I was at risk of the death penalty for being gay, even in Britain.

I spent years in London, searching for lodging.

March 11th 2024.

I was at risk of the death penalty for being gay, even in Britain.
I remember the day I went to sign on and was told I would be sent to Yarl's Wood Immigration Removal Centre. It was a mix of fear and confusion as I tried to understand what was happening. I had been living in the UK for 13 years and had finally received a positive decision on my asylum claim. It was a moment of pure joy and relief. After years of uncertainty and danger, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief and feel safe.

Growing up in Africa, I knew from a young age that I was attracted to women. But in my home country, being LGBTQ+ was not accepted. It was seen as shameful and resulted in widespread discrimination and abuse, even from my own family. I felt like I had to hide who I really was, and it became a constant battle to suppress my true feelings.

Despite knowing my true identity, I eventually married a man because it was expected of me. But it never felt right. It was suffocating to live with this secret and to constantly hide who I truly was. When I was in my 40s, I met a woman at work and we started an affair. It was the first time I had ever felt truly happy. But our happiness was short-lived when my husband unexpectedly came home and caught us together. He was furious and both of our lives were suddenly at risk.

My lover, desperate to protect herself, told her employers that I had forced her into the relationship. She even threatened to report me to the police. The thought of being arrested and potentially killed because of who I loved was terrifying. I knew I had to flee for my own safety.

Luckily, I had a cousin in the UK who had visited me a few times. I reached out to her, not daring to tell her the real reason for my visit, and she helped me get a visitor visa. I arrived in the UK in September 2005, not knowing what the future held for me.

At first, things were okay. But it wasn't long before my cousin became controlling and abusive. She made me work for her without any pay and forced me to sleep on the kitchen floor. It was a hopeless and lonely existence. In December 2005, she kicked me out and I found myself wandering the streets, with nowhere to go.

But then, I plucked up the courage to knock on the door of a woman who lived on the same street. I told her my story and she kindly let me stay with her for a few days until her family arrived for Christmas. It was a small act of kindness that meant the world to me. But I couldn't stay there forever, and I found myself moving from place to place, relying on the kindness of strangers and the support of my church.

For years, I wandered around London, always on the lookout for a place to stay. Sometimes, I had to sleep on the bus or in the park. But no matter how tough it was, it was still better than facing the danger and discrimination I would have faced if I had returned to my home country.

I had to report to the Home Office every two weeks while my asylum claim was being processed. It was a constant source of stress and anxiety, never knowing what the future held and living in constant fear of being deported. Finally, in 2018, after five long years, I received a positive decision on my claim. It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I finally felt like I could breathe again.

But the years of uncertainty and trauma have taken their toll on me. I suffer from migraines, depression, and frequent flashbacks to the past. I work two hours a day as a cleaner and try to give back to the community by volunteering with charities. I still rely on their support, but I am grateful for the opportunity to give back.

I have come out to a few women in Women for Refugee Women's Rainbow Sisters. It's a safe and welcoming space for women like me, who have had to seek safety because of their sexuality. They have become my family and I am grateful for their support and love.

But even now, I still have to hide my sexuality for the most part. I can only hope that one day, I will be able to live freely as myself and find love. But for now, I am grateful for the safety and acceptance I have found in the UK.

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