I don’t feel foreign at all. Newspapers portray Nørrebro jokingly as the “black hole”, but for me it is a nice place, where Danes and foreigners meet, and where something new emerges. A flawed language adorned with English expressions that everyone understands.

From 1938, citizens of Rwanda were issued Belgian identity cards. These cards stated the ethnicity of all citizens and this has played a major role in the power struggle between the two main ethnic groups, hutus and tutsis. The civil war began in Rwanda in 1994. In 1972 my mother’s father was killed by extremist Tutsis in Burundi. When the civil war broke out she lost her Tutsi mother and siblings, and then we fled. I was just ten and could not understand what the war was really about. Did it matter if one was Tutsi or Hutu? Wasn’t everyone the same?

I didn’t realise that there are ignorant people and extremists on both sides. I do now, but I still insist that people first and foremost are human beings, and I would not define myself or others by their particular ethnicity

I believe that education and information are necessary if one wants to prevent something similar from happening again. Genocide is not a part of Rwandan culture, but it all happened because of the social and political circumstances in the country. There has been no reconciliation in Rwanda, unlike for example in South Africa, so I am not interested at all in returning.

Guy Leonce / 32 years / male / single / interpreter / Dragør / from Rwanda / came to Denmark in 1996 / residence permit in 1997

I may be a Danish citizen, but I am not Danish. This does not mean that I feel foreign or that I am dissatisfied with Denmark. It is just that I don’t need to be Danish. Besides, does it really matter if you feel Danish, as long as you feel at home and engage in society?

In the West we have too much of the things we don’t need. The Tiger chain store and Black Friday are prime examples of the abundant society. The shops are full of stuff which nobody needs, and people form long queues to buy stuff that they can easily do without. The West is good for rights and equality and things like that, but not for people to meet up and talk with one another. There is a large surplus in the West, so people have time to look into themselves. Therefore it is not weird at all that so many suffer from depression. If I look inward for long enough, I will probably find something too to be unhappy with. The ‘60s are famous for people searching for themselves, but it was more legit then, because their inward search was also a rejection of something external. Many refused to be part of the system.

Today self-realisation has lost the socially critical element, and that is a shame, because there is much to criticise. 2% of the world’s population own 80% of the world’s resources.

Half of the world’s population die from obesity and the other half from hunger. It is gross and absurd. The curve must be broken.

I am not foreign, but neither am I Danish. I think that the Danish government should improve the way they address “problems” with foreigners, especially when they speak about ghettoisation. In Denmark it is always the Muslims from the Middle East who are to blame. In the United States, the blacks are blamed, and in Syria it is the Palestinians. But I am sure that if everyone in the community was treated alike, you wouldn’t have this “problem”.

In 2014 my father suddenly disappeared in Syria, and my life changed overnight. One day I just couldn’t get hold of him from Denmark, and I knew that something was wrong. After that experience, I became a completely different person.

I was engaged to be married when this happened, but we split up soon afterwards. Following this I experienced a lot of health problems. I had difficulties breathing, and I had no appetite. When my teacher at the language school found out what had happened, she said that she could be my family here, and that I should not feel alone. I actually don’t feel alone anymore. I have many friends, Danish as well as other foreigners, and despite my often being the only foreigner at school, at the boxing club, or at my place of work, I rarely feel foreign. But my loss still torments me. The constant uncertainty frays my nerves. My father has always played a big role in my life. My values are based on everything he taught me. He is a feminist and believes that everybody has the right to be treated equally. He taught me how to drive a car when I was 11, he gave me my first apartment when I was 16, and when I was 18 he helped me buy my first restaurant. He believed in me.

Mohammed Zaki Samir Abara / 28 years / male / single / Vanløse / attends 9th grade / from Syria / came to Denmark in 2013 / residence permit same year

I have found it very difficult to feel at home here because it’s been a constant struggle with the Danish Immigration Service. They have made it difficult for me to bring my family together, so I still don’t feel at all safe. I cannot find peace of mind until we’re all together again.

Six years ago my husband disappeared. Some people said he’s been hit by a bomb, others that he had been taken prisoner. Myself, I believe he’s dead. Suddenly I was on my own in a war-stricken country and had to look after our three sons. Aleppo was extremely hit hard. We weren’t just afraid of dying but also of being abducted. My son was taken, but thank God we later found him, collapsed in the gutter. He was one of the few to return, and I’m deeply grateful for that. After that experience I decided we just had to leave Syria. We fled to Turkey. But my oldest son was still caught in Aleppo. Before he managed to escape they blocked off the whole city so you could no longer get in or out. That’s the reason he never travelled with us.

My son was trapped in Aleppo for two years. It felt like a slow death. He’s finally in Turkey now waiting for family reunification. I can’t breathe normally until he’s back with me.

It’s impossible for me to get on with my life until I know he’s safe. Before the war in Syria, I spent a lot of time going to the theatre, listening to music and watching movies. I’m a very social and culturally minded person, but my current situation and the language issue means it has been difficult to find like-minded people with the same interests. I hope to get on with my life once the whole family is back together again. I also need time to grieve for the loss of my husband and the loss of my life in Syria.

Samira Khalifa / 53 year / female / single / children / attends language school / Frederiksberg / from Syria / came to Denmark in 2014 / residence permit same year

I don’t feel foreign. Like everyone else I meet new people, and when I get to know them, we cease to be strangers to one another. I haven’t applied for citizenship in Denmark, because I consider myself a citizen of the world. Nationality is a category like skin colour and religion, aiming to split people up into different groups. The only ones who have anything to gain from that are the people in power, and I do not want to be a pawn in their game.

When I went to school, I got hooked on hip hop. I explored the lyrics and changed them so as to tell about me and my life. Later I began to write lyrics myself. To capture my thoughts on paper was like seeing myself in the mirror. It is sometimes hard to know where it hurts, but when I write it all becomes clear to me. A lot of people in my family don’t understand me. I don’t fit in anywhere, and I have always taken pride in going my own way. People can’t understand why I haven’t started my own family, but I am not in a hurry.

I haven’t seen my mother since I left Somalia, but we talk on the phone, and I send her money. I was with her during the most difficult time of her life, the war. From Denmark I can give something back to her, and that makes me happy.

I would love to see her again of course, but I am scared to return. If something happens to me, she will be on her own again. Maybe I will have children one day, maybe not. Perhaps I should open an orphanage instead. People tell me that you cannot love a child which is not your own, but of course you can.

Muhibo Abdirashid Muhudin / 31 years / female / single / HF student / Gentofte / from Somalia / came to Denmark via family reunification in 1996

I feel 100% Iraqi – my food, my culture and my language. I speak Danish well but I can’t feel words in Danish, and there is no way I can be romantic in Danish. However, my duty to the society makes me 100% Danish.

I am tired of the way foreigners are portrayed in the media in Denmark. It is often due to just a few troublemakers. I think that parents should be held accountable for their children’s actions. If they make trouble, the parents should get involved.

Our culture says that boys should be strong and brave. It is their responsibility to protect themselves and their family, but here in Denmark the police are the ones who protect us.

I believe that the parents must tell their children that Danish culture is different. I think that foreign women who are working have a positive impact on their families and on society. My wife and I have raised our children to take responsibility for their own actions. They are in control of their lives. In our family we have both muslims and atheists, despite the pressure they encounter in our Iraqi community. Every Tuesday I play chess in Hvidovre Chess Club. I sit for four hours without saying a word, and I concentrate on chess. I have a wife and four sons, so I enjoy the silence. If I lose, I can’t sleep at night. I learned to play chess when I was still a child, before Iraq changed, and before I was forced to spend 11 years of my life, all of my youth in fact, in the military. For me, chess is a far more constructive form of conflict.

Mohammad Zewain / 60 years / male / in a relationship / children / educated as engineer / bus driver / Valby / from Iraq / came to Denmark in 2000 / residence permit same year