The adaptability of children from immigrant families when it comes to leaving home is a topic that invites discussion. Personally, I can share my journey: I first ventured away from home at the age of 11 to attend boarding school, and since then, I have rarely returned. Most recently, at 33, I relocated from London to New York with a long-term visa, carrying receipts for the substantial brown boxes that would follow me weeks later.
Fortunately, I have always been able to settle well in new environments. You may be familiar with the term “fish out of water,” but I can confidently assert that I am not that fish; rather, I thrive in unfamiliar waters, perhaps even on a bicycle. I arrived in New York in 2016, planning to stay for just one year to cover an electrifying election cycle and then return home with a chapter titled “My Brooklyn Year” for my future memoir. Instead, I ended up staying nearly a decade. A lot has transformed during that time: I have gray hair, my culinary tastes have expanded significantly to include North America’s diverse cuisines, and I occasionally make sounds when I rise from my desk. Now, I find myself back home, and as my aging body has come to realize, returning home presents its own set of challenges.
I returned last August, bringing with me a precious little one—a toddler. This child, raised in the U.S., comes complete with a Brooklyn accent and a penchant for tacos and apple-cinnamon Cheerios. If you’ve ever moved across an ocean with a small child, you’ll understand the difficulties involved. Packing up the only life a young child knows and attempting to recreate it 3,000 miles away is emotionally taxing, both for the child and for the parent. Yet, we persevered and have now settled in South London.
This marks my first experience as a parent and my initial return to London in this new role. Prior to my departure, I lived in a compact flat above a café in Clapton, where my only obligations were to myself and I spent my disposable income solely on personal indulgences. Nowadays, I rarely travel alone and have not taken a night bus since my return. The Young V&A, which was formerly known as the Museum of Childhood until its name change in 2023, has become a frequent destination for me, more so than my previous favorite, the Geffrye Museum (now called The Museum of the Home since 2019). The last theatre performance I attended was My Neighbour Totoro, which we left before intermission because my little companion was distressed by the portrayal of the soot sprites and needed ice cream.
The London of my youth has transformed, shaped by unseen forces. Relocating south of the river for more space has resulted in much of my familiar geography feeling foreign. New buses, trains, cafés, and venues have emerged, all prioritizing children and their play. Luckily, my friends still reside here and often visit us, but my hometown often feels like an uncanny valley. The social dynamics have shifted as well; nearly a decade away has made me forget the British tendency toward reticence. I was surprised to see how often people shy away from interaction, even in casual settings. I vividly remember an individual who shushed my enthusiastic child in a Royal Academy of Arts gallery when he pointed out the eyes in a Kerry James Marshall painting. Additionally, it’s remarkable how infrequently people on the underground offer assistance with strollers.
While I don’t particularly miss New York itself, I do long for the way New Yorkers engage with their city. I miss their conversations, friendliness, and natural humanity. The spontaneity of strangers offering a compliment (or, at times, an insult) or congratulating someone on their visible pregnancy is something I cherish. Although I appreciate London’s ample green spaces, what I truly yearn for are the vibrant individuals who fill their city with life, much like the residents of Brooklyn. Thomas Wolfe may not have been entirely right; it is indeed possible to return home, but it comes with a lot of adjustments.
Bim Adewunmi is a freelance journalist.
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