Home: A Journey of Belonging and Resilience

Refugee Week 2024: let’s celebrate and create homes that are safe, welcoming, and filled with love for everyone The Meaning of Home: A Personal Reflection This year’s theme for UK Refugee Week, "Home," resonates deeply with me. It evokes a tapestry of emotions and memories that define what home means to me—a mosaic of the past, present, and the lingering sense of belonging. Home is where the heart is, but for many like me, it’s a heart split between two worlds. Home is Where My Roots Are Home is where I grew up, surrounded by my family, friends, and the familiar sights and sounds of my hometown. I miss my country—the place where my identity was first forged. I long for the warmth of my family’s embrace, the laughter of friends, and the bustling energy of the streets. The school where I spent countless hours learning and playing, the cities I explored, the majestic mountains, and serene valleys that formed the backdrop of my childhood—all of these are ingrained in my sense of home. I remember the shops and markets, each with its unique scent and atmosphere. The crystal-clear seaside, where I spent many afternoons basking in the sun and feeling the cool breeze on my face, is a memory I cherish deeply. These places and people are more than just memories; they are pieces of my soul that I carry with me. Sensory Memories: The Small Details The smell of my Yemeni food while cooking fills my senses, transporting me back to our kitchen. The aroma of traditional foods, the vibrant colours of local fruits and flowers, and the sounds of my homeland are vivid in my mind. The call to prayer, echoing five times a day, was a constant in my life, grounding me in a sense of community and faith. Ramadan and Eids were times of joy and togetherness. The gatherings of family and friends, sharing meals, stories, and laughter, were the highlights of my year. These moments are irreplaceable and form the essence of what home means to me. But my journey has also been marked by profound loss and hardship. I lost my father and then my mother when I was too young, back home in Yemen. Despite these challenges, I managed to build my life in Yemen, finishing my first university degree while working after high school. I worked hard to establish my social status, my name, and my professionalism. When I moved to the UK as a refugee, I lost all of that and had to start anew. Rebuilding My Life In the UK, I had to learn English from scratch since, in Yemen, we primarily speak Arabic, and English education is only accessible to a few. This meant rebuilding my life in a new place with a new culture, language, and system. I take solace in visiting Yemeni restaurants and shops to buy foods and other things that remind me of home. The ongoing war in Yemen since 2015 and the blockade of the air zone have made it even more difficult to visit my family. I grew up alone here, while they grew up away from me. Little kids who were once familiar may not recognise me when I return, and I might not recognise them either due to the passage of time. Some family members and friends, including my brothers, have passed away without my being able to see them. This is the price of staying away from home. Educational Achievements and New Beginnings Despite these immense challenges, I pursued my education with determination and resilience. I am incredibly proud of myself for obtaining my PhD from one of the top universities in the world. It was a dream come true, but it was also bittersweet. On the day of my graduation, I stood alone in the prestigious theatre, surrounded by families and friends cheering for their loved ones who had become doctors. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at everyone clapping and cheering. In that moment, I felt a mixture of profound sadness and immense pride. One friend, Kate, was there for me, smiling with pride and joy. She was my everything and everyone during my PhD journey. Kate's pure heart and kindness helped me through the hardest parts of my studies, and she stood by me as my only family on that special day. Thank you, Kate, for your unwavering support and love. The Journey of Rebuilding Now, after 20 years of living in the UK, I have built a new life. I am safe and have achieved much, yet there remains a part of me that feels unrooted. Despite being a British citizen, there is a constant reminder that I am seen as an outsider. The assumptions people make based on my appearance and my Muslim scarf often overshadow my achievements and capabilities. The identity conflict is a daily struggle. I constantly feel the need to prove that I am good enough, that I understand the language and culture, and that I am capable of excelling in my professional life. Even with hard work and dedication, the feeling of truly belonging is elusive. Finding Home in Small Gestures To me, home is where I feel safe and respected. It’s in the small gestures of kindness and understanding that I find a sense of belonging. Malala Yousafzai’s words resonate with me: “To me, a home is where you feel loved, safe, and cherished.” This Refugee Week, let’s extend our warmth and hospitality to create welcoming neighbourhoods. Simple acts like having a chat, walking together, or sending a message of welcome can make a significant difference. Our Shared Home Our home is not just a physical space; it’s also global. We are interconnected, sharing the earth’s resources, climate, and its challenges. Millions are displaced due to the climate crisis, and by exchanging knowledge and building hope together, we can create a better future for all. Home is more than a place. It’s a feeling, a state of mind, and a journey. For me, it’s the blend of memories from my homeland and the new experiences in my adopted country. It’s the constant search for belonging and the small moments that make me feel cherished and respected.