Sunrise, Souls and Soil.

you were created

from every cuticle, pore, hair follicle

each pattern of nerve cells arranged in your brain

knowing right from wrong

humble from vain

even the evil that quietly lurks within you

and the conscience which keeps your soul alive

 you were created through your makers eyes

you were created for a reason, to give purpose

just as the plants which keep your lungs abundant

my love there may be days where you see nothing but darkness

but even after nightfall you are promised sunrise

you were planted in the depths of soil to maximize your growth 

after all our planet was given the name earth

embrace the next sunrise 

pay attention to your soul 

and listen to the soil

Rima.

a while ago I was reading/watching documentaries about the journeys' of refugees. i ended up spending most of the night just listening to interviews and reading a number of articles, it just seemed so unreal. hundreds of people packed onto boats made of rubber, suited for at most 15 - 20 people, paying up to over £1000 and still not even guaranteed a life jacket. so many risked everything on the hopes of freedom, just to spend their nights at gated borders. anyway, i was in the mood to write something and it only seemed right.

the sounds of cutlery being placed on a table in the room below tells her it's time to wake up.

she pulls the duvet over her head,

they won't mind if she sleeps a little longer.

however no matter how tight she tries to close her eyes,

her mother's voice echoes in her ears.

"are you planning to sleep all day Rima? Am I the only one who sees that the sun has risen?"

she sits herself up, 

kicking the duvet to the end of her bed in protest.

"yes. yes. I see it" she mutters to herself. 

it's almost as though the sun is purposely forcing itself through her window to prove a point.

it won't be too long until she's called down for breakfast. 

in an attempt to get herself ready,

Rima runs her fingers through her hair but she's paying the price for not brushing it the night before and is met by knots.

so she grabs her hairbrush out of the drawer and walks towards the window.

"look" she whispers.

beyond the cars filling the streets and above tiled rooftops,

staring out at the distant blue water,
she feels the sun's warmth on her cheeks.
the door opens behind her.

"isn't it strange?" she asks."they say this one has a different name but it looks exactly the same to me. both beautiful only from afar. delicate waves that smothered us during the day and kept us in fear at night, that taunted us for hours on end, whilst we clung onto each other with the little life in us we had left. fingernails dug into damp clothes, stomachs stirring from hunger and uncertainty, how dare it glisten like so?"
"The world is made up of pain and beauty my dear" she hears her mother say. "it is your choice on what you see"
" but it's taken so much from us." she responds through clenched teeth. "all we once had has now either amounted to nothing but rubble or is in the hands of those who gave us an estimate on our freedom. we escaped with nothing but the clothes only our backs, nothing but the cries left for only our ears, nothing but our prayers we recited only to God. how could it be that many had to declare those waters graves before their unborn had a chance to call somewhere home!"
"what about all it's given you? there is so much to be thankful for Rima, you must never forget that"

hands now rested on her warm cheeks, she nods reluctantly.
"good morning Rima". says the voice behind her.

eyes still fixated on waves.
"sabaaH alkhayr". 

"pardon?"

"sabaaH alkhayr" she repeats. "i'm saying good morning to my mother".

NICARAGUA 2015: PROGRESSIO ICS

Still to this day my volunteer trip out to Nicaragua crosses my mind. I think it's important for young people to see the world for what it really is, to experience the world beyond their television screens.





In July 2015 I had the opportunity to go out and volunteer with Progressio ICS in Central America. During the 10 weeks I met a number of outstanding people who I still stay in contact with. Although it may seem a bit intimidating going out to another country on your own, both the British and in country volunteers were very supportive. You quickly realize that you're not just a team but friends. From day 1 my host family treated us like one of their own, which made it easier for the days I felt homesick.

Within my volunteer group we focused on building 20 vegetable patches, running educational workshops for the community and building a playground for a local school. Before I went out to Nicaragua I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to keep up with everyone else, in theory it seemed almost impossible for me to do such a thing. But that was the case for a lot of us, including the Nicaraguan volunteers. The work days were long and at times it felt like we were constantly digging and getting nowhere. But by the end of the day when you look at everything you've done the feeling of accomplishment is definitely worth it. If it wasn't for this volunteer trip I don't think I would've ever thought I could achieve so much.

Nicaragua in itself is a beautiful country and we definitely took advantage of our free time when possible. As soon as we'd get back from a long working day, there was usually a rush between us girls seeing who could get to the shower first and out of our muddy clothes. I think when you're out working under the sun throughout the day it's important to find the time to relax, whether it's simply going for a walk or going out for a meal. Some days it was just nice to stay in and watch a movie with all the other volunteers.

One thing I didn't except to be so thankful for, was our Spanish lessons. Before leaving for Nicaragua I knew a bit of Spanish to get me by but it wasn't enough to hold a conversation. So having a Spanish tutor made the time out there so much easier. After every lesson many of us would try to use our new vocabulary with the Nicaraguan volunteers. Although in my case, I generally relied on using various hand gestures. It's funny because now I'm back home in London I seem to remember more and more Spanish than I did then.

The trip affected us all in many ways. For some, the trip taught them how to become independent and for others, the trip taught them why it is so important to have NGOs and other organisations working to better the world. For me this trip taught me a lot about myself, what my limits are, how confident I really am etc. There is nothing I would change about the whole experience however if given the chance to go back and visit Nicaragua there's so much more I wish to do.

Can I Tell You Something, Honestly...

 

 

so...
here I am,
currently in his flat,
I'm nervous but I'm trying to pretend that I'm not,
scanning literally every inch corner to corner of his place possible---
"sorry, what?"
"I said, you can sit anywhere"
"uh...sweet, ahaha...ha"
then we begin to talk,
the usual "you enjoy what you study?" "what music do you like?" "have you got yourself a job?"
judging by the increase of shots and "haha, omg you're so funny"
he's actually on a roll,
this may not be a night I have to send an emergency text to my girl.
but then...he did it.
he. fucking. did. it.
"can I tell you something?" he asks.
"yeah sure..."
"well, honestly...I've never been with a black girl."
I swear I was so distraught,
the first thing that came to my head was "OH HELL NIGGA NO! YOU'RE TELLING ME BECAUSE? WHO EVEN SAID YOU WERE GETTING SOME?!"
yet all that left my lips was "huh?"
"oh...I said, I've never been with a--"
"I heard you"
"wait. does that bother you?"
you see at the time I just giggled it off,
made up some shit excuse that I had to go,
"Oh no, it's alright you don't have to take me, I know my way home"
cussing my way to the lift as I got google maps up on my phone.
I. HAVE. NEVER. BEEN. WITH. A. BLACK. GIRL.
Lord knows I'm sick of hearing that phrase,
why do those not of colour feel like that's something they need to state.
did you think that if you had been that gives you any cred?
or because you hadn't my opinion of you was going to change?
now this what I wished I said:
can I tell you something....honestly...
you know what YES.
yes, it does bother me that you haven't been with a black girl.
you obviously haven't had an intellectual conversation WITH A BLACK GIRL.
you obviously haven't had the chance to sit comfortably WITH A BLACK GIRL.
when surrounded by women of colour you're obviously the type to think "yeah I made it, I'm WITH THE BLACK GIRLS".
when I was sitting across from you, I bet nothing about me mattered because all I was to you was JUST ANOTHER BLACK GIRL.
we are not the remedy to your damn jungle fever,
we are not the tests to see if just as well as black boys you can please us.
and for the ones (who trust me I've met more than necessary in life) we are not these dirty little secrets for you to sneak amongst
and if you don't understand the point I'm trying to make,
then trust me when I say,
there's a valid reason on this blessed earth to why you ''have never been with a black girl''

may i have this dance?

May I have this dance? 

will you interlock your fingers into mine whilst we dance the dance of freedom,

together we'll push back flowers into the hairs of non believers,

while we sing from our hearts in hope for equity, 

let them hear the harmonies of thousands as we sing for the fallen, 

those whose mouths have been sealed shut by the 'key to the city'.

May I have this dance? 

as our feet rhythmically move in unison upon the earth once treasured,

may the sun lead our path through the streets of London,

every so often welcoming those who've been serenaded by our cries for liberation,

leaving behind their ties and briefcases on broken pavement.

May I have this dance? 

until we are faced with the barriers that protects the street of the rich,

where we will not scream,

we will not shout nor threaten, 

we will not fight nor ruin,

because a king does not destroy his kingdom,

we will simply sing the song of the ones to follow,

words that will fortify the lives of the unborn.

May I have this dance?

so we can shine light on hope and leave our hatred in the shadows,

so we can prove to them although we beg for change it is them who at heart are truly poor, 

so we can paint the town in colours of democracy,

green...red...maybe even a weird orangey-yellow

but believe me I will not fight the system, 

I will not let them turn my knuckles blue,

this is not a fight...to me this is just an inelegant waltz, 

so now I hold out my hand and ask, 

may I? 

For You.

PART THREE OF THREE.

i don't consider this a poem just a message of appreciation, listen to the song after reading.

your voice would fill my ears
before my focus met you across the table.
absorbing every feature in detail,
brown skinned girl, cushioned cheeks, dark hair...
the last feature always seemingly the beauty spot that rests on your face.
you have a wit about you,
sarcastic comments, intellectual thoughts.
mostly random facts but i'd listen.
i enjoyed hearing your childhood stories and trips to festivals.
but whenever you'd recall certain memories behind your smile that wasn't all.
that wasn't all. 
i'd slowly watch the corners of your mouth descend to their original place
with a sense of pain dragging them down.
i could capture more emotion in your falling smile than the stories themselves.
although you never said it yourself, your smile did.
that something was missing, whenever you told a story.
something was missing. 
i remember the moment i finally saw it
i felt stupid and guilty that i hadn't noticed sooner.
there was a reason you wouldn't speak about her much,
why within stories there was hardly ever a past nor present tense when you referred to her.
and even though at times it must've hurt and cut you inside,
you'd try your best to smile.
but i was never worried nor am i now,
that you aren't strong enough.
because i could see your strength every time you picked up pen and paper.
you are able to translate the foreign characters given to us into passion and truth.
i may never be as poetic as you,
but you've shared your gift with me.
and now through every pen stroke we can walk the same path.
although it's not enough, to show my gratitude.
i write these words for you.

happy birthday.

The Drive.

PART ONE OF THREE.

we drove and drove and drove and drove...

I'm not sure when but it was sometime after we passed Liv's old house with the creaky front gate and that milkshake place in town you took me to after I failed my english exam (miserably), my eyes soon became heavy. The stop at the petrol station where you bought me a bottle of ice tea without me asking, heavier, the long stretch of an endless motorway, heavier, the curse words under your breath whilst we reach the M6 toll booth because you believe £3.80 is just daylight robbery, heavier, it wasn't until the sound of your voice softly singing along to the words of Ben Howard did I begin to fall asleep. You must of thought I was already sleeping because you'd never sing to me. I loved it when you sang. It's only when the warmth of the sunlight began to rest on my eyelids did I wake and just for a moment, maybe even half a minute I forgot where we were. The feel of the rushing breeze wrapping itself around me, smothering my skin, sending a cool sensation down my spin. The two lane black top road with a cluster of towering tress surrounding us, I tilted my head as far back as I could. I slowly breathed in the air I so much craved, holding the air at the top of my chest, this was a moment I didn't want to let go. With your thumbs drumming away at the steering wheel along with the rhythm of the radio, I just looked at you. Your hair being embraced by the wind, the sunlight reflecting your Iris, your eyes have never looked so blue....

"hey...kid"
you laughed. "you still calling me kid? can we just get this straight, i'm older than you by two years so rea--"
"yeah yeah yeah I know the speech...why do you like me?"
you sighed. "uh, come on babe"
"what?"
"do you really need to ask?"
"...please".
and that's the day you said words no other has ever said to me, words so pure, so meaningful that I'm not sure I could ever share with another. words too precious to the ears I'll keep them a secret, a secret for as long as I can. Once you were done you looked on, straight on at the two lane black top road whilst the car filled with silence. You brushed your eyes against your shoulder leaving your lashes moist and at that point silence meant the world to me. silence and the sound of Ben Howard.  so we drove and drove and drove and drove....