The Man from Eritrea - Two poems by Astha Sharma

The man from Eritrea

(A monologue of a person seeking asylum)

Did you leave home in a boat

To reach a land

You never left it for?

I did, many months ago

Long before I arrived in this interview room

Filled with doctors, nurses and social workers;

They want to get me a house,

A job and money to support

I don’t want a house

But how would they know?

They don’t know the language I speak

It’s Tigrinya

I am sure you haven't heard of it

Have you heard of a country called Eritrea?

I saw them searching on their mobile phones

When they found it in my records.

For weeks, I was this person seeking asylum

Trapped in a room, with a probable diagnosis

Questioning my mental health

Why?

Because I was caught

Lighting a fire on the road

And they took me to a hospital for it

To ensure I was safe

Or, to be treated if required.

Today, the interpreter has arrived

After twelve weeks

They say she speaks my language

I hear her from a distance

She sounds like home

I look at her

It’s the first time

In many days

I have looked at someone.

Through her, they ask me

Questions about my childhood

Family and friends

They ask me about

Eritrea

I tell them

Of the war, disputes and poverty

I told them

What they wanted to hear

“What made you leave?”

“I wanted to go to Paris “

“Paris?”

I did not like that tone of surprise

“Why?”

A question about my dreams

Why does anyone?

To live one’s dream

I didn’t reply

“What will you do in Paris?”

“Admire the beautiful

buildings and ladies

Travel and eat cheese”

“Cheese ?”

The whole room broke into laughter

I smiled too

After many days

They questioned me for an hour

Only to find

A man with a dream

Caught up in a detour

In a week, I was discharged

Without a diagnosis.

I still want to go to Paris

Maybe I should!

Conversations in the oblivion

( An 80-year-old mother to her son)

Don’t ask me now

To remember, redundant

Names,

Faces

and

Facts,

That I struggled

To forget all my life

Don't ask me now,

to comprehend

The meanings of

Signs, gestures,

manners,

and relations

I spent all my youth

teaching you.

You ask me the name of my father

And wonder why

I cry?

You ask me the season

In which I got married

And wonder

Why do I frown?

Well,

I would like to keep you wondering

What’s the use?

At this point in my life.

I can see that you are not happy

When I cannot remember the day

I know, but I won’t speak

I think, sometimes, I like to see you struggling so hard

To teach me how to write my name

I won’t make it easier for you, son

I will learn slowly

Now, don’t lose your patience

It’s just

to keep you close, till I can!

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About the poet:

Astha is a Hindi-language poet whose work has appeared in Indian Literature, Naya Gyanodaya, and Baya. Alongside her literary pursuits, she is a practising psychiatrist based in North Yorkshire, UK. Originally from Patna and trained in Kathak dance, her research interests lie at the intersection of creativity and psychiatry.