Between Innovation and Isolation: My Journey as an LBQ Woman in Tech

At WITI, we believe every woman  regardless of identity or orientation  deserves the tools, visibility, and community to innovate and lead. But the truth is, in Nigeria, LBQ women in tech still face a unique blend of challenges: gender bias, queerphobia, and the constant pressure to mask parts of themselves just to survive.

This is my story

When I was told to write this piece, a hundred polished, “safe” ideas floated through my mind. But if I was going to speak about LBQ women in Nigeria, it had to be from my own skin, my own scars, my own story.

Isolation and I are old acquaintances. Even before stepping into the world, even in mama’s warm cocoon, I somehow knew: I was different. Unaccepted. Alone.

My sexuality was a journey I took with open eyes and a stubborn heart. I met a girl, I fell in love, and I just knew  women were the pleasure my fate had gifted me in this life. Why waste energy pretending otherwise when I could pour it into keeping her love?

The rest, they say, is history. A history that plays out daily in a country that hunts difference. I hide, I pretend, but who I am is stitched into my very walk, my voice, my gaze. I barely glance at men, yet with women, I’m nervous, sweaty, stumbling over my words  locking eyes and getting lost.

I’ve never had the luxury of a slow, voluntary “coming out.” Spend enough time around me and someone eventually looks me dead in the eye and asks, “Are you a lesbian?” It’s a badge I wear with pride  but pride is heavy in Nigeria.

I learned early to overcompensate. Work twice as hard. Keep my secrets locked. Smile while pushing through rooms that weren’t built for me. Because failure wasn’t an option  not for someone like me.

Masculinity in the Corporate Space

NYSC was my first real taste of professional friction. I was posted to a bougie, church-affiliated private school. Every Monday, we’d gather for Bible study. I showed up in men’s trousers and shoes, and one of the bosses decided I was her personal project or prey.

Week after week, it was meetings, Bible verses, and subtle threats wrapped in holy proverbs. I knew a skirt would feel like a betrayal to myself, so I quietly plotted an escape. Eventually, I bribed an NYSC official to change my posting. It worked.

In my new role, the pay was lower and the bosses were mean, but for the first time, no one commented on my gender expression. That freedom  to simply exist in my own skin  was priceless.

When “Opportunities” Come with Strings

After NYSC, I wasn’t retained, but my boss someone I had started to see as a mentor told me about an opening for cabin crew. He offered to contribute to my training fees and seemed almost offended that I doubted myself.

He reminded me of the risks he had taken to build his career and insisted that my appearance, confidence, and presence were more than enough to succeed. I was skeptical, but when my mum heard about the offer, it quickly became non-negotiable.

Looking back, I think it was less an opportunity and more an experiment how far could I be pushed to bend into someone else’s ideal? Flight attendant training was less about aviation and more about beauty pageantry: heels, chiffon shirts, layers of makeup. In a catwalk class, the instructor made a public spectacle out of me.

On my first flight with my mentor, I thought maybe I’d finally proved myself. But as soon as we landed, the comments about my posture and walk came again. That night, he invited me to his hotel room. I declined  but the message was clear. This path was never really about my career.

It was the final nudge I needed to accept that I didn’t belong in that industry. I’d just discovered I was nonbinary, poly, and unapologetically in love with women. I couldn’t keep shrinking myself into a hyper-feminized, hyper-sexualized mold just to fit in.

Finding Tech

I returned to familiar ground  or at least, ground I could shape. Tech felt like an escape. A space where skill could speak louder than appearance, even if it was still male-dominated.

I taught myself the basics: navigating a laptop, using Excel formulas, making graphic designs, taking online courses. I chased scholarships small ones from Nigerian NGOs that others might overlook and found they were often the most inclusive.

I’ve come a long way from that blue gown in flight school. If self-acceptance was an Olympic sport, I’d have my gold medal. Tech hasn’t been a magic cure, but it’s been a tool, a bridge, and sometimes a shield.

The Truth About Barriers

Tech isn’t perfect. The barriers to entry are real, but they’re also navigable especially if you’re willing to learn at your own pace and seek out opportunities others ignore. For women like me, it’s not just about coding or design; it’s about building a life raft in a sea that’s not always safe.

And that’s why WITI matters. We create spaces where LBQ women in Nigeria’s tech and innovation fields can connect without fear, learn without limits, and lead without apology.

I don’t know exactly where my journey will take me, but I know this: I’ll keep learning, keep building, keep carving space until I can live fully and freely. And when I get there, I’ll rewrite love stories, not just for me, but for every woman who’s ever been told she’s too different to belong.

Because if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s this sometimes, the very thing they try to make you hide becomes the fire that lights your way.

At WITI, we know stories like mine are not rare they’re just rarely told. For every LBQ woman in Nigeria navigating the business world, there are countless untold battles: the quiet exits from unsafe workplaces, the constant code-switching, the uphill climb for respect and opportunity.

We believe that innovation is stronger when it is inclusive, and that diversity in tech is not a favour it’s a necessity. LBQ women bring creativity, resilience, and vision born from navigating a world that wasn’t built for us.

This is why WITI exists: to make sure those stories are heard, those skills are nurtured, and those women are never left to innovate in isolation.

Because no woman should have to choose between who she is and what she’s capable of creating.

-WRITTEN BY DAMMS