One Childhood, Two Realities

I was living in a society within a society. There was the UK, and then there was the community I grew up in — two completely separate worlds with their own rules. It hit me one afternoon as I walked home with my friend after school. She was excitedly talking about her upcoming 16th birthday party, showing off her new top and describing the gifts she was getting. As I listened, I suddenly realised how different our lives were, even though we lived just ten minutes apart.

My friend, with her white British mother and Jamaican British father, had what I’d call a ‘normal’ childhood — one filled with freedom and choice. In contrast, my life often felt more like I was growing up in a very different environment, not the UK. That was the first time I realised I wasn’t just living in the UK. I was living in a completely different reality.

There wasn’t any of this “you’re a teenager now, go live your life” kind of freedom. For me, everything was already mapped out: what I could wear, where I could work, who my friends could be, where I could study, and even who I was NOT allowed to fall in love with and marry. It wasn’t up to me — it was all decided by my parents, who were following the social norms of our community.

My mum would constantly remind me that whatever I did, whether it was how I dressed or how I behaved, reflected on the honour of our family. If I brought shame to myself, I brought shame to all of them.

So, I lied. About everything. What I wore, who my friends were, what I liked to read, what I watched on TV, where I went after school — if I was even allowed to go out at all. The sad thing is, my life wasn’t always like this. Just a couple of years earlier, I had been living in another European country, where my life was completely different.

There, I didn’t have to pray, and no one ever told me to wear a headscarf — not even at the school I attended during the summer. I had friends who weren’t religious, and I’d spend my summers swimming and camping. I felt at home, speaking the language and embracing the culture.

But when we moved to the UK, everything changed. For the first time, I felt like an immigrant. My mum, who used to wear jeans and ride a bike, suddenly insisted that we only speak our native language at home and strictly follow “our” traditions.

I remember looking at my friend one day and thinking about how different our lives were, even though we were in the same classroom.

In my previous home, my parents were younger and more modern. My dad was pretty laid-back, and my mum just followed whatever the people around her were doing. Since most of her friends were from different backgrounds, she naturally adapted to a more open lifestyle. She worked part-time, studied the local language, and seemed happy.

But as soon as we moved to the UK, it felt like my parents became completely different people. My mum started clinging to the traditional community, and my dad spent most of his time in community centres. Even my older brothers, who used to go swimming and camping with me, turned into overprotective figures, constantly watching over me.

As soon as we arrived in the UK, we moved near one of my uncles, who, over the summer, had become more religious and suddenly disapproved of everything I wore at 12 years old. He and his wife took me shopping, and for the first time, I was dressed in full traditional attire — my hair covered, a long dress, and a jacket. Walking around London in those clothes was unbearable. I felt suffocated, as if the sun and breeze couldn’t reach me. The heat and discomfort were overwhelming, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was staring at me. Despite this, my uncle and most of the family praised how I looked.

This was the same uncle who, when I was around 10 or 11, had seen me running toward him to give him a hug. He looked repelled and said I was “naked.” I was confused because it was summer, and I was wearing a shirt, long trousers, and sports shoes, just heading to the park to play. I couldn’t understand his comment, but I could sense his discomfort being around me.

I had a bad feeling every time I was around him.

To make matters worse, my parents, without doing much research, sent me to the most “mainstream” school they could find. I was told to wear a headscarf, banned from wearing trousers, and given strict orders to wear skirts.

That was a really dark time for me. I was new to the country, trying to learn English, and feeling completely alienated by the way I was forced to dress.

So, I resisted in my own way. Quietly. I became a perfectionist and a compulsive liar. I realised I couldn’t trust my family, so I decided I would play the long game. While many of my friends ended up marrying young to escape their homes, I focused on finding a way to move out.

Eventually, I convinced my parents that I had an amazing job opportunity in law in a different city. At 25, I finally moved out for the first time.

Living in a different city felt like freedom. I could wear what I wanted without constantly worrying about being judged or reported back to my family. I still remember the first time I went shopping in a short summer dress. Feeling the breeze on my legs and shoulders after so many years was almost surreal.

For the first time, I could cook for myself, decide when to come home, and invite whoever I wanted over.

It’s strange to think that two countries in Europe — so geographically close — could give me such drastically different experiences. But they did.