A home, whatever it means…

A couple of weeks ago I attended the workshops “Migratory Homes”. It’s a project run by Basia Śliwińska and Marion Arnold, based on discussions between Western and Eastern/Central European women about homes and migrations, art and craft. Before the first workshop we had been asked to bring personal objects to facilitate a discussion on memories, migrations and shared experiences. Then, during the meeting, we told the stories of our objects and then we answered the questions: Where is our home? Have we found a new home? What opportunities and limitations has migration offered us? 

It was a very intense discussion, very personal and very deep, so sometimes it was heartbreaking. But it was needed. For me personally it was needed to drown in the word: “homeless”. 

The piece below is not my happiest one… but it’s not a real story. It bases on the mixed experiences of women like me, who I was lucky enough to meet. Thanks once again to Basia, Marion and all participants of the “Migratory Homes” workshops.

- Honey, I’m home!!!

- Yes, I can hear you! – I thought irritated. I heard his car on the street, then the engine stopped, he opened and closed the door… click…click… not in a rush, not hurrying, so I could predict that he had had a good day at work. Then I heard the heels of his smart shoes tapping on the pavement… click….click… not in a rush, keeping his own rhythm, his standard pace, so predictable, without going off beats. Five steps before he reached a door, he had taken the keys out from his trousers pocket, from his right pocket. He never has to look for them. They are always there: in the right pocket of his trousers. Finally he opened and closed the door… click…click… not in rush, not hurrying:

- Honey, I’m home!!!

- Hey, great! Dinner is already on the table. Are you hungry? – I heard my sweet voice… so sweet that I felt nausea. I looked at my reflection in a perfectly clean pot lid and I noticed that I was smiling. Stainless steel distorted my grin. My own pot sneered, looking at me. I closed my eyes and tried very hard to focus on something different from my thoughts. I heard the water drops falling from the tap to the hard depths of the kitchen sink and splashing up. I was one of the water drops. I fell, splashed up and drained down the dry pipe to be sunk with others. The sunken water drops. What an irony.

- Honey, are you ok?

- I’m not! – I screamed in my mind. I felt his strong hand on my shoulder and warm breath on my neck. He hugged me tight and whispered something to my ear but I didn’t hear him. Under my eyelids I saw the pictures which I decided I wouldn’t pass through, so I opened my eyes quickly.

- Honey, are you ok?

- Yes, I am. I’m just a little bit weak today but all is fine. It’s just the weather. It’s going to rain, isn’t it? How was your day? – I heard my voice but I ignored the sweetness. I didn’t look at the lid while I moved it to the sink. I opened the tap to drown out the noise of the individual drops. The sound of the running water was louder than my inner scream. It also was louder than my husband’s talk about his work, his life, his expectations, his ambitions, him.... I listened to him but I didn’t hear anything he said. I just heard the sound of the running water repeating:

- I want to go home… I want to go home… go home… home…

- Honey, have you noticed that I’m back home? – he asked irritated – You don’t seem to be listening to me.

- Yes… home… what do you mean by home? – I asked loudly, surprised by the bitterness in my voice. And I knew I wasn’t smiling. 

- Oh, Honey! Not again! I’m tired and I have a right to relax after my work, don’t I?! We have already agreed that it has to be this way, we have no choice, it is better for both of us… haven’t we?! So please, not again! Pull yourself together. I know that it’s a difficult time but I’m here to help you, to support you. But now, please, let me relax. I’m sure that dinner is delicious as always. - he said so confidently that I forgot again that he also had his doubts…

- Yes, you are right, it is better for both of us… - I said submissively - Every step is dance, every word is song, every feeling is love in your world – I sang while I was watering my plants: Lilly the Pink and Mark the Tree. Then I made my choice, even if in my messy bag I couldn’t find my keys to nowhere…

Inside the bag:
An IPod with uploaded music to drown out the silence
A reusable bag to rescue nature
A random book to read in passing
A mascara and eye shadow to hide the tears
A lip balm for bleeding lips
A sanitary pad and umbrella just in case
Mints to kill the taste of my sins
A hairbrush and clip to tame myself
A notepad and pencil to keep thoughts in mind
My business cards to find myself
A wallet including my identity and pennies for a rainy day
A mobile to switch off to detach from the world

I deeply believed that it was all I needed to run away from you.
I dreamt of carrying it and running ahead, possessed.
You have stopped me by spilling it on the floor,
Trampling my hope, treading my courage down,
Asking if I had the keys to nowhere.

Private show

On Sunday morning I was sitting breathless and in tears in my kitchen. In my kitchen I curled up myself on an uncomfortable chair like a kitten. Like a kitten I hugged a warm radiator next to the chair and, as I started to ignore it, I burned myself. I burned myself in the poems recited by Jo Twist - "a queer, mentalist, ex-self-harming, ex-bulimic, ex-druggie, suicide-attempt-surviving, anarchist, punk, atheist, green, green-haired, make-up-wearing, cross-dressing, alcoholic, vegan artist living on benefits and having a laugh" as he is introduced in an anthology "Poems To Read [Before U Die]". I burned myself in the words said by Jo - my dearest Jo, who has chosen me to be his secret-ally. 

On Sunday morning, in my kitchen, sharing the same shade of African green on our hair and surrounded by the smell of a vegan meal which I had prepared for lunch we did his rehearsal for his performance. My wooden spoon, which my Dad gave me after one of his trips to Zakopane (the place in my country where Jo has never been and, I believe, he has never heard about) was his mic that morning. We went through his poems and short speeches between them, the beginning and the end of his planned performance. As a PR specialist I would have liked to be on help... but he closed my mouth by his words dripping from his lips; he wetted my eyes with his blood, his scabs, his flesh; he let me believe that I was 41...

I am 41
In hospital
On the Brandon Unit.
Staring out the window
At an unseeing skyline,
With Jezza in the background, cursing bad parents,
With a book in my lap
I can’t understand.

I am 41
In hospital
On the Brandon Unit.
Locked away with 30 other mentalists.
Threatened with being sectioned
If I try and leave.
With an EDL member in my face.

I am 41
In hospital
On the Brandon Unit.
With 15 stitches
Itching in my left wrist.
With a piece of metal
Implanted in my left wrist.

I am 41
In hospital
On the Brandon Unit.
With prescription drugs leaving my body.
With no sleep for 6 days and nights.
With visions of skulls and swastikas in my head.

I am 41
In hospital
On The Brandon Unit.
With one can of cheap, weak lager
For a Christmas present.

I am 41
In hospital
On the Brandon Unit.
I am being born.
[Jo Twist, Poems To Read Before U Die, 2012 Showcase  Smoothie]

On Tuesday evening, on Ping...K!, as the featured performing poet's secret-ally I tried to be more professional but I was shaking as Jo's performance was very intense and touching. Despite the fact that the lights were on and he used the proper mic I saw him in my kitchen... and I was proud... proud to be chosen to be an one person audience...

Thank you Jo, NOW, and HERE, and AGAIN now...

The weightiness of the Oscar Award

The special moments always come surprisingly. 

It was an ordinary evening, after dinner I had a choice between staying at home and reading a book or going to cinema. It was dark, freezing and snowing outside so I was very close to choose my sofa but finally I overcame my inner “His Lazyness”  and decided to go out. There was a special screening of an independent film “Zaytoun” which I found attractive due to the plot and an announced meeting with the producer. 

When we reached the cinema, the hall was packed with people holding their mobiles. “Oh, God Almighty” – I thought – “The Orange Wednesday offer! I’m not happy waiting in this huge queue for the film which is likely not the best, even if the story is interesting and important!” But finally we decided to stay, as we had already left the flat, leaving its cosiness and warmth. We bought the tickets and climbed to the highest level of the cinema complex. In the screening room we met other 12, maybe 15 people.

“Zaytoun” is a story with the historical and political backgrounds from the Middle East. It shows a group of children, Palestinian refugee, who live in a Beirut camp, Lebanon in 1982. In their school class more and more chairs are empty as their school mates die due to warfare. One of the boys, Fahed, loses his Dad, what makes him angry and bloodthirsty. Therefore he practices hard to be a Palestinian soldier as he believes that his duty is to fight back his Dad’s land, which that time is occupied by Israel. One day his steps cross with an Israeli fighter pilot, possibly one who took part in the attack when Fahed’s dad was killed… it’s the beginning of a meaningful trip and a symbolical relationship.

This film touches me deeply as it shows that our personal losses and fears can lead to blind cruelty. It makes me sick and sad as it shows that people fight against each other forgetting that we all are humans who have rights not only to live but also to live worthily. It also makes me laugh when it shows the friendship with all of it ups and downs… and the ups are very often quite funny. :)

The topics discussed in the film are terribly difficult but we need to face them. We – as mankind – can’t be blind to the cruelty and horrors which are the reality in the other parts of the World. As long as we are humans, ALL human’s issues should deeply bother us.  

After the screening we were lucky to talk to Gareth Unwin – the producer of this particular film as well as “The King’s Speech”, which brought him the Oscar award. He made us more familiar with his productions by answering our questions and talk to us in very informal and friendly way. We discussed the challenges of the independent cinema. He even mentioned that he had to finance himself significant part of the “Zaytoun’s” budget… let’s bear in mind that the whole amount was 8mln dollars!  He let us hold his Oscar Statue. I took it gently and I was surprised how heavy it was… as a burden to bear, when you have to choose between producing commercial, mainstream propaganda or opening eyes to the truth. 

Dear Mr. Unwin, please, keep opening my eyes, don’t let me stay blind, insensitive and idle… even if this burden is much heavier than your Oscar Statue… Because of this award you are obliged to do so. I believe that you know and understand the weightiness of the Oscar. I’m ready to promise not to stay on my cosy sofa, even if it is dark, freezing and snowing outside… 

We no longer need theory...

It DOES matter!

On Saturday I was lucky enough to see an exhibition „Music and Liberation” in one of the independent galleries – Space Station Sixty-Five in London. It was the last day of this exposition so I was more than happy that I had a chance to go there and learn more about women’s liberation music-making in the UK in the 70s and 80s.

The exhibition showed how feminists used music as an activist tool to fight with the social and political system regarding stereotypes of women’s social roles, which were mostly based on being a housewife. For me, a person behind the Iron Curtain, this piece of the British history was very interesting. In Poland during this time people, regardless of their gender, fought with communism, therefore this particular kind of movement wasn’t very popular there.

Different kinds of exhibits from the private collections were showcased in the Space Station Sixty-Five, these included the posters, songbooks, t-shirts, instruments, books, notes, diaries, pictures, fliers, button badges and of course the music which was played. It was an unique event, which gave me an opportunity to touch the piece of history which let us – women – be at the stage we are now.

Many times we completely forget that we can live, work and enjoy our lives only because somebody fought for these before. Without this kind of movement, women could still only sing “The lament of housewives”. It is the same with regards to every single part of our lives, including the human, worker or children’s rights.

In all decades and centuries a lot of activists struggled against the reality to create better lives for them, their children, their loved ones, and for humans generally. The system or even other members of the public, who didn’t see and understand the sense of these fights tried to stop or ban them, but the fighters were undeterred. They heard thousands of times: “just give it up; it doesn’t matter as you are unable to change anything!” And maybe they suffered too much but it was worthy enough as they built better conditions for us.

Therefore, even if we feel sometimes that we are powerless, we shouldn’t give our beliefs up as it does matter if we struggle for them or not. Even if our actions aren’t spectacular and don’t make any difference now, they create the future.

I read a story once. It was about a man who walked on the seaside during a low tide and threw jellyfish, which were lying on the sea shore, into the water. He met another man who doubtfully looked at him and said: “Man, what are you doing? There are thousands of jellyfish here! You are unable to rescue them all so give this stupid idea up as it doesn’t matter!” The first man patiently picked up the next jellyfish and said whilst throwing it into the sea: “It DOES matter for this one”.  

You have sealed away the past...

A deep red and warm interior of the Y Theatre, round tables covered by soft and red table cloths, smiling people sitting around each table on old theatrical chairs, lights focused on the stage and… action. 

Nine men on the stage, with their histories enchanted in words filled the space. Nine poems made from feelings and experiences filled minds. Nine short, black and white films helped to see the poems in colours. Nine separated performances created a whole show… and this was the first part of that night.

The performers deeply touched me again, the first time they did it was a couple of months ago when they had their first launch during the “Everybody’s Reading” festival. After that event a lot changed in my way of discovering and exploring the World. I hardly understand why it happened, but the poems from their anthology tilted “The poems to read before u die” definitely makes me more alive every time I read them. The poems have made me more alive at all, even if they are about illnesses, problems, fears, hopes… or maybe because of these?

You have sealed away the past,
my memories are all of the last month… [Jo Twist]

Diwali warmed up by An Indian Summer memento

A short memento… caused by Diwali, which was yesterday!

Last June I really enjoyed An Indian Summer Festival which was organized by a couple of volunteers from the Indian community from Leicester. This event took place in Phoenix Square, where an audience could taste Indian food, visit exhibitions, watch Indian films or take part in workshops. The programme for the two days of the festival was packed with an enormous amount of activities, one of them was the Interactive Sari Demo.

When I noticed an advertisement that An Indian Summer team was looking for models for the Sari Demo and that the experience, size and race are not important for them, I thought that it’s a great opportunity for me. I dreamt of learning how to wear a sari as I love this colourful and elegant cloth. I’m interested in the Indian culture from the history and traditional habits of this nation through to the delicious spicy cuisine and amazing fashion, which is absolutely different than the Western style.

During the two days of the festival I was dressed in four different styles of saris. I was impressed with the many different ways of wearing a sari. It’s difficult to imagine that it is a piece of a rectangle material, which wraps a body so beautifully. All of frills and creases of the material are pinned when dressing, can be worn in many different ways. Draping a sari is creative and quite complicated. Walking in a sari is also not easy as you have to be very refined, glamorous and alluring to make a good impression. Wearing a sari means being elegant. 

Watch this space and pop in to Leicester to make summer very special – An Indian Summer!

Many thanks to Kajal Patel for this fab picture!

Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya

Many people from the whole World cant’s wait for the night between 31st of December and 1st of January to enjoy huge and beautiful firework displays. If you would like to see amazing firework shows not only during this common time just pop in to Leicester in autumn! You will definitely find this city as a place suitable for pyromaniacs!

Last weekend there were two breathtaking firework displays. The first one was on Saturday due to Guy Fawkes Night, while the second one was yesterday during the celebration of switching on the lights before Diwali Day.

Guy Fawkes Night refers to the history of arresting Guy, who was a member of the Gunpowder Plot against the House of Lords and non-catholic King James the First in 1605. People lit huge fires to celebrate the failed plot, and this celebration begun annually.  Nowadays the celebration is slightly more commercial rather than thanksgiving, with food stalls, stage performances and fantastic firework displays, not only fires with statues of Guy Fawkes, which are still lit. The fire in Abbey Park in Leicester was smaller this year than in previous years but the fireworks were breathtaking, especially the part when we could observe spaceships and planets in the sky, with the music from “Star Wars” in the background. The cosmos was truly at our fingertips.

Diwali is the festival of light, celebrated by Hindus, Sikhs and Jains. We are lucky enough to have a huge Indian/Asian community in Leicester, therefore the Diwali celebrations in this city are the biggest outside of India. Up to 35 thousand people attend the Diwali Day (which this year will be on Tuesday 13th of November) as well as the Diwali Lights Switch On Event, which took place last Sunday. I love all events related to this festive season, from Rangoli exhibitions (traditional art made from coloured powder and sand) through to sari demos, but most of all I adore the lights switch on. The minute when all Belgrave Road lights up with decorations is very touchable and meaningful. It helps me to believe that the phrase: “Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya”, which means “Lead me from darkness to light” is important to any person despite his/her religion, race, nationality, language and background. This year fireworks at the end of this night were fabulous. The show took 20 minutes and started powerfully with a fire inferno representing the symbol of Om and a torch. The first one was related to the Hindu symbol of the beginning of life. The torch was displayed as a symbol of searching for inner light and self-enlightenment.

Are you ready to renew your life? 

Be a crocodile

“The mamba” means “crocodile” in Swahili, and refers to the name of the gang that used to run in Huruma, Nairobi.  This gang was led by George Hussein Obama, who was the first slum gangster in Nairobi and who is the President of the United States Barack Obama’s half brother. They have the same father, but as life has shown they have completely different lifestyles. One is the well known first black President of the USA, while the other lives in poverty in the Huruman ghetto.

George Obama is no longer a criminal and outlaw. After being jailed, he turned his world around and stayed as the leader of Africa’s most lawless, poor and brutal district, as he did not agree how the local police and politicians treated people. He is an informal president of the slums in Nairobi. He lives with his people and deals with poverty, starvation and injustice which cause crimes. He rarely tries to change this and makes it work better for people. He is powerful and influential, even if he doesn’t live as his brother in the White House, filled with richness and prosperity.

This play is a real-life story which compares two separate worlds of two completely different people, who are determined to be the leaders. George works to improve the lives of the people of the area he lives in and he has become an inspiration to them. Barack looks for reelection in the USA. 

Their characters are dramatized by the brilliant role of George played by Clifford Samuel. “Obama the Mamba” is a monodrama, so the way of playing it is essential. During the 2 hours of the show Clifford is a child with dreams, a schoolboy with plans, a frustrated teenager without hope, a young adult making his first decisions and commits his first crimes. He is a looser who has been caught, a man who discovers that the relationship with his brother doesn’t exist  and finally a charismatic and smart fugleman of the lost nation.

This story raises some fundamental questions about who we are, what we look like, where we come from, what family means and how powerful the influence is. 

"Obama the Mamba" was played in the Curve Theatre in Leicester as one of the "Black History Season" events. One of the shows was followed by the meeting with George Hussein Obama himself.

The holes that make up a sponge…

Autumn in Leicester is very colourful and powerful not only because of yellow and crimson leaves on trees, but also because of the variety of cultural events. The first one, from the long list of the autumn Leicester festivals, is “Everybody’s Reading Festival” related to poetry and literature. This year I had an opportunity to take part in a number of the Everybody’s Reading Festival’s events which I really enjoyed.

I took part in a workshop called “Mass media – inspiration for poetry and art”, which was led by a poet Jo Twist and an artist Magnus (Gallery Guest/Galleri Gestur). During several hours of this workshop, participants created their collages and poems, inspired by news from the local newspapers, for me this was a really creative time.

I joined meetings with authors and poets as well as lyrical lunchtimes and other meetings with charismatic activists. There were a lot of things which I will remember for a long time, however there was one that I will keep deep in my heart for the rest of my life, this was the Anthology Launch of the “Showcase Smoothie” project. This is a literature and music project, led by Leicestershire Partnership NHS Trust, designed to showcase the talent of young sufferers with mental health issues. Last year this project was dedicated to nine young schizophrenics and other mental health sufferers, who worked hard on their poems. Their work was published in the anthology titled: “Poems to read (before u die)”, introduced to the public during the Everybody’s Reading Festival. During the Anthology Launch these nine amazing men read aloud their poems and performed them. They did this very beautifully, showing not only their excellent writing skills, but also their professional performing talent. These two hours of reading poetry was breathtaking and absolutely unbelievable. It is difficult to imagine the difference between my standard and ordinary perception of reality and their splendid point of view on two different scales: the first one familiar to every people and the second one – their own. I was deeply touched and impressed. I laughed and cried at the same time, moved by the smart words, extraordinary emotions and fantastic performance given by fabulous people, who are full of surprises even for themselves. Just to give an example of their way of thinking I would like to quote a verse from one of the poems written by Zeropence: “I am the holes that make up your bath sponge”. How sophisticated these words are!!!

The authors of “Poems to read (before u die)” have definitely shown me a different world full of difficulties and fears but also beauty. I wish I was the holes that make up a sponge…