Wasi has something to share

§   I haven't blogged in a minute.  I felt to share this short piece I've just finished for a Uni writing task - thinking I might expand it a little when I have time. - - - - - - -  African Choirboys/Albert Jonas and John Xiniwe, The African Choir; 1891; London Stereoscopic Company/Hulton Archive/Getty Image ‘You have no control - who lives, who dies, who tells your story’.                 – Chris Jackon, Who Tells Your Story; Hamilton:                        An American Musical, Miranda (2015) Two young boys lean on a balustrade, skin glowing in the studio light, faces turned upwards as though contemplating the heavens, the absolute picture of carefree contemplation. This photographic recreation of the two cherubs from Raphael’s Sistine Madonna is both immediately recognisable and very much its own work -  ...

Because 'like water for chocolate' was ample warning and 'object of my affection' was a blatant lie Because 'I love you' carried no weight and dropped leaden at 'I'm sorry' Because I cannot calm the factions of your civil war and I never claimed to be a pacifist Because Hiroshima and Nagasaki should never be relevant pet names and our clouds are still dispersing Because exile is no basis for a re-blooming of affection and I do not have the heart for asylum Because I have finally authored the guide to my own sanity and I have no stomach for a second edit

It wasn't until late last night that I heard about the Mark Duggan verdict, in a distressed text from a friend: "...how can a shooting of an unarmed man be lawful?" Is it strange that we should both be so deeply consumed with rage and grief at the killing of a stranger? I'd like to think not. Because it seems the only right response. The only possible response when justice is so blatantly absent. When we witness the killing of yet one more young man, targeted and shot to death by trigger happy Met police who, it seems, automatically disengage the safety once they see black.  And when we are forced to see a jury,who rather than dispense justice given the evidence clearly showing that Mark Duggan was unarmed at the time of his killing, instead dispense with it, handing the police their tacit approval of their actions. Another verdict in favour of state-sanctioned murder that indicts our 'justice' system and our society yet again. A response of outsp...

(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...