LGBTQI |LGBT |Refugees| Allyship

How Do You Know It’s Not a Scam?

This is my answer to that oft-asked question.

“Mom, really? You’re gonna get scammed. You’re a sucker.”

Those words were my daughter’s opinion of the thing that grabbed hold of my heart. It scared me, and it irritated me, all at once. I spent years watching Dr. Phil. I do not ever want to be one of his “catfishing” victims. Global shame is not on my Bingo card.

I decided I needed to talk to some people with a more professional kind of thinking. One person said, “I think it’s a scam. Pretty sure I have heard about this.” Followed by, “Yeah, everything you’re telling me, it’s a scam. Do your due diligence before you get in too deep. “

Damn. Too late. I was already in too deep. My whole heart just opened wide for 189 people living in a place called Block 13 and a whole bunch more in their camp and life for other LGBTQ that wasn’t any better in Nairobi.

I couldn’t buy what these loving people said to me about a scamming operation. They were looking out for me with love. I understand that. And they know I’m a soft touch. But, they didn’t know the things I knew. I was speaking with these very real people. A dozen or more of them had conversations with me daily in the beginning. By now, it’s several dozen. I knew this wasn’t a scam. This situation these people were living in was hell on earth. And it was real.

The stories were remarkably consistent. All equally shed the tears. The blood, the pain, poverty, and neglect. They sent me pictures. Pictures that tore at my heart and drained the tears from my body. They were far too sincere and genuine to be scammers. And before I knew it, there were so many that all I could think is, “Man, if these many people are involved, and every one of them is such a great actor in addition to the crafting, creating, and expediting the whole thing? I gotta tell you; I am a little impressed.” J Lo or Pink or someone should fly them all to Hollywood and make a movie!

Either that, or it’s all true.

This journey that took me on a definite twist in my life started with a couple of Facebook groups. I have a transgender grandchild, and I realize what a huge blessing is for all of us. I wanted to put myself out there as a mother figure to offer kindness, compassion, and love to all these people out there struggling. So, that’s who I am, Mama T.

Various people would inbox me, and we’d talk, hang out, get to know each other online. One day, there was a different sort of message. One that would call me painfully, down to my soul.

Her name was Hady. She lived in Block 13, and she needed help. Immediately, I was nervous. Being a woman with more heart than money, I put up a little bit of a wall. I was determined to keep my emotional distance. Yeah. Right. My heart leaped the wall in minutes as Hady told me her story.

Block 13 is a section of a refugee camp in Kenya called Kakuma. It is where 189 LGBTQ people are warehoused together to keep them from the rest of the community. Their would-be rescuers, the UNHCR, said it was to keep them safe. The refugees believe it was to leave them to die.

Block 13 is inside the second-largest refugee camp in the world, Kakuma, in Kenya, Africa. This place is a place no one wants to be. Most of Africa is extremely homophobic. People are viciously beaten and left to die because they are gay. People are put behind bars for life for being transgender. People are segregated right out of every bit of society that exists because they are lesbians.

A bit of backstory.

Thousands of LGBTQI refugees now live in Kakuma and Nairobi. While the refugees in Kenya come for many reasons other than sexuality, most of the ones I have met thus far are from Uganda. They are here because it is against the law to be LGBTQI in Uganda. Their homeland swarms with homophobic people, many of whom see nothing wrong with beating anyone suspected of a same-sex relationship or identifying as any form of LGBTQI to a bloody pulp. Including the homophobic police.

So they flee to Kenya, desperately trying to save their lives. That is ALL this state of ugliness is about. They are tired of being beaten and don’t want to die. Oh, they would also like to eat and sleep indoors.

In steps, the UNHCR- the United Nations Refugee Agency. The perfect people to help these refugees who are outcasts on every piece of Earth they put their feet, you would think.

Refugees have been brought into Camp Kauma for years. Kakuma is the second-largest refugee camp in the world. Refugees and asylum seekers from throughout Africa live there on what should be a stepping stone to their new lives.

When you look at UNHCR’s website, it’s easy to see how far they reach and how much work they present to the world. What’s apparently difficult to see is the reality of UNHCR’s work on the ground in Kenya.

Kakuma is a huge place. There is section after section after section. Within each of these groupings, there are blocks. Inside the block, the people survive. All the people.

Right now, Block 13 has only eight “houses.” 189 people are living in Block 13. 24 of them are children. The children sleep in the houses while the adults lay on the ground, praying the same prayer night after night “Please God, just for tonight, keep us safe. And no rains, please? Please, God?”

Attackers bring fire and knives. They leave behind blood and anguish. Burning homes and screaming people. Or, tonight, it may be the rains with big winds blasting all the bodies. There is no sleep now. And no sleep for days for those whose mattress or blanket or net got ruined in torrential storms. No sleep. They never know what to expect. Or if they will survive.

The meager houses are made out of iron sheets, as they are called, give cover to 24 children of the LGBTQ community in Block 13. Beautiful children. Smart children. Malnourished children. Abandoned Children. First by their families and then by the world, including the people who ran Camp Kakuma.

Just a few weeks ago, there were 25 kids in Block 13. Then a baby died at five months old—the eternal consequences of being sprayed with tear gas when she was only three days old.

Yes, I said tear-gassed.

By the United Nations Refugee Agency, the globally sponsored group that carries the mandate to give them refuge — tear-gassing a crowd of people who were begging for protection from those who would hurt them. How did this happen? Why isn't the UNHCR taking care of these people? Why are thousands being treated as if they were no more than filthy animals stray on a farm?

Meanwhile, on Block 13, the children occupy the eight houses, and the others all sleep outside. The lucky ones have a net to keep away mosquitos or perhaps a mattress, so they aren’t on the dry hard ground. Malaria visits the camp with typhoid in its back pocket. Things are quickly moving from really awful to catastrophic.

Homophobia is a genuine and incredibly dangerous thing in Africa. At Block 13, as well as other areas on Kakuma, they get physically attacked daily. Every place they go, everyone they see, wants them to no longer exist. And their knives and fists and fire-setting will hasten that along, given the opportunity.

The police turn their backs. The UN turns their backs. To those who live in Block 13, other areas of Camp Kakuma, and still other LGBTQI refugees in Nairobi, it seems the world has turned their backs. They believe they have been sentenced to die. And no one cares.

Most often, they cannot get the medical care they need. Because of the lack of housing, the adults sleep outside In the rain and the wind and the mosquitoes biting their skin, leaving malaria and living in conditions where typhoid lurks everywhere. When they get to a clinic, many doctors refuse to treat their wounds and illnesses because they are LGBTQ. Often, the doctors and medical staff won’t even physically touch them.

Think about that. These people, who have sworn an oath to do no harm, deem you so unworthy, so invaluable they won’t even touch you.

Because of who you love.

Because of who you are.

The stories are endless. I’m now friends with several of the strongest people I have ever seen. I’m a strong woman. I have always surrounded myself with strong people. It’s a vibe I fit into. We all need our role to fill. And then my ideas about how strong I was got a whole new perspective. These refugees are incredibly strong. Just to survive.

My role is made clear. I’ll be your Mama T. I will love you and support you, and I’ll be on your side. I will tell the world that we need to see the UNHCR evacuate ALL LGBTQ refugees in the camp for their safety. The resettlements long ago promised need to come to fruition, to a place where none of these people need to fear for their lives ever again. All of the LGBTQI refugees here in Africa are in a life and death situation.

The UNHCR ras resettled many of these endangered people in Nairobi after they took them out of the camp. But they did them no favors. Living on 6000 Kenyan shillings a month, less than 60 American dollars. Living in hiding, under made-up names and empty stomachs.

I’ve been emotionally attached to ideas and things and people before. I’ve been gullible or easily swayed, eager to be on the bandwagon with all the cool kids. I lead with my heart far more often than I do with my head.

Am I being scammed? There are no Nigerian princes in this story.

Unless, of course, they are gay.

Thanks for reading.

To find out more about me, just look here:

To read more about the LGBTQ crisis in Camp Kakuma, read this:

And follow my transgender grandson’s journey through transition, starting here: