75% of queer Nigerians live in fear of being outed, yet LGBTQI+ laws vary widely across Africa

A closer look at the lived experiences of queer Nigerians, and the laws and social attitudes that shape their realities and visibility.

In love, most people want the same thing: to be seen fully and accepted without condition. But that becomes harder when your existence sits outside what a society has been taught to see as normal. We surveyed a group of queer Nigerians about their lives, and the results are sobering — though not entirely surprising. 

75% of respondents said they live with the fear of being outed. Every respondent also said they are only out to close friends, and what stands out is how consistent that boundary is. No one described a full openness of their sexuality, not even once.

Across their responses, visibility feels less like a choice and more like something they carefully contain within a trusted community. Who to trust, what to say, and when to stay silent are all part of everyday decision-making. While navigating identity and the consequences of being themselves. Queer Nigerians are constantly navigating both who they are and what it might cost for others to know.

Living under the law: how politics shapes the everyday lives of queer Nigerians

Nigeria’s Same Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Act (SSMPA) has been in force since 2014. It bans same-sex marriage, criminalises LGBTQI organising, and punishes public displays of same-sex affection with up to 14 years in prison. In the 12 northern states under Sharia law, the penalties get harsher still, including receiving the death penalty for same-sex relations. 

However, the law on paper and the law in practice are two different things. Activists point out that the SSMPA has never produced an actual conviction. What it has produced, instead, is a climate of fear that shapes daily decisions for queer Nigerians. They have to figure out who to trust, what to post, where to go, and who to love. 

That fear showed up clearly in our survey. When we asked what’s been hardest about being queer in Nigeria, 75% of respondents pointed to the fear of being outed, ongoing safety concerns, and the difficulty of finding real community. These aren’t separate issues; they’re all downstream of the same root cause: a legal and social environment that treats queerness as something to be hidden, policed, or punished. 

Public attitudes also reinforce this environment. A study published in SAGE Open, “Climate of Conformism: Social Media Users’ Opinion on Homosexuality in Nigeria,” found that 83% of respondents see homosexuality as unacceptable and about 71% opposed same-sex marriage. Only 29% supported equal human dignity for LGBTQ+ people.

When the threat comes from ordinary people

As legal restrictions tightened, many queer Nigerians turned to the internet to find community, friendship, and love away from public scrutiny. But those same spaces also created new risks. Within the community, the term “kito” is used to describe a form of entrapment in which someone pretends to be queer to lure LGBTQ+ people into situations that can lead to outing, violence, kidnapping, or financial exploitation.

Investigations by BBC News Africa and BBC Africa Eye have documented how predators use dating apps and social media to target queer Nigerians, exploiting both social stigma and criminalisation to trap their victims.

These experiences illustrate a broader reality: for many queer Nigerians, the greatest threat is not always prosecution. It is possible that friends, neighbours, strangers, or people met online can weaponise social prejudice and the law against them. Periodic arrests only reinforce the message that visibility can carry consequences, even when cases never result in convictions.

In practice, the law functions less as a tool of consistent prosecution and more as a force that shapes behaviour, limiting openness and influencing what safety looks like in everyday life.

Read also: Mainstream Nigerian feminism has an inclusion problem — and queer women are paying the price

Beyond Nigeria — where does the rest of Africa stand?

Nigeria isn’t an outlier on the continent; it’s actually closer to the norm. Across Africa, 33 out of 55 countries still criminalise homosexuality in some form, and the legal map is shifting in both directions at once. Some countries have shifted toward decriminalisation or expanded protections. 

Decriminalisation

South Africa became the first on the continent to decriminalise same-sex relationships in 1998. It later went further, becoming the first African country to legalise same-sex marriage in 2006. 

In Botswana, a landmark court ruling in 2019 struck down laws criminalising same-sex relations. 

Mauritius followed in 2023 with a similar court-led decision removing colonial-era provisions. 

Namibia added to this shift more recently, with court rulings in the 2020s challenging older restrictions and expanding recognition in specific cases. 

Other countries moved through legislation or executive reform rather than court decisions.

Cape Verde decriminalised same-sex relations in 2004. Lesotho and São Tomé and Príncipe followed in 2012. Mozambique did so in 2015, Seychelles in 2016, and Angola in 2021. Several others have also reversed or softened colonial-era laws over time.

Criminalisation

At the same time, other countries have moved in the opposite direction. 

Uganda has also passed some of the most severe anti-LGBTQI+ legislation in recent years. Uganda passed the Anti-Homosexuality Act in 2023, one of the most severe laws of its kind in recent years. It criminalises same-sex relationships with penalties that include life imprisonment, and in some cases, the death penalty for what the law defines as aggravated homosexuality.” The law also extends punishment to people who support, fund, or organise LGBTQI+ groups, and it requires the reporting of suspected same-sex activity.

Ghana’s parliament passed a bill that would sharply increase penalties for same-sex relationships and even criminalise advocacy itself. Namibia, despite its court win, saw its own parliament push back with a bill to legally redefine marriage as strictly between a man and a woman.

Other countries, including Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger, have introduced or strengthened laws restricting LGBTQI+ existence in recent years. Mali criminalised sodomy in 2024, followed by Burkina Faso in 2025 and Niger in 2026. 

Nigeria sits in a more fixed position within this landscape. Its laws are not new; they are already established and deeply embedded. What changes instead is the lived experience around them. Queer Nigerians continue to live within a structure that is shaped by fear.

Read also: What Goodluck Jonathan’s Anti-LGBTQ law did to queer people

Queer Nigerians want safety, connection and the ability to exist without fear

When we asked respondents what people outside the community misunderstand most, the answers were direct and a little tired of repeating themselves. Nobody chooses to be queer; people just are. 

Asexuality, in particular, gets dismissed as a joke or assumed to be trauma rather than an identity, which frustrates people who are simply attracted to everyone without that meaning they want sex with everyone.

One other answer stuck with us: outsiders often think survival matters less than celebration. For many queer Nigerians, just getting through the day safely is an achievement. Celebration is a privilege that comes later, if it comes at all.

When asked what being queer in Nigeria has taught them, one response stood out for its honesty: “Resilience… I wish it didn’t.” Many also expressed a sense of responsibility toward others in the community. One respondent said it plainly: being queer taught them to look out not just for themselves, but for everyone around them too.

The instinct to protect each other when the law won’t is probably the clearest through line in this whole survey. Queer Nigerians are building safety nets where governmental institutions offer none. They’re finding each other in social spaces when they can’t find each other in person. They’re choosing, again and again, to stay connected despite every incentive to disappear.

Taken together, their responses suggest that the future they want is not only about legal change but about having the ability to live, love, and exist without fear being the default condition of visibility.

Read more: Can religion and LGBTQ+ rights coexist in Nigeria 

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