I STRUT INTO the hospital in Pretoria with confidence, my heels clicking and hair swaying, but I’m immediately met with judgmental stares. As a trans woman from South Africa, I’ve experienced this many times before, so I brush it off; it’s part of the routine. The disapproving glances come not only from other patients but even from the healthcare providers. They want me to feel unwelcome, to know I don’t belong, though both science and the law support my existence. This hostility is rooted in a long history of violence against gender fluidity in Africa, a legacy of colonization that lingers today.
Gender fluidity remains a contentious topic across the African continent, marked by societal norms and cultural beliefs that often hinder its expression and acceptance. African social expectations of gender identity are largely determined by a deeply entrenched patriarchal system and the influence of colonialism. But this wasn’t always how gender fluidity and diversity have been viewed throughout the continent.
Before the onset of colonization, numerous African cultures displayed a rich tapestry of gender identities and expressions that were far more fluid and diverse than the rigid frameworks imposed by colonial authorities. In many societies, traditional gender roles were not strictly defined, allowing for a broader spectrum of gender experiences. Some communities even embraced members who didn’t fit neatly into the binary understanding of gender, integrating them into specific social roles or recognizing their unique contributions through cultural practices and spiritual beliefs. This acceptance demonstrated a deep-rooted understanding of gender as a complex and multifaceted aspect of human identity.
The Lango people of Uganda have a flexible view of gender that allows people to identify as either male or female regardless of their biological sex, an acceptance that extends to same-sex relationships. Similarly, the Imbangala people in Angola have a cultural practice in which men can don women’s clothing and live alongside their wives. In Nigeria, the Igbo and Yoruba communities don’t assign gender at birth. Instead, a person’s gender identity is shaped over time, influenced by societal roles and personal characteristics, allowing for a more dynamic interpretation of gender that evolves throughout a person’s life.
The Dagaaba people of Ghana assign gender based on the energy a person exudes rather than their biological sex, emphasizing the fluidity of gender identities and diverging from the conventional binary perspective. In Zimbabwe, the San people have left cave paintings that illustrate sexual relationships between men, suggesting a cultural acceptance and hinting at the possibility of gender fluidity within their society. Among the Zande warriors in the Congo and Sudan, same-sex relationships were not only commonplace but also culturally significant, with young men often marrying older warriors and assuming domestic roles until they transitioned into being warriors themselves. South African miners adopted a similar practice in which the older men would have younger men as “boy-wives” who were responsible for domestic tasks in addition to providing companionship and sexual intimacy. In Kenya and Uganda, the Iteso people recognized men who adopted feminine attire and behaviors, allowing them to engage in sexual relationships with other men.
Gender fluidity extends beyond cultural practices and is deeply embedded in African spirituality. Various African cultures have historically celebrated androgynous or intersex deities. In Mali, the Nommo of the Dogon people embodies this fluidity, while ancient Egyptian deities like Mut and Sekhmet also reflect a reverence for nonbinary identities. Some West African societies have documented the presence of transgender priests and rituals that included cross-dressing. Among the Lugbara community, there are transgender people who communicate with the spirit world. Transgender women mediums are named okule (“like women”), while transgender men mediums are called agule (“like men”). These practices involving cross-dressing have not only persisted but also have influenced contemporary ceremonies in Brazil and Haiti, where elements of these ancient traditions continue to thrive.
Today, however, Africa is rife with violent and murderous hatred that affects LGBT people of all genders, sexualities, ages, and racial and socioeconomic backgrounds. The repression of gender fluidity can be traced back to the mid-19th century, when European colonizers—heavily influenced by religious missionaries—imposed strict, binary views of gender that were rooted in the values of Victorian-era Christianity. These views—particularly those based on the King James Bible—condemned same-sex relationships and marginalized any expression of gender that fell outside the traditional male and female categories. This rigid framework reshaped local cultures and laid the groundwork for ongoing discrimination against diverse gender identities, fundamentally altering the social fabric of the regions affected.
The introduction of Christian values by the colonizers helped shape the legal systems that emerged during that era, criminalizing same-sex relationships and entrenching patriarchal norms. As the European powers expanded their influence, they imposed penal codes that explicitly banned homosexual acts. In South Africa, the Immorality Act of 1957 was one of the earliest laws aimed at restricting intimate relationships. While it is often cited for banning intimate relations between people of different races, it also imposed limitations on “unnatural / immoral sexual acts,” a euphemism for sexual activities linked to homosexuality and non-reproductive intercourse.
Laws targeting “cross-dressing” were established by British colonial authorities in multiple countries across Africa. In Gambia, the Criminal Code of 1965 illegalized sexual acts between two men or between two women. A 2013 amendment stipulates that any man who publicly dresses as a woman could face up to five years in prison and a potential fine. These penal codes not only marginalized people with diverse sexual orientations and gender identities but also systemically erased any legal acknowledgment of their existence.
Colonization also led to the suppression of third-gender expressions, which were often viewed through a lens of inferiority and primitiveness. The colonial powers imposed legal and social frameworks that altered traditional gender roles, pushing women into subordinate positions while simultaneously marginalizing those who didn’t fit neatly into the binary gender categories. Many African nations continue to uphold laws that criminalize homosexuality, and gender-based violence remains a significant concern across the continent. African leaders, in their struggle to maintain political popularity, have fostered an environment in which LGBT people often face persecution. Today, the attitudes toward LGBT people in Uganda have become increasingly rigid, leading to widespread discrimination, harassment, and violence. In 2023, the Ugandan Parliament enacted an Anti-Homosexuality Act that imposed severe penalties for consensual same-sex relationships, including life imprisonment. Nigeria has a similar law preventing people from entering into a same-sex marriage or civil union, being involved in LGBT clubs or organizations, or publicly displaying affection in same-sex relationships. The Ghanaian Parliament is considering a bill that would impose a prison sentence of up to three years for anyone who identifies as LGBT. Laws protecting LGBT people are also nonexistent in Zimbabwe, with acts that also state that same-sex relations are punishable by a fine, prison sentence, or both.
In contrast, South Africa has been a pioneer in LGBT rights as the first nation to provide protection against discrimination based on sexual orientation in its constitution and the fifth globally to legalize same-sex marriage. The legal protections for queer people are unmatched across the continent. But despite these progressive laws, many LGBT people still face social stigma, discrimination, and violence, highlighting the challenges that persist even in a country known for its progressive legislation. This is especially true for transgender residents.
University communities worldwide are witnessing a rise in young people identifying as transgender, gender-diverse, and nonbinary, leading to a notable increase in the enrollment of these students. However, many universities seem ill-equipped to adapt to the unique needs of trans and gender-diverse people. While they may recognize the existence of these groups, their approaches often reinforce traditional norms surrounding gender and sexuality.
Discrimination of gender-diverse people in higher education means having their access to campus housing or facilities denied, experiencing harassment and bullying. The absence of gender-inclusive residences leaves some transgender students vulnerable to mistreatment. Transgender men may be assigned to women’s housing based on outdated documents, while transgender women are placed in male residencies, exposing them to bullying and violence from peers. When students are required to share accommodations, transgender men are often assigned to rooms in female dormitories with cisgender female roommates. When these cisgender students express discomfort or concerns about their safety, it is typically the transgender or gender-diverse person who is relocated. Take Loni, a twenty-year-old transgender man who attested to having to relocate and adjust to prioritize the needs of cisgender female peers: “At the time I was placed in the female residency because my sex on my ID was still marked as female.” When the girl he was living with complained, Loni reports: “I was forced to seek accommodation off-campus, which was more expensive, especially for a single tenant.”
Transgender people in South Africa also face discrimination and mistreatment within the healthcare system, particularly in hospitals, where they often encounter stigmas and barriers to accessing appropriate care. This not only leads to poorer health outcomes but also exacerbates existing health disparities. And not enough healthcare professionals possess the necessary knowledge and understanding to deliver competent care, including gender-affirming treatments. Structural barriers, such as long wait times and bureaucratic hurdles, further complicate their access to care. Many trans people report negative encounters with healthcare providers, including mistreatment, ridicule, and gossip, which can lead to feelings of alienation. Moreover, some find themselves excluded from primary healthcare services because of misconceptions that they require special psychiatric care. Ultimately, negative experiences with healthcare providers can erode trust in the system, discouraging them from seeking the care they need, which perpetuates a cycle of neglect and poor health outcomes.
In my experience, interactions with nurses are often uncomfortable. Beyond the occasional piercing glances, I’ve encountered instances in which they misgender me, engage in gossip, and offer unsolicited opinions. I frequently hear comments like: “You’re so handsome. Why would you want to ruin yourself like this?” The worst part is their insistence that these comments come from a place of genuine concern. Experiences like these have led me to doubt my safety within these institutions. I often wonder whether I can rely on healthcare professionals to give me trustworthy information about my transition and ensure the best outcomes. Each time I have an appointment, a sense of dread washes over me, and I find myself mentally preparing to brush off unprofessional behavior. While the quality of the medical care itself is generally acceptable, the overall atmosphere is unwelcoming and unpleasant.
Another issue often faced by transgender people, especially the young, is family abandonment. Although statistics on how many transgender kids are disowned after coming out are hard to come by, the phenomenon is all too common. Many of these young people find themselves homeless, as they may be forced to leave their parents’ homes or feel unwelcome there. This lack of support can lead to a cascade of challenges, including emotional turmoil, difficulties in accessing essential resources, and a heightened risk of both physical and mental health issues. The struggle for acceptance can leave lasting scars. Take the case of Owethu, a 26-year-old transgender woman who was kicked out of the house after coming out at age fifteen and was homeless for at least four years. She lived with friends for a while before she was forced to turn to sex work to earn a living. Her family eventually became more understanding, but the trauma she endured remains with her: “I wish I had never been forced to sell my body, because all of the trust issues I have with men now are because of the work I was forced to do to survive.”
Transgender and gender-diverse people in South Africa also know they may encounter brutal violence that could end in death. In 2021, there was an increase in attacks on the nation’s LGBT community, with sixteen reported murders, predominantly targeting black lesbians and people who identify as transgender. In 2024, there were fourteen reported murders, with one transgender woman, Aobakwe Mahlobo, surviving a brutal attack at a local tavern. The violence against LGBT people in South Africa also includes “corrective rape,” which is inflicted upon lesbians and transgender women supposedly to “correct” their sexual orientation or gender identity.
While the situation may appear hopeless—especially in other African countries such as Uganda and Nigeria—South African transgender activists and organizations are dedicated to improving the rights and lives of the community. Their efforts encompass legal advocacy, awareness initiatives, and direct support services aimed at fostering a more inclusive society. We still have a long way to go, but we are hopeful of being able to enact change that betters not only our lives, but the lives of generations to come—because they deserve it. They deserve to live in an Africa that has reclaimed its history and culture.
Kelley Nele, a trans educator based in Pretoria, South Africa, has written for LGBTQ Nation, Reader’s Digest UK, Metro UK, among others.
