Wasi has something to share

(updated tw - generally discussion only of use of terminology of rape and sexual abuse, but note near end of piece briefly mentions an incident of rape) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I am so angry right now. Furious, in fact.  That kind of anger that makes you feel like you’re physically shaking even when your body is still, that makes your hands hot, and your mind feel hectic to the point of being unable to focus on any other thing, your outrage snatching your mind right back to its source every time. I’ve just read the Evening Standard’s article * on the case of a 23 year old Roma woman being raped by two members of staff at Yarl’s Wood detention centre.  Only they describe the incident as follows: “Staff sacked over sex with detainee”   “Two staff at a privately-run immigration removal centre for women have been fired for engaging in sexual activity with a detainee.   A third employee at Serco-o...

Many others have already written about the tragic and brutal murder of Lee Rigby last week, the aftermath that we have witnessed, and what this signifies.  You can read some brilliantly on point blog posts as follows: @WarOnWar - The Woolwich Reaction @AssedBaig  - Woolwich and the Muslim Response @SamAmbreen  - IC A Muslim There’s also this post , brought to my attention on twitter by  @izzykoksal , on the EDL and fascism:  The above 4, between them, have probably already said a lot of what I feel.  But here goes anyway. There have been moments when I found myself shaking in reaction to events at the EDL/counter-demo this afternoon. And I’m not even in london.  Reports from those attending the antifascist march are terrifying.  Not least because of the sudden swell in support for the far-right ideologies being spouted, following a week which saw a massive outpouring of hatred and violence against muslims and th...

A variation on today's prompt (from the facebook group 30/30), taken a couple of lines from the Terrance Hayes' poem 'Gospel of the two sisters', but not quite the last ones - - - - - - - - "How often do you hear the tenderness you need to hear? I mean exactly when you need to hear it? Is it ever before that little yolk of hurt wraps itself in layers hard enough to break teeth?" Does it sing to you in your own voice, the way it used to sound before bitterness made it brittle? Soothe you in a tone you have forgotten you once owned, full enough to hold loneliness at bay? Hold you in arms, not yet bruised from your own pinches, fuller fleshed barrier against your own heart's brutality? Because perhaps it is that very tenderness that brings the hurt.  As you reach for the belief that you deserve it, you mock your own comfort, draw it further from your own hands.  Fade the colour of hope with your dry, dark stare until it pales beyond...

it's going on for 3pm. I have about 9 more hours on nigerian soil, to bask and bake and be whoever it is when i'm out here - some kind of hybrid of my usual self, overlaid with the slightly more boisterous, bolshier bit of me that, along with an undercurrent of custom, seems to be released a little more when i speak yoruba and hang out with *nigerian* nigerians. the day has been spent so far packing and repacking, my mum's prediction this morning that we might not use up all our baggage allowance (2 x 23kg each…) proved just a little too optimistic after all. i'm just hoping there's no bother at customs, what with all the food and other stuff that we're bringing back. buying and selling is in my mum's blood - my grandma was a trader, and my mum has been doing it since she was small.  the entrepreneurial spirit seems to have resolutely skipped me though - perhaps that's my own rebellion, my disregard for commerce and a tidy profit margin, no matter how m...

at 8.06 this morning, i was woken up for a visitor - turns out the tailor had arrived with all my new clothes.  everything fit, and looked like i described it, which is pretty awesome.  personal tailoring is kind of cool when it all goes right. in the living room, a hair-dresser (who'd arrived at something like 7.30) was doing my mum's hair.  next door, the school kids were singing along with their hugely loud drumming.  i felt like maybe i was starting my day a little late. just one more sleep until we leave, and already i've started thinking about work… i charged my phone yesterday, and must the network must have switched itself back on - a flood of work e-mails had got through, a few about a presentation i'm doing at a conference in glasgow in about 10 days.  the thought of it makes me feel a little sick, so i've managed for the most part not to think about while i've been away.  I really wish I'd ignored those notifications… Last night was my most epic ...

got home last night after a 2½ hour journey from a market, weirdly exhausted, so this one's a day late (not that it makes any difference, given i won't be posting them until i get back anyway). so, yesterday was one of my favourite days - it involved a trip to yaba market with my cousin, and with 4 hours on the road, that included a lot of road-side sight-seeing. highlights included: - wheelbarrows piled high with melons, yam, and sugarcane - a number of cars (for some reason, i noted particularly some type of peugeot and a nissan sunny bluebird, which was once our family car) stuffed to the windows in the backseat and the boot with massive bunches of green bananas - amazing feats of balancing - people in the marketplaces carrying all sorts on their heads, often without the needs for hands to steady them.  masses of stuff - huge baskets of peppers and tomatoes, big 'ghana-must-go's (the big shopping bags) full of only god knows what, a row of cushions (seriou...

I took three of my favourite pictures today - the first two were of each of the little boys, Uthman & Sultan, who rent the house next door to my grandma's.  Our family owns the house, which seems to be a common thing - for houses/bungalows to be built as semi-detached, as it were, and then for one of those to be rented out, while the family uses the other one.  I was sat outside, using the last of the daylight to type example questions, when Sultan, the littlest (about 2), walked past, and me and my cousin (another one) noticed that he seemed to be wearing make-up.  His aunt had made him and his little brother up - I always find it quite hilarious how older siblings and parents do that to little boys, make them up and dress them in girls' clothes, but would probably not think it so cute if he turned up dressed like that in about 15 years' time (though perhaps I underestimate them).  Uthman, the older brother (about 7 or 8) approached us with his hands over his f...