Claire’s story
Claire grew up in the rural village of Cwm, just outside Dyserth in Denbighshire, a place with little more than a pub and a post office. Her childhood was shaped by the wild winters of North Wales, snowdrifts five or six feet deep, and the presence of cocker spaniels her mother bred. But behind the charm of village life lay deeper complexities around identity and belonging.
“My mum’s British, and my father is from the Caribbean, originally from the Cayman Islands, born in Cuba, raised in Jamaica.” That movement is echoed in her own life: from Wales to Miami, from small village schools to vast cities, always seeking somewhere she truly belonged.
Growing up mixed race in a predominantly white community brought challenges. “People had never seen a Black man before. My mum told me when my sister’s dad came into the village, they touched his skin out of curiosity.” She remembers feeling different, her wild, untamed hair was a daily struggle, and without Black cultural influences, she lacked the tools or knowledge to care for it. “It was just feral,” she says. “Mum worked hard, potato picking to support us. There was no money for hairdressers.”
Belonging has never been automatic it’s been earned. “I didn’t see people like me growing up. There wasn’t Caribbean food, no one knew how to do my hair, no role models who looked like me. Maybe Diana Ross,” she laughs.
She admits, “I wanted to be white. I carried that shame for years. I didn’t know anything about the Caribbean or my heritage.” She remembers watching Roots and The Holocaust as a child, maybe her mother’s way of offering something to identify with. “But I didn’t identify with either. I wasn’t dark enough. I was embarrassed.”
School was equally difficult. “I was called names in the village, and in high school, I had a nickname I hated. I can see the humour in it now, but I didn’t then.”
At 13, her world shifted again when she learned the man she thought was her father wasn’t. Soon after, her mum was diagnosed with cancer, a constant backdrop to her teenage years. “We’d go to Clatterbridge for radiotherapy. She’d be so sick after. But she never complained. She lived for many years with cancer.”
Claire became a young mum at 17, and by 19, she had two children. In her twenties, she moved to Miami to be closer to her father. “I always say I’m a tropical flower,” she laughs, a far cry from the snowdrift winters as a child. However settling into life in there was hard. “My children were nine and eleven. They didn’t need me at the park, so I didn’t make friends easily.”
Despite Miami’s diversity, acceptance was elusive. “When I sat with the Black women, they told me to sit with the white women. I was too light to be Black, too mixed to be white.” She struggled to be seen for all she was. “I almost feel like I’m not one or the other… but I would say I’m a woman of colour.”
Returning back to Wales felt like returning home. “It was the people, the community, the want to feel known.” She is proud of her Welsh identity. “I tick the diversity box because numbers matter. But I am Welsh, very proudly so. My youngest son speaks fluent Welsh.”
Back home in North Wales, she found purpose in housing and homelessness work. “Everyone who sat in front of me could have been me, a 17-year-old single mum. Every story mattered.” A role she loved before moving departments. Today, she supports sanctuary seekers, families fleeing war and persecution. “Wales is becoming a Nation of Sanctuary. When people thrive here, we all thrive.” But her work goes beyond support, it fosters belonging. “When we asked our clients what they most wanted to learn about, they say Wales. So, we’re introducing them to Welsh culture, including the Eisteddfod. It’s about making this their home, too.”
For so many she helps, the stakes are high. “Most of the families I support come from places where being LGBTQ+ is criminalised. Here, we can show them it’s safe to be themselves.” This is a cause close to heart today.
Her deepest sense of belonging came not from race, but from community. “At 50, I ended up in a relationship with a woman. I went to London Pride, it was overwhelming. A million people, just love, and acceptance. It didn’t matter if you were gay, Muslim, Black or white. I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer or more seen.”
Now, Claire carries all of it, her Caribbean heritage, Welsh identity, her early struggles, her late bloomings, and her unwavering belief in inclusion. “If I’d had that sense of belonging around race growing up, life might’ve been different. But that’s okay. My journey lets me walk alongside others who are trying to belong too.”
It took her decades to feel she deserved a seat at the table. Now she has one—and uses it. “As a woman of colour in North Wales, I speak up for minority groups. Denbighshire is 96–97% white. People need to see someone like me leading, making decisions. Sometimes I think, ‘Are they rolling their eyes?’ But I know representation matters.”
She’s not just helping others find home, she’s building it. And finally, she’s found it for herself.
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Read about Agnes’ story