A Creative Journey

As a teenager Fardowsa Mohamed followed the footsteps of her older sister and brother through the doors of Mixit and never looked back. Going on to study medicine, Fardowsa now works as a doctor and writes poetry in her spare time. Here we present the first of a series of stories highlighting the creative projects of Mixers past and present.

A Creative Journey

Alien


When I was born, Earth held me in her mouth then promptly spat me out.


I saw my first map of the world six years later. I remember the cartographer’s


straight lines through Africa and I wondered if he could be trusted.


My grandmother’s name is Qamaray, which means


shines like the bright side of the moon. My name is the highest of heavens.


Maybe in this is a sign that we are not of this world.


In Somali, the sun has 14 names, maybe I am from the sun’s flames, birthed


under her auburn arches. She transported me on her solar waves and I landed


here. I took human form, and my body is that of Fadumo, the goat herder


in the 990 Hijra drought, with her carefully coiled hair. 17 with a child on her


left breast. In the field is Ahmed, wooden hairbrush in his afro and red macawiis


tied around his narrow hips. She died in 996 with her fourth child taking his first breath


and a white sheet drenched in blood.


Sometimes I feel a bottomless grief in my stomach and I wonder if it is ancient.


Maybe it is Fadumo screaming in me, warning me of what’s to come.


The lingering assault of tribesmen and the Coloniser. Civil war and the


Long Famine. Refugees and HIV. Explosions and


the World’s Face, turned.


Is it a coincidence then, that there is nothing for me in this world


except what I hold in my small hands?


Maybe somewhere


in the silence beyond Jupiter and her herd of moons


beyond the radio-waves transmitted by human desperation


beyond the poking eyes of the telescopes


beyond the warm hand of the Shams


Deep, into where there is only the mythology of the Old World


and the Ear of God


There, in that pocket of dark matter, I


belong. When I was born, my mother says I looked her in the eye


and she saw the whole galaxy


flash back.

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