A Quiet Camaraderie: Building Belonging for Refugee Women in Nottingham

Tucked away in a corner of Nottingham, every week a group of women gather. Their languages may differ, but laughter flows easily. Gill, formerly a Secondary School teacher, facilitates this space, not as an instructor, but as a gentle guide towards connection, holding and belonging.

This is our Women’s Group, a sanctuary amidst the storm of displacement and uncertainty. Run by Refugee Roots for the past eight years, the group offers English lessons, arts and crafts, and, most importantly, a space where women can simply be. It is this “more” that defines the work: a space built not just for language or learning, but for safety, sisterhood, and moments of shared joy.

What sets this group apart is how it centres women and their lived experiences in the asylum system. With compassion and a warm sense of humour, Gill guides the women through language and cultural exchange. More so, her approach comes through as someone who isn’t a teacher in front of a class, but as a learner among learners. 

In one session, I heard her ask the group about Christmas dinners. “Do you celebrate Christmas?” she asked gently. One woman described Iranian dishes she prepares for the holidays; another spoke about how Christmas is becoming a "big thing" back home. Later, as Lunar New Year approached, we gathered around a laptop to watch a colourful parade. Gill passed around cutouts of traditional foods and asked, “Do you cook a lot for this celebration?”. “I don’t cook, I just eat!” joked one woman from Hong Kong, passing around red paper lanterns to the group. Laughter erupted, echoing around the room. In moments like this, language barriers dissolve, replaced by warmth, mutual understanding, and shared strength. 

When I asked Gill why she chose to work with women, she told me about her childhood dream of becoming an archaeologist. Her father, however, insisted she become a teacher. Her face lit up when a Sudanese participant mentioned she has a PhD in Archaeology. As they bond over this shared interest, I wondered if she now sees that her teaching, especially in spaces like these, can also be a form of excavation. In their exchange, a quiet truth emerged: supporting refugee women means honouring what is buried by displacement, and helping it rise again. 

One of the things often overlooked during resettlement is the depth of knowledge that refugee and migrant women carry with them. There is so much wisdom and experience they carry that are often overshadowed by the urgent pressure to adapt. Integration in the UK doesn’t just mean learning a new language; it means navigating an entirely new way of life, new rules, customs, history and humour. It’s a process that can be both empowering and disorienting. As a migrant myself, I know how humbling it can be to start over. Even after gaining fluency or familiarity, there are moments, like not getting a joke or missing a cultural reference, that can suddenly make you feel like a stranger again.

During one session, Gill gently tapped into this experience. “Anybody know about Stonehenge?” she asked, smiling. “Sukriti, do you have something like this in India? What about Gambia, Mariama? Any mysterious stone structures there?”

It wasn’t just a question about monuments. It was an invitation to reconnect with parts of ourselves that are often left behind in the rush to belong. In her quiet, thoughtful way, Gill makes space for everyone’s story to matter; for each woman to bring something of herself into the room, beyond her refugee status or her ability to speak English. “The female refugee experience,” Gill said, “is unlike any other. It requires a different kind of support, and I wanted to be part of that.”

That sentiment is echoed by Berrin, a Kurdish research scholar who volunteers with us. Her academic work focuses on displacement, forced migration, migrant women's activism, belonging, and identity. Berin noted, they show up, ”they learn, share, laugh, and create. 

Recently, we became temporarily office-less due to damage in our building. That didn’t stop the group. In a beautiful act of solidarity, Nottingham Women’s Centre, a charity that supports and empowers women, offered to host us. It was more than just a practical solution. It reinforced what this city can offer: partnerships rooted in care and spaces where women from refugee and asylum-seeking backgrounds feel genuinely safe.

One afternoon, I saw a participant quietly preparing a meal for her family in the Centre’s kitchen. A simple act, yet it spoke volumes about the unseen emotional and physical labour refugee women carry while resettling. Even in safe spaces, many carry the weight of guilt for not being able to do more, give more, be more. Post-migration life often brings isolation, the loss of familiar community ties, and systemic discrimination. These challenges are not just logistical, but deeply emotional. And in that context, joy becomes a radical act. 

At the end of a recent session, I asked a woman, “What is coming here like for you?”

She smiled warmly, though hurried. “This group makes me happy,” she said. “I won’t be able to come next week because I have to collect my child from school.” There was something powerful in her words…“This group makes me happy.” That small sentence is a reminder of what this space truly offers. More than English lessons or paper flowers, it’s a place for connection, for shared cultures that can appreciate differences and celebrate similarities. For remembering who you are and who you’re becoming.

A space where women who don’t share a language still understand each other.

A quiet camaraderie that carries them — and all of us — forward.

Written by Sukriti Agnihotri