Book of Journeys

"In the face of war and tyranny, the Book of Journeys is an invitation for us all to regroup as a compassionate collectivity. It’s an invitation today to embark on a journey towards a tomorrow where we will create the material conditions for all planetary denizens to act as I-as-We agents of progressive, productive, and creative change. It’s a celebration of the power of words to slow time and clear space for us to open to feel, care, and heal. Finally, it’s a reminder that stories matter. They are our social glue. They are our collective unguent. They are our shared dreams of future journeys that lead the I-as-We—home."

-- Frederick Luis Aldama, Academy of American Poets

The Book of Journeys is a published collection of mostly travel poetry juxtaposed with stories from refugees of war and sex trafficking across the Moldovan border. I wanted to contrast the nature of my work - everyday observations, often about being stuck on a train, with the everyday faced by others.

Most of the poems were sponsored by my friends and colleagues, raising a good chunk of cash to help my charity of choice - Hope4 - whose tireless work gives hope and freedom to thousands.

From the introduction:

“Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about.” ― Regina Brett

Regina is right.

In 2019 I met my friend Chris Lomas, erstwhile printer salesman, via a random connection on LinkedIn. His journey fascinated me. His wife, Zoe, had insisted they move to Moldova to help in the fight against human trafficking. And where others might have pointed out the impracticalities and dangers, he agreed.

Chris looks like me. White, middle class ish, middle aged ish. Non compliant ish. All round ish. And you may have noticed we’re both Chris-ish. And yet here this other Chris was, in one of the poorest nations in the world, attempting change against a multi billion dollar industry organised by crime.

Reborn action man and activist.

A curious blend of envy, privilege-guilt and vicarious adventure drove me to follow their journey more closely. To boot, I was struck by the Lomas’ ability to effect direct, powerful intervention with very little resource.

Every pound they got their hands on seemed to feed someone, fix something, do something.

And then Russia invaded Ukraine and we all watched as refugees flooded to the border, carrying lives in plastic bags and old wheelies.

What we didn’t see on our live streams were the traffickers lying in wait, presenting as priests, kindly townsfolk, officials - ready to cash in and welcome the bumper payday of vulnerable men, women and children.

Something inside me changed as I struggled to take this all in through Chris’ visceral updates on social media.

Before then, I’d been the same as many of us. The refugee problem was desperate, but not my problem. Tragedies in boats and camps and politicised statistics. Someone else would fix it with my taxes, surely. People trafficking and modern slavery were in the same mental folder, with slightly less column inches. Someone else’s tragic problem.

I decided to write this collection on a whim. The topic - Journeys - set as a challenge by a friend.

I found it cathartic travelling memories of my own experiences through Europe, Asia, the USA and my own mind. To pick out pieces of the commute, the trains, planes and motorway service stations we frequent.

All whimsical observation and complaint, our English bread and butter, garnished with a smidgen of introspection and self realisation.

It wasn’t until Home emerged from my pen that epiphany struck.

Home concerns two old English women discussing a refugee lady on the pavement below asking people for help. “Oooh poor woman, how terrible, but she shouldn’t have come here there’s nothing for her”. Somehow they managed to sound empathetic and utterly disdainful, all the while clutching their treasures from Marks & Sparks a little closer to their chests as if under threat.

I realised the refugee’s journey was so different to mine. Here I was writing merrily about journeys through my own particular lens. Missed trains. Overpriced coffee. A boat trip. Things we can all identify with in our relatively comfortable existence.

But the stark contrast between my experience of Journey and “theirs” began to eat at me. Perhaps in contrasting the two, a little empathy could be forged. Perhaps some of the division and distance that separates “us” and “them” could be eaten away.

Why? Because once upon a time, the refugees and trafficking victims were us. The same as you and I. They were office workers, entrepreneurs, kids, dreamers, housewives, husbands, sons, daughters, uncles and aunts, shopkeepers, cleaners, clerics and clerical workers. They were the people who made up a community, proud of their country and living normal lives.

Look at the person across from you and imagine they were the one being pulled from the boat to a Royal Navy ship, given tea and a blanket before being sent for “processing”.

The refugee stories you’ll find throughout are direct translations of pieces sent to me from the people living that experience. Aside from small corrections and very minor edits, they are unchanged and raw. Some are humdrum, some are horrific and some show the amazing capacity of humans for compassion.

This is not a book crying for donations or help. There are many problems in the world, including our own very real issues. Mostly, it’s a little collection of poems to dip into as an occasional companion. I’ve snuck in my Ukrainian friends’ voices to show our contrasting worlds and hope you’ll read their stories alongside mine.

It would be nice if the world inched towards being a better place for you having done so.