Sunday, November 30, 2008
Last week, I started a new class of 8 students, two sessions a week. In the past I couldn't do this alone. But now there's an English woman volunteering with me to teach Iraqi kids. She was excited to meet with the students. On that day, she was waiting for me outside while it was raining heavily. Her clothes were all wet and she was using a scarf as an umbrella. Helen, whose last name shall remain anonymous, came with me and met the eight students as well as their families as we discussed with the kids the subjects they want to learn.
My students enjoyed meeting Helen, the new teacher, very much. She made them feel there are people who care about them.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
First, I want to study.
Second, I want to draw.
Third, I like to make necklaces.
Fourth, I want to be successful in my life for me and my family, exactly like a normal family.
We are without a nation. When will we not live in a strange country? When will we have a home? I am without safety. I am unable to study. My wish is to be successful despite the difficult situation now. We are refugees. If that is OK with you, don't even ask me about it.
My hobbies are drawing and making girls accessories like beaded necklaces.
My hobby is drawing which I like very much. I also like to play soccer.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A child is born in a country flooded with tears
where rivers of blood have overflowed their banks.
A country that knows its share of shock
but little of the awe that was promised it.
A child is born amidst the rubble
delivered by nations a world away.
Where ignorant men smirk and say shit happens
as thugs and madmen crush beauty
and ancient mysteries are lost forever.
A child is born as an occupying army
watches hell takes its place on earth
and drills and hammers and batteries
and water, glorious water, become the tools
of the devil among men.
A child is born amidst the screams of the tortured
and the sadistic glee of their torturers.
A child is born in a country flooded with the bodies of the dead
discarded in soccer fields, markets, on roadsides or trash heaps.
A child is born and half a world away
I hear her cry, I am Iraqi
My people, my culture live on in me.
A child is born in a country on fire,
her mother cradles her close to her breast
And hope is resurrected from the ashes.