“I think it’s important that your home makes you feel good because it’s your safe space—it’s your sanctuary”

Decorating the sun-dappled New York City apartment of editor Amy Sall is a collection of books on African history and a poster of the film Moolaadé by Senegalese filmmaker Ousmane Sembène. “I give myself the right to explore anything I find interesting,” Amy says. Among her social media feeds is archival and documentary imagery from Africa and the diaspora from the colonial period to the present: Grainy black-and-white footage of a 1961 meeting of the Nation of Islam appears among photos of the West African earth architecture of Mali and snapshots of Haitian street culture. Its appeal is filtered into the pages of her forthcoming journal, SUNU: Journal of African Affairs, Critical Thought + Aesthetics.

Do you have a morning routine?

My morning routine is the same every day. I wake up and express gratitude to God, then I move to the kitchen and make myself a cup of hot water and lemon and ease into my morning. I used to be someone who checked and responded to emails immediately, but now I’m realizing that the morning is an opportunity to take your time, to set your intentions and to not succumb to any sense of urgency. Living in New York City, that sense of urgency is omnipresent and I look for ways to diminish it.

What inspired you to start SUNU Journal?

I began developing SUNU during my final year of grad school, in part through discussions with my mentors and peers at Columbia University. Around that time, I started to post a lot of historical and cultural images pertaining to Africa on Instagram, and people would ask questions—there would be debates, and people would comment with context for the photos. I thought it would be interesting to open up this sort of space for more dialogue. One of my inspirations is a publication called Présence Africaine. It was a Pan-African publishing house and quarterly publication in which notable thinkers, scholars and artists first got together to push back against colonialism by presenting their own thoughts and theories about Africa. It was started in 1947 by Alioune Diop, who was a notable professor and philosopher in Senegal. Those are the shoulders that I believe SUNU is standing on.

You were born and raised in New York but have a close connection to Senegal. What type of influence does that have on your work?

I’m first-generation Senegalese-American and I grew up in a very Senegalese home. Growing up, I became more and more curious about Senegal—who were the great historians, who were the philosophers, who were the writers, who were the filmmakers, how the food was made. I immerse myself in Senegalese culture and history because that’s something that I never want to lose. It’s something I want to pass on to my own children.

What is important to your sense of feeling at home?

I think it’s important that your home makes you feel good because it’s your safe space—it’s your sanctuary, or at least it should be your sanctuary. I spend a lot of time at home—it’s my favorite place to be—so I make sure my surroundings are comforting. I live in an apartment that gets a bit of light, but the light doesn’t quite stay. I think in the future, wherever else I live, I’ll want natural light throughout the day. It makes things a little better, airier and happier.

Which of your belongings help to create that sense of sanctuary?

I always like to have books around me. Family photos are really important, and anything that relates to Senegal, whether it be, say, rugs, statues or other things I brought home from my travels in Senegal. Things that make me feel happy and comfortable, that’s what I like to keep around.

Is there one object in your life that you would consider central to creating a home?

I’m always trying to embrace the fact that there are many sides to me. I don’t ever want to have to choose one thing to represent me. But I do have special objects, one being a bracelet that I wear on my right wrist all the time. It’s a Senegalese bracelet that was given to me by my parents—every time you outgrow a bracelet, your parents give you a new one. It represents my family, my culture, my country. That’s one thing I would take with me no matter where I go.