Liv
Latricia
Habel

During March 2023 I documented LGBTQ communities in Accra in order to create a nuanced picture of what it means to be queer in Ghana. Since 2021 the Ghanaian parliament has been processing an anti LGBTQ bill, intending to fight homosexuality. However the Ghanaian Parliament has approved the Bill of “Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values” in February 2024 and the bill will come into effect when signed by Ghana's President. The bill seeks to criminalise consensual same-sex conduct of up to three years on anyone identifying as LGBTQ+. Gay rights advocates could also face up to five years in jail. When I was there in 2023, the individuals could not imagine an everyday life unfolding in their home country. However, their daily life continues. The queer community continues to fall in love, get engaged, organise parties, find solace and resistance amongst chosen families, and form collectives fighting for their right to stand their ground and determine their futures. Now with the bill being approved by Ghana's national legislature, the body of work has a new weight and I intend to return to Ghana to continue this necessary story.

Dorothy Owusu-Ansah, 23 years old, identifies as a boy but he is perceived as a physically strong female. “Every gay girl or every gay boy in Ghana would like to travel outside of this country to be free. Just to have the experience of walking outside freely, dress like a girl or dress like a boy, without anyone questioning them. Without anyone to attack them”, says Dorothy.

Rebekah (left) and Eni had been dating for about a year when they moved to Ghana from the UK in 2021. Rebekah hadn’t experienced living in her motherland as an adult. Although she felt called to move, she was missing the community and support system she had had back home in England. Rebekah realised there wasn’t much time to socialise outside of going out at night. “When we first came, we were both so stressed about the fact we couldn’t show affection in public. We didn’t know how to act with each other outside and it was having an impact on our relationship,” Eni says. The couple felt their relationship was being invalidated all the time and questioned if it could blossom in Ghana.

When the couple started organising events for women and non-binary people and formed the collective Afrodite and Friends, they realised how important it was for them to be around people who acknowledged their relationship as real. “To validate your relationship, you need external validation from the community you are around. I noticed that because of the people and spaces we hang around with now, I don’t feel the same way I did when I came. It really matters who you are spending time with,” Rebekah says. Last year in October, Eni proposed to Rebekah, and she said yes.

Roland's (right) hair salon is another LGBTQ community space in Accra. Roland has had her hair salon for the past year. The shop is both her safe haven and workplace. Roland appreciates and loves her work. It liberates her and it helps her to heal. It gives her a sense of belonging. “I don’t know what I would do without hair. This makes me happy. This gives me joy,” Roland says.

According to LGBTQ Rights Ghana, the number of arrests and violent attacks on members of the LGBTQ community has increased since the draft of the anti LGBTQ bill was published in 2021. The coalition of Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values has attached a list of penalties to the anti LGBTQ bill. Amongst others, holding hands with the same sex or showing other kinds of affection in public spaces could be criminalised with up to five years of imprisonment. Community members, like Roland, must take personal safety measures when moving in public spaces.

Destiny is 23 years old and was raised to be muslim. In 2018, 18 years old and while living under her mother’s roof, Destiny gave birth to her son Abdi Malik. Shortly after, Destiny met a new friend, which grew into a romantic relationship. Destiny’s realisation of her own queerness didn’t change anything towards her perception of Islam, and she continued raising her son as a Muslim. But when her mom found out, Destiny had to move out. “I regret giving birth to you,” were her mother’s words. Destiny went to stay with her grandmother but eventually had to move when her grandmother found out about her sexuality. Destiny's family did not let her take Abdi Malik with her, but she still sees him from time to time. Instead, Destiny has found family in other spaces.

Born into a family of artists, Mimi always expressed herself through her creativity. In her twenties, Mimi moved to Atlanta, USA, to study Fashion Design, but later she shifted to visual arts, as it allowed her to express herself. While in Atlanta, Mimi read an article by Janet Mock, an American writer and trans activist. That’s when Mimi realised she was born to be Mimi – not Michael. Over the next six years, Mimi began discovering herself, “I remember the first time I braided my hair. The first time I painted my nails, bought heels, went out in feminine clothes. Went on a date in it,” says Mimi.

Leila is 30 years old, identifies as non-binary and is founder of the organisation One Love Sisters. An organisation specifically aimed at Queer Muslims, supporting members through all kinds of educational programs. The organisation opened a gender-based violence hotline last year and they receive reports of attacks daily. The variety spans from arbitrary arrests over intimate partner abuse to corrective rape. “People normalise the fact, it’s okay for their partners to beat them. It’s okay for people to talk to them anyhow, just because they are queer,” says Leila. Being Muslim, queer, and a survivor of sexual abuse themselves, Leila’s activism and their personal learning journey are closely connected. In 2015 Leila started working with activism, which ever since has helped them recover from the past and manifest the future.