For many LGBTIQ refugees, Kenya was supposed to offer safety after fleeing persecution in their home countries.
But for those living in Kakuma Refugee Camp and urban centres like Nairobi, life remains marked by fear, rejection, and uncertainty.
“We came here to survive,” says Claire Brianz, an LGBTQ activist based in Kakuma. “But for LGBTIQ refugees, survival is still a daily fight.”
Her account reflects the experiences of many within Kenya’s refugee system who say protection is promised, but not always delivered in practice.
Life inside Kakuma: fear within the camp
In Kakuma Refugee Camp, Brianz says threats often come from within the refugee community itself, creating tension in spaces meant to offer protection.
“The threats are real and they come from fellow refugees,” she says. “People we live with every day turn against us because of who we are.”
She describes a pattern of insults, harassment, and physical attacks, with some individuals reporting being followed at night or targeted in isolated areas.
“You can be insulted, attacked, or followed at night. Some sleep in fear every single day,” she says.
For many, even shared accommodation areas are not safe, forcing some to remain constantly alert.
“We are not safe in the places we are supposed to call home,” Brianz adds.
Urban life in Nairobi: rejection and isolation
For those who move to cities such as Nairobi, the situation changes but does not necessarily improve.
Brianz says LGBTIQ refugees in urban areas face discrimination in housing, employment, and daily social interactions.
“Some Kenyan citizens treat us like we do not belong,” she says. “You are judged before you even speak.”
Securing housing is difficult, she adds, as many landlords refuse to rent to them once their identity is suspected or disclosed. Employment opportunities are equally limited.
“Getting a house is hard. Getting a job is harder,” she says. “Even walking on the street, you feel unsafe.”
Difficult encounters with authorities
Brianz also raises concerns about how cases involving LGBTIQ refugees are handled when reported to authorities.
“When we try to report cases, the police do not listen,” she says. “Some ignore us. Some tell us to keep a low profile.”
She says this lack of response leaves many vulnerable, even after attempting to seek help.
“But even when we keep a low profile, problems do not stop,” she adds.
There are also claims of arbitrary arrests, with individuals taken in without clear explanation.
“We are picked up like criminals for just existing,” she says.
Strained humanitarian conditions
Brianz further points to worsening conditions within the refugee system, including delays in case processing and reduced access to essential services.
“No case processing. No new registrations,” she says. “Even those already registered are on hold without explanation.”
She adds that access to food, medication, and shelter has become increasingly uncertain.
“Food has been cut off. Medication is hard to access. Shelter is not guaranteed unless you have connections.”
Trauma and loss within the community
Beyond physical insecurity, Brianz describes emotional distress and trauma affecting many LGBTIQ refugees.
“Night turns into horror. Sleep turns into fear,” she says.
She speaks of repeated exposure to violence, loss of loved ones, and worsening mental health conditions.
“Fear, depression, and no chance for self-defense,” she says. “Crying, burying our loved ones, seeing no happiness anymore. What used to be hope turned into deep sadness.”
Some refugees, she notes, have left Kenya entirely in search of safer environments elsewhere in Africa. However, many remain due to lack of resources or alternatives.
“They are holding onto hope that one day someone will stand for them,” she says.
Calls for support and protection
Despite the challenges, Brianz says members of the LGBTIQ community continue to support each other in difficult circumstances, including efforts to protect the most vulnerable among them.
“Strong gay boys are risking their lives protecting lesbians, transgender people, children, and women,” she says.
She calls on human rights organisations, allies, and well-wishers to increase support for LGBTIQ refugees in both camps and urban areas.
“Human rights defenders, allies, well-wishers—this is a call to you,” she says. “Stand with LGBTIQ refugees in Kenya, both in camps and in urban areas, who have been silenced for too long.”
Brianz says she has been involved in advocacy work since 2019, documenting challenges faced by the community and relying on support networks to meet basic needs.
“I have been on the ground witnessing everything, fighting to be heard, sharing the little we get from well-wishers and friends across the world just to keep some of us alive,” she says.
“We are asking to live in peace”
She insists that the community is not demanding special treatment, but equal protection and dignity.
“We are not asking for special treatment,” she says. “We are asking to live in peace.”
Brianz also uses her platform to encourage transgender people facing similar struggles.
“I want to send the message of ‘you are not alone and you are safe’ to other transgender people,” she says. “We want to change the world by making it much more friendly for trans people.”
She describes trans individuals as resilient and determined despite ongoing challenges.
“Trans people are extraordinary, strong, intelligent, persistent, and resilient. We have to be bold and audible.”
A growing protection gap
The testimony adds to ongoing concerns about the safety of vulnerable groups within Kenya’s refugee system, particularly those facing discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity.
For Brianz and others, the core concern remains unresolved.
“In the camp we are attacked. In the city we are rejected. And from the system we are ignored,” she says. “So we are left asking—where do we belong?”
For many LGBTIQ refugees, that question remains unanswered.