I feel lonely and miss home. It’s the little things that trigger it, like remembering I haven’t eaten yam in years. That’s something I could easily get back home, but it’s too expensive at the African stores here.

I miss my family. The best I can do is talk to them on the phone, but it’s not the same as being there in person.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the US, and why?

I’d say six. I’m happy because I’m finally independent from my parents and I can be myself. I wear whatever I want, go clubbing, and love whoever I want. But I’m hopeful that better days are ahead. I want to meet more people who’ll make me feel less lonely. And I hope I find the love of my life, too.

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Irete* (24) and Tinu*(25) met at a mutual friend’s birthday party and went from polite small talk to a full blown friendship in a short while.

But, when feelings blurred the lines between friendship and romance, it complicated their new friendship in ways neither of them expected.

This is Irete’s story, as told to Betty:

On a rainy Tuesday morning, a WhatsApp notification dinged on my phone as I struggled to get out of bed. Tinu’s name sat on my screen. But instead of the excitement I felt at the start of our friendship, or the butterflies I felt when we got even closer, all I felt was anxiety.

Communicating with Tinu* wasn’t always that difficult. There was a time I told her everything. But as I stared at her message that morning, I had nothing to say. I only felt a deep wave of regret as I reflected on what used to be the good days of our friendship.

***

When Tinu walked into the room at my friend’s party in July 2021, I almost felt time slow down. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life.

I’d come across her social media profile many times, but this party was the first time we met in person. She was far better looking than any photos she had posted online.

She oozed charisma in her flower-patterned dress as she made small talk here and there with other guests. Her arms jingled when she moved with the weight of the bracelets and bangles that adorned them. Her braids were long and colourful, making it impossible to simply ignore her presence. When she walked up to me and introduced herself, our conversation flowed so easily, it was surprising that we hadn’t met before.

During our talk, we realised we had so much in common — we loved pink, sappy Korean dramas and colourful accessories. By the end of the night, we realised we followed each other on social media and so began our friendship. Like I said, talking to Tinu was easy. Something about her made me feel safe about having hard conversations, sharing the most intimate parts of myself with no holds barred.

So, in August, when I saw some disturbing, sad posts on her profile, I felt obliged to ask if all was well.

Tinu shared that she was going through a terrible heartbreak. Her last relationship had ended suddenly and left her struggling to hold on. I felt her pain as if it were mine, and I was determined to cheer her up.

I made it a point to check on her, tried to make her laugh, and even bought her little presents when I could. What I didn’t catch fast enough was that Tinu was getting under my skin. With every laugh, call and touch we shared, my heart was getting entangled in her magic, blurring the lines between a platonic sisterhood and deep feelings.

***

One evening in September 2021, while doomscrolling the internet on the couch, I came across an ad for a dress. It had a gorgeous floral pattern, and I immediately thought of buying it as a gift for Tinu. In that quiet moment of making an unplanned purchase, I caught myself smiling as I thought about Tinu’s jokes, her kindness and her beauty. That was when it hit me: I had feelings for Tinu.

I tried to keep my feelings a secret at first. As much as my heart yearned for something more, I wasn’t going to lose our friendship. But my feelings didn’t go unnoticed.

Tinu noticed everything, the way my emotions betrayed my facial expressions and the messages that carried deeper meanings than intended. One Saturday, during a call, she confronted me with a question that seemed so simple yet unrattling: “Why have you been acting weird?” As soon as I heard the question, I felt cold sweat run down my back and the sides of my face. But my fear didn’t stop me from blurting out the words before I had time to consider them.

“I think I like you. No, I’m sure I have a crush on you,” I said.

I expected an awkward silence, anger even, but she just laughed. Then almost immediately, she said she liked me too. Relief washed over me. At least whatever I felt wasn’t one-sided.

But while Tinu and I shared a lot in common, it wasn’t just the good things. We also shared the same bad habits: fear of commitment, poor communication and messy emotional patterns..

After we talked about our feelings, we decided we didn’t want to ruin our friendship by getting into a relationship. So instead of dating, we became friends with benefits, who still blurred the lines between emotional attachment.

***

Two months in, Tinu confessed her love for me for the first time.

We were alone in a quiet, dimly lit room. Tinu’s confession made my heart sing. I loved her company, the sound of her laughter and the way I felt around her. It was easy to say it back because I was also in love.

Despite confessing our love for each other, we couldn’t make it official. Beyond the butterflies in our tummies and the glaring truth that we were deeply in love, neither of us could nurture a full-blown relationship, so our arrangement stayed the same.

But things began to fall apart in November 2022, almost a year after I first found the courage to pursue what we shared.

I fell in love with someone else.

I’m polyamorous, and Tinu always knew. Still, she was taken aback when she found out I was dating another person. She couldn’t get past the fact that after almost a year together, we’d never defined our relationship, yet I gave someone else the “girlfriend” label in months. I tried to reassure her that she meant more, but she didn’t see things from my point of view. Slowly, our connection struggled, and after a while, we lost the easy click that defined the beginning of our friendship.

We eventually agreed to make up and return to being friends, but nothing felt the same.

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I no longer felt the same giddiness when her name popped up on my phone; we went days without speaking. It was heartbreaking to watch our friendship wither away the way it did. I regret everything and I miss the things that once pulled us together. The easy conversations, her laughter when I shared a dumb joke, the way we gushed at K-dramas. If I had known that my feelings would ruin our friendship, I’d have hidden them better.

I’ve tried to rekindle our friendship, but it just isn’t the same. It feels like an invisible wall is holding us back from where we used to be.

Through it all, I miss Tinu and what we once shared.

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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Saratu* (25) spent most of her life in Kaduna, trying to survive as a queer woman in a country that criminalises her identity. After years of hiding and dodging persecution, she knew she had to leave. In this story, she shares how she fled Nigeria, sought asylum in the UK, and is finally learning what it means to live freely.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the United Kingdom. I left Nigeria in 2024.

What inspired you to leave?

Nigeria didn’t really feel like home. At some point, as a young adult, you have to seriously think about your future, and mine wasn’t in Nigeria. I was studying English at Kaduna State University, but the environment wasn’t mentally conducive for me. It felt like I was on autopilot. I was putting in so much energy, and I wasn’t seeing any results.

How did you travel out?

I’ve always been into art, so I got admitted to study Art and Design in the UK. I went there on a student visa. Unfortunately, I didn’t finish the program. I dropped out to begin the asylum process.

What is the asylum process?

It’s a process where you ask the UK government for refuge because you can’t return to your country for safety reasons. You have to prove why going back would put you in danger, which I successfully did.

What was the process like?

While I was going through it, a friend introduced me to a legal representative who gave me free advice. They warned me that the asylum process usually takes a long time, and even after all that, your application might still be rejected. So it didn’t make sense to just sit around and gain nothing during that time.

While seeking asylum, you’re not allowed to work. So I decided to apply to another school to study Construction.

Why Construction?

It was free. Some high-level courses require tuition, but as long as you have the right to study, either as an asylum seeker or through your student visa, you’re eligible to enrol in any university offering free courses.

Certain fields automatically guarantee you a job once you study them. That’s usually in labour-intensive industries like care work or construction. It’s not like Nigeria, where you could go to a polytechnic and still struggle to find a job after graduating. Here, if you study courses that are always in demand, you’ll have jobs waiting for you once you finish. That’s what I wanted to do while waiting for my asylum decision.

So how did that go?

Thankfully, my asylum process was very quick. I applied in June 2024, had my interview in November, and was granted asylum in January 2025. That’s a very short time compared to others. I know some people who have been going through the process since 2019.

After I was granted asylum status, I dropped out of the construction course to find a job. There’s something called Universal Credit, where the government assists refugees, but it’s not enough. I had to find my own place to stay and earn money, so I left the course to work.

I’m working as a carer now. Hopefully, I’ll save enough to further my education in the future. Who knows?

You said your process was thankfully quick. Is it usually difficult?

Yes, the UK Home Office can be quite unpredictable. I know a lot of people who applied for asylum and didn’t get it. It feels random sometimes, so I can’t really say why I was granted refugee status and others weren’t.

Some people get denied, go to court, and still get rejected. Maybe it’s because they didn’t seek proper legal advice or didn’t know what to do. I’d say I had some grace, or maybe I was just lucky. Honestly, I can’t even advise anyone on how I did it, because I don’t fully understand it myself.

Do you know why other people got rejected or why it’s so difficult?

I think it’s because the UK government doesn’t want the world to think it’s easy to get asylum here. But I’ve noticed that they won’t refuse you if you know how to present your case properly.

I didn’t give them any reason to deny me. I think some people are careless with their cases. They don’t seek legal advice and treat it like a lottery. You have to be very intentional.

Could you give an example of something that would disqualify someone seeking asylum?

Some people aren’t honest or consistent. For example, lying about your age, when you arrived in the country, or claiming the UK is the only country you’ve been to. They’ll find out. It’s all about being truthful.

If you’ve been consistent in your case, you can be confident going into your main interview. That’s when you explain why you need refuge. You also have to write a personal statement, which is basically your life story.

They ask you questions based on that statement. They’re very intentional with how they ask and know how to catch you if you lie. It’s really all about being consistent.

Why were you eligible for asylum?

Well, Nigeria doesn’t accept gay people, and I’m queer. My activism and involvement in the queer community were actually the evidence that helped with my asylum application. Even before applying, I was already attending Pride events and queer social gatherings here in the UK.

Did you ever do things like that in Nigeria?

Yes, but in Nigeria, we had to hide. I used to attend social gatherings with my queer friends and a gay activism club. Even though it’s not allowed and extremely risky, we still found ways to connect. When we couldn’t meet in person, we’d do it online. Anything to feel connected to ourselves.

I hope this won’t be dragging up any trauma for you, but what was it like being queer in Nigeria?

It wasn’t easy. The constant need to hide. The sadness of not being able to express myself really got me down. I lived in fear — fear for my life, fear of my family finding out.

Being queer in Nigeria is not easy at all. It’s like you’re shouting and screaming, but nobody wants to hear you. The religious beliefs, the people who think being queer is a choice, and if you try to stand up to them and say they’re wrong, you’re putting your life in danger. They can report you, beat you, or worse. So you have to hide.

I knew I was in danger in Nigeria as a queer woman. I’ve been in situations so dangerous I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t run for my life. Sometimes, I have survivor’s guilt. I have friends who have died or gone missing.

So what’s it like living in the UK now that you’re settled?

“Settled” is a very big word. I wouldn’t say I’m settled yet but my day-to-day life now feels more relaxed. I don’t feel pressured. I feel freer. I feel lighter. I can dress how I want.

I’m very masculine-presenting, and growing up in Nigeria, walking down the street meant being stared at constantly. People here don’t stare. Everyone’s busy, chasing their own goals, trying to make money. Nobody has time to judge you. In Nigeria, I think a lot of people aren’t doing much, so they have time to be judgmental.

Here, there’s always support. If you really look, you’ll find someone to help you. It’s about finding people who understand your situation. And the support here doesn’t come with strings attached. In Nigeria, nobody helps you for free. But here, there’s opportunity for everyone, if you’re willing to search for it.

What was the biggest culture shock when you moved?

For me, the biggest culture shock was the smoking. It’s like everyone smokes here, whether it’s cigarettes or vapes. People even take smoking breaks at work.

Everyone’s just free to do what they want, without criticism or judgment. You can marry who you want. Nobody has time to judge you. Mental health is taken seriously here. They want people to be in a good mental state so they can do their work well.

Of course, some are still judgmental, but it’s frowned upon. Racism is frowned upon. Some people still do it, but it’s not culturally accepted. You can actually get sued for being racist.

Another shock was how there are no guns here. Even police officers don’t carry guns. They use tasers and batons.

What’s been your biggest highlight and lowlight since moving?

My biggest highlight was getting my papers. That has to be it. Like I said, some people have been here for years and still haven’t gotten theirs. It took me less than a year.

Another highlight was moving into my current place. I’ve stayed in so many uncomfortable places, but this one is nice. I also have a job I don’t hate. I actually like taking care of people.

As for lowlights, I’d say working as a warehouse operative. I almost died. It was a warehouse that stored chocolate and confectionery, and every shift I had to pick and move 4,000 boxes in 12 hours individually. Some of the boxes were huge and very heavy. You had to complete your 4,000 boxes or face penalties. And we were only allowed 70 minutes of break time.

I’m so sorry about that experience. Do you have any long-term plans now?

I’d like to get married. Although my job doesn’t give me much time to go out, move around, or maybe even find love, I’m still thinking about it.

I’d also like to get a better job, maybe after doing a short course or even getting a degree. At this point, I’m just open to anything. I don’t want to put pressure on myself or say, “By this particular time, I must have achieved this particular thing.” I’ve done that before, and it didn’t work out. I failed.

Any chances of coming back to Nigeria?

Now that I’ve gotten refugee status, I’m not allowed to go back to Nigeria for the next five years. After that, I’ll be eligible to apply for Indefinite Leave to Remain (ILR), which means I’ll be allowed to stay in the UK as long as I want. Once I have an ILR, I can apply for citizenship.

When I get citizenship, maybe I’ll visit Nigeria just to see family and friends. But I wouldn’t say I want to live there again.

How happy would you say you are on a scale of one to ten, and why?

I’d say eight. No — I’ll say nine, because I’ve tried. For my age and what I’ve achieved, I’ve really tried. So I’ll give myself a nine.

It’s not ten because there’s still more I want to do. Maybe it’s productivity guilt. But I’d say I’m very, very happy.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

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It’s no secret that Nigeria is a homophobic country with a low tolerance for the LGBTQ+ community. I wanted to highlight the more positive queer experiences and so I spoke to a few queer people about what it’s like having supportive parents and how that has influenced their lived experiences.

“My parents love and accept my partner. It means the world to me.” — *Fatima, 24. Lesbian

What do you wish more parents of queer kids understood?

I wish they understood how hard it is for the queer child to be different from every one around them. Their child didn’t just wake up and decide to be different to spite them; they’re figuring life out, too. I remember coming out to my mum. She just sighed and told me she couldn’t imagine the amount of mental stress I had been under trying to figure my queerness out on my own. That made me start crying because being seen so clearly by my mum was a relief beyond words. I wish more parents of queer kids put themselves in their children’s shoes so better conversations can be had.