“My family of choice”: Queer Nigerians are moving from conventional to chosen families, but is it always enough?

Image Description: A large tree with roots of different pride colours underground. Some of these coloured roots blend into the more natural-looking colour of the tree trunk.

Lagos, Nigeria (Minority Africa) — Before meeting her chosen family, Beauty, a lesbian woman and activist, struggled with identity and acceptance within her traditional family. Reflecting on her journey, she shares her experiences with familial acceptance and the pressures of conforming to societal expectations. 

“I battled with my sexuality,” she recounts, “I didn’t have all the information to be aware of what it meant to be lesbian.” 

Beauty is not out to her family, and her attempts to come out to them have been met with denial. 

“When I told my sister a long time ago that I was lesbian, she asked me to pray about it so it would leave me,” she shares.

This internal conflict led her down the path of conversion therapy, a traumatic experience that left scars. However, through the support of queer-friendly therapy and advocacy work in queer and feminist spaces, Beauty found solace and a renewed sense of purpose. 

“I have my partner and a few friends; they are my chosen family. [Prior], I was simply existing,” she reflects, “now I am living.”

The journey of transitioning from conventional familial structures to chosen families for many queer persons is fraught with obstacles and emotional turmoil. Sometimes, it doesn’t mean a complete separation from a family of birth to a family of choice, but somehow, it means being supported by both in different ways.  

Chosen families are sources of joy and support, offering a safe space in a society that often fails to accept queer persons for who they are. Although they can be instrumental in navigating life for many queer Nigerians, some challenges come with the feeling of separation from a family one has known from birth. 

For some, like Beauty, the bond with their chosen family might still feel incomplete. This duality creates an emotional burden that complicates the narrative of chosen families being an unequivocal source of happiness and stability.

“I am very close to my mother and sisters and love the feeling of community they have provided for me. I’m not saying I don’t have something similar with the family I have chosen, who accept me completely for who I am,” says Beauty. “But it’s just different in a way I am not sure I can explain.” 

Michael, a gay man, was left homeless by his family when they discovered his sexuality. 

“It was a devastating experience because I was outed. I didn’t prepare myself for the confrontation but I didn’t deny it. That was a hard choice to make because I was just 17,” he says. “My case is very common among young queer persons in this country, which is why most never come out to their parents and would rather keep that part of their life a secret.” 

Michael found his chosen family when he was in a “bad place mentally.” 

“They sheltered me and gave me a job, community, and helped me get clean from using drugs,” says Michael, noting that it came with some challenges. “When we would have disagreements, I would shrink myself a little in order not to offend them. I felt indebted to them for a long time, and that affected the way I saw myself. With my biological family, the only time I ever felt the need to shrink myself was when my sexuality was questioned. I felt more sure of their love and support than anywhere else.” 

According to a study by Pediatric Clinics of North America, an absence of familial acceptance for LGBTQ+ people often exacerbates mental health concerns, leading to feelings of isolation and anxiety. 

In Nigeria, systemic barriers to care for queer persons persist, encompassing discriminatory laws and social attitudes. The stigma surrounding mental illness, when combined with mental health practitioners often being ill-equipped to support queer individuals, exacerbates these challenges. Many queer persons are left to navigate their struggles alone, without access to the necessary support and resources.

For some queer persons like Michael, they turn to drugs. 

“I was addicted to drugs as a means of escape, and I was lucky to find the support to get clean,” said Michael. “There is a growing number of community members addicted to drugs who cannot find help.”

Financial security and access to economic resources for many are needs that often contribute to mental health challenges. 

“Because I am lesbian, I feel like I have to make it and be financially independent. I need more economic security because of the constant worry that I could be thrown out of my home if my identity is known, “ says Beauty. “Some days I feel very pressured, and sometimes I am so tired, I break down. I often have panic attacks and suicidal thoughts, but when I practice self-care, they go away.”

To tackle this and other mental health concerns, some experts advocate for a holistic healing approach to care, pinpointing it as crucial to enable queer persons to heal and thrive. 

See Also

Eswatini’s LGBTQ community is “mounting and waving their flags”

One such expert is Dr Toyin Ajao, founder of ìAfrika and Moon Goddess Consult. ìAfrika is an African collective that employs a holistic approach to healing, integrating ancient technologies, ancestral wisdom, and community.

“Through practices such as meditation, expressive arts therapy, storytelling, and other modalities, and by embracing the principles of ubuntu philosophy….[we] foster community and soulidarity of care,” Dr Ajao tells Minority Africa. 

It is this community that Bunmi, an organiser, is trying to create when they host events and spaces to welcome queer persons seeking an avenue to connect. This, according to them, is done to stay grounded amid a growing individualistic culture that does not support LGBTQ+ people in the way they need to. 

“Community is deeply rooted in African culture, where the well-being of an individual is collectively supported by loved ones who may not share any biological ties with them,” Bunmi says, “We have had folks say to us that this is what keeps them going.”

Having been accepted by her biological family, Aleeyah, a transwoman, recently fled her home state in Northern Nigeria due to a targeted attack on queer persons. Her chosen family has provided her with shelter and a sense of safety during this time. 

“Nigeria is a volatile place for people like me, and in times like these, my chosen family shows up to provide a safe place, resources, and mental and emotional care,” she says.

Aleeyah is happy to have both families in her life because they play different roles.

“There is only so much [my biological family] can understand about what it means to be queer, and because of the way respect is viewed here, I cannot share some things like sex talk and deep relationship conversations. This gap is filled by my family of choice,” she says.  

Despite Beauty, Michael and Aleeyah’s different family dynamics, they all agree that a community of care is important, whether in chosen or biological families.

“My family is my most important source of support, and I fear losing them. I get serious anxiety, and I am still scared of the outcome,” Beauty says. “Having a chosen family takes some of this fear away, but not completely.”

Edited/Reviewed by PK Cross, Caleb Okereke, Samuel Banjoko, Uzoma Ihejirika, and Awom Kenneth