Hello, I’m Zoe Molloy, a writer from east London, with an interest in people, their stories, their childhoods, where they are from and what makes them ‘them.’

Originally, I’m from a small town in West Yorkshire. My mother comes from Leeds and my father from Dublin, a heritage once considered to be exotic in my little patch of the world!

School summer holidays were spent in Ireland, running through tall grass with my cousins and idling around St Stephen’s Green in the city. I used to ask my parents why we couldn’t spend summer like everyone else, sitting in striped deckchairs on a chilly UK beach or like school friends, whose dads had fancy jobs, and were able to go abroad for a week. Being working class led to a feeling of embarrassment that always seemed to follow me around. Our battered car in the drive (at least we had one) was always a moment of cringe and looking back, I know I spent far too much time comparing myself to other people and their families. Our formative years really do shape our identities, as well as how we handle challenges. Maybe how we handle the differences we see between ourselves and others is part of what makes us resilient?

On that note, our October theme is ‘Difference’ and, with October being Black History Month and also including World Mental Health day, this seems an appropriate theme. Cultural, racial and psychological diversity shape our experiences and by recognising and embracing this, there is unity in difference. Of course, tomorrow is National Poetry Day as well, so we have a wonderful poem from Mary L Walsh written especially on our theme to celebrate.

In this first week, I’d like to look at the differences in our childhood and where we started and am kicking off with a vignette of my own about a typical Sunday.

Sunday Afternoon

Our Sunday meal always took the whole afternoon to prepare. Nothing was rushed. Everything was centred around this moment. The joint of ham would be boiling away in the biggest pan we had, reaching full crescendo along with the next biggest pan, where the potatoes would be puttering and in a sequence of medium to tiny, an array of mix and ‘not so match’ pans, which housed the vegetables that were typically obliterated within an inch of our taste buds.

The warm steam was imposing but comforting, like a baby cocooned in infant blankets. If you abruptly charged in through the kitchen back door, you could easily be put off by the salt and smoky twang, earthy greens and close, sweet smells of the swede and turnip, but to me it always said welcome home. A place where I was a child. I was safe. We were together. I am always from this place, this place I ran from.

The skies were always a plummy-orange as we were going into Autumn. But it didn’t matter which season; the ham would be cooking, because that’s what we did.

A pause in the cooking was encouraged, a bottle of Guinness to be opened for the chef. Faint brass notes carried from the church hall until the play button was pushed down on the cassette player and stealing a moment to reflect on the opening chords of The Wolfe Tones Spancil Hill, a song that still instantly transports me back to that beige lino. I can see myself, with muddy roller boots and a puff ball skirt which concealed half a pack of Opal Fruits, scooting across the floor, while being shooed out by a parent. Boring Sundays, while other friends were always doing far more exciting things in their houses.

The onions required the small sharp knife to slice perfectly thin rings and then bathe in Sarsons vinegar. No Sunday dinner is complete without pickled onions, says the Irish father to the Yorkshire mother, who in turn would berate the Irish father about the ‘annihilated’ yorkie puds. This was always the last act before dinner was served.

No starters: we weren’t posh, but there was always a Sunday pudding: an apple crumble with tinned custard, a choc ice (pray for the mint chocolate chip) or, if tempers were frayed, humble fruit. A satisfying conclusion to the week, but it came with a lull in the tummy, an uneasiness, a worry stirring and taking form until the theme tune of The Antiques Road Show really put the boot in. I’d dread the thought of ‘School tomorrow.’  God, how I hated Sundays!

© Zoe Molloy, 2024

Connect with Zoe on Instagram: @zoomolly

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The second piece I’d like to share is a poem, Difference, by Mary L Wash. Children want to be similar, as similar is safe, but to lose a parent and have a reduced family unit is overwhelming. The yearning and absence of the maternal moments is striking, while the metaphor of a ‘never-ending ripple’ reflects the ongoing effects of the loss and hints at the emotional resilience and numbness afterwards.

Difference

First the disbelief
Why her?
Others have two parents
Why had she been taken?
Later the loneliness
The loss
The hole where
bedtime story’s should be
Or buying school shoes
Or wedding dresses
Late night chats
Seeing other families whole
Then acceptance
These things happen
You are different a never ending ripple
Under the surface
A different life.
A feeling nothing worse
can happen.

© Mary L Walsh, 2024

Connect with Mary on Instagram: @marelwa60

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Finally, as part of our celebration of Black History Month, I’d like to introduce an extract from a book, Blessed Struggles, by Regina Williams. This is an inspiring story about overcoming the hardships and struggles against social and cultural barriers that being an immigrant brings. It’s the resilience and perseverance that really shines out. The physical transformation symbolises the overall journey from deprivation to empowerment.

Blessed Struggles (Extract)

I was born into poverty in the hills of Kisii, Kenya. My first expedition was to the bustling capital, Nairobi, and then traversing across Africa to Morocco to study medicine in an unfamiliar language in Casablanca. My path took an unexpected turn, leading to a detour to the UK during the Gulf War.

Young, naive, pregnant, and with only $50, I landed in Britain, where I knew nobody. Now I am a successful investor and IT expert. I welcome you to embark on this gripping journey with me.

I hope to inspire others with my faith, self-belief, determination, courage, and resilience as I outline the highs and lows of this lifelong journey. My life, as you will see in this autobiography, is a testament to the resilience epitomized by the Swahili mantra‘maisha ni kupambana’— life is a struggle.

Within these pages, you will see the hardships I faced in life and the challenges that threatened to pull me down. Yet, you’ll also witness the spirit that carried me through. How I overcame these challenges is the heart of this autobiography—‘songa mbele,’move forward, as we say in Swahili. Just as the wildebeest in the Mara River fights back against the crocodiles and hippos, when crossing the river between Kenya and Tanzaniain search of grass, I fought back against hardships, deprivation, hunger, fear, bullying, and taboo to emerge victorious. I was not consumed. I am a fighter. Join me on this journey of willpower, success, and an unyielding spirit that refuses to surrender. As I share the mantra ‘Never give up,’I invite you to draw strength from my story and believe that you, too, can overcome the challenges in your own journey. Through these pages, you’ll discover that the struggles we face in life are stepping stones to our success. So, when I tell you, ‘Never give up, ’you will find the inspiration to carry on and thrive.

My name is Regina Williams. I was born in Kisii, Kenya, as the sixth child of my parents. I have been residing in the UK for the past 33 years.

This autobiography marks my first literary venture. I have drawn inspiration from the immense hardships I have experienced in my journey, especially during my challenging childhood in Kenya and as a foreigner in Morocco and Great Britain. These experiences have motivated me to share my story and inspire others. Despite encountering numerous obstacles and navigating through peaks and valleys, I have never surrendered. I believe in showcasing the possibility of resilience and perseverance; I will encourage you to persist until you emerge victorious, just as I did.

My journey took many turns, as you shall see in the pages of this book, and it still continues. I want you to read my life story and feel reinvigorated and motivated to renew the fight to make something of your life. I hope my book will achieve just that. Today, I am a holder of two IT-based degrees, a former elected London Borough councillor (2000-2010) and the first black female East African Politician in London, a qualified project management practitioner with work experience in the UK and several European countries, and a certified Microsoft Technology Specialist. I’m not here to show off, but I’m incredibly proud to share with you my achievements against all odds and to show you that there is hope if you try. I am a real estate entrepreneur in London, having come from rural Kenya and a house that had holes in the roof, which meant that we saw stars through the roof and were soaked by rain that came through those same holes. I am saying this to inspire, motivate, and show that there is hope, particularly for those who have risen from backgrounds of extreme poverty like me. I am living proof that you should never surrender to your circumstances but keep your gaze firmly fixed on the future and chase your dreams with relentless determination, just as I did. It has been a long journey from my origins. Often, despair has travelled with me, tempting me to give up. Fear and hunger have been my companions, wearing down my body and spirit. I felt like all I needed was to see a way forward and I could improve my life. I’m also grateful for the people I’ve touched, motivated, and assisted along the way. You will see some testimonies of these in the testimony section of the book. As a medical student in Casablanca, Morocco, I again suffered from hunger, which had tormented me in my childhood and throughout my education in Kenya. My body was emaciated due to lack of food, which hollowed out my face and made my teeth protrude. I was sick with no money to buy medicine. Yet, I somehow persevered despite the hunger, and later in the UK, my body blossomed back, like a lily in the valley.

© Regina Williams 2024

Blessed Struggles is available from https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blessed-Struggles-journey-professional-political/dp/1738487415

Connect with Regina on Facebook: blessedstruggles, Instagram: @williamsregy and via her website: blessedstruggles.co.uk

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