"I saw you coming from afar ..." Sabri, Jihan and Laura
By Laura Brearley
I TURNED seventy this year. A long journey of three score years and ten. This morning, I heard Paul Kelly talking about his new album called ‘Seventy’. It takes a lot of luck to get to seventy, he said.
I was a child of the 1950s, and I have indeed had my share of luck along the way to get here. There have been two close shaves with death, once when I was eight and again after the birth of my daughter. There were some rather reckless years in my early adulthood, but I’ve made it through somehow. In the mirror, I can see the tracks of the years I have lived. At some stages, I've felt much older than the reflection I see in the mirror. When the going is good, I feel about 35 inside.
I TURNED seventy this year. A long journey of three score years and ten. This morning, I heard Paul Kelly talking about his new album called ‘Seventy’. It takes a lot of luck to get to seventy, he said.
I was a child of the 1950s, and I have indeed had my share of luck along the way to get here. There have been two close shaves with death, once when I was eight and again after the birth of my daughter. There were some rather reckless years in my early adulthood, but I’ve made it through somehow. In the mirror, I can see the tracks of the years I have lived. At some stages, I've felt much older than the reflection I see in the mirror. When the going is good, I feel about 35 inside.
Over the last few months, I’ve welcomed two new titanium knees into my body. Fred and Ginger are their names, and they’ve come all the way from New Jersey, USA. They’re settling in well after their long journey. I even took them line dancing last week. I’m keenly aware of how lucky I am to live in this country and at this time, when things like new knees are possible.
This week, Catherine invited me to do a follow-up to Like a Living Wind, the first article I wrote in the Bass Coast Post, 13 years ago. It told the story of the shearwaters and their long journeys around the world. Their courage in making their annual 15,000-kilometre flight back home from the Bering Sea still moves me to tears. (By the way, we’ve been told by shearwater expert Graeme Burgan that the birds are back in good numbers this year.)
I find myself now, still thinking about long journeys. I am currently working with members of the local multicultural community, as part of a project called Long Journeys at Bass Coast Adult Learning (BCAL).
I’ve been writing some new songs for the project. Recently, two new songs have arrived, inspired by community members, Jihan and Sabri, who have made the long journey here from Northern Syria, via Turkey and Iraq.
This week, Catherine invited me to do a follow-up to Like a Living Wind, the first article I wrote in the Bass Coast Post, 13 years ago. It told the story of the shearwaters and their long journeys around the world. Their courage in making their annual 15,000-kilometre flight back home from the Bering Sea still moves me to tears. (By the way, we’ve been told by shearwater expert Graeme Burgan that the birds are back in good numbers this year.)
I find myself now, still thinking about long journeys. I am currently working with members of the local multicultural community, as part of a project called Long Journeys at Bass Coast Adult Learning (BCAL).
I’ve been writing some new songs for the project. Recently, two new songs have arrived, inspired by community members, Jihan and Sabri, who have made the long journey here from Northern Syria, via Turkey and Iraq.
"Sabri has told us that he danced for a month when he learned that he and his family had been accepted into Australia." |
Jihan and Sabri They arrived in Wonthaggi a year ago, with their five beautiful children. Jihan and Sabri speak Arabic and Kurdish and are learning English as an Additional Language at BCAL.
A couple of weeks ago, Jihan and Sabri hosted Terry and me for lunch in their Wonthaggi home, along with Sylvia Davey and her husband Tony, long-time active supporters and sponsors of refugee families. The spread of food was sumptuous, prepared with care and generosity.
After the meal, we sang one of my new songs, ‘I See You Now’. The children joined in and Jihan and Sabri helped us with the pronunciation of the Arabic words.
A couple of weeks ago, Jihan and Sabri hosted Terry and me for lunch in their Wonthaggi home, along with Sylvia Davey and her husband Tony, long-time active supporters and sponsors of refugee families. The spread of food was sumptuous, prepared with care and generosity.
After the meal, we sang one of my new songs, ‘I See You Now’. The children joined in and Jihan and Sabri helped us with the pronunciation of the Arabic words.
The song incorporates the Kalahari Desert greeting: ‘I saw you coming from afar, I see you now, and you are beautiful.’ How’s that for a way of saying ‘Hello’!
Written phonetically, the Arabic way of saying ‘I See You Now’ is ‘arak alan.’
In Arabic, reading from right to left, it looks like this أراك الآن
The Arabic words for ‘You are beautiful’ are ‘wa’ant jamila’ وأنتِ جميلة
I’ve included Arabic words in the song, so that we can experience the sound and feel of the language in our mouths and in our hearts. I invite you to have a go.
Written phonetically, the Arabic way of saying ‘I See You Now’ is ‘arak alan.’
In Arabic, reading from right to left, it looks like this أراك الآن
The Arabic words for ‘You are beautiful’ are ‘wa’ant jamila’ وأنتِ جميلة
I’ve included Arabic words in the song, so that we can experience the sound and feel of the language in our mouths and in our hearts. I invite you to have a go.
As we were leaving that day after the singing and the delicious meal, Jihan said to me 'You Are My Heart'. In Kurdish, that translates as ‘Tu Dilê Min î’. That simple poetic sentence became the inspiration of another song. The new songs, including their Arabic and Kurdish words, are designed to be a bridge between Australia and the wider world.
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The global number of forcibly displaced people has reached a record high. The number of displaced people around the world is estimated at 122 million, a number that has nearly doubled in the last decade.
Sabri has told us that he danced for a month when he learned that he and his family had been accepted into Australia. The long journey of their escape from Syria has entailed many losses and is a big story, Jihan says. As with so many people who have been forced to flee their country of origin, Sabri and Jihan understand the meaning of courage, and also of kindness. |
We’re having a celebration of Long Journeys at BCAL in Wonthaggi on Monday December 8 at 11am. We will come together to share poetry, singing, dancing and food. You are warmly welcome. |
Naomi Shihab Nye is an Arab American poet, songwriter, and novelist, whose father grew up in Palestine. He and his family became refugees in 1948.
Here is her poem ‘Kindness’ that captures the essence of long journeys and what we can learn from them.
Kindness
By Naomi Shihab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
Here is her poem ‘Kindness’ that captures the essence of long journeys and what we can learn from them.
Kindness
By Naomi Shihab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.