Yesterday, I put off writing about my experience at the Soomaal House, and even though it's after midnight--I still want to get down a few thoughts & dive deeper into the poetry I witnessed. I have to say, I was impressed at the community--warm & vibrant that the Soomaal House has created in order to bring about a generative/thriving environment for young creators to blossom in.
There are some dominant themes that I noticed over the course of the evening: displacement, the meaning of 'home', being or feeling alone/disconnected, preserving culture & tradition while embracing the new world you're living in. I did not hear what I was expecting to hear: anger or strong stances against racism, the feeling of being misunderstood as Muslims living in a Christian dominant country, or other "darker" or more "othered" themes. The poetry was, for the most part--personal, emotional, examining spiritual rather than cultural wounds.
One of the poets, Khadija, wrote about how she would drink coffee when she missed her family back home. A line that stuck out from one of her pieces was "I put coffee in your place/to provide the warmth you once did." There was a feeling in the gallery where the open mic was, of recreating home--there was incense burning, coffee beans sitting out raw in a bowl, and Lokho's pictures of Mombasa on the walls.
A Soomaal House staff member, Yamafara (not sure of spelling) is a 21 year old student who read a letter she wrote to herself--after her mom had asked her when she'd be getting married (more important than how her studies were going) and the resulting piece was poignant & powerful, "I don't want to get married until I feel and am seen as a grown woman without having to be only called a grown woman because I have a man or kids." When do American parents see their children as adults? When do East African parents see their children as adults? The piece raised these sorts of questions. Later on she indicates she wants people to associate her not with marriage or kids but with "my career, my accomplishments, my art" & boldly states "I don't want to get married until my mother is proud of me for who I am."
One interesting difference between the male & female poets, all of them, it seems either first or second generation immigrants from East Africa--is that the men looked & acted differently--and their poetry reflected this aesthetic difference. The ladies, all of them, wore their hair covered & dressed modestly. The guys, however, had a more traditional, high level of confidence not only in how they styled themselves--but in how they wrote & read their work. In one piece, entitled "Past" the artist used staccato rhymes throughout, for example "At every turn/I see bridges burned/No matter how much lessons I've come to learn." His sweater was black with white lettering that read "Humanize the Hood" & that was the only open statement about race that was made that night.
I was expecting more material to be focused on race or race relations because of the last few years--the way the Black Lives Matter movement has become a part of the American zeitgeist, the ongoing legal battles for justice, etc. The names that now make up a pantheon of martyrs: Trayvon Martin, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor--the list goes on for far too long. I was expecting this because on Saturday, between 10am & 3pm I had time to kill after checking out of my Minneapolis Airbnb but before checking into my Saint Paul one. So I went hiking--and I encountered a few folks while I was out & about, but only had conversations with 2. One was a white woman who, while I was petting her dog, lamented "how the recent ethnic tension" has ruined the Twin Cities, and another man who was telling me about how Eagle Lake was frozen & safe to walk on--and then went on to make nasty jokes about "how the Africans would freak out" if they went out on the lake. It wasn't a kind commentary on our differences.
From the woman--I got the sense that the struggle for justice, for equality (which is not a recent thing) was somehow turning the urban experience into a bad one. From the man--I got a reminder that what makes Minneapolis (to me, and to many others I believe) a unique & amazing American experience--the presence of so many immigrants from Africa--was seen as a source of cruel jokes or racist sentiments, building on an "us vs them" mentality that existed before--with black Americans. As a white guy from the south, I too would freak out if you "veered your truck out onto the lake all of a sudden." I was astounded by the open racism these white people displayed to me, but perhaps as a fellow Caucasian they assumed not only would I understand, but that I would sympathize or agree with their positions.
The fact that this racism was not a major subject from the poets at Soomaal House tells me that it's entirely possible the white folks are keeping themselves totally separate--so much so that they aren't interacting with this community in a negative OR a positive fashion. In a way--this is a good thing, but in a way--it's a bad thing that we're becoming so tribal. I will admit to being the only white person in attendance at the Soomaal House open mic--and I have to note my presence there wasn't performative, I'm a stranger in this city & I came out for poetry--not to make any statements. I wasn't expecting or hoping to be the only Caucasian there, but I didn't let it stop me from enjoying myself thoroughly. The fact that there weren't more white people there shows me that bridges need to be built, to connect communities that could benefit from the cultural, spiritual & artistic cross pollination--such as I experienced by attending this reading.
Just as with Sarah, in Pittsburgh, who spoke of Rumi with a light in her eyes or Ayad at Carnegie Hall--my experiences on this trip are drastically changing how I see & feel about Muslim Americans. They are members of a peaceful, creative, beautiful community of dreamers & explorers, and they didn't close the doors on me because I was white, or because I was queer. When I find my way, when I settle down into whatever city I end up calling home--I must remember to tear down the silos & walls that keep us separated into our different tribes of Sameness. I must find ways to bring radically different people together--to mix & mingle & be inspired by each other, be illuminated by each other, to be reminded of our common humanity. That, above anything else, will make me joyful.
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