The Feeling That Turned Otenga into a Sanctuary is belongingness
If Otenga had a heartbeat, it would be belongingness. It is the one emotion that cannot be built on demand, cannot be designed through infrastructure, and cannot be performed. It grows only in spaces where people feel safe enough to exist without shrinking themselves. During Otenga 2.0, belongingness did not arrive suddenly or loudly. It came slowly, like dawn creeping in through a quiet room. We noticed it first in small, unassuming moments—moments we did not stage, but moments that revealed the true character of Otenga.
If Otenga had a heartbeat, it would be belongingness. It is the one emotion that cannot be built on demand, cannot be designed through infrastructure, and cannot be performed. It grows only in spaces where people feel safe enough to exist without shrinking themselves. During Otenga 2.0, belongingness did not arrive suddenly or loudly. It came slowly, like dawn creeping in through a quiet room. We noticed it first in small, unassuming moments—moments we did not stage, but moments that revealed the true character of Otenga.
When we conducted the prompt card interviews, more than half the participants chose “belongingness,” and their reasons were tender. Many had recently moved cities and were looking for something that resembled home. Some were healing from burnout and found comfort in the slow rhythm of our gatherings. Others spoke about the relief of hearing their own language or seeing practices they grew up with. For some, it was simply the warmth of being in a space where they didn’t need to perform social roles. These stories made us realise that Otenga had become much more than a creative space. It had become a sanctuary—an emotional refuge people were carrying with them long after events ended.
Belongingness at Otenga is not decorative. It is not manufactured through aesthetics. It is felt in the softness of the conversations, the ease with which people laugh, the smell of food that reminds them of home, the chai that tastes better when shared with a stranger, the music that doesn’t demand attention but gently holds the room. Even in silence, there is comfort here. People sit together without needing to fill the air. They exist freely, and that, in itself, is belonging.
As we moved into Otenga 3.0, belongingness became the guiding principle for everything we shaped. We began to see it not just as an emotion but as a form of architecture—emotional architecture. The way the seating is arranged, the way circles form during discussions, the corners that allow solitude without loneliness, the familiar rituals that gently bring people together, the respect we give to every identity that walks through our door—everything was redesigned to honour the feeling of “you are safe here.” Belongingness also began to shape our cultural practices, from how we open conversations to the way we close gatherings, always ensuring people leave feeling held, not dismissed
Over time, we understood why people kept coming back. It wasn’t because every program was perfect. It was because the space felt right. It felt like a place where they did not have to shrink parts of themselves to fit in. Where they could walk in tired, overwhelmed, confused, or even heartbroken—and still feel welcomed. Otenga became that rare place where no one needed permission to be themselves.
Belongingness is not something Otenga gives. It is something Otenga makes space for. It is discovered slowly, through experience and trust, through shared silences and spontaneous conversations. It grows when people feel seen for who they are, not for who they are expected to be. This feeling is what makes Otenga, Otenga. And as Otenga 3.0 continues to evolve, this remains the most important truth we carry forward: home is not a building. It is a feeling. And that feeling is belongingness.
