From Syria to the UK: a refugee’s journey to coming out

In the middle of February, when the London weather had no mercy on anybody, Starbucks barista Samer (who wished not to disclose his last name) is wearing a pair of light wash, ripped jeans, a white t-shirt and a thin leather jacket. He sits outside his store, cigarette in hand, reading over some notes for his District Coffee Master sign off presentation.

“So, tell me, girl,” he takes a long drag of his cigarette and leaves his notes to the side, “what do you want to know?”

Sam was born in Damascus, Syria in 1998. He describes his childhood as “normal”, but does not linger at the memories of his past for long. Growing up in a conservative environment has forced him to form borders around his identity for the most part of his life and keep himself “in that ‘straight boy’ image.”

He was only 12 when the Syrian war started and his school was bombed. “We were refugees in our own country.” Sam’s voice was delicate, his eyes locked on the fountain behind me. “My uncle’s house got bombed and his kids got hurt and I’ve seen all of that.”

In 2013, Sam and his family decided to move to Jordan, where they would spend the next four years. “I had to work illegally under age - that’s when the struggle started,” he admits, wiping his hands on his pants. While in Jordan, Sam and his family applied to the UN, with the request to move to any European country and in September 2017, they were given the green light to come to the UK.

“I come from a background, where no person spoke English in their life,” Sam says, joy laced in his words. Moving to the UK felt like a dream to him, an eye-opening experience. “I remember my first time I went to Soho…” he trails off, opening up to me about what it felt like to come out to himself and everyone around him.

For someone who has gone through so much stress, Sam never stops giggling, even when the conversation steers into serious and sensitive topics. He tells me he just came out to his mum. He seems excited but stays quite for a long time, as if replaying the memories in his mind.

“It wasn’t the reaction I would love to expect from my mum – we were both crying,” he chuckles. When asked how his father reacted to the news, Sam shakes his head: “If he knew or not… I do not care, to be honest.” I ask him why. Sam falls silent for a minute, his fingers playing with a bobble around his wrist. “There were times when I needed him to be there as a father and he wasn’t - it was always my mum.” He struggles to find the right words.

Even with the lack of support from his family members, Sam takes pride in what he represents: “I am Muslim, I am from Syria, I am gay and I am proud.”

But Sam is not just “a Muslim gay boy”. He is currently the sole caretaker for his family. At just 21, Sam was able to accomplish a lot. When speaking about his job, his face lights up: “It’s everything to me.”

Sam with a co-worker, Hampstead Heath

In 18 months, Sam went from a barista to a Black Apron (a certified coffee expert) store supervisor and he does not plan on stopping here. He is currently studying for his IGCSE exams and wants to get into nursing school.

As the time rounds up to 12:30, Sam invites me to a coffee tasting he prepared as part of his presentation. Standing in his Black Apron, Sam speaks with energy and passion about the texture and flavours the coffee he chose has to uncover.

Before we part ways, I ask Sam what he is proud of: “Of being in that place – as who I am and what I represent… you know?”