Floral Birth ’98 // Meriem Ahmed.

You plant me as a seed.

Forget to water my roots
or care for me as I begin to sprout.

Forget where you have planted me
and begin to walk all over the soil that I am to feed on.

Allowing the weeds to tangle and wrap around me
until I can barely breathe.

Mowing me down when I am standing
a little too tall, a little too proud.

Keeping me far from the sun
and never shielding me from the rain.

Waiting to see if I will still miraculously manage
to blossom and rise from the dirt.

If my petals will grow bright-coloured and delicate
so that you may pluck them one by one.

Hoping to still wrap me up nice and pretty
in a pink bow and fancy string.

So proud of all my hard work
which you have now claimed as your own.

Feeling it only just
to now reap what you sowed.


A Concert Review: Childish Gambino.

Childish Gambino. Live at the O2 Arena, London.

Last month, Ruth and I travelled out to London, UK to go see Childish Gambino’s live show at the O2 Arena. This tour is Childish Gambino’s last ever, and so naturally, Ruth and I felt so humbled and grateful that we managed standing tickets to witness true magic on a live stage. Ruth introduced me to Gambino back in secondary school and we have been appreciating his music and art together since. Despite a huge catalogue and immense variety of musical quality and sound, I think it’s safe to say that Ruth and I’s favourite thing to sing along to is “Donde Esta La Biblioteca?” which he performs in the TV show, Community, where he (Donald Glover) plays Troy and performs it with his on screen best-friend, Abed. I’m not saying my best-friend and I do it better, but we’re pretty confident we knock it out the park.

I travelled out to London two days before the concert. I had been working full-time in a job I hated the entire month before. I had also just received some pretty letting down news regarding my masters. I was worn out and extremely tired. So much so, that I actually forgot my passport, purse, charger and the concert tickets – all of which my mom had to drop out to me. I needed the trip away more than I even realised. Luckily, two of my cousins live in London, so once I arrived I could relax in the comfort of a family member’s home. Ali was away, but Ahmed and I got to go out for the night. He treated me to a super yum Turkish cuisine dinner and we went to go see the movie, ‘Us’. It was so nice to catch up with him because I never get to see much of him, and he’s my favourite cousin. The next day, Ruth arrived to London. We went for a cute brunch and walked around Oxford Street picking up some last minute necessities. We headed back to Ahmed’s where we all chilled for a bit, before we took our bags to our Airbnb apartment. That night, Ruth and I headed out to Tonight Josephine for a few quiet drinks. I just want to take this opportunity to sincerely thank the barman at Tonight Josephine for taking such good care of me all night. He made me cocktails from scratch and put precise care and effort into each flavour so as to enrich my drinking experience as someone who doesn’t consume alcohol. I had never had anyone really do so much to give me exciting drinks, as opposed to regular Coke or Redbull.

The next day, Ruth and I decided to go explore Camden Market. We got to see such a different variety of cool shops and stalls. We had dinner there too before we headed back to get ready for our main event, Childish Gambino. We were running a bit late and arrived as H.E.R was mid-way through her second performance. I absolutely love H.E.R and she is practically 90% of the playlist I use when I’m taking nudes, trying on lingerie and all the rest of that side of things. Her vocal performance was mesmerising and she really set the mood for Gambino’s show. I love when artists bring really good opening acts along, because it really enriches the whole experience. Ruth and I were already pretty far up in the crowds of people standing awaiting Gambino. We met some American girls who we were chatting away to while we waited impatiently and tried to find decisive ways to get closer to the stage. They were so lovely. One of my favourite things about Ruth and I, is how easily we interact and meet new people. We always have such cool experiences because of all the different people we engage with.

When Gambino emerged out onto the stage, there was an electric but simultaneously still energy in the room. I had never felt a room feel so still while buzzing with excitement all the same. For many, it felt like the realisation as he came out for the first few moments, that this could very well be the last of Gambino as we know him. This tour, everyone was well aware, was what he had announced to be “the last Childish Gambino tour” ever. While some people think that he will re-emerge under a different name, and some believe that this truly may be his the last of his music all together, one thing was certain about the night – the one man show resembled anything but an artist ready to farewell his craft.

Shirtless, wearing only white linen pants that resemble the ones he infamously showcased in ‘This is America’, Gambino graced the stage with warm love and wild eyes. He danced across the stage, moving in a way that could only be described as the merge of sex and humour, his character prominently defining itself as present and engaged with not just himself, but a room of 20’000 people. He kept the crowd on their feet the entire night, intuitively moving between rap and jazz, slow jams and more hyped up tracks. Ruth and I, simultaneously looked at each other during ‘Summertime Magic’, as we rocked back and forth to the beat of the music – I knew we hadn’t felt this alive in so long. That was something that Gambino truly evoked within everyone that night – a feel of liveliness. Claiming “we’re in church tonight”, “I want you all to feel this with me – we’re at church”, one thing was clear; with Gambino as the pastor, the whole crowd was ready to worship.

While ‘Heartbeat’ didn’t make the set, Gambino varied from new works to old, leaving some of the best for last. ‘V. 3005’, ‘IV. Sweatpants’ and ‘Sober’ had the crowd wilding, mosh pits and dance circles quickly forming, before Gambino brought the whole room to a hushed standstill, setting the mood for the last moments of the magic that he had just brought to stage. Taking the lead, Gambino led the choir with ‘Redbone’, everyone singing at the top of their lungs, the room emotive and unified for one final hymn.

The night came to an end, and I think everyone was already replaying it in their heads as soon as it ended. This simply cannot be the last we get of Childish Gambino. One guy embraced me after the show and asked if I had been at the concert – when I told him I was, he gave me a big hug and just said: God bless, I hope you had a good time, I hope you feel alive”. I was stunned by the amount of love Gambino had created, not just from him to us, but from us to one another. Ruth and I decided to sit in a nearby bar while we waited for the line to the underground to die down. There, we met Natalie and Josh, who we wound up spending the rest of the night with. Two of the nicest Londoners I’ve ever met, we got to know each other as we waited for the line to die down. We talked as we caught an underground to Floripa – a little Brazilian club in the city, where we danced to the best music the 00’s had to offer. We also got what I must say was one of the best döner kebabs ever – and I’ve tried them in Germany. I don’t know if it was the hunger talking, but I had never enjoyed a kebab more than that night.

While the entire trip to London was amazing, and seeing Gambino live is an experience that I will never live down, there was one thing that elevated the whole experience. I got to meet up with one of my friends from Alexandria, who I hadn’t seen or spoke to in a really long time. Ruth was so excited to finally be meeting any of my Egyptian friends, but I felt so warm when I got to see a friendly face that I had missed for so long. As I left for Gatwick, I felt so rested and genuinely happy. I got into my seat on Gatwick Express, put in my earphones, and listened to Childish Gambino for the entire duration of my journey back to Ireland.

Childish Gambino had this Muslim worshipping in a church, and I know God ain’t even gonna be mad about it.

Childish Gambino: 5/5.

Sunrise // Meriem Ahmed.

When the sun chases the clouds
and the dawn breaks the day –
the birds softly sing
flying above the clouds of grey.

All of the world’s horrors
and all our aching pains –
hail and bow to welcome
the light that paves the way.

A new day ahead awaits,
greeting us with open heart –
a chance to heal our hurting
and to mend our broken parts.

I stop to greet the morning wind,
my hair flowing in the gentle breeze –
choosing to not only give to the world
but to chase what the world can give me.

Insecurities // Meriem Ahmed.

Insecurities don’t ask you to be skinny
they don’t hate it if you’re fat –
they ask you to be happy,
to accept all that you have.

They don’t ask you for straight hair
or for your skin tone to even out –
they ask you to love your skin regardless,
to shake off all your self-doubt.

Insecurities don’t care for filters
or the photos on your social stream –
they want you to be comfortable
with being heard and being seen.

Insecurities don’t keep you quiet
they don’t tell you to be scared –
they want you to control your tears
to ignore the voices in your head.

Insecurities don’t care if you’re anxious
they don’t want to know if you feel depressed –
they want you to feel only tired
and not lonely in your bed.

Insecurities won’t ever ask of you,
something you can easily achieve.
It won’t ever give you a solution,
or a reason for it to leave.

It’ll ask you to try hold grasp,
on what’s beyond control.
And when you think you’ve got a grip,
it’ll only then ask for more.

Insecurities are not something you can shake
or try to rip at the seams.
Insecurities are deep down within us,
like roots of willow trees.

They are planted in our hearts
by our communities and societies.
They answer to all those around us
but never ask us for what we see or believe.

But I’ll keep digging and digging
to try find what’s rotting beneath.
I’ll keep searching and searching
’till I find the light and love within me.

TRE’s Mental Health Interview Series: Samia Taha.

Samia Taha. Pictured in the driveway of her home in Wicklow, Ireland.

Samia Taha is a 56 year old Egyptian/Irish mother of three. She is a lawyer by degree. Her husband, Ahmed Elshamaa, passed away in 2001, leaving her widowed. Since his death, she has fully devoted herself to raising her three kids. We spoke honestly and vulnerably about the effect of his passing on her mental health, her life before family and children, and her decision to raise them in Ireland and the expectations and assumptions made about single parenthood.

MERIEM: What did it feel like to lose your husband so young? How did it affect your mental health?

SAMIA: You know what? It’s funny because I never thought that I would be the person part-taking in this interview right now. I never thought I would be the kind of woman who would dedicate my life to family and children. Growing up, I was a very spoiled little girl. My dad adored me, I was definitely his favourite. I only cared about my career and my looks and my clothes and friends. I was very carefree and completely irresponsible. Despite our culture, or the fact that my mom was married at 16 – I was never taught to clean or cook. I wasn’t expected to. I thought I would get married to someone who would spoil me the way my dad did, and I would just continue my life as a fun carefree girl as a married woman, with a lot more freedom and time. Then, I met Ahmed. He was a doctor. He was also the complete opposite of me. He was responsible. He held everything up for his family. He was talented, not only in medicine, but in singing, writing and football. He could have pursued any of them and he would’ve excelled in it. He was quiet and humble and I was loud and a troublemaker. For whatever reason, he saw something in me that he never let go of. We fell in love. Ahmed fought the whole world to be with me – and then the world stole him away from me anyway. We got married, and we moved to the States, to Chicago, where he was working. It was during my time in Ireland, I was visiting my sisters, when I got a call that he’d been in a car crash. He spoke to me, told me he was fine and he actually wanted me to stay in Ireland and to enjoy the rest of my trip. The next day, he went under coma, which he stayed under for a month and a half before he passed. I visited him twice a day, every day. Deep down, we all knew it was a waiting game for when his heart would give in and stop – but I refused to take him off the support systems. Ahmed fought for me and I was determined to fight for him. I had my first daughter at the time, who was three, my son who was a year and a half, and I was pregnant with my third. When his heart finally stopped – my whole world changed. I felt like I had been hit on the head and was running around dizzy for the longest time. I became depressed and was put onto antidepressants for years. I wore black for 7 years. Not even an single input of grey or white or any colour over the years, always black – at weddings, birthdays, anything. I wouldn’t allow myself to forget. This was also the time when I gained a lot of my weight. I lost a part of me. My other half. No words and no one can express or do justice by the type of man Ahmed was, nor the way he loved me. This man had the power to change the world, simply by being the way he was, in his job, with people, within himself. And he loved me like I was the only woman that could have ever been made for him. He showered me everyday, in songs, letters, wisdom and laughter. He never, ever, let me down – not a single time since the time I first met him. He truly was my knight in shining armour. It’s true what they say; the good die young. I miss him every single day.

MERIEM: How did you manage to get back up onto your feet after enduring such heartbreak?

SAMIA: I went to our family GP, and then I went to therapy. I was on antidepressants, which affected my pregnancy, definitely. I gave birth to Mihar in September, 3 months after my husband’s death. Although therapy helped me, the medication I was on made me feel numb. For as long as I was on them, I didn’t feel like I could properly give to my kids or be a part of their lives. I definitely think medication is necessary in some cases and helpful to lots of people, but just for me and my body, I began to feel like I was distancing myself from my problems and being negligent of my responsibilities, because I was so dazed and numbed from my pain and my reality by the amount I was on. So, I decided to stop taking them. It was hard at first, and probably not wise to do so without consulting my GP, but I woke up one day and knew I didn’t want to take them anymore – that I was going to be okay without them. That was the first step of my journey. Getting myself off my medication. I realised then, that I was solely responsible for my children now, and I would have to start making decisions on my own. It was extremely difficult because I had to be both mom and dad. Sometimes I feel guilty, because I feel like I was so busy trying to be both that I forgot that they need love and care too, not just discipline and protection. I feel like while I was trying to be strong for them, I might have been hard on them in the process. All I knew was that I was going to have to be their rock. Ahmed was no longer around to be mine nor theirs. That was one of the hardest things at the beginning; recognising that while I was losing a husband, my kids were also losing a father. Every time I saw fathers with their kids, I would fear the day I would have to try to explain to my little ones why they didn’t have one too. Every time I saw my sister’s husbands playing with their children, my heart would break for mine. I knew I was never going to be able to shield them from missing the love and warmth of having a father. It broke my heart when my first daughter, who was old enough to grasp that her dad wasn’t around, but still couldn’t understand why or where he was, would call my brother (her uncle), dad. She knew she was missing that figure, without being old enough to understand who that figure was. Just that he needed to exist next to a mother. Mom and Dad, together. I remember Meriem’s first day of school – I cried and cried and cried. Their first time for everything, was so hard on me. I hated that Ahmed was not there to witness every milestone they achieved. I hated that they couldn’t share that with him. It was hard to accept that we would never share a single important moment as a complete family together – especially when Ahmed was the one who longed for children and a future as a family, more than I ever did. He dreamt all this up with me. He wrote stories from scratch that he would read to Meriem and Muhammed. He wrote Meriem letters. In the end, he wasn’t around to see any of his dreams for his children come true. Ultimately, I decided to be happy and content with the time I got with Ahmed. I realised that there are some people, (especially in Egypt where arranged marriages can be quite common), who have husbands, or wives – but that doesn’t necessarily mean they have love. Losing a husband is one thing and losing the love of your life is another. They don’t often have to be the same thing, but for me they were. I decided to be grateful and to understand how lucky I am have had real love in my lifetime. That I felt true love. That I will see Ahmed again, and that we will get to make up for all the lost time. I never re-married or was even interested to, simply because I already married the man of my dreams. Some people never get to. I would never trade places.

MERIEM: How did you make the decision to move to Ireland, alone, with three kids?

SAMIA: The decision to move to Ireland was hard, but it was also crystal clear to me that it was my best choice moving forward. I didn’t want to continue living in Chicago. I hated it to begin with, and even more so after it became associated with Ahmed’s death. Our friends in the States wanted me to stay, but I knew I couldn’t. I considered going back to Egypt, but it wasn’t logical. Ahmed’s family wanted me to go back to Egypt, and I wanted to be with my mother after what I had went through, but I knew that Ireland was where I needed to be. I loved Ireland. Well before I got married, I used to visit my brother and later my sisters in Ireland. I loved how quiet it was. I loved the nature and the people. It made me happy. I knew for my children, the education and society they would be raised in, in Ireland, was much more beneficial for them. I knew they would be safe, I knew they would be raised in a society where they would fully develop and grow into their own selves. I didn’t want to go back to Egypt because there’s a very negative outlook on widows, divorcees, or single parents in general. I didn’t want to expose my kids to a society that thought in that way – explaining the death of their father to them was hard enough as it was. Like I said, my siblings were also living in Ireland – it didn’t make sense for me to go and live on my own in Egypt, when my family was in Ireland. I needed them to be around me during that time in my life. Irish people made living in Ireland a very right decision for me. If I had any doubts before I settled in Ireland, once I arrived and put my decision into action, those doubts disappeared. I made friends who genuinely changed my life moving forward. Irish people are one of the world’s kindest and most tolerant nations. I never felt alone. I never felt like an outsider, even before I got my citizenship. The friends I made, helped me raise my kids by giving them a loving community. Two friends particularly, Eddie and Marie, became like grandparents to my kids. All my friends became like extended family members, they surrounded them and gave them so much love. I still have a key to my house kept with select friends, in case of anything.

MERIEM: Was there any fear you had concerning your kids living in Ireland or in a Western society in general?

SAMIA: Of course, but they were slowly put to rest. I was afraid they wouldn’t be engaged with the Arabic language the way they would be if they were raised in Egypt. I worried about installing Islamic values in their lives, and if they would struggle with their faith, living in a non-Islamic country. I realised though, that this would be my responsibility, and that it didn’t matter where they were living. I took them to Arabic and Islamic school every weekend, where they learned Arabic and Quran growing up. I made sure to speak Arabic with them more than I did English and I constantly took them back to Egypt to spend time with their dad’s family. The thing is, a lot of people have a very negative image of their kids being raised away from Islamic countries and societies, but I appreciate it beyond words that my children were not. I saw how my kids’ education shaped them, how their friends respected their differences and how they learned to stand up for the things they believed in. One thing I tried to teach my children was that faith has no colour, language, country or certain qualities you need to have. I taught them to recognise what they believe in, and to hold onto that no matter what and to never let anyone interfere with that. Including me. They don’t let anyone affect their mindsets, but they also don’t allow me to interfere or impose on the values or opinions they hold dear that I might not necessarily agree with. It’s interesting, and definitely frustrating at times, but it fills me with pride that they are so sure of who they are, because I never was growing up.

MERIEM: How has your faith or religion helped you keep yourself above water?

SAMIA: My faith gave me answers when I didn’t even know what questions to ask. When I wanted to stop taking my antidepressants, I would pray to God about if it was the right decision. The same applies for my move to Ireland, and just about every decision I’ve ever made. As you might imagine, there have been some extremely hard days for me on this journey. There have been times when I wanted to give up, times when despite all my faith – I wanted to end my life. Times when I didn’t know what to do, when there was no logical nor visible solution to a crisis I might have found myself in. Then, out of nowhere, God opens a door, gives me a miracle, and tells me to hold on for a little longer. People who tell you to “pray” as a solution to mental health issues, don’t understand mental health. I have guiltily done the same thing with my children at times. I learned that faith is there for you to reach out and use, not for someone to give it to you or try to shove it down your throat. I learned that from my daughter, Meriem, when she was going through one of the hardest times in her own life. I learn a lot of things from my children everyday, and I think the best thing God gave me was three beautiful children to share this journey with. Despite all the hardship of having three kids to raise on my own, the journey following my husband’s death would have been much harder for me if I didn’t have them with me. I might have still been on antidepressants, still wearing black, still numb. I feel a lot more alive now, because of my kids, and because God has been by my side, looking over me and guiding me.

MERIEM: What do you think/how do you feel towards the views many Egyptians and indeed, Arabs hold towards widows, divorcees or any single woman for any reason?

SAMIA: It angers me. Here in Ireland, I was never asked once the reason for being a single mother – no one cares. No one interferes in anyone else’s life. If you want to share whatever the reason is, it’s respected. In Egypt, people interfere with everything in your life, and on top of that, when you do share and confide in people, people judge you and fail to respect something as sensitive in your life, as a loss of a loved one or a divorce. In Egypt, women who are divorced or widowed are frowned upon, and looked at as “less than”. They’re pitied, and treated as if they need to be looked after. People are suggesting they re-marry and trying to shove men and marriages into their lives because they don’t think a woman can survive on her own. When people would see me do a “man’s job” such as speak to employees who might be doing a job for me, or meeting up with contractors for our house in Egypt by myself, or whatever, there was this negative look and opinion held about me. I never cared, but it hurt to know. I see how my children have come to understand that their mom can do anything on her own, she doesn’t need a man to do anything. My daughters particularly have grown up to be the same, and even though they are neither divorced nor widowed, they aren’t even married yet – I see how people in Egypt look at them when they see them travel, interact and do everything for themselves, by themselves, without me, without partners, without their dad. I feel lucky to have avoided that for the most part and for having been able to shield them from that too, by choosing to live in Ireland.

MERIEM: What are your ambitions for your children? What do you want for yourself in the future, after dedicating so much of your life to them?

SAMIA: My biggest ambition for my children is for them to be happy. Happy in who they are. In their jobs and careers. In their families. I want them to be secure, of course. I want them to understand the importance of helping people, and of being kind and generous to people. I want them to stand up for justice and to be honest people. I hope they fulfil their dreams and that their dreams inspire dreams in other people. I want all the hardship we endured together to help them in their lives in the future, and to have taught them that nothing comes easy, but that brighter days are on the way. As for myself, I fear life after my kids settle down away from me. They have been my only priority and focus for the last 20 years. I don’t really know who I am without them. I look in the mirror and I don’t recognise myself anymore. I can’t remember what that little carefree girl looked like anymore. But, as scared as I am, a part of me is excited to discover myself in the future. I want to take on two projects in my future; I want to open an orphanage in Egypt, to help kids who might not have been as lucky as my kids were to know at least one of their parents. I also want to go back to my passion for interior design and fashion. They’re the main ideas on my future plan, and the rest I’ll figure out when the time comes. I want to secure my kids in their jobs first, and then I can start shifting a bit of my time and focus to myself.

MERIEM: What advice would you give to any woman who has recently become a single mom, whether widowed, divorced or other?

SAMIA: I would say, that a lot of people, and they could be close to you or far – but a lot of people are going to try undermine you. They are going to question your ability, as a woman, as a mother, as a human being. I want to say to her, that all the strength she will ever need is in herself. And in her kids. They will give you strength and light when you are too fragile to find it in yourself. They will keep you going on hard days – you are not on this journey alone. You can create the best opportunities and life experiences for your children, and when you see them grow up and become responsible adults – when you reap what you sow with them, and see all your hard work pay off, you will feel so grateful for your journey. I would tell her to be-friend her kids, and to remember that they too are dealing with this circumstance and change in their lives. If she is widowed, I would tell her to keep the memory of their dad alive – to understand that stories and memories help us feel connected to loved ones even when they are no longer here. If she is divorced or single, I would say if possible, to let the kids keep a relationship with their father. I would tell her to keep good friends and family around her, and to believe in herself and to trust in her power. If I can do it, trust me, anyone can. Also, it’s Mother’s Day in Ireland this weekend, so I would like to wish every mother, no matter where they are in the world, whatever their circumstances may be, a very happy Mother’s Day.