A life of flight. Still I stand. Still I fight

March 2025 Henry Wackam, LGBTQ+ human rights advocate.

We feature a poignant story of what it is like to face homophobic persecution from friends, family and the wider community in Africa. Henry Wackam, an LGBTQ+ human rights advocate from Cameroon writes exclusively for PinkUk about his struggle and appeal for help.

I was born in 1986 and raised in Douala, Cameroon, a city full of diversity and contrast in central Africa. From a young age, I knew I was different. My imagination was filled with dreams of a life free from fear and oppression. At just 11 years old, I realised I was attracted to other boys. I also loved playing with dolls and pretending to be the mother or aunt in our childhood games. But in Cameroon, like much of Africa, being different and identifying openly as a gay man remains dangerous and where being gay is not only socially condemned but also legally punishable. Consensual same-sex sexual relations are an offence punishable with up to five years in prison under the Penal Code. See our information on countries where it is LGBTQ+ identity or activity is criminalised.

Strict cultural norms dictate how boys and girls should behave. Disobedience is met with beatings and punishment. I quickly learned to hide my true self, doing my best to fit in. "Yes, Mama. Yes, Daddy." My family was very conservative and I did not feel I could be open about my sexuality with anyone at home. These words became my way of surviving. But inside, I was crying for acceptance, hoping someone would tell me, "It is okay, Wackam. You are loved just as you are." One thing that outsiders don’t always understand is that in African countries such as Cameroon there are extremely strong social pressures around homosexuality so that people will even out their own relatives to avoid public disgrace on the family, as if the problem were the son or daughter. Even intersex persons are usually cast away, same for albinism or other differences, or anything that doesn't ‘fit’ within what society expects.

One night when everything changed

When I turned 18, after years of denying my feelings, I sought out other men. I needed intimacy, protection, and guidance. My first experience was thrilling yet terrifying. I thought to myself, "So, there are others like me. Even here in Cameroon." Sneaking out at night to meet people like me became my secret joy. But everything changed in 2012 when I was 26.

“I learned that the police were looking for me, and I was at risk of arrest. I had no choice, I had to leave my homeland.”

I was living with my parents and one night my mother caught me with another man in my bedroom. She screamed in despair, alerting the entire neighbourhood. People rushed to our house, thinking a crime had been committed. My friend managed to escape, but I was left there half-naked, exposed, and terrified. I had never seen my mother so angry. To her, I had done something unthinkable. But in truth, I was just being myself.

The beating I received that day was like no other. I had to flee. As soon as the news broke out of my sleeping with men, all doors closed. I was barred from attending family gatherings; my nieces and nephews refused to pick up my calls. Gradually, isolation and being socially outcast became things I had to deal with more and more. With nowhere else to go, I sought refuge with a friend in Bonamoussadi, a nearby suburb. But after a few months, he sent me away because it was becoming too dangerous. Around this time, Cameroon was enforcing its harsh anti-LGBTQI+ laws. I learned that the police were looking for me, and I was at risk of arrest. I had no choice, I had to leave my homeland.

My bid for freedom

In 2013, I set out for South Africa, a country I believed would offer me safety as it has a history of being welcoming on LGBTQ+ rights and my older sister was already living there. My visa application was denied, but I refused to give up. I travelled through Mozambique, crossing borders under heavy rain. After a long and exhausting journey, I arrived in Johannesburg in January 2013.

Life in South Africa

At first, life seemed hopeful. I stayed with my sister in Rosettenville, Johannesburg, a place where many migrants found cheap accommodation. I was eager to start life a new, to embrace this 'Rainbow Nation' of Nelson Mandela and star music artist Yvonne Chaka Chaka. Meanwhile I tried to suppress my identity, to push away my desire to meet other men. But it was impossible. My sister constantly pressured me to act "like other men," questioning why I wasn't dating women. No matter how hard I tried to please her, I never felt accepted.

I applied for asylum and in March 2013, I was granted an asylum permit under Section 22 of the Refugee Act. Life finally had meaning again. I worked hard, obeyed the law, and renewed my permit every six months. I was hopeful for the future and gaining long term residency. But in 2019, everything fell apart.

My life had already turned for the worse when I was kicked out by my sister in 2015 and then two years later I lost my job; this meant that I struggled on many levels and I failed to renew my asylum permit on time. I was just one week late, but that was enough for the system to turn against me and I was refused the status to work. Since then, I have been trapped in a legal and bureaucratic limbo. The Department of Home Affairs told me my case was part of a backlog. No matter how many times I returned to enquire on progress, I was never given an answer. My bank account was frozen. I lost my home, my right to work, and my ability to survive.

Stranded in legal limbo

With no place to go, I sought help from South African LGBTQI+ organisations. Some offered temporary support, but as more asylum seekers arrived from Uganda after the "Kill the Gays" law was passed there in May 2024, resources became scarce. My asylum permit remains unresolved, and my financial struggles have worsened, especially as my bank account was frozen, cutting off any remaining access to resources. Now, I am stranded, stuck in a country that refuses to grant me legal status, where I cannot work yet cannot send me back to Cameroon, where prison or worse awaits me.

As I turned 40 in January 2025, I found myself reflecting on all that I have lost. My life feels like a never-ending series of struggles, disappointments, and grief. Some days, I wake up feeling hopeful, especially when volunteering with ReportOUT a UK-based, global human rights charity, where I engage with people passionate about LGBTQ+ protection rights. But other days, the weight of my reality is unbearable.

Still, I stand strong. Still, I fight. But for how long?

My story is not unique; it mirrors the experiences of thousands of LGBTQ+ individuals across Africa who are criminalised, rejected, and forced to flee their homelands. In many African countries like in Uganda to name one, homosexuality remains illegal, with penalties ranging from imprisonment to the death sentence. Even in places where laws are less stringent, LGBTQ+ people often face discrimination, violence, and social ostracisation.

“No one chooses to live a life of rejection, struggle, and fear. Being who we are is not a choice. It is who we were born to be”

If you are reading this, I ask for your support. If you have a child, a sibling, or a friend who is different because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, please show them love and kindness. No one chooses to live a life of rejection, struggle, and fear. Being who we are is not a choice. It is who we were born to be.

I hope that my story inspires you to offer compassion for people in my situation and I am not alone. May my story remind you that living an authentic life is not a crime, it is a human right and can be an act of bravery.

I am reaching out to compassionate individuals and organisations for support. My goal is to:

1. Secure stable housing to avoid homelessness
2. Afford legal representation to finally resolve my asylum claim
3. Regain access to financial services and identification to rebuild my independence

If you can, please support my journey through my GoFundMe campaign. Every act of generosity brings me closer to safety, stability, and the chance to truly live. Thank you for any support great or small.

Can you help Henry?

PinkUk is delighted to support Henry and to help spread the word about human rights persecution of LGBTQ+ people across the world. If you can, please support him.

We are also proud to support ReportOUT, a global human rights charity that helps shed light on persecution of LGBTQ+ people like Henry. They are holding a global Summit on queer rights in a time of populism in Newcastle, England, October 20–25, 2025.
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