Emmai Alaquiva’s story defies every odd. Once homeless, now a four-time Emmy winner, he has turned struggle into stunning artistry. His camera doesn’t just capture images; it exposes truths, challenges injustice, and gives voice to the unseen.
From collaborating with icons like Viola Davis and Jay-Z to directing powerful documentaries on Black maternal health, his work is a testament to resilience. He creates not for fame, but for change—proving that art, when wielded with purpose, can move mountains. In this interview, discover how a man who slept on park benches became one of today’s most compelling storytellers, and why he believes, The sky is not the limit—it’s just the beginning.
Your story, from experiencing homelessness to becoming a four-time Emmy Award winner, is extraordinary. What moment first made you believe filmmaking could be your path forward?
Being homeless was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Sleeping under bridges, on benches—it forced me to realize that if I insisted on doing everything alone, I’d end up alone. I had to let go of that stubborn mindset, the idea that I had to be “tough” and never ask for help. One day, I finally called my mom and admitted, “I’ve been homeless for a year and a half.” Her response was, “Why did it take you so long?” That’s when I moved onto her couch and made a promise: If I got back on my feet, I’d spend my life helping others do the same.
My love for storytelling began early, with hip-hop. De La Soul’s “Me, Myself, and I” made me feel seen as a young Black boy. “In a lot of cases, as a young Black boy in my neighborhood, I thought it was just Me, Myself, and I.” I started rapping, producing, and discovering the power of narrative. After homelessness, I rented a tiny studio, slept there for a month, and poured myself into music and film. My first Emmy came in 2007 for scoring The Tuskegee Airmen. That’s when I realized music and film could harmonize like notes in a melody. Later, I bought my first camera—no manual, no classes—and just started shooting. “I promise you, Ben, I brought it back to Pittsburgh. I never took a class. I never read the manual.” My daughter, then eight, pointed out, “Dad, your photos don’t include people with disabilities.” That sparked Unspeakable, a PSA for the deaf community after George Floyd’s murder. From there, I created augmented reality exhibits for mothers who lost children to violence, and The Ebony Canal, a film on Black maternal health narrated by Viola Davis.
You’ve collaborated with legends like Maya Angelou and Harry Belafonte. How do you approach these partnerships, and what have they taught you?
Paul Robeson said artists are the gatekeepers of truth. When I work with icons, I focus on learning their frequencies—their histories, their truths. Belafonte hired me for a project; Dr. Angelou invited me to her home, showed me her awards, and even the car Tyler Perry gifted her. “I’m in her living room, I’m using her bathroom… she’s showing me awards around that she got, you know, international awards from different countries.” They trusted me because I wasn’t there to take—I was there to give to the story. As a former kindergarten teacher, I believe documentation is teaching. These collaborations taught me that investing in people, not just projects, moves mountains. And as a Black man who’s hit rock bottom, I know every step up is a chance to lift others.
The Ebony Canal addresses Black infant mortality. What drew you to this issue?
The Richard King Mellon Foundation approached me with data: Black women are three times more likely to die in childbirth than white women; Black babies are 2.5 times more likely to die before age one. “I learned a lot about my family and some of the struggles they’ve been through with birthing.” Then I learned my wife had a twin who didn’t survive—something I never knew in 10 years of marriage. This film is a love letter to Black mothers. It features voices like Kamala Harris and Kiki Palmer, but its purpose is universal: to be a tool for change, whether screened at Harvard or a Mississippi doula program.
How do you balance artistic integrity with commercial work, like Roc Nation or BMW campaigns?
Art speaks to you more than you speak to it—that connection that comes over me is everything. For Roc Nation, I tapped into my hip-hop soul. For Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, I channeled my fatherhood and teaching experience. With advocacy projects like Unspeakable, I lean into tough but necessary conversations. When Google approached me for their 2021 year-end video (250 million views now!), I focused on humanity behind the trends. The key? Never take projects I don’t feel something for. I have to feel that frequency. Whether it’s Amazon or a social justice exhibit, the humanitarianism in all of us as artists must lead.
Your TED Talks inspire young creators facing systemic barriers. Whatís your core message?
Look at the pandemic—where would we be without books, paintings, Tiger King? Art proves its worth constantly—my advice: “Stop waiting for perfect. Perfect’s never coming. Dive in and figure it out.” I bought that first camera with no training because relationships are bank accounts—make more deposits than withdrawals. As a homeless 20-something begging outside 7-Eleven, I didn’t imagine this life. But art saved me when I held it tight and wasn’t afraid to make mistakes. Now I tell creators: “Your world can’t shatter if you invest in people around you, not just subjects.”
You say, “The sky is not the limit.” How does that shape your work?
Think about it: Even saying “the sky’s the limit” creates an artificial ceiling by mentioning limits at all! I’m about stepping outside society’s boxes to enter what I call “the circle I deserve” – that infinite space beyond stars and planets.
This mindset led to surreal moments like Roc Nation emailing me about the Book of HOV exhibit. 600,000 visitors at the Brooklyn Library seeing my visuals chronicling Jay-Z’s legacy! That’s why I preach: “No dream is too small or too big.” When opportunity calls, you show up with everything you’ve got – no half measures.
My love of quantum physics and nanotechnology fuels this. We’re capable of so much more than labels suggest. Whether it’s art, science, or social change, true innovation happens when we reject imagined boundaries.
How do you define success after recognition from President Obama?
The Bible talks about multiplication, but it’s not just about children – it’s about multiplying your impact. Success is measured in lives changed while we’re here in what I call “the physical realm.”
A Native American proverb guides me: Our actions today affect 7 to 13 future generations. That’s why I pour into others through art, mentorship, and those tough-but-necessary conversations about Black joy and struggle.
My ancestors are watching. My great-great-grandchildren are waiting. That’s why I believe the best way forward is always to give back. Whether it’s through a film, a photograph, or just showing up authentically, we’re all links in a chain stretching far beyond our individual lives. That’s the legacy that matters.
Be’n Original
