Some people may find the topics discussed in this article triggering. This article reflects people’s stories and the hardships they have faced. If you are an LGBTQI+ person seeking asylum and would like to access emotional support please contact us.
My name is Dona. I’m from Cameroon. I’m the youngest of 15 children. My father would threaten all of us with death if any of us were homosexual: “Whoever among you is homosexual, I will kill with my own hands like a rat,” he said.
My mother said “gwuines”, (which means lesbians in old French slang) go to hell. For some reason, she always said it while looking at me. Indeed, I was different; not much of a tom boy, but it’s like I had a man’s character. My father even used to call me Mister. I knew I was different without realising what homosexuality even was.
One day, I heard my cousin telling my sister that she doesn’t feel comfortable around me because I look at her like a man. Slowly I began to understand that I was attracted to women, but I kept it secret. I didn’t want to go to hell, so I confided in our church youth coordinator. She was a beautiful woman. Surprisingly, she told me about queer people, and the necessity to accept difference. She later became my first love, but our story would only last for a short period of time – she went abroad to “study”, but never came back. With hindsight, now I think it was her way of escaping Cameroon.
“Coming to London was a relief right away from the airport… There were banners of queer people kissing each other, rainbow flags, same sex couples holding hands openly or broadcasted on TV. It was a signal I had to come out. So, I did.”
Traumatized by the sudden break-up, I fell into a deep depression, and I turned to the God who my mother said was against homosexuality. I engaged my life in Christ Jesus and turned my back on my past life as I considered the disappointment as a divine warning before burning in hell fire.
I got married to an abusive man. We had three children together. I was so unhappy. I never felt at ease until my brother invited me to the UK for the holidays after noticing I was constantly depressed.
Coming to London was a relief right away from the airport. There was a wind of relief, of victory, of freedom everywhere. There were banners of queer people kissing each other, rainbow flags, same sex couples holding hands openly or broadcasted on TV. It was a signal I had to come out. So, I did.
A burden was off my shoulders. But then the nightmare started. My husband threatened me with witchcraft if I ever went back to Cameroon. He told me I would never see my children again. Fortunately, my brother backed me up – he had a different understanding of life after 20 years in the UK. He advised me not to return, fearing for my life, and to seek asylum, as he knew Human Rights are prioritised in this country. So, I did, against my will.
I met a friend who introduced me to Rainbow Migration. It was a gift from heaven at the appointed time. Without my caseworker Claire, I would have gone back. I was ready to die.
“Without my caseworker Claire, I would have gone back; I was ready to die… She helped me find a solicitor; she also helped me to provide basic needs like food and healthcare.”
Without Claire’s support I would have hurt myself. I was so depressed. She helped me find a solicitor for free. She also helped me to provide basic needs like food, healthcare and a scholarship for my homeless children, who were back home and had been abandoned by their father because of me, their lesbian mother.
It wasn’t easy but I stayed strong until I was granted refugee status and started my family reunion process which will mean I will be reunited with my family soon.
I’m forever grateful to Rainbow Migration and their devoted team, encouraging us day and night. Fighting for change, justice and freedom. Today, I have a better life; quiet and settling bit by bit. I have a girlfriend and we’re planning to get married once our children are reunited with us. Thank you.