Amid the relentless sun and swirling dusts of the refugee camps, first at Kakuma refugee camp and now at Gorom refugee settlement camp, something extraordinary happens: we claim space, we claim joy, we claim our right to exist.
In moments of celebrating pride, we had rainbow flags strung across the sky like promises that refuse to fade, colorful capes and scarves draped over our shoulders like armor of pride, fingers raised in peace signs and rock horns, faces beaming with unfiltered laughter and love. A crowd of us, wrapped in every shade of the rainbow, standing tall in a place that was never meant to welcome people like us. Huts patched together from whatever we could find become the backdrop to our defiance, umbrellas burst into brilliant color to shield not just from the heat, but from erasure.
We did not end up here by chance. Many of us fled brutal persecution in our home countries, in Uganda, DRC, Burundi, Rwanda, and beyond, where loving who we love or being who we are is a crime punishable by long prison sentences, violence or death. We sought refuge in Kenya's Kakuma camp, only to face arson, attacks, denial of asylum claims by the Kenyan Government, and hostility that made safety impossible. So we moved again, crossing borders on foot, in trucks, with nothing but hope and each other, arriving in Gorom, South Sudan, a settlement run by UNHCR but still shadowed by stigma, criminalization of same-sex intimacy, aid shortages, threats of eviction, and the constant fear that visibility could cost us everything but at least here, we had our asylum claims recognised, by the humanitarian and unbiased UNHCR unlike the Kenyan Government, and we were granted refugee status.
These photos capture more than a gathering. They capture resistance in motion. Every flag waving overhead is a declaration that we are still here. Every arm around a shoulder, every shared smile, every bold outfit is proof that chosen family can be stronger than any border or law designed to divide us. In a world that too often forgets refugees, and forgets queer refugees even more, we refuse to be invisible. We dance, we pose, we laugh because joy is our loudest form of protest. We raise these colors because no camp, no government order, no act of hate can strip us of who we are.
This is queer resilience forged in fire, raw, radiant, unbreakable. This is what survival looks like when the system fails you again and again, yet love and community rise anyway.
To every LGBTQ+ person reading this from anywhere in displacement, you are seen, you are valid, your existence is powerful. To allies, friends, and strangers with hearts open to justice, please amplify these stories. Support organizations like Rainbow Railroad working on urgent resettlement and safety pathways. Pressure governments for real solutions because backlogs and cuts are killing hope, but community keeps it alive.
We exist. We resist. We shine brighter than the challenges trying to dim us.
Together, we are unstoppable. 🏳️🌈🫂💪✨
