For the past 6 weeks a group of 12 sanctuary seekers have been meeting with artists, Harriet and Tas, to learn expressive writing skills in English. Over the weeks they have written about their impressions of Manchester for new asylum seekers.
Here’s a taster from their group poem:
Travelling around Manchester: Sights and sounds of the City.
Collaborative poem.
“On the bus”
Many people waiting at the bus stop,
no one smiled.
My bus stop was empty.
Children playing waiting to go to school.
Old friends laughing,
people on their own looking sad.
Stressed, angry, nervous, I want to be on time – “Where is the bus?”
The bus arrives, relief.
The bus is busy – some people are running.
Sometimes you just miss the bus.
People on their phones, listening to music. There’s WiFi on the bus!
The phone is like a shield, protection.
Squashed together, but not connected.
I was told not to ask people questions,
try to find things out for my own self.
The driver sees me running, he shuts the door.
I smell weed, there’s a man at the back of bus rolling a splif.
People take their dogs on the bus!
The smell makes me feel sick.
Ladies put their bags on the seat next to them so no one can sit there.
I like the queuing, people take their turns,
they respect who was there first.
The bus is running late.
I see people walking, houses, schools, countryside.
I thought it would be beautiful.
I see people kissing.
Fog, steamy windows, rain, can’t see out of the window.
Dirty windows, blinded by the sun.
Sirens, ice-cream vans, children running
refuse trucks, cleaning cars, motorbikes.
My stop is coming.
I ring the bell.
Sometimes the driver forgets so I knock on the window,
sometimes I am thinking about my troubles and I miss the stop.
The bus is slowing down.
I stagger and bump into people.
Sometimes they are angry, “Don’t touch me.”
I say thank you to the driver.
I climb off.
My body relaxes.
How should I kill time?
It’s been a long day.
I am ready to go home.
Full English by Lucien
When you are hungry everything tastes good.
Sausages are too salty.
Everything is black and burnt.
The eggs are swimming in oil.
I wouldn’t normally eat anything so greasy.
I feel like throwing up.
I am angry with myself for having to eat this.
Disappointed in myself. I have no choice.
Poto poto: semolina, sugar, milk.
It makes you strong.
Eat in the morning until noon.
It makes you run, play football.
Never tired.
I feel good.
My mum is calling me to come and eat.
I don’t want anything, just to play.
