For those of us navigating the complexities of queer life in East Africa, picking up She Called Me Woman: Nigeria’s Queer Women Speak feels less like reading a book and more like finding a long-lost map. Edited by Azeenarh Mohammed, Chitra Nagarajan, and Rafeeat Aliyu, this anthology is a profound collection of thirty first-hand accounts that document the lives of queer Nigerian women. While the geography is West African, the soul of these stories resonates deeply with the lived realities of Ugandan queers, offering a mirror to our own struggles, joys, and quiet acts of defiance.
Beyond the “Single Story“
In Uganda, as in Nigeria, the state-sponsored narrative often attempts to paint queer identity as a “Western import” or something fundamentally “un-African.” She Called Me Woman shatters this myth with surgical precision. The voices in this book aren’t academic theories; they are mothers, daughters, Muslims, Christians, professionals, and rural workers.
By centering these lived experiences, the editors move beyond the “single story” of trauma. Yes, the shadow of the Same-Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Act in Nigeria looms large—much like our own legislative hurdles in Uganda—but the book refuses to let state oppression be the only defining feature of a queer woman’s life. It captures the mundane and the magnificent: the anxiety of a first date, the complexity of navigating faith, and the sheer euphoria of finding a community that speaks your secret language.
A Shared Struggle for Visibility
The resonance for Ugandan queers lies in the shared negotiation of space. We see ourselves in the stories of women who must carefully curate their identities depending on whether they are in a boardroom, a mosque, or a family living room. The anthology highlights how intersectionality isn’t just a buzzword; it is a survival tactic.
One of the most moving aspects of the collection is the inclusion of older voices. In a culture that often tries to erase our history, seeing queer elders narrate their lives provides a sense of continuity. It reminds us that we are not a “new” phenomenon; we are part of an ancestral lineage of Africans who loved differently and survived.
Why This Book is a Tool for Us
Reading this anthology is an act of solidarity. For a queer person in Kampala or Gulu, these stories provide the vocabulary to describe our own lives. The raw, unvarnished prose—often transcribed directly from interviews—retains the rhythm of natural speech, making the reader feel like they are sitting in a safe house, sharing tea and secrets.
She Called Me Woman is a political statement, It asserts that our lives are worthy of documentation and that our voices are the only ones with the authority to tell our stories. It challenges the reader to look past the headlines of “persecution” and see the vibrant, breathing humans underneath.
This collection is essential reading for anyone in the Ugandan queer community who has ever felt isolated by the law or by tradition. It is a reminder that while our borders may be different, our hearts speak the same language of resistance. It is a call to pick up our own pens and start recording our own histories, ensuring that the world knows we were here, we loved, and we spoke our truth.
