Postcards From My Country

POSTCARDSfrom mycountry2011

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POSTCARDS FROM MY COUNTRY

2011

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Front Left to Right: Ngone Mbengue, Abdourr Ahman, Chi-Chi Offorbuike Back Left to Right: Jihan Asher, Mylanie Adua Engowei, Irma Nkwain, Jack Slattery

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Featuring the work of student poets from Northwestern High School under the direction of Rebecca Roberts, ESOL teacher

A collaborative project of the Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House at the University of Maryland and Northwestern High School of Prince George’s County, Maryland.

Student mentors:

Jack SlatteryKatie Taylor Jihan Asher

Program Coordinator: Jesse Freeman

Journal Design and Layout: Grace Toulotte and Meg Eden

Teaching and Administrative Assistance: Robyne McCullough

Administrative Assistance: Tafisha Edwards and Sohayl Vafai Postcards From My Country is supported by a grant from the Maryland State Arts Council, an agency dedicated to cultivating a vibrant cultural community where the arts thrive, and by the National Endowment for the Arts, a federal agency which believes that a great nation deserves great art.

POSTCARDS FROM MY COUNTRY

2011

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Ngone M

bengue at her father’s desk in the Central A

frican Republic. She is hiding a broken arm

.

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Dear Reader,

The journal you now hold represents a year of hard work by students dedicated to becoming better writers. These students attend Northwestern High School in the Prince George’s County Public School System in Hyattsville, Maryland, and most of them have immigrated to the United States. A few were born here but are the children of immi-grants. They all share the experience of living under the sway of at least two cultures.

Postcards From My Country is a service-learning initiative from the Jiménez-Porter Writers' House at the University of Maryland. Students from Writers’ House mentor the Northwestern students in small groups. Ostensibly, they help guide the composition process, but the bonds go deeper than that. The university students help their mentees express their experiences, locate their pride and come to terms with their new surround-ings.

Of course, it’s a symbiotic relationship. Our UMD students grow more confident in their ability to teach and to connect with people of different cultures. The Northwestern stu-dents have enlightened us with their unique perspectives, and perhaps more importantly, they have demonstrated true resiliency. This year the program moved to a self-selected model, meaning the students come for mentorship of their own accord after the school day ends. The result has been a very motivated and diverse group of writers. Sixteen stu-dents representing twelve different nations have joined us, and work from many of those students appears in the following pages. Their progress has been remarkable, but that is only because their commitment has been outstanding.

Special thanks are in order for Northwestern Principal Jerome Thomas, as well as for Rebecca Roberts, ESOL teacher at Northwestern and our angel of an administrator. Thanks also to Johnna Schmidt, Director of the Jiménez-Porter Writers' House, for her expert guidance. The greatest thanks go to the mentors and students who have worked so hard throughout the year. Take some time to enjoy their poetry, just as we have en-joyed watching it deepen and refine.

Sincerely,Jesse FreemanProgram Coordinator, Postcards From My Country

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“Cero G

reen,” a dormant volcano near K

enia Cordova’s hom

e in Zacatecoluca, E

l Salvador

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Irma Nkwain

Bushfaller 10 Belle 12 A New Life 13Mylanie Adua Engowei

I See You 15 Unconditional Love 17 An Event (About We) 18 Garri 19Abdoul Kader Camara

Is Love Your Name? 23 Blood Is Thicker Than Water 25 Rhyme, Breeze, Rhyme 26Jose lyn Caste llanos

El Dolor 28 Un Sueño / A Dream 30Chi -Chi Offorbuike

In My Pastime 34Sudai f Sadiq

November 9th 35Ngone Mbengue

Baobab 37 Let Me Be… 38 Unbreakable Chain 41Cather ine Nyongole

Lapa 42 Endless Love 43Abdourr Ahman

Dreamland 44 Nightmare 46 Reawaken 47Bubacar Se id i

No Excuses 49 Every Man’s Dream 50Acknowledgments 53

10 11

On a sunny Thursday morning, I went outside and brushed my teeth for the world to see. In my short pink nightgown, I kept dancing.

I heard my name being called. Go and take your bath so we can go out!I stood there, thinking about what my new life overseas would look like.

My sister needed a belt to wear with her new trousers.

We spoke so loud and smiled with all our teeth showing,Laughing before we were separated.

BUSH FALLER*

-Irma Nkwain Cameroon English/French Mentor: Jihan Asher

*Bush faller is slang term used in Cameroon for people who emigrate, especially to the West

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On a sunny Thursday morning, I went outside and brushed my teeth for the world to see. In my short pink nightgown, I kept dancing.

I heard my name being called. Go and take your bath so we can go out!I stood there, thinking about what my new life overseas would look like.

My sister needed a belt to wear with her new trousers.

We spoke so loud and smiled with all our teeth showing,Laughing before we were separated.

BUSH FALLER*

-Irma Nkwain Cameroon English/French Mentor: Jihan Asher C

hrist

ian

Mos

quea

’s ph

oto

of L

a V

ega,

Dom

inica

n R

epub

lic, w

here

they

grow

stra

wber

ries a

nd o

ther

frui

ts

12 13

Having lots of thorns depriving people of the treasure it has inside. So tall its tree grows and falls down when dead. Its strong smell draws flies towards it.

To know if the fruit is ripe, you tap your belly andtap the fruit. If they both sound the same, then you’ll know the fruit is ready.

Eating it makes you feel as though you should not stopAnd eating a lot of it makes you want to throw up. It’s brown and slimy seeds swell like a pregnant woman and the fruit tastes so sweet.

Oh Jack fruit how I love thee.

When the fruit has been cut off you hear kids screaming “Belle Belle Belle eh ehhh”

BELLE


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Having lots of thorns depriving people of the treasure it has inside. So tall its tree grows and falls down when dead. Its strong smell draws flies towards it.

To know if the fruit is ripe, you tap your belly andtap the fruit. If they both sound the same, then you’ll know the fruit is ready.

Eating it makes you feel as though you should not stopAnd eating a lot of it makes you want to throw up. It’s brown and slimy seeds swell like a pregnant woman and the fruit tastes so sweet.

Oh Jack fruit how I love thee.

When the fruit has been cut off you hear kids screaming “Belle Belle Belle eh ehhh”

BELLE


On a sunny day during the dry season,I sat in the living room watching “African Magic” cracking up at the jokes made by the Nigerian comedians. Coming towards me on the phone was my Aunt: Lee, get ready we have to go to these new girls boarding school for your interviewI replied, not paying attention to what she said but just laughing. She said it again for the second time. I was happy with the constant thought of knowing I was now going to experience a new version of life— So happy I was finally going to cut my hair and be a little miss independent. Finally, I was going to have more than enough money for my pocket allowance.

A NEW LIFE


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Mylanie Adua Engowei with her brother Raphael on vacation in the village of Batibo in Cameroon

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Everywhere I go—my class, the cafeteria, chilling with my pals—I see you. Even when I am shopping with my family, I see you. You never pretend that you do not know me. Whenever you see me, you keep on singing the same song

I do not want to hear your ugly chorus,But you got me thinking about the rhythm of the old song. All I want is for you to vanish and never return.

I SEE YOU

-Mylanie Adua Engowei CameroonFrench/English Mentor: Jihan Asher

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Mylanie Adua Engowei with family members and her nanny in the city of Doula in Cameroon

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Every morning, every evening, every dayI hear love, I see love, I feel love. I am filled with love like a cave filled with rocks,seeing you two sitting in the cinderblock bar you owned in Africa.Love is the sound of a secret whistle you both shared, echoing whenever a parent returned home.The fresh smell of egg and cheese makes me wonderif this world is full of love.There must be something or someone that created it, but who might that be?

Some say unconditional love never ends but some say it does end. Who should I believe? Anytime I think about itand watch what it is to give to one another, I choose that unconditional love never ends.

Whenever I come home, feeling low and troubled, You give me comfort, you promise me that everything will be okay if I just believe in myself.

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE


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We shopped, we cooked, we decorated, we drank, we danced, we laughed.

Having something to do with everyone is like the clouds coming together for rain.

We discussed, we cried, and we learned. We leaned on each other’s shoulders.

AN EVENT (ABOUT WE)


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We shopped, we cooked, we decorated, we drank, we danced, we laughed.

Having something to do with everyone is like the clouds coming together for rain.

We discussed, we cried, and we learned. We leaned on each other’s shoulders.

AN EVENT (ABOUT WE)


Peel, grate, and squeeze the cassava;dry directly under the sun or in an oven.We eat garri when we are hungry, it helps in breaking down my hunger.It can be prepared as a family dinner. We do not bite it like any other food—Like cocas, yams, plantains; The best way is to eat it with the hands. We swallow it like tumm tumm. How delicious it is with eru. It tastes better when sour, You’ll enjoy it best soaked in water, sugar, and roasted peanuts.

GARRI


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A friend of Kenia Cordova celebrating her Quinceañera

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Youn

g frie

nds o

f K

enia

Cor

dova

in S

an M

iguel,

El S

alva

dor

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Abdoul Kader Camara’s grandmother in Abidjan, Ivory Coast

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A bright cold and sunny day, they say you are.A dim and rainy day, I say you are. What are you? Many ask.A conflict to many.Resolution to few. What are you? We still ask.Trace of your being we still find.But your origins are still unknown.

IS LOVE YOUR NAME?

-Abdoul Kader Camara Ivory CoastFrench Mentor: Jack Slattery

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Abdoul K

ader Cam

era with his cousins at a beach in Port Bouet, Ivory Coast

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A river that will never dry out;that is what I feel for you.For me you crossed a thousand miles of water.To you, I will give my flesh and blood.

you who gave me lifeyou who cared for meyou who stood up for meyou who got hurt for my mistakes

For you, my love is the clear spring water of the heavens.

BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER


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As various as the fish that fill the oceanyou are known.The core that fuels our being,The hero of the morning.Though you are as varied as the fish in the ocean,I have eyes for only one.

I have eyes, for rhyme,for the sound,for the verse,that get me to focusas the power of a thousand sunsthat burn within, I always thought of you.

RHYME, BREEZE, RHYME


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As various as the fish that fill the oceanyou are known.The core that fuels our being,The hero of the morning.Though you are as varied as the fish in the ocean,I have eyes for only one.

I have eyes, for rhyme,for the sound,for the verse,that get me to focusas the power of a thousand sunsthat burn within, I always thought of you.

RHYME, BREEZE, RHYME


Abd

oul K

ader

Cam

era

with

his

cous

ins a

t a b

each

in P

ort B

ouet,

Ivor

y Coa

st

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I.

It was 2 a.m. Finally, I fall asleep.

4 a.mAwake again. Now, the restlessness, has turned to pain.

6 a.mThe pain in my stomach, cada vez peor.

Empiezo a llorar. My movements and tears wake my mom.Worried, she rushes me to the doctor.

7 a.mIn the hospital, I wait for my name to be calledwhile playing with my little brother and pretending to be fine.

EL DOLOR

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EL DOLOR

-Joselyn Castellanos Guatemala Spanish Mentor: Jack Slattery

II.

The days and the hours pass. It is time now and I’m scared, waiting for el doctor.

My mom says in a soft voice “Don’t worry, todo estará bien”Everything will be fine.

The doctor comes in, I lie down, with nurses all around me. He places a plastic mask over my nose and mouthand asks me to count from one to ten.

Wishing that this is a dream, I stare up at the operating lamp. uno, dos, tres, cuatro…I never get to ten.

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I dreamt I was missing,you were so scared.But no one would listen, because no one else cared. After my dreaming, I woke with this fearof the home I am leaving,when I’m done here. It was only a dream.But I still felt so afraid, So scared to lose youThat I don’t mind missing you.

UN SUEÑO / A DREAM

-Joselyn Castellanos Guatemala SpanishMentor: Jack Slattery

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UN SUEÑO / A DREAM

-Joselyn Castellanos Guatemala SpanishMentor: Jack Slattery

Joselyn Castellanos at age three

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Joselyn Castellanos with her father at her cousin’s Quinceañera

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Tony Lopez’s cousins getting ready to play soccer in Soyapango, El Salvador

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In my pastime,I like to dance.Whether it be to sway like a leaf in the gentle breezeOr jump like a wave upon the shores.My love for dance crosses many borders,Dips into many genres,Dives into many seas,From tap to bachata to contemporary,The grace of ballet,The vitality of salsa,The power of African traditional.I love to dance.Dance is me.

IN MY PASTIME

-Chi-Chi Offorbuike United States/ Nigeria English/Igbo Mentor: Jack Slattery

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IN MY PASTIME

-Chi-Chi Offorbuike United States/ Nigeria English/Igbo Mentor: Jack Slattery

On a cold November night,a friend request suddenlyappears on my Facebook page.

Here I am, seeing you for the first timeafter the boys and girls were separated.

It was you after six years of unlived life.

I felt refreshed, The love fills my heart The moon turned to sun My heart wants to go to you, but if it left me, I would die.

The cold I feel beside me is slowly fading, The tears dry on my face.

The things I have been through mean nothing to you.

NOVEMBER 9TH

-Sudaif Sadiq IraqArabic Mentor: Jihan Asher

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Ngone Mbengue with her brother Abdul and her sister Emelie during a family vacation to Paris

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Very huge and enormous,it can reach up to the size of a fifteen-story building.

It is known as sacred (and also evil) by the people because of its use by witch doctors,who use it for voodoo rituals.

Despite its evil and mysterious reputation,this precious tree blossoms and bearsan odd but delicious fruit,which is rare to find on the market.

It is one of the biggest and oldest trees one can find on earth.

BAOBAB

-Ngone Mbengue Ivory Coast French Mentor: Katie Taylor

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Let me be your love.

Let me be your sunlight,So I can warm up your heart,brighten up your days, and make you laugh.

Let me be your favorite song,So I can make you escape and make you feel free.

Let me be your angel, So I can fight your demonsand make everything in this cruel world seem right.

Let me be your everything I want to be,So I can make you happy and glad.But mostly, let me be yoursAnd say, “I love you.”

LET ME BE…


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LET ME BE…


Ngone Mbengue’s sister Emelie; photo taken when the family was living in Mali

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Ngone M

bengue with her sister Em

elie and her brother Abdul; photo taken when the fam

ily was living in Abidjan, Ivory C

oast

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My family has amazing moments.The vacations and Sunday dinnersReinforce our bonds and strengthen The weak links in our chain.

However, it’s not always a fairytale. Sometimes dark clouds come along And fill the atmosphere with tension. But the sunshine always comes out.

No matter how strong the storm,That chain will never Rust or break.

UNBREAKABLE CHAIN


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Lapa is a famous fabric in the African Continent, But now foreign designers are trying to make it fashionable.

Lapa is elegant and expensive,Colorful and patternedWith flowers, stars, animals and faces,In yellow, black, purple and red.

Lapa is common clothes for the Royal Family,And other Africans wear Lapa when dignitaries visit,In Traditional weddings and for special dances.

Lapa is long and rectangular With brand names at the side, And a message in the designLike:“A mother’s love never dies,”“Pride for Obama” and “God is good all the time.”

LAPA

-Catherine Nyongole Tanzania Swahili Mentor: Jesse Freeman

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LAPA


A mother’s love is hard to findBut she is the person I can trust. I Can feel it in her touch, in her tender hugs and such, herDeep devotion, sacrifice and pain, herEnduring love sustains,For nothing can destroy it. I Get love anytime I look into her eyes. In Her faith and love I always confide.It pours Joy into my heart andKeeps me safe when she Lends an ear. My Mother’s love can’t be explained. No matter what, no matter where, itOverjoys me and brings me Peace when all others forsake me. Quite certainly, my mother’s love—Right along with Faith and Truth—Shines like a crown and Takes care of me. She Understands when I fall short, this Very precious woman, who the angelsWere fashioned to beX-actly like. I will returnYour love, which gives me the Zeal to become a good woman.

ENDLESS LOVE


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I feel lost in my dream.Finding my way back to reality is complicated.Where there is no light, she will alwayswash over my lost dreams,like an angel’s light washes over you.

You are the light that keeps me going on. Without you, I feel lost, scared, and confused.

“Where is my light,” I ask. “Where have you gone?”“Why did you leave me?”

I thought our love was stronger.

DREAMLAND

-Abdourr Ahman Cameroon French Mentor: Katie Taylor

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DREAMLAND

-Abdourr Ahman Cameroon French Mentor: Katie Taylor Th

e ter

rain

in a

n ar

ea ca

lled

Juan

Yan

ez n

ear t

he h

ome o

f E

telin

da M

arib

el H

enriq

uez

in E

l Sal

vado

r

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A voice called from in the death house.It said: “Come to me my children. Get some of those fruits, and come inside.”

When they stepped in, the door shut closed.Nowhere to run or hide.Darkness fell within the room,like the darkness of a cemetery.Creepy screams started to come from the floor—it was the lost souls.

They were longing for more souls to come to stay with them.The children’s souls were lost forever in the house, waiting for others to come.

NIGHTMARE


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NIGHTMARE


Within me lives this shadow that slumbers deep in my heart,waiting for the day to awaken.When he arises, the world I know and my body will fall into destruction.And without balance in me, he can control all my actions.

The shadow and I are one.

The fear of seeing him free makes me insane. Everything I love, my friends, my familyWill all fall one by one.Not even I can run from my fate.

Please, don’t let your heart control your actions,or else you will lose who you are, and become a different person.

REAWAKEN


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Bubacar Seidi’s sisters in Senegal

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There is a time I put my head upAnd a time I put my head down. I hate excuses.

Excuses are nightmares.They fight my heart and lower me down. I hate excuses.

I feel weak and distracted When I know I am wrong. I hate excuses.

But I have a heart of a lionWhen my stars are shining.I hate excuses.

The words of my integrity Sound like those of noble praise.I hate excuses.

The light of my righteousness Shines throughout the world.I hate excuses.

NO EXCUSES

-Bubacar Seidi Senegal French/Wolof Mentor: Jesse Freeman

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I heard a lot about youBefore I arrived.I heard you are the world premier.I heard you are where every man could better his life.

But I am not surprised. I may say I believe in what people say, But I am not surprised.

The world I left behind Does not have many open doors.Still, I am proud of the world I left behind. It does not have as much as you do,But we have God, peace and love.We are proud and we live with respect. I cherish my country.

EVERY MAN’S DREAM


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EVERY MAN’S DREAM


Buba

car S

eidi’s

par

ents

at h

ome i

n D

akar

, Sen

egal

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The fishing boat of Kenia C

ordova’s uncle off the coast of La U

nión, El Salvador

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This project could not exist without the generous funding received from:

The College of Arts and Humanities, University of MarylandThe Maryland State Arts Council The National Endowment for the ArtsThe Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center

We are also grateful for the help we have received from:

Stuart Eisenberg, Hyattsville Community Development CenterDean James F. Harris, College of Arts and HumanitiesAssociate Dean Elizabeth Loizeaux, College of Arts and Humanities Vivianne Salgado, Assistant Director of the Jimenez-Porter Writers’ House Nicole Paoletti at the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center Indigo Ink, Columbia, MD

www.writershouse.umd.edu

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Postcards From My Country

Documents

Transcript of Postcards From My Country