I was doing a little mental dance, caught up in a mix of excitement and nerves. I was curious and, more importantly, desperate to find other queer people. At that moment, I didn’t quite have the words to call it “creating community,” but I felt an undeniable need to be around others like me. There were three of us, and I was the only one who had never attended a queer gathering or party in Ethiopia. My heart raced with eagerness to soak in the presence of fellow queer people, but I also felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach—after all, being queer is illegal in our country.

As we walked to the venue, I felt a blend of anticipation and trepidation. We stood outside, looking up at the venue, and had to call the person who had invited us to let us in. I had no clue what awaited us inside. When the door finally swung open, we stepped into a warm, buzzing atmosphere. A few people were huddled in groups, chatting and laughing, and it felt surreal. We made our way through the house, grabbing drinks and water, and I found myself feeling like a flower against the wall—fascinated, amazed, and a little overwhelmed. The night was still young, but we figured no more than 10 or 15 people would show up.

About 30 minutes later, we decided to step outside for some fresh air. What a surprise it was to see a crowd gathered there! Most were gay men, with a few women allies mixed in. I even spotted someone I knew from work! It was heartwarming to see so many queer faces, but I couldn’t help but wish there were more women present.

Since that night, I’ve attended many queer socials, including some exclusively for women. Each experience has been unique and enriching, but I’ll always remember that first gathering. It was a moment of bravery for all of us, taking the risk to come together and connect in a world where we often have to hide who we are. It felt like a small revolution, and I was grateful to be a part of it.