The Connecting Communities project, a part of the Cairdeas programme run by Serve the City, Ireland was initiated in January 2024 to provide a space for recently arrived asylum-seekers to explore creative practices as a modality for self-expression, discussing the migratory process and intercultural diversity and integration.
Over the course of this project, we held 5 creative workshops on the following themes: Introduction to the intersection between creativity and culture, Visual arts, Photography, Writing and Cultivating the creative process.
It emerged that the group were mostly interested in writing and so individual support was given to each participant to prepare for the poetry reading event with the workshop facilitator and with a writing tutor, and it was decided to hold a reading event which would facilitate an opportunity for direct engagement at a community event, where we also invited other local writers to attend the reading and meet with participants of the project.
The poetry reading event will provide a platform for asylum seekers, minority ethnic groups and local community members to come together with the shared interest of the creative arts as a vehicle for integration. The event aims to create a space to value the voices of our most recently-arrived community members in order to spread the message of inclusion.
A poetry reading event will mark the end of the project. This event will be recorded on video which can be viewed here by from the end of April 2024.
Innocently lost
For my son…
Hush! my niño.
Kangol hat, dreadlocked hair, fair skin tone, mmmmmh, or so I thought.
Perilous fusion it turned to be.
22 years old and you were born.
Dhia, Mamma, Brother were my saving grace.
Zilch to my name except regalia on my back.
Life threw projectiles at me from every trajectory.
Personality vs character, I chose the first, faux pas.
Had I been cognizant on what to look for in an hombre, in the bygone days, it would have been bloom.
Gravely so, I’m still struggling to strike it lucky in romance.
Tenacity is good.
Tickled pink to have you as my son.
Havana
Blink of an eye
The clipping and jolting of our beloved homo sapiens trapped in a dark hollow room. Their screams rending the air like a baby calling out to his mother. The hit, the deafening sound, the wailing and echoes fill the air. Flakes of dust covering bodies like a baker in flour. Day becoming night in the blink of an eye, the sky bellowing, the earth trembling in shock and tears of blood dropping from the skies. Freedom of life stripped from Papa, Oh beloved! The masked ones have taken you below, nonchalant that you passed. Baba!!! Death cheated you, no more stories from the old, Papa is lying on the polished wooden bed, cold! Weary hands dig out the damp sand, dust returning to dust, below lies Baba, tears flowing as tongues continue to mutter scribbled words. There are different shades of black seen amongst those who lie silent.
Goodbye Papa as your body is left behind.
Oluwatoyin Samuel Omodara
Things my country never taught me
I was brought up in a society which is full of corrupt leaders and Government. During the year 1991 I was born. I started growing as a teenager‚ I was brought up in a very poor society. As a young secondary girl, I lacked a lot of skills I needed to succeed compared to young people of the western world today.
During my days of studying in primary to secondary‚ and even up to university level‚ I was never taught how to use a computer‚ because they were never made available to the primary school up to the federal university during my time of schooling. Coming to the western world today I felt very bad about my basic education. It gave me some barriers that if all this things were made available during my teenagerhood I would have surpassed the level I am in my life now.
The focus I have in my present life today is to be a better person for so that even when I remember about my beginnings it will make me never to dwell on the past. Rather I would like to improve in my Self and impact the knowledge to people around me and to my community at large. I hope one day that our African leaders will realize the lack of opportunity they have caused for the poor families when focusing on their rich political families alone. Because of the selfish interest they have for the masses ‚they have really destroyed the beautiful life of every family that has a very poor background, like me and others.
In Ireland today where I came to seek for international protection‚ for the short period of time that have stayed here I learnt that every human being have an equal right and decision to do whatever they want without any societal barriers. With the little culture have come to realize in Ireland they will never compromise the basic standard of living whether being poor or rich they classified everyone’s right to be equal.
Even as an asylum seeker the opportunity that I enjoy here in Ireland that my country could never provide for me. Like proper security are put in place for everyone ‚ you cannot abuse anyone and not to face the law of the country but where am coming from in Africa things like abuse, criminal offenses, bullying look like a normal things in a society like African, that am coming from.
Starting up a new way of life in working system in Ireland. Will really be of a great opportunity for me to be able to benefit a high standard of education‚ that will help me succeed and acquire all the knowledge I need to pursue my goals and achieve them in a very short period of time.
Osayande Blessing Ojo
JAPA; running away!!!
Dubbed out, broken up and disenchanted, life where is thy sweetness, burdened by age and consumed in infantile assurances of safety I refused to Japa.
That I had a wing I would have wished to live in the skies or in the very open air above the ground, living with angels and nature. I look at the flowing rivers, the freedom of the birds and the waters.
The pugnacious smell of danger hanging and looming in the horizon : the beauty of space and country lost in rascalities.
Barzokas and small arms from illegal acquisitions ended up in the bosom of vultures and merchants of deaths desperately thirsty and hungry blood sucking gods.
Mending the heart like the tailor mends clothes, hearts broken in despair of living, when living becomes a daily challenge and fear streaming down the broken half mended heart and soul.
Each horrendous killing and maiming comes with graveyard peace and irresponsible responses and actions.
Sojourn, sojourn, through sand dunes and deserts and wide bodied waters, located in the terrain of the country of four seasons, in search of peace of mind and security.
Mother Africa, the beautiful landscapes, land of nature, oh my fatherland, my compatriots I hail thee.
Nicholas Oguaju
My food, my choice
Oh, how I long to be me. To carry my plate with delight, with no sense of shame of the contents therein. But the all-knowing rolling eyes are overpowering. They decide what to choose. Manipulation is masqueraded in concern for my vigour. Don’t tell me what to choose. To make a selection out of a collection is a torture. A la carte is desirable yet compelled to comply with table d’hote.
To eat as I like is my freedom. For too long I have committed my intake to your approval. Oh, how I long to ingest on my own terms. My self-care behoves me. Don’t tell me how to live. Your position-based authority is a leash limiting appetite. Excitement dies, taste bud becomes dull at your appearing.
The array of buffet is appealing but my throat squirms at no gain. My vulnerability submits to your menu. My comfort compromised yet compelled to comply. To dive unhindered into a plate of jollof rice is my longing. The flavoured crimson grains finding favour with extra spicy hot chicken relished with wine is glorious.
I love all food but opportunity has not been proportionate. My curiosity rises at the sight of different cuisine. To hinder me is a blunder. Life is short! In its shortness lies sweetness. Let me relish the sweet savour.
Oh, how I long to be me, with no care filling my plate as I like.
Don’t tell me how to live.
My food is my choice.
My choice is my freedom.
Olasumbo Akanbi
Hanisk*
It is midnight…
take my last hanisk
I am crying like a baby
this is a very hard sorrowful journey,
it’s a red migration,
it’s a tear migration…
Oh, Gyanakam, it’s time to start my journey, to that land,
which will be my cradle for a long time
which will be a hug for my tired body
which will be a shoulder for my heavy head.
Oh, it’s time for my long migration,
which I am sure,
if it does not kill, it will burn me at the last.
Oh Gyanakam,
your love still makes me cry every night,
you are still in my vision when I look far away,
you are still in my tears so I won’t blink forever,
you are still in my heart, so I can’t run from the border guard,
I am afraid I’ll wake you with the sound of my quickened heartbeat.
Today is still yesterday,
you are still here like yesterday,
but it is my fault,
I am not with you like yesterday.
oooh Gyanakam,
in every night I have strong hanisk
till the sunrise,
Because you are very far,
and I am sooooo lonely…
especially tonight,
your love’s hurricane
your love’s fire tornado,
comes to me,
takes my blanket far away,
I am shouting by all my soul power,
which fills the world,
but no one consoles my condolence…
It is midnight,
I am sure you heard my hanisk
I am so sorry,
it woke you up my hanisk.
Sarbast Bakr
*Hanisk: a hiccupping sob when crying leaves you breathless, also a Kurdish girl’s name