Senzela Atmar — Breaking Down Stigma-Stained Barriers

Senzela Atmar was born in war-torn Kabul, Afghanistan. It's a miracle she and her family are still alive today. After surviving bombings, the death of a family member, and several years in a refugee camp, she and her family won a lottery and were brought to the United States. They began their lives in Nashville, TN. Senzela's story is going to blow your minds.
Senzela started Relief Without Borders—an organization committed to providing relief to those suffering injustice and poverty in developing countries.
She is also involved with Share the Journey.
Follow Relief Without Borders and Senzela on Instagram.
In the intro of the podcast, I read an incredibly impactful poem that speaks candidly to the experience of so many refugees and immigrants. You can read it below.
NOTE: In this poem, Warsan—a Somali poet and educator— uses the n-word. I copy/pasted the poem in its entirety for you below but left the n-word out when I recited the poem in the intro. As a non-black person, I don't feel comfortable saying it—even if I'm simply reading what she wrote.
HOME by Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won't let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it's not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn't be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty

Senzela Atmar was born in war-torn Kabul, Afghanistan. It's a miracle she and her family are still alive today. After surviving bombings, the death of a family member, and several years in a refugee camp, she and her family won a lottery and were brought to the United States. They began their lives in Nashville, TN. Senzela's story is going to blow your minds.

Senzela started Relief Without Borders—an organization committed to providing relief to those suffering injustice and poverty in developing countries.

She is also involved with Share the Journey.

Follow Relief Without Borders and Senzela on Instagram.

In the intro of the podcast, I read an incredibly impactful poem that speaks candidly to the experience of so many refugees and immigrants. You can read it below.

NOTE: In this poem, Warsan—a Somali poet and educator— uses the n-word. I copy/pasted the poem in its entirety for you below but left the n-word out when I recited the poem in the intro. As a non-black person, I don't feel comfortable saying it—even if I'm simply reading what she wrote.

HOME by Warsan Shire

no one leaves home unless

home is the mouth of a shark

you only run for the border

when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you

breath bloody in their throats

the boy you went to school with

who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory

is holding a gun bigger than his body

you only leave home

when home won't let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you

fire under feet

hot blood in your belly

it's not something you ever thought of doing

until the blade burnt threats into

your neck

and even then you carried the anthem under

your breath

only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet

sobbing as each mouthful of paper

made it clear that you wouldn't be going back.

you have to understand,

that no one puts their children in a boat

unless the water is safer than the land

no one burns their palms

under trains

beneath carriages

no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck

feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled

means something more than journey.

no one crawls under fences

no one wants to be beaten

pitied

no one chooses refugee camps

or strip searches where your

body is left aching

or prison,

because prison is safer

than a city of fire

and one prison guard

in the night

is better than a truckload

of men who look like your father

no one could take it

no one could stomach it

no one skin would be tough enough

the

go home blacks

refugees

dirty immigrants

asylum seekers

sucking our country dry

niggers with their hands out

they smell strange

savage

messed up their country and now they want

to mess ours up

how do the words

the dirty