I come from Sudan. I was born in Sudan in 1983. I lived in Sudan
24 years, and 3 years in Kuwait for work. I come from UK in December 2014.
Now I live in Birmingham with my husband. My family live in Sudan I love my
family, I have 3 brothers and 3 sisters. My parents is alive. My father is big
manager in company. Sudan is in
North Africa. Sudan is beautiful. The biggest city of Sudan is Khartoum. Sudan
is very hot in summer. In Sudan we have some animals like elephants and lion in the national parks. I love my country
but the government is not good because it is no justice and does not give me
freedom. All the people migrate to another country. I’m come to
the UK I travelled by aeroplane. The plane took off flying 8 hours to UK. The
plane arrived to Heathrow airport. My journey was very enjoyable. I am happy in
the UK.
I was born in Eritrea and I grow up there.
I lived in Eritrea about 24 or 25 years. And I came to England in 2013. I live
in England for about 2 years and I like it in Birmingham. Eritrea is a
small country in the north east of Africa.
It is a beautiful country. It has a big sea coast The population of
Eritrea is 3 million and it has nine languages. Each language it has its own
culture and own tradition. Eritrea has a nice weather and the people are very
friendly. I love my country it is like heaven for me. My beginning
in the UK is really good because there is a change in my life. When I came to
the UK I found other cultures and languages so I tried to know about them and
it was a little bit difficult but I have to know it because I have to make
friends and to know people in order to work. Thank you.
I am 20 years old. I was born in Eritrea. A long time I lived in Ethiopia,
Addis Ababa. I lived with my father. My mother she’s not alive. I don’t have
sister and brother. I’m married. I don’t have children. Before I live in many
countries. This year February I came in the UK. I live in Birmingham. I’m
happy to be here. Eritrea has
good food. It is a beautiful country. Lovely and quiet people. We have many
languages. Before when
I arrived in the UK I am coming from France. I am coming from France by lorry.
Its difficult for me. Lorry like the freezer. When I arrived in the UK the
first weeks difficult for me. I am happy but difficult for me. In the hostel
they make rice all the time but I don’t like rice! Its difficult for me. After
the hostel I am happy because I make myself. And the most important for me, I
have freedom. I'm going school. I learn
English language. I’m happy.
I come from Iran. I come in UK 8th June
2014. I live in Birmingham, in shared house, with three friends from different
countries. One is from Sri Lanka, another one is Sudan, another one from Syria.
My family all is in Iran, I mean my country. I have 2 sisters and three
brothers. I didn’t marry, maybe
nobody loves me! Anyway, thank you, you try to help me and I am happy. My country
is Iran. Big country has 75 million people. The capital name is Tehran and big
city maybe have 11 million people. It is a rich country because have oil. I
love my country. We have good people, kind people. We have many factories. They
are very clever, I mean Iranian people. But we have big problem. My government
is not good because they don’t care about the people. They are corrupt. They
take money they send another country, they send for terrorism, like this. This
big problem, my governemt, because they like the Muslims, just Shias, not the Christians,
not another religion. My people I mean more they don’t like my government.
I come from Angola. I live in Birmingham. I have three
sisters, two live in Angola and one lives here. I live with my mother and my
little sister. I study in St Chad’s Sanctuary. I came to the UK in November 2013. I am very happy in this country My country
is Angola. Angolan culture is very good. I miss everything in Angola, dance
music and beaches. Angola is a very beautiful country. We have many mining
resources diamonds petrol and coal. The Angolan people is humble and happy
people. The food is very, very good. My first in
UK I went to France by plane. After two months I tried to get to the boat but it was not
better. I was arrested for 7 hours to locate my mother because I came without
her knowing. It was even desperate but now everything is fine.
Today is World Refugee Day and, in the UK, the end of Refugee Week. These dates are partly about drawing attention to an issue that, with the world in its current state is not going to go away, and to do so positive and try to challenge some of the pervasive media myths.
Above all though, they are an opportunity to celebrate: to celebrate the contributions refugees and the forcibly displaced make to their host communities; to celebrate the people they are, the gifts they bring, the joy and hope they somehow mange to cling on to.
Those of you who have been following this blog will know that over the last two years, St Chad's Sanctuary has been a place I have grown to love and value; above all because of the amazing students I teach. Students who are so much more than just statistics. Students whose stories deserve to be heard.
I feel hugely privileged that they have been willing to share parts of their stories with me. It feels almost like a duty to make sure others hear them too. Here then (anonymised), are some of their words:
I come from Eritrea. I was
born in Eritrea in 1993 and I grow up in Eritrea. My family are still in
Eritrea, I have 2 sisters and 5 brothers. In March 2015 I am coming to the
UK. At this time I live in Birmingham.
I can speak
about Eritrea. Eritrea is found in the East of Africa. Its not very big, It is
a small country and also it is a beautiful country, to me. Still now and for
ever, I love it because its my country. But in Eritrea the government is not
good, it’s a dictatorship and that’s why I’m here.
I started my
journey from my village and it took nine months. First I was going to Ethiopia
after that I went to Sudan. In Sudan I lived for five months in Khartoum. After
that in December 2014 I went to Libya.
In Libya I was kept for 50 days. After that I came by the Mediterranean
to Europe.
When I came to the UK my English was little and I couldn't understand
what the people say But at this time I can speak a little. That means that when
I start to come to the Sanctuary I start to communicate
with people.
I am 20 years old. I have been four months in the UK. I’m married. I
don’t have any children. And I have 4 sisters and 3 brothers. I really love
this country.
I was born
in Sudan in Darfur but I lived all my life in Khartoum. We have different
cultures in Sudan and many languages. Also I speak 2 languages, my mother language and Arabic. My mother language is called Ful. I want to talk about the government in my
country. The government is very, very bad. If you are not working or you do not have
money you cannot get any medicines if you get ill. In my country the land
for agriculture is available.
I did not
find any difficulty to come in UK. I come from my country by land but I am very,
very sad because my husband could not find rest. He was working all the year to
bring me here. He stays in Sudan. When I came to the UK I didn’t know anyone and also I did not
understand anything when the people are talking. I come in winter. The weather
was very cold. I am very sad because I miss my family and my friends.
The pictures below are not a recent piece of work. So much so that they predate me entering the world of the blog (although I think they may have been on facebook at the time, so if they look familiar, that could be why).
With one (or occasionally two) pictures for each chapter of John's Gospel, the project was the fruit of many hours of reflection, and also marked the beginning of my rediscovery of an enjoyment of art. While I now know (and would have done at the time if I had stopped to think about it) that they'd have wrinkled less if I'd used proper painting paper instead of cheap printer paper, overall I remain quite pleased with how they turned out and some of what they attempt to communicate.
I recently got them out again to display in the poster frames on the staircase at church, and decided it would be appropriate to share them here too. Enjoy.
University feels a very long time ago (maybe because it is). But way back then I lived with a group of people who, even now, when I talk about them in the collective, I refer to as "my housemates" despite the fact that it is more than ten years since we lived together, and that one of them was, strictly speaking, never our housemate in the first place anyway. I am aware that I was very lucky to be thrown together with this group of people who I still count among my best friends.
Lives have moved on of course since university days, and our lives all look very different to they did when were 18 (thank goodness!) and different to each others too. I am really pleased then, that in spite of jobs, marriage, children, physical distance and the general busy-ness of life, we have maintained our friendship.
When, last summer, one of my "housemates" not only asked me if I would read at her wedding but also asked if I had any suggestions of suitable texts, I, somewhat rashly perhaps, offered to write something. Actually, there was nothing rash about it at all. I thought long and hard before making the suggesting the idea. I don't normally write 'to order' but simply when the mood takes me so I knew there was a fairly high chance that I wouldn't be able to come up with anything anyway. More significantly I was also very aware, in making the offer that I wanted her to feel absolutely free to say thanks, but no thanks; both immediately, and more importantly, as a response to whatever I wrote. I didn't want her to be left thinking, 'nah, that's not what we want to say, but I suppose now she's written it we ought to use it'. If I went ahead and made the offer, it was because I decided she knew me well enough to know that when I said I wouldn't be offended if she didn't use it, I really meant it.
Trying to draw together some of the themes they hoped to express at their wedding, and inspired partly by my own experience of, at that point, about ten years of married life (which is probably as close as I'm ever going to get to a romantic comment on this blog), this was the result:
I have never thought of myself as a big city person. One of the aspects of moving here I was less than sure about was how much I would enjoy living at the heart of the city. I recognised, of course, the practical value: everything on the doorstep, fantastic transport links, all of that, and I also knew that the opportunity at Carrs Lane was an exciting one; but for all that I wasn't really convinced city centre life was going to be for me.
And yet, almost two years on, I have grown to love Birmingham. Don't get me wrong, it is very far from perfect. I still find the number of people who choose to spend their weekends in the shopping centres slightly depressing, I still dislike being stuck on a bus in too much traffic, I still yearn for real, wild green sometimes...
But much to my surprise those things are outweighed by a love for this place I have adopted as home: by knowing that each time I walk out the front door the streets will be full of life and diversity; by knowing that there is so much going on and so much to be involved in that you will never be able to do it all; by knowing that there is hidden beauty in unexpected places if you are willing to open your eyes and look for it.
I stayed up all night on Thursday. It made for a fairly depressing night of television viewing . With my facebook friends clearly not being an accurate reflection of the views of the nation, there was much doom and gloom by early Friday morning. It would have been easy for those of us who would describe ourselves as "left" to fall into a depressed inertia or wallow in the self-pity of wondering why everyone else couldn't just think like us. It was to remind myself, as well as others, that I wrote
So a depressing election night draws to a close ... But politics doesn't just happen once every five years, it happens every day: in creative action, in voices speaking out about what they believe, in changing hearts and minds. So I will not cry into my morning cup of tea, I will aspire to go out and continue with the real politics I and others can believe in. because boy will there be work to be done!
I know I am extremely lucky to be able to be involved in lots of things about which I am really passionate. So for me, that real politics began on Friday morning when I had the privilege of helping facilitate a mock election among the students I teach at St Chad's Sanctuary. Their insights and ideas were just the inspiration I needed at that moment. Beginning with a discussion of the necessary qualities of a leader, none of them, funnily enough, mentioned being photogenic or media-savvy. Instead they called for those who are honest, promote justice, have faith in the new generation, are good diplomats, are fair, want human rights, are "strong but also kind" and, in a tell-tale sign of other experiences who are "able to pass the power to others in a good way". Fourteen students from Iran, Eritrea, Congo, Sudan, Guinea and Syria formed four political parties. They wrote their manifesto, trained up their candidate, presented their ideas and voted for the new prime minister. Any of them could have got my vote.
As this was going on, there was plenty of opportunity for discussion: about policies and the things they hold dear, but also about political experience and what it means. My Congolese student who had previously told me "I don't like elections because too many people died" was clearly in his element presenting his vision for an alternative. The Sudanese students reflected on whether the situation in their country, where opposition parties are allowed to exist even if the endemic corruption and violence means they are never elected, is perhaps slightly better than the experience of their Eritrean classmates, where all opposition groups are completely outlawed. Relatively limited English didn't prevent them choosing policies which encompassed big themes. They were a reminder of how often our politics, bogged down in minutiae and personalities, forgets to communicate the principles and values we ought to hold most dear. In spite of hesitant English and evident nerves, they presented their ideas with clarity and passion. For all of them, peace, justice and human rights were significant priorities. They spoke of their desires to stop all wars, to make friendship between different countries, to allow people to have different opinions, to value people's culture and religion and identity. They spoke of the need for economic development, suggested a higher minimum wage, better training and more jobs. They campaigned for affordable food for all. Education figured prominently, with calls for free, better quality education for all, and specific mentions of the need to educate girls in Africa. Access to free healthcare, medical centres in villages, better care for the disabled and more doctors and nurses were all mentioned.
While lots of their ideas were clearly borne out of personal experience,it was refreshingly evident that these were not self-interested ideas seeking only what was best for themselves, but that they encompassed a vision of a better world being possible. One party even named themselves the "New Vision Party." "We will help all other people and other countries who don't have what we have" promised the young Eritrean woman who was eventually elected.
Sadly they are not allowed to vote and influence who is in power in Westminster. But as long as there are voices which dare to believe in a different vision, there is hope for our "politics" yet.
Another poem which has taken a while to see the light of day! This one was inspired by a workshop by Brother Stephen in Taize last summer. He used a number of artworks to explore different types of human love: between parents and children, between siblings, between friends, between lovers; leading to an exploration of what insights they offer into our understanding of divine love. This poem was my response to some of the ideas raised.
Since moving
here one of the challenges that has sometimes been addressed to us is to
question whether our firm convictions, and the centrality of importance we have
given the prayer life of the community has limited our potential to be open to
those of different or no faith. It is a question, interestingly enough, which
I have most often heard from others who profess the same Christian faith I am
aspiring to live through this experience.
At the most
simple and practical level, we were invited to move here to establish an
intentional, residential, Christian community, so the grounding of the
community in Christian faith and values was never something which was up for
debate. For me, to be grounded in faith is much less about following a set of
rules or doctrines, and much more about finding space to open ourselves to the
love and guidance of God: so to be a Christian community, the centrality of
prayer had to be an unquestionable reality.
Equally,
with a vocation to live in and serve the city it was clear that our ministry
would bring us into contexts with people of all faiths and none and every
spectrum of belief in between: it is part of the joy, excitement and challenge
of city centre life and was also never in question. We have shared our table
with people of different faiths and none, and our voluntary work has brought us
into contact with those of many beliefs and cultures. In prayer too, we have
been joined by those with theological positions vastly different to one
another, with those of other faiths, and with those unsure about the very
existence of God.
To explore
this challenge a little further, though, it is, I think, a question which draws
on a deeper societal context: one which holds both great promise and great
danger for the church as well as for wider society, and on which it is well
worth pausing to reflect.
I wonder
whether, as the pendulum swings away from past intolerance and strict narrowly
defined codes, we have strayed into a place where we have assumed that
tolerance and understanding means standing for nothing; or perhaps more
accurately not daring to admit to those things which are part of our fundamental
beliefs and identity. Our very positive desire to be welcoming and inclusive
has left us in danger of succumbing to the myth that “anything goes”. Our
belief in universal freedom has left us so desperate to keep our options open
that we have shied away from experiencing the true freedom of making a
commitment. The most dangerous heresies are always those which are the closest
to the truth.
It is true
that as a community we hold strongly to our Christian identity. It is not
something for which I feel the need to apologise. I don’t think holding tightly
to a vocation to pray and be inspired by the love of God and being open and
welcoming of those who do not believe in that same God have ever been mutually
exclusive.
On the
contrary, it is the experience of God’s unconditional love through prayer
together which has given us the courage and confidence to turn outwards.
Finding our hope in prayer doesn’t make us better than others, nor does it mean
we do not have our own questions, struggles, doubts and difficulties; but it
has inspired the vision and vocation to always look outwards beyond our core
community, and be open and welcoming to others. Of course there is always room
for improvement, but I think, both through our volunteering and our
hospitality, it is something we have done reasonably well so far. Perhaps it is
the security of knowing ourselves to be loved just as we are, found in the
experience of God’s unconditional love, which has also allowed us to deepen
relationships with others in all their diversity.
I know that
this challenge, offered undoubtedly in love, grows out of a desire to embrace diversity, and welcome people as they are. It is a legitimate aspiration,
and is, I think, one of the things Jesus did best. But Jesus found the strength
for the ministry which took him out towards others in the firm foundation of a
life of prayer and relationship with the Father. For us too then, like the
Jesus we dare to try and follow, welcoming one another in mutual love never
means forgetting, denying or hiding who we truly are.
"We are called to live in the virtue of that life and power that takes away the occasion for all wars. Do you faithfully maintain our testimony that war and the preparation for war are inconsistent with the spirit of Christ? Search out whatever in your own life may contain the seeds of war. Stand firm in our testimony, even when others commit, or prepare to commit acts of violence, yet always remember they too are children of God"
Quaker Advices and Queries, 31.
I marked the entry into Holy Week somewhat differently this year. On Palm Sunday a group of about twenty of us gathered at the gates of Aldermaston Atomic Weapons Establishment. We braved the wind and rain to share food together, then, after a short liturgy at the gate, set off to walk around the perimeter of the base, pausing at fourteen stations of the cross, to remember the events of Jesus' passion and pray for those involved in or suffering as a result of the nuclear weapons industry. It took around three hours to circle the base, a reminder of just how vast the operation is. At each stop we left a fabric cross tied to the fence, ragged ends flapping in the wind: fragile symbols of hope in a place of death.
This is the place of the cross
Where the suffering servant suffers still
Hidden behind barbed wire and state secrets
Veiled in hatred and fear
But this place too
This is still Holy Ground
The following day took a group of us to Burghfield, the other nuclear facility nearby, where the missiles are actually constructed, to blockade one of the gates. There was a strange contradiction between the beauty and peace as the sun rose above us, and the weapons of death being built behind us.
This was a new experience for me, and I cannot deny feeling distinctly apprehensive before we arrived, even if I was not going to one of those lying locked in front of the gates. Nerves aside, though, it did feel like exactly the right place to be. One by one, those on the ground were cut out of the tubes and moved to the grass verges. Some three hours after our dawn arrival, the gateway was clear, apart from the police vans which still kept it very effectively closed. Once everyone had been removed, we gathered to pray and sing together, before sharing the peace, with each other and with the police and going on our way.
The whole two days felt like a fitting way to commemorate Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, followed by his turning of the tables in the temple. Just as Jesus made his way to the centre of power to challenge the political and military powers of his day; so are we, as Christians called to continue to challenge systemic injustice and violence in the societies where we live. The industrial-military complex is one of, if not the most, significant of those systems in the midst of which I feel we are called to bear witness to the hope of other possibilities.
The timing had a dual significance: with this moment in the liturgical calendar coinciding with parliament being dissolved in preparation for the general election. Although work on trident renewal has already begun without official parliamentary approval, it will be in the hands of the next parliament to make a final decision. It is not too late for them to seek the way of peace.
On a personal level, the whole experience was powerful in many ways, not all of which I feel have necessarily fully been able to process or would be able to explain. From a loosely connected network of people, we built, in twenty-four hours, a close-knit, supportive, loving community of people we had to dare to trust. Too often peace is seen as the passive alternative of "just letting things happen" or of "keeping ourselves to ourselves", and it was inspiring to share with others an understanding that peace is an active, committed, alternative voice. Whatever the future holds for the UK nuclear weapons industry, it was important to be present, at this time and in this place; to put our time, our energy, our efforts into saying no, not in my name.
A month has passed since we welcomed something over forty people to Birmingham for a Taize weekend on the theme "You are the Salt of the Earth," with many more joining us for Saturday evening prayer.
A fair amount of hard work and organisation from a number of people went in to making the weekend run smoothly. I hope they, like me, agree it was worth it. There were times of prayer, opportunities for sharing and discussion, the sharing of experiences on themes of solidarity and friendship, a fresh look at familiar bible texts. There was good food, good conversation, good company.
Afterwards I was asked what my favourite part of the weekend was: but there was no one moment that stood out. The best thing about the meeting, for me, was simply this: the spirit which encompassed the whole; that somehow, together, we created a beautiful space: a space of genuine prayer, of willing engagement, of shared hope.
So thank you: to all who came, who participated, who prayed, who sang, who played instruments, who played silly games, who cooked, who ate, who made cups of tea, who spoke, who listened, who shared, who moved chairs, who washed-up, who laughed, who entered fully into this shared experience.
Together we made something beautiful. Together we are the salt of the earth.
