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Like so many Africans in the diaspora, I often find myself caught between two worlds: one that shaped me and another that’s shaping me still.
There are a thousand little things I miss, but here are five that hit the hardest, and the specific ways I’ve found to recreate them here in the Motor City.
1. The Food
Let me just say it, nothing tastes like home. The juicy meat skewers (nyama choma), the perfectly rolled Rolex with fresh cabbage and eggs, or the slow-cooked matoke my mother used to make.
Detroit has its own soul food, sure, but for many Africans in the diaspora, especially Ugandans like me, nothing replaces the unique comfort of our native dishes.
How I Recreate It
- I buy plantains and matoke from Desi Fruit Market on Seven Mile, which surprisingly stocks a lot of East African produce.
- For Rolex, I use chapati flour from Deep Foods and add cabbage, tomatoes, and eggs just like back home. I make it on a flat pan outside in the summer—it’s about the vibe, not just the taste.
- For that smoky street-style grilled meat, I use a charcoal grill in my backyard with Royco Mchuzi Mix and Mukwano spices sent by my cousin in Kampala.
It’s not exactly Owino Market, but it comes close when the aroma starts filling the air.
2. The Language and Slang
One of the things Africans in the diaspora don’t talk about enough is how much we miss hearing our mother tongue. The music of Luganda, with all its jokes, sarcasm, and idioms, gets lost in translation.
Here in Detroit, everyone’s speaking English or Spanish, but I crave those street conversations, the unfiltered banter.
How I Recreate It
- I joined a WhatsApp group for Ugandans in Michigan, where we voice note in Luganda, share memes, and vent about American winters.
- I also watch Bukedde TV on YouTube. Sometimes, I leave it playing while I cook, just to hear the voices.
- On Sundays, I attend St. Moses Church on 8 Mile, where there’s a Ugandan choir that sings in Luganda.
These things might seem small, but they feed the part of me that Detroit can’t touch.
3. Communal Living and the “Drop-In” Culture
In Uganda, you don’t need an invitation to show up at someone’s house. You just arrive, you eat, you talk, and sometimes you stay the night.
Here in America, everything is scheduled, formal, and behind locked doors. For Africans in the diaspora, that shift can feel terribly isolating.
How I Recreate It:
- I started hosting monthly potlucks—but not the “bring your own plate” kind. Real Ugandan-style feasts, where everyone cooks something and no one’s allowed to say “I’m too busy.”
- We rotate houses. We play Ugandan music, share childhood stories, and no one checks the time.
- I also leave a spare chair by the door. It’s symbolic—a reminder to myself to always be open to the community.
Detroit winters are cold, but this has become my fire.
4. Music and Dance
Africans in the diaspora often talk about Afrobeats, but as a Ugandan, my roots go deeper, Kadodi, Kidandali, and Afrigo Band were the soundtrack of my youth.
Here, even when I hear Burna Boy or Wizkid at a club, something feels…missing.
How I Recreate It
- I created a Spotify playlist filled with Afrigo Band, Maddox Ssematimba, and Jose Chameleone. It’s my go-to during long drives or slow Sunday mornings.
- I also subscribed to Radio Simba’s online stream for that authentic Ugandan DJ banter and playlists.
- Once a year, we organize a mini Ugandan Night in Detroit. We rent out a hall, blast our music, wear gomesis and kanzus, and dance like it’s 1999 in Kampala.
It’s not Club Silk, but when the bass drops and everyone screams the lyrics, it sure feels like it.
5. The Pace of Life: That Laidback Ugandan Time
Detroit is a city of hustle. Fast-paced, rigid schedules, and an obsession with productivity. Back home, life flows differently. We take our time. We sit under mango trees. We laugh longer.
For Africans in the diaspora, especially those of us from more relaxed cultures, adjusting to the clock-driven American lifestyle can feel like an identity theft.
How I Recreate It
- I schedule intentional “Ugandan Time” weekends—no meetings, no alarms, no rigid to-do lists. Just vibes.
- I visit Belle Isle Park or walk by the Detroit Riverwalk, where I sit and do absolutely nothing—just like I would by Lake Victoria.
- I sip African tea (with milk and ginger, not that watery stuff) and let my mind wander.
It’s my way of resisting the rat race. Of saying, “Yes, I’m in America, but I’m still Ugandan.”
Final Thoughts: Things Africans in the Diaspora Miss Most About Home
Being African in the diaspora isn’t just about location. It’s about memory, culture, and heart.
Detroit has offered me opportunities my grandparents never dreamed of—but I still ache for home. So I recreate it, piece by piece, with food, music, language, laughter, and time.
To my fellow Africans in the diaspora: you’re not alone in your longing. Rebuilding home away from home is possible—and sometimes, even beautiful.
