Why Can't I Be

Many of us will identify with the latest poem by Mahmood, our most prolific contributor.  He writes, "This poem is about people like me, who are unusually anxious and worried ."

I am tired of all the fears,
That haunted me all the years.
The meadow outside is quiet and peaceful,
The wind is fresh and soft
But my fears are stagnant and fierce.

Why can’t I be carefree,
Leaving all frustrations behind?
Why can’t I be like the trees,
Or the birds in the fields?
Alas! The fears refuse to leave!

4th September 2012
Smethwick, Birmingham

Memoirs of a Posy

We are honoured to publish this poem by new contributor Ujwala.  Below, she shares a little bit about her background and inspiration in writing the poem. 

I first arrived in London on November 3rd 2010.  I am a qualified dentist attempting to register here and this is how I got to know about the MRCF.  The organisation has helped me immensely during the exam process and I hope to give back in any way possible.  I love to write, it is my hobby, passion, stress buster, and the written word is probably the best way I communicate.  This is a poem I wrote when I first came here.  I am lucky and didn't endure even a fraction of the hardships that some people have in a new country.  But it was an extremely tough time for me anyway.  Writing this poem helped me cope.  I don't know much about rhyme and meter and I guess you will see that in my poem.  It is about the life of a flower starting from when it was a bud.  I hope you enjoy reading it and I hope it leaves you with a smile.

My first memories are of a murky green haze,
A tiny dwelling I reviewed in a quizzical daze.
Until a nagging buzzing as annoying as can be,
Made me stretch out in an attempt to break free.

Many visitor had I from down below and up overhead,
Wearing coats of many hues, some yellow and black, some green, some red.
Jolly tradesmen bearing their precious cargo with ease,
And colourful gypsies dropped in to dine, entertain and please.

Odi's Story - Journey from Iran

Odi, from Iran, courageously shares with us his story of political imprisonment in Iran, his difficult voyage to London, and his struggle towards asylum and a new life for himself and his family in the UK.  We are publishing his account in instalments, starting with how his journey began.  This is a very personal account but one that is representative of the horrors and challenges faced by so many asylum seekers around the world. 

When I was in Iran, I was working for the Education Department, teaching computer science to 16 and 17-year-old boys.  During the breaks, I would speak about history because the boys were hungry for real history that wasn’t in books.  Because I was working for the state, it was a problem that I spoke about history and also that I resisted going to Friday prayer.  In Iran, religion is inherited and has more to do with your identity than your faith.  I went to the mosque when I was a boy because my father hit me, but I never understood why I had to be scared of God or why I had to pray in Arabic and not in my own language, Farsi.  

I was eventually arrested, I stopped receiving wages and insurance, and I was told that I wasn’t allowed to work.  I wasn’t fired, but I didn’t know what I could do.  I had a wife and young son to support, so I started teaching privately from home, but we had an awful life with no money.

I found another job as a civil servant working in IT.  I was a supporter of the Reformist political group of Khatami, who was in power before Ahmadinejad.  The current regime tortures and kills people in the name of Islam, but Khatami stood for democracy and cooperation among countries.  I continued to support Khatami after Ahmadinejad came to power and started speaking to my colleagues about the group.  

The Iranian Authority began to secretly monitor me and, after two years, arrested me without any warning.  At four o’clock in the morning, members of the Iranian Authority pushed in the door and attacked my house like they were arresting a killer.  They searched the house and collected our documents, pictures, notebooks and reading material, even outdated newspapers from the bin.  My son was crying, and they told my wife to sit down and shut up.

They told me to put on some clothes and then they covered my eyes and put me in a van.  I didn’t know what I had done and worried for my wife and son.  I asked them what my crime was and they just told me to shut up and let them do their job.

We got to where we were going after an hour or two, and when they were moving me from the van, they hit me with whatever they had.  It was 2 or 3 minutes, but for me it was 2 or 3 years. 

Prossy's Story

On May 30th, Prossy, from Burundi, shared her experience in Yarl's Wood Detention Centre at the Dover Detainee Visitor Group's Ex-Detainee Conference held at Amnesty International's London office, and she shares it with us here.
 
I was kept at the Yarl's Wood Detention Centre for about a month and a half.  The night I was arrested, UK border officers came to my apartment looking for someone else.  They asked everyone for their identification, and when they didn’t find who they were looking for, they took me.  They brought me to the Tottenham police station where they kept me in a cell overnight.  It was so cold and it was a traumatic experience.  I didn’t know what was going to happen to me or where they would take me.

An Introduction to Capoeira

On Monday, July 2 a large group of us participated in the Capoeira workshop, sponsored by Big Dance in connection with Big Dance Week, and led by Goia and Noah from Kabula Arts and Culture.  Goia and Noah taught us that Capoeira is a Brazilian art form that blends music and dance with martial arts.  It rose out of slavery, with slaves using music and dance to disguise martial arts training intended to empower them to escape.  Goia and Noah had a non-threatening teaching style that encouraged us to set aside feelings of self-consciousness and to focus on gently moving in harmony and response to our partners.  We all had a chance to practise playing the instruments (some of them improvised with kitchen utensils), singing along to the soothing and uplifting music, and play-fighting with each other.  Everyone seemed to really enjoy themselves, even if they had initially been unsure what they were showing up for! 

If you attended the workshop, please

post a comment with your own impressions.

A Domestic Worker Speaks Out

A domestic worker in London writes about her difficult situation.  Before coming to London, she had never worked as a domestic worker.  In her country, she had worked in a garment factory, but here, as a domestic worker, she makes a little bit more money to help her family back home.  She is glad to be an active member of J4DW, a group of domestic workers supported by Unite the Union.  Since finding out about the group, she feels better and more confident.  Before, she was ashamed to speak, but she says now it’s hard to stop her!  If you are a domestic worker in need of a support network, J4DW could be a valuable resource for you.  Click here to find out more about it. 

I am a domestic worker.  I have had bad experiences but what I discovered with one employer is very different.  They show no respect at all and I have a lot of friends having the same problems, even worse.  Some of them never go out, sleeping on the floor, eating expired food, with no day off, no holiday pay, long hours of work, with low salary.  They do not pay the minimum wage.  They do not pay tax and NI.   Even when they have a written contract they never follow it.
  
They don’t give sick pay, and along with all that, they are shouting, breaking their bodies with sticks, and throwing boiling water on them.  They treat them like rubbish.  They call them a cow (bagara).  They call them a dog (kalba).  They call them a donkey (hamara).  And they call them stupid (ghabiya).  And the domestic workers, they don’t understand what is the meaning of the words. 

The Magic of Mentoring

Paula shares with us her reflections on her experience as a mentor with the New Beginnings project. If you are interested in becoming a mentor or mentee, please click here. 

When I started mentoring, I never for one second envisaged the enriching journey that would beckon. Certainly, life can be joyously wonderful, but difficulties can also pop up, and as a vulnerable refugee with no place to call home, these difficulties can be felt more profoundly. It is my experience that you don’t necessarily have to be a certain type of person to mentor or have a particular job to be qualified. You only need to be able to listen to what another person has to say, to empathise, and just to really see yourself in another. In the end, it is the simple things that count. Going to the cinema, seeing a nice exhibition or even going for a coffee are all invaluable when faced with immense pressure or 'rejection.' Furthermore and more significantly, it makes a huge difference, or it is rather a pleasant breath of fresh air to have someone to talk to, to share stories with, and just to partake in normal everyday activities with. It was not only possible to see the positive changes in my mentee, but I also saw positive changes within myself. Indeed, it is a journey where the mentor reaps as much as the mentee. I saw that it is possible and realistic to withstand the hurricanes and emerge stronger, wiser, kinder and more compassionate. In perfect honesty, it felt as though I did nothing but listen and turn up, but when our mentoring meetings came to an end, there was a tear in my eye, as it was truly wonderful to see my mentee confidently getting ready for her life ahead and genuinely happy about the opportunities that lay before her. I could not believe it was the same person. What quickly became clear to me is that everyone at some point benefits from a gentle word of encouragement. It felt really good to echo the message to my mentee that nobody can reject you and that things can and do improve with time.