Building home across continents: How one Gambian woman created safe spaces for herself and eldest daughters
A few decades ago, a little girl was born in West Africa’s smiling coast, Gambia, before making a life-changing move to West Yorkshire, England. That moment set her on a journey of rediscovery. Yasin’s story is proof that where there is a will, there is a way.
Over the years she has experienced different things from working as a private chef to studying Criminology at the University of Westminster, to moving to Leeds as a teenager where she says she found her smile again.
Running through every chapter of her life is a thread of rediscovery: the courage to find her community and identity, even when it means stepping into unfamiliar and uncomfortable spaces.
What emerges is the beauty that can happen when we refuse to stay complacent, when we find our tribe, and when we learn to transform life’s challenges into something joyful.
Yasin describes her journey as a rollercoaster. Like all rollercoasters, there are twists and turns that terrify you, but it is the thrill of the unexpected that keeps you feeling alive.
That brave little girl is now a woman who leads an incredible organisation: Home Girls Unite. The international community connects eldest daughters from immigrant households across the UK, New York and parts of Africa, offering a space of support.
For much of her early life, Yasin’s path was shaped by the decisions of those around her. But as she stepped into adulthood, she began to take those choices back into her own hands. Life can happen to us, or we can happen to life.
On International Women’s Day, we celebrate Yasin, and the women who take the crumbs life gives them and turn them into something remarkable.
“I often find myself in places wondering how I got here. Most of my life has felt unplanned, but somehow right. I trust that this is what God has written for me, and I’m learning to enjoy the journey. ”
Yasin’s Food Profile
Go-to comfort food? Tunacado, sushi or ramen
If you could be a fruit or vegetable, what would it be, and why? Mango! If you're patient with them, they get really sweet.
Food item that reminds you of your childhood? Ebbeh (a Gambian seafood street food)
Current favourite restaurant? Africa Kine (New York, Harlem). A Senegalese restaurant
The Interview
Looking back, what feels most unconventional about your life?
From my upbringing to adulthood, very little about my life has been conventional. I’ve lived in four countries and two of the world’s biggest cities. The other day I showed my best friend the snow outside my window and she said, “I can’t believe you live in New York.” I replied, “Girl, me too,” and we both laughed, because honestly, I still can’t believe it.
I often find myself in places wondering how I got here. Most of my life has felt unplanned, but somehow right. I trust that this is what God has written for me, and I’m learning to enjoy the journey.
I was born in Gambia, a beautiful coastal country. My childhood was bliss, spent between Gambia and Senegal, which is where my grandma lived. I spent the first 11 years of my life in Gambia before moving to Wakefield, West Yorkshire.
It’s two completely different upbringings. In Gambia, I felt free, comfortable and confident as a child. In the UK, I was suddenly fighting two very different identities: my teen years felt like a constant struggle for survival. But my parents drilled two things into me: get a good education and a good job. Everything in between was a blur. I was often reminded that “your friends back home did not have this opportunity, so don't mess it up” - so I just had to figure it out myself.
Yorkshire & Gambia are incredibly different environments. How did you navigate this?
West Yorkshire is not the most racially diverse place, so growing up there was a shock. To be honest, Yorkshire brought me sadness. It was the first time I experienced racism, isolation and loneliness - experiencing that as a teen was hard.
It was a brutal contrast - going from a country where I was the majority to being one of only three black girls in my year group. There were no hair salons for me, no African food shops, and then of course - it was cold!
That’s why, when it was time for college, I moved to Leeds. Leeds brought me joy, opportunities and lifelong friendships with people who truly understood me. I connected with other Gambians, discovered black hair shops, got my first part-time job and watched my curiosity blossom.
By the end of my first year of college, I decided that I wanted to move to a new city, so I headed to London for my undergraduate degree and never looked back. It was the best decision I ever made.
What gave you the courage to choose a career path that was unconventional to your parents and culture?
I knew where I wanted to end up, I just wasn't sure how I was going to get there. As the story goes, immigrant parents who want you to be a lawyer, doctor or engineer. Their rationale was financial security, which is understandable, but there’s also a sense of pride and bragging rights for them!
Unfortunately for them, I had no interest in that, I knew my journey wasn’t going to follow the status quo. I wanted to work in gender development. Growing up in Gambia as a survivor of FGM (Female Genital Mutilation), and seeing the daily injustices women and girls faced, I knew I wanted to help women overcome oppression.
Studying Sociology and Criminology taught me so much about the state of the world we live in, maybe a little too much, because after graduation I took a complete step back to figure out my career path. During this time, I took on many roles including being a private chef. After nearly two years, I was ready to go back to my ultimate goal, working with women and girls, which eventually led me to creating Home Girls Unite (HGU), an organisation that supports eldest daughters from immigrant homes.
You loved being a private chef. What lessons did you take from that path?
By the time I graduated university, I was burnt out, I was trying to balance everything! So I wanted a job where I was in control, I didn't want a job, or person to dictate how I lived my life. Being a private chef allowed that. I chose when to work, and most importantly when to step back when things got overwhelming.
I loved it. It taught me how to experiment, how food impacts our bodies and monthly cycles, and how to adapt to new cultures. I’m so grateful for that chapter in my life, and of course, my friends and family still get to benefit from it!
Home Girls Unite sits at the centre of so much of what you currently do. Can you tell us how it began and what it represents for you now?
In 2017/18 I applied for the TuWezeshe Fellowship, a feminist leadership and mentoring programme for young women of African and Caribbean heritage run by FORWARD UK. As part of the fellowship we received a micro-grant to run a social action project addressing an issue affecting our communities.
Another fellow and I realised we had similar ideas and decided to combine our funding to create a bigger impact. During our meeting we found ourselves going completely off topic, talking about the stress of being big sisters in immigrant households. At the time I thought what we now call eldest daughter syndrome and parentification was unique to our Gambian and Somali families.
After many conversations we realised other young women must be experiencing the same thing, and we wanted to create a space where these women could support each other.
In 2021 we formally registered as a Community Interest Company. Five years in, we’ve supported eldest and parentified daughters not only in the UK but globally.
Today Home Girls Unite represents hope and safety. I hope the next generation of eldest daughters will be supported rather than pressured, and that parentification of young people, especially girls, reduces significantly.
Many people assume domestic violence only occurs in romantic relationships, but it can happen between anyone living in the same household, including siblings, parents and adult children. Through education and community support, we aim to create safer spaces for global majority women and girls.
The organisation now proudly partners with FORWARD UK to run the TuWezeshe Fellowship for young women of colour in the UK, with the next cohort launching in summer 2026.
Has setting up this organisation impacted how you live your life?
Yes it has. A key value I take from HGU is self awareness, therapy and strong boundaries.
I try to practise the same values that guide the organisation. Having a weekly therapist has helped me prioritise my own needs and avoid overwhelming myself. Clear boundaries between work and personal life make that possible.
You found love which resulted in you moving to New York. What was that transition like, and how are you shaping a sense of home there?
It’s been interesting. Before New York I was living in Barbados, which reminded me a lot of Gambia: the community, the spacious homes, the fresh produce. I was really in my element.
I knew the move to New York was coming but it still hit me like a ton of bricks. The first few months were hard. There were a lot of tears and a lot of missing home. Thankfully it was summer, which made exploring easier. My husband took me on long walks and comforted me whenever homesickness hit.
What I really needed was girl time. Luckily two of my friends had moved to NYC the year before. Having them was a godsend. We spent the summer going to the cinema, having food dates, co-working and visiting farmers markets. Slowly I started to feel more settled.
I’m not sure New York will ever fully feel like home, but I can see myself here for a few years before the next adventure. There are incredible opportunities here and I’m excited to embrace this chapter.
What advice would you give your 18 year old self today?
I would tell her her feelings are valid. Just because people tell you to be grateful for what you have doesn’t mean those same things haven’t also caused pain or sadness. Some experiences that put me in a privileged position still hurt, and I wish my younger self had allowed herself to acknowledge that.
And finally, don’t let other’s dictate your life. It doesn’t matter who likes or dislikes you. As long as you like yourself, that’s what matters most.
From Paris to London: How Nour Abida Found Belonging Through Food, Film and Creativity
Nour is a delight. Truly. She’s a ray of sunshine: and honestly the only person I’d be patient enough to listen to about Taylor Swift. Calm, quiet, powerful. Observant and insightful. That’s exactly why I had to interview her.
With a father from Tunisia and a mother from Martinique, Nour grew up in a rich, layered world. Her parents came to Paris to build something beautiful, and at 17 she left Paris for London on her own. Many of us who are children of migrants find ourselves in a strange place now. Our parents were brave enough to uproot themselves for a new life - many not by choice- in a country nothing like their own, and here we are: many of us curious and tired of the environment we were raised in. Maybe it’s time we channelled that same bravery like Nour’s parents. Explore new cities. Move if you need to, if you can. Everywhere is a bit shit, but honestly… do it if you can.
Reading Nour’s interview, my biggest takeaway - for myself and for you - is simple: take photos. Document everything.
Looking through Nour’s own photos, from being two years old with her dad at the Eiffel Tower to her first day at Coventry University on her journalism course, you realise how powerful it is to capture your life. Photos show you your growth, your distance, your becoming. They’re the aroma of the lives we’ve lived. They remind us who we were, who we loved, how far we’ve come: and how far we’ve still got to go.
And taking photos doesn’t have to mean posting them online. Take them. Keep them. Let them be yours.
“I was lucky to grow up in a mixed household. Cooking was also its own form of communication in my family to show love. On the Tunisian side, there wasn’t always an explicit apology after a disagreement, but someone would quietly prepare something special, and that was how we reconciled.”
Nour speaking about her debut documentary ‘The Homecoming’ (Photo credit: Kenny Tran)
Nour’s Food Profile
Your go-to comfort food? Tunisian Mloukhia, briques or Laksa.
If you could be a fruit or vegetable, what would it be, and why? Mangoes (specifically from grandma’s tree in Martinique)
Food item that reminds you of your childhood? Mloukhia, briques, crab colombo or scoubidous threads (sweets)
Current favourite restaurant? Middle Eastern Food in Marwa Food Court, Hounslow
Nour eating a mango from her grandmother’s tree in Martinique.
The Interview
You were born to a Tunisian father and a French mother from Martinique. What did food look like for you in your childhood?
I was very lucky to grow up in a mixed household in the city of Ormesson where we always had flavourful food. Cooking was also its own form of communication in my family: to show love, but not just that. On the Tunisian side, there wasn’t always an explicit apology after a disagreement, but someone would quietly prepare something special, and that was how we reconciled.
From my Martinican side, my grandmother’s Crabe colombo, a fragrant crab stew, and her Poulet boucané, the most perfectly smoked chicken, were the heart of every gathering.
Then there was my mum’s cooking, always with cream and love. My absolute favourite is Chicory baked with cream and cheese, but she also makes an aubergine-and-cheese bake that tastes like a hug, and a perfect gratin de pommes de terre that could turn any bad day around. She’s also a great baker and makes the best Crepes, gauffres, charlotte à la mangue, Tiramisu. From my Tunisian side, I was spoiled with Mlukhiya (a deep, earthy green stew that simmers for hours), comforting Chorba - a spiced Tunisian tajine (so different from the Moroccan one!), Moroccan tajine crispy Briques with a runny egg inside, and endless glibettes (sunflower seeds) to snack on. Couscous was a frequent ritual on Sunday.
Growing up in France, I didn’t eat much “classic” French food, until one day I tried raclette. I had always dismissed it as just cheese, potatoes, and charcuterie, but little did I know how wrong I was. The first bite was a revelation. And then there’s my lifelong love affair with French pâtisserie. French pastries are unparalleled: so delicate and subtle that every bite feels like a tiny celebration and walking into a pâtisserie still feels like I’m stepping into an art gallery. Looking back, I realise I was raised not just on flavour, but on generosity. Food was always shared, always plentiful, always a way to gather everyone back around the table.
Why did you decide to leave Paris?
At 17, I felt like I was standing at the edge of my life with no idea where to step next. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, and felt like I had no further prospects in life, so I decided to spend a year in England to learn English. That “one year” turned into a new life, I never went back to France. In some ways, I was continuing a family tradition: my dad left Tunisia for France, and my mum left Martinique to study there. Leaving to seek a bigger horizons is in my DNA. What I didn’t expect was that my choice would inspire my brother and sister to follow me to England too.
Nour’s best friends seeing her off at the Eurostar as she left for London at 17
What was the biggest cultural shock you experienced moving to London?
There were so many! One of my earliest shocks was going to a UK supermarket, buying an éclair, and realising it was filled with whipped cream. In France, éclairs are filled with light and delicate pastry cream, and each eclair flavour has its own filling , so I stood there in disbelief. I know it sounds terribly posh, but I still remember the disappointment even though now I’m used to it and it has become my guilty pleasure.
Then there was the learning style which took some adjusting. In France, education is very formal, calling your professor “Monsieur” or “Madame" followed by their surname is the norm. So the first time I heard people call lecturers by their first name, I thought, “This is insane, where is the respect?”
Next is the communication style. In France, people are sparing with praise, no one calls you “brilliant” unless you’re basically Einstein. The first time someone told me my idea was “brilliant,” I was ready to frame the compliment!
Eating habits are different too. In France, meals are long, almost ritualistic. You linger at the table, you talk, you debate. In the UK, I noticed that sometimes, things tend to be faster. And yet, I felt less judged here, especially in how I dressed. London felt freeing, like I could experiment and nobody would care.
Now the hardest part? The hugging. In France, we kiss on the cheek, which somehow at the time felt less intimate. Hugging a near-stranger felt incredibly personal, but now I’m used to it I think I prefer it to cheek kisses.
What advice would you give to someone leaving home to start over elsewhere?
Be patient with yourself. It takes time for a place to become home. From a practical perspective, save what you can, but also invest in connection.
What worked for me: I joined my local choir, got to know my neighbours, and I volunteer for my local community. These small acts create the threads that weave a safety net around you. I know that society today praises individualism but I really felt that community spirit.
And remember to celebrate your wins, even the small ones and document them. I love taking photos so I can look back and remember all the little moments that built my new life. Sometimes I journal too, because writing helps me see how far I’ve come.
Growth often happens outside your comfort zone, so don’t be afraid to try new things, even if they scare you. And if you feel like you’re running out of time, remind yourself that you’re not. Life isn’t a race.
For me, creativity has been my compass. Painting, writing, making things: anything that keeps me connected to joy has helped me through the hardest seasons. And I often stop to ask myself: Who am I? What makes me truly happy? Those questions are as important as any map when you’re building a new life.
(From L-R: Nour’s first journalism internship in Martinique & Nour filming her debut documentary ‘in 2023, The Homecoming’
You’ve mostly worked behind the scenes as a journalist, but you stepped in front of the camera for your debut documentary, The Homecoming. What was that like?
I had presented a weekly business TV programme before, but a feature-length documentary for the BBC was a completely different experience. This time, I wasn’t just reporting, I was stepping inside the story.
I was surrounded by the most incredible team, and that made all the difference. The producer, Nathalie Jimenez, was instrumental in shaping the narrative and guiding me through the process with such care. The team supported me at every step. It never felt like I was doing this alone, and that gave me the courage to be vulnerable on screen.
But the heart of the film was our contributors. They were so generous with their time and their trust, opening their homes to us, sharing deeply personal journeys with honesty, and reminding me why I became a journalist in the first place.
There were moments that felt surreal , like sitting down for raclette with one family, or sharing thieboudienne (Senegalese jollof rice and fish) while listening to their stories. I remember thinking, ‘Wow. This is my job?’
Yes, making a film like this can be emotionally demanding, but it comes with so much privilege. To be trusted with people’s stories, to witness their lives up close, and to have a team that holds you up through the process, that’s something I will never take for granted.
The impact was extraordinary, especially the discussion that it sparked globally. The film has been viewed by over four million people across online platforms, making it one of BBC Afrique’s top-performing documentaries of 2024. Screenings sold out in Paris (in 10 minutes), London, Dakar, and New York. At these events, diaspora audiences debated openly with academics, policymakers, and the organisation’s leaders. A woman attending said: “This film allowed me to express feelings I had buried for 30 years.” Another young man said: “For the first time, I saw my history, my legacy, told by people like me. This is a documentary I’ll show my children.”
Nour in 'her debut documentary, ‘The Homecoming’
What has been the most surprising part of your journey so far?
Honestly? Everything. I never imagined that the teenager who left Paris feeling lost would one day give a speech at the University of Oxford, be shortlisted for a fellowship there, see her work screened across the world, become a systems thinking practitioner, an artist, a French teacher, a mentor, and a mentee. All of this, whilst working as a journalist whose work would make her travel globally.
But perhaps the biggest surprise is realising how much creativity has been my anchor. Every time life felt heavy, experiencing burnout, heartbreak, loneliness - creativity was the one thing that saved me. Painting, writing, even dreaming up new projects have helped me turn pain into something beautiful.
And of course, the community I’ve built along the way is my proudest achievement. There was a time I felt completely alone. Now, I am surrounded by mentors, colleagues, and friends who cheer me on, every success feels like a collective celebration.
Over the years, I’ve grown so much, not just professionally but personally. Living abroad has taught me to look at things critically, to stop judging so quickly, and to see life with more nuance. It’s also deepened my appreciation for France, for the culture I come from, and for the choices my family made long before me. I understand now that every decision, leaving Tunisia, leaving Martinique, leaving Paris was about seeking a better future. That perspective has made me both softer and stronger.
How do you define success, and has that changed over time?
When I was younger, I thought success was about milestone: being on TV, making a documentary, getting a byline (your name on an article). Now, I see success as what happens afterwards: who gets lifted because of what you did, which doors you opened for others, what conversations you sparked.
Success, for me, is when impact is shared, when everyone has a seat at the table and equal opportunities, not just a privileged few. It’s knowing that the work I do creates space for others to thrive, not just for me to shine.
And it’s also deeply personal: success is being able to share what I have, time, resources, joy, with the people I love. It’s having enough space in my life to linger at the table with family and friends, to take holidays, to create freely, and to actually enjoy the life I’ve worked so hard to build.
When my work feels aligned with who I am and there’s room for both impact and joy, that’s when I know I’m successful.
Nour and her dad outside The Eiffel Tower