If you’re planning a trip around queer-friendly destinations, chances are that sub-Saharan Africa isn’t on your bucket list (except South Africa). I used to feel the same way, but earlier this year I headed to East Africa to attend a family wedding in Ethiopia. I wasn’t going to let being gay keep me from a dreamy week of getting to know a country with folks who had grown up there. I even extended my trip to spend some time in Rwanda, somewhere I’d always wanted to go, to learn more about the history and to take in the lush greenery in the Land of a Thousand Hills.
I personally did not want to let laws and cultural taboos keep me from a unique experience as a solo queer woman in East Africa, so my goal was to stay as safe as I could. Here are some tips for staying safe and preparing for a trip like mine.
Do your research
I know I’m pointing out the obvious to LGBTQ+ travellers here, but if you’ve simply heard that a place is generally “safe” or “unsafe” for queer travellers, dig a little deeper. Make sure you know the laws and have an understanding of the attitudes toward LGBTQ+ folks in your destination. Is a country unsafe because of the laws (e.g., can same-sex activity lead to jail time?), cultural taboos (e.g., will PDA or wanting to stay in the same hotel room get you glared at?) or both? Are the rules applied differently to foreigners? Consider how hard it would be for you personally to navigate these challenges.
On my trip, I visited Rwanda to learn more about its history and to indulge in good coffee and poolside relaxation; Uganda for a brief few days, to do a gorilla trek; and Ethiopia, for the family wedding as well as the food and coffee). Uganda’s anti-queer laws are some of the world’s worst because of their infamous Anti-Homosexuality Act. Same-sex activity or promotion of homosexuality—that is, talking positively about it publicly or creating organizations—is illegal. The law is enforced, and can result in lifelong imprisonment and even the death penalty, depending on the “severity” of the crime. Queer folks are commonly discriminated against and harassed. Ethiopia’s laws are a little less scary, and Rwanda’s are more relaxed in comparison (more on these later). Knowing the possible consequences I could face as an out lesbian in these countries helped me to make decisions about how to present myself on my trip.
Look at the broader picture. Canada currently has an orange travel advisory (its second-highest warning) for Ethiopia and a yellow one for Uganda.
When it comes to visibility, don’t be yourself
This is advice I never thought I’d share, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices when safety is at stake. Legally, same-sex activity can be punished with imprisonment in almost all East African countries. Additionally, there are cultural taboos. In many communities, there is a “don’t ask, don’t tell” pressure not to share one’s sexual orientation with friends and family. In others, you may get strange looks or outright objections from hotel receptionists when trying to book a room with a single bed with your partner.
So…what do you do? Pre-trip, I unhappily removed my beaded rainbow keychain from my keyring. I didn’t bring any of my many gay earrings (rainbow-coloured, boobie-shaped) or T-shirts (drag bar with a butt logo, rainbow Golden Gate Bridge tank) on the trip. Basically, I removed any visible signs of my queerness out of an abundance of caution.
I’d heard stories from other travellers who had been to Ethiopia. Though they said it was a gorgeous country that they would return to, they got a lot of opposition for trying to stay in the same room as a same-sex couple. I heard that in Burundi, even a mother-daughter or sibling duo would be questioned about—and likely not granted—this same request.
Travelling on my own, I obviously didn’t have to deal with this issue at the hotels I stayed at. So while I can’t speak to this experience myself, I have heard recommendations that queer couples should book Airbnbs instead of hotels. Had I been with my wife, we would have spent at least a couple of nights in a hotel in Ethiopia with the rest of the wedding crew, so we would have presented ourselves as friends or cousins. This likely would have been at least tolerated, since we were visible foreigners. Would it have been the dream lesbian couples vacay? Nope. Would it have been safer than attempting to push the boundaries in a culture that was not our own? Definitely.
If you’re also travelling as a solo female, I’d suggest going one step further and “playing up” heterosexuality in some situations. Even before my wife was on the radar, I found it easiest in some destinations to wear a wedding ring. In fact, I wore my real wedding ring on my most recent trip. But if yours looks pricey you may want to swap it out for a cheaper backup—just something that shows that even though you’re travelling solo, you’re off the market. Frustrating as it is, this will usually garner enough respect from men to leave you alone. Yes, I’m aware of how outdated all of this sounds. But the chorus of “I love you” and “are you married” gets old fast when you’re just trying to get from point A to point B—a friendly smile and a flash of your ring usually works. (Do I sometimes add a regretful smile when I point to my ring? Perhaps.)
In Uganda, where I was most vigilant about my safety as a queer person, I did some extra planning. Even though foreigners are often given a get-out-of-jail-free card on some laws, it’s not worth taking risks. I knew I’d be spending several days getting to know my Ugandan guides. Although I didn’t think I’d get arrested for anything I shared with them, I worried about their thoughts and judgments about myself and queer folks in general—it would have caused me anxiety and discomfort on a dream trip. I also would have felt quite uncomfortable saying I was single when I had a whole little family in Canada. So I settled on a compromise. If asked about my personal life or wedding ring, I would change my wife Kyla’s name to Kyle, and her pronouns along with it. That way, I could share about my life in a way that was closer to the truth.
Sound weird? Felt weird! In the end, it wasn’t necessary as my guides and I chatted about a plethora of other things, but never my personal life. Sadly, this brought me back to the days when I was closeted and avoided talking about myself as much as possible. I hated it. Because I totally avoided the topic of partners or kids when I chatted with my guides, I also missed out on learning much about their lives.
As much as I loved my time in Uganda, I didn’t love hiding a part of myself. I don’t regret prioritizing my safety, but I recommend thinking deeply about this when considering travel to countries where you’ll have to conceal an important part of yourself.
Trust your gut. Be vigilant, but not paranoid
Despite all of the things that make travel to East Africa difficult for queer travellers, I’d still recommend that visitors stay curious and open to making genuine connections with queer community and allies. This recommendation comes with a story, and this story requires some background information.
Due to Rwanda’s tragic 1994 genocide, it is a country that was forced to rebuild from virtually nothing over the last three decades. The minds who guided this rebuild made radical and unique changes—too complex to delve into here in detail—that make Rwanda a bit of an anomaly on the continent. One such change was the decision that president Paul Kagame made to abandon the same harsh, anti-LGBTQ laws shared by Rwanda’s East and Central African neighbours. Rwanda is not a queer utopia. Homophobic attitudes are common, same-sex marriage is not legal, there are no legal protections in place against discrimination, gender-affirming care is limited and changing one’s gender is illegal. Yet homosexuality is at least legal. Not only that, it is legally allowed to be discussed and “promoted” in Rwanda, so LGBTQ+ organizations can legally exist.
All this to say: Rwanda was the country where I felt the safest travelling while queer. I took advantage of this very slightly increased sense of safety to be a little more out, and to attempt to connect with the local queer community.
On my first full day in the country, I did a one-day guided tour of Kigali, Rwanda’s capital and a city of about 1.7 million people. For some reason, when my guide asked me about the ring on my finger (just 10 minutes into our time together), I felt safe coming out to her. She was young and female, and I knew that she had studied tourism and interacted with a diverse range of people on a daily basis. I just had a sense that I was safe. I could have been wrong, but I chose to go with my gut, knowing that at least there was no possibility of being arrested. Luckily, my instincts were right, which meant I got to mention my wife a lot, and my guide even mentioned queer celebrities Chrishell and Gflip when we were discussing our favourite Netflix reality shows. Helloooo, ally! I felt like I could truly be myself and let my guards down that day, which can be rare as a solo queer (and female) traveller.
Let yourself have fun
Rwanda was also the only place on my trip where I felt comfortable reaching out to the queer community. Months before my trip, I made a Facebook post looking for travel pals on the group page Queer Women Travel. That post led me to a woman who works at an organization for queer women’s rights in Kigali. When I arrived in Rwanda, she welcomed me to the city with a WhatsApp message and kindly invited me to an event that she and some friends were attending.
This is how I wound up at an exclusive White Party fashion show at a rooftop bar in Kigali, surrounded by a fun group of lesbians who I connected with immediately. My new friend and I had exchanged photos ahead of time, so that we could find each other at the event, but it was totally unnecessary because my gaydar started pinging right away when I saw two obvious lesbian couples walk in.
I felt so emboldened by spotting the clear queers that I approached the more masc of the pair and said, “You seem queer…so am I!” We both cracked up, and the ice was broken. Apparently, boldness was everyone’s M.O. that evening, because when I asked the other couple if they’d done anything special for Valentine’s Day, they erupted in giggles and squealed, “In bed!” My kind of pals.
We relaxed into our front row seats with a few beers ahead of the fashion showcase put on by local model Mucyo Sandrine. I was blown away by the work of the Rwandan designers as gorgeous models strutted down the makeshift runway. Though the showcase wasn’t a “queer event,” the lesbian sitting next to me—who also happened to be a model—told me that she was very much out and proud. At the end of the show, several people in the crowd were invited up to dance on the runway, and my new pal accepted the invitation on the condition that she dance with her female friend. This caused no issue at all. (On the other hand, I was called up due to my enthusiasm for the show, and the MC generously recruited a handsome man to dance with me. This also caused no issue, as I didn’t want to be the high-maintenance foreigner drawing attention away from the showcase.) I couldn’t believe that I’d almost skipped attending this amazing event because of the fear of meeting up with strangers who knew I was queer in a foreign city.
Would I have linked up with someone on Hinge in Kigali? Probably not. The risk of ill-intentioned catfishing seemed too high. But meeting someone through a series of trustworthy (enough) sources, at an event where I had the freedom to leave when I pleased? This was worth the risk.
I learned a lot about lesbian life in Rwanda from my new friends—what I could hear, anyway, over the music and what I could remember after the tequila shots that followed the beers. I reconnected with one of them later in the week for a delicious Burundian meal. She taught me how to eat my grilled fish properly, since she’s originally from Burundi and I was apparently not mixing my sauces correctly. I’m in touch with all of these folks on social media and hope to reconnect with them someday, somewhere on the planet.
Although my life as an out gay woman in Canada is quite different from that of my friends’ in East Africa, this trip reminded me that connection to queer community can transcend physical distance. My Rwandan gay gathering exceeded my expectations; I trusted my gut, took a calculated risk and it paid off in joy.
