Lanterns in the Dark: Sharing Poetry With Yero by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*Artwork-by Nikita Vanchagov

We thought the Moshannon ICE Detention Center could use a little whimsical energy. Poets and poetry lovers are sending inspiration to our detained neighbors by sharing their own work or beloved poems with Yero and others inside. Some poets are even reading their poems directly to Yero and discussing the words with him in real time.

At the end of this project, I will gather the poems that were shared and print them in a little booklet, sending several copies directly to those at Moshannon Detention Center.

If you’d like to support in another equally meaningful way, you can:

contribute to Yero’s commissary account so he can continue calling participating poets. Send him books of poetry through ThriftBooks. Just contact me for details.

I’ll begin with the poem I shared, and each day I’ll post another poem that has reached Yero. May our words be small lanterns in the dark.

I so love this poem!

Red Brocade

by Naomi Shihab Nye

The Arabs used to say,

When a stranger appears at your door,

feed him for three days

before asking who he is,

where he’s come from,

where he’s headed.

That way, he’ll have strength

enough to answer.

Or, by then you’ll be

such good friends

you don’t care.

Let’s go back to that.

Rice? Pine nuts?

Here, take the red brocade pillow.

My child will serve water

to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!

I was not preparing to be busy.

That’s the armor everyone put on

to pretend they had a purpose

in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.

Your plate is waiting.

We will snip fresh mint

into your tea.

"This is my city and I am one of its citizens. Whatever interests the rest, interests me." Walt Whitman by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*Student Artwork

"This is my city and I am one of its citizens.

Whatever interests the rest, interests me." Walt Whitman

Greetings! I share the following story as a reminder that even young children understand the importance of standing with their neighbors just as we continue to stand with Yero and others in detention, especially asylum seekers, whose lives depend on our solidarity.

Three years ago, one of my 3rd grade classes, from the Powel School, participated in a special project led by Karin Coonrod, a Yale School of Drama faculty member and founder of Compagnia de' Colombari theatre company. Karin’s project, WOW! Whitman on Walls, was a hybrid event that brought together living poets, film, and Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.”

Over several weeks, she filmed more than 50 performers from around the world, each embodying Whitman’s words. She then invited poets from selected cities, including Philadelphia, to create responses to sections of the poem.

Six Philadelphia poets were chosen, along with my students, who had been immersed all year in poetry reading, writing, and recitation, in my classroom. Karin visited us in May, showing a short film where poets worldwide recited these lines from Whitman:

This is my city and I am one of its citizens.

Whatever interests the rest, interests me.

Some students created artwork in response to the lines, while others collaborated on a group poem. This poem became deeply personal because several students were facing the loss of their homes due to the planned demolition of UC Townhomes, and their classmates joined protests with their families to support them.

When housing displacement occurs, there is rarely attention paid to how schools and students are affected or how a classroom’s demographics can shift overnight.

What made me most proud was watching my students grow into young citizens who cared deeply about their neighbors, expressing that care through both their creative work and their active participation, alongside their families, in the fight to save their friends’ homes.

I will share students' poem and more artwork tomorrow.

*Yero is still awaiting a hearing date. Please continue to support Yero’s campaign and share it widely. Every donation, every share makes a difference. Here is the link to learn more: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

With Kora and Words, West Philly Stands with West African Detainees by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

 

I’m excited to share that my article about last Saturday’s letter-writing event to support our detained West African neighbors has just been published in today's ( Sunday ) Philadelphia Inquirer.  Also, checkout the beautiful photography of Yaprak Ozdemir Soysal.  Here is the link: https://share.inquirer.com/fLf20r  

Please consider donating to Yero's  GoFundCampaign to support his legal defense.  To learn more and to donate, here is the link:  https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

Keeping Hope Alive, One Letter at a Time by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

I’ve been a little out of circulation this past week due to some hip trouble, but I’ve also been quietly sitting and moving with the joy of what many accomplished together last Saturday.

Last week, more than 50 heartfelt letters were written to Yero and other detainees. I’ve been mailing them in small batches so that every few days Yero receives new words of encouragement. He received the first batch on Thursday and, as you can imagine, he was thrilled as were the other detainees who received letters as well.

I keep thinking back to when I was a kid, which seems like a million years ago, of how important letter writing was to me. I was particular about stationery and what kind of pen I used and my handwriting style. I put so much intention and care into my letter-writing . Whether I was in Shriners Hospital for long stays, or splitting summers between Grandma McBride in Pittsburgh and family in North Carolina, I loved writing to stay connected.

And later, when I left Côte d’Ivoire abruptly after 10 years, what I most longed for were the letters I’d left behind; those little time capsules of friendship, love, and memory. My dad was such a thoughtful letter writer, and I’m grateful that a few of his letters made it into the photo albums I grabbed when I was evacuated. 

I share this because I can only imagine the joy Yero and the others feel as they open your words, each letter a thread of connection, a reminder that they are not forgotten.

Stay tuned! Tomorrow I’ll share a big surprise connected to last week’s event.

Thank you for helping us keep hope alive, one letter at a time and/or one donation at a time. Please donate and/or continue to share the campaign. Yero is still awaiting a hearing date.

Thank you. Here is the link:  https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

A Library in Detention, A Window to the World by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

 

Artwork-Almon Adeluwoye

This morning, something unusual happened. Yero called me at the start of the day instead of in the evening, when he normally gives updates, keeps up connections with the outside world, and practices his English. His voice was almost giddy. After a very enthusiastic “hello,” he said, “Just listen to this…” and began reading aloud in English, with pride, from what turned out to be Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot. As a reminder, Yero is primarily a French/Fulani/Arabic speaker. I usually communicate with him in my very basic, halting, almost cringe-worthy French.

It turns out this was one of two books he checked out from the detention library. He read a couple of pages and did remarkably well. Our little team is sending him a French/English dictionary today so he can keep going.

For someone who once worked 12+ hour days at two jobs, carving out time for English study, let alone leisure reading, was nearly impossible. Like many asylum seekers, his schedule left no room for rest, let alone reading. I had often urged him to take an English Language class at the library, but survival always came first. Now, ironically, detention has given him a window of time and a reminder that reading and leisure are not luxuries, but essential ways to nurture the self and imagine a future.

Yero himself said he can better appreciate how reading isn’t just for school students. As an adult, he sees its value and now he wants to visit Maine, inspired by Stephen King’s stories and learn more about American history.

Your support makes these small victories possible, from books in hand to hope in voice. Thank you for helping Yero hold on to dignity and discovery in the hardest of places. Do support his GoFundMe campaign for his legal defense. Here is the link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0 and/or share the campaign with friends.

Songs Across Borders: How Love, Loss, and Community Shape My Advocacy by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*Support the GoFundMe Campaign! In today’s appeal I want to share why I feel so protective and maternal toward Philadelphia’s African communities. When I lived in Côte d’Ivoire, I was surrounded by care not only from my husband Auguste, but from his family, his community, and even strangers. Many of you know the tragic circumstances of Auguste’s untimely death, but until then, I was enveloped in a net of love and belonging.

 My Father-in-Law- Jean Kouassi Ahebee

On this Labor Day, I especially remember my father-in-law, Jean Kouassi Ahebee who was a former Member of the National Assembly and head of a major labor union. I first met him during my three-month exploratory trip to Côte d’Ivoire. Papa Jean wanted me to know his country, its beauty, and its people.He arranged for me to see the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace in Yamoussoukro, which surpasses St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican in size, and then to visit what was, at that time, the largest mosque in the country. He took great pride in his nation’s tradition of different ethnic and religious groups living side by side and intermarrying. From there, he took me to the family’s ancestral village, where he had planned something extraordinary.

That evening, dinner was not served inside the house but under a vast, open-air pavilion. The tables were covered in hand-dyed batik cloths and set with beautiful dishes alongside bottles of wine and refreshments. At first, I thought it was simply a family meal. But as the evening unfolded, many, many people arrived.Then I noticed men setting up microphones at the front of the space. As they drew closer, I whispered to Auguste that they looked so familiar. While they arranged themselves at the front, I turned back to chatting with the aunties, with Auguste serving as principle translator. *Côte d’Ivoire's national language is French. Then, suddenly, I heard a few juke joint-like thump on an electric piano, and the group, in the front, stood in full choir formation. And in English, they burst into “Oh Mary, Don’t You Weep,” bopping and swaying like an old-school Black American gospel choir, belting the song out with full force.

Me with my father-in-law on the right and one of his labor union associates.

Papa Jean had quietly arranged for a Liberian choir composed of men and women who themselves had fled the civil war in Liberia to sing the songs of my home: spirituals, jazz standards, and classics by Louis Armstrong and Nat King Cole. It was his way of saying: You belong. You are seen. You are cared for here. Out under the West African stars, we were all together, indigenous Africans and descendants of the formerly enslaved, united by a love story that bridged oceans and histories.( In time, after I resettled in Côte d’Ivoire, Liberians became some of my dearest friends who welcomed me, stood beside me, and later surrounded me with song and comfort during the painful days of Auguste’s funeral gatherings.)

The next day, when we arrived in Bouaké at Papa Jean’s home, I felt the same message in his surroundings. His house spoke of pride and history. His ethnic group was Baoulé. In his massive dining room, above a long buffet sideboard, hung a striking painting of Queen Pokou, who was the Ashanti princess who fled Ghana during dynastic conflict and became the founding queen of the Baoulé people of Côte d’Ivoire. Her story, both history and legend, tells of her perilous migration, and of her ultimate sacrifice of giving up her child so her followers could cross the Comoé River to safety.

Queen Pokou was a migrant, too, fleeing violence, leading her people toward survival. Her story hangs in my memory alongside Papa Jean’s acts of kindness, the Liberian choir’s voices rising under the night sky, and the way I was embraced by a family and community not my own.

An artistic interpretation of the Queen Pokou legend( not the piece referenced in the Papa Jean's home); *could not id artist.

This is why I fight so fiercely for Yero and for the African migrants in Philadelphia today. Like Queen Pokou, like the Liberian refugees who once sang for me and later comforted me, like all who are forced to leave home for survival, Yero deserves the chance at safety, belonging, and dignity.

To learn more and to support his GoFundMe campaign, here is the link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0