I’ve always believed that stories are like vinyl records—each groove holds a pulse, a memory, a truth that hums beneath the surface. Growing up between worlds, caught in the liminal space of migration, I learned early that some stories don’t get played on the main stage. They’re tucked away in dishwashing shifts, in late-night conversations on cracked stoops, in the quiet ache of a new language that doesn’t quite fit your tongue. That’s why I wrote LIBAAX: Grow Your Roots Where You Land—to spin those stories loud, to let them crackle and resonate. My name is Cedric Muhikira, and this book is my heart’s mixtape, a tribute to the immigrant experience that shaped me and the communities I call home.
Cedric Muhikira’s Detroit – A City of Reinvention
I remember the first time I saw Detroit’s skyline, jagged and proud against a bruised evening sky. It felt like a city that understood reinvention, a place where grit and soul could coexist. It became the perfect backdrop for Ayaan, the heart of LIBAAX. Ayaan is a Somali immigrant who lands in the U.S. with a civil engineering degree and a suitcase heavy with memories. But instead of blueprints, he’s scrubbing dishes. Instead of stability, he’s navigating heartbreak and the weight of displacement. Then, a last-minute DJ gig changes everything. Behind the turntables, Ayaan weaves Somali qaraami melodies with trap beats, becoming DJ Ayaan—a name that starts to feel like home. His journey isn’t a straight line from struggle to triumph; it’s a rhythm, pulsing with grief, joy, and the stubborn beauty of becoming.
Capturing Ayaan’s Beat in LIBAAX
Writing LIBAAX felt like chasing a beat. I’d sit in my small apartment, surrounded by the hum of Detroit’s diaspora streets, blasting qaraami and trap to capture Ayaan’s world. One night, crafting his first DJ gig, I felt like I was there—smelling the sweat and cheap beer, seeing the strobe lights flicker across a crowded room, hearing the crowd roar as Ayaan dropped a beat that stitched his past to his present. That chapter was a beast to write. I wanted every sensory detail to sing, to make readers feel the weight of Ayaan’s transformation. The challenge was staying honest—not sugarcoating migration or flattening it into tragedy. Ayaan’s story had to breathe, to reflect the real people I’ve met: young men who dream big, stumble hard, and keep dancing anyway.
Why I Wrote for Immigrants
Why immigrants? Because I’m one. I know the sting of being “almost understood” in a language that isn’t yours. Because too often, immigrant stories are reduced to statistics or stereotypes, stripped of their poetry and ferocity. Ayaan is a composite of so many voices—first-generation youth, former refugees, people I’ve laughed and cried with over coffee or late-night rides. Through him, I wanted to explore displacement and identity, how we piece ourselves together when everything familiar is gone. I wanted to show music as resistance, a way to carry memory and defiance across borders. And I wanted to dig into the messy, beautiful truths of belonging, masculinity, and chosen family—like Ayaan’s friendships with Ahmed, a reformed pirate, Maria, a law student, and Isabeli, the fiery bartender who sparks something fleeting but unforgettable.
The Heartbeat of LIBAAX
There’s a moment in the book that still hums in my chest: “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’s Ayaan on his motorcycle, Libaax, claiming space in a world that often tries to shrink him. It’s a reminder of what immigrants do every day: they carve out their own rhythms, remix cultures, and build homes in unfamiliar terrain. That’s the heartbeat of LIBAAX—not just survival, but the audacity to create joy.
Who Should Read LIBAAX?
This book is for anyone who’s ever felt caught between worlds, for readers who crave stories that are lyrical, raw, and unapologetically human. It’s for adult and young adult audiences, for those drawn to urban fiction, coming-of-age tales, or multicultural narratives. If you’re an educator, a social worker, or a student diving into diaspora studies, I hope Ayaan’s journey sparks conversations that linger. What sets LIBAAX apart is its voice—fluid, sometimes cinematic, always poetic. It doesn’t just tell an immigrant story; it pulls you into the pulse of it, like a track you can’t stop replaying.
Cedric Muhikira’s Call to Action
I hope LIBAAX does more than entertain. I want it to challenge the way we see immigrants—not as “others,” but as people with dreams, flaws, and fire. For immigrants and their children, I hope they see themselves reflected, their complexities honored. For others, I hope it stirs empathy, curiosity, and a hunger to listen. This book is my bridge, built from the stories I’ve carried and the ones shared with me. It’s my way of saying: these voices matter, and they’re worth amplifying.
Join the LIBAAX Journey
You can find LIBAAX: Grow Your Roots Where You Land on Amazon or learn more at my website, cedricmuhikira.com. I’m thrilled to connect with readers through Zoom readings, book club visits, and a book signing at a Detroit independent bookstore this fall. Stay tuned for dates and details on my social media—let’s keep this conversation going, one story, one beat at a time.