#92 - Senzela Atmar

Senzela Atmar was born in war-torn Kabul, Afghanistan. It's a miracle she and her family are still alive today. After surviving bombings, the death of a family member, and several years in a refugee camp, she and her family won a lottery and were brought to the United States. They began their lives in Nashville, TN. Senzela's story is going to blow your minds. Senzela started Relief Without Borders—an organization committed to providing relief to those suffering injustice and poverty in developing countries. She is also involved with Share the Journey. Follow Relief Without Borders and Senzela on Instagram. In the intro of the podcast, I read an incredibly impactful poem that speaks candidly to the experience of so many refugees and immigrants. You can read it below. NOTE: In this poem, Warsan—a Somali poet and educator— uses the n-word. I copy/pasted the poem in its entirety for you below but left the n-word out when I recited the poem in the intro. As a non-black person, I don't feel comfortable saying it—even if I'm simply reading what she wrote. HOME by Warsan Shire no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark you only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well your neighbors running faster than you breath bloody in their throats the boy you went to school with who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory is holding a gun bigger than his body you only leave home when home won't let you stay. no one leaves home unless home chases you fire under feet hot blood in your belly it's not something you ever thought of doing until the blade burnt threats into your neck and even then you carried the anthem under your breath only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet sobbing as each mouthful of paper made it clear that you wouldn't be going back. you have to understand, that no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land no one burns their palms under trains beneath carriages no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled means something more than journey. no one crawls under fences no one wants to be beaten pitied no one chooses refugee camps or strip searches where your body is left aching or prison, because prison is safer than a city of fire and one prison guard in the night is better than a truckload of men who look like your father no one could take it no one could stomach it no one skin would be tough enough the go home blacks refugees dirty immigrants asylum seekers sucking our country dry niggers with their hands out they smell strange savage messed up their country and now they want to mess ours up how do the words the dirty