When a Stranger in a Niqab Rescued Me
I was stuck. Not on the Wordle word of the day. Not on how to escape from a boring conversation at a party. Not even on how to complete my tax return. I was a white girl with about five words of Arabic, stuck with nowhere to go and no-one to help me, in a big city in Yemen.
I was at the tail end of a fascinating six weeks travelling around that beautiful country. It was the kind of place where you felt you’d stepped back a thousand years into something like Arabian Nights. It was thrilling. I’d been travelling from city to city, visiting friends of friends, using the local bus service and in public, always wearing a hijab and abaya (a long black overdress). I’d gained confidence in managing by myself, felt very safe and was treated very respectfully. Putting on a hijab is an artform which I’d nailed. Getting the right amount of tension in the wrapping so that it doesn’t slip off, let a strand of hair peek out, and declare you to be immodest!
The Cave is Airless
What if they’re upset?
starts the slow descent
into the cave. What if
they’re mad at me?
I squelch into dirt. What if
they hate me? I sink deeper
and deeper into the earth.
I’m stuck.
Limestone
slowly collapses
around me
I’m stagnating.
Fear of man is turning inwards,
spiralling, making everyone
happy to feel safe, but
the cave is airless.
I Don’t Go to Visit Guilt, She Lives Here
I don’t know how she got in, but she likes to call out the dust on my blinds, the dishes in my sink, the tone in my voice.
I tick something off the list. Guilt slips her arm over my shoulder, whispers in my ear about the three other things I didn’t do.
When I get something done, she slips into bed next to me, touches my face and says, “But honey, you didn't do it very well.”
Sleep, Sheep, and the Good Shepherd
I was sitting at the dining table one morning in August 2023, after another sleepless night, spoon feeding my 12 month old baby girl as she sat in her high chair. Weary and worn out after months of sleep deprivation and doing life with 3 little, somewhat spicy, humans under 6 - I turned to the Psalms seeking refreshment for my tired heart (not that I could read well through my puffy, blow fish eyes). I had read the words of Psalm 23 many times, but this morning, in God’s kindness and in my desperate need, they had a particular effect on my heart.