The weekly podcast, which came about because of the lack of resources Awolaja and Sowole found to help prepare them for life in Hong Kong, also serves as a guide for black expats who are moving or looking to move to the city.

Though Awolaja’s transition was relatively seamless, as she had visited the city before and knew what to expect, she says: “It’d be great if, when I was coming out to Hong Kong, I had some kind of guide.” While Googling black hairdressers and black girls in Hong Kong, she came across Facebook group “Sisters in Hong Kong”, through which she met 11 black women in the week she arrived.

In contrast, before moving to Hong Kong Sowole searched #blackexpats and #hongkongblackexpats on Instagram – “Just to see if I could find a community, and information about where to go,” – but recalls: “I couldn’t find anything. There was a hashtag but it was all black people on holiday.

‘Judged by your colour’: Hong Kong’s Africans say discrimination everywhere

“So I had no idea what I was going to do. All the guys in my office are English, so of course they were telling me where to go, but it’s all from a middle-aged white male perspective.”

Critical to the podcast’s agenda is sharing the diverse range of experiences among the city’s black community. By speaking to expats from different backgrounds who arrived in Hong Kong under various circumstances, the show avoids stereotyping and generalisations. It is relatable to all Hongkongers in unexpected ways.

“Because there are so few black people here and they’re often African-American or black British, those cultures are similar, so you can code switch. If I’m in a room full of white British guys, I’ll code switch and it’ll be seamless because I speak their language,” explains Sowole. “It’s the same as when you’re in school in England and you’re the only black kid, you’re used to it.”

Sowole and Awolaja have been surprised by some of the cultural tropes they covered. For Awolaja, the issue of being highly visible as a black woman, and simultaneously invisible, was unexpected.

“I was surprised at how invisible I was, in a way. I expect to be stared at on this side of the world. People don’t necessarily, especially locals, they just carry on – most of the stares you get are from mainland [Chinese] tourists. But when it comes to service, it becomes more evident. They sometimes just don’t acknowledge you. It’s as if you don’t exist.”

For Sowole, the weight of representing his race was reinforced by the fact it was a burden white expats don’t have to bear. “The eye-opening thing for me has been how white expats don’t feel any particular need to behave themselves in a foreign country the same way black expats do. They are a lot more relaxed, they basically act the exact same way they do at home.” he observes.

“When one black person does something bad, the entire race is stereotyped, so you’re much more aware of how you behave. One drunken white person doesn’t change the perception of their entire race, whereas one drunken black person can be a reflection on everyone from Nigerians to African-Americans and Jamaicans.”

Why is ‘international’ Hong Kong still unable to accept black people?

“It’s a useful resource, in terms of the non-black community people are finally, like, ‘Oh there’s something outside me’. What happened is that BLM forced them to stop and have a look at things we’ve [the black community] been saying. There’s more willingness to learn about other people’s experiences,” Awolaja says.

While Covid-19 dampened the pair’s ambition to make HomeGrown about the black experience in Asia rather than Hong Kong alone, the desire to provide a documentation of history prevails.

“It’s for posterity. A hundred years from now you’ll want to know what it’s like,” Sowole explains. “At this time, these people were here and were doing this. It’s a journal that doesn’t die.”