Living in a country that doesn’t fully feel like home can be tricky. You build a life, set down roots, maybe even raise your kids and in many ways you fit right in. But there’s always that subtle feeling of being on the outside looking in.
The other day, that feeling came up again while I was online. A few fellow Africans in Germany were celebrating the news that Friedrich Merz had failed to get enough votes in his first attempt to become Chancellor.
But then, just hours later, the story changed. A second round of voting happened the same day… and Merz secured the majority.
That quick turnaround gave me a lot to chew on. Not just because the results changed, but because some people had already taken the first news as if it were final.
It made me really think: As migrants, how involved should we really get in the internal politics of the countries we now live in? Do we have the right or even the responsibility to weigh in?
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my own say about German elections, political shifts, and policies. I’ve written about them, offered my thoughts, especially when it affects migration or integration. But there’s a difference between adding your voice and trying to steer the conversation like you own the room.
Yes, we live here. We pay taxes. We care. We’re raising children and building futures here. Our voices should matter. But still… there’s a line between offering perspective and assuming too much familiarity.
I was watching a Nigerian lawyer on social media; someone who’s clearly been in Germany for a while and sometimes shares insights on migration law. He was openly excited about Merz’s initial defeat, calling it a win for migrants.
Then came the second vote… Merz got in.
And honestly? I cringed.
Not because he had an opinion, but because he seemed so sure. So confident about an outcome that flipped just a few hours later.
I couldn’t help but wonder:
How would we feel if someone from another country spoke on Nigerian politics with that same intensity and certainty? Would we welcome it or quietly think, “This isn’t really your fight”?
That’s what it’s like sometimes… being a migrant.
We want to be part of the conversation, but careful not to overstep.
We want to speak up, but we also weigh how our voices might be received.
Over time, I’ve realized it’s not about staying quiet. It’s about being aware of how you speak, when, and why.
Because even if you’ve been in the house for years, you might still be seen as a guest. And guests… they don’t rearrange the furniture.
But that doesn’t mean your presence doesn’t matter.
Sometimes, the most powerful voices aren’t the loudest or the first to jump in. They’re the ones that listen first, and speak with clarity, care, and conviction.
We don’t have to shrink ourselves to be accepted. But we don’t have to shout to be heard either.
We’re here. We’re part of the story.
And maybe… thoughtful participation is enough.
