Kaleidoscope - Welcoming Little Amal

Yesterday Little Amal arrived in Birmingham and I, among several hundred others, was there to welcome her. 

For those who don't know, Little Amal is a not-so-little puppet of a child refugee. The brainchild of Good Chance Theatre company, she has journeyed from the Syria-Turkey border, through Europe, heading towards her final destination in Manchester early next week. In Arabic, Amal means Hope.

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The Birmingham welcome event was in Erdington, a fairly non-descript, ordinary suburb of north Birmingham, in a somewhat rundown shopping centre.

But that rundown shopping centre where the stage was set for this act of welcome had been lovingly transformed into a vibrant community space where the whole world was made welcome. A place of music and movement; of conversation and connection; of laughter and life.

There were brummies born and bred; possibly / probably even those who had lived their whole lives in that particular little corner of the city. There were those who had arrived within recent weeks: I know this, because via Birch we intentionally invited some of the newly-arrived families who are living in initial accommodation here. There was everybody in between.

There were those with lived experience of seeking asylum and those who have long been committed to trying to make them feel welcome. There were those who knew nothing of the whats and whys and wherefore who were just there, because there was where they were. There was everybody in between.

And there was Amal.

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I had a couple of different responsibilities, including the huge privilege to be invited, as part of the welcome, together with two delightful Syrian teenagers, to perform a poem from the Stories of Hope and Home poetry book. I was trying to keep track of quite a few different people and catch up with various friends. I had moments of being busy and distracted and preoccupied.

But I was also glad to take the time to pause, and to look up.

And there was Amal.

Meeting her was a powerful and strangely moving experience. I use "her" intentionally: a carved wooden puppet she may be, but it somehow feels impossible not to acknowledge her humanity. I know I am not alone in sensing something of this, something intangible and hard to express. I heard several people comment on how it felt when she "looked" at them, looked with wooden, unseeing eyes, and yet, and yet. 

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Thank you Erdington.

This kaleidoscope of colour. This tapestry of stories. This unexpected beauty.

This is the Birmingham I love. This is the Birmingham that welcomed little Amal. This is the Birmingham that welcomed me. This is the Birmingham I trust to welcome others too.

https://www.walkwithamal.org/

http://www.erdingtonlocal.com/news-hundreds-welcome-little-amal-to-erdington-as-a-community-of-sanctuary/

Thank you Wales

I have recently returned from three days in Llandudno, my fourth, and I expect last (but who knows?), trip to Wales of the year. 

Each has been entirely different. Each has been wonderful in its own way.

I am grateful for all of them. 

I am grateful for the beauty of grass-covered hilltops and sandy expanses of beach, of the sea stretching to the horizon, of the sun rising and setting, of skies scattered with stars. 

I am grateful for the opportunities to spend time with people who are very precious to me, for the many people I call "family", for the infectious excitement of children, for deep, personal conversations and for superficial, silly ones, for lots and lots of laughter. 

I am grateful, too, for moments of peace and solitude, for the space to process and reflect, for time completely alone.

I am grateful for the sharing of memories and the shaping of dreams.

I am grateful for the fresh air I have breathed.

Thank you Wales!

At summer's end

Ten days ago it was the autumn equinox, and last week we passed Michaelmas, another date traditionally associated with the arrival of autumn. We have been blessed with amazing weather for most of September, but the evenings are noticeably cooler and darker. This week moments of bright sunshine have been interspersed with the first thoroughly grey, wet days for a long while. October has begun and, much to my irritation, Christmas is in the shops.

One way or another it seems, summer has drawn to a close, and autumn has arrived. It is a season which brings with it, for me at least, an interesting mix of contrasting feelings and associations.

There are those days where the damp seems to seep through however many layers you wear and the sky is a monotony of grey meaning it never gets quite bright enough to switch off the lights.

But there are also those days where we experience the beauty of the trees ablaze with colour, shiny brown conkers, and long shadows cast by the afternoon light as the sun hangs low in the sky.

It's been a while since I have had the six-week summer break as a clear dividing line, so the shift from one year to the next has become a little more blurred than it once was, but autumn inevitably marks the end of various fun summer activities: holidays, days out, celebrations.

But at the same time, this is the time of year when I open a new diary and begin to fill its blank pages: making new plans, and looking ahead to what the year holds much of which is, as ever exciting and fulfilling.

This is autumn: 

Gloom and glory. Endings and beginnings. Death and new life.