Heathland Festival Storybook by Chris Poolman

D N A L H T A E H

L A V I FEST K O O B Y R O ST General Public

HEATHLAND

Summer Holidays 2018 Kings Heath, Balsall Heath and Druids Heath community libraries

HEATHLAND FESTIVAL Heathland Festival (‘A children’s festival of ideas’) was an innovative programme of art activities, literature, music and artworks for children and their families. The ‘Heath’ libraries are geographically located on what was once ancient heathland, and the festival drew parallels between ancient common land and the ethos of public libraries. Based around five key themes (environment, equality, courage, migration and protest), the fiveweek programme made complex ideas around sharing and public space accessible to children (and, of course, all children are interested in sharing…). Over the festival, 1125 children & 630 adults directly took part in a festival event, many of whom contributed to this final storybook.

INTRODUCTION

Libraries are filled with books, A place in which I love to look, Endless shelves of lots to read, A place in which I love to be.

The wider festival featured a range of activities including: Storytelling and Poetry Jake Evans, Cath Edwards, JC Niala, Pyn Stockman, Kerima Mohideen, Peter Chand, Sharon WuCarr, Dreadlockalien, Birmingham’s Poet Laureate Matt Windle Production Workshops An imaginative series of workshops that created content for this storybook. These included:‘Heathoglyphics’: making a new alphabet for the Heathland, The Great Big Butter Battle, Trainer making from recycled materials, Mask Making: The Recycled Cosmology of the Drogon Tribe of Druids Heath, Paper Aeroplane Championships, Futuristic Map Making, Placards & Protest. The festival also featured: Drum Together Brum, The ‘No Outsiders’ Project, The L’Internationale Ice Cream Van, Collage Party & the ever popular Print Station.

New Commissions: This storybook features new commissioned writing by Catherine O’Flynn & Elisabeth Charis (who has been working with drama facilitator Fateha Begum and the Bangladeshi Women’s Association in Small Heath, looking at how traditional Bangladeshi / Bengali stories can be retold within a contemporary Small Heath context). These new stories & poems feature in this storybook. All illustrations, collages, poems & artworks that feature in the storybook were produced in workshops by all the talented people who took part in the festival. Who: The festival was conceived, fundraised and produced by artists General Public (Chris Poolman & Elizabeth Rowe), assisted by the fantastic festival team of Caleb Steer, Emma Bowen & Iram Bi. The Heathland Festival was generously supported by Arts Council England and Birmingham City Council.

generalpublic.org.uk generalpublicprojects@gmail.com

Thank You: Thank you to all the staff at Kings Heath, Balsall Heath and Druids Heath community libraries for their help in making the festival such a success.

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Environment Reading List

Belonging Jeannie Baker 12 months + Wordless picture book: Children help with the re-greening of their city. Framed by the view from a child’s bedroom looking out over the city where they live. Starting with the child as a baby we see the view change as they grow to adulthood Compost Stew Mary McKenna Siddals 3 – 8yrs Fun how-to book explaining composting The Promise Nicola Davies 5 – 9yrs A young thief promises to plant a bag full of acorns she tries to steal from an old woman, and transforms her city

The Lost Words Robert Macfarlane 3+ yrs A spell book that conjures lost nature words and species back into our everyday lives

No.1 Car Spotter Atinuke 6 – 9yrs When the family’s cart breaks down and there’s no way of bringing goods to market, it’s No. 1 who devises the Toyota Cow-rolla and saves the day

Talking Turkies Benjamin Zephaniah 11 – 13yrs An unconventional collection of rap poetry by the poet and musician Benjamin Zephaniah. This is his first collection for children and contains poems about politics, racism, animal rights and green issues One Plastic Bag Miranda Paul 5 – 9yrs A Gambian woman finds a way to recycle plastic bags to help her community

One Hen – How One Small Loan Made a Big Difference Katie Smith Milway 7 – 10yrs This title uses the story of a young boy in an African village to introduce children to the concept of sustainable development Farewell to Shady Glade Bill Peet 4 – 7yrs Bulldozers push the raccoon and his friends from their home, but they are able to find a new one after a terrifying train ride

ENVIRONMENT

ENVI RON MENT 5

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ZULEKHA ZULEKHA AND AND THE THE BADSHA’S BADSHA’S GARDEN GARDEN Elisabeth Charis

ENVIRONMENT

Zulekha, The Badsha’s daughter, had a magic garden.

But in Zulekha’s garden, there was calm.

It was the kind of magic that made passers-by

A special magic filled the air.

stop still.

Passers by would stop to chat

They forgot the fumes of the Coventry Road

and feel a lift in all their cares.

behind them.

Deep, pink roses growing by the wall

They forgot their troubles and the things that

would nod to those who stopped a while;

made them ill.

fat, juicy fruits could make the taste buds tingle

Beyond the driveway weeds prized through the

and the blackbird in the apple tree would always

pavement cracks.

bring a smile.

Scraps and rubbish swirled around. It floated in the heavy air

Each day, Zulekha helped her father water

and piled in corners, on the ground.

all the flowers and the bushes and the trees.

The road was always packed with honking cars.

“The roses need a lot,” he told his daughter,

Shops lined the bustling street.

as he snipped off the odd dead head or picked up

The way was always filled with different faces.

leaves.

The pavement brimmed with busy feet.

He said the same thing every evening, “A little bit of care and often is all a garden needs and don’t forget this truthIf you look after what is outside. What’s outside will look after you.” But Zulekha rolled her eyes at that, for she didn’t really care. She preferred to snapchat her friends, check her makeup and brush her lovely hair. One evening Zulekha’s friend, Nilufa, leant on the wall to watch the task. “I love your garden.” she said. “I wish you could have it” said Zulekha, “If I had my way, you’d only have to ask”. “Don’t take it for granted, Zu. You’ll miss it if it goes” “But dad makes me do jobs for no need:” said Zulekha, “the sun shines, it rains and so the garden grows.” Next day, The Badsha said that he was going away – back to Bangladesh to buy some land He said, “Be good for mother and remember all I’ve said: I’ll leave our precious garden in your hands. A little bit of care and often is all a garden needs and don’t forget this truth– If you look after what is outside. What’s outside will look after you.”

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LIBRARYOFBIRMINGHAM.COM

And so he went and summer curled away.

She had a muffled feeling that she couldn’t

Zulekha leant on the apple tree, enjoying every

shake –

day.

Her bones felt like they’d let the cold in

She didn’t see the quiet creep of bindweed

and her finger nails had begun to break.

work its way along the ground towards her toes. She didn’t feel the need to pull up dandelions

The winter went and spring came for a stay.

or get up from her seat to prune the rose.

Then summer came and sent it on its way.

Nilufa walked passed after Jummah prayers

Zulekha only went out after Maghrib,

and told her, “Do some weeding while you’re

once she’d had her tea.

sitting there.

She spent her evenings drinking lemonade

Remember what your dad said, Zu.

and lying by the apple tree.

Look after what is outside

She didn’t see the coriander wither

and what’s outside will look after you.”

or think to move the pots into the shade.

“I’m tired,” Zulekha said, “I’ve been at school

She didn’t notice dry leaves drop

all day.”

or see the deep pink of the roses fade. At school, Nilufa reminded her to water all the

For she had a feeling that she couldn’t shake –

pots,

a creeping feeling in her legs

“A little bit of water’s all it takes.

had made her bones begin to ache.

Look after everything first then when you’ve finished, take your breaks.”

The winter came and brought its snow to play.

But such heat had made Zulekha ill

Zulekha played inside on facebook, wasting

and she had a fainting feeling that she couldn’t

every single day.

shake–.

She didn’t notice the black bird wasn’t singing

Her voice had faded to a whisper

and the traffic was the only sound

and her face had begun to flake.

She didn’t think to fill the bird feeder while the ice covered the ground. “Don’t forget to prune the apple tree”, Nilufa said at school one frosty morning. But Zulekha paid no attention and skipped off to wait for warmth of spring.

ENVIRONMENT

The Badsha came home again at last and met his princess at the door but she was barely strong enough to stand and greeted him from on the floor. He picked her up and kissed her head But when he put her down and stroked her hair He looked in horror for in his hand

Once upon a time there lived a lizard and he met a starfish.

was a clump the size of a swallow’s nest there.

They became friends and met up.

And, where his hand had touched her face,

One day the two friends decided they were going to sail on the sea.

skin shed like tiny dry leaves from her cheeks. He looked into her clouded eyes and asked her gently,

But they’re boat sank.

“What have you been doing all these weeks?” At last Zulekha understood. She sobbed, “I’m sorry” and hung her head. Her father looked around the dying garden

Faathima Zahra

And sent Zulekha straight to bed. Six weeks her father spent each night caring for the garden in the dwindling light. Six weeks Zulekha slept and read and stared at the sky from in her bed. Nilufar came with a box of food but she couldn’t lift Zulekha’s mood. For though she felt quite strong again she felt regret and cried with shame. Nilufar said “It’s from my allotment, Zu” “Eat well,” she said. “Soon you’ll be good as new” Next time remember, a little bit and often will see you through. If you look after what is outside, What’s outside will look after you.”

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CLAY GARGOYLE POLLUTANT SEED BOMBS These gargoyles were made from River Rea clay loaded with seeds. Left outside you can watch them sprout. What story goes with which gargoyle? Have a go at making your own gargoyle seed bomb and invent a story about it’s life. If you don’t have any clay you could use mud or play dough (we made our own clay from the earth on the bank of a river). You can collect seeds in the park at certain times of the year from grasses, flowers or trees. Remember conkers and acorns are seeds too and would look great as part of a gargoyle.

10 10

ENVIRONMENT Once upon a time there was a gargoyle called creep. His face is funny because he scared people so much his face got stuck. He was on a library for security.

Harry Harry is mean. He eats worms. Harry lives in China. Harry was born in October. Harry fights with monsters. Harry has long arms.

Once upon a time I saw a gargoyle. It’s name was Germander. He loved eating juicy worms, green frogs, bugs and cockroaches. He lived at the top of a castle. He also had a friend called Miky. They lived together. His favourite colours were red and green. It was nearly night and Germander thought he would scare some people. Then he thought he would scare Miky. He came up with a plan. His plan was to say ‘Boo!’ Miky got scared. Javeria Jamshed, 8yrs Chicken Head, my gargoyle loves to eat rats. He is funny and silly. He lives in a cave far, far away. He has big scary eyes. He has no friends. He is 6 years old. Laaibah Wish Star He likes everyone but no one likes him. Wish Star lives in a tree. He eats wood lice. He has to get down from his tree to get food. He eats butterflies as well – that’s why no one likes him! By Elizabeth

Steve by Adam Steve is his name. He likes going mining. He eats pork and steak. He is 25. He has brown hair, green eyes, a light blue T-shirt and dark blue trousers, a red hat and grey shoes. He carries a shiny, light blue diamond sword. It is a very, very sharp diamond sword. It sparkles a lot. His house is made from painted bricks. It is very hard to break. He isn’t in it a lot. He’s mostly out mining.

Sienna the Gargoyle by Mercedes Sienna is flat so she is hidden and scares people off. She lives on the outside of a castle in Jamaica. Sienna has lived there for 100 years. She is a nice girl but because of how she looks people are scared of her and think she is not a nice gargoyle. She is made of clay and stone. She is upset because her mum is falling apart. My gargoyle is called Bethangeorgla. She likes eating caterpillars. She drinks juicy worms but one day she drank a worm that was juicy and sick and it made the gargoyle die! Bethan, 4 yrs

Angela He lives on Sainsbury’s. He comes out in the day and night. He has a friend called Mikey. He likes to eat chewing gum. Angela is friendly.

Dobby I was placed on top of a temple in Egypt, my mouth was used as a spout. I saved my country when there was a water shortage. I also scared off bad spirits. 100 years later, I am now sat outside someone’s house in the farm of flowers. My friends are here too but sometimes I wish I had legs so I could move. I am now thousands of years old. Soon I will die if nobody waters and feeds me.

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Equality Reading List

The Name Jar Yangsook Choi 3 – 7yrs Having just moved from Korea, Unhei is anxious that American kids will like her. So instead of introducing herself on the first day of school, she tells the class that she will choose a name by the following week. Her new classmates are fascinated by this noname girl and decide to help out by filling a glass jar with names for her to pick from The New Neighbours Sarah McIntyre 3 – 5yrs New residents move into a tower block, home to characterful animals Frog & The Stranger Max Velthuijs 3 – 5yrs A stranger moves into the village and is treated with suspicion. Initially he is blamed for things that are going wrong but proves his worth

Last Stop on Market Street Matt De La Pena 3 – 5yrs Every Sunday after church, CJ and his grandma ride the bus across town. But today, CJ wonders, why they don’t own a car like his friend Colby? Why doesn’t he have an iPod like the boys on the bus? How come they always have to get off in the dirty part of town? The Butter Battle Book Dr Seuss 5 – 9yrs The Yooks and Zooks share a love of buttered bread, but animosity brews between the two groups because they prefer to enjoy the tasty treat differently

The Sneetches Dr Seuss 5 – 8yrs This story tells of a group of yellow bird-like creatures called Sneetches, some of whom have a green star on their bellies. At the beginning of the story, Sneetches with stars discriminate against and shun those without Mirror Jeannie Baker 5 – 7yrs Parallel stories of the connected lives of two children in Australia and Morocco Nadia’s Hands Karen English 5 – 7yrs When Nadia is chosen to be a flower girl in Auntie Laila’s traditional Pakistani wedding, her hands are decorated with beautiful designs made with mehndi, and she comes to understand the rich culture she has inherited We are all born free. The universal declaration of human rights 2+ yrs

EQUALITY

EQUA LITY 13

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MR MR BECKSITT BECKSITT Elisabeth Charis

EQUALITY

Mr. Becksitt lived in a house with rattling windows. There was moss in the cracks of his driveway and hair in the whorls of his ears. The stairs creaked just like his bones in the mornings. The net curtains were grey and his skin was saggy but Mr. Becksitt always took the time to iron his shirt and oil his wiry hair. Mr. Becksitt was a keep-things-in-order kind of a man. He always made an effort and stuck to the plan. He always had two poached eggs for breakfast come snow or sunshine. He always left the house at 10am, but if he saw the neighbours he would fuss in his pockets or anything but speak to them. Mr. Becksitt didn’t like people and he especially didn’t like his neighbours. They were so many and they were noisy. They came and went all day and evening. They clanged the dishes. They spoke too loud. If they were noisy after 8pm he would shout, “BE QUIET” and bang his stick on the wall. One Friday, when Mr. Becksitt stepped outside, the young Rahman girl was there. She stopped her sweeping when she saw him and shyly said, “Good morning.” Mr. Becksitt coughed and bent to fiddle with his socks. “Why is this on my step?” he grumbled, and kicked an empty chocolate box. He hooked it up with his stick and flung it into their rose bush. He often did such things. He felt it was his duty. Rubbish swirled the streets and clogged the corners: piles of packets, empty sweets, greasy boxes and broken bags all rotting in the borders. Mr. Becksitt did what he could to make the neighbours fix it. They took such care it seemed unfair the mess outside stayed there. His stick would jab and spike and hook. He’d push and prod it to their garden and let them clean it. He didn’t wait around to see her look: he had the shopping to be doing.

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Mr. Becksitt walked to Asda three times on weekdays, in his Sunday jacket, with his walking

Mr. Becksitt was right about some things but he

cane, with a bag of coppers in his trouser pocket

wasn’t right about that. It wasn’t every Friday at

– just in case. When he walked, the change would

all. On this particular foggy Friday, however, Mr.

jangle and his stick would click. Jangle-click.

Becksitt got knocked down himself, right on the

Jangle-click. That’s the way he sounded when he

crossing, right outside his own house. Actually, he

walked and tapped his stick.

wasn’t really quite knocked down. It was a pile of wet leaves that made him slip when a car crossed

He jangled and clicked his way around the

the line. He shook his stick at the driver and fell

supermarket in the same exact route every time.

right on his knees like a put-down puppet. His

Then he jangled and clicked his way to the same

whiskery cheek hit the gleaming road and a face

exact till. He always bought the exact same things

full of puddle splashed his clothes.

and measured out the absolutely exact amount. He

All at once, there were lots of hands under him and

would grumble and tut to no one and the trolley

lots of voices speaking. He felt himself bobbing up

when the bill changed by a few pence. When he’d

and down like a baby in someone’s arms.

finished shopping, he’d sit in the café for a proper

He saw his front gate but then wasn’t at home.

tea and eat his own ham sandwich under a big, red

He was in a room like his but the windows shone.

sign that said, ‘no food from outside to be eaten in

There were low, bright settees and his armchair

here’. Mr. Becksitt liked rules but he didn’t like

was gone. He lay on soft cushions, someone holding

stupid rules.

his hand. They moved hair from his face and he sunk into sleep.

After lunch, Mr. Becksitt jangled and clicked his way home if the weather was fine and if his bones would agree. If he was too tired, he would sit instead on the bus. As the bus whirred and chugged, he watched people on the pavements. There was plenty to be cross about there; the litter, the noise, the parking, the way people just stepped out into the road without using the crossing. When they did that, Mr. Becksitt would tut his tongue as loudly as possible and complain to no one and the windows, “Every Friday, someone gets knocked down”.

EQUALITY

When he woke, there were flashing lights. A woman and a man in bright, yellow jackets were packing a case and saying, “He’s lucky to have such good neighbours.” and “It’s just a few bruises”. Someone helped him sit up and brought tea to his lips. It was his neighbour, Mr. Rahman. After a while, Mr. Rahman helped him hobble back to his own house. Then Mrs. Rahman came with a plate full of steaming chicken and rice. While he ate, she unpacked his shopping, filled the fridge and fluffed a pillow on his threadbare chair. He watched her hands move with grace and a gentle care and coughed. Suddenly, his throat was tight and his eyes stung. It was a long time since anyone came through his door and even longer since anyone did anything nice at all. Mrs. Rahman wrote down a number on a piece of paper and said, “Call if you need anything, whatever the time.” Mr. Becksitt felt a little tear squeeze out of the corner of his eye and trickle down his nose. “Why are you doing this?” he said, “I haven’t been kind” “It doesn’t matter,” she said in a quiet voice. “You are our neighbour: whatever you do, it is our duty to take care of you”. And from that moment on, Mr. Becksitt was a look-after-your-neighbours-kind of a man. He always made an effort and said, “I’ll help when I can.”

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THE THE GREAT GREAT BIG BIG BUTTER BUTTER BATTLE BATTLE

build a ‘Bitsy Big-Boy Boomeroo’ bread and butter firing machine Dr Seuss’s The Butter Battle Book tells the story of two peoples, divided by their attitude to bread and butter— the Yooks eat theirs with the butter side up, the Zooks eat theirs with the butter side down.This allegorical children’s story about the cold war will inspire us to create our own bread and butter firing machines. Who will win, the Yooks or the Zooks? 18

EQUALITY

MAKE A BREAD & BUTTER FIRING MACHINE • Read Dr Seuss’s Story The Butter Battle Book • Discuss • Gather your materials • Draw your machine: create a blueprint • Name the machine • Make the machine. Don’t let the adults take over • Decorate your machine • Take part in a bread & butter machine firing contest: 5 categories – Are you a Yook or a Zook? – The furthest flip – Most original design – Best decorated – Most finesse in bread butter flipping 19

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STICKY CREATIVE

TRAINER TRAINER NO NO BRAINER BRAINER Put a plastic bag onto your foot, Tie it all around until it is shut, Then cover all of your bag in tape, But not too thick because you’ll need to escape, Carefully cut down the centre of your tongue, Make sure it doesn’t go horribly wrong. Based on a concept by Robert Grose

EQUALITY

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EQUALITY

Equality No matter your occupation, Or your sexual orientation, Whether you’re a different race, Or come from another place, Whatever your family, Everyone deserves equality

by Phoebe Flanagan Etchells

Everyone has a different face, Everyone’s mouth has a different taste, Above your eyes you may have eyebrows, They go up when you say ‘Wow’, I smell pizza with my nose, And sometimes my brother’s sweaty toes, My mouth smiles and pushes out my cheeks, It reads this poem to the beat!

Matt Windle, Oamiao, Ekyunmo & Zeniaho

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Courage Reading List Drum Dream Girl Margarita Engel 4 – 7yrs Girls cannot be drummers. Long ago on an island filled with music, no one questioned that rule--until the drum dream girl Ruler of the Courtyard Rukhsana Khan 3 – 8yrs Is it just Saba, or do chickens scare everyone? The chickens in her yard are especially mean, chasing her and pecking at her toes. But when she sees a snake in the bathhouse, Saba realizes that chickens aren’t her only problem. She has to act fast to protect herself and her nani, her grandma, from the snake. Can she conquer the chickens and the snake to become the Ruler of the Courtyard? Does she really have to conquer them at all?

Paper Bag Princess Robert Munsch 4 – 7yrs Princess confronts a dragon who has burned her house/clothes and captured her fiance The Librarian of Basra Jeanette Winter 4 – 7yrs In a war-stricken country where civilians--especially women--have little power, this true story about a librarian’s struggle to save her community’s priceless collection of books reminds us all how, throughout the world, the love of literature and the respect for knowledge know no boundaries

Weslandia Paul Fleischman 5 – 7yrs A boy who doesn’t fit in where he lives decides to grow a mysterious new plant as his summer project. It yields enough resources for him to found a new society and he soon finds he has lots of people who want to be part of it too Life Doesn’t Frighten Me Poems by Maya Angelou, paintings by Jean Michel Basquiat, edited by Sara Jane Boyers

COURAGE

COUR AGE 25

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MASK MAKING The recycled cosmology of the Drogon tribe of Druids Heath.Â Using materials found locally, masks were inspired by the ornamental tribal wear of the Drogon Tribe of Druids Heath. What would your mask look like?

Make your own mask using materials you have found and collected. What would your tribe be called? Take a picture of yourself wearing your mask in the place where you live.

COURAGE

My name is Farhan, I like cars, I stand up to bullies, And love chocolate bars.

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‘HEATHOGLYPHICS’:

CRACK THE CODE Taking inspiration from the book ‘Weslandia’ by Paul Fleischman (in which a boy who doesn’t fit in decides to grow a mysterious new plant, which yields enough resources to found a new society), children invented their own ‘heathland’ inspired alphabets or ‘heathoglyphics.’ They used a special range of ‘heathland’ palettes: • Kebab shop chips + tomato sauce • Highbury Park Blackberries + River Rea Clay • Soot / Pollution from the Moseley Road Work out the messages written in each of the different codes. Then have a go at inventing your own alphabet or ‘Heathoglyphic’.

MESSAGE #1

MESSAGE #2

COURAGE

CODE #1

CODE #2

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‘HEATHOGLYPHICS’:

MAKING A NEW ALPHABET FOR YOUR NEW UTOPIA  Create a new ‘heathland’ inspired alphabet or ’heathoglyphic.’ Think about how you can use local places or people to inspire your glyphs and the materials you use to make the marks. Use the grid to help you. Or just freestyle it from scratch if you prefer. Who says there have to be 26 characters that are read from left to right? Don’t forget to write some secret messages when you have finished and ask people to decipher your code.

COURAGE

My name is Fareena I envy ballerinas I want to have world peace But first I need to keep Hatred on a leash

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Migration Reading List The Silence Seeker Ben Morley 5 – 7yrs When a new family moves in next door, Joe’s mum explains that they are asylum seekers. Joe hears that they are silence seekers, especially as Mum adds that they need peace and quiet. When he sees a young boy from the family sitting disconsolately on the steps, Joe decides to help him Azzi In Between find a quiet place in the noisy and Sarah Garland chaotic city 7 – 11yrs The moving story of a family’s flight from danger to a new life in a new country The Journey Francesca Sanna 5 – 7yrs This beautiful book explores the unimaginable decision to abandon home in the face of war

MIGRATION

MIG RAT ION 35

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HEATHLAND Catherine Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Flynn 2018

MIGRATION

Monday

Later on Mrs Jones said we were going to be doing

A new girl started in our class today. Mrs Jones

about local history. I didn’t think this would be

got her to stand up and tell us about herself. She’s called Safa. She’s come from somewhere called Syria which she said is a very, very long way away. She said she liked Harry Potter and custard cream biscuits. She didn’t mention animals at all so I put my hand up and asked her if she had any pets. I don’t have any pets. Mom says I can’t because of the carpet. The carpet is also the reason we can’t wear shoes in the flat, can’t take food or drink in the living room and definitely can’t ride bikes indoors. The carpet is king in our house. I made up an excellent joke about it and told my mom. ‘What’s the most boring pet in the world?’ ‘A carpet!’ She didn’t laugh though. She just went on about expense and money and me not understanding. Anyway the new girl, Safa, said she didn’t have any pets either now, but her family had owned lots of sheep in Syria and had to leave them all behind. Josh Barker shouted out: ‘Didn’t they fit in your suitcases?’ and everyone laughed, except Safa.

something very exciting this term: a project all that exciting. Not as exciting for example as a project about what the most amazing animals in the world would be, but I didn’t say anything. Mrs Jones looked at me though and said: ‘Bentley…’ I should probably tell you right now – Bentley’s my name, though everyone thinks it’s weird: ‘Bentley?’ They say, ‘Bentley? What’s your first name?’ And I say: ‘That is my first name.’ And they say: ‘No one has Bentley as a first name. What’s your surname?’ And I say: ‘Adam’ And then they always say: ‘Are you pulling my leg?!’ But I’m not. My name is Bentley Adam. If I’m jumping around my bedroom my mom always shouts ‘Gently Bentley!’ And then she gives a little laugh. Even she thinks my name’s funny. Anyway Mrs Jones said: ‘Bentley, your partner is Safa. This will be Safa’s first project with us! You can help her learn all about Balsall Heath.’ Safa wears glasses and looks properly brainy. I wasn’t sure she’d need my help. I think Mrs Jones just didn’t want me being Dev’s partner again. Not after the incident on the school trip with the emu. First good thing about Safa though was that she didn’t ask me about my name. Maybe Bentley is a normal name in Syria.

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Wednesday I taught Safa all about the history of Balsall Heath, I told her when Zaffs was redecorated and Perio’s Chicken opened and the time that Lidl shut its doors for a whole year. She said: ‘Can you tell me something? What does Balsall mean?’ ‘What does what mean?’ I said. ‘Balsall. Balsall Heath?’ I was trying to teach her important facts and she asked this! I shrugged ‘And what is ‘Heath?’ I see this word all the time on buses. Kings Heath. Balsall Heath. Druids Heath. Small Heath. Short Heath. What is heath?’ I said ‘I don’t know. It’s not anything. Balsall Heath is just the name of where we live.’ And then Safa laughed like I’d said something funny and said: ‘But Bentley, every name means something.’ I stopped off at the city farm after school. It’s only down the road and I like to say hello everyday – particularly to Rolf the goat and Algernon the alpaca who are my favourites. I thought about what Safa said so I asked them if their names meant anything but I didn’t get much of an answer from either of them. They just chomped on the grass I held out and let me stroke them. I love my mom, but I like going to the farm before I go home after school. It’s peaceful. Algernon and Rolf don’t shout, or get upset or always seem sad.

MIGRATION

Friday Today the whole class visited Balsall Heath library. It’s a very old building. It says 1895 above the door because that’s the year it was born. That means the library has been there for 123 years. Mrs Jones told us to try and imagine what Balsall Heath was like all that time ago and then draw a picture. Mine looked more or less like it does today with the library and the swimming baths but there were no cars only horses and carriages. Harry Jeffs drew dinosaurs all standing outside the library. As if there were dinosaurs 123 years ago. As if they could read. Safa found a massive pile of books about local history and she was looking through those before she started her picture. I said: ‘Where did you find those? How did you know where to look?’ And she said ‘I come to the library every day. I know where all the books are.’ I didn’t believe her. There are way too many books in the library for anyone to know them all. I said ‘Oh yeah, I suppose you’ve read them all as well.’ She shook her head: ‘No, of course not. Not yet.’

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Saturday

swerved and tipped completely on its side and

Mom and me went to the market in town like we do

more sheep started pouring out the back of the

every Saturday. Mom was looking after Kayleigh from next door as well. Kayleigh’s two and still in a pushchair. She liked all the men shouting about the price of bananas. She’d shout ‘Nana! Nana!’ back at them even when it wasn’t bananas they were selling which even made Mom smile. I pushed Kayleigh on the walk home and made car noises to make her laugh. Then we heard a real rumbling and a massive lorry started heading down the road. I held onto the pushchair really tight because it felt as if it was being sucked behind the lorry. Kayleigh was laughing though and shouting: ‘Baa Baa’. That was when I noticed the lorry was completely filled with sheep. Like they were all going on a big sheep day trip. I liked that idea. Sheep at the seaside or at Drayton Manor on the rides. I started laughing at the picture I had in my head of two sheep sat at the front of a roller coaster freaking out and I said: ‘Where are all the sheep going Mom?’ ‘Factory, I suppose.’ Said Mom. ‘Sheep don’t work in factories!’ I said and Mom looked at me like she does when she thinks I’ve said something stupid deliberately, just to annoy her. I tried again: ‘What factory do you mean?’ ‘You know, Bentley…’ and she pulled a funny face, like it was something she couldn’t say in front of Kayleigh. I didn’t know though and I shook my head. Mom sighed: ‘The factory that turns animals into meat.’ ‘Oh.’ I said and then I did feel stupid. The sheep weren’t going to Drayton Manor they were going to be killed. Obviously. It’s not as if I didn’t know where meat came from. It was just…I could hear the sheep bleating like there were having a chat. I started to get a weird feeling inside, like I wanted to run or shout or hit someone, but before I could do any of those things there was a crash and screech and everything went mad. A cyclist skidded across the road, a car crashed into a lamppost, the lorry

then, just a trickle at first, but then more and lorry onto the road. People got out of their cars and came out of the factories. The cyclist and the lorry driver were shouting at each other. There were sheep everywhere. Kayleigh was laughing and saying ‘Baa baa’ over and over again. Mom was taking photos on her phone. Most of the sheep stayed together and flocked around the lorry. A few scarpered. I spotted one though, stood perfectly still, off on his own watching it all. I know sheep aren’t supposed to be very clever but this one was different, he looked intelligent, like he was working something out, watching all the commotion and weighing it up. He turned and looked straight at me. I don’t know how long we looked at each other, but I had the funny feeling that we were both thinking the same thing. We both came to the same conclusion at the same time. He blinked once and then bang he was off like someone had fired a gun at the start of a race. A second later I was off too, chasing after him. I could make out my mom’s voice in the distance calling ‘Bentley!’ and Kayleigh’s saying ‘Baa Baa’ but the loudest voice was the one inside my head screaming: ‘Run!’ It felt like we ran for miles. Drivers beeped their horns when they saw us – a skinny boy chasing a sheep round the streets of Highgate. And then I turned a corner and he vanished. I tried retracing my steps but there was no sign of him. I strained my ears for bleating, or cars beeping or people shouting, but nothing, just wind and cars and litter, just another ordinary day. I walked along the edge of the bypass, traffic flying past, calling out: ‘Come on boy. I’ll look after you.’ I was tired. I’d run miles and for nothing. I’d lost him. Soon someone else would find him and take him back to the lorry and then the factory and then…I started to cry. I sat by the road and the tears kept coming and

MIGRATION

my sleeve got wet because I didn’t have a tissue and that’s when I heard it. A low whistling sound coming from behind the bushes. I started walking towards it, back though all the branches and the litter to a little clearing hidden behind the road and there in the middle was my sheep. And crouching right next to him, stoking his head, was Safa. ‘You found him.’ I said. ‘It’s a her not a him’ She said. ‘They were going to kill her but the lorry crashed and she escaped. I’m going to look after her.’ She carried on stroking the sheep’s head as it ate grass. ‘She’s called Amani’ She said. ‘How do you know?’ ‘She looks like my sheep back home. My favourite one. She was very special.’ ‘Why did you leave her behind?’ Safa said nothing. She started whistling the strange tune again and I lay back on the grass next to Amani and closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up it was dark but Safa and Amani were still with me. ‘Many sheep used to graze here.’ Said Safa. I rubbed my eyes. ‘What? When?’ ‘In the past. Before all this.’ She waved her arm at the backs of the shops. ‘You said Heath doesn’t mean anything, but it does. It means an open place, a shared place, not owned by one man. Once the people round here shared the heath, they brought their animals down here to graze.’ ‘I can’t imagine it.’ I said. Safa shrugged: ‘Places change. Sometimes slow. Sometimes quick. Sometimes you wake up and everything is different. Everything is gone.’ She stood up then. ‘They are looking for us. I heard sirens while you were sleeping. I heard helicopters. We need to go home.’ ‘I won’t leave Amani.’ Safa smiled. ‘Then let’s bring her with us’.

HEATHLAND

Monday

‘I suppose it’s possible that there are more

We handed in our local history project today.

‘Really? So I can get a dog?’

Safa did most of the work. She found out loads about Balsall Heath. Some things haven’t changed. Mom’s always telling me how dangerous the road is, but it turns out it was always like that. It used to be so muddy that horses and carriages would get totally stuck. I drew some excellent horses and also some sheep grazing at the side of the road, Safa did most of the writing. Mom was waiting for me after school. She hugged me again, almost as tightly as she did last night when the police brought me home. I keep saying sorry for running off and she keeps hugging me. When she finally let go there was a woman standing next to us looking very serious: ‘Are you the boy who kept Safa out last night?’ I swallowed and nodded my head. ‘Thank you for looking after her.’ She said. I wondered if I should tell her that I spent most of the time asleep but then Mom interrupted. ‘You must be Safa’s mom. I’m sorry about Bentley. He’s animal mad. He gets carried away.’ ‘Well, Safa is the same.’ We started walking home together. Amani’s been given a home in the city farm. Safa and I can visit her whenever we want. Mom said ‘I was thinking, Ben,’ Mom always calls me Bentley when I’m in trouble and Ben when I’m not. ‘Maybe we could get a little pet.’ I looked at her face to check her expression. ‘Are you joking?’ She shook her head. ‘What about the carpet?’

important things in life than the carpet.’ ‘Wellllll…’ she said slowly ‘I was thinking more of a…’ ‘A cat!’ I said ‘No more of a…’ ‘A rabbit!’ I try ‘Not exactly a rabbit, more of a…’ ‘A budgie?’ ‘Well not quite, maybe a…’ ‘What Mom? What? What pet can I have?’ ‘A stick insect.’ ‘A stick insect?’ I said and stopped walking. ‘Yeah. For starters. See how you get on.’ I gave mom a big hug and then I ran after Safa: ‘What’s a good name for a stick insect?’

MIGRATION

Migration Through the clouds To touch the sun Over the ocean To the safety of land

HEATHLAND

Protest Reading List Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type Doreen Cronin 3 – 8yrs A farmer finds he has a problem on his hands when the animals start to use a typewriter to demand better working conditions

The Streets are Free Kurusa 5 – 8yrs Set in San Jose (and based on a true story) the book charts the development of the city and how children living there ended up with nowhere safe to play. The children band together and lobby for a playground to be built on a piece of waste land

A is for Activist Innosanto Nagara 3 – 7yrs ABC rhyming book of activist issues Si, Se Puede! / Yes, We Can! Diana Cohn 5 – 7yrs ¡Sí, Se Puede! / Yes, We Can! is a bilingual fictional story set against the backdrop of the successful janitors’ strike in Los Angeles in 2000

PROTEST

O R P T S E T 45

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PROTEST

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My knowledge is growing like a flower, It gives me so much girl power, With this power I would like to protest, In the future I would like to invest, Money into helping problems involving migration, Helping grow the mighty population, I will give you a handful of my courage, For this courage I have to rummage, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m hoping society will come to care more about equality, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m hoping this will come true no matter the probability, It is time to protect our own environment, How to do this well is the predicament. Fareena Khan

i k

g n

n i h

t 48

spa

reading rich

PROTEST

makes you

word

power

HEATHLAND

Sharing Reading List

Dinosaurs and all that rubbish Michael Foreman 3+ yrs A man longs to travel to a star in space and ruins the earth building a rocket to do so. Dinosaurs emerge from the mess he leaves behind and return earth to being a paradise. They remind the man that the earth is a shared resource Four Feet, Two Sandals Karen Lynn Williams 7 – 10yrs When relief workers bring used clothing to a refugee camp in Pakistan, ten-year-old Lina is thrilled when she finds a sandal that fits her foot perfectly - until she sees that another girl has the matching shoe. But soon Lina and Feroza meet and decide that it is better to share the sandals than for each to wear only one Everybody’s Welcome Patricia Hegarty 3 – 6yrs A mouse wants to build a home that is open to all

Under The Same Sky Britta Teckentrup 3 – 5yrs Celebrates the closeness of the world’s communities through their shared hopes and dreams

SHARING

SHA RING 51

HEATHLAND

L’Internationnale Ice Cream Van

N O I T U L O V É R A L E V I V   ! E U Q I T É ! E PO C A L G A L E V VI MIND THAT COMRADE! ! T F E H T S I Y L LOL

An ice cream van playing the ‘L’Internationnale’ – swap your poems for ice cream and enjoy the communism of the senses. Based on a concept by Robert Grose.

SHARING

How to get a free ice cream at an arts festival: a short guide 1. Write a poem – ideally with the Birmingham Poet Laurette Matt Windle 2. Listen out to the sound of socialism in your neighbourhood – the Internationalle coming from a fast approaching ice cream van 3. Queue. Politely 4. Take your poem to the ice cream van 5. R ead your poem to Taz, Birmingham’s finest ice cream proprietor 6. E xchange your poem for an ice cream 7. Enjoy!

HEATHLAND

SHARING

HEATHLAND

LUCKY FOR LIFE Iona Mandal, 12

Heathland Festival Short Story Competition Winner

SHARING

I was born in a small hamlet where ceilings were low, roads no different to alleyways and the sun set late even in winter. Maybe, it was because we shared pillows in bed and food from the same plate, that we never had enough meant we cared more. The only constant light in my life unlike the flickering oil lamps we used was my mother, my guardian angel on earth. She was the only one who kept a watchful eye on my wellbeing, worrying more about me than anyone or anything else in this world. Dad, a two-faced man, much the opposite, had left us young for a cunningly rich woman and my naive, young mother had to struggle hard to make ends meet. She sobbed for weeks, until the only noises she made were angry sighs. I grew up watching her, devoid of sorrow or pain, for her tears had dried up, so much so, that on some days, I doubted if at all, mother possessed any emotion. The very brave woman that she was, ready to face any battle that came across her path, mother soon got over her loss or at least seemed to shed it off, finding therapy in her new elixir – philanthropy. Her philosophy was simple – since she could not give her love to her husband, she might as well give what she had to her community among those who needed more. I shook my head at the thought – “Why give, when there is nothing to give?” But mother always replied, “Sharing is caring. As long as you are breathing, there is always something to give.” Each day I looked through the shack that we called home, another item was missing; a blanket, a handful of uncooked rice or a broken piece of toy. It was gone to apparently someone ‘who needed more.’ Alas! When we were almost sinking in dire straits, how could someone, need more than we did? It left the young girl in me thoroughly confused. Nonetheless, I remained quiet. *****

HEATHLAND It was the day of the village lottery, hosted by a charitable organization – ‘Save Lives in Africa’. The prize included a week’s trip to Kenya. Of course, when such a village as ours, teeming with poverty, everyone, including myself jumped at the prospect of visiting a new country where perhaps life could be started afresh and dreams turned to reality. I had witnessed enough of mother’s acts of kindness and felt deep down, it was time for change and that I was to be the harbinger. So, without seeking mother’s permission, I entered the lottery out of greed, being fully aware that when money was the need of the hour, dreaming of a trip abroad was nothing but a fashionable distraction from reality which if the lottery was won, would herald in. Strangely, I could not help but notice the ticket number – 9671. It was dad’s birthday, the 9th of June, 1971. A mere coincidence perhaps! As weeks passed, the house became starker and emptier each day. Slowly, the lottery left my mind like a dark cloud making way for a clearer sky. About a month or two later, the day arrived for the results to be announced. I knew I had a feeble chance of winning, I had never trusted my luck; it had always proved me wrong. Nonetheless, there was still a morsel of hope left in me. The village was buzzing with excitement and chatter as the megaphone blasted the results, raising anticipation with every ellipsis uttered, “….. and the winner of the Save Lives in Africa lottery is ...... ticket number .... 9671.” The number was mine!!

SHARING For a second, my mind doubted itself. Had my ears heard correctly? Had my brain processed the message right? My heart was beating like a jungle drum, almost as if it was to burst out from the ribcage. As I walked up, to shake hands with the coordinator of the event, the entire village applauded in disbelief. Somewhere inside, I knew my victory was not just sheer coincidence. I had a feeling it was my father supporting me from wherever he was. News had reached mother too – the whole village had been talking about it for hours. She had guessed the real motive for my entering the lottery without her permission – an escape from reality. Despite it all, a hazed calmness shrouded her for she understood that her only child had grown up, developed her own judgement and could act accordingly. “Mother can I go?” I asked. She said not a word; she had no answer. I repeated, “Mother, can I?” “I heard you the first time. Do what is right for you, learn to make your own decisions and never repent.” I sighed, sensing mother’s disapproval although looking at it otherwise, I sensed she was only reducing the barriers and widening the berth to allow me in. I left the room, to heave out the only broken suitcase we possessed and very luckily, still at our disposal. In it, as I packed a few bare essentials, hiding it under the mattress, I knew that the day to leave was nearing. *****

HEATHLAND

I awoke promptly, the sun appearing between our

The first thing I noticed in Kenya was the

broken window, like a fresh egg being cracked and immense heat. It clung onto me like an the yolk spilling out. I took a deep breath and rose

unwanted leech, slowly sucking the energy out

from my tattered mattress on the floor, preparing of me. It made any journey outside unbearable, myself for yet another day of struggle that lay

seeming longer than reality on the otherwise

ahead. But today was going to be different!

bumpy, dirt strewn roads. I was perennially thirsty too. But then again, it was my decision

After a brief breakfast of dry millets and about

that had brought me into this, so it was me who

a gallon of water, I left home, planting a brief

was going to have to bear it all.

kiss on motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s forehead in what seemed a strange bundle of mixed feelings tied up in one.

A two hour journey by road took me to the camp,

As I pushed open the door, taking one last look

a dilapidated area with corrugated metal roofed

at the shack, I called home, there was no looking

houses and flimsy tin doors. It was teeming with

back. Walking for about an hour, to arrive at the

bawling babies and mothers running around

airport, I met the Coordinator of Save Lives in

frantically trying to keep their children in

Africa. She was the only recognizable face in a

order. Men sat smoking idly, without work.

place which left me feeling completely lost. The

Families were large; an average room was four

smiling, dark-skinned lady, my only solace, found feet by four and shared between a minimum after minutes of wandering around finally pulled

of five to six members making it squashed and

me into an embrace and handshake. The smile and

unhygienic. Food was scarce. Pesky flies buzzed

warmth of this â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;strangerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, I had only met once

through rubbish-filled lanes greeting the vile

before, felt the best it could get to being close to

stench of discomfort and worry in the air. It

mother who I was by now, missing the most.

seemed as if they were all yearning for that something which was missing and yet a strange

After a few formalities as regards scanning

smile of happiness and warmth lit up their faces

luggage and security checks, she got me aboard

upon my arrival. To add to it, none around spoke

the flight to Kenya, heart on my sleeve, not

my language, I only communicated in smiles and

having the slightest inkling on what to expect. I

gestures. Yet, nothing seemed lost in translation.

had absolutely no clue where I was heading for, what lay ahead for me upon arrival or what I was

It finally dawned upon me that I was to stay

expected to be doing on reaching this remote,

here, amidst the dirt and squalor for the next

foreign land called Kenya. Nonetheless, I was still seven days. I stared in utter disbelief; it seemed brimming with enthusiasm amidst moments of

worse than home! At home, poverty whispered

anticipation. After all, it was my first ride on

through every corner of the streets, here it

an aeroplane and with good food being served at

screamed. It was the chaotic kind here that

regular intervals, for a change, I felt no hunger,

made its presence felt like some nightmarish

which in itself was a new experience!

song blasting aloud. How on earth could this be an idea of a prize for winning a lottery? I

*****

wondered. But somewhere inside, something told me that nothing happened without a reason.

SHARING

However, the days passed away more quickly than thought and it was time to leave Kenya and head home. For me this trip had been the journey of a lifetime in many more ways than thought. However, most importantly, it had been an eye opener. Mother had been right the entire time, “Sharing is caring. As long as you are breathing, there is always something to give.” Kenya had been a living example in front of my very eyes for its poorest folks here had shown me how despite living under the most inhospitable conditions and in face of such regular hardships each day, they still had the hearts to share their lives and whatever little they possessed. They had done so with me even when they had many others to feed and look after and had always made sure I was their priority despite the toughest of times sharing all they had with me and most importantly, with a friendly smile. This could come in the form of a tattered blanket or a half-eaten slice of dry bread but the thought made them priceless. This indeed was the essence of life! To share was to care and there was always something more one could give, as long as their heart was beating. Mother shared her womb with me when she was pregnant; she shared her house and all that came with it, ever since the day I was born. She had given to the neighbours and her community; her joy had always rested in sharing for those she cared about. She lived by and practiced the deepest philosophy in its simplest form – ‘After all, nothing is ours. It is to use, it is to share’. The sun was setting in Kenya, but a thousand miles away, my eyes were able to zoom onto my poor mother, rich at heart, sitting in the slum and feeding her neighbour’s child, the last little drop of milk with bread. *****

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Thanks to everyone who took part and contributed to the storybook Inaya Imani Heena Sophia Reuben Samina Sam Steve Cory Tyreece Ainsley Jai Pavan Zorawar Harpreet Haris Mikhail Beenish Ava Martha Rebekah Sarah Isabella Rachel Jess Jaroslav Lala Naomi Aminah Amaan Zayoan Aliyah Ibby Somaiyah Jayden Charmaine Amal Maram Shiloh Ashlee Ashton Athein Myalueth Keturah Kai Faith Dionne Ifra Nuzhat Alizah Amaya Ishaaq Saira Emily Charlotte Helen Iris Alice Ayna Rizna George Adam

Dylan Megan Sarah Sam Jacob Jo Katherine Charlotte Anne Yusra Sahra Ameera Layla Salma Zayaan Ayaan Nomana Laaibah Muhammad Safina Mufaddal Lohawala Samina Khaled Mohamed Nagwa Zakariya Ayesha Shaa Ada Sarah Tillie Laura Sophie Tom Kirsty Dave Mabel Florrie Nimmy Alistair Emer Rohanna Maisie Patt Annabel Otto Esther Marie Dora Linda Huang Aaishah Sameena Ayyan Jibram Jahanara Annie Elizabeth Riem Kareem Alisha

Anas Sadiha Khadija Aisha Baya Anum Hayder Sakeenah Irem Tinka Bella Clare Ian Bethan Adam Rebecca Ibrahim Tas Eli Phoebe Tina Rahmah Shuaib Abdullah Muhammed Johan Zahra Aila Zak Dan Yasmin Salman Imaan Adam Zakaria Farzana Samna Shausa Tasneem Mustafa Salwa Shreen Belkacem Maryam Malika Kahina James Joseph Claire Junaid Yusuf Zaid Hina Rajveer Raj George Steph Markus Erik Astrid Aaisha Adam Farihah

Umar Ayesha Umayma Nusayna Waheeda Frankie Bobby Gary Shakeel Shameeha Badrul Hadia Hira Adlan Adlina Bobby Oliver Jessica Sharron Jenny Coco Emmanuel Mirriam Darius Edward Adina Haadiyah Usman Zeenat Jemimah Ajwa Fouza Aisha Ebrama Muadh Maram Mazeed Dawva Anne Sophie Eva Nabiha Nafisa Abdurrahman Alima Umar Zak Hana Amber Kawthar Anjali Laari Vina Sakeenah Nawelle Kaifa Ayad Quasi Cassiy Ahbelbass Sabrine Souleyman

Joumana Farid Hanna Kanako Hermann Ebony-Mae Solomon Hamzah Shabila Poppy Nanita Oday Tahir Massa Rose Fairouz Taha Hana Habibah Ayub Habiba Samia Saladin Nasradin Shemeza Barakah Eemaan Linnette Alana Yusra Safiyah Ayman Sabrina Yusuf Shanaz Sumaya Samia Sudaysa Qays Amedia Sahd Shabana Liana Aletta Krisztina Gen Ted David Keir Vanessa Zosia Zak Karolina Thomas Benji Debbie Yahya Zainab Shahina Zayn Esa Anisa

Shabina Aisha Amara Tabasam Bilal Khadija Minahil Azra Sebastian Thomas Jesse-John Rosa Kate Maymuna Majida Fahthima Maryam Sofina Arham Najma Khalid Hala Hafsa Sarah Kadija Sabah Fizza Asiyah Amina Sumaiya Maryam Uzma Adam Anisa Khadija Aisha Amari Muhammed Zebeyr Abdiaziz Rowan Maeve Sandy Sarah Anaya Ruhi Kahero Jasdeep Lateefah Mehdiya Eliza Alisha Robert Joseph Isaac Katie Yanet Yonas Molly Megan Penny Martha

THANKS

Mathilda Anne Madeleine John Philip Liz Sam Steve Layla Cody Kyle Laura Filza Hina Eliza Saniara Usman Sheri Arthur Leila Beren Roanna Maryam Aminah Hafsa Yahaya Saleha Maisie Freda Dorothy Chloe Tien Bianka Natasha Besjana Vashti Katie Vannesa Olga Gwyneth Rachel Amelia Halima Sharen Dharrun Tharshini Chloe Qing Qing Arya James Zach Lana Mohammad Hanan Samuel Jo Aisha Imaani Samerah Aaliya Vincent Sofia

Javeria Sharmeen7 Ruquyyah Musa Nazia Fatima Ishmael Safa Miriam Isla Rahman Ramzan Lilith Daniel Leo Helen Adam Rachel Eleanor William Victoria Kian Isla Huma Rosa Jude Lizzie Omar Adam Saarah Hannah Hayley Howa Maizy Mansoor Safiyyah Hafsa Mehnaz Mankirat Mankiran Navneet Zakariya Younis Raeesah Adaam Eesa Musa Faiza Ramin Juwairiyah Tasminne Jeyvir Hameet Lauren Mikey Sharon Ellie Lucy Declan Leo Suzanne Benedict

Rachel Robert Zachary Izobella Tessa Pam Isabelle Evelyn Stephanie Kyron Gemma Amelia Jade Zen Seamus Phoebe Darea Tamiya Keziah Kelisse Natasha Kelly Selua Ramazani Haniya Ammil Hajrah Ryan Roman Wad Rinad Abed Mohammed Hiba Keira Kelly Oliver Maisie Tomio Maya Andrea Ned Hannah Rachel Chris Alice Yi Wang Catherine Trevor Tahira Victoria Archie Clare Ayla Shifa Uraiza Sophie Rayan Zakariya Ruby Tilly Beetle

Abigail Bella Lily Julie Ben Freya Katherine Maarilee Steve Emilia Emma Madinah Nasra Yusuf Hafsah Maryam Ishaaq Sam Alex Benn Amal Aamna Aaliyah Farah Zaynab Haider Aleena Sumera Caleb Alf Paul Ben Evelyn Pablo Claire Ella Moss Laura Alfarih Asher Emmie Caleb Tiago Genevieve Kias Cherelle Paul Katie Sophie Yusuf Hodan Kaltun Freya Mina Angela Finn Rian Karen Taya-Loren Anna Shamus

Mazie Donna Ernest Sarah Joseph Siobhan Anaaya Zaheer Mariam Maisam Evesita Saihaan Elizanaz Zia Sameha Arlo Dexter Jayne Kymani Monica

ÂŠ 2018 General Public and the authors ISBN: 978-0-9929667-2-0