brave new words

TARIRO ELIZABETH MUTERO

GIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

ROSANNE SERADOY

AMINA OSMAN

ALLYSON MOLINA

ARNOLDAS RAMANOWSKAS

ATIKA AKHTAR

CHANDELLE UZIMA

ZAHRA AWALE

JAMAL ABDALLAH

ZAHRA AWALE

EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

INGRID TCHEKO

YONIS OSMAN

NOMAKHOSI NDEBELE

IMRAN AHMED

DANIEL UZUNOW

OLAGOKE ADEYEMO

NATHAN RIVER

SARA MONDRAGON

ROZELYN

RUBEL MOHAMMED

AHAMAD

KHADEM

ZAINAB

MOH

AZAH

SHEILA

English PEN / READERS & WRITERS

With introductions by Joelle Taylor and Sarah Ardizzone

C

M

Y

CM

MY

CY

CMY

K

PEN_Clore_DustJacket2.pdf 1 23/03/2012 18:04

English PEN / Readers & Writers With introductions by Joelle Taylor and Sarah Ardizzone

First published in Great Britain in 2012by English PEN, Free Word, 60 Farringdon Road, London EC1R 3GA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Collection copyright © English PEN, 2012 The moral right of the authors has been asserted. The views expressed in this book are those of the individual authors, and do not necessarily represent the opinions of the editors, publishers or English PEN. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN 978-0-9564806-6-8

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Aldgate Press, Units 5&6, Gunthorpe Street Workshops, 3 Gunthorpe Street, London E1 7RQ www.aldgatepress.co.uk Designed by Brett Biedscheid, www.statetostate.co.uk

Brave new wordsJOELLE TAYLOR and SARAH ARDIZZONE

Love takes you far TARIRO ELIZABETH MUTERO

10 minsGIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

A nostalgic landROSANNE SERADOY

And when she sleeps she knows no boundsAMINA OSMAN

And when she sleeps she sees the worldALLYSON MOLINA

It’s like surfing through lifeARNOLDAS RAMANOWSKAS

I come from the colours green and white ATIKA AKHTAR

I come from exotic fruitsCHANDELLE UZIMA

Poem #3ZAHRA AWALE

Time is like a swordJAMAL ABDALLAH

I come from #1ZAHRA AWALE

I come from #2ZAHRA AWALE

ElevationEMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

I come fromEMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

BrokenEMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

BriséeEMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

Child soldierEMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

Cactus INGRID TCHEKO

New natureINGRID TCHEKO

My mother used to say..GIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

HollandYONIS OSMAN

I Love you, my crazy childNOMAKHOSI NDEBELE

A cry from above IMRAN AHMED

Blurred memories DANIEL UZUNOW

My piece - from homeDANIEL UZUNOW

Cheated wife with Rubel MohammedDANIEL UZUNOW

ShootingDANIEL UZUNOW

The storm yet to comeDANIEL UZUNOW

The wisdom from the pastDANIEL UZUNOW

The last moments of a prisonerDANIEL UZUNOW

If you can’t beat them join themOLAGOKE ADEYEMO

The past NATHAN RIVER

The youth anthemGIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

Dogs from the southSARA MONDRAGON

She sleepsSARA MONDRAGON

AtahualpaSARA MONDRAGON

Angels without godSARA MONDRAGON

I give birth to deathSARA MONDRAGON

My motherSARA MONDRAGON

She calls meSARA MONDRAGON

I amSARA MONDRAGON

Hymn for DiegoSARA MONDRAGON

Love Struck ROZELYN

The beauty of the seaRUBEL MOHAMMED

Ahamad’s kites (Afghanistan)IN CONVERSATION WITH SARAH ARDIZZONE

Ahamad’s kites 2 (London)IN CONVERSATION WITH SARAH ARDIZZONE

Fresh air is not free KHADEM

How to eat grapesZAINAB

How to become an expert at eating sunflower seedsMOH

What goes around, comes aroundAZAH

Writing to my grandfather back in UgandaSHEILA

Soundscape from where I used to live, back home in Kampala, UgandaSHEILA

2

4

5

6

7

12

13

14

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

Brave New Words JOELLE TAYLOR

Some pages are pages are windows. Others are walls. This is a door.

When I opened the door to the first session of the Brave New Words course held over 8 weeks at NewVIc Activ8 in Newham, I had expected to see 3 or 4 young people shyly struggling to get their pens to speak. What was actually behind the door was a hardcore of 20 young poets and rappers from across the world, who turned every wound they had received into a poem. A song. What I found was that the door was actually a mouth.

What you will read over the next few pages is a small selection of what those brave and clever young people wanted to say. Some of the words are in English. Others are in Swahili, Arabic, Ndebele, Spanish – or even in the universal language that is poetry. Words change worlds. There can be no doubt about that. The words and worlds pressed between the pages of this book will take you on a journey across continents. You will find yourself at a refugee centre in Holland or watching a childhood friend become a child soldier. The next page takes you across Kenya, and over in to the Congo, stopping for a long rest in old Ecuador. Some of the words you will not understand. This is not important. All of the best poems are written in invisible ink.

Every one of these poems is about freedom of speech. Every one of these poems understands the limits of its page, and that the bars across your exercise book can translate into real bars across a cell for many writers across the world.

These young people may have finished the poems contained with in this book, but they are now undertaking the biggest and most important editing process of their lives: that of writing themselves.

It does not stop here. It begins.

2

AN English PEN BOOK / READERS & WRITERS

3

BRAVE NEW WORDS

SARAH ARDIZZONE

What can I add to Joelle’s brave new introduction? Except to say that while a door (or a mouth) was being opened wide at NewVIc, fine voices were being heard loud and proud from the inter-generational participants at Praxis Community Centre in Bethnal Green. In these pages you will find how the memory of home can be captured in a sunflower seed; how childhood and the savagery of war came together in the making of a kite; if you strain your ears, you might catch parrots riffing in Kampala or tune into the soundscape of a day-in-the-life in Homerton. Such is the dizzying mix that these always fresh, ever surprising new writers can draw on and that Nii Ayikwei Parkes and I had the privilege to witness. For us, the words became especially real on the evening when Ahmed walked in through the door at Praxis with three handmade kites delicately wrapped under his arm - on their odyssey from Kunduz to Bethnal Green, from tissue paper and string to words and back again. If I’m not mistaken, Nii and Khadem have a date to fly one of those kites which has been given to Nii’s daughter. And so the story continues to unfold...

No one enters this spaceWithout the dream of a

common languageAdrienne Rich

4


Love takes you far TARIRO ELIZABETH MUTERO

My mother used to say to me

Uthando liya kutshiya khat shana*

Now I’m starting to think

THAT’S A MYTH

Because to me

Love is a curse, love is a poison

Love is disease, love is pain

Love is unpredictable

Love never stays down my road

It always comes but never takes me far

* Not all is gold, what is shining

10 mins GIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

Only ten mins

But the poem is at my grip, trying to catch it before my imagination

takes caption

I look and look the time is of the essence watch it get lost as I create

something unusual

built from letters I show the paper what I can imprint

Written in codes only I can cypher this

Behold the masterpiece that’s unfinished, I give to you in ten mintues

My hope is to show you words create and they take time

But then again gives enlightenment, never shunned by the dark

you give and get.

Leads you in different directions with many ideas you can never be stuck.

A nostalgic land ROSANNE SERADOY

A nostalgic landWhere my mother’s language is spokenI have no recollectionOf masteringMy tongue stiffTo the words spoken

The noise unbearableColours so vibrantSo different that I’m shocked stillTaking it all in

Jeepneys that were once aggressive military trucksAre painted over with bright coloursBright, tropical and psychedelic, free

The monsoon ragesSwallowing up houses and treesThe water pools into puddles, a lake, and then a seaWhere mosquitoes resideIn the stagnant liquidUnsatisfiedTo kiss sleeping bloodied formsLaying on street cornersTwisted with the dogs that lie

The barriers are why I cryBut why should I long to run freeIn povertyBut how can I put in wordsWhat could it have been?A nostalgic landThat I would have called home

5

BRAVE NEW WORDS

And when she sleeps she knows no bounds AMINA OSMAN

And when she sleeps she knows no boundsThe air is sweeter, softerHer body wears no crown but a queen of the eastern winds her spirit soars high in flightAn unyielding phoenix of the night, battered but stillShe makes blood red fire from the scratches by cruel matches and those who tried to smother her When she tried to make her own light – before she discovered something new She was cutHere she dreams of endless waters reflecting an endless sky – pure like silk woven by angelsBeaming far away from the echoes of her soul-cryHere there is no fear she may die, here she need not hide her questions, here there is no wallHere her wings stretch wide over crashing tides and then dry barren land, the glowing desertsHere she glides over small houses made of plastic woven U.S Aid bags, and dark faces, shadowed by cupped hands Here she will find them all, hawk-eyedTheir eyes will burn when they see her glideBlinded, they will not recognise their own monster, glittering with pride Their eyes will burn when they see her rise above their hot knives hovering over candlesTheir culture and scalding disinfectant Now they will burn. I will make heavens pour velvet liquid flames like rain over them, And they will lose something precious to themHow their heads will turn, their horror, their rageMy wounds are open and bleed freely the blood of a womanAnd you, your hearts will be sealed forever under thick ash

6


And when she sleeps she sees the world

ALLYSON MOLINA

1And when she sleeps

She sees the worldTHE HOLOCAUST

Where people die, children cryWhere some waste and others need

She sees the worldWhen she wakes up

She wishes she was thereWhere?

In the HOLOCAUSTIt seems better you see,

Better than waiting for her dad to die and her mum to liveTo live the life she never had.

The life she desires.As her dad lies, her mum drinks.

Drowning her sorrows……..In ALCHOHOL.

2I come from

A big building.Flocks of women of all kinds,

Who are they?I wonder you see,

A long blue tunic..mhmWho are they?

I wonderWhere is your bible?

One of them said.I do not own one

I answered.Claaaaaaaap!

Slapped me on my face.

7

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Who are they ?I wonder

I no longer feel the left side of my face.Tears roll down my silhouette

Hunger mumbles in my stomach.Beautiful from the outside

But from withinSmall children search for their mothers.

Nanny clothed in REDSlowly leaves the scene.

The gate closed.Father’s eyes shuttered

I am six and I am sombre.

Mother do you not love me?Do you not want me?

I need you mother.Destructive thoughts came to my head.

It’s been a week nowFrom the slaps. I am half deaf.

Here I am seated in this long sided bench.Old chewing gum and black marks is all I see.

I can hear somebody please tell me my brother it’ll be.OH brother I have missed you.

He hugs me so tight that my spine is greeting my ribs.Oh please do not leave me, I pledged.

Where Is mummy Edwin?Silence overcame the place

I cried and cried until I dried out.Aqui sentada sin poder hablar,

No quiero aceptar que mi mama no me ama.Un perfume muy peculiar toca mi nariz.

Mami, Mami.She came back.

3My mother used to say to me

Respect it’s the root of it darling.Respect is the root of it.

When you go out do not look down

8


Learn how to talk to othersDo not let anybody down.

My mother used to say to meEl que espera desespera

Pero obtiene su reconpensa.My mother, my hero.

My mother a strong women, A fighter.My Mother.

The unique living soul No matter what I’d do

Or who I’d be She‘ll always, always

Stand by me.My mother used to say to me

Make me proud my child.I know you will win in life.

4Bluely; Hitler’s sister,

Hitler’s wife.Stands up with pride,

Holds her chin up with disguise.Always ready to fight

But never ready to die.Discriminative women

I wish you’d go elsewhere.Ogre that always appears at night.

Lady’s look up to it, trying to talk like herTrying to imitate.

Horrible, Horrendous, unkind creatureWhose conception is unknown?

Forever prepared to bring your sentiments down.Making you feel erroneous.

The reminder she leavesIs a strong paroxysm in your heart?

Semblance of a brain crushed on high heels.Feeling of remorse she will never trigger.

Makes me think she is himself.Jack the ripper.

9

BRAVE NEW WORDS

5Hide and hide

Until the rain comes outI like it when it’s quiet

When nobody is around.With my hundred feet

I can get anywhere I can get to the moon.

I am strong, just like SAMSON.I am sly and fast.

If I’d like to do something, that’s what I’ll do.I am soft and playful

However don’t you dare to underestimate me?I would bite you, Make it sting forever.

So my being you will always remember.When they see me, they avoid me.

They are afraid of what I can do.I might be small,But I am brave.I am a fighter.

I might seem dark,Well, I can be brighter.

What I’m I?A CENTIPEDE!

6A father’s got to leave his family.

He makes sure the most ponderous item is comfortably saved.Saved like a treasure from the far long lost islands.

Holding each other’s hands, his wife’s, his daughter’s,Not wanting to let go.

Wanting this moment to last forever.Astonished child does not know what is taking place.

On his way, Father makes gesture.Attempting to accomplish his daughter’s joyful smile.

Affections show as their hands hold.Ancestor is gone,

Progenitor and mademoiselle walk alone.

10


7I learnt how to shoot as a small girl.

I wanted to be somebodyI wanted to get somewhere

Kept walking around like a wooden soldier.kept thinking I would destroy everything I touched.

Thunder.I am confused.

Cannot comprehendLow is where my spirit remains.

(to be continued)

8Ella, tan dulce y tan serena.

Ella, dejando rosas en la arena.Ella, sin mascara no es bella.

Ella, se convirtio en bruja para dejar de ser doncella.The way she walks

Reflect the way she talksHer hair, dirty and tangled

Give forth to the way her life has become strangled.Her eyes are smashed CCTV cameras.

Stopping her from seeing The way she is being.

Fingerprint in stained glass,Blood in her arms.

She shouts to the inside of her selfUnderstanding how it feels to become

SOMEBODYELSE.She thinks there is not right path for her to take,

So the wrong decision she must make.This sentiment,

The baby wants to escape.Blood and pain she must face.

Life is unfair for the ones that care,Life is good if you learn how to shoot.

11

BRAVE NEW WORDS

It’s like surfing through life ARNOLDAS RAMANOWSKAS

It’s like surfing through life.When you’re still 12 in your mind.Living best time of my lifeWas always a hobby of mine.

With all the people that I lovedAnd all the happiness I sharedBut everything ended so quickThat I didn’t notice how it did

And suddenly I changedWhen I got a nickname under my nameWith the lost breath that took

He saidAchilles – that’s your real name.

I come from the colours green and whiteATIKA AKHTAR

I come from the colours green and whiteWith pride my country withholdsI come from the land where streets were never empty or lostWhere women walk in fearAnd sleep in shameI come from the land of liesWhere there are conflicts, war, disagreement and moreI come from a land of rapeWhere women are never safe

12


I come from exotic fruits CHANDELLE UZIMA

I come from exotic fruits, juicy, freshReal fruits that leaves you mouth watery

I come from coloured liputa filled with patterns. Green, purple, orange

I come from a place where every thing Is bright. The sounds of kids playing

I come from a place where the Drums speak before mouth.The rhythm of a heartbeat.

I come from a place where politics control me, grey, black and red.

I come from a place where the streets are coloured in red, where is it coming from? Ask that man sitting there while the women cry.

Poem #3 ZAHRA AWALE

I learnt to shoot as a small girlI liked to see that my effort wasn’t in vain

13

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Time is like a sword JAMAL ABDALLAH

My mother used to say to me in Arabic…

Time is like a sword, if you do not cut it, it will cut you.

Alwaqt, kalsaif, in lum taqta’h, qata’akFollowing the trace of my past,Every minute, I have an obstacle It will never be my last,I am driving the route of my life ballisticTime travels, quicker than my blink of an eyeBut I play my game life as if there is no “I”This is where I begin to show my real identity,Paper deteriorate, people only think as if they are a only a sanityPapers left over, are only a remained in a fire place untouched, lastlyFor 100 years.Sitting with my granddadIt was only my…Memory on rewind mode.Bullets went through my body, That bullet…touched the yellow oyster card radar. But it only showed the red light of life.Beeped with life supports around meCritical is the only word Internal organsFlushing red blood around the unknown cityYoung men, women, and innocent childrenChildren; colouring their own picture bookToo late…A bazooka went throughThe last thing I know I was told By mum“I will not buy my freedom at any price!”Flashing images are turned on talking about this

14


Toxic economic crisis we are inMedia don’t care about my voiceless voice.My brother across the worldSitting eating his qaat, having leisure and watching TV.They are under a warm dueve whilst im strangling to find the warmth and love that I need.

Twitter Edition: Democracy

IgtThstwitterIstrtdarevolutionofwntindemocracyBtjsticewasntseenfor40yrsia mgoverndby59fakersPplonlybehvelkeHeathLedgerBtI’llplymygmelkelakers insight Explanation: Democracy I got this twitter, I started a revolution of wanting democracy But justice was not seen for 40 years I am governed by 59 fakers But I will play my game just like NBA Lakers People only behave like Joker: Heath Ledger BirthPlace: Born in the United Arab Emirates, my parents are from Yemen, Older generation have some roots from the horn of Africa. My world is reflected by: • Wealth of natural resources • health – vital piece of my cake • or should I say the greed of people • so many of the hidden truth is covered by a dueve of mass media. “Black Criminal, Formal economics” is the way politicians use to hide innocent truth of different 3rd world countries. Identify is unknown, confused, my food

15

BRAVE NEW WORDS

is mandi rice, the meat is heated up with reflective foil under the ground using underground furnace, natural salts and minerals enter the marinated meat. Every dirham spent is only travelling around the world yet only crushed by the strongest pound. It is seen and symbolised by the Arabian.

Animal mythology:

If I was an animal I would be an Arabian falcon mixed with a stallion, I fly with an Arabian falcon mixed with an Arabian stallion, the courage to eat my prey, I am only a road runner with quick pace, lightning quick, strong to jump my upcoming hurdles.

The colour of the sea, eyes seeing the world with perspective of my horizon on mount Everest glaciers, coated with white fur on top of my world searching for my final destiny. Flowing from one river to the ocean, I have a life cycle. Endless. People fight for saviour, people keep me as necessity, I cure the fire of burned houses across the world. I am expensive as the black crude oil, rare and genuine. A country where my roots started the first architectural designers were born to build the historic city of Little Aden and Sana’a from my grandfather.

I will be scintillating on the paper writing the black boldness of every type of calligraphy to the style of my Japanese writing and artistic passion for the root language; latin and Arabic Writing is the shadow of my patience. Musically, I play it like an Arabian lute. The way I tip toe around the house when I was 3.

16


17

BRAVE NEW WORDS

I come from #1 ZAHRA AWALE

The land of clean straight lines Of hills like wavelengthsOf HijabOf Burka, BayboyiI come from the land of IstanbulBy my fat father over a hot steaming stoveI come from the land of war, passion, technology and beauty

I come from a land where women are covered like mummies and hidden in houses

I come from #2 ZAHRA AWALE

I come from a land of beauty where the hills and towns meetWhere there is no end or defeatI come from a land where women are hidden, caged in houses.A land where men say ‘where my feet lead, go’But I’m also from the land of culture tradition and danceA land where animals roam freeWith no despair, with no fear and care, something I wish to cherish and have.

The land I come from has changedWhilst carrying its traditions and RULES!!I come from the land of possibilities

Elevation EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

The overwhelming feeling of satisfactionThe end of loneliness, victoryNo more will we bunch together at nightGoodbye to hoping and wishingOur day has come, this joy given to usBy this big angel, our saviour

Came to us in our darkest time at nightWalked his way through and shown a lightThis slavery is now no moreWith the word “come” a pulse is restoredHigh we raised our fists to the skyThe joy overwhelms us so much that we cry

I come from EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

I come from warm tasty treatsTo be eaten before the evening feastIt is a party of flavour, a festFood that surpasses all the restI come from places which are hard to sayFrom the Eiffel Tower and Les Chants ElyséeFrom football fanatics to passionate paintersThe love for art rings deep in the theatresI come from a place where we say “te toi mon amis”That means “shut up my friend” if you don’t understand meThe Mount Everest standing high up aboveI come from Paris the city of love

18


19

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Broken EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

The life in him is fading, slow

Like when a lamp turns off, the dim fade

His eyes are red, no longer white as snow

As he looks down, I witness his soul, a shade

Broken

It’s been a long year and a half

18months, 540days, 12960 hours have passed

For a father, that is a long time without his kids

He blames himself for what he did

Slow breaths of air the air is humid

The image of what used to be vivid

Broken

The ray of sunshine which was once frequent

Comes out when he sees them, he returns hidden

He can’t stay, so far away, I hear him say

But there’s that 1 gate, of massive hate, a family trait

He can never again lay with his soul mate

Without a doubt he must accept his fate

Broken

Divorce can break anyone, whether big or small

They called it “civil partnership ending” if I recall

Placing labels on topics of high sensitivity

A label that keeps a man away from his family

It wasn’t a path that he had chosen

From head to toe it is clear he is BROKEN

Brisée EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

It happened on a nice evening as he laid on the bedA big grin on his face her voice in his headHis heart trembling when she calls himPeut savait-il qu’elle avait une mauvaise nouvelle he was no long the “one” pour elle Their journey as a couple arrive a la FeinPlus jamais pourra-t-il prendre sa main

The long promenade dans de herbe verteWith the mass of oiseaux libre dans le cielDans un mots elle termine tout a jamaisNever again will she lay on his breast and sayJe t’appartient et je t’aimeWithout her he wasn’t le même

Child soldier EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

His teeth were concaved like a deep cave with no lightHis teeth as the sun, bright and yellow from the beer they make him drinkHis hands like sandpaper from the grit of the gunHis voice was no longer virgin like a child who lost his innocenceHis feet once soft as feathery cotton now hard as the artillery he handlesHis heart now without tenderness, seeks innocent blood

The wound of words is worse than the wound of swords.

Al jarh al kalam amak min jarh al seyoof

20


21

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Cactus INGRID TCHEKO

Multitudes.

They came like lightning.

Flash

His soul was no longer his.

A child to a devil

A map

Embedded deep in his back

Crafted with whips

He wept his innocence

Until he became

a non-entity.

They say

Where there is water there is life

There is no life in him

For his eyes are dried like the desert

Deserted by God

His life is nothing but drought

Destroyed Mother nature with infinite stab wounds

Of cracks

New nature INGRID TCHEKO

Embraced by chains of guilt

He cannot break free for its grasp is too strong

RAPE

TORTURE

ANGEL OF DEATH

His heart is bruised. A trap.

The devil is liar

For God is higher

And not a buyer

Of souls

For he is not childless

A devil into a child

A curse too easy to crack

So smile

For you are not a commodity

But a CACTUS

For you

You

Have defeated the desert.

22


23

BRAVE NEW WORDS

My mother used to say.. GIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA


“tinobva kure kure, kushandisa maziso kupenga”

Only the ones that are not living now; the ones unknown.

Stretching is only the motion,

But the actual is unseen as it stands with time

What they left us….

A look at my grandparents

A tunnel in structure I trace back the foot steps

The crouchy look. the only cause could be

The late night dances in the rain, showers from heaven they called it.

Thumbs from the feet rumble against the thunder

Fear is unseen in their eyes

“Ndinooera shumba” they were one with the jungle

What they resemble the body exposes

But as I said, my mother used to say

“tinobva kure kure, kushandisa maziso kupenga”

Using your eyes to figure out where we came from is mere madness.

Holland YONIS OSMAN

My young life never seemed steady

Because every time I grew, we went on the move

Holland.

A place for groups and groups alone

Newcomers aint welcome, coz they aint known

I went from place to place and house to house

This is why I never settled down.

For I am like a cat mixing in with dogs

New teachers, new faces

Why did I move without a single scent?

Walking home all alone, hoping that one day I make a friend

I step into the house, unknown with all these rooms

But one thing always slaps my face no matter what

That is the smell of my mother’s fresh and tasty food that will never rot

For this is the one thing that makes me aware of what I own.

24


25

BRAVE NEW WORDS

I Love you, my crazy child NOMAKHOSI NDEBELE


Nguyakuthanda, hlanyalami

Followed by a kiss on my cheeks

Eyes closed, and I’m back to the

Same place. Again, and again

Words echo…

Echoing as if the words disappear

Into the air

Forming a cloud above my head

Again it echoes

As the cloud turns to rain

Each letter, each drop of rain

Falling , sliding down my cheeks

Eventually

My body is soaked with words

Like an invisible hug

Sinking into my skin

And straight

To

My

Heart.

A cry from above IMRAN AHMED

Each day I try not to sin

I try to play with the rules so heaven lets me in

lives lost some are spent in the bin

it’s like we’re living a game that you can never win

But I’m just trying to stack my paper

so I’m selling food like a cater

but everywhere I go I always find a hater

and feds want to put me in a box like a trainer

It’s like I’m back home

children skinny, all you see is bone

no parents so were all forced to live alone

rob anyone for their cell phones

the government don’t care he’s on his throne

they don’t play our voice coz there’s no tone

Blurred memories DANIEL UZUNOW

Back in time, all alone – I am lost.In this dream, all alone – I feel frost.Struggling; fight, all alone – I am lost.I’m alone – the feeling that I hate the most.

Snowfall time – sparkling, cracking, fighting;Strong don’t cry – keep fighting, lying, trying.White-bluish death – the price – overwhelming,In pure-white scenery – I with death am attending.

26


27

BRAVE NEW WORDS

My piece - from home DANIEL UZUNOW

I come from the land of fields,

That is called after them,

The fields of copper, gold and silver,

The land of history, faked liberty,

At times misery, but never poverty

I come from land of eagles,

Above rivers of red,

Where people are eager;

Where children are fed

I come from land of milk and honey,

Yet we have problems with money;

I come from land of tradition,

Where history tends to repetition

I come from land of winged knights

Winged, yet robbed of their flight;

I come from land of heroes,

Kings – reigning from the past

Yet I come from land of future,

With hope within heart,

For what is coming is rupture,

I hope it’s not too far.

Cheated wife with Rubel Mohammed DANIEL UZUNOW

Her neck like a bent broomstick;Her arms like cranes her husband drives;Her skin like messy bed;Her eyes made of crystals that she cleaned half of her life.Her hands – once silk – now are like the rugs she washes.Yet her hair still shines, like a TV display,For she still has hope, in the children she fed,For how she was cheated, she also can play.

Shooting DANIEL UZUNOW

I learnt to shoot, as a small girl.I’ve fallen in love with gunpowder – instantly.Piff-paff – the smell after shot…The shells of the bullets – shining like jewels;The radiance of the shot – blinding like the sun;Feeling victorious, getting ready to run,Laying in the grass with the gun,Bathing in sunlight, making my skin tanI remember the wind in my hair – so refreshing…I remember my first shot – embarrassing.

28


29

BRAVE NEW WORDS

The storm yet to come DANIEL UZUNOW

The wind, so cool – softly veiling my faceThe sea, so full – the waves moving in one paceAnd I, being grasping future clash of mine,Outside, the everlasting hounds of the time.Then rush, like spell – engulfing everything I made.That’s storm, so cruel, enraged god of the two;He is here, the ruler. Engraving times yet to come;He is here, to cover - us in the sands of time.

The wisdom from the past DANIEL UZUNOW

My mother used to say to me:‘nie wszystko złoto co się świeci’1;‘prawdziwych przyjaciół poznaje się w biedzie’2.I heard, nodded wisely my head in agreement,But understanding never came to me.That is, as always, until it was too late.The story stretches back in time,But I won’t bore you with details.Needless to say, price of ignorance was dear.But I also learnt from my lesson;On my mistakes learnt.For ignoring ancestors’ warnings,Is like dance in darkness –A fool’s play.

1 Not all is gold, what is shining2 True friends, are met in distress

The last moments of a prisoner DANIEL UZUNOW

My eyes are now wide open,Yet still, all I see is dark.I kneel, on shattered glass,The pieces aimed straight in my heart.But why, the truth long forgotten,Am I all alone in this cage of light without light?

I struggle; try really hard. Finally my binds come undone.I sneak to the window, sealed since ancient times,But the seal is weak, and as I reach with hand,I break the seal, and finally bathe in true light.

It is supposed to come with picture, depicting insides of building in darkness, with window full of holes after bullets.

If you can’t beat them join themOLAGOKE ADEYEMO

I was born into this world as self-respectful, nice, quiet person, very shy and peaceful but as the world changed I realised I was holding back from the world and its obstacles….2006.…2008….2010…the world kept changing, people changing, animals and everything changing which made me felt like a tortoise among giants cornered and stepped on, I just had to change and improve in my social life. Since the day I changed I have been known for being smart, sharp and ready and for any strike some called me a bold eagle not bald eagle.

My mother used to say to me “if you can’t beat them join them” “Be the leader never the follower” “You will never know what success feels like without failure”.

30


31

BRAVE NEW WORDS

The past NATHAN RIVER

The land of forests that have been cut off, and changed into the ones of steel.The memory of them gives me a thrill.The land of wolves – now they are gone.There are no wolves – we’re left just with dogs.

All the places where I’ve been.All the places that I’ve seen.They are no more.They all blend together – until they’re gone.

I never lived anywhere long enough to say that I have home.I always walk through the desert – I always walk alone.

The youth anthem GIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

The bible in my hand…They don’t expect that from me, I never bring good newsI was born by an iron will the 9 what I knowBang bang one gone one up, Babies before diplomasThey tell me that my pants are baggy“where could I put all my emotions”Carried myself to this position, mental fitness you will never weigh me downYou talk like you know me trust me u don’t.You wear suits cause you cant dress no moreAm I meant to be scared?I walk like a thief in the evening reason being they dropped that title on meI cover my face, cause we all wear masks My presence is repulsive….Well I tell you this Mr man My parts done, you don’t hate me you hate who make meSo you don’t offend me.

Dogs from the southSARA MONDRAGON

Many souls too much sweatForget the people they are a threat

People believe in everyone else but themselvesFinally someone does something for the struggle

Faith can be dangerousA meeting between strangers

Can lead to some trouble

Try to close your ears with your mouthKill the dog from the south

Send bombs to the place you hateBecause they already ate

Create a diversion with your handsShow them your empty palms

Kill the seeds of natureTrying to feel better

Money feels good in your position Too bad there is opposition

She sleepsSARA MONDRAGON

And when she sleeps She dreams her life is hell

Feeling her life will endNot knowing that now, she is dead

She dreams about clouds and breadAbout the love

About waterAbout walls

She dreams that she is awake But she dies long ago

32


33

BRAVE NEW WORDS

AtahualpaSARA MONDRAGON

He was praying for his land

Just before he was going to die

He hid gold in the mountains

For the gold of the fountains

Child don’t be sad I am just going

To take the holy coin

Please don’t kill our tongue

Please don’t do me wrong

Because this place you call

New world is always old

My blood soars like an eagle

Concealing history in your ego

Long ago there was peace

Before you came along and took the bliss

I prefer to kill my child myself

Rather than you teaching him

How to sit on chairs, how to behave

You bring guns to my sacred place

Insulting the souls possessing my race

Angels without godSARA MONDRAGON

Los niños de la calle

Son angeles sin dios

Rogabanporperdon

Talvez are a la sociedad

Talvezyo

The kids from the street

Are like angels without gods

They ask for forgiveness

Perhaps from society

Perhaps from me

El niñovestia nada y poco

Haciendomeperder el antojo

There was not any food or shelter

I ought to believe that was not sad

I ought to believe it was a joke

Those black eyes has pain

And had lost colour

Si no hubieranniños en la calle

Teaseguroque no habria Diablo andante

34


35

BRAVE NEW WORDS

I give birth to deathSARA MONDRAGON

Decisions made up by mistakesThat children have to pay

Flowers of the sun, tried to blossomBut died of poison

Poisonous hands driven by mindWanted to rape children’s mind

Her white soul cries for more She used to look up, now she looks below

She was insulted by ghostsBut it was not her fault

Children of the sun I will rape your soul

How much can you takeNo one will know

I feel powerful over you Honey our baby is due

My motherSARA MONDRAGON

My mother used to say to me Delayed victory comes strong

We will have revenge against the throneDeliver the child to the door

Centuries will go on

Explode my insides with a smileDo not forget to kill my desire

She calls meSARA MONDRAGON

I like the mud in the floorI want more

I pass my emotions from the sandTo my hand and my hands pass it

To my paper to describe her temperEverything is free

My ancestors are calling meShe is here with me

Passing stories of my raceTo teach me about my face some say is a shame to be dark

She says they are not smartBecause I don’t bite

I believe is better than black and white

I amSARA MONDRAGON

I am an ebony condorThe first of this generationI fly higher than the clouds

Alone of courseThe vivid colour of orange

Orange like fire, like volcanoI am the mandolin

Stunned at midnightIn the heart of the jungle

I like white feather for the waterThe water of your eyes

I am not country because I am nothingThe wind takes me always to the south

I write to mother of unborn childrenI write to myself the only one who

Understand why we are like this

36


37

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Hymn for DiegoSARA MONDRAGON

I come from Ecuador

From 13 years of old culture

I know what you have to do to stay alive

My friend Diego begs the wealthy

For a dusty slice of bread

I come from

Where the music has a voice

And the deaf have ears

Three different weathers in the same day

I can smell the rain of nature

Famine stays behind mothers without children

They take your organs

They take your breath

They leave your clothes on the bench

They know who is going to wear my sense, my smell.

My angels of the street

Life is not sweet

You have no mother

You have no father

You have your friend:

Hunger.

Love Struck

ROZELYN

Am I acres of green

Mountain after mountain

The smell of Mother Nature

Or the miles of concrete

Building after building

Man-made gold only in its

Finest.

Am I the shadow of the hidden secrets

Of the stars and the sun or

Am I the bright red straps that tie

Around my body as I carry that

Deceiving blue cross over my back.

Like a seed in my heart they both grew

Into something wonderful.

My eyes glimmer at their sight, blinded

By their beauties. I am proud to be part

Of both

But in their own different ways.

But as I stand here I ask myself this

Where am I to stand?

Love struck

By both of them.

38


39

BRAVE NEW WORDS

The beauty of the seaRUBEL MOHAMMED

For the first time in my life,

I was going to see the sea. I was excited!

When I was in the train, my mind was spinning only a picture,

the picture of the sea that I have seen on TV.

My heart was beating as fast as a running horse,

I was looking to the right and to the left,

In front me and behind me,

but my thoughts were only with the beach

where I’ll see water and water.

The more time passed, the more I felt emotional

minute after minute, second after second

in the silence I was waiting…

It was like waiting for final results

It was like waiting for the day before my birthday

It was like the blossoming of a rose,

where a person looks forward for this event.

Suddenly, I’ve seen the wide big blue!

The biggest free space that I have ever seen,

where my eyes have limitless scope

it seems like that I was inside my big void

and the peaceful noise of the wave makes me new

where I can listen to myself.

40


Ahamad’s kites (Afghanistan)IN CONVERSATION WITH SARAH ARDIZZONE

I was twelve when I made my favourite kite. It flew the highest of all my kites. I flew it at Nairuz – New Year. New Year is a Wednesday in March...I am from a city in the North of Afghanistan, called Kunduz. I grew up in Kunduz all my life. There were always wars going on. When I was a child it was with Russia. I started school when I was six.

When I was twelve I was on the roof mending it in time for winter when the rocket hit. It got my face, my nose, my legs. I have had so many operations since then...

I could make a kite in just one hour. Or sometimes I would take two to three hours in the evening. It was a white paper kite, with green paper too. And I used blue to decorate it.

41

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Ahamad’s kites 2 (London)IN CONVERSATION WITH SARAH ARDIZZONE

I catch the 171. There is a bus-stop close to my house, but for one month it’s not working properly because of road-works. So for ten minutes I have to walk and after I catch the bus. I say hello to the driver and stay downstairs. I am on my way already when I remember – “Oh, last week, I told them I would bring the kites.”

So I have to go back again. The same problem: I can’t use the bus-stop near my house – I have to keep walking with the three kites I’ve put very carefully in the plastic bag, which I tie up in a very neat knot. I don’t say hello to the bus driver this time. The bus is too crowded, everybody is packed in, I feel very tired. I get a seat right at the back. I have to go carefully through the crowd of people with my fragile kites. Then I come to New Cross Gate. Another problem there – because of the kites it makes it difficult to change to the Overground for Whitechapel.

Finally, I come out from the Underground at Bethnal Green. Oooh. Much busy. Rush. Rush. Rush, Many people. If you come out from the Underground, there is a lot of wind. If I’m not careful, everything is broken.

Straightaway, I come here. And you have written all this down about my kites for me, but I can’t read it. It’s like a GP’s writing. When I hand in the prescription at the pharmacy, I don’t know what is written there.

42


Fresh air is not free KHADEM

I was at Liverpool Street, right opposite the Tube Station, waiting for the Bus No 8. As I looked back there was a guy who was giving people a free energy drink. As you know, in this country fresh air is not free, so I rushed for it. And you know what? I got one.

How to eat grapesZAINAB

Take it out of the pack.

Wash it with cold water.

Leave it for two minutes for the water to drain off it.

Put it in a bowl, grab a chair and start enjoying your fruit.

Make sure not to eat the little trees around it.

Make sure you no eat the small-tree way day pand ham.

43

BRAVE NEW WORDS

How to become an expert at eating sunflower seedsMOH

Eating sunflower seeds can be very hard and annoying. Because they are so tiny.

If you would like to learn how to eat them, first you have to choose the right types because there are lots of different ones, like salted or not salted.You really want to eat sunflower seeds when you are free, doing nothing special – watching a film or the football. The best time to eat sunflower seeds is at the weekend, on a sunny day, in the park, with your friends, sitting on the grass. Or in the evening, sitting on the sofa, with a nice movie flickering on the telly. Or you’re on the bus, sitting at the back, staring out of the window, trying not to make too much of a mess – there’s a big plastic bag wise open next to you.

What goes around, comes aroundAZAH

I love this old saying, because my Mum used it while she was making conversation with someone. Like, for example, if someone was planning to do a wrong or a bad thing to the other person, she would say: ‘What goes around comes around’. And it always was true. When you do something bad to someone else, then something more worse would happen to him or her.But there are some times when people do whatever they wanna do and still they would get away with it and so in that situation I would say: “What goes around doesn’t come around.”

44


Writing to my grandfather back in UgandaSHEILA

You know in London there are several means of transport. There is the really fast box-like called a train. It moves very quickly so if you are going to very faraway places it would be best to use. You have to pay more money however compared to a bus. Anyway, I don’t have so much money so I choose to use the bus.

I have to catch the 109 to get to KFC. At KFC they sell chips and chicken. Their chicken is so tasty. The skin on it is the most delicious thing you could ever taste in your life. I can’t explain how they make it coz anyway they keep their recipes as secrets to attract more customers.

Anyway, I touch my oyster card on the machine that takes the money off and I head for the upper deck, as usual, to catch my views. An oyster card is the card you put money on and you have to touch it on the bus machine to you to get on the bus. It’s like paying for your travel, the only difference in this case is the money is already put on the card instead of in paper notes.

I can only see one side of your face, but I don’t know what is on the other side. I can’t tell what is there.SHEILA

45

BRAVE NEW WORDS

Soundscape from where I used to live, back home in Kampala, UgandaSHEILA

In the morning when I am awake, but still contemplating if I should get up, I hear my sister’s phone ringing. She’s sleeping so it rings until it goes off. It’s got a very loud ring-tone. Left with no choice, I wake up. I walk into the living room. Outside, I can hear the parrots mimicking each one of us in the house. “Hey, Capucci! Capucci!” they shriek, copying the high-pitched voice of my young niece very accurately. They get all the details, they can even copy the way people click their tongues. They can even laugh. They’re like a photocopy.

In the kitchen, I can hear the housemaid washing saucepans and putting them away. It is so loud that it sounds like her and the saucepans are having a big fight!

Outside, my auntie is talking to her husband from the boys’-quarters where they live (boys-quarters are like extra rooms in case you get visitors). Anyway, my auntie and her husband are so loud that I feel like I’m part of their conversation.

Then it’s the milk-salesman who comes by every day to deliver the milk. He has a bell on his bicycle which he dings non-stop until someone attends him.

Brave New Words is a literature education projectfrom English PEN’s Readers & Writers Programmesupported by the Clore Duffield Foundation

English PEN is one of the UK’s leading literature and free speech charities, based at the innovative Free Word centre in Farringdon, London. We promote the freedom to write and the freedom to read. The founding centre of a worldwide writers’ association, established in 1921, we are supported by our active membership of leading writers and literary professionals with an elected Board led by the distinguished author Gillian Slovo. Our education programme develops the writing of prisoners, detainees, refugees, asylum-seekers and other socially-excluded groups. We also run a full programme of public events and award prizes to outstanding British and international writers. Brave New Words involved two groups of young people from London: Brighter Futures in Bethnal Green and NewVIc Activ8 in Newham. Each group worked with a writer and a translator for eight weeks, learning new creative writing and translation skills. The groups were led by Joelle Taylor and Bhavit Mehta, and Sarah Ardizzone and Nii Parkes. This book was launched at a special event during Young People Seeking Safety Awareness Week 2012 at the Free Word centre in Farringdon.

Thanks to everyone who took part in the project and extra special thanks to Steven and Amina at NewVIc Activ8 and Yeukai and Alex at Brighter Futures.

www.englishpen.org

English PEN is a company limited by guarantee, number 5747142, and a registered charity, number 1125610.

TARIRO ELIZABETH MUTERO

GIDEON TAPIWA KADZURA

ROSANNE SERADOY

AMINA OSMAN

ALLYSON MOLINA

ARNOLDAS RAMANOWSKAS

ATIKA AKHTAR

CHANDELLE UZIMA

ZAHRA AWALE

JAMAL ABDALLAH

ZAHRA AWALE

EMMANUEL MUREMNAYUNDO

INGRID TCHEKO

YONIS OSMAN

NOMAKHOSI NDEBELE

IMRAN AHMED

DANIEL UZUNOW

OLAGOKE ADEYEMO

NATHAN RIVER

SARA MONDRAGON

ROZELYN

RUBEL MOHAMMED

AHAMAD

KHADEM

ZAINAB

MOH

AZAH

SHEILA

English PEN / READERS & WRITERS

With introductions by Joelle Taylor and Sarah Ardizzone

C

M

Y

CM

MY

CY

CMY

K

PEN_Clore_DustJacket2.pdf 1 23/03/2012 18:04

brave new words

Documents

gideon tapiwa kadzura

tinobva kure kure

kushandisa maziso kupenga

nostalgic landrosanne seradoy

arabian falcon mixed

eat sunflower seeds

colours green

emmanuel muremnayundo