transience to triumph

Fifteen years ago, in September of 2009, I arrived in Canada. A 13-year-old, excitedly uncertain about the path ahead.  On the 29th of November 2024, I held in my hands a piece of paper that symbolized the culmination of this journey: my Certificate of Citizenship, a tangible marker of resilience and the audacity of hope. I wept and said prayers of thanks to Mr, Iyah Akpabio Onuk, my father, who is no longer here with us. It was a stark reminder of the sacrifices of my parents, the unwavering strength of my sister, and the many ways that love has saved my life. An affirmation of all the moments I chose to stay, to try, to pick myself up, when giving up felt easier, and a reminder of what has kept me here: the work of confronting systemic neglect, nurturing joy, and creating spaces of connection in the face of transience.

This milestone invites me to reflect on my journey—not just as an immigrant, but as an artist and community organizer now privileged to work at the intersection of art, policy, and social change. My life and work are rooted in what James Baldwin described as the role of the artist: “to disturb the peace. They have to disturb it. Otherwise, chaos.” This essay or musing, really, is both a reflection and statement of purpose—an exploration of why this work matters and how it can transform the lives of those who need it most.

When I stepped into Canada as a teenager, I quickly learned that adaptation was not a linear process but a negotiation of identity and survival—an entire reconsidering of what it means to be. I struggled to navigate a world that often felt indifferent to my existence, a place where I was learning not only the curriculum but also the unspoken rules of survival as an immigrant. Beyond the classroom, my journey was marked by periods of transience when I went to university and entered the workforce. From being unhoused and squatting with friends to knowing a thing was wrong in my mind and body and not knowing what or having the resources to find out what. There were many points that I felt as though my life was on the brink of collapse and during those years, joy felt like an impossibility.

As a Black immigrant navigating mental health challenges, I often found myself isolated, grappling with conditions I did not yet have the words to name. Depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia, arrhythmia—these were labels I encountered much later in life, long after their effects had taken root. For years, I internalized the struggles, believing them to be a personal failing rather than a response to systemic inequities and the weight of displacement. What kept me afloat in those dark times was not therapy or medication—luxuries I could not yet access—but the intangible yet transformative power of connection. Whether it was a friend offering a meal, a community gathering that reminded me of home, or simple moments of shared laughter, these acts of community care became my anchors and I held onto them desperately, sometimes aggressively. They were often small, fleeting, but they carried an immeasurable weight and carried me through the weight of immeasurable hardship.

Joy, for me, was not about unending happiness or the absence of struggle; it was about finding light in the cracks, moments that reminded me I was alive and deserving of life. Those moments of clarity that distill the chaos.

This year, I was grateful to be announced as the inaugural Artist in Residence in Government working with the Integrated Neighbourhood Services Team at the City of Ottawa. A team committed to being boots-on-the-ground, going into communities to meet people where they’re at, and connecting them with the resources they need to rebuild their lives. They work with the understanding that while the assuredness of shelter is a crucial starting point, true well-being requires addressing broader needs and supporting people in creating a stable and fulfilling future. This residency was made possible by the teams at Arts Network Ottawa, Public Art Program of Ottawa & Third Way Creative. My first residency being at the intersection of art and policy was a turning point in my life, not only professionally but personally. This opportunity felt like an affirmation of my experiences and a recognition of the importance of my work. But it was also a challenge—a reminder of what Baldwin describes as the artist’s task: “to lay bare the questions which have been hidden by the answers.”

In this residency, I have confronted the hidden questions of transience, systemic neglect, and the essential role of joy and social connection in healing. The focus of my work is in addressing issues around resource allocation and consistent service provision in liminal and transient spaces—shelters and transitional housing facilities designed to support those navigating displacement, whether newcomers to Canada, asylum seekers, or individuals and families fleeing violence. These spaces and the people within them, both residents and staff, are often overlooked, yet they are critical sites for addressing systemic issues such as housing insecurity, mental health, the erosion of community ties, and the need for an increased investment in community resources. My work in these spaces has been guided by a central question: How can art be a tool for healing and advocacy in spaces defined by instability?

Through community conversations, creative workshops, resource fairs, clothing drives, and sharing circles with food, I sought to create moments of connection and reflection, focusing on small gestures of care that build a sense of community. These projects were not just artistic expressions but tools for fostering dialogue about identity, belonging, resilience, hope; to gather data in thoughtful ways and reflect the voices of those being served in the solutions being proposed. But the work has not been without challenges. My health, both physical and mental, presented obstacles, as did the bureaucratic realities of working within city departments. Bureaucratic constraints, limited resources, and the emotional toll of engaging with such spaces has required constant adaptation, an ability and willingness to pivot quickly. I have always wanted to take ballet and this year, I can certainly say I’ve learned to twirl. Plans I had envisioned had to be adapted, reshaped, or even abandoned. Yet through these challenges, I found clarity about my role as an artist and the impact of art as a tool for systemic change. As Baldwin reminds us, “the artist is here to disturb the peace.” My work here is to disrupt narratives of neglect and invisibility and replace them with stories of resilience and care, to infiltrate these spaces marked by uncertainty and shame with joy. Baldwin’s words remind me that art is not just what we create but how we live. It is the act of saying what needs to be said, of holding up a mirror to the world and ourselves.

The residency centers on joy and social connection as determinants of health, particularly in liminal and transient spaces. A theme that emerged from both personal experience and scholarly research, it seeks to emphasize the necessity of investing in joy—not as a luxury, but as a lifeline. Studies have shown that “social connections serve as a critical protective factor in resettlement, fostering a sense of belonging and mitigating the effects of trauma” (SpringerLink, 2024). 

At its core, this residency continues to reinforce what I have always known: that joy and social connection are not incidental to health and well-being—they are foundational. For those navigating transience, a thing we all have or will experience at some points in our lives and in varying ways, these elements provide a sense of stability, identity, and hope. They remind us that even in the hardest moments, we are capable of connection, creation, and care. My work lays bare the questions of what it truly means to belong, to settle, to heal, and to imagine a future beyond survival. It also highlights the urgency of systemic investment in liminal spaces—not as temporary solutions, but as sites of transformation. 

Receiving my Certificate of Citizenship feels like the end of one journey and the beginning of another. It is a marker of resilience, yes, but also a reminder of the countless people and moments that made this possible. From the friends who opened their homes and gave me their bed when I had none to the communities that taught me the meaning of connection, I owe this milestone to the collective care and joy that sustained me.

As I look to the future, I am filled with a sense of purpose. Citizenship is not just a status, it is a responsibility to contribute, to create, and to advocate for the systemic changes that can make stories like mine less rare. My journey speaks to the transformative power of joy and community, and it is a testament to what can happen when we invest in the humanity of those who are often seen as transient or disposable.

In this new chapter, I carry with me the lessons of my past: that creating and consuming Art is a form of therapy, joy is resistance, community is power, and connection is survival. These will guide me as I continue to create, to disturb the peace, and to bloom.

Stay.

Your lover, ‘Liv.