Every diaspora kid at some point goes through an identity crisis. Or at least it was like that for me and all the other diaspora kids I know. Being the child of immigrants feels very much like having a foot in two shoes simultaneously. It makes sense but it doesn’t at the same time, and you’re constantly trying to mediate all these different identities, sometimes you shut parts of you out because it doesn’t seem to fit the box.

“Ivorian by origin, Italian by birth and British by choice.”

Or so said my Twitter bio state at one time. It was an attempt to keep my foot in not only two but three shoes at the same time.

But the thing is that I was not born Italian. I was born on Italian soil, but until my early teen years when my dad got his Italian citizenship, I needed the “permesso di soggiorno” — the Italian equivalent of the green card — to be allowed in the country where I was born. I had an Ivorian passport, not an Italian one, and I guess at that age I didn’t fully comprehend what it meant.

I was a foreigner in my own land in Italy, but it wasn’t much better in Côte d’Ivoire. I have been to the motherland four times in my life, and although I understand and speak French and Dioula, I felt like a foreigner. I could tell that they saw me a foreigner even at a young age, asking my mom if I spoke the language, why I acted the way I did, etc. I didn’t feel at ease and I didn’t feel like I belonged. Here I am in a country where the majority of the people look like me, where I have family and connections and yet I feel stranger than ever.

The struggle is real and coping with it is not always easy. I remember rejecting everything Ivorian (but the food) at times. I remember being embarrassed when people would make me notice that I speak Dioula with an Italian accent, and I remember being embarrassed when people would compliment me for my perfect Italian in Italy. You never fully belong in one place or another. There will always be people trying to make you feel like a foreigner where you should be welcomed.

When I moved to the UK I felt like, despite the ugly houses and the weird food, I had found a place where I felt that I could belong, if only for a little while. But now the anti-EU and anti-immigration rhetoric is just making me feel unwelcome in a previously-safe space.

Will I ever belong? Does it even matter if I do?

Perhaps this is the time for us to abandon foolish nationalist barriers and embrace the freedom of movement. If there’s one thing that studying history has taught me, it’s that nationalist hard borders are a mere construction.

I have yet to sort out where I belong, but at least now I’m lucky. I have people showcasing stories similar to mine. I now feel like my voice, even indirectly, is being heard. Our story, a story that talks of the children of immigrants who struggle to figure out where and if they can belong is finally out there. That narrative is definitely an improvement from the stories showcased by the media and politicians that talk almost exclusively about crime and job stealers.

I may not be fully Italian or Ivorian. But I exist, and my fellow diaspora friends exist and our stories must be heard if we want hope of being able to belong not only somewhere but everywhere.

Asta Diabaté is an aspiring storyteller, trying to follow the tradition of being a griot. She was born and raised in Italy but now resides in Oxford where she’s an undergrad studying history and politics. Her thought pieces and creative writing can be found on her blog https://simplyasta.wordpress.com. Follow her on Instagram @astalagriotte and on Twitter @DiabateAsta.

Asta Diabaté

Writing since December 2015 · 1 story contributed