Names have been changed to protect individual identities.
My name is Chosen, and I am an Ugandan transgender man living in Kenya as an asylum seeker. I am also a parent to a 10-year-old son. I’ve been through many difficult experiences in life, and although I won’t share every detail, I can say that I’ve endured immense hardship. However, I thank God for never failing me, and I trust that He never will. I believe I am one of those He has chosen to work through, and He will always be my God. 🙏
I grew up living with my mother until she passed away when I was 12 years old. After her death, I moved in with an uncle on my mother’s side. He worked night shifts as a security guard, while his wife ran a bar. Every night, my uncle’s wife would open the bar and stay there with me, and people would often come in and wonder if I was a girl or a boy. Many of them were confused about my identity and began offering her money, asking her to convince me to sleep with them so they could “confirm” my sexuality.
Despite their advances, I refused and made it clear that I was not interested, as I was still young, focused on my studies, and had no romantic or sexual feelings for any man. But one day, when I was in my second year of secondary school, something happened that would change my life. I came home from school, and my uncle’s wife gave me a soda and some snacks. Unbeknownst to me, she had mixed the soda with a drug so that a man could take advantage of me. This is how I ended up pregnant with my son, at the age of 14.
At first, I didn’t understand what had happened. I confronted my uncle’s wife, but she ignored me. It wasn’t until I missed my period that I bought a pregnancy test and discovered I was pregnant. I didn’t know who was responsible, and I felt utterly lost. In my despair, I attempted to take my own life but was rushed to the hospital and treated. When I questioned my uncle’s wife, she admitted to what had happened, and the man who was involved came to the hospital. They both pressured me to get an abortion, but I refused. Instead, my uncle’s wife turned the blame on me, telling my uncle that I was the one sleeping with the men who came to their bar.
With no one to turn to and no support, I was kicked out of my uncle’s house when I was two months pregnant. I had nowhere to go, so I contacted the man responsible for the pregnancy, but he told me he would only care for me until I gave birth and then wanted me to leave. I refused to stay with him and found a job as a waitress in a bar in central Uganda. While pregnant, I worked there, but my boss pressured me into sex work, forcing me to sleep with customers in exchange for money. When I refused, I was fired after only six days of working.
Desperate, I found another job as a cashier in a nearby bar, but soon found myself in police custody for five days after some issues at the bar. After being released, I went back to the village and stayed with my son’s father, not because I wanted to build a family, but because I wanted to be there for my child and bond with him. However, our relationship was toxic, and we constantly fought. When my son turned 4, I made the difficult decision to leave him with his father, knowing I had to find a way to support myself and eventually bring my son back to me.
I started working as a security guard, doing night shifts. It was during this time that I met my first girlfriend, and we had a brief relationship. But people in the community began suspecting that I was a homosexual due to my masculinity and my relationship with a woman. Eventually, we were caught together in a private room, and the whole village gathered to watch as the police arrested us on charges of unnatural offenses. Although no evidence was found, I was released from jail.
When I returned home, the landlord immediately kicked me out, saying he couldn’t house a homosexual. I tried looking for other places to stay, but everyone refused, saying they couldn’t live with someone like me. I fell into deep despair and began having suicidal thoughts, but one day I sought refuge in a church in Kampala. There, I found a friend who connected me to someone in Kenya, and I made the decision to leave Uganda.
When I arrived in Kenya, I faced even more challenges. I lived in extreme poverty and struggled to survive for a year and a half. But then I met Dr. Tara Wakefield, a kind-hearted woman from the UK who provides medical assistance to the queer refugee community in Kenya. Dr. Tara gave me the opportunity to volunteer at her hospital and offered me a place to live. I was incredibly grateful, but my mind was still troubled by thoughts of my son.
Every time I contacted relatives in Uganda, I was told that my son was being mistreated by his stepmother. I struggled to get a clear answer, and when I spoke to his grandmother, she assured me that he was fine. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. In December 2025, I received a message from my son’s aunt telling me that my son was really suffering, and I knew I had to return to Uganda.
Dr. Tara helped me with the necessary funds, and I traveled back to Uganda to check on my son. What I found when I arrived was beyond my worst fears. I went to the National Identification Registration Authority (NIRA) to pay for my son’s birth certificate and passport, but when they started processing the paperwork, they asked how I was related to the child. I told them I was his biological mother, but they showed me a record in the system stating that my son’s grandmother was listed as his mother. The record even stated that she had given birth to him in 2015, while I had given birth in 2016.
I tried explaining that there had been a mistake, showing them my son’s birth certificate and hospital records, but they refused to believe me. They told me that in order to correct the system, I would need to provide a statutory declaration from a lawyer and bring my son’s grandmother to NIRA to confirm that I was his biological mother. I sent money to the grandmother for transportation, but she took the money and never showed up. When I returned to NIRA, they refused to accept my explanation and told me I would need to do a DNA test to prove that I was my son’s mother.
Unfortunately, the NIRA office was closed for the election period, so I had no choice but to return to Kenya with my son without his documents. The entire experience left me traumatized. I was harassed on the streets, called derogatory names, and even physically threatened. I was living in a shared room with four other people and struggled to afford food and shelter. Despite everything, I am thankful that I made it back to Kenya with my son.
I am eternally grateful to Dr. Tara and the support she has given me. I also thank the entire refugee community for their kindness and solidarity. It has been a difficult journey, but I remain hopeful, knowing that I have come this far, and with God’s help, I will continue to move forward. May God bless you all. 🙏
