The Stories We Were Trusted to Tell — kai alonté in conversation with Khaya Ronkainen

Interview on behalf of Finnish-African Society

Photo Credit: Maria Niemitalo

kai alonté  is a Ghanaian American artist, teacher, and creative workshop facilitator living in Finland since 2023. She started her career as a food and lifestyle writer in New York. Subsequently, she pursued creative writing studies at Trinity College Dublin. When not working on narrative writing projects, kai enjoys studying somatics, writing lyrical prose, and creating visual art.

The Person Behind the Pen

Khaya Ronkainen: Let’s start from the beginning of it all. How did you become a writer? 

kai alonté: I started writing creatively in my early teens. I was always an avid reader, but as a young child was more captivated by music, visual arts, and dance. I don’t remember deciding to write — just that one day I found myself writing poetry. It felt natural and cathartic, and kind of fun. Talking often felt stressful and stilted to me. In conversations, I was just treading water, trying to keep up and respond at the right times. Writing let me set my own pace. The expressions that came through felt more textured, full, and fulfilling.

KR: You write under a pen name, which is a creative choice in itself. What does that distance or separate identity give you as a writer?

ka: Names have had such significance personally and culturally, so there’s this dance, this tension, at play — my appreciation of the names I was given, and then the part of me that’s always wanting to make room for change, rebirth, reimagining of what’s familiar.

Big-picture, using the name ‘kai alonté’ is a reminder to myself: this is my work, but it is not me. The name I chose is not dissimilar from my given name; ‘kai’ was already a nickname. ‘alonté’ means cat in Ga. I love cats and am very cat-like.

“This is my work, but it is not me.”

— On identity and the work

My intention is for the name to be an energetic filter rather than a barrier, in service of more nourishing connection. This is also why I’m not active on social media — it’s simply too many inputs at too fast a speed. Rather than molding myself to fit that model, I’m trying this experiment of showing up for the book in ways that feel more authentic and manageable for me.

KR: A Ghanaian American artist living in northern Europe; your life seems to exist across multiple worlds. How do these different landscapes, cultures, and ways of being show up in your writing?

ka: While Somewhere Soft to Land’s narrator, Dzifa, is very much her own person, there are elements of sense memories and emotional impressions from my own experiences. Growing up, the experience of not belonging was shaped more by the little, daily moments — watching teachers panic as they struggled to pronounce my name, or feeling like my body was perceived as some sort of an anthropological exhibition about which people felt compelled to share their running commentary.

KR: Your identity is layered and hard-won. What does claiming that identity fully mean to you? 

ka: It’s been a complex journey to make sense of my internal experience of my culture versus what is externally perceived or presumed. Since moving to Finland, people have asked me why I call myself ‘Ghanaian American’. What’s really being asked is, ‘Why do you qualify your Americanness?’ or sometimes it’s, ‘Why do you claim Ghanaianness if you weren’t born there?’ 

Growing up as a Black American in a culturally Ghanaian household, I learned to provide the qualifier before anybody asked. Today, saying I’m Ghanaian American doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like an embrace. I’m proud to be a child of the diaspora. I think many people struggle to process layered identities, even though I’m pretty sure we all have them — it’s just a question of how visible the layers are to others, and how aware and accepting we are of the layers within ourselves.

Cover Design: Elizabeth A.D. Eno

What the Book Holds

KR: Your debut novel explores friendship under pressure. Do you believe genuine sisterhood can endure differing beliefs and individual paths, or does it always cost something?

ka: In the beginnings of Dzifa and Tatiana’s friendship, I see signs of a genuine bond but also signs of potential misalignment. Whether a friendship can endure such differences depends on how much we know ourselves, accept ourselves, and can communicate our needs without expectation. And how equipped we are to receive other people’s needs graciously. It’s tough when we’re young, still playing out relational models we’ve seen or fantasized about, without being quite sure what works best for us in practice.

Things can go awry when there’s a lot of unspoken needs or quiet resentment. If Tatiana perceives herself as a fixer, and Dzifa perceives herself as needing to be fixed, they’re starting off on somewhat wonky footing. It works, in the ways that it does, until it doesn’t.

“It works, in the ways that it does, until it doesn’t.” 

— On the fragility of friendship

The characters in Somewhere Soft to Land each navigate the seen and unseen layers of their identities differently. Whether it’s race, class, religion, personality, or values — each character is trying to find their center and assert their self-perception amidst other people’s perceptions of who they are.

KR: The word “sisterhood” carries a lot of cultural and emotional weight. How did you want to expand or push back against what readers assume it means?

ka: There are different levels through which I connected with the concept of sisterhood in the book: biological sisterhood, the sisterhood between Black women who are not blood-related, and sisterhood based on shared values and soul connections, regardless of ethnicity.

With Dzifa and Tatiana, there’s a touch of that ‘ride or die’ concept — your commitment is to show up for the other person no matter what. There’s something beautiful about committing to show up for one another as Black women, especially in societies that have historically expected us to be a ‘ride or die’ for everybody else. But it can quickly become unhealthy if we aren’t just as committed to showing up for ourselves. Even as I write that, a part of me is going, ‘Erase that! It sounds selfish’ — which speaks to that conditioning.

“Even as I write that, a part of me is going, ‘Erase that! It sounds selfish,’

which speaks to that conditioning.”

— On self-abandonment and conditioning

I appreciate the possibility of relating to each other from a place of informed choice and resourcedness rather than survival and obligation. If there is anyone who has pressured themselves to maintain an unhealthy dynamic under the guise of loyalty, maybe this book offers some other ways of looking at that.

Photo credit: kai alonté

KR: There’s a certain kind of reader who will finish this book feeling deeply seen, connecting not only with the friendship at its center but in the world surrounding it. Was that sense of recognition something you were conscious of writing toward?

ka: In the early days with this book, I was contemplating depictions of Black womanhood — aspects of my experiences that felt scarce or unseen. I craved depictions of Black women who were managing in some aspects of life, but not necessarily rising to the occasion on every occasion. We shouldn’t have to be exceptional or palatable for our inherent value to be acknowledged.

Class dynamics are also a prominent thread. I enjoyed exploring the intricacies of Black families who’ve ‘made it’ — achieved either the appearance of, or actual, financial security. I wanted to show the interiority of that experience: you think you’ve made it, or it may look like you have from the outside, but you are constantly waiting for the floor to be pulled out from underneath you. The performance of respectability politics is one way to cope.

In the context of Dzifa’s family, there’s this pressure — this myth — that if you just act the right way, prove you are the ‘type’ of Black person white people approve of, you’ll be exempted from the brunt of white supremacy’s violence. Although winning isn’t technically impossible in exceptional cases, the game is inherently rigged. What are you willing to compromise to win it? I also appreciated the opportunity to reflect that Black people are not a monolith. We can have very different ways of engaging with societal systems and power dynamics.

The Long, Quiet Work

KR: Your book is scheduled for release at the end of April. How long did this story live inside you before it became a novel?

ka: I started Somewhere Soft to Land in 2019 or 2020, when I was studying creative writing. At the time, I didn’t know it would be a full-length novel. Once I really learned how to listen to the characters, it became clear there was more to explore about their world and their stories. Those early versions were more like sketches of the novel it eventually became. But when I saw how much the characters seemed to resonate with people, I felt encouraged that it was worthwhile to expand the project. I have many people to thank for supporting me along the way: the teachers and students at Trinity, my agent, Alex Kane, Chelcee Johns and Sydney Collins at Ballantine, and my fellow writing community members, to name a few. 

KR: Was there a specific moment — a conversation, a question you couldn’t shake — that told you this was the story you needed to write?

ka: This wasn’t a story I felt comfortable writing, but it was very persistent about being written. It just started pouring through one day. Even as fiction, aspects of it felt more personal, more vulnerable, than anything I’d written before. By stepping into this realm where the truth of the story unfolded from emotional impressions and sense memories rather than facts, I could see a sharper, more comprehensive picture of some of those experiences. So that on a literal level, the final picture differs from what I’ve lived, but is simultaneously deeply reflective of the essence of those experiences.

A dear friend helped me reframe my doubts. They asked me to think of the people who may resonate with this story, and consider whom I might impact by not following through. That shifted my focus from ‘should I do this or not’ to ‘how can I do this in a way that aligns with my intentions?’ Rather than shying away from the fraughtness of this story, I accepted the challenge of finding a way through.

KR: Self-doubt, imposter syndrome, rejection and comparison are familiar and often uninvited companions for many writers. How have you learned to write alongside them, rather than waiting for them to leave?

ka: It has definitely been helpful to connect with other writers and understand that all of this can be part of the process. I’m personally of the opinion that there’s no right or wrong way to write, and that there’s something for everyone. Some preferences just have better PR campaigns, so we accept them as universal standards or objective taste. It helps, reminding myself of that. And then focus on honing my own taste and discernment as an artist. I am quite serious about meeting my own standards, but I make sure they truly are my own.

I do have a persistent inner critic; she is an insomniac, so she’s always available to chime in. When she shows up, I say hi and offer her a snack. And depending on how vocal she is, I might ask her if there’s something she needs to feel safe, allowing me to drive the vehicle of my life. Sometimes she just needs to have a meltdown, and I’ve found ways of giving her that space, too.

KR: Writers have a complicated relationship with time: they steal it, protect it, and squander it. What does your actual writing life look like, or how do you make time to write?

ka: The process of writing the novel was very ‘on and off’ because there were a lot of big changes in my life in those years. Because of health challenges, I needed to figure out how to complete the book while managing my well-being. Thankfully, I’ve found a pretty workable groove lately.

“I’ve embraced artmaking as energy work.” 

— On creativity and well-being

I’ve embraced artmaking as energy work. I’ve let go of some of the pressure I used to put on myself that I should be typing for hours every day. I consider my wellness routines vital for my creative process, and my other artistic endeavors to be connected with my writing.

Photo credit_kai alonté

The Writer, Whole

KR: Outside of writing, what activities help you reconnect with your core self, away from your professional life?

ka: I enjoy Qi Gong, dance, being in the forest and by the water, somatic practices, music, leisurely cooking, spending time with loved ones, and making things just for the fun of it.

KR: Releasing a book is a thrilling experience. But it can also arrive as something the body doesn’t quite know how to hold—anxiety, hypervigilance, and tears where you expected joy. Now that your book is almost here and the season of visibility has begun, how are you taking care of yourself through it?

ka: I find visibility pretty unnerving, even as I recognize its benefits. But I’ve decided that just as I approached the challenges I had with the book, it’s not a question of if I can manage, but how. I’m leaning on all of my healthcare routines, and it’s helped just to let people know I feel awkward and ambivalent about being seen. That lessens the pressure of needing to seem cool as a cucumber in moments where I’m very much not.

There’s another part of me that feels excited, though. I feel like I had an energetic contract with the story as its creative partner while writing it, and I’ve completed that contract. Now I’ve shifted into a different role as its advocate — a bridge between the story and whoever wants to read it. Because SSTL had such a strong pulse from the beginning and seemed to really want to be shared, there’s a strange sort of relief. Like, now this book gets to do whatever kind of work it came here to do, beyond what it’s given me, and I’m just here to support it.

“Now this book gets to do whatever kind of work it came here to do, beyond what it’s given me, and I’m just here to support it.”

— On releasing the work

KR: What do you wish someone had told you earlier about what it actually means to be a writer; not the romanticized version, but the real one? 

ka: I had an idea at the beginning of my career that I was failing or behind, because I always had one or many day jobs alongside my writing and other artistic pursuits. What I’d tell that version of myself now is: there is no one way to do this. There is no one way to be a person, and there is no one way to be an artist.

“There is no one way to do this. There is no one way to be a person,

and there is no one way to be an artist.”

— On the non-linear path

So I’d encourage myself to embrace the experience I was having, to give myself grace and enjoy the ride. I had so many adventures because my days were varied and my career was non-linear — I feel I’ve accumulated plenty of inspiration over the years. Now I have such affection for those moments in my twenties when I was waiting for the train, typing articles into my phone on the way to teaching, or being a cashier, or whichever job I was headed to that day.

KR: What is the one thing—a practice, a quiet belief—that has held you most steadily through the long journey of bringing this book into the world?

ka: The writing community I’ve been a part of all these years has anchored me. I’m massively thankful to all the wonderful people there.

In terms of practices and beliefs, I have benefited from a great deal of shadow work. I don’t think I would have been able to write this particular book without it. Having a practice of turning toward the aspect of the story, of myself, of life, that feels activating, unfamiliar, or exiled — and learning how to do so gradually, in a way that is gentle on my body — has been transformational.

There is a particular kind of writer who makes you feel less alone simply by telling the truth. Somewhere Soft to Land releases on April 21, 2026.

Grab your copy here



Khaya Ronkainen is a South African poet, writer, and artist based in Finland. Her practice spans writing, photography, and the design of meaningful gatherings and experiences. Drawing from cross-cultural life, her work—across poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction—often examines hybrid identity, home, and belonging. Her first novel, Distorted Is The View, will be published in 2026. khayaronkainen.fi