Welcome back to Part Two of “Our Realities: Stories of Resilience from Black, LGBTQ+, and Disabled Lives“. In this instalment, Reclaiming Spaces: Femi’s Story, we continue to explore what it’s like to navigate the complex intersections of race, gender, and disability.

Femi, a non-binary, disabled Black person living in Southwest London, shares their personal journey—one that’s shaped by both emotional and physical challenges in a world that often overlooks or misjudges the full depth of their identity. From facing racism and ableism to figuring out how to live authentically as Black, queer, and disabled, Femi’s story brings to light the everyday struggles of living at the intersection of multiple marginalised identities. But it’s not all about the struggles. Femi also reflects on the joy and resilience that come from fully embracing every part of who they are.

They talk about the importance of finding spaces where all their identities—Black, queer, and disabled—are recognised and valued. Femi emphasises the power of community and connection, offering a reminder of how crucial it is to create spaces that genuinely understand and support people living at these intersections.

Reclaiming Spaces: Femi’s Story invites us to think about how we can build more inclusive spaces that truly honour the complexity of identity. Through Femi’s words, we’re reminded that resilience doesn’t just come from overcoming obstacles—it’s about finding strength in embracing our full selves.

E– “So can you please introduce yourself; how you identify and what people should know about your background?”

F– “Yeah, my name is Femi. My pronouns are he/they. During the day, I’m an advice worker at a disabled charity. It’s a new job, I’ve only been there two months but I’m liking it so far. I am also an aspiring filmmaker. I live in Southwest London now, but I grew up in North [London] which is crazy. People are always shocked that I left North London [laughs]; but, yeah, I’m living in Croydon now…”

E – “Not far from here then?”

F- “No not far.”

E– “Anything else we should know about your background?”

F– “I’m a mix of Jamaican, Nigerian and Ghanaian and in terms of my gender and sexual identities, I am non-binary and gay.”

E– “Great, thank you! So, how does being Black, LGBTQ+ & disabled affect your everyday life.”

F- “In many ways, I love my three identities; for me they’re my blueprint to understanding myself and where I come from. I was raised alone by mum, who is Nigerian/Ghanaian so a lot of my understanding of blackness and my identity was created from a West African lens. Even though my dad’s Jamaican, I don’t feel as in touch with that part of myself; I suppose that’s to do with the type of relationship I have with my dad. As a queer person, I can see that black queer culture is many things, not just politics and protests. Black gay people have done so much. I realise this now, but this was after taking the time to relearn all things black and queer. Through meeting people (I’ve met some amazing people) who understand my experience, I am now able to make the space to appreciate & love my identity. That is such a blessing for me, but it was a process.”

E– “Can you go into more detail about the process?”

F– “Well, I realised that I was gay in my teenage years. That was interesting enough, but this is also when I started to get sick. During my first week of college, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease.”

E– “Oh no! I’m so sorry. I’ve got Crohn’s too. I was diagnosed at eleven.”

F– “That’s crazy! I don’t think I’ve met another black person with Crohn’s. It’s actually quite exciting to know it’s not just me!”

E– “I get that. I tough when you think you’re the only one in your shoes. So, tell, well, the readers [laughs] what is Crohn’s?”

F– “So, it’s an inflammatory bowel condition which affects your digestive tract. I came out then a year later, at nineteen, I went into hospital to have a chunk of my bowel removed – it was severely damaged by inflammation. Looking back on it though, I’m happy that it happened when it did. I was at uni, and I was living at home (not paying rent). If everything would have happened now, my job would have sacked me and/or have had to re-hire. I wouldn’t be able to mange my life. Rent isn’t going anywhere. I live with my partner; I’d still need to cover my part of the bills.”

E– “What additional challenges do you face being black queer and also, disabled?”

F– “I think that one of the greatest difficulties of being black queer and disabled is having to deal with people’s preconceptions. When I go out on public transport, a lot of people just see a stereotypical ‘black man;’ strong, intimating, a threat. I also feel that a lot of people can’t get to grips with the fact that I am disabled. I walk with a cane, but people don’t care. They barge past me daily. I don’t get offered a seat on the bus or on the tube; I have to physically go up to someone and ask them to move. Although people stand up, they aren’t very compassionate, scoffing when they do so. People try and pretend I’m not there a lot; their ableism and racism hurt me a lot as I need them to notice I am there.

Because I’m non-binary, I like to wear make-up and wigs sometimes. When I’m out in full beat, I get stared at even more. It sucks because it becomes another reason for people to be intolerant. But when I’m in makeup and wigs, its different.  When I look traditionally masculine, people are typically wary of me (especially white people), because I seem to embody the stereotypes of a Black man. But, when I dress more effeminately with makeup and wigs, its black men that hassle me – I don’t have my black man privilege with them.”

E– “Are there any groups or spaces that accept all of your identities.”

F– “Yeah, there someone I know who runs, like an ad-hoc space for black queer disabled people. If I’m having a hard time, I can talk to people who get it, and admin will then send out an invite to everyone for an in-person meet up. We console each other and we talk. It’s the best one I’ve seen. There are a couple of other places, but they don’t cater to all three maybe max. two of them. Dope Black Queers is great. I can tell there is a lot of intention to consider disability (they had a discussion on health a few months back) but it’s hard to be completely accommodating, isn’t it?”

E – “How has your disability changed your experience in LGBTQ+ spaces?”

F– “Well a lot of LGTBQ+ spaces are quite oriented around partying and drinking. Crohn’s often put limits on what I can and cannot eat and drink. Alcohol is a big no for a lot of us because it causes flare-ups. It makes it hard to engage with the community when there aren’t many sober spaces, they’re quite rare, I think.”

E– “I know that. For me it’s like one or two drinks tops. Being social in this way of leaves out gut paying the price. [laughs]. So, Femi, tell me, how do you think the future looks for you and for people with identities like yours?”

F– “I like to think I’m an optimist. Because of the spaces I’ve found as my life has gone and the happiness I get as my life goes on, I see things being better for us. Whether that’s being able to access benefits easier, being able to tell our own stories etc. being able to see a black queer disabled people on TV or in a film does so much for us in terms of representation. What I do want however, is to be able to go to mainly black, disabled or queer spaces, and its members actively make room for me and my identities. It would be good for them to see that there is so much more to identity that what they promote. These organisations shouldn’t have to wait for a ‘token’ to join before they make changes. For me, I see myself winning the lottery and buying a home that I can stay in! [laughs] Let’s be real, I want to make content that speaks to black queer and disabled people. If its out there, people can see and maybe it will make a difference to them.”

E– How can Black LGBTQ+ and Disabled communities support each other?

F– “I think LGBTQ+ communities need to prioritise accessibility at their events more. If an event doesn’t explicitly mention accessibility, I won’t go because I shouldn’t have to ask if I’ll be safe there—it shows it’s not a priority. If an event can’t accommodate disabled people, it shouldn’t be happening at all. Disabled people need to be at the forefront of the community because, statistically, more people in the LGBTQ+ community are disabled due to issues like healthcare access, and they have a lot to contribute. On the flip side, in disabled spaces, I’ve noticed that some disabled people, particularly white ones, don’t always acknowledge their privilege. Just because you’re disabled doesn’t mean you don’t have other advantages—like being white—and that privilege can lead to harm if it’s not checked. It’s important to be aware of that and ensure these spaces are inclusive for everyone, including Black disabled people, who often get overlooked. For example, when talking about things like Crohn’s disease and food, white people might talk about giving up foods easily, but for many of us who season our food with spices and fats, it’s a whole different challenge. There’s a lack of understanding around these differences, and that needs to be addressed.”

E – “What does Black History Month mean to you, and how do you think it connects with Disability History Month in terms of visibility and recognition?”

F- “During Black History Month, I recognise it as an opportunity to take advantage of the spotlight, even though I’m aware that many companies often hire Black people simply to meet quotas or out of guilt. While it’s not ideal and it feels performative, I think it’s important to use this time to my advantage if people are offering support or money. Money’s money, after all, and it’s a chance to access opportunities that might not be as available during the rest of the year. I see many of my peers, especially creatives, getting gigs for Black History Month, and I’m glad to support them. However, when it comes to Disability History Month, I don’t see many stories that reflect people like me. I feel like I have one foot in the conversation, but there’s so much more that could be done. I would love to see more global perspectives shared, not just focusing on Black people, but also Brown people and other communities. It’s important to understand that disability doesn’t have a singular experience—it affects people from all backgrounds. There needs to be a greater focus on intersectionality, highlighting how disability impacts different communities and recognising the diverse experiences within the disability world.”

E – “Any final comments, Femi?”

F– “I’ve been playing in a game that wasn’t built for me. The people who have more don’t even play by the rules, so why should I? I always tell other black, queer, disabled people that we can’t play by the rules when the system is already rigged against us. It’s not a level playing field, and I’m determined to make it level for myself however I can. If I’m criticised for not playing by the rules, I don’t care. I’m not morally bound by a system that has no morals for me. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get ahead.

E– “I think what you’ve said is really powerful, especially in today’s world. For so many black people, the system just isn’t built for us. That’s why we work to change it, bit by bit, step by step. That’s what black people are doing—we’re trying to shift things, little by little. Thank you so much Femi.”

As we close Femi’s story, we are reminded that the journey toward inclusion, representation, and true understanding is ongoing. Femi’s experience highlights both the struggles and the resilience that come from navigating life at the intersection of race, gender, and disability. It’s a testament to the importance of creating spaces where all identities can coexist and thrive. Thank you, Femi, for sharing your powerful journey and inspiring us to continue pushing for a world where no one has to leave any part of themselves behind. Stay tuned as we continue to explore the intersections of Blackness, queerness, and disability in the next part of our series.