In May this year, the parliament of Uganda passed another controversial bill that criminalized same-sex relationships and sex work. The bill which stipulates a five-year jail term for anyone guilty of same-sex acts is further sending many members of Uganda’s marginalized queer community into hiding. For pride month in June, we met up with three gay men in Uganda who even though confronted with bills like this and often violent homophobia continue to live proudly. This photo essay was produced in partnership with Anthony Atiko, Josh Tigarson, and originally appeared in a condensed form on our social media platform. I think I always knew I was gay. I remember a day back in primary school, we had Physical Education, and the teacher asked us to make a big circle while holding each other’s hands. The person next to me was a boy and I was scared, I didn’t want to hold him. Later I understood that I was afraid because I liked boys. In high school, I tried my best to fit in. I had girlfriends, and I even believed I was in love with them. It was only in 2019 that I really came to terms with my sexuality. I made a Facebook account and I started seeing other people who were out. I met some friends who started educating me about the LGBTQ+ community. Later that year, I had my first experience with a guy. We started chatting online, after a while he started coming to my house. My mom thought we were just guy friends hanging out, she had no idea about the butterflies in my stomach. A little after that I learned about an LGBTQ+ organization in Kampala, and I joined. That’s where I first met people like myself in real life. Before that, I was always a loner. It is hard having to hide who you are. Sometimes, when I was talking to one of my straight friends, a feminine gesture would come out of me without realizing it. They would look at me funny and I would laugh or change the subject to get out of it. Now, I finally had a group of friends to hang out with who understood me. They talked like me and dressed like me. I could finally be myself, I no longer had to hide behind a masculine masquerade. Unfortunately, not much later the shelter was raided, just when I was there visiting a friend. The police humiliated us and physically abused us. Everything was filmed and broadcasted on national television. I was one of the headliners, my face was shown everywhere. I lost a lot of friends after that. Most family members didn’t want to talk to me anymore, and I lost my job. I was working in a photography studio at the time; it was my dream. My boss was afraid he would lose customers if he kept me on. My mom asked me to leave the house, she is a big person in church, so she has a reputation to keep up. We still talk on the phone. I understand her, it wasn’t easy, with everyone in the neighborhood looking at us. She had to protect her family. My sisters accept me the way I am, and that makes me hopeful of the younger generation that follows us. Growing up in Nansana, Kampala, I had what you could call a regular childhood. My dad was an engineer and my mom owned a saloon. I have 4 siblings, I’m third in line. Things [at home] changed when my father got sick and passed away. My mom became depressed and lost her salon. She couldn’t take the burden of taking care of the family all by herself. My dream is to become a famous activist, like Todrick Hall, and help young queer people to empower themselves. Today, you see many gay people coming out on social media and being their selves. I love to see these very feminine guys being so popular on TikTok. Everyone loves them, I want to have a reach like that one day. I think Pride Month is a time for LGBTQ+ people to celebrate each other and their sexuality. You see these people in western countries coming out in the streets, showing people their full reality. They do it publicly without anyone stopping them. I think it’s great because if they don’t do it, no one else will do it for them. Unfortunately, here in Uganda it’s not possible. They tried it in 2016, but the police came and arrested people. One day I hope to live somewhere in the United States, settle down with someone and live a peaceful life. Maybe there I can celebrate Pride as it should be. My comfortable life as I knew it changed in 2019, when the police raided a gay party I [was] attending. The police arrested 127 people, of which 67 were charged. Sadly, I was one of them. I spent 10 days in prison, and the only people I could think of to bail me out were my parents but facing them was even scarier. My parents are from a village in the Central Region but came to Kampala to pursue their dream as thriving business owners. My dad owns a hardware store and my mom a produce store.