Chapter 6 Learning the shape of belonging

Chapter Six: Learning the Shape of Belonging The first time Esi walked into a queer African support circle in Amsterdam, she felt like an exposed nerve. The meeting was in the back room of a small bookstore, the kind that smelled of old pages and warm chai. About a dozen people sat in a loose circle-some in headwraps, some in boots and leather, some with eyes that looked just as cautious as hers had once been. Kemi squeezed her hand before letting go. "I'll wait outside if you want," she whispered. Esi shook her head. "No.

I think I need to do this alone." The facilitator, a soft-spoken Ethiopian nonbinary person named Dawit, smiled as Esi found a seat. "No pressure to share," Dawit said. "Just being here is enough." But Esi didn't want to just sit anymore. She was tired of silence. So when it came her turn, she cleared her throat and said, "I used to believe that love was something to be survived, not lived. I'm still learning otherwise." A few people nodded. "I didn't leave home to escape my country. I left because I couldn't breathe in it anymore." She glanced around. No one flinched. No one judged. She exhaled. "But sometimes, even here, I feel like I'm holding my breath-waiting for it all to disappear." "Belonging is slow," Dawit said after a moment. "Especially for those of us who've spent our whole lives being told we don't deserve it." Esi let the words settle. Later that night, Esi and Kemi sat at their kitchen table, candles flickering between them. Esi picked at her food absentmindedly. "You okay?" Kemi asked. "I thought being here-being out-would mean I'd finally stop feeling like I'm living between two worlds." Kemi nodded. "It doesn't just go away. I still dream in Yoruba. I still check for shadows when I hold your hand outside. But I also know I'm home when I wake up next to you." Esi smiled faintly. "I wish I could bring that peace with me everywhere." "You are," Kemi said. "Piece by piece." They fell into silence, not the heavy kind, but the gentle one that spoke of safety. Then Esi said, "What if I called Ma again?" Kemi's brows lifted. "Do you think you're ready?" "I don't know. But I want her to know I'm okay. Even if she can't accept all of it, maybe she can accept that I'm happy." "You don't owe her your happiness as proof," Kemi said. "But if it gives you peace, I'll support it." Esi nodded, unsure. "I don't need her approval anymore. But I think I want her love. Even if it has conditions." "That's honest." Esi stood, walked to the window, and looked out. The moonlight cast long silver streaks over the quiet street. "I used to think home was a place. But now I think it's a decision." Kemi joined her, wrapping arms around her waist from behind. "Then let's keep deciding." The next morning, Esi sat with her phone, staring at her mother's contact. She didn't call. Not yet. But she wrote a message: Ma, I'm doing well. I have a job, I'm safe, and I'm loved. I know this isn't what you wanted for me. But it's the life I'm finally choosing for myself. If you ever want to talk, I'm here. She hit send. It felt like planting a seed in uncertain soil. That evening, as they walked hand in hand along the canal, Esi watched Kemi laugh with a group of new friends they'd met through the circle-other migrants, other dreamers. Someone passed her a drink. Someone else complimented her earrings. She found herself smiling, surprised at how natural it felt. She still felt the ache of absence-of family, of homeland, of a self she'd had to abandon to survive. But alongside it, there was something new: the steady pulse of belonging, not given, but made. And as the sun dipped behind the gabled rooftops, casting gold across the water, Esi turned to Kemi and whispered, "Thank you." "For what?" Kemi asked. "For seeing the version of me I was too afraid to believe in." Kemi leaned in and kissed her cheek. "That version is just getting started."