Wakiso, Uganda — Providing sexual and gender minorities with secure places to live has become more fraught since the passage of an anti-homosexuality law.
In 2021, John Grace's father gave him an ultimatum. If he wanted to continue serving LGBTQ+ people, he had to stop identifying as one. "[He] told me not to go back home until I become straight," Grace says.
Grace refused. He was and remains the coordinator of Uganda Minority Shelters Consortium, an umbrella group he founded in 2020 that works with independent shelters to provide safe housing to LGBTQ+ people across Uganda.
His father forbade him from having any relationships with his siblings and took him off all the family WhatsApp groups, he says.
Now, about three years later, Grace's work has become increasingly important. The consortium he founded has been working with other organizations to provide housing at a time when Uganda's Anti-Homosexuality Act, which President Yoweri Museveni signed into law in May 2023, has intensified the risks for LGBTQ+ people and made housing even more inaccessible. Under the law, landlords could not rent their premises to activities the government deems to promote or encourage homosexuality.
Although in April the Constitutional Court of Uganda declared sections of the law that criminalize renting premises to LGBTQ+ people unconstitutional, evictions persist and anti-homosexuality sentiments continue to rise. Some of these cases have been documented by the Human Rights Awareness and Promotion Forum, a local nonprofit. In February, they received reports of 32 evictions. The organization reports an increase in cases of violence and human rights violations based on sexual orientation, rising from three people in February to 20 in March. Some of these attacks are spilling over to service providers, such as lawyers, according to the nonprofit.
Grace says the situation has forced those providing shelter to be more inventive to protect gender and sexual minorities under their care.
So far, the consortium collaborates with over 25 member shelters across Uganda, Grace says. "While I don't have the exact real-time estimate that UMSC member and partner shelters have helped, as a coordinating entity we have directly provided shelter to at least 500 people last year, with an average of 150 beneficiaries per year since our formation."
Jennifer, a community leader and human rights activist from Gulu district in northern Uganda who chose to use only her first name for fear of persecution, says she received support from the consortium after her landlord and local community leaders evicted her in 2023. This was before the president signed the anti-homosexuality law. A local blogger accused her of promoting homosexuality because of her activism. The blogger also published information on where to find her, she says. The consortium provided her with three months' rent. Jennifer found a house and moved.
Justine Balya, director of the nongovernmental Access to Justice, Human Rights Awareness and Promotion Forum, says that with anti-LGBTQ+ sentiments on the rise, people providing shelters have had to be careful. "Any space where three to four LGBTQ people meet or live [they] are always a target."
Shelters that were openly known as serving unhoused LGBTQ+ people are no longer labeled as such, Grace says. The visibility increased the risk of raids and harassment. "I can't dress anyhow I want. I can't wear my rainbow bracelets everywhere for fear of getting attacked."
To ensure safety, some organizations under the consortium have shifted from using rainbow colors to black, yellow and red, which are Uganda's national colors. Others have rigorously retrained their staff to ensure the safety and privacy of residents. Because the law criminalizes associations of gay people, some organizations have had to shift their programs and meetings online.
Bana Mwesigye, program manager at Lifeline Youth Empowerment Center, which partners with the consortium, says his group has reduced in-person meetings to once a month. Sometimes, they gather at people's homes or rent vacation homes for potlucks and check-ins. Mwesigye, who has a big home, sometimes hosts unhoused LGBTQ+ people. He says the most recent group he hosted was 13 people, and the next will have 21.
To ensure safety, he only employs LGBTQ+ people and service providers. His life experience motivates him. Mwesigye says that at one point in his life, he had to leave home with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, an experience he says could happen to anyone who identifies as a sexual and gender minority in Uganda. His landlord knows that he is an LGBTQ+ person. But what keeps him out of trouble, he says, is that he pays his rent on time.
Aggie Dennett Harmon, a pastor and executive director at Talented Youth Community Fellowship Uganda, an inclusive faith-based ministry led by transgender women, partners with the consortium to provide housing to about 20 people. Following the signing of the law, the ministry has been evicted several times. "Now you never know when you will be evicted next."
Initially, everyone lived in the same house, Harmon says. However, they have relocated to smaller houses and grouped people based on their sexual orientation. Some live in remote areas where there is less curiosity about their lives. They do not inform the landlords that they are transgender people and instead present themselves as a youth empowerment group.
Michelle, 24, who chose to use only her first name to protect her identity, has lived in the shelter Harmon runs for the past year. Friends referred her to the shelter. Here, she can move freely. "Only a few trusted people know where we live," she says.
Since she completed her secondary education, she has been dreaming of nursing school. "Growing up, I wasn't able to access good medical facilities," she says, adding that she has watched too many people she cares for die due to lack of access to health care, and would like to help.
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As the consortium continues to find ways to provide safe housing to LGBTQ+ people, there are always risks. The law has created a climate of fear and discrimination, Grace says. "Although I have not yet encountered any direct legal consequences, I am concerned about the possibility of harassment or threats," he says.
Not only is he providing safe housing for others, but for himself too. After his father ostracized him, Grace has formed a new family in one of the shelters the consortium runs. "I have [had] to customize my own space where I live for my safety and security," Grace says. He lives in a house shared with other LGBTQ+ people who are part of the consortium, on a hill along a dusty road in a suburb in Wakiso. Although he loves his new family, he says he misses his childhood home. It was a time of unconditional love, he says.
He worries about the misinformation spreading in Uganda after the anti-homosexuality law. "[LGBTQ people] are everyday people. They pay their taxes. They struggle to pay their rent," Grace says. "People are just born that way."
"If we want to stop homosexuality, then heterosexual couples should stop having children," he adds with a hearty laugh.
Beatrice Lamwaka is a Global Press Journal reporter based in Kampala, Uganda.
