Omaha Was My First Lesson in Belonging
I was born in St. Louis, but in the early 90s my mom packed up my twin brother and me and moved us to Omaha, Nebraska. We were two young Black boys being raised in a city that, at first glance, didn’t always look or feel like us. That reality shaped much of our experience—how we were seen, how we saw ourselves, and ultimately how we learned to belong.
Our home was in West Omaha, a part of the city known more for its suburban sameness than its diversity. But school took us beyond those lines. At Martin Luther King Middle School, we stepped into a building with a name that carried weight and a history tied to Omaha’s efforts at integration. Kids from across the city—different neighborhoods, different races, different stories—were thrown together in the hope that shared education could bridge long-standing divides. For me and my brother, it wasn’t abstract policy; it was our day-to-day life. We were learning algebra and social studies, yes, but also how to navigate difference, bias, and the quiet complexities of race in the Midwest.
By the time I reached Central High School, I had a clearer sense of what it meant to move between worlds. Central, standing proud in the middle of Omaha, was more than just a school—it was an institution with deep history, where generations of students had passed through its halls. Being there as a young Black man meant carrying both pride and responsibility. It was a place where culture, tradition, and expectation collided, and where my sense of identity deepened.
Growing up in Omaha from the 90s through today has been to witness a city in transition. In my childhood, Omaha felt defined by malls, Husker football, and the kind of predictability that both comforted and confined. Over the years, the city has shifted—more businesses, more culture, more voices of color shaping its identity. But the tension has never disappeared. For Black kids like us, Omaha could be both a proving ground and a test, a place where belonging wasn’t always given but had to be claimed.
Looking back, Omaha was my first real teacher in belonging. It taught me that identity isn’t just about where you start—it’s about the spaces you navigate, the people you encounter, and the courage it takes to hold your ground when the world doesn’t easily make space for you. Moving from St. Louis to Omaha was more than a relocation; it was the beginning of learning how to see myself, how to see others, and how to build community in places that don’t always expect you to thrive.
Omaha was complicated, imperfect, and sometimes unforgiving. But it was also where I first understood that belonging is an active choice, and one worth fighting for.
