Written by Nakanyike Ashura
Nakanyike Ashura aged 33 years, is a queer woman from Uganda. A country known for its harsh anti LGBTQI+ laws in the world: “I knew i was attracted to women since childhood but I couldn't speak on my feelings to anyone because I was raised from an Islamic traditional family. At 29 years, i faced up my fear and left home (Uganda) with the end goal being self-love, freedom and acceptance.” Ashura writes for Gaykrant and Queer Work.
It was a boring Sunday afternoon that i decided to spend the day with my mother and enjoy her delicious cooking. As i was eating her food, my mind was a thousand miles away. My mother was sitting in her favorite armchair.
"What's wrong you are not someone who is quiet Ashura." Mama asked. I rolled my eyes.
"I'm always quiet, Mama."
But today you're quiet in a different way." She tilted her head, studying me. "Something on your mind?"
I shrugged.
"Just work stuff. Nothing important." I didn't say anything else. I was waiting. I knew my mother well enough to know she weren't done talking. There was something coming.
"Ashura," she said, her voice soft but pointed, "when are you going to bring someone home?" My hand stopped halfway to my glass of water.
"What?"
"Someone. A partner. A boyfriend. Someone special." Mama leaned forward. "You're not getting any younger, my daughter. And we would like to see you settled before we die."
"Nobody's dying," I said.
"I am happy and contented.” I said again.
Contented is when you've accepted your situation. Happy is when you wake up excited about your situation." She paused. "Are you excited when you wake up?" I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"That's what I thought," Mama said.
"Maybe I don't want to bring someone home," I said carefully. "Maybe I'm fine on my own."
"You're not fine on your own, Human beings need other human beings. That's how God made us."
"You're very direct today, Mama."
"I'm always direct. You're just always avoiding." She stood up and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out at the street. "I see other mothers with their children's partners. I see weddings. I see grandchildren. And I think, when will it be my turn?" She said.
"Maybe it won't be your turn," I said quietly.
Mum turned around.
"What does that mean?" I looked down at my hands. My heart was beating faster now, the way it always did when conversations started moving in this direction. I had practiced this moment a hundred times in my head. Different words. Different outcomes. Different versions of her reactions. But now that the moment was here, all those rehearsed speeches felt useless.
"What if," i said slowly, "I brought someone home and it wasn't a man?" The room went very quiet. Outside, a dog barked. Inside, no one moved. Mama’s face had frozen mid-expression. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyebrows raised. Her face had gone blank. Completely, utterly blank, like someone had erased everything she was feeling and left nothing behind. I could feel the weight of my words hanging in the air, heavy and sharp.
"What did you say?" She asked finally.
I took a breath.
"I asked what you would do if I brought a girl home. Instead of a boy." The word "girl" landed like a stone dropped into still water. She walked slowly back to her chair and sat down. Her movements were careful, deliberate, like she was afraid of breaking something.
"A girl" she said. Not a question. Not a statement. Just... the word, hanging there.
"Yes, Mama. A girl." She cleared her throat. Then cleared it again.
"Ashura, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying exactly what I'm saying, mama." My voice was steady, but my hands were shaking slightly. "I'm saying that maybe the reason I never bring anyone home is because I've never been sure you would want to meet who I wanted to bring."
"Would you?" I asked again. "Would you really? Or would you sit in this room, in these chairs, and look at me like I was a stranger? Like you didn't know me anymore?" She shifted in her chair.
"Ashura, we raised you in the islamic traditional culture. We raised you with values—"
"I know what you raised me with, mama. I was there. I sat in those teachings. I listened to those sermons. I heard every single word." I leaned forward. "And I also heard every single word that was said about people like me. The jokes. The whispers. That 'they're not bad people but they're living in sin." Mama flinched.
"I heard all of it," i continued. "And I learned something from all of it. I learned that if I ever told you the truth about myself, I would become one of those conversations. I would become the person you talked about in hushed voices when you thought I wasn't listening."
"That's not fair," mama said quietly.
"No. It's not fair. None of it is fair. My voice cracked slightly, and i stopped to steady myself. "But it's the truth. And you asked me why I don't bring anyone home. So I'm telling you. This is why. This is exactly why."
The silence that followed was the loudest. I could hear my own breathing.
I waited. I had said the words. I couldn't take them back. But now i had to wait and see what happened next. I didn't know what was coming—tears, anger, silence, rejection. I had imagined all of it. I had prepared myself for all of it.
"Ashura," she said, "look at me." I looked at her. Her eyes were wet, blank with emptiness and sadness. "Better leave before you father finds out" Hot tears streamed down my face uninvited. I wanted to talk. I wanted to say something. But my lips just trembled. There was this suffocating lump in my throat, so painful, making it hard to swallow the thickened saliva gathering in my mouth. I stood up and walked out.
The next morning, the light was coming through the window, but nothing felt right, nothing felt the same, not anymore. I had not slept well after dropping my sexual preference on my mother and the response i got from her. My phone buzzed on the night stand, it was a message from my partner, Lyn. “Morning, what time do you want to meet?” She asked. I thought about it, I wanted to see Lyn as soon as possible. “At 12pm, let’s meet at a restaurant near the junction” I replied. I put my phone down and walked to the bathroom, i looked at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. My face looked older than it should, i splashed water in my face and took a deep breath “you can do this”, i told myself.
Lyn arrived at the cafe fifteen minutes to noon. She ordered a coffee and sat at a table near the window where she could see the street. Her mind was spinning with questions. What did Ashura need to tell her? Why did she sound so serious? Was something wrong? She thought about the feelings that had developed between them in just 2 years. The restaurant door opened. I walked in. Looking tired. More tired than Lyn had ever seen me. My shoulders were heavy. My steps were slow. I scanned the room, spotted Lyn and walked over to the table.
"Hey,"I said.
"Hey," Lyn said back. "You look terrible."
"Thanks." I sat down across from her. Then I sat in silence for a moment, staring at the table.
"Talk to me," Lyn said quietly. "What's going on? I didn't answer right away. I looked at the table across me as if it had all the answers written on it. I sipped on the coffee I had ordered while debating how much could tell her. I chose to speak the whole truth so that we could figure out how to go forward about my mother’s words after telling her about my sexuality. The words she said next “Run before your father finds out”. When i finished talking, the cafe felt different. The light outside seemed dimmer. The sounds of people talking and cups clinking seemed farther away. “Lyn was quiet for a long moment. Her mind was thinking through everything i had told her.” Then she reached across the table and put her hand on my arm.
"You're not alone in this," Lyn said. "You understand that, right? You're not alone."
I looked at her. My eyes were wet. "Lyn, you have your own life. Your own problems. Your family.”
"My family knows about me now," Lyn said quietly. I stopped talking. I stared at Lyn.
"What? Knows what?" I asked. "I told them. Last month. About me being a lesbian. About everything." Lyn leaned back in her chair. "My mother said it’s an abomination, a sin." I stared for another moment. "You told them that? Wait Lyn, you're telling me the truth?" She nodded.
"Yes, I'm dead serious. I told them. My parents took me to church and asked the pastor to anoint me, saying the devil had possessed me." I am sorry for keeping this from you, I didn’t want to make you feel bad.
"Lyn, that's...." i was shocked by this information. We held hands while thinking of how to navigate life with our queerness, if at all we will ever be free. In that moment we were two women who loved each other deeply but couldn’t fully express our love openly.