To My Somali Family: You Are Wholeness
We met Mr. Roy Robinson back in 2022, somewhere between the library bookshelves and the quiet pulse of community life. From the very beginning, he felt like a messenger in my life—gentle, compassionate, wise, and loving in a way that has left an imprint on my soul.
My daughters felt it instantly. They started calling him awoowe —“grandpa” in Somali—because his presence carried that same soft, steady, grandpa-kind-of-love that reminds them of my own father and because he has brown skin like awoowe.
Today, when both my phone and home internet decided to stop working, I drove to the library to send an important message. And of course, in that way only God can plan, we ran into Mr. Roy again.
He greeted us with a warm smile and said, “I have a painting for you. It’s been waiting for you.”
The painting is called Empathy.
He explained the colors with such intention:
- Pink for compassion
- Red for passion
- White for wholeness
And something inside me softened, because wholeness has been the value quietly holding me during my years at Treetops. In a world where I’m often navigating layered identities—not Black enough, not Somali enough, not American enough—wholeness has become my bridge. My place of belonging.
The lens that lets me truly see others beyond labels, and hold space for their fuller, deeper stories.
The lens that lets me truly see others beyond labels, and hold space for their fuller, deeper stories.
And then, as if the moment wasn’t already overflowing, Mr. Roy taught me a new word: phylogenesis (how life evolves and grows across generations). God really does send messages in ways that meet our hearts exactly where we are.
All of this happened on the same day that I heard Trump’s hurtful words about Somalis—words like “garbage.” I felt the sting, not because his opinion defines us, but because I know how deeply these moments echo in the hearts of our kids, our parents, our elders, and our community.
But standing there in the library, holding a painting called “Empathy,“ Mr. Roy reminded me of something powerful:
We are not defined by the loudest voice of cruelty.
We are defined by who we are: by our resilience, our joy, our history, our faith, & our wholeness.
Trump’s words do not diminish us.
They do not define America.
They do not define me or my people.
They do not define America.
They do not define me or my people.
Today, a whisper in a quiet corner of the library demonstrated the America I choose to see: the America of neighbors who check in, friends who send hugs, strangers who open doors, and people like Mr. Roy who offer beauty, wisdom, and gentleness in a world that often forgets those things.
To my Somali people:
You are not garbage.
You are strength.
You are story.
You are compassion and passion and wholeness.
You are a people who rise.
You are the people of the Qur’an
You are not garbage.
You are strength.
You are story.
You are compassion and passion and wholeness.
You are a people who rise.
You are the people of the Qur’an
To all my American friends who texted, emailed, and sent virtual hugs—thank you. Your love reminds me that one man’s bitterness does not speak for a whole nation.
Do not let hate spread.
Spread welcome.
Spread empathy.
Spread the kind of love that meets people where they are.
Spread welcome.
Spread empathy.
Spread the kind of love that meets people where they are.
That is how we respond to bullies.
That is how we build the world we want to live in.
That is how we build the world we want to live in.
Amina Mukhtar
Amina serves as the Treetops Collective Concentric Program Manager
