A message from Homerton Healthcare CEO Bas Sadiq
Alright folks, grab a coffee (or Ribena if you’re feeling nostalgic). This is story time with your CEO.
I was born in Nigeria and moved to the UK when I was around nine. Picture little me: suitcase in hand, rocking a very thick African accent that could cut glass. Honestly, the accent was so strong that if I’d asked someone for “fish and chips,” I’m not sure they’d have known whether to hand me dinner or a dictionary.
At home, being Nigerian was a badge of honour. My parents were firmly in the “work hard, don’t complain, just get it done” camp. My dad in particular was living proof of the phrase “nothing is impossible.” But here’s the thing, while my parents were proud of being Nigerian, no one sat me down to explain Black history.
And then there was school. Where being African wasn’t exactly considered cool. (At least back then.) Imagine turning up with your jollof rice while everyone else has a cheese sandwich. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware that you’re different. And so, to my shame, I wasn’t as proud of my heritage as I should have been.
But life is full of plot twists. As I got older, I made friends from everywhere: Mauritian, Indonesian, Vietnamese. And food (glorious food) became my gateway to culture. I can still taste the fresh Vietnamese spring rolls my best friend’s dad made, so hot we should have waited for them to cool, but of course we didn’t. Burnt fingers, burnt tongue, zero regrets.
Fast forward to age 18: I started working at Topshop. And there, I met a wonderful group of Black friends from across cultures and backgrounds. Unlike me, many of them had grown up in households where Black history was taught proudly and celebrated. They introduced me to the giants: Malcolm X, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Maya Angelou. They introduced me to books, music, and TV shows that opened my eyes: Fresh Prince, Moesha, Waiting to Exhale, The Parkers.
And let’s not forget the soundtrack of my youth. Mariah Carey on repeat, a whole lot of Musiq Soulchild and Kelly Price, plus a few artists who shall remain nameless (we all had those guilty pleasures). And yes, I was a massive garage head. Can anyone say So Solid Crew? (21 seconds to go and I’m still shouting the lyrics in my head right now.)
So, why does all this matter when I say what Black History Month means to me?
Because it’s reflection time. It’s when I think about the sacrifices of the giants who came before us, and I ask myself: “Okay, now that I’m here, what am I doing with the opportunities they created for me?”
Yes, racism and discrimination still exist. But I also refuse to ignore how far we’ve come. I can get on a bus today, and if someone doesn’t want me there, too bad, I’m already on it. I can be a CEO, and if someone along the way didn’t want me to get here, sorry but here I am. (Insert Barack Obama voice: Yes we can.)
For me, Black History Month is about joy as much as it is about struggle. It’s about celebrating resilience, creativity, laughter, food, culture, and even the music that shaped us. It’s about saying to the next generation: don’t let anyone tell you “you can’t.” You can. And you will.
I hold close the words of Maya Angelou: “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.” And also: “Life’s a b**. You’ve got to go out and kick ass.”* (Maya said it, not me, but I’ll happily repeat it.)
So this month and every month I celebrate the beauty of diversity. I see it every day here at Homerton and in City and Hackney. People from all walks of life, side by side, making a difference. That’s powerful. That’s beautiful. That’s worth celebrating.
And if you take one thing from this blog, let it be this: be proud of who you are, where you come from, and what you bring to the table. And never underestimate the unifying power of food. Seriously. Someone pass me a plate of spring rolls.
Bas Sadiq
Homerton Healthcare CEO