Reclaiming the Somali narrative in the diaspora

In a world shaped by narratives — who tells them, who controls them, and whose stories are left behind — a new generation of Somali creatives is reshaping how the world perceives Somali people, and, arguably, how Somalis view themselves. Across arts and culture, technology, architecture, and digital media, they are building archives, creating communal spaces, and dismantling long-standing narratives that have defined Somali identity through displacement, conflict, and instability.

In conversations with three trailblazing voices, a shared thread emerges: this generation of Somalis in the diaspora is done waiting for permission to narrate its story. It is taking it back. Together, they reflect a wider movement across the diaspora that centres cultural preservation, accessibility, and the repair of fractured relationships stretching across borders.

I started with Nomadic Libaax, a creative curator, TEDx speaker, and assisted poet, who sits at the intersection of technology, creativity, and community development. His platform, We Are One, spotlights stories and projects from Global Majority communities, driven by an approach that embraces complex, overlapping identities. Even his name, Nomadic Libaax(Lion), captures the blend of pastoral heritage and his expansive communal presence that defines his work. At the core of his mission are accessibility, understanding, and empowerment, pillars that ground his work in tech literacy, community action, and poetry.

While his public-facing projects redefine Somali presence in London, our conversation revealed that his work functions most urgently within the Somali community itself. One of his key projects, the Somali-language film Ceeb (Shame), which was produced by the Women Inclusion Team based in east London - and was screened in their base in tower hamlets, explores domestic violence from a culturally grounded perspective. It gathered community members, survivors, and creatives to confront topics often avoided in Somali public spaces. Choosing Somali as the film’s language was itself an act of healing, a gesture toward restoring a fractured line of communication between diaspora communities and the people back home.

When discussing the sense of distance many of us young diaspora Somalis feel from “home,” the topic of codependency suddenly arose. “Diaspora youth often romanticise Somalia without knowing its harsh realities, while Somalis back home may view returning diaspora as entitled or foreign.” To repair this disconnect, he turns repeatedly to accessibility, using it to expose the erosion of communication and the differing visions Somalis inside and outside the country envision their future and identity.

Much of his work aims to mend these cultural and intergenerational gaps. His spoken-word workshops welcome Somalis of all ages, and his cookbook Marti Qad (Hospitality), which was produced as a part of his work as project coordinator for the charity nomad-uk.org, reimagines home, heritage, and culture through food — its launch featuring elderly Somali women engaging in arts and crafts as a way of “weaving our parents’ visions with ours own, whilst honoring them.”

Nomadic Libaax’s answer to narrative reclamation is co-partnership: a genuine collaboration, without saviourism, with people back home that create fahm — real understanding. And if he could preserve just one value for the next generation, he says, it would be “the beauty of anonymity. Giving with your right hand so your left hand doesn’t know. Sit with yourself. Give without expectation.”

Mohamed Mohamud, a British-Somali photographer and Media Fellow at the African Union, offers another form of reclamation. Through Somali Sideways, he uses his camera to challenge the external narratives that have long defined Somali identity. What began as a hobby among friends became a global archive documenting thousands of Somalis across more than 30 countries. Somali Sideways affirms diasporic storytelling not as a passive practice but as a political tool, a way of countering portrayals of Somalis as complacent or unseen.

“The best way to understand a country is through its people,” Mohamed told me. “But for years, platforms without proximity to our culture told our stories incorrectly.” Through photography and continuous dialogues on Instagram, TikTok, and Somali Sideways, he engages with Somali communities across the globe, repairing narratives by showing the lived experience of the people.

His written work, centred on narrative reclamation, has been featured in Global Voices and academic institutions such as SOAS and Stanford. Mohamed epitomizes ethnography to bring the forgotten stories of the non-western Somali diaspora. Moving across Cairo, Johannesburg, and Soweto, he shows that many Somalis remained on the continent, choosing other African cities for better socio-political opportunities. He notes, for instance, how Somali-Kenyans have reshaped Nairobi’s business landscape, while Somalis in Egypt often face displacement and xenophobic violence.

When asked how his work bridges the gap between Somalis at home and abroad, his response was simple: with more Somalis now living outside Somalia than within it, “understanding that reality is key to understanding who we are.” For him, Somali identity is not fixed but abstract, it is shaped by geography, history, and the multiplicity of lived experience. “A Somali in Scandinavia might understand themselves differently from one in Canada or the Gulf” yet Somali Sideways celebrates both the common heritage and the wide range of these identities. When asked about how we can shape our future, Mohamed showed hope in the growing cultural renaissance led by youth diaspora across film, theatre, and digital media.

In this spirit, I turned to Hani Ali, digital architect, founder of 4AP( For African People), and a close friend. Her work continues this renaissance through architecture and digital archiving. Her digital magazine on Instagram documents African buildings and cultural aesthetics as sources of pride, intellect and futurism.

4AP began after a challenge from her dissertation supervisor, who urged her to question why African architecture was still measured against Western standards. Rather than accepting those hierarchies, she created a space where African thought could stand on its own terms.

“Africa has always been seen through an Orientalist gaze; exoticised, fetishised, inferior,” she told me. 4AP exists to disrupt that gaze, “creating a space where African design doesn’t need to justify itself.” Her work also doubles as subtle form of peacebuilding: she highlights Somali creatives documenting aging Somali buildings — structures that might appear modest, but hold stories of survival and resilience. “Using a native eye is essential,” she insists. “It preserves identity.”

For Hani, architecture is not only physical but emotional and historical. Buildings teach us what people valued, how they lived, and what they endured and survived. “Reclaiming these spaces is a way of repairing our narrative. Our buildings are archives.”

Across all three conversations, one truth remained constant: whether through film, poetry, photography, or design, these creatives are carving space for a Somali narrative told by Somalis — rooted in dignity, nuance, and truth. Their work resists erasure, counters misinformation, and preserves memory. Most importantly, it gives young Somalis, both in the diaspora and back home, new ways to imagine themselves, not as victims of history, but as authors of their future.