But first, we stop in Kenya, where the stigma and legal ambiguity over abortions is driving many women to underground clinics. Kenya’s abortion law is a complicated one as its penal code prohibits the procedure and criminalizes not only the women seeking abortion but also the person performing it and those who supply the materials required. In 2004, Dr. John Nyamu, along with two nurses, were arrested and charged with the murder of two fetuses – a crime that carries the death penalty. But after being held for 12 months at the Kamiti Maximum Security Prison in Nairobi, they were acquitted and released. Although this case paved a legal avenue for abortions in certain situations, such as life-threatening pregnancies or those from rape or incest, it hasn’t particularly encouraged women to seek safe terminations, especially in public health facilities. There is also a culture of silence amongst doctors on the issue of legal abortions. The complexities around abortions in Kenya continue to push thousands of young women to get care from backstreet clinics, where they usually suffer from post-abortion complications. According to the Center for Reproductive Rights, around seven girls die daily from unsafe abortions. In 2012, the government published guidelines and training initiatives for health workers on safe abortions, however this was suspended after a year with support from anti-abortion campaigners and religious bodies. Despite this, there’s growing support for abortion rights in Kenya. In March 2022, the High Court recognized abortion as a fundamental human right. It also declared the arrests of healthcare providers illegal, but there’s still a lot of work to be done to address the concerns of women in need of this care. Kenya abortion: Women go to backstreet clinics amid legal ambiguity Away from threat of Islamist violence or floods, health risks for pregnant women in Nigeria’s refugee camps remain high Uganda is nicknamed the “Pearl of Africa” due to its rich landscapes, natural beauty, and lush vegetation. “It is like slavery”: Tanzanian bar waitresses speak up on sexual abuse in the industry. Despite being a major problem in the sector, sexual abuse is not considered a safety issue by regulators in Tanzania when opening a new club or bar. For this, alongside other reasons, many women working in bars and clubs are vulnerable to violence from both their employers and customers. Now, they are speaking out. While working as a bar waitress in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, 25-year-old Ester Steven Mashaka was often touched inappropriately by customers. Then, it was understood that accepting gifts was a sign of willingness to have sex with customers. Talking to Minority Africa, Mashaka recalls a specific incident where a customer offered her beer and later wanted to take her home. She refused. Her manager, however, insisted that she went with the customer to secure her job. This was not the first time Mashaka was offered this kind of proposition. Often, she obeyed and did what the customer wanted, going where he wanted and having sex with him. “Doing things out of one’s wish is painful, you know, it is more like slavery,” Mashaka says. “It depends on the understanding of the customer; sometimes you may be forced to go, and the customer understands that you do not want to, and he leaves you.” The pressure to conform: How queer Nigerians navigate marriage expectations during the holidays Questions and remarks about marriage are uncomfortable for queer Nigerians like me, who already find it difficult to find love and constantly face homophobia. At twenty-six, my hometown and family gatherings have become places where I have been subjected to gossip and suspected of being a ritualist. A far cry from what it was for me growing up: a place to meet all my extended family members, smile at my grandmother, and see people who are one. I was born in Lagos, Nigeria, raised by relatives, and attended a missionary secondary school. I have had to battle the internalized homophobia I learned from religion and school. But growing up loving Igbo traditions and learning that, unlike culture, religion is unchanging, I became more drawn to my culture as I came to accept my sexuality. But once you reach a certain age in Nigeria, marriage conversations become recurrent. Since I refused to get married, I have had to avoid my relatives and family gatherings, trying to evade conversations about marriage. These conversations start with relatives giving subtle remarks or asking, “What are you still waiting for?” “Hopefully, you’ll be inviting us for a naming ceremony soon,” or, “I think I have found a perfect girl for you.