By Everett Cento

Going into this trip, I knew the LGBTQ+ discourse in Ghana was a sensitive one. In 2021, Ghana’s Parliament introduced the “Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values Bill,” a sweeping anti-LGBTQ+ proposal that would criminalize not just same-sex relationships, but advocacy, public displays of affection, and even identifying as queer. The bill has widespread support across political parties and the general population, with many citing religious and cultural justifications. It hasn’t yet passed into law, but its presence hangs heavily over public discourse. With all this in mind, I expected LGBTQ+ conversations to be rare or even off-limits.

But to my surprise, the subject came up almost immediately.

On my first day of work, I was unexpectedly pulled into a conversation with two of my coworkers. It started simple. They asked if I had a girlfriend back home. When I said yes, one of my female coworkers smiled and said she wished she had one too. When another coworker followed up, she quickly backpedaled, confirming that she was not a lesbian, just an ally. Still, I can’t help but wonder if there was some truth in her first comment, unspoken in a space that may not have felt entirely safe.

That moment stuck with me. In fact, it repeated itself across multiple conversations. Whenever LGBTQ+ topics came up, people were quick to create distance. That reflex alone felt revealing.

What followed was a surprisingly open and compelling discussion about LGBTQ+ politics and how Ghanaians feel about the subject. My colleagues explained that much of the public opposition stems from deep religious influence. They told me a story about a woman whose husband was secretly gay, in a way that seemed almost like folklore. She reportedly went to a prayer mountain every day for four years praying for him to no longer be gay, only to return home each time to find that her husband’s male partner had already cooked and cared for him. 

Later that week, during our HR orientation, the topic surfaced again. The facilitator briefly acknowledged the topic of LGBTQ+ identity, noting that it wasn’t her place to judge and that, ultimately, that was up to God. Interestingly, she said so in a way that didn’t presume condemnation, but instead reflected an openness that God may be okay with queer identity.

These moments stood out not just for their frequency but for the curiosity that often accompanied them. I was asked thoughtful, sometimes pointed questions about how LGBTQ+ life works in the U.S., and it was clear that many were trying to make sense of it within their own cultural or theological frameworks. The conversations weren’t always comfortable, but they weren’t closed off either. In fact, I encountered more openness and support than I anticipated, especially within the newsroom, where global perspectives and complex issues are part of daily life. No one I spoke with denied the existence of queer Ghanaians. But the question of visibility, whether people should live openly, was where views began to diverge. Many whom I discussed with were fine with open expression, but noted that the general public had a preference for queer people to be “out of sight, out of mind.”

These exchanges revealed something I hadn’t expected. While the legal and religious climate in Ghana remains deeply conservative, everyday conversations tell a more complicated story. Curiosity, recognition, and quiet forms of empathy were far more prevalent than negativity in all of my interactions. I don’t want to overstate the progress or ignore the very real dangers queer Ghanaians face. But I also don’t want to overlook the moments of recognition, questioning, or quiet support I’ve seen firsthand. These may not change policy overnight, but they suggest that the conversation is already happening.