Direct Provision has been overwhelmingly recognised as a system that strips asylum seekers of their dignity, presenting a new set of problems for vulnerable people already fleeing persecution. Much has been said about the difficult and frightening situation for LGBT+ people in Direct Provision, but what about a person just coming to terms with their sexuality? Chris O’Donnell speaks to a young LGBT+ woman who entered the system at the age of 13.

Chris O’Donnell

Over the past few months, there have been increasing protests about the toxic living conditions of Direct Provision. Ireland has been under growing pressure from the UN to enact reform in the asylum-seeking arena, or - better still, one may think - to totally abolish Direct Provision in favour of something which affords more human rights.

Direct Provision centres do not provide dignity for those trapped inside with issues including; income poverty, vulnerable youths, harassment, a toxic environment for both families and single people, susceptibility to physical and mental illness, homophobia because of culture clashes, terrible food... It is perhaps worth noting that the infamously non-nutritious foods of Direct Provision come from the same corporation - Aramark - responsible for prison food in America. (Closer to home, Aramark own the franchise Chopped, as well as Avoca). These woeful conditions are brought into greater light by the more humane approach taken by Northern Irish courts. In 2012, in relation to a Sudanese woman and her three children, it was agreed that it would be better for them to remain in the North, as there was “ample evidence” that the Republic’s asylum system was a hotbed for physical and mental health issues.

But what of the LGBT+ young people who come over with their parents and spend their youths in the legal uncertainty of Direct Provision? Such individuals have a unique perspective on the process of adaptation and adversity, as suggested by Ayo, 23, an LGBT+ young woman from Cameroon. She and her parents came to Ireland at a time when the limbo of Direct Provision went unchallenged for even longer waiting periods than current ones, as Ayo explained.

“At the age of 13, moved to Limerick, to Direct Provision. At the time didn’t know was gay, really. But knew I was a kind of a different child back home in Cameroon, but didn’t know what it was. I had never seen a gay couple in my own country - it was just not spoken about.”

These are ‘legally’ heteronormative societies -where a deviation from the norm is often shrouded in secrecy, with LGBT+ people walking in the shadows, in transgression of a law which illegalises their sexuality and gender expression. Cameroon, specifically, has brutal laws in regard to queer activity. In 2005, an undercover gay bar in Yoaunde - the country’s capital - got raided for “suspected homosexual activity.” Being on the queer spectrum carries a sentence of death, even torture.

It was from this culture of secrecy and stigma against LGBT+ people that Ayo left with her parents at 13. They were not seeking asylum on LGBT+ grounds, and were unaware that Ayo was part of the LGBT+ community.

As Ayo put it: “When started growing up and started going to Irish schools, started noticing and became more aware of it. Nobody at the hostel [Direct Provision] knew because was discovering my own sexuality. And because the hostel is situated far outside the city centre it is like a village of its own.”

Ayo described the secrecy and damaging environment of Direct Provision: “I don’t know how many people in the hostel were staying on LGBT+ grounds. Thinking back about it, there could have been many, or few of these cases. But it wasn’t something spoken about, or discussed. And usually the people in the hostel don’t talk about their own cases. Especially with cases like LGBT+ grounds, which are quite sensitive."

She may have moved from one anti-LGBT+ country, but she ended up in a (broken) asylum system in which clashes of culture can result in homophobia. Ayo made reference to the atmosphere of Direct Provision: “It is a very conservative place. Inside the hostel, it’s a different lifestyle - it’s a different world.”

She went on to give heart-wrenching details of how she lived both in, and yet outside, Direct Provision: “When you go outside of the hostel and you go to school, it’s like you are a different person. You have to get ready to come back again. So you need to put on your coat of armour. You need a double layer of protection.”

After six long years of living in Direct Provision, in an institutionalising environment, Ayo and her family were granted status to remain in Ireland. Ayo spent her first years as a university student, and it was in this environment that she began to blossom. “After me and my family got granted status, came out. I was in uni and it was a friend there came out to. I was more integrated into society.”

This coming out process, however, came with its own difficulties. “At that time, I don’t think my parents knew so much about gay issues. They didn’t know exactly what being gay even was. They could see that was a bit tomboyish, but think they thought was influenced by my brothers.

“Coming out, felt a bit more free, because wasn’t living in the same town as my parents. So wasn’t thinking of my family at that time.” For Ayo, she had to consider that gender/sexuality spectrum in terms of the culture her parents had lived in all their lives. But, as can happen, Ayo’s parents prioritised the wellbeing of their daughter, and rose above the prejudice that had been so endemic for them. Yet, as Ayo explained: ”I didn’t talk to them about it but I think they know anyway.”

It is a sad reality that Ayo cannot fully be herself in front of her parents. Nobody enjoys the closet, but positives can be seen through the strides made and self-awareness gained while in education, which Ayo promisingly brings to the forefront during her activities in LGBT+ groups.

She is an inspiration to the LGBT+ international community through her resilience in the face of adversity, and turning that adversity into post-traumatic growth. She has liberated herself from the stigma of being LGBT+ in such distressingly unsafe places, and would wager that most of us who were born and brought up in Irish society have at times forgotten that we have very privileged circumstances in comparison to those who arrive into Direct Provision.