Photo @Hammond_Robin for @whereloveisillegal. I struggle every time I tell ‘B’s’ story, but here I go. I met B in South Africa. He was living in a tiny tin shack in a township. Thin, afraid, alone. He covered his face when I took his picture because he was worried relatives in Kenya would recognise him. He told me his story, about the man he fell in love with on a beach in Mombasa. He said it was love at first sight. It is hard for many of us to imagine the feeling of, all your life, thinking you’re a freak, the only one with feelings for other boys - then finding someone like you, someone with whom this life long secret can be shared in the most intimate way. They decided they would marry (even though same sex marriage is not legal in Kenya). A mob interrupted their ceremony, burnt down their house, stabbed B’s partner in the chest. B fled to South Africa hoping for a new, safe life. It wasn’t to be. Without any support, unable to work, facing discrimination and the real fear of violence, too scared to venture out - he found himself impoverished and struggling to pay his rent. He said he would be evicted if he didn’t find money in the next few days. I was deeply moved by B’s story of love and loss and the situation he now found himself. As I left I shoved a handful of notes into his hand. I thought if I could help him pay his rent for a couple of months it would be enough to help him get on his feet. He cried. And it wasn’t enough. Within three months B was dead. He got sick and just died. No one knows how. One of his friends, who I also photographed in South Africa, called me to tell me the news. He was broken. Through his sobs he said there was nothing to remember B by except his story, and he begged that I tell it so that we would remember B, even if it was only a sad memory. Today is International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia & Biphobia (#IDAHOTB). It is the day we remember the thousands like B. God bless you my friend.