To be Black and Queer While Traveling
With the Golden Buddha (and no black hat!), Bangkok, Thailand, October 2018.
“Excuse me … can you please help me?"
It was my second day in Istanbul, my first time visiting the city in September 2011. And it was a rather humid one. I was walking in the Golden Horn area, having recently returned from a ferry ride across the Bosphorus. I was looking for Topkapı Palace, and noticed a mixed group of young people talking to each other. They had to have been several years younger than me.
“Can you tell me where this place is? Do any of you speak English?”
They just stared at me blankly. One of the girls started whispering to a girl next to her.
“Topkapı Palace.” I knew I was butchering the pronunciation, but expected them to help me along. “Topkapı … here?” I continued, pointing to a map.
They started shaking their heads uncomfortably. One of the boys, the taller one in the group began mumbling and shook his head assertively. Slightly frustrated that
As I walked away, I turned back, and noticed several of them pointing at me. The girls who had been shy in answering at all were now laughing hysterically, with the others joining them and bellowing. I can’t remember if they were speaking Turkish or another language, but I was pretty certain the subject was the encounter that just happened, with the me as the object. I nearly teared up out of embarrassment, but persisted in trying to find Topkapı. I think I ended up just heading back to my hotel, and ultimately never made it to the palace.
I still keep asking myself after that moment: Was it because I was Black? They did guess I was gay? What could it have been that made them so belligerent?
Even though I’ve been to over 50 countries now, the excerpt I describe above still hits the under the rim. Even if I were, it’s undeniable that I will draw some attention or curiosity for my very skin color, or for the shades of queerness that come across in my style or speech. Some things that usually happen:
Being asked if I am a basketball or music star
Requests to take photos, selfies or be in family photos
Curious or slightly awkward stares in the metro or on the street
People asking if I have a girlfriend, even after mentioning that I’m traveling alone
People not sitting next to me on public transportation
Having to explain and validate the existence of LGBTQ people
Being hit on discreetly and/or in a hypersexualized manner (mainly in countries where homosexuality is a risk)
Did I mention being stared at, a lot?
These things have mainly happened in places like Eastern Europe, the Middle East, Asia and some parts of Africa (yes, Africa!)
Istanbul was eye-opening in many ways for me — not only my first time to a major city outside of Europe, but to a place where barely any English was spoken, and people of color as tourists or even locals are scarce. It was also my first time I had to play hush-hush about my sexuality, in regard to my safety or out of consideration for people I met who weren’t out. This was a fiery revelation for me, and opened me up to the nuances of being a “different” kind of traveler.
So — how exactly does one navigate traveling while queer? Or while Black? And as both?
Part of it is recognizing that however you identify, there’s probably a place that will strike a chord in the right ways. I remember the time I visited Beirut and Byblos in October 2016, making a couple of stops before returning home from my dear friends’ wedding in India. If I could count how many stares I received just walking around in the Corniche or the Armenian Quarter by my fingers, I’d need an extra set of hands. But later that year, I also went Latin America for the first time and in particular, developed a strong attachment to Brazil. I visited Sao Paolo and Salvador da Bahia, and had quite a contrary experience to what I took from Lebanon. Undoubtedly, Brazil is one of the few countries I’ve been to where I blended in. In a country where half of the population is Black, people easily assumed I was from there (and I’ll gladly accept being Brazilian any day), and the LGBTQ community throughout the country is pretty visible and vibrant in the large cities. No matter who you are, there’s always another place to visit where you can see parts of yourself.
Sadly, who you are can also be seen as a mild threat, or possibly pose a risk. Traveling while Black has never presented severe challenges when it comes to my livelihood, but there have been a couple of times where I decided to keep it quiet about being queer, mainly because homosexuality is taboo or not even legal in some countries. I’ve received warnings on gay apps I use sometimes when I’ve landed in Russia or parts of the Middle East. Friends have also double-down when I’ve visited these places, telling me to never dare be out publicly for risk of being attacked (and I have been in an anti-gay attack once while traveling, although that’s another story on a much more somber note). In these instances, I usually take heed to the warnings. Oddly enough though, I’ve noticed more and more that the very idea of being queer is usually so removed from most people’s minds in these places, that sometimes how I dress (an example could be skin-tight pants, a bright red bandana and a sleeveless shirt, slightly exposing nipples, as was the case at the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca) will just get a stone-cold stare, not because I’m queer I assume, but because I’m wearing a slightly less conservative outfit.
Wherever I am, I also try to be present in the community by visiting LGBTQ bars and strike up conversations with locals when possible. The number of men who I’ve met abroad who have to remain in the closet due to work, family or societal pressures is appalling and unfortunate, although a slightly encouraging sign that queer people are everywhere, even in the most seemingly isolated places. I try to exist as I would in any city in the United States (as safely as I can) in my fullest agency now, to show others there’s another world out there they’ve probably never imagined, where they can hopefully come to exist in their fullest selves, too.
Traveling has certainly made me more hyperaware of who I am, and how others perceive me. But my identity has also been an unexpected asset — leading more often than not to the phenomenon of creating genuine connections. For all the uncomfortable stares and slights I’ve received, it’s been eclipsed by earnest questions or chit chat from strangers about where I’m from, why I’m visiting, the peculiarities of our languages and occasionally a compliment or two (and as mentioned, a photo request). When bonding becomes really real, sometimes people will go out of their way, offering restaurant or neighborhood tips, giving you gifts or, believably, even getting a beer or dinner with you! When people can see beyond the exterior and recognize that lonely, misplaced traveler could be no different than them — whether it be finding a taxi ride back to the hotel in the rain, wanting to try out the best rooftop bar in the city, or just needing directions to the right metro station— they can make a mental jump and a genuine, human connection can be made.
This interest in getting to know the human experience in other parts of world has become a core pillar of what I most appreciate from travel. My identity informs my exploits and adds a little color most of the time ( pun intended), but it doesn’t squarely define what I take away from them. My wanderlust derives from a need to see the world beyond my borders, to learn, and to find freedom from the unfamiliar and say, fuck it — I don’t care if I’m the only other Black person here or the closest gay bar is hundreds of miles away. It’s not sure about traveling for its own sake, but to live in the midst of it.
Throughout it all, travel has only made me appreciate my own parts of my identity — wrapped into a larger one as a traveler who takes risks to go there. I know I’ll have plenty of disconcerting or questionable stares and misplaced comments about my skin color to come. I might have to have uncomfortable conversations around hypermasculinity or what a drag show is. But when you peel these trivial things away, there’s usually something worthwhile to discover.