I arrived in Wales on a significant date—New Year's Eve, 1999. I was just four years old when my parents, my three siblings, and I left the ancient coastal town of Sohar in Oman, trading the warmth of the Gulf for the rain of Cardiff. My father, a doctor, had found work in Wales, giving our family the chance to build a better future. I had no idea at the time just how much this journey would shape my life. 

Those early years weren’t easy. I didn’t know English, and adapting to a new culture was challenging. But there was something about Wales—the warmth of its people, its proud history, and the welcoming nature of its communities that made me feel at home. Even my last name, Idris, is a Welsh name. From the beginning, I felt a sense of belonging, even if I never quite picked up the Cardiff or Docks accent. That toughness helped me find my own middle ground. 

Looking back, I realise how much Wales has given me. I didn’t know the language at first, but this country embraced me, and over time, I became deeply patriotic. I feel a responsibility to be part of the future of Wales—the next generation, the next hundred years. I have a vision, and I want to help shape what Wales can become. 

That desire to contribute led me to get involved in my community, to understand the power of collective action and how it can create real change. One of my proudest achievements was leading a campaign in 2014 to bring halal food options to Cardiff’s Nando’s restaurants. With the support of community groups, schools, religious institutions, and local businesses, we built an alliance to make our voices heard. To make my point, I even ran 20 kilometres in a chicken costume—highlighting the absurdity of how far Muslims in Cardiff had to travel just to find halal food. Our efforts paid off. Eventually, Nando’s in Cardiff became halal-friendly, proving that when we come together, we can make a real difference. 

But my connection to Wales goes beyond activism. It’s in the little things—the way strangers greet each other on the street, the deep pride in being ‘Cymraeg’ (Welsh), the camaraderie that bridges cultural and social divides. There’s something uniquely Welsh about this unity, an energy in the land that makes Wales feel like a fortress—a safe place that protects those who call it home. 

One of the most profound things I’ve come to understand in my 25 years here is the meaning of ‘Hiraeth.’ There’s no direct translation in English, but it’s a deep longing for a place—a place where you truly belong. Many Welsh people who live outside Wales have felt it, and I understand it deeply. I’ve travelled all over the world, from Africa to South America, Europe to Asia—but this is my home. “It’s my home,” I say, because I feel connected to it in a way I can’t quite explain. 

My love for Cymru extends beyond its people, it’s in the nation’s rich history, its ancient Celtic roots, and its poetic traditions. I admire the resilience of the Welsh spirit, how it expresses itself through rugby, through community pride, through an unshakable sense of identity. 

Looking ahead, I have big dreams and not just for myself, but for Wales and my native Sudan. I want to be part of a generation that builds a new future, not only here but in other nations like Sudan as well. Healthy societies create healthy leaders, and I want to help nurture that—both in Wales and beyond. 

For me, this journey isn’t just about finding a home. It’s about being part of a history, a history that isn’t defined by where you were born, but by where you choose to belong. I want others to know that the story of migration to Wales belongs to all of us. “Don’t look at people and think they’re different,” I urge. “If you give them a chance, they will give you even bigger chances in return.”