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I’ve always believed that stories are bridges—spanning the gaps between who we are and who we’re seen to be. My name is Cedric Muhikira, and my debut book, LIBAAX: Grow Your Roots Where You Land, is my attempt to build those bridges, to amplify voices that too often fade into the noise of a new land. This book isn’t just a story; it’s a pulse, a rhythm, a testament to the immigrant experience that I’ve lived and witnessed, from the vibrant, gritty streets of Detroit to the quiet corners of my own heart. Growing up between cultures, I learned early that belonging is never a straight line. It’s a jagged path, full of detours, dead ends, and moments of unexpected grace. I carried that knowledge with me as I wrote LIBAAX, pouring it into Ayaan, a Somali immigrant who arrives in Detroit with a civil engineering degree, a suitcase of memories, and a heart heavy with displacement. Ayaan’s story is one of transformation—not the kind that makes headlines, but the quiet, stubborn kind that unfolds in dishwashing shifts, late-night DJ gigs, and fleeting connections with strangers who become family. Writing LIBAAX felt like spinning a record. I wanted to capture the raw, unfiltered texture of immigrant life—the ache of rootlessness, the defiance of creating something new, the joy of finding a beat that feels like home. Ayaan’s journey, from scrubbing dishes to becoming DJ Ayaan, is a composite of real stories I’ve heard over years of conversations with first-generation youth and former refugees. I’ve sat with them in community centers, on stoops, in crowded cafes, listening to their truths: the way they navigate loneliness, remix their cultures, and carve out space in a world that often overlooks them. Their resilience inspired me to write a story that doesn’t flatten them into clichés or statistics but celebrates their complexity, their ferocity, their humanity. One moment that stands out from the writing process was crafting Ayaan’s first DJ gig. I remember sitting in my dimly lit apartment, blasting Somali qaraami melodies mixed with trap beats, trying to translate that sound into words. I wanted readers to feel the sweat on the turntables, the pulse of the crowd, the way Ayaan’s music becomes an act of resistance and memory. As Ayaan himself says, “He wasn’t the guy who fumbled slang or froze at Kroger’s endless aisles. On Libaax, he was elemental—a streak of fire painting sagas on the asphalt.” LIBAAX is more than Ayaan’s story. It’s about the people who anchor him: Ahmed, a reformed pirate with a sharp wit; Maria, a law student with dreams bigger than her circumstances; and Isabeli, a bartender whose fire both draws Ayaan in and burns him. Through them, the book explores themes of displacement, identity, and chosen family. It’s about music as a lifeline, masculinity as a space for vulnerability, and the poetry of seeking home in unfamiliar places. I wrote it for readers who crave lyrical prose and emotional depth, for educators and students diving into diaspora studies, for anyone who believes stories can shift how we see each other. My hope is that LIBAAX does more than entertain. I want it to challenge the narratives that reduce immigrants to “others,” to invite readers into the in-between moments that define us. For immigrants and their children, I hope they see themselves in Ayaan’s journey—his stumbles, his triumphs, his stubborn insistence on becoming. For others, I hope it sparks empathy, curiosity, and a desire to listen more closely to the voices around them. This book is just the beginning. These events are a chance to connect, to talk about migration, identity, and the power of storytelling. Stay tuned for details on my website, cedricmuhikira.com, or follow me on social media for updates. You can also find LIBAAX on Amazon, ready to carry you into Ayaan’s world. Writing LIBAAX has been my way of growing roots where I’ve landed—of turning stories into bridges that connect us all. I hope you’ll cross that bridge with me, hear these voices, and feel the rhythm of lives that refuse to be silenced.

I’ve always believed that stories are like vinyl records—each scratch, each spin, holds a world of its own, waiting for someone to drop the needle and listen. My name is Cedric Muhikira, and my debut book, LIBAAX: Grow Your Roots Where You Land, is my attempt to spin those records, to amplify the voices of immigrants whose lives pulse with resilience, heartbreak, and stubborn joy. Writing this book wasn’t just a creative pursuit; it was a calling, a way to weave together the threads of my own journey and the countless stories I’ve heard in the vibrant, gritty streets of Detroit. Growing up between cultures, I learned early on what it means to straddle worlds—to carry the weight of one home while searching for another. That in-between space, where identity feels like a mixtape of memory and reinvention, is where LIBAAX was born. The story follows Ayaan, a Somali immigrant who lands in Detroit with a civil engineering degree, a suitcase full of memories, and a heart heavy with displacement. By day, he scrubs dishes; by night, he spins records, blending Somali qaraami melodies with trap beats as DJ Ayaan. His journey isn’t one of tragedy or triumph—it’s the messy, beautiful rhythm of becoming, of growing roots where you land. The spark for LIBAAX came from late-night conversations with first-generation youth and former refugees in Detroit’s diaspora communities. I saw their resilience in the small, unspoken moments: the way a young man laughed off a mispronounced name, the way a woman braided her daughter’s hair while humming a song from a country she’d never return to. These were the stories that didn’t make headlines, but they were the ones that mattered most. I wanted to write a book that honored their complexity—neither flattening them into stereotypes nor polishing them into feel-good narratives. Ayaan’s story became a composite of those truths, a tapestry woven from the threads of real lives. Writing LIBAAX was like building a mixtape. I remember one night, holed up in my apartment, blasting qaraami and trap beats, trying to capture the sensory chaos of Ayaan’s first DJ gig. The air smelled of coffee and vinyl, and I could almost feel the pulse of the crowd as I typed: “He wasn’t the guy who fumbled slang or froze at Kroger’s endless aisles. On Libaax, he was elemental—a streak of fire painting sagas on the asphalt.” That line, to me, is Ayaan’s heart—his transformation from a shadow in someone else’s world to a force carving his own space. Getting that scene right was a challenge, not just technically but emotionally. I had to stay honest, to balance the ache of displacement with the defiant joy of creation, without tipping into pity or romanticization. The themes in LIBAAX—displacement, identity, music as resistance, and the poetry of belonging—aren’t just literary devices; they’re the questions I’ve wrestled with my whole life. Why do we keep going when the world feels like it’s pushing us to the margins? How do we rebuild joy in unfamiliar places? For Ayaan, music becomes his rebellion and his refuge, a way to layer his Somali roots with the pulse of Detroit’s underground scene. His friendships—with Ahmed, a reformed pirate with a sharp wit; Maria, a law student with a quiet strength; and Isabeli, a fiery bartender who sparks fleeting romance—anchor him when the ground feels unsteady. These relationships remind us that chosen family can be as vital as blood. What sets LIBAAX apart, I hope, is its refusal to reduce immigration to a single note. It’s not just about struggle or success; it’s about the in-between—the dishwashing shifts, the late-night rides on a motorcycle named Libaax, the moments of vulnerability that make us human. The prose is lyrical, sometimes cinematic, pulling readers into Ayaan’s world like a track you can’t stop replaying. It’s for anyone who loves stories that dig deep—adult and young adult readers, educators, social workers, or anyone curious about the immigrant experience. If you’ve ever felt like you’re straddling two worlds, or if you simply want to understand those who do, this book is for you. My hope for LIBAAX is simple but profound: I want readers to see immigrants as fully human—funny, flawed, fierce, and luminous. I want them to walk away with empathy, curiosity, and maybe a new rhythm in their hearts. For immigrants and their children, I hope they see themselves reflected, not as statistics but as storytellers in their own right. For others, I hope they find a bridge to lives they might not otherwise know. The journey of LIBAAX doesn’t end with the page. I’m thrilled to share it through digital readings on Zoom, book club visits, and community discussions. This fall, I’ll be hosting a book signing at a local independent bookstore in Detroit, where I’ll read excerpts and connect with readers over music, culture, and stories of migration. Stay tuned for details on my website, cedricmuhikira.com, or follow me on social media for updates. The book is available on Amazon, and I can’t wait for you to dive into Ayaan’s world. Writing LIBAAX has been my way of dropping the needle on stories that deserve to be heard. It’s a celebration of resilience, a love letter to Detroit, and a testament to the beauty of growing roots, no matter where you land. Join me in amplifying these voices—because every story deserves its own beat.