I know some of you have already started to wonder if I’ve decided to join the natural hair movement (Love you ladies but it’s just far too much work with the pre pooing and the post pooing I just can’t). And no I haven’t decided I want to change my name from Claire to Clark and start wearing mens clothes either (Love being a woman) Nah I’ve decided that I am and forever will be a proud feminist.

Now before the men start wondering if I’ve started backsliding. I don’t know why being a strong woman is associated with somehow being sinful. I still love my Jesus. I still love my husband. But I’ve decided to transition from what Chimamanda Adichie calls feminism lite to full blown feminist. And no I’m not going to stop wearing a bra or makeup or fashionable clothes. My feminism is uniquely mine and I…

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Old suitcases

Even The Little Things.

Epiphany, Experiences

I thought I’d share a quick one with you wonderful people. On one hand to let you know I still write and because it really made an impact on me. Not sharing this would make me quite the ungrateful person.

So I’m up all night packing my suitcase. Trying not to go over the weight limit which would normally not happen but for the odd bits here and there. The limit was fast approaching. My flight’s in the morning and I hadn’t slept yet. This was at 1am.

At some point I say to myself “you know what.. I’ll deal with it when I get there.” I zip it all up and head to bed. I’m up a few hours later to make sure of the weights (again). One suitcase is OK but the other is overweight and I have excess hand luggage ( you’re only allowed 2 . 12kg or less. I had 3.  They weighed at least 20kg). This was already set up as a morning to frustrate me. I planned on dropping one hand luggage which I didn’t need but I wanted to carry quite badly. As I was about to give up a voice or feeling clearly said to me


It was clear. I said OK. Let’s go. Excess, heavy and overweight boxes. Early morning. Walking to the train station with all of it. Let us go.

I reweigh my boxes at the airport and both are overweight this time! I still have excess hand luggage but I’m reminded once more….Go in faith. I move all of it to the check-in counter and hand my passport over. This happens….

First bag. Overweight. It goes through.

Second bag. Clearly overweight. Tagged heavy. I audaciously ask to buy a padlock for it. It goes through.

“Do you have any hand luggage?” He asked.

“Yes.” I show him.

Returns passport and boarding pass. “Have a safe flight.” Amen.

See it’s not that this is an extraordinary thing. In the scheme of things, told to anyone, it doesn’t mean much…but it does. The thing is I was told to “Go in faith” I did and for something as little as overweight boxes/excess luggage, God was there. He had my back and for that I’m very grateful. If he cares about the small ones then surely the bigger ones matter as well.

Have a blessed day people. God has your back.

What I Was...

What I was….

Experiences, Poetry

I don’t know who authored this but I think it’s absolutely beautiful….


I was a student, once.
I graduated from a prestigious university and shook hands with its founder when I received my diploma.
Now my hands grasp at others’ unwanted clothes;
Cling desperately to donated gifts for my children;
Shove aside other mothers who might win these prizes instead of me.

I was a teacher, before.
I taught English to Syria’s brightest and used up the electricity marking books late into the night.
Now strangers speak to me slowly, like a baby, asking “Do…you…understand?”
And I fool myself that I’m sleeping when night falls
And there is no light but the stars’ to see by.
Really I am doing the same as in daylight, just on my back.

I was a neighbour, back then.
I made baklava and brought it to Aleema when she was ill.
We car-shared on school runs.
Now I live next to strange men who shout and fight late into the night, whilst I clutch my children;
Next to foreign women who pull my hair and accuse me of cutting in the lunch line.

I was a woman, long ago.
I wore make up, I went shopping with friends in Damascus.
I brushed my black hair before a dressing table mirror.
Now I wash with wet wipes.
I search for donated shoes that fit; style is a rare and happy coincidence.
I queue to use portable toilets filled hourly by thousands of ill and unwashed strangers.
Those that bother to use them, at least.

I was a wife.
Ahmad brought me bracelets from the market on his way home from work.
He got grumpy when I woke him in the morning but smiled when he heard me singing.
He hugged our children,
And kissed me before he left,
And went out humming, as he always does.
As he always did.
Now I tell my name to the English girl before me and shake my head when she asks for my husband’s.
She nods and tries to look understanding. But what can she understand?
This girl, barely more than a teenager,
Never having known war, never having loved, never having had to run from chaos to strife, never having lost?
What can she know?
But then I remember, and I forgive.
For I was her, once.

And If She Meant The World?

I was enthralled by her beauty. Completely.
In the very aspect of her being.
In the smile that always came from the right side of her lip.
The way in which summered breezes danced in her hair.

Her eyes that contained a universe. A depth frightfully engrossing.

In the manner she took when, herself, she lost in thought
And then ask the same question, ‘Do humans fly?’
No, my love, but angels do. Mon ange. Mon essentiel.
If my feelings for you, formed wings and took flight,

My dear, I’m afraid I will never again know land.

On the border of reason;
In the maelstrom of the chaos that shaped my mind,
Would you love her still, a voice whispered, were the world to end for it?
Foolish. The question itself was asinine.
She is my world.

Portrait of Expressive Baby
                                                          (       #           -       (           8       3           C       >           N       I           ^       Y           k       f           u       p

On Marriage Again


As a follow up to my previous post on marriage I thought I’d ramble on a bit more on the topic. (I say follow up but it’s almost been a year!). I’d like to look  at the reason for getting married in the first place. I don’t think everyone should have the idea that they need to get married.  I also think it’s silly to marry when it’s not your choice – especially then.

From stories I’ve read and heard, anyone planning to get married should invest a lot of time preparing themselves for it. It shouldn’t be a sudden decision because those rarely work out well (Hollywood I’ve got eyes on you). Well before you get married maybe you should take time out to ready yourself for it – even before dating someone. I’m not saying marry that person but it helps a lot more to be ready.


Look before you leap, there might be cushions, there might be lava. 


One thing is being prepared and the other is definitely timing. I’ve found that there’s a very bad amount of undue pressure from parents/uncles/aunts/busy-bodies expecting their children to get married asap. Something I’ve experienced personally as I’m sure a lot of you reading this would have too. For good reasons I can’t come up with there seems to be this rush for them to marry you off and God forbid that it doesn’t happen on time. When I say on time I mean from your early twenties (some very adventurously misguided people opt for much lower). If you’ve hit 30, best believe you’re either ‘cursed’ and are a constant point of prayer, evidenced by all the deliverance services you’ll be ‘invited’ to; you’re actually the theme.


‘*insert name* Must Marry This Year!’


Sad to say but most people, I’m sure, are familiar with the question(s) ‘when are you getting married?’, ‘where is your husband/wife?’, ‘Isn’t it about time you settled down?’. At 20?! What on earth is anybody settling down for at that age? There’s so much more to do with your life at that age beyond getting married. Say maybe uuhhhh let’s see….get a job?  Make reasonable income? Figure out how to pay for your survival? but no, you want them to get married. For whose sake exactly?

That’s the question though isn’t it? Who exactly are you marrying for? Is it for you or them? Are they trying to get you married so they can be happy? Last I checked your happiness was involved in this thing. Very much so.

Honestly, I don’t believe it’s right to pressure people into marriage at any age. If you’re ready then you get married and not before. Never before. How you know if you’re ready is up to you to figure out (next post?) but never rush into it for the wrong reasons. One of the few reason I can understand is menopause or avoiding large age gaps  but even then there are so many alternatives. Adoption for example. A lot of orphans would love you for it. Does it even occur to people that not everyone wants a child?

The most selfish reasons I’ve heard is that the parents want grandchildren. I mean, no wait….as in….nah. Lord take control. You want to force 18 years (at least) of responsibility on someone who might not be good for that sort of responsibility? Come on! Simply so you can glow with pride? Or boast? I don’t get it but it’s crazy. It really is.

Some people don’t even want to get married. They’re not made for it. However, the pressure tends to get them to succumb into making commitment they shouldn’t have made in the first place. Years after they divorce and people blame it on ‘it wasn’t meant to be’. No duh! You’ve achieved your goal but it’s up to them to make it work whether they were meant to or not.

Something as serious as marriage should never be taken lightly. Never. The consequences are often irreversible. People should be ready to go into of their own free will. With a lot of information. Parents should be making sure their kids have all the information and knowledge they need not trying to throw them off a building and hoping they fly. Some people are meant to swim.




Life, Schrodinger & Fridges


It occurred to me once upon a midnight ‘snack’ run that life is a lot like opening a fridge (or if you’re anything like me the habit of opening a fridge); you’re never sure if there’s food in there or not, if you bought any  or not, and if someone’s eaten the food or not. And a lot like Schrodinger’s Cat, there is and isn’t (any) food inside the fridge. This of course means you’re either satisfying your cravings or you’re going hungry for a while.


Le Chat De Schrodinger: A cat in a box being considered to be simultaneously both dead and alive until the box -containing randomly-activated lethal elements- is opened.


However, unlike the limbo’d cat of Mr Erwin Schrodinger, the result is not entirely absolute. You can get food later or there will be food in the fridge (from personal experience, odds says there isn’t haha).

What I’m getting at is that on some days when you wake up and feel like it’s going to be a bad day remember, it’s not absolute. It’s not the end. Your day can still be great and in the grand scheme of the game called Life even your year can still be great no matter how bad it’s been. So chin up! Look sharp!

Have a good day and week, strange internet presence and may the odds of a stocked fridge forever be in your favour.

Xmas Daddy_1

2015: A Review

Epiphany, Experiences, Teacher Days

Let me take you back a year or so, to a time before my 9 to 5, before I became a ‘working man’.

tI thought it’d be a nice way to end the year with a posts to push my views to 1000 see how far I’ve come as a person over 2015. I’ll add some 2014 highlights that are relevant to the year too. It’s not a long post as usual but it might just be worth your time if for nothing more than pushing my views over 1000 making you reflect on the year.


Here we go!




Child in tears

Can You See Me Now?


How about now? Will you look at me now?

Will your eyes draw off the horizon

To meet me standing here, I’ve been here for SO long.

Do you see me now?

Soaked in pain and frustration, battered and bruised

Scared in resignation, alone and abused

I was PLEADING for mercy but you refused.

Do my wounds attract your sympathy?

Now that I’ve been stripped of my dignity

Am I deserving of some comfort?

Some peace and your warmth?

I’ve been here for so long seems you forgot

I’ve been here for so long but there you were, lost

In your worries about politics, your dreams were idealistic

While she stood there, her time slowly ticked;

Away, and she was just below the horizon

Soaked in pain and frustration, battered and bruised

Scared in resignation, alone and abused.

Pleading for mercy but YOU refused.

And now the spotlight shines bright around me

Now I have nowhere to run as wolves surround me

Now that my hands are too weak to save me

Now that I can’t reach that hand to save me

Can you see me now?!

Dragons Are Coming -Finding the Supsu Finale

The Dragons Are Coming

Creatively Me, Short Story

‘In a land far away, in a sea not so far, lived a little girl called Petra. She was the most beautiful little thing anyone had ever seen. She had long dark hair and her skin was the sort of brown that made you think of milk chocolate. Petra was a very nice girl and played and laughed with everyone.

She lived with her mother and father and little baby brother who turns 5 tomorrow! Petra was excited about this and really wanted to find her brother the very best gift she could.

She heard a sound from the window and immediately knew who it was. Mujo had come to play. Mujo was her friend from ‘over the fence.’ The creatures who lived there were different from her mum and dad, her little brother and everyone in the village.

They all had funny shapes and no two were alike. Some had big heads and small bodies; some big bodies and small heads. Others had large feet and long ears and some had big hands and sharp teeth. Mujo, her favourite friend, was taller than her with big hands and long legs and hairy all over. He had a big nose and an even bigger mouth when he smiled. She really liked Mujo’s smile and always looked forward to playing with him.

The night before, she and Mujo agreed that they would meet before the sun rose over the Shezka Mountains to look for her little brother’s present. So when the sound came from the window, she knew Mujo had come as promised. She quickly got out of bed and ran out to get her brother the best gift ever.

‘Good morning Mujo!’ Petra whispered loudly with the biggest smile on her face. She couldn’t wait to start looking.

Mujo smiled back and grunted. He couldn’t talk like she could but they understood each other perfectly. They held hands and walked down the footpath leading to the river. The entire time Petra was telling him about her dream and anything she could think of. She liked to talk and he always listened.

They walked for a short while and finally arrived by the river bank. There it was, the present she wanted to get for her brother. Around this time the ‘supsu’ still shone in the water. They were tiny little creatures that looked like fairies. They twinkled in the water when the skies were dark. At least that’s what her mommy said but Petra knew better.  They were obviously fallen stars and she was going to put them inside the jar she brought along from home.

She had already tried catching them before and every time she’d come home empty handed and soaked through. She found out later that the ‘supsu’ disappeared if you made too much noise in the water. Petra knew she couldn’t get them alone because she always fell over. So she had agreed to bring the jar and Mujo would silently get her the stars in the water.

It took a few tries but they had finally managed to get them. The ‘supsu’ shone brightly every time she shook the jar. They twinkled just like the stars above. She was sure her brother was going to love it. Mujo was soaked from trying to get the ‘supsu’ but he was happy that Petra was smiling so he didn’t mind it much.

‘Time to go home Mujo, I want to wrap it so he gets a surprise when he wakes up.’

Mujo grunted his agreement and he and Petra began to make their way back to the house. They weren’t far off when they heard a loud cry from far away. They turned round to see who it was but there was nothing on the ground. The cry came again and this time they looked up and saw where it came from. Creatures that looked like big birds were flying from over the Shezka Mountain. They flew very fast.

They were grey all over with large wings and scary, angry faces. Next thing she knew the earth shook and fire fell from the sky blinding her. Mujo held her.



‘Mission is complete mission command, over.’

‘Roger FF320-11. Return to base.’

The pilot disconnected from the com-link and exhaled

‘Whew. That was an easy one this time. Right kid?’

‘Sir….the radar. Those were civilians in the area!’


‘Sir….the little girl….she wasn’t…she couldn’t be a part..’

‘Kid, we had a mission. We did it. Mission complete. We go home.’

‘And they don’t?!’

‘Not this time’

The fighter jet flew off due west leaving the ruined village behind it.


*A round of applause erupted in the hall*

‘Thank you for coming today ladies and gentlemen. ‘The Dragons Are Coming’ will be available in bookstores all over the country next week. Make sure you get a copy. Once again, thank you all.’

The room emptied except for the author and his assistant. The man at the podium, Sherams Patek, closed the book and smiled at it sadly. Hello Petra.

It had been 17 years since he found Petra’s body after she had been killed by the air raid back home. It still hurt. He still wondered what she’d say by now, what she’d look like. She always had amazing stories to tell everyone. About things she’d seen and heard, about her friends from ‘over the fence’. They were all true, at least to her. She had a rare condition where she actually saw the creatures she spoke about. Her world was always so beautiful.

He really wished she were still here.  The therapist had suggested he write a letter to her to help cope with the loss of his sister. Instead he decided to remember what she’d told him and people from the village and turned it into a book. Her world really was beautiful.

He remembered hearing something about the raid on the news years later but it didn’t matter. It changed absolutely nothing. Petra was never coming back. The scars he carried reminded him of that.

‘Help me, please, Mr Ragha.’

He didn’t speak a lot and gave a slight grunt instead to acknowledge the request. That reminded him of Mujo.

He didn’t have the strength to walk today so he took off his prosthetic leg as Mr Ragha helped him into his wheelchair.  

Judgement Day Isn’t Up To Us! Stop Dishing It Out Daily.


Nice! Enjoyed the read.


I took both cases from the experience of a friend and myself. Read on:

 Scene 1;

Today I saw a homeless man. He hobbled towards goodness-knows-where. I could tell he wasn’t drunk but he was tired; the sort of weariness you see on a defeated person. He looked to be in his late 40’s but I wouldn’t know. Stress and sadness ages a person.

He slowed as he walked, and bent over to pick what I assumed would be a half-finished cigarette as several littered the floor. I thought to myself “no surprise there”. He stood up and in his hand was an unfinished piece of someone else’s sandwich. It had probably been there all night. He walked past me considering his ‘meal’. Ashamed yet desperate. He walked on. Still considering as though asking himself: “Will I eat this?” I did not doubt that unless his fortune turned for the…

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