modern slavery and human trafficking in refugee movements across East Africa

I did not choose to become a refugee. I did not choose to be a victim of human trafficking. I chose to live my life as myself. But in the world I was born into, just choosing to live my life was enough to make me a target. As a transgender woman from Uganda, my identity alone put me in danger. What followed was not just a forced migration, but a journey through a system of exploitation, much like modern-day slavery, hidden in plain sight along the borders and routes along which refugees were forced to travel.

People often imagine modern slavery as something that takes place in secrecy, behind closed doors, in remote brothels, and secret factories. Human trafficking is portrayed as a dark underworld run by organized criminals. But for many refugees in East Africa, exploitation is far from overshadowed. It exists out in the open and is woven into our very survival routes. It exists at border crossings, in refugee camps, in the hands of smugglers, and even in the facilities that are supposed to protect us. They are not necessarily marked with chains or cages. In some cases, it looks like a bus ticket, a border crossing, a promise of safety, or a request for money that cannot be refused.

My cross-border journey is just one example of how these systems work. But this is a story common to many LGBTQI+ refugees, whose lives are shaped by violence, silence, and constant negotiations for safety.

In Uganda, being transgender isn’t just misunderstood, it’s dangerous. My family, which is deeply rooted in conservative religious beliefs, viewed my identity as shameful. I was threatened, rejected, and made to feel like my life had no value. Outside the home, communities policed ​​identity through violence. The legal environment offered no protection. In fact, my fear grew stronger. Laws targeting LGBTQI+ people prevent them from seeking help from authorities. Reporting abuse often risked arrest. Every day became a calculated risk: where to walk, who to trust, how to hide. Eventually, the threat became too real to ignore. Leaving was not a choice, it was a matter of survival.

My journey out of Uganda began through an unofficial route. Like many refugees fleeing persecution, I had no recourse to safe or legal routes. Instead, I was forced to join a network of smugglers and human traffickers operating in border areas. From Uganda, through border points such as Malaba, and then on to South Sudan via displacement related to Kakuma refugee camp, each step came at a financial, emotional and physical cost. At border crossings, money speaks louder than rights. Payment was requested at the checkpoint. There was no transparency or accountability. You either paid the money or risked being refused repayment or worse.

For LGBTQI+ refugees, these journeys are even more dangerous. Visibility can mean exposure. Exposure can mean violence. There is a constant fear of being exposed, harassed, and assaulted, not only by traffickers but also, in some cases, by those trying to enforce the law. Modern human trafficking thus occurs not necessarily through chains, but through systems of dependence, coercion, and fear.

Human trafficking is often imagined as a distant or extreme phenomenon. But for many refugees, especially LGBTQI+ people, it exists in subtle and systemic ways. It lies in the compulsory payments required at every step of the journey. It’s the exploitation of vulnerabilities by those offering “help.” It lies in the silence of a system that fails to protect it. Many LGBTQI+ refugees face extortion by smugglers and agents, threats of violence and exposure, sexual exploitation and abuse, and discrimination by authorities and local communities. These experiences are rarely documented. Fear prevents reporting. Lack of access impedes justice. What remains is a hidden crisis that continues across borders.

Arriving in South Sudan did not bring safety. I currently live in Golomb refugee settlement camp, and the reality for LGBTQI+ refugees remains harsh and dangerous. Discrimination is part of everyday life. Access to food, water and healthcare is often affected by stigma. Moving freely around the camp can be dangerous. Violence and intimidation are constant. As a transgender woman, I get a lot of attention. This visibility increases my vulnerability. I have faced harassment, intimidation, and intimidation from both the host community and other refugees. Some blame LGBTQI+ refugees as the cause of their misfortunes, accusing us of bringing curses and problems. These beliefs, rooted in prejudice and misinformation, fuel violence and exclusion. Even in a refugee camp, safety is not guaranteed.

Despite these challenges, I have decided not to remain silent. At Golomb, I am the leader and representative of the LGBTQI+ Refugee and Asylum Seeker Network. There are people in our community who are traumatized, isolated, and unable to advocate for themselves. Many people are illiterate. Some suffer from serious medical conditions. Some people are too scared to talk. I support them by helping them fill out applications and forms, writing emails to organizations, connecting organizations to protection pathways, and providing peer support and coordination. Through this work, several members of our community were able to gain relocation and protection opportunities. Some have received case numbers and are proceeding with international processing. I take pride in this work, but it comes at a cost. Having a high profile as a leader makes me a target. The more you help others, the more you reveal yourself.

The system I experienced reflects a form of modern slavery that is not always recognized. It is not defined by ownership, but by control. It is not forced by chains, but by fear and dependence. Exploitation becomes inevitable when refugees are forced to rely on informal and unsafe systems to survive. International frameworks such as the Palermo Protocol recognize that human trafficking includes coercion, exploitation and exploitation of vulnerability. According to these definitions, this reality fits what many refugees experience during their displacement. However, these experiences are rarely acknowledged in policy or response.

My story is one thread in a much larger tapestry of exploitation. Across East Africa, forced migration has created informal systems in which movement is regulated by power, money, and vulnerability rather than law. Within these systems, human trafficking and modern slavery are not isolated crimes. They are embedded in refugees’ everyday experiences. The blurred line between smuggling and human trafficking becomes clearer when voluntary agreements turn into coercion. Your payments will increase unexpectedly. The situation will get worse. A threat emerges. At this point, smuggling begins to resemble human trafficking. People are forced to pay additional fees under threat, are detained or abandoned if they fail to pay, and are subjected to extortion, threats, and violence. The journey is not one of choice, but one of controlled survival.

Checkpoints are one of the most visible forms of exploitation. Migration across multiple borders is regulated not only by formal policies but also by informal practices. Travelers are often required to pay to transit, regardless of their legal status. These payments are rarely documented. They are currently in negotiations and often under pressure. Failure to comply may expose you to detention, deportation, physical intimidation, or further risk. For already vulnerable populations, checkpoints become places of control and exploitation. This system benefits from a lack of accountability. They thrive in environments where oversight is weak and corruption is endemic.

Modern slavery does not necessarily mean physical confinement. It can also take the form of economic exploitation. While on the move, individuals may be required to pay escalating fees at each stage of the trip, hand over money or belongings, or rely entirely on intermediaries for transportation. In some cases, people are left stranded because they are unable to meet their financial demands. This creates a cycle of dependencies. Users rely on the network to navigate, the network controls costs, and costs determine user safety. Such systems exploit vulnerabilities in ways that closely align with the definition of modern slavery, particularly the exploitation of value through abuse of power and coercion.

Arriving at a destination, such as a refugee settlement, does not necessarily mean that one is free from exploitation. In many camp settings, individuals continue to face limited access to resources, dependence on aid systems, and a potentially exploitative informal economy. When formal support systems become overstretched or under-resourced, informal structures reemerge. These structures may include gatekeeping of access to services, manipulation of aid distribution, or continued economic or social exploitation. The conditions that enable human trafficking will not go away. they evolve.

Beyond East Africa, modern slavery takes on other forms that reflect the same patterns of vulnerability and exploitation. Labor trafficking to the Gulf is a major problem for migrants from Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania.

Recruitment agencies promise good jobs, but many migrants end up having their passports confiscated, unpaid wages, and forced domestic labor in conditions akin to slavery. Some people never go home. Organ trafficking has also been documented, with victims from Africa ending up in countries such as Thailand, Malaysia, Russia and China. Kidneys are the most commonly trafficked organs. Some victims are forced to do so. Others will be fooled. Some people are killed. Women, girls, and LGBTQI+ individuals are disproportionately targeted for sexual exploitation. For refugees, “survival sex” is a coping mechanism in the absence of protection and resources. Modern slavery thrives because the global economy rewards cheap labor. Immigrants from East Africa work in construction, domestic work, agriculture, and manufacturing. Their exploitation is hidden behind the products the world consumes.

From a humanistic perspective, the existence of such a system raises urgent ethical questions. If all human beings have equal dignity, why do some people have to risk exploitation in order to survive? If rights are universal, why are they in fact inaccessible? Human trafficking and modern slavery in the refugee movement are not only criminal problems, but also moral deficiencies. They reflect the gap between principles and reality. These reveal the distance between what we claim to value and what we allow to happen.

Addressing these issues requires more than a single intervention. We need to expand safe and legal migration routes. We need to strengthen accountability for our borders. Anti-trafficking measures must be integrated into refugee protection. Refugee-led initiatives must be supported. Those with lived experience are in the best position to identify risks and solutions.

Modern slavery and human trafficking are not always visible in the form of chains and confinement. They often exist within systems that appear as regular border crossings, transit routes, and refugee settlements. Recognizing these systems is the first step to change. The movement of people across borders should not come at the expense of people’s dignity, safety and freedom. But for many, it is. Until safe alternatives exist and accountability is enforced, this system of hidden exploitation will continue.

The question is not whether they exist.

The question is whether we have the will to confront them.

Abby lives in Golomb refugee settlement camp in South Sudan.