My name is DIAN, born in a small indigenous village deep within Uganda, a place where people still believe that God watches from the sky, and every action is judged by a strict, unwavering sense of morality. In this tight-knit, traditional community, anything outside the norm is feared, and I found myself caught in a web of beliefs that saw my truth as an abomination.
As I grew older, I came to the painful realization that my gender identity did not align with what society expected. My body was more feminine, my heart more aligned with the woman I knew I was meant to be. But in my village, this was not just unacceptable—it was dangerous. When I could no longer hide who I was, the very community I was born into turned on me, labeling me a “son of Satan,” chasing me away with the intent to kill me. For them, I was a threat to their way of life, an embodiment of evil they could not tolerate.
Physically, I became a target—my feminine body made me vulnerable to attacks, my mind shattered by fear, and emotionally, I was left in ruins. Homeless, helpless, and with nowhere else to turn, I fled. I sought refuge in Kenya, hoping to find safety, but the reality was far from what I had imagined.
In Kenya, I was placed in the Kakuma refugee camp—a place in the middle of the desert, where the sun scorches the earth as though it were trying to erase everything in its path. Water, a basic necessity, became a dangerous pursuit for someone like me. In Kakuma, being LGBT meant living in constant fear. Lives like mine are hunted, and the violence is merciless. I will never forget the day I was attacked in broad daylight—beaten and tortured simply because they wanted to confirm my gender.
The refugee camp that was meant to offer me safety became another nightmare. I, along with other LGBT refugees, was subjected to daily attacks—not only from fellow refugees but also from the Kenyan natives and even the police. Every night, the sound of beatings echoed through the camp, and every day, we woke up wondering if we would survive. There was no peace, no help, only relentless torture because of who we are.
Our community was torn apart. Many of my fellow LGBT family were arrested, tortured without reason, some even burned to death, their lives extinguished in the most brutal of ways. I cannot erase the haunting memories of friends who were slaughtered, their only crime being the pursuit of their truth. The fear of being next was always there, lurking in every corner of the camp.
The situation grew unbearable. One by one, those I had come to call family—fellow LGBT refugees—were forced to flee. Some escaped to places like South Sudan, where war rages without end. I don’t even know if they are alive anymore. For me and my son, the only option was to return to Uganda, the country that had rejected me, the most homophobic place in Africa.
Now, back in Uganda, I live in constant fear. My son and I hide, afraid of everyone, knowing that our lives are under threat. I cannot express the pain of watching my innocent child suffer simply because his father is a homosexual. We are trapped, with nowhere to turn and no one to trust.
Through all these difficult times, there has been one beautiful and compassionate soul who has stood by me—Laila. She has been there for me when I had nothing, helping me access food, water, and shelter. She is not financially stable herself, but that has never stopped her from helping me. Laila has given everything she can, even when it was difficult for her. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate her more than words can express. She is the only person I can lean on.
But Laila cannot do it alone. As much as she has helped me, her resources are limited, and she cannot continue to bear this burden by herself. I am calling on others to join her in making a difference. Your support, no matter how small, could help me and my son survive these harsh conditions. Any donation will mean the world to us, offering a lifeline when we need it most.
Please, join Laila in extending compassion and support. Together, you can help us through this unimaginable hardship. 
