Awka/Abuja/Lagos — In 2020, Erny (legal name withheld for security reasons) emerged as a growing voice within Nigeria’s largely underground LGBTQ+ rights movement, joining online conversations that called for equality and recognition for sexual minorities.
Inspired by fellow activist Matthew Blaise and a surge of advocacy discussions on Twitter, Erny began amplifying messages of inclusion for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Nigerians.
What started as online engagement soon expanded into physical advocacy, taking him across Anambra State and parts of western, southern and northern Nigeria to engage with other activists and supporters.
However, in a country where same-sex relationships are criminalised and heavily stigmatised, increased visibility often attracts serious risk.
Those risks escalated on 16 January 2021 at Erny’s family home in Awka, Anambra State. He says he was attacked by members of the public, among whom he believes were law enforcement officers. “I stood up for my rights,” Erny said, “but suddenly I was the one being hunted.”
Human rights groups have consistently linked such incidents to Nigeria’s restrictive legal and social climate. The Same-Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Act criminalises same-sex unions, public displays of same-sex affection and the organisation of LGBTQ+ groups, prescribing prison sentences of up to 10 or 14 years. In parts of northern Nigeria governed by Islamic Sharia law, penalties can be even more severe.
Following the Awka incident, Erny went into hiding. With support from family members, he fled to Makurdi, Benue State, where friends offered temporary refuge. That shelter soon became unsafe due to mounting community pressure and fear of reprisals. He later relocated to Abuja, but says the threat of arrest and persecution remained constant.
“I realised I was no longer safe anywhere in Nigeria,” Erny recalled. “My presence endangered not only me but also my loved ones.”
Despite the daily risks, Erny explored the possibility of securing safety through marriage to his partner, who had earlier relocated to Australia for studies following the initial attacks.
Erny’s experience reflects a wider pattern faced by many queer Nigerians. Reports by rights organisations and media outlets describe a rise in mob violence against individuals accused of same-sex relationships, alongside widespread harassment and discrimination. In several cases, such attacks have been recorded and shared online, reinforcing what observers describe as a climate of impunity.
Beyond violence by private citizens, law enforcement agencies have been accused of arbitrarily arresting people suspected of same-sex conduct, sometimes publicly parading detainees before the media — a practice condemned by human rights advocates.
Recent investigations have also highlighted rulings by Sharia courts in some northern states prescribing death by stoning for same-sex conduct, decisions that rights groups warn could further intensify hostility and fear.
Amid these conditions, reports continue to document police harassment, extortion and systemic discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals across Nigeria. Human rights bodies argue that laws intended to uphold public morality instead legitimise abuse and expose vulnerable groups to serious harm.
For many activists and queer Nigerians, the options remain limited: remain hidden and endure ongoing abuse, or flee into uncertain exile.
Reflecting on his journey, Erny spoke of survival, loss and resilience. “We fought for our right to be seen,” he said. “What we found was a nation determined to silence us. I escaped with my life, but many others have not been so fortunate.”
