“They did not invite us to empower us, they knew we are powerful”

Reflections on a week of theatre workshops for ‘The Women’s Strike: A Refugee Lysistrata’

by Niveen.

16th December, 2022, I got a message on a group of friends on WhatsApp. Tagged in the post, my best friend Maysa says ‘Nino, unleash your potential’. I clicked on the link, it says “calling refugee and asylum seeking women, are you interested in theatre?” I went straight to their instagram and messaged someone called Tashy. I thought, here we go another organisation who wants to empower us refugee women. Little did I know about giving second chances and believing in people’s good intentions.

I was very nervous to go there and meet those people. I was full of doubt and my legs were thinking of going back home… wait, Home! Isn’t this what those people want to help us refugee women with? Empower us? Fine, guilty mind quiet now, let’s give them a chance.

Heading outside Bank station, I walked there and found the word theatre written on a board near the location. I can’t hide that my inner child was jumping in excitement! It has always been my dream to act. I met Tabitha and Diyan, then Carmen. Wait! Those people have a genuine smile!

Then, I walked into the room after climbing those scary stairs. Nigeria, Pakistan, Ukraine, Syrian, Lebanon and DRC, there were women from different parts of the world. Yet, I felt safe! How, I don’t know… I rarely do, but since it is rare, it is there and feeling safe is a dream so I am holding on to it… We sat together, spoke to each other and I am a talkative person. I met Itab, a Syrian woman who is pure gold! It felt like Home… I was full of doubt.. Why would this be any different? But there was a new feeling to me, I trust those women for some reason. 

We were given some exercises, to break the ice. What is my name, how to pronounce it and what is the meaning of my name! During those 6 years, 5 months, 21 days I have never been asked about my name! Never asked what it means and how to say my name. My name! The name my parents gave me. The name that attaches me to Home! The beautiful part is that this subject was not alien to any of those women. We all shared our names, our identities and we had a laugh about how our names are pronounced in the UK. 

I felt safe to speak my mind, to say, actually my name is Niveen not Novin, not Navan. It is Niveen. 

Those women! All of them including the writer, the director and photographer and the coordinator, and the participants, my fellow humans, my friends. I realised what made them special and different, they did not invite us to empower us, they knew we are powerful. They knew we have a lot to offer and they wanted us to see it too. This is not something you see everyday!

When you hear the word refugee, your brain immediately pictures a weak woman or man, with exhaustion and agony painting a way through their faces. You feel sorry for them, imagining how terrifying their lives must have been for them to cross the oceans to come to Europe. This is not you, not me and not us, this is what that flat screen of a TV shows you, but what it fails to show you is emotions, tears of happiness, success and most importantly that we refugee women sleep, eat, cry and at the end of the day our heart beats just like yours. Maybe our heart beats even stronger, because we have lost our home, because we have grieved our friends, families and our whole life. 

On the third day, I lost a very precious person, my uncle, I wanted to stay home and never get out. That is how I usually grieve. I went to the workshop instead, I felt that I need them. I need to feel home. The moment I walked in the room, everyone turned and smiled and rushed to hug me. I could not be in my uncle’s funeral… but we cried together. I never imagined feeling this powerful sisterhood in just two days. We embraced each other, they paid their condolences, they brought me food and we went out for a walk. 

Makani.

‘My place’. Like a torch, they lightened my path, showed me that I can, I actually can, I have what it takes to speak up. Unlike many, they believed in our voice, they knew we have a voice that’s been silenced. That’s been crushed, they knew… but they just gave us the place, the safety and the love to rise up. And so we did… we owned our most painful parts. We were not seen as a beings who were crushed by the war or injustices. We were seen as humans who want to be seen and heard. Our voices might have been weakened, but a whisper can do so much! Lullabies of soft warriors that tune the world and brings balance back to it. 

I said before, we did not come to this country empty handed, and this is what made Makani stand out! They also knew that… they saw that before they even met us. They did not have that label hanging in their head! They saw Niveen, Kunbi, Ruth, Joy and Nneka for who they are, not for their trauma. I always feel like there is a label, an image hanging on top of my head when I say I am from Syria. I always felt proud but lately I shun away from mentioning it.

But in those workshops, I sang in Arabic, I danced, I joked we  owned it, I and we all were proud of the past we have lived.  We all stood together, empowered by our past, grieved our losses and risen for our future, for everything we sacrificed to be where we are. 

Most importantly, they did not expect us to be heroes, they knew we are human beings with many scars that cut deep through our skin, but we wear those scars, we take care of them as much as we do with our victories. At the end of the day, we all close our eyes and go to sleep , our status and label do not sleep with us. We put them on the counter and sleep like everyone else. 

Makani, those women, when they reached their potential, they remembered us, women who are looking for a chance to just be. They did not forget where they come from, they did not escape their reality, they embraced it. And when they got on the stage, their eyes were not on the prize, they were on us, their fellow humans. They reached out, held our hands and helped us step up.. One by one, country by country and soul by soul. The gratitude I feel when I am in Makani, is not forced, it is not asked for, it is a gratitude you feel from within. 

People like those are so valuable to us. They ask us what we think the play should be like. What topic should we cover and in what setting. Our opinion matters, our intellect is respected and we are made to feel that we are seen purely as humans with talents not burdens.