#09 BLACK ON BLACK

All Eyes On > #09 BLACK ON BLACK

Sound-induced transformation

Hauwa Duwe Abdullahi

She /Her

IG: taurus_hauvva

SoundCloud: DUWE

Reading time 6min 6sec

Speaking time 11 min 44 sec

There is something magnetic about her energy, something I just couldn't put my finger on until she opened up about her journey. We kicked off our conversation casually, but it soon flowed naturally into the intriguing title I had in mind for this interview: ‘Black on Black’ - because there is always a dark side to every story. "Look at the bright side", "there's always a silver lining", they say... although it is true, there is so much need to discover and explore the inner visceral aspects of the human ‘dark mode’..

Meeting Hawa - black queer new fresh vibration in the underground clubbing scene of Milan, shy and smiley, profound thoughts and soft voice, tranquil attitude, bright and free mindset. The spark in Hauwa’s eyes and the warmth in her smile spoke volumes. With her, it was a moment of connection, a beautiful collision of shared backgrounds. She laughed, sharing how she felt relieved to find someone who genuinely understood the layers of her experience growing up as a Nigerian in a Muslim household, navigating the dual landscapes of culture and faith. "I don’t know any other Nigerians here in Milan," she confessed. "It’s just hard sometimes to relay my story to someone who hasn’t lived through it."

"Tell me about your story," I prompted, curious about her journey. 

“Alright, let’s dive in,” she said, her voice brimming with energy. “I moved to Milan in October 2019 to pursue my master’s in interior design. It was all part of the plan, you know? Get my degree, find a good job back home in Abuja, and maybe settle down. I had this nice little word map sketched out in my head.”  But Milan had different plans, it seemed, tugging at her heartstrings in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “As soon as I arrived, I felt this pull from the city—a kind of magnetism that whispered, ‘Explore, be free!’ It was unsettling at first because it felt like it was at odds with everything I had been raised to believe.” 

She paused, taking a deep breath as if to gather the emotions swirling inside her. “I grew up in a very strict household; my family was deeply religious. I was raised Muslim, and stepping out of line was simply not an option. But Milan was awash with possibilities; it felt like a symphony calling me to join the dance. And eventually, I just surrendered to that feeling.” 

“I started doing things I never thought I would—drinking wine, dancing the night away, tasting the culinary diversity of the world. Talk about a liberation,” she chuckled. “Here I was, sipping wine and feeling free, yet the weight of guilt clung to me like a shadow. I wasn't ready to let my family go but felt like I'd birthed this new version of myself.” 

Her laughter turned reflective as she recounted sneaking into her parents' car as a child to listen to music. “My parents would never let me listen to it; they called it ‘haram’. I remember thinking how forbidden it felt, yet exhilarating when I was finally able to indulge in it. So much of my childhood was spent hiding from the sound, but now, as I started embracing it, it felt like finding a long-lost friend.” 

Music became both her outlet and a pathway to her identity.

“I began DJ-ing after a friend nudged me to give it a shot. I had no idea what I was doing! Just a few weeks of research, trial and error, and all of a sudden my first gig was on the horizon- I was terrified, yet absolutely ecstatic to share my performance.”

“Genre? That’s a journey in itself, I mean, growing up, Afrobeats was my heartbeat, yet now, techno, trance, and house have woven themselves into my very being.” She grinned. “I love it all and refuse to be boxed in.”

It wasn’t something she had ever considered, but her friend believed in her. She got her hands on a controller, devoured tutorials, and within weeks, she was behind the decks at her first gig. It was November 2023, just a month after her friend had thrown out the suggestion.

“I went for it. I had to. I didn’t know where it would take me, but it was exhilarating.”

The beauty of music, she tells me, is its ability to transcend boundaries—cultural, religious, or even personal. It became her form of expression. It was the rhythm of freedom. From Afrobeat to techno, from house to trance, she began blending sounds from her Nigerian roots with the electronic beats she was discovering. Hawa couldn't escape the shadows of her transformation fully. Discussing her family felt like traversing a tightrope. “I used to talk to my mom every day, but as I began to grow into my own skin—exploring my sexuality and distancing myself from my religious upbringing—communication dwindled.” Pain mingled with pride as she shared her struggles. “How do you explain late nights at parties when your parents still picture you as the obedient daughter?”

We shared a moment of silence; the complexities of family, identity, and the need for acceptance hung in the air, thick as smoke. “I realised I needed to seek solace in chosen families, in a community that understood this transformation. Finding people like me who’d been through similar struggles changed everything. We were all just trying to figure it out together.”

She nodded towards her friend, a steadfast ally who, much to her surprise, encouraged her to embrace her authenticity. "It’s not about judgement," she said, "but with love and curiosity. She just pushed me ever so gently to explore sides of myself I had buried."

Milan, as beautiful as it is in its freedom, has not been without its challenges.Throughout her stories, Milan became more than just a city; it turned into a vibrant canvas where identity was painted with bold strokes and delicate whispers alike. “This journey isn’t easy, especially being a black queer woman in a foreign land,” she acknowledged, her gaze steady. “Racism? Yes, it exists. It took me a while to realise that sometimes it comes from ignorance, and I had to learn how to navigate that too.”

Standing under a balcony, waiting for the traffic light to change, a man approached her with a euro in hand. He thought she was homeless. "That's how Milan welcomed me," she laughs now, looking back. "I was still new, still learning what this city had in store for me. But it was a sign, right? It told me: this place will make you question everything about yourself."

The city, with all its acceptance of difference, has a way of reminding her that she is, first and foremost, a black queer woman in a European space. Racial profiling, microaggressions, and outright ignorance were things she had to learn to navigate. That episode was a rude awakening, a reminder that being an outsider meant being constantly scrutinised.

“I’m used to being an outsider, but it’s different when you're black here,” she says. “It’s more subtle, but it's there.”

Yet, despite the occasional isolation, Milan gave her something invaluable: a community. Not just any community, but one built on shared experiences of being "other" in a city that can often feel indifferent. She speaks of her friends, especially one close friend from Spain, who helped her embrace her evolving self—unapologetically and with grace.“She was an atheist, and I was devout Muslim. But we didn’t let that stop us. We pushed each other, challenged each other. And I’m grateful for that.” And then she sighed, a beautiful release of resilience. “Life isn’t perfect, you know? It’s a tapestry of lessons woven with both shade and light.

Five years in Milan, and she’s still on that journey of self-discovery. She’s no longer studying interior design. Instead, she’s exploring a new career path in digital visual design, something that lets her tap into her creative side in new ways. She still DJs, finding joy in every beat she plays. And she’s starting to feel at home, not in Milan necessarily, but in herself.

"Yeah, life isn’t perfect," she admits, "but right now, I can look at myself and say, 'I’m in a good place.'"

And as for the pursuit of happiness? She sums it up simply: "It’s about understanding yourself and doing what feels right for you. When you’re good with yourself, the people around you benefit too. Happiness starts from within."

As we wrap up the conversation, I can’t help but feel moved by her resilience, her vulnerability, and her fierce determination to live authentically. For her, Milan wasn’t just a city. It was a mirror—a place where she could see herself in all her complexity and learn to embrace every facet.

For someone who once feared losing herself in a new world, she has done anything but. She’s found herself. And that, I think, is the most beautiful part of her journey.

It was a simple yet profound conclusion, and as I left, I carried her story with me—a reminder of the invisible battles fought every day and a testament to the power of finding one’s voice.