Michelle Muyunda, London

Growing up in the late 90s and early 2000s in the middle of the UK, miles and miles away from the nearest Black community, meant that most of the UK artists played on the radio or on MTV did not look like me or anyone I was related to. As a result, whenever I saw someone who resembled me (no matter how tenuous that link), I became overly excited and immediately their number one fan. Keisha was my favourite Sugababe, Mel B my favourite Spice Girl and I sang Dreams by Gabrielle like it was the only song that existed.

I was a child/pre-teen during this time and I looked up to the teens around me to know what was cool and trending. Not having many Black teenagers in my neighbourhood meant I was often very removed from cool Black culture. I did, however, have a teenage cousin who lived in Manchester who came to visit during the school holidays. Whenever she was with us I soaked up all the things that I missed about being surrounded by Black culture. One summer, she brought her favourite CD, Craig David’s Born to Do It, and I was instantly hooked.

I created a mixtape of all of my favourites from the album and played it over and over again, on repeat. Through my cousin and this mixtape, I started to feel more connected to Black culture and it became my own secret refuge from a childhood isolated from my local community.

Fast-forward to 2016 when Craig David re-emerged and came back to the festival scene. I was finally old enough to see him live, and naturally I was incredibly excited to see his performance. I arrived, just in time for his set, stood in the crowd and at the first chords of Fill Me In, my eyes started to well up…to Craig David?! I was so shocked that I started to laugh at myself. Craig isn’t exactly an artist who triggers emotions. He’s more of a head-bopping, two-stepping kind of artist that you dance to with a smile on your face. But somehow, I turned into an emotional wreck and wanted to bawl my eyes out at the sound of a 16 year-old song about a young guy sneaking into his girlfriend’s house.

Now with the beauty of hindsight, I realise the ‘almost tears’ came from nostalgia, but they also reminded me that when I heard these songs for the first time I was trying so hard to cling to some idea of a shared Black British culture. A decade and a half later, that culture was finally accessible and I was immersed in it. I’m grateful that now, with technology, kids like me who grow up in the corners of Britain that still have little by way of local Black representation will be able to see more Black British people on social media and on TV and feel part of the culture, wherever they are.