“We don’t rent to people like you”: A trans woman’s search for a home in Lagos

Image Description: A green-colored concrete wall with a keyhole carved out in the middle to reveal a transwoman holding luggage.

Editors note: This story is published in collaboration with Obodo Nigeria as part of Intersect, a series on the ways queer love, trans identity, and cultural expression collide with and sometimes push back against social expectations. Read a foreword from the editor, Richie Wills and other stories in the series here.

For Kim, a trans woman living in Lagos, the search for a home began like any other: visiting apartments, speaking to agents, and making plans for a new life. But each time she thought she’d found a place, something changed. “I’d walk in, and the caretaker or landlord’s face would shift when they saw me. It was always the same reaction—shock, discomfort, rejection,” Kim recalls. 

It didn’t take long for her to realise that the door to safe housing was not easily opened. Her identity as a trans woman was a dealbreaker for many landlords. 

“It’s not even about the money. If you’re trans in Nigeria, you’re not welcome. I had the cash to pay, but they would look at me and see someone who doesn’t belong,” Kim explains. Landlords rejected her, with a few bluntly stating they “didn’t rent to people like her.” 

This was not new to her. Kim’s life has always been a mixture of courage and frustration. As a trans woman living in Lagos, Nigeria, she faces systemic exclusion and personal discrimination, further intensified by the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA) signed into law in 2014 by then-President Goodluck E. Jonathan. The Act criminalises same-sex relationships and indirectly fuels the stigmatisation of LGBTQ+ individuals in various sectors, including housing. Yet, despite the hostility and the deeply conservative nature of Nigerian society,  Kim has made it her mission to create a safe space for herself.

Discrimination against LGBTQ+ people, specifically trans folks, is widespread. A 2023 report by Human Rights Watch indicates that LGBTQ+ Nigerians often struggle to secure rental agreements because of an increase in extortion and violence against them. Landlords fear negative attention and, like many Nigerians, prefer to avoid association with LGBTQ+ people. This particularly affects people like Kim who speak openly about their identity.

Kim is a vocal advocate for trans rights on Twitter (now X), where she shares her personal experiences and challenges. “Being outspoken about my journey, my struggle to survive as a trans woman, puts a target on my back.”

One day, while she was checking an apartment in Lekki, a landlord unexpectedly stopped her at the door. “I know you,” he said, explaining that he had seen her posts online. He paused, then bluntly told her that he could not rent to her, citing the “bad reputation” her online presence had caused. “I couldn’t believe it. Just like that, because I’m public about who I am, I’m automatically not fit to live there.”

This was not an isolated incident. In Nigeria, visible trans individuals, especially those active on social media, often face heightened discrimination, not just from landlords but from society at large. A report from Minority Rights Group International found that trans people who speak out are subjected to greater rejection and harassment, further isolating them from the mainstream economy and housing markets. 

Still, Kim hasn’t been deterred. She sees the internet not just as a platform to share, but as a tool to find solutions. During her initial search for housing, Kim launched a GoFundMe campaign that raised the funds she needed to secure a home. She shared a post detailing her struggle—how she could not rent a home simply because she was trans.

The campaign drew support from LGBTQ+ activists and organisations, but it also attracted an unwanted audience. “I had a few people donate, but there were also trolls,” Kim recalls. “Some transphobes saw it and mocked me. They left hateful comments—saying that I should be ashamed of myself, that I’d never be accepted anywhere.”

The harsh comments were difficult to handle. “It’s one thing to face rejection, but it’s another to have people online telling you you’re not worthy of basic human needs. It’s cruel.” Unfortunately, these online attacks are part of a larger issue: transphobia that not only affects individuals but also influences public opinion and sustains structural discrimination.

While Kim’s GoFundMe allowed her to find shelter,  the fact that she had to resort to public charity for something as basic as housing highlights the failure of Nigerian society to protect trans individuals from economic and social exclusion. Research by the International LGBTQ+ Youth & Student Organisation (IGLYO) shows that LGBTQ+ people in Nigeria are disproportionately affected by unemployment and housing instability, often forced to rely on community-based support to survive. 

The economic marginalisation of trans people in Nigeria, compounded by the lack of legal protections, means that housing and employment discrimination remain pervasive. 

“Jobs are hard to come by, and even when you have the skills, there’s always this hesitation to hire trans people,” Kim says. “So many of us have to rely on support from friends, family, or GoFundMe campaigns because we’re not allowed to earn a living the way everyone else can. 

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“We are forced to live in the shadows. If we are lucky enough to survive, we are still kept out of sight, because people don’t want to deal with the reality of us existing.” 

Despite the setbacks, Kim remains hopeful. Now settled in her own apartment, she continues to advocate for trans rights, working alongside LGBTQ+ organisations to challenge systematic inequality. She is especially vocal about the need for legal recognition of gender identity, pushing for policies that would allow trans people to live without fear of discrimination in housing, employment, and education.

“It’s not just about me,” Kim says, resolute. “It’s about everyone in the community who is still suffering. We need laws that protect us. We need society to understand that we are human and deserving of the same rights as anyone else.”

Kim’s fight is far from over. But securing a home—despite the ridicule, the setbacks, and the discrimination—is a personal victory. Her current landlord has made the process smooth by not questioning her identity or making her feel unwelcome. From the moment they met, there was no hesitation or discomfort. This rare gesture of acceptance has given her a sense of security and validation. 

“It’s a place where I don’t have to hide who I am,” she says. “And that’s worth everything.”

Edited/Reviewed by Richie Wills, PK Cross, Caleb Okereke, Awom Kenneth, Sarah Etim and Uzoma Ihejirika.

Illustrated by Rex Opara.