Coming up on Reel Midwest: Homegrown.

When my parents came to Detroit in the early 80s Nigerians of the metro Detroit area started social organizations to uphold cultural traditions and establish mutual aid systems, Watch as the members of a Nigerian social club in Detroit redefined community within their adopted homeland.

But first.

Art in all its form, essentially tell a story.

Whether it is the story of Minneapolis, the story of Minnesota, the story of the Midwest or America at large, we get to tell our story through the arts.

Follow the co-founders of the Soomal House at Art in Minneapolis, the nation's first Somali American Art Center.

As they run the community based gallery.

Reel Midwest Homegrown starts now.

For us, as an artist, especially for our community, when we think about a space it is not so much about a physical space, rather than a shared space where connections are created and imaginations are explored.

Art, like many other forms of communications that exist in the world, is to tell the story is to communicate is to relate to one another.

We really were starting to establish Soomal House of Art there wasn't a Somali run gallery in the state.

There wasn't a whole lot of art shows that were done by Somalis.

There were some artists early on, that was still creating artworks, but it is these things are these artists were in really in silos.

(♪ music ♪) ♪♪ The Somali communities started arriving in the United States, particularly in the Midwest, Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Columbus, Ohio.

Most of the major cities housing it's very expensive, folks cannot afford to pay rent, also transportation.

So few families started arriving and somali piggy backed to rely on one another.

And those two communities have available startup jobs, relatively affordable housing arrangements for larger families.

And the growth continued from there through family reunification through more resettlement through refugee agencies and the US State Department.

And that's how they ended up having the largest in the case of Minnesota, and the second largest in Columbus, Ohio.

When I moved to Minneapolis, there was already an established Somali community and that has grown tremendously over the years.

So my art is about who I am, which is who I am as a person.

What shaped me as a person, as a Somali immigrant, Muslim, American, therefore all of those experiences are embodied in me.

And I use as a raw material for my work, or the Somali experience.

So therefore, Minneapolis has been home for me and without Minneapolis, in the community that I have, the Somali community, I don't think my art wouldn't have that much of a resonance (♪ music ♪) How do we archive our history?

And who is responsible for that?

And can we pose that to all Somalis wherever they are?

So we take a hold of this and make sure that our histories get passed on to generations generations after us.

The archives that I'm currently working on are primarily archives from Somalia colonial archive to be exact, and they are in between late 19th to mid 20th century so 1885 to 1960.

You know, we always say, a community with our archives like eyes without sight.

(Somali) So to know where you came from is important to know where you located is very important to know where you go and is a very important.

And this is the root idea of what artists does questioning, searching, looking.

We really think that the artists themselves are also archivists.

And we are really trying to make sure that the artist is aware of their history is aware of coloniality is aware of what's going on in the world, so that they make space in place within their own present to make a change for themselves for their communities, but also for their culture moving forward.

Much of our history has been lost in transition.

There are so many people when I talked to them about, you know, dance, and, you know, music and poetry or, or even like the, like, plays, that that we used to watch as a kid, they're like, Wait, what?

That used to happen in Somalia?

And these are Somali, young people who are born in the United States or who were born in refugee camps.

And I think it's, it's important for them to know that we weren't people who are deprived of the important role art plays in a society.

And we shouldn't continue to be people who are deprived of that.

There's some sort of a calm, that you find the pace that you find in the Midwest, especially in Minneapolis, and even in Columbus, where I lived for a couple years, is sort of like a place where work is rooted as part of who you are.

And a sense of community and the pace was very conducive to the way my work evolves, which is very slow, research based, and unfolds over time.

So we found a lot of people and connected a lot of Somali artists, actually through the social media, and through websites, through word of mouth.

And wherever we found them, we hope to connect with them and see how we can collaborate work with each other co-exhibit.

So we went as far as you know, going back like Mohamud has done now, and I've done it before in 2018 is going back home.

And you know, you know one artist, you will find out 10 more artists.

And then you connect and see how you can work and collaborate.

We've gone to Scandinavia, we went to Norway, we went to Denmark, Sweden, went to London as well.

We've connected a lot of people.

And you know, the way we find each other, I think it's indicative of our moment.

We fled war, many of us have gone through the transition of what it means to live in a refugee camp, find a new home.

So a lot of our identity of who we used to be.

And what we were all about has been lost.

And so I think that there is now a sense of pride right to say, No, me expressing myself this way is also part of what it means to be Somali and what it means to be part of the Somali, the diaspora.

We live trying to satisfy somebody else's vision of us, whether it's our parents putting their hopes and dreams on us, or if it's American society kind of expect expecting us to somehow leave behind our identity and assimilate to a new culture and for small house to really be a space that just asks you to just be rather than define yourself or explain yourself.

I think that is a monumental space that is required in any in any capacity.

And so the fact that they're doing it for Somali immigrants and Somali diaspora is incredible To say, No, me expressing myself this way is also part of what it means to be Somali and what it means to be part of the Somali diaspora.

And I see young people pushing back against like their parents and feeling confident about who they are and what they're trying to do.

So no, you don't just have to be a teacher and a doctor.

You could be an artist and that's okay.

You know, the Augsburg galleries and Soomal House of Art, they both are dedicated to engaging the community and supporting artists.

We run the small fellowship, and it's a year long project that supports two emerging Somali artists.

The community is invited to kind of be part of this creation and celebration of culture.

And that creates these enriching ties this, this understanding, and then it's normalizing a career in the visual arts for Somali youth, and also supporting the development of ideas and explorations of artistic goals for the emerging Somali fellows.

Whenever we invite people, we don't charge them.

To us, art should be free, especially for our community to be able to come see art.

It reflects their experience.

So how would you charge somebody's experience back to them?

When we show a young artists work?

Or have their their work exhibited here at Soomal, we not only invest in in their work, it is an investment for the community as well.

Because these are the young artists that are going to be able to contribute and ask the questions that the older generation have not asked.

The work we do at Soomal is really motivational on its own.

We see a lot of artists from young, emerging artists to really well established artists come through our doors, whether you know, they're new to the craft, or they've been doing it for decades, the ownership of the space and the support that they have for the space is really something that keeps us going.

Art in all its form essentially tell a story.

And we are a part of the American story.

Whether it is the story of Minneapolis, the story of Minnesota, the story of the Midwest, or America at large, we get to tell our story through the arts It is really key for the younger generation to have a base which Soomal House has become a base for them to start.

If you don't pass on what you know.

It's not so much about what you have in your possession in terms of material possession, but knowledge if you don't pass that down to the next generation, I think you've you've you've died a poor man or woman.

(♪ music ♪) ♪ ♪ Right now it's time for us to root in a new year or end of year and you know what that means?

It means dance, dance dance.

All right.

So Mr DJ just give us something that will make us dance.

(Narrator:) When I think of my childhood I picture a Lithuanian church hall.

It's Saturday night and the parking lot is packed.

As I walk towards the door, my ears are filled with the sounds of my cousins running around.

My Auntie's greeting each other and my uncle's arguing over bottles of Guinness.

Up front, the MC weaves together English, Igbo, and pigeon in order to calm a very impatient crowd.

To the uninitiated, this is an extremely chaotic scene.

But for me, this is what it means to be Nigerian in Detroit.

(♪ music ♪ )} Of all the places my parents, aunties and uncles could have immigrated to.

They chose Detroit.

My people grew up on the equator, and never saw snow until they were about 20, 30 years old.

They came to a place that was the complete opposite of where they grew up.

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But today's global economy demands that we learn more about each other.

I came to Detroit in like 79.

I mean, there weren't any african store, there weren't any African restaurant.

And in fact when we go home I like to still get, to bring as much back.

(Narrator:) To bring as much back...

The minute I get home my aunt will start going to the store you want some Gharri, you want some ogbono, you want this.

So when I was coming, at first, there was fear.

We don't know anybody here.

We don't have family here.

I've never been in a big city before.

So it was scary.

Of course.

Many people initially had the intention of just grab the education run back to Nigeria.

But then by the 80s, mid 80s or early 90s, it became obvious to many that we are here to stay.

When I left Nigeria, in Nigeria choruses called Naira one Naira gave you $2, but by the time I graduated, because of different military coups here, they drove down the economy.

So we started to integrate ourselves from communities you hear so for survival, All the Nigerians can talk to themselves.

And I agree that the traditional Igbo rule is that you are chief in your own house, but you have a common problem, you come together and have a consensus as to how to solve it.

(Narrator:) When my parents came to Detroit in the early 80s, Nigerians in the metro Detroit area started social organizations to uphold cultural traditions, and establish mutual aid systems.

The Old Bende Cultural Association of Michigan became a pillar of support for new immigrants from the Bende Area of Abia state in Nigeria.

For my dad, memories of lively gatherings are reminders that the isolation of immigration, birth a vibrant community of chosen family here in Detroit, My husband was the founder of the Old Bende Association, and it was started in our house every weekend, they will come and eat.

And it was a lot of joy, a lot of fun.

We go there to socialize.

We go there to talk about our family issues.

If you have food to bring, if you have anything you bring, we don't have extended family here.

So we are each other's keeper.

We are each other's family.

I remember when my kids were still young, they were always looking forward to that because when they go in there, when we go there we meet other kids are from Nigeria from old Bende.

And who, they call their cousins, you know, cousins.

We decided to initiate them into so many things.

We had a dancing group, we used to go to downtown for any cultural activities, or we take the kids dressed them in African attire, and they would dance we instill the love of community in our children.

(Narrator:) Growing up in Detroit meant that I got the best of both worlds.

My elders fostered pride in my heritage, while the rich history and culture of Detroit foster pride in my black identity.

As a majority black city, it feels like home.

There's so much pride in being a Detroiter of the diaspora.

(drumming) Narrator: What was it like to be an old Bende?

I wouldn't even say old Bende.

I would say, what was it like to be Igbo in Detroit in the 90s.

There was something about that time that was formative.

And every weekend you go somewhere you said you might have two weddings at a time three weddings at a time.

And if I saw some of the same auntie 5 times, guess what?

Now me and that Auntie had it for real connection that was my auntie for real.

Narrator: For those of us who grew up in the 90s and 2000s.

Our identities as East Siders or West Sders, graduates of Cass Tech, Renaissance or King are just as important as being Yoruba, Igbo, Efik or Hausau.

You know, you kind of like you try to navigate two worlds, right?

Because you're in this household.

You're Nigerian, like, you're not American.

Like, it's very clear that that's the statement that said, but when you go to school, right, you're just like a black kid.

I can remember several times coming down the stairs and in this class gets let out.

And I see my dad standing there and he is in full tribal attire, right?

He's in full African adornment.

And he didn't care what anyone thought about how he was presenting himself.

And then, I don't know somewhere in high school, I was just so proud of it.

I think there was just something about it that made us stronger.

I would say that everything about my life pretty much felt Detroit centric.

I believe my first Nigerian event was a wedding of one of our cousins.

And I had never been to any other cultural wedding before in my life.

It's been a wonderful thing to be a part of.

By connecting trait that I grew up in to the Igbo culture, I come from a certain level of awareness that you have a responsibility to uphold your traditions.

I don't think at the time we understood the value of that.

I think from a young person's perspective, a lot of us our parents came here with nothing.

We're working three, four jobs.

Make it work right.

And so coming to that party was just like a release for them, knowing what they probably went through in terms of like racism, classism, all of that stuff.

And then when they go to these events, and then they were they're gonna lay there where they're rapping you see the beauty and the elegance of our clothes.

It also amplifies the beauty and elegance of our culture and where they come from and who they are.

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(Narrator:) To many Nigerians these social clubs are a lifeline.

But as I grow older, I have anxiety about the survival of our community.

As our elders pass away, who's keeping our traditions?

How are we documenting our history and presence in Detroit.

COVID-19 only intensified that fear.

What happens to a community when the elders die, and the youth aren't equipped to pick up the pieces?

A lot of our culture has died with people.

And that is really heartbreaking to me, because then you have like, a person like me, or my kids who are probably not going to be full Nigerian, right?

Yeah, my mom and my dad are here, and we can try to glean a lot from them.

But there's a lot of things that have been lost.

We always have that concern that when our generation, the first generation, you know, we're no longer here, that they may lose it.

But I'm optimistic those who really want to belong will always find a place to call home wherever they go.

I don't think it ever connected like a one of us needs to lead this.

But now that I am older, I see and understand the value in that because somebody somebody has to take the charge.

I don't want to lose that sense of personal relationship with everyone and obey because I also have that to pass my kids too.

Our people say egbe je agbara, which means that the group, ours is the strength is our strength.

So actually is group that is our strength.

I think it's important for us to continue to commit together even if everyone there isn't technically of direct Nigerian origin, but being able to maintain all of our culture is important.

(narrator:) Detroit's Nigerian community is built on survival and resilience.

Maybe things will look different in 20 years, how we gather how we dance and how we live, but that's okay.

There's a new generation of young Nigerians in the city using their talents to preserve the work, history and culture of our people.

Personally, I hope to continue to build on the legacies of our elders who immigrated here years ago, whatever the future holds for Old Bende and Detroit's broader Nigerian community.

I know it will be brilliant.

Are we ready?

DJ let's go.

(♪ music ♪) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪♪