My partner and I have known each other for thirteen years. We’re just a few months away from our ten-year anniversary. It’s a happy marriage to me. I would have loved to make it public and share it with others. Still, I’m happy that I can enjoy it in my own home, in my own space.
My childhood was chaotic. My father was an alcoholic, and I have a younger sister and brother. Even though our house wasn’t peaceful, I was closer to my dad than my siblings were, at least when he wasn’t drinking. I remember my brother getting into fights just because he was a man, even though he was scared. My dad used to send me out to fight for him. I would go, throw stones at people’s heads, and come back. I’ve always had a tomboy energy. My dad would call me “he” and tell me to go fight. It makes me laugh now, good memories. The guys I fought were four or five years older than me. I was never afraid; I always came back with pride after a fight.
My mom didn’t like it, but I played soccer with the boys anyway. She wanted me to help with household chores, but I chose to play instead, that’s how I spent my time. There’s a saying: “Play while you have your mom.” I did exactly that until I was ten. When my mom passed, everything changed. My sister and I moved to Addis to live with my grandparents. At my grandma’s house, two of my female cousins lived there too. Unfortunately, things weren’t any different, my grandma and her husband fought constantly until they divorced.
After moving to my grandma’s, even through campus, I never stopped playing soccer. There were many relatives at my grandmother’s house, so fights were constant. Eventually, she divorced, and we grew closer. We’re still close, though I have gotten more distant from both her and my sisters now. We’re a big family, but one that tried to make decisions for each other. We were close, but controlling too. I’d say I hid my private life well.
Even though growing up in such chaos creates its own issues, I don’t blame anyone. As a child and now, I love my dad deeply. My grandparents are from my mom’s side, so all they talk about is the bad things he did. It’s not lies, the truth about him is terrifying. I would get confused: how could I love such a bad person? If I could love him, what did that say about me? My sister was smart, but I felt responsible for protecting her from what was happening. I chose to see things lightly instead. There are bad things I’ve blocked from memory. When my mom was pregnant with my sister, he threw her down the stairs. I tried not to think about those memories. He used to hit her regularly, and that seemed normal to me because I was aggressive and liked to fight. As I grew up and realized these things were wrong, I fought with myself internally.
Because of this, it was difficult to understand or excuse why my dad did what he did.
To me, my dad was a good person. Even as an adult, my love for him never diminished. Growing up in a chaotic, violent household has deeply influenced me. In gatherings or with my partner, if someone talks too loudly, I get unsettled. Even when it’s not an argument, just a loud voice, I become uncomfortable. I still don’t like arguing, debating, or fighting. Because of this, I remove myself from such situations. I choose to have calm conversations instead. I believe it’s a direct result of my childhood.
Even though I moved to my mom’s relatives as a child, they all knew I was close with my dad and loved him. Until high school, whenever he visited, I never hid my excitement about seeing him. But after my grandmother divorced her husband because of us, she focused entirely on us, and I began noticing she didn’t like it when we met him. So I started joining in when they spoke badly of him, pretending to agree. When I was with him and he spoke ill of them, I would tell him what he wanted to hear. To avoid upsetting either side, I tried to be what each wanted, even though it made me hate myself. My grandmother leaving her marriage just to raise us made me feel responsible. If I lied to both my dad and her, they would never find out since they’d never meet, so I told each what they wanted to hear. That’s still how it is today. If we accidentally say something to defend him, we hear about it for months. Because we hate that backlash, no matter how much we miss him, we don’t say it. This created constant pressure from both sides.
When I think of my queer journey, even though I’ve never had serious connections, I’ve had crushes on women. But I always steered away from them. After campus, I became close with a dorm mate. She would say, “She’s my wife,” sing to me, and we’d sleep in the same bed. After a while, I started developing feelings for her.
I had never heard of or seen such a thing, so there was no way I would acknowledge it. I’d never had interest in romantic relationships, so feeling that way about her was stressful. I couldn’t accept that it could be real. I thought I just liked her as a friend. We never did anything beyond that. We stayed like that for two years until she got a boyfriend. I felt jealous. When she went to see him, I’d get upset and angry. That’s when I stopped and asked myself, “This isn’t normal, would she feel the same way if I got a lover?” Step by step, I tried to free myself from those feelings and create distance between us.
I’ve been talking to my current partner on Facebook since 2013. Our conversations weren’t anything special—just everything and anything. I never thought about making a move. Even when we went out to clubs, I kept my distance. I even started dating men.
I first watched The Ellen DeGeneres Show during my third year of campus, and I thought, “Maybe I’m like her.” But even that thought felt wrong. I was involved in the church and heard teachings that what I was feeling was sinful. To purge those feelings, I started dating men excessively. It was purely escapism, I had no feelings for them. I made sure everyone knew about my relationships with men. I didn’t want anyone to suspect I wasn’t attracted to them. Even on first dates, I’d go where my friends would be. I would kiss and hug these men in front of them. Looking back, I laugh now because I genuinely didn’t want to do anything with them. When they’d suggest getting a room, I’d say I wouldn’t have sex before marriage. They’d back off, calling me “church girl” since I regularly attended church. Even just a kiss would leave me feeling awful afterward.
After five years of that path, the women’s dorm caught fire one day and men came to help us. They were pulling out bags and luggage from the fire and throwing them outside. Among the clothes, they found many dildos. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but I came to understand later. I started reading about it, but I couldn’t accept myself—I was confused. I kept telling myself I wasn’t attracted to women. I felt both confused and disgusted.
While on campus, my dorm was next to the proctor’s office. I was younger and physically smaller than the others, so she had a soft spot for me. She once came to our dorm because she said she smelled tea and found two girls kissing. She was shocked and came to tell me about it. I can’t forget her reaction. She warned me, saying, “Don’t ever be like them.”
Everything I had heard about same-sex love was about hatred and religious condemnation, so I struggled with the thought that I might be someone who would be hated.
When it was time for our apprenticeship, we went to a club with some girls. After getting into campus, even though I’d made friendships with girls, I wasn’t close to anyone I could be attracted to. While I was dancing with two girls, a girl from town I didn’t know came up and kissed me on the lips. I’d kissed multiple men before, but this felt different. I got goosebumps, but because I was shocked, I pushed her away and went outside. After that, all I thought about day and night was that kiss. When they’d suggest going clubbing, I’d think about this incident and say no, terrified that if another girl kissed me, I might kiss her back. Or if I did go out, I’d stay in the corner, keeping my distance.
After coming to Addis, my partner and I met for the first time. We kept meeting for about a year. I knew how I felt, but I didn’t want to accept it. I also didn’t want to hurt my grandmother and everyone I loved. How could I look them in the eyes and tell them? So we continued like that, with nothing happening.
I used to wear a ring on my thumb, and one day in a taxi, a woman told me, “That’s a lesbian thing, lesbians wear rings on their thumbs.” She shocked me. I said, “In the name of Jesus,” and since it didn’t fit my other fingers, I moved it to my middle finger. The moment I got to my office that day, I googled it. I started watching videos, and that’s when I realized I genuinely liked women, though I still didn’t want to accept it.
I didn’t want to live a secretive life.
Eventually, I told my current partner everything. I told her what I knew about myself and how I felt about her. I didn’t meet her through a queer account, I still don’t have one. I had this music account, and because we liked the same artists, Facebook suggested her profile to me. That’s how we found each other. While I was in campus, we talked online for about four or five years. After I came back to Addis, we talked for another year without meeting, just as friends.
Looking back, some of our conversations had flirtatious undertones. Because we didn’t have WiFi in my dorm, I would go sit under a tree in the dark with hyenas shouting behind me just to talk to her. While others stayed up studying, I’d spend the night talking to her instead. Because we talked every day, I’d feel terrible on days I didn’t talk to her. I had no way to understand what I was feeling for her. There weren’t many queer people around us either. It was only after I came to Addis Ababa and spent a year there that I told her how I felt. The wonderful thing is she told me she felt the same. We started dating immediately. After we’d been together for nine years like that, we finally discovered there was a queer community here.
When I learned we weren’t alone, I felt such relief. It gave me peace knowing it wasn’t just our problem or something in my head. When my partner and I fought like any other couple, we didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. When I was fighting with her and in a bad mood, there was no one who could understand, that would keep me awake. Even though I don’t want to discuss deeply private matters, knowing there’s someone I can tell “this happened” to when huge arguments occur gives me peace. As I said, I don’t like arguments, so when they happen, I either avoid them or bottle them up. When things spiral beyond my control, I react badly. But if there were others, I could talk to them and process things. Not just about arguments, when I want to do something for her, having someone I can confide in means everything.
When there are people like us, it means there is a social life where I can allow myself to feel what I feel. Finding a community was unbelievable, it was amazing.
When we started our relationship, I avoided a lot of people because I didn’t want them to know about my partner. The first time we went to a lesbian couple’s house, we acted strangely. They’d been in the community longer than us and understood themselves better, so they were comfortable and free. My partner and I looked like two people who’d just met for the first time. I couldn’t even look her in the eyes. With our straight friends, especially her sister who we were close with, we always kept our distance and controlled our feelings to hide our love.
We didn’t look like close friends, let alone lovers. I think it was because we were so used to hiding that even with the queer couple, we acted the same way. When we left their house, we asked each other, “Were we being weird?” Over time, we got used to the community, met good people, and created a social life where we could feel comfortable being ourselves.
My partner is reserved and a homebody, so I got to know most people through that couple. I started going places. That’s when we finally gave ourselves a label, we said we’re gay. Before that, other than knowing we were together and happy, we hadn’t named what we had or who we were.
After a while, when I started feeling freer, I told my straight friend that I’m queer and have a partner I’m engaged to. She said, “You’re just a virgin, not a lesbian, you just need to try dick.” Because I knew myself well, it didn’t bother me. I knew I had my own community that knew and loved me. Even if the others found out and abandoned me, I had these people, and that gave me confidence and courage. There are people who love what I love and understand me.
After I started dating my partner, we avoided certain places so we wouldn’t be seen together as often. We don’t go out much, maybe for dinner or coffee once in a while. Even when we do go out, we go to different places at different times.
When I was by myself, there was a place I would meet my friends at repeatedly. I don’t know how, but a rumor started there that I was a lesbian. Deep down I thought, “I’m glad you know,” but outwardly I denied it. I got angry at them, saying, “Does being seen without a man automatically make me lesbian?” They believed me, but I felt so nervous that I avoided them afterward. Gradually, my circles and friendships grew smaller.
I had an aunt I saw as a mother figure. Around the time I moved out, I was getting ready for work when she saw how I was dressed and said, “You look like a lesbian.” When I asked what she meant, my uncle intervened, saying, “Don’t put ideas in her head that weren’t there before.” After that, I started dressing more femininely. My dad had called me “he” since childhood. He’d call me Belay Zeleke, so when I started dating her, I began noticing these things more. When I was young and didn’t know better, I didn’t care. But after growing up and entering a relationship, I realized that if they could recognize me just by how I dressed, I needed to change. If they commented on my ring, I would change it. My clothing style, my mannerisms, I kept changing everything. I controlled how I walked, kept my hands out of my pockets, even changed how I sat. But after I moved out, I felt a kind of freedom and started thinking that no one could control me anymore.
One main reason I moved out was to escape the constant “get married” comments. As the eldest, I faced this relentless question every single day. Plus, I had no freedom to talk on the phone or go out. I left to get away from all of that.
Honestly, the nagging didn’t stop just because I left. It’s still a question they bring up whenever I go home, even now. My age concerns them more than it concerns me. “When are you getting married? Your sisters are single because of you. How can they marry when the eldest is still unmarried?” They make me feel guilty with these comments.
Contrary to what they think, I am married and living my life here. The weight of this secret and the pressure are exhausting. When it becomes too much, I tell them, “If you ever mention marriage again, you’ll never see me again.” But it doesn’t help much.
My sister and cousin are close with me, so I used to be terrified they’d find out when I talked about my partner. Recently, my sister asked why I’m not getting married, and I said, “Why would I when there are so many failed marriages in our family?” Then my other sister mentioned my partner’s name and joked, “I’m afraid she’ll bring her as a husband.” We all laughed. They stretched the conversation further, asking, “Who’s going to be the husband and who’s the wife? You’ll be the husband, right?” I laughed it off, saying, “You’re crazy.”
These uncomfortable conversations create distance between my family and me. Recently, I had to stay with my grandmother when my brother and aunt came from abroad. Since I’d left my partner alone at my place, I tried to balance things by going back to her as well. But because they know I don’t have a husband or child to run home to, they’d ask, “What’s the rush?” every time I said I needed to leave. I would create excuse after excuse, saying I was tired or sick, and go back to her.
Because I was so close with my family, we used to go out with my aunts and uncles for drinks. After a while, I became afraid, thinking, “What if I get drunk and accidentally reveal everything?” So I started skipping gatherings. I would say I wasn’t feeling well, or something came up, or I was out of town, always creating excuses when they called.
When they suggest coming to my place, I make sure they schedule it first. I don’t want to make my partner uncomfortable, so I don’t allow surprise visits. Initially, I didn’t mind when they visited regularly because she only came over on certain days. But I worried that if I let them visit freely, they would make it a habit to drop by frequently, so I started making excuses: I’m not home, I’m traveling for work, and so on, anything to reduce their visits. Even when they do come, I hide everything that could raise suspicion and only show them surface-level things.
Living alone offers such freedom. I have my own place where I can be myself, where I can talk on the phone freely. It gives you the freedom to truly be yourself and see things clearly. Plus, I can call my partner all the affectionate names I can’t use elsewhere. Her parents are more accepting than mine. They wouldn’t mind if she stayed with me. They know me, and my family knows her too. Every weekend, we alternate, one week at my place, the next at hers. We visit each other’s families during holidays. My family is thrilled she’s my closest female friend since most of my friends used to be men.
When I was staying with my family, we found a guy who didn’t ask too many questions, and we’d rent a room from him. Since we couldn’t stay overnight, we’d go there during the day and return at night. After a while, when they started getting suspicious, we stopped. Then I’d say I had to work overtime, and on Sundays we’d make plans together and watch a movie.
I wish my family knew. My grandmother might accept me, but I know it would kill her, and the others would never accept me. So I keep my distance and live my own life.
Even though I keep my distance, they’re still in my life. I have peace knowing they’re there if I want them. But I also know they won’t be there if they find out, they’ll cut me off, and that hurts. When I was staying with my family, we found a guy who didn’t ask too many questions, and we would rent a room from him. Since we couldn’t stay overnight, we would go there during the day and return at night. After a while, when they started getting suspicious, we stopped. Then I started saying I had to work overtime, and on Sundays we made plans together and went to the cinema.
I wish my family and grandmother knew and accepted me. But I know it would kill my grandma, and the others would never accept me. So I keep my distance and live my own life.
Even though I keep my distance, they’re still in my life. I have peace knowing they’re there if I want them. But I also know they won’t be there if they find out, they’ll cut me off, and that hurts.
Recently, when I celebrated my birthday, my dad asked, “Aren’t you going to get married?” He had never asked me before. When I got upset, he said, “I’m just joking.” But then he called my sister and said, “Why doesn’t she just marry a woman if that’s what she wants?” Even though they say these things trying to get the truth out of me, the reality is they would all abandon me if they knew.
So I show them what they want to see, something I’ve been doing since childhood. I’m even careful about how I dress when I meet them. But I think this can only continue while my grandmother is alive. The pretending is harming both me and my relationship with my partner.
I was never one for relationships. I never heard or saw anything good about them, so not only did I have no interest in being in one, I actually hated what I witnessed. Recently, when I celebrated my birthday, my dad asked, “Aren’t you going to get married?” He never asked me before. When I got upset, he said, “I’m just joking.” But then he called my sister and said, “Why doesn’t she just marry a woman if that’s what she wants?” Even though they say these things trying to get the truth out of me, the reality is they would all abandon me if they knew.
So I show them what they want to see, something I’ve been doing since childhood. I’m even careful about how I dress when I meet them. But I think this can only continue while my grandmother is alive. The pretending is harming both me and my relationship with my partner.
I was never one for relationships. I never heard or saw anything good about them, so not only did I have no interest in being in one, I actually hated what I witnessed.
When I started dating my partner, even leaving the house was difficult. It was only when I started my second degree in the evening that I had some freedom to go out. Even then, because they knew my class schedule, the control remained strict. But the feeling I got from seeing her gave me all the strength I needed to face the arguments, clashes, and reactions.
My partner and I have completely different personalities, but together we become better versions of ourselves. I never thought I would feel this way. I still feel the same about her as I did when we first got together. On days when she waits for me at home and I return from the office, the feeling is indescribable. We talk constantly and respect each other deeply. We hide nothing from each other. We trust each other completely. Most importantly, we have a never-ending love that keeps renewing itself.
The other important thing is knowing and understanding what she wants. If I were to leave her, I know I’d never find anything better than this. For me, marriage isn’t about signing a paper. It’s living together, caring for each other, and building a life together. I hope we’ll get to live together once things are resolved on her side. If necessary, I don’t think leaving the country would be that difficult. When you love someone, you always find a way to make it work. When you don’t want to be together, you can come up with a million excuses. For example, if neighbors stir up rumors and wonder what we’re doing living together, they add nothing to my life. We won’t see each other in the future, I don’t know them. We may never cross paths again, and neighborhoods change. Why should I care what they think? The same goes for family. We haven’t done anything wrong. If they find out and react badly, I’m not at a point where that would bother me anymore. The only person I care about is my grandmother. I might lose many things, but none of them matter more than losing the person I love.
We have to know and understand what we want, then work toward achieving it. It’s not easy, but we must be strategic. Ultimately, I don’t label it as queer or straight love. I don’t want to name it. When one person loves another, that’s a feeling beyond words.
Of course, in our community it is harder and more difficult. Plus, most people can’t separate themselves from religion. I think it’s the guilt we carry within us. There’s this feeling that what we’re doing is sinful. But if we overcome that feeling, it’s liberating. We’re loving someone, we’re not sinning. For me, the one thing I don’t regret in life is accepting myself and refusing to live a life I don’t want because of pressure from society or family. Right now, I’m happy. I wish I could come out so people would know, but it’s enough that I’m happy in my own home, at least.