Whether I feel foreign? Both yes and no. I have experienced racism a few times, but overall I don’t feel foreign here, because I live in a democratic country characterised by the values I have always fought for. I was 17 when I was jailed in Sudan because of my involvement with the political left wing, and during my time in prison I lost my sight as a result of torture.

I seek refuge in books. Literature gives me an identity, a space for thinking freely, and a new understanding of myself and the world. I have grown up with a father who read everything he could lay his fingers on, and who taught me that if you only read what you are allowed to read, you become stupid. I remember clearly when I was nine years old, the secret police set fire to our bookshelf, but my father continued to collect books. For example, my father read Soviet literature as a sort of rebellion against the regime.

In Denmark I associate books with freedom. I am free to read what I want, which means that I am free to widen my horizon in all possible directions.

When I read Hans Kirk’s description of the community of an authoritarian Danish religious movement in “Fiskerne”, I learned more about this particular part of Denmark, as it once used to be, while at the same time I also gained insight into some of the general mechanisms in all religious communities all over the world. Everyone should have the freedom to acquire knowledge. Also, the audiobook format gives me a sort of freedom that one may otherwise miss when you are blind, namely the freedom to take care of myself and not rely on the assistance of others.

33 years / male / single / masseur and teacher on the masseur training for the blind / Frederiksberg / from Sudan / came to Denmark as a quota refugee in 2001

I feel safe. While you flee, you think of nothing else but getting to a safe place. There is no time to think about what you have left behind. You don’t think of that until you are finally safe. This hit me about two months after I arrived in Denmark. The first night after I had moved into my own flat, I finally felt that I had reached my goal, and I was overcome by feelings. I felt like a plant whose roots have been cut off. Now I really try and let them grow once again.

In Syria I worked as a photographer for an aid organisation. I took photos of their work, but also of the victims of the war. It helped me see the war from different perspectives. I am very artistic, and I love to draw, paint and write. I write poetry and have started writing a novel about why you flee and how you feel after you have fled. I believe it helps me deal with all the things I experienced along the way.

My stepfather thinks that I let my country down because I did not stay in Syria and fight. But in my opinion Syria doesn’t need more people who shoot. They need educated people who can help rebuild the country.

When I first arrived here, everything seemed so hopeless. Everything was new and complicated. But now I hope once again. I see many opportunities here. I would like to study physics just as I did in Syria. For me physics is not just logic. It is more like a feeling. You have to sense it. One doesn’t know at all what the future will bring, so I take things as they come.

25 years / male / in a relationship / attends language school / Glostrup / from Syria / Palestinian background / came to Denmark 2014 / residence permit same year

Because I understand the language, I don’t feel 100% foreign. On the other hand I haven’t got any Danish friends. So it is sort of fifty- fifty. But it does worry me that my children of eight and ten ask me if they are Danish, because they grew up here and have known nothing else.

The first thing that shocked me in Denmark was that you do not beat your children. In Ethiopia it is quite normal, so it took me by surprise. I am a trained auditor, but the Danish way of raising children caught my attention so I chose to study to be a pedagogue. The best thing about living in Denmark is that I don’t have to worry about my children’s future. If they become ill, they will get treatment at the hospital, and they can get an education here. But what I miss in the Danish society is more solidarity, at least among family members. When my husband fell ill I was left to cope on my own. I know a lot of people through my study and my work, but when my husband became ill it was just his family who supported me.

Here you only help the ones closest to you, and only if you have the energy for it. In Ethiopia you drop everything so that you can help whether you are an acquaintance or a work colleague. The values of people here are different.

Maybe it is because we live in a rich country where you no longer need one another. There is such a big gap between people. Like I worked somewhere for five months, but nobody said anything but “hi” to me. I think that the human being has lost its value here in Denmark.

Emiyou Asmamaw / 45 years / female / in a relationship / children / studies pedagogy / Fredensborg / from Ethiopia / came to Denmark in 2003 / residence permit same year

I don’t feel foreign, and I feel rather provoked by the title of this exhibition. In general I am not affected by the political discourse about Muslims, but when Anders Samuelsen, in connection with the Olympics, posted a photo of two beach volleyball players on Facebook, one with a headscarf and long clothes and one in a bikini, and added that the picture was a symbol of coercion versus liberty, I became angry, because I saw myself in that photo.

Recently I lost my aunt. On the day she died I stood up and went out. I just couldn’t deal with standing face to face with my mother’s grief, because I know how her grief is associated with the even larger grief that she and my father are not where they are supposed to be. Afghanistan is poor and unstable, but you are always among family. I sometimes wonder what my parents really want with all their prosperity and security, when they can’t be with the people they love, and they can’t say their final goodbyes when they die.

One of my father’s reasons for fleeing was the role of women in the Afghan society. This he told me when I was a child. My brothers would get along fine, but my life would depend on me getting married to someone who could provide for me.

My father’s flight was a declaration of love. Therefore I feel that it is my duty to educate myself and create a foundation for myself, because here in Denmark I have the possibility. I don’t wake up every morning thinking that I now have to spend yet another day in the reading room because I owe it to my parents, but the awareness is inside of me, and it has an impact on all the choices I make.

24 years / female / single / MSc in political science / Skovlunde / from Afghanistan / came to Denmark via family reunification in 1999