• Francesca Ekwuyasi

i am an immigrant

welcome and thank you for joining me.

you may listen to or read my reflections on my location as an alive person.

after listening to or reading my story, you are welcome to echo it with your own musings on belonging, place, and movement by recording and submitting your story either via audio recording by clicking Link below or writing to

i'm often thinking about what it means to belong - to a place, a community, a people. i think of all the people fleeing homes that are no longer safe for them, i think of the first line of the poem "Home" by Warsan Shire - "no one leaves home unless/ home is the mouth of a shark"

i know this is true for many many. it's not so true for me. home was not the mouth of a shark, more a muzzle, a shackle, a solid brick wall with no way around. a place i'd dreamed of leaving since i knew that leaving was a path i could take. it's incredibly complicated and i'm not interested in romanticizing any of the places i've landed. the most ideal circumstance would be not having to leave and not having to live with this perpetual longing for home - nothing nothing can compete with nostalgia.

diasporic angst means that the thing for which i crave no longer exists, not in the particular composition in which i most desire, but some things come close. friendships are a welcome salve, community with others who just know, who are also invested in cultivating the closest approximation of home with me.

so on immigration, i'm not from here and i'll never be, but i'm grateful to be here. and that gratitude has to take the shape of a verb, because, the truth is, i never got permission from the people to whom this place belongs. i cannot claim any belonging here while there is an ongoing genocide against Indigenous people.

who are your people? where is your place? from where and to where have you moved? are you at home?

record your echo with the link below.