u/Positive-Force3779

My name is Morgan. Right now, I am sitting in our shelter in Gorom, wondering how we will get through the next twenty-four hours. For a long time, I have been the one to provide. I took pride in my strength, using my body to carry heavy jerrycans of water across this camp just to put a little food on the table for my partner and our two boys.

But that strength doesn't matter when the community decides you are no longer welcome.
Because of who I am a butch lesbian and the fact that we live as a family, the work has dried up. People who used to pay me to haul water now turn their backs. They won't give me the chance to earn even a few cents. For the first time, I am completely cut off. I have no access to money, and seeing my partner’s face when I come back empty-handed is a pain I can’t describe. It’s not just about me; it’s about the fact that I can’t even buy a basic meal or the medication the boys need when they get feverish.

Gorom is a place meant for safety, but for people like us, that safety is thin. The camp is crowded, resources are scarce for everyone, but the discrimination makes it ten times harder. We are living in total isolation. My boys can’t go to school because it isn't safe for them, so they sit here with me while I try to teach them with the few scraps of paper I have left. We are surrounded by malaria and typhoid, yet we don’t even have mosquito nets to cover us at night.

I am writing this as an advocate for my family and the other lesbian refugees here who are in the same position. We aren't asking for a handout because we are lazy; we are asking for help because we have been forced into a corner where we aren't allowed to help ourselves.

We are a group of women who have survived being burnt out of our homes and chased across borders. We are still standing, but we are hungry, and we are tired of being invisible. We need food, clean water, and basic hygiene supplies like sanitary pads. We need to know that while we wait for the UNHCR and the government to find us a permanent home, we won't starve to death, in the meantime, we are doing our best to hold onto our dignity, but we need you to stand with us. Your support means we can eat, the kids can learn, and we can survive another day in a world that keeps trying to push us out.

Note to Moderators and members of this community.
I really want to make sure I’m following the community guidelines properly. A fellow activist opened up a fundraiser for us after knowing our Story, I have that fundraiser link in my bio to help get food and other basic needs for my family here, but I’d like to include it directly in the post for better visibility and members to read our full story. Would it be alright with the mods if I edited the post to include the direct link?
Any advice on the best way to handle this would be appreciated. Thanks for having our backs.

My name is Morgan. Right now, I am sitting in our shelter in Gorom, wondering how we will get through the next twenty-four hours. For a long time, I have been the one to provide. I took pride in my strength, using my body to carry heavy jerrycans of water across this camp just to put a little food on the table for my partner and our two boys.

But that strength doesn't matter when the community decides you are no longer welcome.
Because of who I am a butch lesbian and the fact that we live as a family, the work has dried up. People who used to pay me to haul water now turn their backs. They won't give me the chance to earn even a few cents. For the first time, I am completely cut off. I have no access to money, and seeing my partner’s face when I come back empty-handed is a pain I can’t describe. It’s not just about me; it’s about the fact that I can’t even buy a basic meal or the medication the boys need when they get feverish.

Gorom is a place meant for safety, but for people like us, that safety is thin. The camp is crowded, resources are scarce for everyone, but the discrimination makes it ten times harder. We are living in total isolation. My boys can’t go to school because it isn't safe for them, so they sit here with me while I try to teach them with the few scraps of paper I have left. We are surrounded by malaria and typhoid, yet we don’t even have mosquito nets to cover us at night.

I am writing this as an advocate for my family and the other lesbian refugees here who are in the same position. We aren't asking for a handout because we are lazy; we are asking for help because we have been forced into a corner where we aren't allowed to help ourselves.

We are a group of women who have survived being burnt out of our homes and chased across borders. We are still standing, but we are hungry, and we are tired of being invisible. We need food, clean water, and basic hygiene supplies like sanitary pads. We need to know that while we wait for the UNHCR and the government to find us a permanent home, we won't starve to death, in the meantime, we are doing our best to hold onto our dignity, but we need you to stand with us. Your support means we can eat, the kids can learn, and we can survive another day in a world that keeps trying to push us out.

Note to Moderators and members of this community.
I really want to make sure I’m following the community guidelines properly. A fellow activist opened up a fundraiser for us after knowing our Story, I have that fundraiser link in my bio to help get food and other basic needs for my family here, but I’d like to include it directly in the post for better visibility and members to read our full story. Would it be alright with the mods if I edited the post to include the direct link?
Any advice on the best way to handle this would be appreciated. Thanks for having our backs.

[removed]

My name is Morgan. Right now, I am sitting in our shelter in Gorom, wondering how we will get through the next twenty-four hours. For a long time, I have been the one to provide. I took pride in my strength, using my body to carry heavy jerrycans of water across this camp just to put a little food on the table for my partner and our two boys.

But that strength doesn't matter when the community decides you are no longer welcome.
Because of who I am—a butch lesbian—and the fact that we live as a family, the work has dried up. People who used to pay me to haul water now turn their backs. They won't give me the chance to earn even a few cents. For the first time, I am completely cut off. I have no access to money, and seeing my partner’s face when I come back empty-handed is a pain I can’t describe. It’s not just about me; it’s about the fact that I can’t even buy a basic meal or the medication the boys need when they get feverish.
Gorom is a place meant for safety, but for people like us, that safety is thin. The camp is crowded, resources are scarce for everyone, but the discrimination makes it ten times harder. We are living in total isolation. My boys can’t go to school because it isn't safe for them, so they sit here with me while I try to teach them with the few scraps of paper I have left. We are surrounded by malaria and typhoid, yet we don’t even have mosquito nets to cover us at night.

I am writing this as an advocate for my family and the other lesbian refugees here who are in the same position. We aren't asking for a handout because we are lazy; we are asking for help because we have been forced into a corner where we aren't allowed to help ourselves.
We are a group of women who have survived being burnt out of our homes and chased across borders. We are still standing, but we are hungry, and we are tired of being invisible. We need food, clean water, and basic hygiene supplies like sanitary pads. We need to know that while we wait for the UNHCR and the government to find us a permanent home, we won't starve to death in the meantime.

We are doing our best to hold onto our dignity, but we need you to stand with us. Your support means we can eat, the kids can learn, and we can survive another day in a world that keeps trying to push us out.
I have been doing a lot of activism about our situation of late and I met a fellow activist who opened for us a fundraiser, don’t know if it’s safe sharing it here but if it’s not allow by the rules I beg to be pardoned because am really depressed by the situation we are in right now.
Support us with anything small. Donate here⬇️
https://4fund.com/db35pd

I’m finally sitting down to write this after a journey I never thought I’d have to take. My partner, our two kids, and I just arrived at Gorom camp in South Sudan. It’s been a long road from Uganda, through Kenya, and now here.
It’s hard to describe the feeling of being a butch woman in these spaces. Back home, we were already living on the edges, but being a refugee adds a whole new layer. In the camps, you are always "visible." People look at the way I dress or how I carry myself, and I can feel the questions before they’re even asked. You want to blend in for the sake of the kids, but you also can't hide who you are when your family depends on your strength.
The transition to Gorom has been a lot. Kenya was supposed to be a stopping point, but safety is a moving target when you’re queer. Now, in South Sudan, we’re trying to build something that feels like a "home" out of whatever we have.
I spent most of this morning just making sure our tent felt secure. My partner is incredible she keeps the kids calm and the spirit of our family alive, but I feel that pressure to be the shield. You worry about the kids hearing things or seeing the way people react to their two moms. You just want them to have a childhood that isn't defined by why we had to run.
It’s exhausting to always be on guard, watching your back while trying to find enough water or figure out the next step for our asylum case. But then I look at my partner and the kids, and I remember why we did this. We left to stay together.
To anyone else out there navigating the camp system as a butch lesbian or a queer family: I see the way you square your shoulders when things get tight. I see you protecting your joy in a place that feels like it wasn't built for us. We’re still here, and we’re still a family. That’s the biggest win we have right now.