by Atane Ofiaja
![Proud African sisters flying the flag [660 x 300]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tptgI-8S0t27Ox4Bt59oZItHAicLbQbjXXiHF2vrZr5Vb3s0B18QUjatgVvHNmHtwcJX0dBdOqrcS2EOiEtLF7VMTZe7BQocUz3bExbiuhNhBNJBgSyuYEvcO8YkVc7XKuEAWg7-Jk2RtYGXK-tc-mGQ=s0-d)
Out and proud. Sisters flying the flag in America.
Last month, Nigeria’s president signed an anti-bill into law, and the police immediately started rounding up anyone suspected of being gay. Such bills force many LGBTQ Africans to leave the continent. There are, for instance, between 30,000 and 45,000 queer identified African immigrants in the U.S. alone. As we wrote when the Nigerian law was signed, some of the loudest voices condemning the new law were from Nigerians in the diaspora. One such Nigerian is now working on the launch of a new multimedia documentary photography project called Limit(less) Africans. The project aims to chronicle the narratives of 1st and 2nd generation LGBTQ African immigrants in the US.
Last month, Nigeria’s president signed an anti-bill into law, and the police immediately started rounding up anyone suspected of being gay. Such bills force many LGBTQ Africans to leave the continent. There are, for instance, between 30,000 and 45,000 queer identified African immigrants in the U.S. alone. As we wrote when the Nigerian law was signed, some of the loudest voices condemning the new law were from Nigerians in the diaspora. One such Nigerian is now working on the launch of a new multimedia documentary photography project called Limit(less) Africans. The project aims to chronicle the narratives of 1st and 2nd generation LGBTQ African immigrants in the US.
To find out more I spoke with Chuks, the photographer behind the project.
What made you embark on this project?
Limit(less) is deeply personal for me. Having grown up in an extremely religious, Catholic, Nigerian household, I have constantly struggled with my Nigerian and queer identities. I grew up in the U.S. feeling incredibly connected to and proud of my Igbo heritage, and I would wear traditional Igbo clothing to formal school functions, eat Nigerian food at school lunch, the whole 9 yards. After years of denial, self-loathing and self-rejection, when I admitted to myself that I was queer, my relationship with my Igbo heritage was immediately complicated--as if being an African immigrant in the U.S. and wrestling with those identity questions weren't already enough.
I struggled because I grew up in a family like that of many other African immigrants where LGBTQ identities were cast as definitively "un-African" and associated with demons, Western imperialism and all other number of things, despite a long recorded history on the continent which proves otherwise. When I was outed to my family by a relative, I was sent to a priest, had my computer confiscated and sent to the FBI to see who had "recruited" me to homosexuality, and was screamed at for months. Later, when my parents accidentally found out that I was still gay, I was taken to Nigeria where I was put through a series of incredibly emotionally jarring exorcisms that lasted a year and a half. I’m still recovering emotionally from the experience and it happened almost 5 years ago.
This is all to say that my relationship with my Igbo identity has been incredibly complicated growing up as a queer person. I wanted to explore this relationship and tell the stories of people like me because we exist, we are human and our stories do matter. Being invisible in popular culture and demonized by my own people, I felt alone and am working to build community through Limit(less) and its associated Facebook page.
Also, I'm working on Limit(less) because if I hear one more African say that LGBTQ identities are "un-African" and then turn to the Bible or Koran as proof of "indigenous" African traditions, I'll laugh. So I wanted to bring light to that cognitive dissonance through some of the stories and build a community space where our stories can be voiced and heard as well.
A photograph by Sabelo Mlangeni (born 1980) from his 2010 book "Country Girls". Sabelo, a South African documentary photographer, spent six years capturing intimate portraits of gay life in rough and poor areas of the countryside of South-Africa where drag queens, hairstylists and beauty pageant contestants are still often perceived as un-African or un-Christian, even though the country has some of the world’s most progressive gay rights laws.
Was locating willing participants for the project an easy task?
I've been working on the project for two and a half months now. When I started it, I had only met two other LGBTQ Africans in my entire life. As of today I have had conversations with almost 30 individuals with varying ethnic and religious backgrounds from across the continent. It's almost like finding a home that I never knew existed, and I truly feel like I'm finding a beloved community through this work.
The thing about LGBTQ Africans is that there are far more of us than many people realise, and, even if we are geographically scattered, we usually know at least one or two other LGBTQ Africans ourselves. So, despite difficulties in the beginning, I've progressively found more people by word of mouth alone. I've also learned the constraints of networks, though. Despite the diversity of voices so far, the vast majority of people I have chatted with still fit a demographic profile similar to mine: 2nd generation, Christian, middle or upper class and college educated with a preponderance of Nigerians and other West Africans.
I have loved each and every one of the people I've spoken with, but it is very indicative of the stratification within our community. I am committed to making an inclusive and diverse space to showcase the stories of our community, so that’s one of the key areas I’ll be working on.
We are not illegal. Activists protested Nigeria's anti-gay bill in New York City in 2011.(Photo - Elixher.com)
What other challenges have you faced with this project?
Getting up and running with this project has been very challenging. Grants exist for the arts and documentary work, but you typically need footage to show upfront. So I've been doing everything out of pocket thus far to make this happen. Also my previous photographic work was a curriculum based cultural empowerment project, so this experience has already been a crash course in working independently and doing documentary work in particular.
Finding people to participate in the project was incredibly difficult in the beginning, but has become progressively easier. As I said before, finding people who don't share identity markers with me has been quite challenging given the stratification in our community and the African immigrant community at large.
What have you learned or discovered thus far?
I've found a sense of community and home just through the amazing conversations I've had thus far. I feel so blessed and fortunate to have had an opportunity to hear stories and build solidarity with people who understand my experience and the issues I've wrestled with my entire life far better than anyone else. I'm excited to share these stories once I begin shooting the project this spring, as there is so much richness and diversity in our stories and lived experiences.
Nigerian LGBTIs in the diaspora against anti-gay laws
There aren't many narratives about LGBTQ African immigrants in the African diaspora. Why do you think that is?
There are some actually, but they are primarily in Europe. Selly Thium's amazing work on LGBTQ Africans in the UK, "None on Record", is emblematic of that. I have also met one researcher who is doing some work on LBGTQ Africans in Canada for a masters thesis, but in terms of the U.S., the stories are there but are pretty scattered at best. I'm committed to building a cohesive central space and community platform where these narratives can be told and our voices heard. This is a first in the U.S., to my knowledge.
In general, though, a lot of work has been done documenting the lives and experiences of LGBTQ Africans within Africa, but very little in the diaspora. I find this incredibly odd, especially when we consider how the Western missionary-fuelled homophobia and transphobia in African countries is driving more and more LGBTQ Africans into the diaspora. One would think that more work would have been done to connect the dots here as a result, but sadly not. Since there are no bills targeting us specifically in many of our adopted countries, our numbers are relatively small and our own African immigrant communities try to actively muzzle and silence us on the one hand and white upper and middle-class cis-gay men dominate LGBTQ* discourse and silence us on the other. Because of all of this, the lives and stories of LGBTQ Africans in the diaspora tend to get erased. I'm hoping to address this issue through Limit(less).
The President of Mozambique recently criticised homophobia at home, pointing out why discrimination at home is actually bad for the economy, among other things.
You mentioned that you hope to create a 'multimedia space' for these narratives. Is it safe to assume that the Limit(less) Africans project will be an ongoing project, and that you don't have a finite number of participants in mind?
Yes, I think the word "multimedia space" sounds pretty abstract and out there, but basically what it means is that I'm putting together audio, video and photographs of each individual into 5 minute video clips highlighting an aspect of their story. There will also be a written blog component, and the website will be used to compile and organise all of these narratives into a central "space," with the Facebook page providing a community space for us and allies.
I currently don't have any set finite number of participants in mind, but, at the same time, my commitment is to showing a diversity of stories rather than just sheer numbers. I'm very conscious of the fact that there are definite losses when you display 200 stories of 2nd generation upper-middle class queer Nigerians who went to an Ivy League school and are now studying medicine or engineering, and almost no one else. I'm striving to find stories that showcase the richness and diversity of our community, especially since there are just so many of us-- according to U.S. Census and Pew Research Data there are between 30,000 and 45,000 queer identified African immigrants in the U.S. Whatever number that reflects that diversity will make me happy. I feel like this is likely the start of a long journey of exploration and finding a beloved community even in the face of hostile legislation in Nigeria and other parts of the continent, and I'm very excited to see where it takes me.
Thanks Chuks.
Thank you, Atane.
Chuks is actively looking for people who may be interested in participating and sharing their stories. He has methods in place to protect the identities of those who want to share their stories but are not out or do not want to go public with their identity. For additional information on the project, he can be reached at limitlessafricans@gmail.com
Please visit the Limit(less) Africans website and Facebook page.
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We invite you, our readers, to submit contributions similar to those posted on This Is Africa by our full-time writers.
If you feel strongly about the African identity in our globalised world, Africa’s engagement with the rest of the world (politically, economically, culturally), contemporary urban African life and culture, a news event relating to Africa and/or the way said news event is being covered by the international media, or any other field of interest relating to contemporary Africa and Africans at home or in the diaspora, or have original ideas you’d like to share, submit your writing to us. Well-written contributions will be published, and topical contributions stand a better chance of being published.
What made you embark on this project?
Limit(less) is deeply personal for me. Having grown up in an extremely religious, Catholic, Nigerian household, I have constantly struggled with my Nigerian and queer identities. I grew up in the U.S. feeling incredibly connected to and proud of my Igbo heritage, and I would wear traditional Igbo clothing to formal school functions, eat Nigerian food at school lunch, the whole 9 yards. After years of denial, self-loathing and self-rejection, when I admitted to myself that I was queer, my relationship with my Igbo heritage was immediately complicated--as if being an African immigrant in the U.S. and wrestling with those identity questions weren't already enough.
I struggled because I grew up in a family like that of many other African immigrants where LGBTQ identities were cast as definitively "un-African" and associated with demons, Western imperialism and all other number of things, despite a long recorded history on the continent which proves otherwise. When I was outed to my family by a relative, I was sent to a priest, had my computer confiscated and sent to the FBI to see who had "recruited" me to homosexuality, and was screamed at for months. Later, when my parents accidentally found out that I was still gay, I was taken to Nigeria where I was put through a series of incredibly emotionally jarring exorcisms that lasted a year and a half. I’m still recovering emotionally from the experience and it happened almost 5 years ago.
This is all to say that my relationship with my Igbo identity has been incredibly complicated growing up as a queer person. I wanted to explore this relationship and tell the stories of people like me because we exist, we are human and our stories do matter. Being invisible in popular culture and demonized by my own people, I felt alone and am working to build community through Limit(less) and its associated Facebook page.
Also, I'm working on Limit(less) because if I hear one more African say that LGBTQ identities are "un-African" and then turn to the Bible or Koran as proof of "indigenous" African traditions, I'll laugh. So I wanted to bring light to that cognitive dissonance through some of the stories and build a community space where our stories can be voiced and heard as well.
A photograph by Sabelo Mlangeni (born 1980) from his 2010 book "Country Girls". Sabelo, a South African documentary photographer, spent six years capturing intimate portraits of gay life in rough and poor areas of the countryside of South-Africa where drag queens, hairstylists and beauty pageant contestants are still often perceived as un-African or un-Christian, even though the country has some of the world’s most progressive gay rights laws.Was locating willing participants for the project an easy task?
I've been working on the project for two and a half months now. When I started it, I had only met two other LGBTQ Africans in my entire life. As of today I have had conversations with almost 30 individuals with varying ethnic and religious backgrounds from across the continent. It's almost like finding a home that I never knew existed, and I truly feel like I'm finding a beloved community through this work.
The thing about LGBTQ Africans is that there are far more of us than many people realise, and, even if we are geographically scattered, we usually know at least one or two other LGBTQ Africans ourselves. So, despite difficulties in the beginning, I've progressively found more people by word of mouth alone. I've also learned the constraints of networks, though. Despite the diversity of voices so far, the vast majority of people I have chatted with still fit a demographic profile similar to mine: 2nd generation, Christian, middle or upper class and college educated with a preponderance of Nigerians and other West Africans.
I have loved each and every one of the people I've spoken with, but it is very indicative of the stratification within our community. I am committed to making an inclusive and diverse space to showcase the stories of our community, so that’s one of the key areas I’ll be working on.
We are not illegal. Activists protested Nigeria's anti-gay bill in New York City in 2011.(Photo - Elixher.com)What other challenges have you faced with this project?
Getting up and running with this project has been very challenging. Grants exist for the arts and documentary work, but you typically need footage to show upfront. So I've been doing everything out of pocket thus far to make this happen. Also my previous photographic work was a curriculum based cultural empowerment project, so this experience has already been a crash course in working independently and doing documentary work in particular.
Finding people to participate in the project was incredibly difficult in the beginning, but has become progressively easier. As I said before, finding people who don't share identity markers with me has been quite challenging given the stratification in our community and the African immigrant community at large.
What have you learned or discovered thus far?
I've found a sense of community and home just through the amazing conversations I've had thus far. I feel so blessed and fortunate to have had an opportunity to hear stories and build solidarity with people who understand my experience and the issues I've wrestled with my entire life far better than anyone else. I'm excited to share these stories once I begin shooting the project this spring, as there is so much richness and diversity in our stories and lived experiences.
Nigerian LGBTIs in the diaspora against anti-gay lawsThere aren't many narratives about LGBTQ African immigrants in the African diaspora. Why do you think that is?
There are some actually, but they are primarily in Europe. Selly Thium's amazing work on LGBTQ Africans in the UK, "None on Record", is emblematic of that. I have also met one researcher who is doing some work on LBGTQ Africans in Canada for a masters thesis, but in terms of the U.S., the stories are there but are pretty scattered at best. I'm committed to building a cohesive central space and community platform where these narratives can be told and our voices heard. This is a first in the U.S., to my knowledge.
In general, though, a lot of work has been done documenting the lives and experiences of LGBTQ Africans within Africa, but very little in the diaspora. I find this incredibly odd, especially when we consider how the Western missionary-fuelled homophobia and transphobia in African countries is driving more and more LGBTQ Africans into the diaspora. One would think that more work would have been done to connect the dots here as a result, but sadly not. Since there are no bills targeting us specifically in many of our adopted countries, our numbers are relatively small and our own African immigrant communities try to actively muzzle and silence us on the one hand and white upper and middle-class cis-gay men dominate LGBTQ* discourse and silence us on the other. Because of all of this, the lives and stories of LGBTQ Africans in the diaspora tend to get erased. I'm hoping to address this issue through Limit(less).
The President of Mozambique recently criticised homophobia at home, pointing out why discrimination at home is actually bad for the economy, among other things.You mentioned that you hope to create a 'multimedia space' for these narratives. Is it safe to assume that the Limit(less) Africans project will be an ongoing project, and that you don't have a finite number of participants in mind?
Yes, I think the word "multimedia space" sounds pretty abstract and out there, but basically what it means is that I'm putting together audio, video and photographs of each individual into 5 minute video clips highlighting an aspect of their story. There will also be a written blog component, and the website will be used to compile and organise all of these narratives into a central "space," with the Facebook page providing a community space for us and allies.
I currently don't have any set finite number of participants in mind, but, at the same time, my commitment is to showing a diversity of stories rather than just sheer numbers. I'm very conscious of the fact that there are definite losses when you display 200 stories of 2nd generation upper-middle class queer Nigerians who went to an Ivy League school and are now studying medicine or engineering, and almost no one else. I'm striving to find stories that showcase the richness and diversity of our community, especially since there are just so many of us-- according to U.S. Census and Pew Research Data there are between 30,000 and 45,000 queer identified African immigrants in the U.S. Whatever number that reflects that diversity will make me happy. I feel like this is likely the start of a long journey of exploration and finding a beloved community even in the face of hostile legislation in Nigeria and other parts of the continent, and I'm very excited to see where it takes me.
Thanks Chuks.
Thank you, Atane.
Chuks is actively looking for people who may be interested in participating and sharing their stories. He has methods in place to protect the identities of those who want to share their stories but are not out or do not want to go public with their identity. For additional information on the project, he can be reached at limitlessafricans@gmail.com
Please visit the Limit(less) Africans website and Facebook page.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Share your thoughts
We invite you, our readers, to submit contributions similar to those posted on This Is Africa by our full-time writers.
If you feel strongly about the African identity in our globalised world, Africa’s engagement with the rest of the world (politically, economically, culturally), contemporary urban African life and culture, a news event relating to Africa and/or the way said news event is being covered by the international media, or any other field of interest relating to contemporary Africa and Africans at home or in the diaspora, or have original ideas you’d like to share, submit your writing to us. Well-written contributions will be published, and topical contributions stand a better chance of being published.
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