As a young black male with everything that is going on, I am joined in solidarity. What is happening is not just because of what happened in America, the killing of black men happens in the UK, it is happening everywhere.
It is sad to think that people are still so narrow-minded and small-minded. It’s sad that people are so racist that because someone is a different skin colour they think that we are not as good as them or that we can’t do and achieve the things that they do. That sort of thinking should not happen, we are all human.
Seeing an unarmed black man being killed, murdered for nothing made me angry. He was unarmed, he allegedly forged cheques, and it’s alleged because we really don’t know if he did it. He probably didn’t, but even if he did, he should not have lost his life. Prison time is there as punishment and that’s fair enough but someone losing their life over something as small as a forged cheque is sad. That hurts me, because to me that’s my people. How many years have we as black people been going through this? How long have we been thinking that as soon as we get some where we get pushed right back down to the bottom again. It hurts me, it hurts me to even think and speak about it.
There are numerous people trying to justify it. Some people were saying that if he didn’t break the law he would not have gotten killed. But he got killed in cold blood. That can never be right.
This hurts, my siblings are also hurt! My 7 year old sister said that she feels angry about George Floyd being killed. She said that she is angry because “they killed him for no reason just for being black”, she says that she wants them to stop because it’s unfair because they don’t do that to white people.
My younger brother said “It’s disgusting! Killing people because of their race when there are white people doing school shootings and killing innocent kids and those killers do not get the same treatment. He said that “George Floyd was a black man and he was killed for a small offence, and even if he did do fraud he should have been punished according to the level of the crime, not killed”. I agree with my siblings. They need to stop killing black people.
According to my brother “Governments need to change things. They need to put in laws and systems to stop the unnecessary killing. Police must not kill at all. They must stop using race to kill people. Stop hurting people and stop using unnecessary violence. The police need to be taught to use their voice, and use other less lethal ways to apprehend criminals because that level of violence that causes a man to die is never necessary”.
My siblings and I feel very strongly about issues that affect black people, and that is why we took a knee.
As a young black individual living in a predominantly white neighbourhood it comes with pros and cons. For a teenager it can get boring at times as there aren’t many places to go but if you have your friends with you it really isn’t that bad.
Sometimes I feel like I am seen as a minority. That is because of stereotyping due to my race because where I live there aren’t as many black people as there are white people. There are times when I walk down the road on my own and older white people in their 40s, 50s and 60s think that I’m intimidating, but the older ones in the 70s and 80s don’t seem to care. Why are people so judgemental?
Sometimes I will open the doors for people and they will not say thank you, but when my white mates do it they get a thank you. I know that some of the negative reactions to me are because I’m young and not always because of my race, but there are times when I know it is definitely because of that. Why are they being so judgemental?
Because of stereotyping people assume that I am a bad youth – they judge me by the way I walk, the way I talk and the clothes that I wear, but if they speak to me they will realise that I’m not a bad youth. I am not bad. I know that there are people who assume because I am black and wearing a tracksuit that I am not intelligent but that annoys me because I am educated, kind, and caring.
I am a lanky black kid over 6’ tall so they say that they find me intimidating especially the middle-class people around here. Why are they so judgemental? They can ask me things if they don’t know, and stop being ignorant. I had an incident when a white kid was teasing me saying that I was Nigerian, when I told him that not every black person is from Africa he threw a banana at me.
It’s not all bad, there are also many positives to living in my neighbourhood for example it is relatively crime free and I believe that it is a safe place to be brought up in. It is also visually very clean it is a nice place to be and it is closer to the countryside than the city.
Overall in my opinion living in my neighbourhood has its advantages and disadvantages but it is generally a good place to be even though there is mild racism.
We have all read and heard the news over the past two months about the COVID-19 pandemic disproportionately affecting Black Asian and Minority Ethnic people (BAME). To BAME people the huge gap in health outcomes was always evident, but to many others the disparities only became obvious by the numbers of BAME health care workers, bus drivers, and other key workers who sadly lost their lives to COVID-19.
The shocking statistics led to a vast number of conversations, panel discussions, meetings, surveys, one-to-one chats, webinars, texts exchanges, interviews, workshops, blogs and social media postings. Yet, the Government considered it acceptable to censor the Public Health England Review ‘Disparities in the Risks and Outcomes of COVID-19’ omitting key sections including the voice of those people with lived experiences, and recommendations made.
BAME people already know that structural discrimination and racism exists, so attempting to exclude those facts is fooling no one. It only serves to reinforce what we know already – that institutional racism is like a nylon thread woven through the very fabric of society, and that there are people in positions of authority who are afraid of tugging the nylon.
Recent events in America has pulled the nylon. It is unravelling. Witnessing the heart wrenching images of the final moments of the life of George Floyd – a Black man who was murdered by police sent shock waves throughout the world. Police mottos are “To Protect and Serve” but the vast majority of black people have no faith in that motto because there are too many instances of police officers not protecting or serving, but taking lives and telling lies.
All of this takes its toll mentally, physically and spiritually. Black people are tired!
We are tired of negative press, tired of health inequalities, tired of micro-aggressions, structural and institutional racism, tired of being asked where we are from or why our food smells the way it does, we are tired of having to explain Black Lives Matter vs All Lives Matter, tired of waking up in the morning worrying that someone may accuse you of a crime you didn’t commit, tired of being the only black person in the Board room, tired of comforting our black children and grandchildren because someone called them the N word, tired of being stopped and searched, tired of being by-passed for promotion, tired of being told to “go back to your country”.
WE ARE TIRED! WE ARE SAD! WE ARE SCARED! WE ARE HURTING!
Black people are struggling to cope with Racial Battle Fatigue and Trauma (the symptoms are similar to PTSD). Racial Battle Fatigue and Trauma causes deep emotional and psychological distress and many people are in need of support, but this is where the health inequalities raises its head again, because black mental health and wellbeing is not mainstreamed, and culturally appropriate service provision is lacking.
Black people are tired – From the moment we are born to the last breath we take we are having to fight for equality. To those allies who posted a black square on #blackouttuesday I ask you, what next? What are you going to do to address some of the issues that are making us tired, sad, scared and hurt?
My menopause experience is proving to be a tough journey. Having said that, I also happen to know many people who have more or less sailed through it with minimum symptoms. Take my mother for example, she never experienced hot flushes or food cravings but had mood swings.
I live and thrive with depression and panic disorder, but they have bought along a friend – snack cravings. I can be engrossed in a good book and out of the blue a desire to munch takes over or I only need to walk near to the kitchen and popcorn lures me in. I wouldn’t mind but my mouth waters for unhealthy popcorn loaded with artificial flavours, sugars and salt. When the popcorn isn’t calling me it’s Terry’s Chocolate Orange and who knew Shortbread, Jamaica Ginger Cake, Rich Tea Biscuits, Coconut spirals, and Maltesers are so moorish.
My love of fruit is strong but they don’t love me – they trigger IBS crises. But my love affair is so strong that I hide the amount of fruit I eat to avoid my family nagging me, so I can’t understand this sudden desire to replace fruit with excessive quantities of unhealthy snacks.
I don’t like it. I feel and see the damage snacks are doing to my body (regular IBS crisis episodes, expanding waistline, and the needle on the scales rapidly inching further clockwise). But the snack cupboard still is my favourite destination.
Trinidad and Tobago Carnival 2020 briefly saved me from myself. Carnival is my therapy. This year I made up my mind that a broken knee was not going to stop my flow. Life’s stresses on pause I partied like my life depended on it. Conventional Mas – I was there, Canboulay- I was there, Breakfast Party – I was there, J’ouvert morning, Monday and Tuesday Big Mas Competition – I was there. Lastlap – well I wasn’t there because my knee had other plans.
But “all good things come to an end” and on Ash Wednesday my reign of pleasures did just that. Not because carnival was over – there were lots of post carnival parties to self-medicated on. Instead a personal situation caused me deep emotional pain, and by deep, I mean deep. So deep that once back home depression raised its head ‘remember me’ it said, ‘I’m back and for company I’ve brought along a friend – Snack Cravings’.
Over time I was able to dig into my ever-ready bag of coping tricks and managed to get the depression under control, but the snack cravings wouldn’t leave me alone.
I realised how bad it was when my shopping basket had 6 Terry’s Chocolate Oranges – they were on sale; 2 Dairy Milk bars – they were buy one get one free so why resist the offer; a tin of Family Circle Biscuits – just in case middle daughter comes home; an Apple Crumble – to go with the custard I bought last week; Party Rings – youngest daughter loves those; 2 variety packs of Crisps – the grandchildren may visit; Coconut Thins –I wonder what they would taste like; and two blocks of Mature Cheddar Cheese, a tub of Cream Cheese, and a pack of Wensleydale Cheese. Cheese? yes Cheese but I don’t even like cheese, I’m lactose intolerant, it gives me headaches and nausea, and causes nasal congestion. I need to escape my snack craving friend.
The last couple of months have been a roller coaster of emotions. The HRT patch I have been using for over 2 years has been discontinued and the new one I am taking does not agree with me. From anxiety, to swollen limbs and feeling lethargic I have decided to change it – I think I am lucky, as I have something good to compare it to.
It the 2nd time a brand
of HRT I have been taking has been discontinued… pharmaceutical companies
really should be made aware of the impact this has on a woman. The one I was
taking was discontinued last year, but I had enough in reserve to see me
through…until 2 months ago. I will admit I left it pretty close to when I had
almost run out – call it hope that it was just a blip in manufacturing, or
denial that my body did not want to try something else as what I was taking
worked for me.
I have also handed in my
notice at work…why? Several reasons; I commute over an hour each way to and
from work, I have a long day from a 9am start to a 6pm finish and have been
doing this for 5 years.
I have been thinking for
over a year that it is time for a change and it is time I focus more on me, my
health and finding a job that allows me to do that. I live in central London,
so my future commute should be easy.
At first I thought
“what have I done?”, but then I thought life is for living and a
woman going through the menopause should not feel held back and scared.
The menopause can be so
debilitating, but I want to change that for me and find out “what can I
do?” to help me (and others) break down the taboo that is the menopause.
For a while I have been
thinking does my ethnicity, lifestyle, mental attitude play a part in my
menopause symptoms? I have to use different products for my hair and for my
skin. Should I be looking into what different races use, the attitudes towards
the menopause in different countries and the diet of different cultures?
I feel like I am at the
start of a new chapter in my life – a slight sadness regarding letting go of
some things, but excited to take steps in a new direction, learn and to see
what that brings.
It is 7.15am on Tuesday
morning – handbag – check; mobile phone – check; flask with tea – check; bottle
with water – check; car keys – check, everything is laid out neatly on the
counter ready for me to pick them up and dash off to the station. I bend to do
up my shoe laces and suddenly remember the car-park. Thankfully one of the joys
of modern technology means that I can purchase a ticket via the mobile phone
app so laces done up, I grab my stuff and go.
At the station I purchase a train ticket, pick up a copy of the Metro head up the stairs and over the bridge to get to platform 2. On the train I spend the time in reading, doing the crossword and sudoku.
At work I peruse my things to do list only to realise that it’s the deadline for submission of the funding application I had been procrastinating over last week. So, with calculator in hand I continue the work on the budget swearing under my breath because I find working those detailed budgets that funders ask for to be such a tedious exercise.
My thought processes get interrupted by a colleague who is in such severe pain that I stop what I am doing and offer to drive them to the nearest hospital. We get there, and after many many hours they are discharged and dosed up with powerful pain relief. That wonderful invention called google maps means that I confidently offer to take them home.
We are inching along in slow moving rush hour traffic and an urge to wee takes over. I turn up the volume on the radio and hum hoping that the distraction will quell the urgency of my bladder. The nearer GPS says we are to our destination the louder the wee in my bladder takes on the persona of Queen and sings “I WANT TO BREAK FREE”.
We are now on the right road and the singing in the bladder is at a deafening level, so I hum even louder (which sounded more like groaning) waking my colleague from their drug induced stupor. I explain my toilet urgency, and they give me their house keys telling me that the toilet is at the top of the stairs.
The wee in the bladder is now channeling Diana Ross and bellows “THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO BREAK OUT OF THIS SHELL, I HAVE TO SHOUT THAT I’M COMING OUT, I’M COMING OUT, I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW, I WILL LET IT SHOW”. I plea with it to hold on for a couple more seconds and pull onto the roadside parking space dashing into the house, up the stairs, and on the toilet, making a mental note to invest in a Shewee and Tena Lady (other brands are available).
I say my good byes and make the journey homeward, but as I approach my car in the station carpark I see the dreaded yellow sticker envelope, and my heart sinks. I had completely forgot to pay for the parking and ended up with a £50.00 fine.
The next day I phone my colleague to check up on their health only to be told that when they looked out of their window that morning they found one of those hateful yellow sticker envelopes on their car. Turns out that in my haste to get to the toilet I had parked the car with one of the wheels resting 2inches on the grass verge. That’s another £50.00 fine.
Fast forward to Friday, and I leave work on a high because it’s the weekend. The train is trudging along and I am flicking through the Evening Standard when it suddenly it dawns on me that I have once again forgot to purchase a parking ticket. The rest of the journey sees me fluctuating between anxiety, annoyance and frustration, and I argue with myself for being so forgetful. By the time the train comes into the platform I am close to tears and I quickly scan the windscreen for the yellow sticker envelope but there is none. I breathe a sigh of relief, and thank my luck stars that I got away with it because paying £100.00 in fines in four days is more than enough – menopause is costly.
For me the onset of menopause at 52 was a complete shock because:
I was busy living my life – I had never really found the time in life for reflection. I was busy raising my family and I took on other people’s problems.
My mother lost her life to breast cancer at the age of 47 and I questioned whether she had actually experienced the menopause. Now reflecting on this question my original assumption could have been wrong because in my experience black women of that generation just did not talk about such things. My mother like me was always busy with the business of life.
I assumed wrongly that the menopause was all about the visitation of old age and hot flushes which I have now discovered may only be part of the journey. There was information but to be honest this was at the back of my mind.
I must have had the perimenopause(1) a few years beforehand because my periods had been super heavy, I was gaining weight so I introduced regular walking usually smashing the daily 10,000 steps recommended by most fitness experts. I remembered saying to a friend that I am more active now but there does not seem to be any reduction in my waist line.
My first real introduction to the menopause came in the form of mood swings one minute I would be fine and having one of those belly laughs and the next minute I was “vex” or just angry for no apparent reason. I also suffered from memory loss – I sometimes had no idea what I had planned to do on a daily basis and would forget information within seconds of it being relayed to me. I also had what has been affectionately called “low mood” and experienced pain in my joints as well as poor coordination. I did not like the new me and I was falling apart at the seams and guess what “no hot flushes”. I had developed strategies to cover memory loss and I was completely unaware of my mood swings until my family told me about their concerns. I thought “what the fuck is this? “what is happening to me?” I questioned whether I would be ok? It was a frightening and lonely place. I was also very angry.
I started to withdraw into myself, I started to love my own company because it meant that I was not being judged. In my relationship we both felt lonely for what was. I liked living in my own head and I could hear myself saying “ leave me alone”. I no longer wanted to help or hear other people’s problems, I was studying for yet another qualification and struggling to write, to retain information, I wanted to cocoon myself from the world. I have always been a glass over full sort of woman, I liked to laugh out loud, go out, join in discussions and generally always got excited about life or a new project. It was a shock because my symptoms were completely different from what I had expected.
Sometimes we are blessed, my friends started talking about their symptoms and although there are differences there was an “aha” moment, a relief that I was not on my own. A couple of my friends who were at the end of it said that I will be different but ok and that they had experienced a new sense of freedom in their outlook on life, others spoke about a more liberating sexual relationships with their partners so I have something to look forward to.
A friend told me about an interview with Lorraine Kelly where Carol Vordermnan spoke about her struggles with the menopause. I read the information and then decided at that point that I wanted the same medication that Carol was taking:
Because I wanted my life back.
I no longer wanted to suffer in silence.
I wanted my glass over full again and
I did not want to turn into a grumpy old lady.
I was blessed – I had an hour appointment with a doctor who specialised in women’s health which resulted in:
A 6th month programme of CBT counselling.
Introduction to a 6 month exercise programme at my local gym.
The usage of a fairly low dose of HRT because of my high blood pressure and family history of breast cancer.
How am I now? Menopause has helped me to pause my life every now and reflect more. I have more clarity “I see life now”. I spend quality time with myself and I am happy in my own mind and company. I have renegotiated how I live and enjoy the quality of the experience with my family and friends. I continue to help/ support people because that is who I am but I am more aware of how much I take on and manage my energy better. My old self is transforming and I am slowly welcoming in a new person who I am getting to know. I am aware that the HRT is holding back the full effect of the menopause and I know it is a temporary measure.
I continue to find the menopause very challenging as it impacts every aspect of my life. It is still unpredictable and I am unsure of what is around the corner, e.g to produce good quality work I now have to sleep well which is a new facet of my life.
It is particularly challenging for black women because we do not have any champions or role models within society. All of the women who are currently speaking out about the memophase are not representative of our community. We are re- educating our partners, our families and some of us are still juggling the needs of small children, grandchildren, older parents and young people whilst experiencing the impact of the menopause. It is a unique time, a long time, it is a challenge because we are the trail blazers, for many the matriarchs of our families and how we address this issue will influence the next generation of menopausal women.
My initial fear was provoked by me simply not understanding how the menopause would impact my life and how it would show up for me. If I were advising my younger self I would say read up about all aspects of the female life cycle. My life has grown organically and I had no idea how my life could change because the reduction in hormone levels. There are a number of potential side effects associated with HRT and the decision to use this method of treatment was not taken lightly. It is very much an individual choice and if I was to be honest if my memory had not been a big feature for me I might have reconsidered.
(1) – Perimenopause, or menopause transition, begins several years before menopause. It’s the time when the ovaries gradually begin to make less estrogen. It usually starts in a woman’s 40s, but can start in her 30s or even earlier. Perimenopause lasts up until menopause, when the ovaries stop releasing eggs.
I wake up suddenly, eyes wide open, limbs cramped, and it feels like I had been sleeping on a water bed that’s accidentally sprung a leak. My body is acting as though it’s been awake for ages, but my poor tired brain is still in sleep mode. I peep at the clock through squinted eyes, mind you it’s not a digital clock and my tired brain is struggling to work out if it’s the long hand that is near to the 12 of if it’s the short hand, and if so, then which hand is at the 4.
Through my daze they both look the same size. I blink a few times but still can’t focus and then I remember the phone – that very useful piece of modern equipment. Just a slight touch of the button at the base of the phone displays the time, so I roll over with arms outstretched to reach for it. Ah, such wonderful dryness.
But the euphoria is short-lived as I get entangled in the damp pyjamas and head scarf I somehow managed to disrobe from during the night. It must have been when I had the last heat burst, but I vaguely recollect it happening, mainly because I have become so used to a routine of heat burst followed by pyjamas and head scarf off, then as I cool down I put them back on, then off again, and on again rotating through the extra set of night clothes on the bedside.
I still want to know the time, so my hand reaches for the phone – it’s 4.02am which for most people is considered quite early. Then almost as suddenly as the heat came, the cold shivers start and goosebumps take over every pore.
But I am prepared, there is a dry change of clothing on the bedside table which I quickly put on as I toss the wet pyjamas and headscarf on to the floor. I pat down the bed to find the driest spot, and find a person size patch of dryness that I climb into pulling the duvet over me for that extra warm and cosy feeling – Such delightful bliss!
My knowledge of menopause up until recently was that it is a relief for women from their monthly periods – No more mood swings, no more “it’s that time of the month”, no more embarrassing moments if caught short, and I am sure there are many young women who are not yet going through the menopause thinking the same.
If you are in tuned with your partner and she had regular periods you would anticipate those times and tread carefully. But to my surprise being with a partner who is going through the menopause has made me realise that it does not necessarily offer relief – it just creates different issues.
Thankfully for the both of us she voices those issues. As a result I am aware of the night sweats, constant hot flushes (which she describes as internal combustion that melts latex), joint pains, headaches, depression, anxiety – it just seems endless. Then there is the brain fog and sometimes even forgetfulness.
But what can I do?
Just be understanding, be supportive, be patient. Fan her when she gets too hot. In other words do the little things that means a lot to her. Get her hot or cold drinks, because sometimes she just can’t get them herself. I have also made the effort to be more informed about menopause and so should everyone and anyone who has a menopausal partner in their life. Trust me it helps.
A community child – Black to the Future (BTTF) A Sankofa Exploration of Youth Work Project was delivered after a planned pregnancy and an 18 month gestation period (I have profound empathy for female elephants). Eighteen months sounds like an eternity but that just goes to show the amount of work that went into achieving the project deliverables.
In March 2017 the parents and extended family from Germany, the Netherlands and London (with roots across the African continent) gathered together and agreed that the time was right for the fertilisation process of this truly international baby to happen. The seed was planted, before you know it the baby started to become a real thing. This meant that a birthing plan had to be developed and some support systems put in place.
From its conception there was no doubt that this baby would be nurtured and raised by the entire community, and that the younger members would be as equally involved at every stage, sharing responsibilities for its development. But come on, let’s be honest, raising a child is challenging at the best of times, and this one had some added complexities such as managing intergenerational relationships, dealing with international travel arrangements, prioritising work commitments, and all the other day to day problems that will arise when trying to create something new. So it was no surprise that some of the extended family were not able to stay the course. However, one of the great things about a community raising a child is that the smallest input can have a huge impact.
When some of the family took time off or left for whatever reason, every single bit of their input, conversation, discussion, debate, suggestions and advice was valued, and played a part in the BTTF child’s development. The village raised this child and though sometimes the saying “too many cooks spoil the broth” came to mind, this child epitomises Ubuntu – “I am Because We Are”.
In September 2018 at the end of the 18 months, the parents and close family from the three countries got together for the weekend long coming of age transition. The funders (Erasmus+) end of project requirements what guided those activities, and to be honest, some of it was challenging. On the agenda were topics such as: The evaluation report; the tool kit; digital map, data entry; budgetary compliance, lessons learnt and ‘what next’. But it wasn’t all work – we time fun and laughter over breakfast and dinner, and managed to fit in a quick visit to Cambridge City Centre.
That coming of age weekend was one of self-exploration, allowing the family to do some deep introspection, and while we all acknowledged that some things could have been done differently, we felt that this community child deserved a sibling. The sibling would gain from our benefit of hindsight and from the considerable amount of informal learning that happened along the way – Collectively a vast amount of knowledge was shared such as blogging; using social media; principles of Sankofa and Ubuntu; the art of journaling; digital mapping; undertaking evaluations; intergenerational interpretations; appreciative enquiry; world café; valuing diversity; managing conflict; developing a toolkit; and a powerful session on “To Us Africa is Home”. That’s not all though because the family were also very fortunate to visit spaces and places in Europe that engage with the topic of Black Youthwork.
The delivery of this child is by no means the end, so if you are interested, watch this space because Migrafrica – our project partner in Germany has submitted a follow up application for BTTF2 to explore Youth Work Practice in Rotterdam, Wales, Munich, and Lisbon.