Tura

I do not know the day I was born, so my grandmother picked my birthday. She chose the 21st of December 1973, the winter solstice in the Northern hemisphere and the summer solstice in the Southern. My mother named me Cuthbert, but I was called Kazi throughout my childhood. When I came to Ireland, I took the name Tura from my surname Arutura, my maternal name being Boroma Wa Tsaramunda “Bonga”. 

I came to Ireland as a teenager, and this island became my home. I feel my soul in Ireland, and I deeply associate myself with Irish emotional culture and its heritage. I can relate with the Irish way of expressing feelings. 

The relationships that I have built over 29 years make me feel most at home in Ireland. My wife and three daughters are the centre of my life and universe. Ireland has given me so much. The biggest gift of all has been the gift of freedom, being authentic. My time in Ireland is colourful. It is full of love, joy, and pain, including everything that comes with growing up in a divided society that is actively engaged in its healing and transformation. Here I also learned to deal with the present-day challenges and trauma. 

Some aspects of my life are very similar to the locals. For example, I was born during the liberation war for my country that began in 1965 and ended in 1980. The war of liberation against settlers from Britain would be considered by some to be like the Irish fighting English occupation of Irish land. 

My home is not confined to a geographical location only: my roots also influence my life journey and the relationships with those around me. I am Séna Gael of Boroma Matsaramunda, and my identity and spirituality informs my interaction with the world and life. Retso and Chuma symbolise important aspects of my spiritual tradition passed on to me by my ancestors, in particular my grandmother Helen Boroma.

I was born to a 16-year-old mother at a time when having a child outside wedlock, especially at such a young age, was shunned upon. My experience has reflected the circumstances into which I was born. So I can relate to the feelings and experiences of some Irish children when I hear about the childhood stories that happened here. I was born in a high-density township called Mabvuku, at Tafara Maternity Clinic. The first part of my life was spent in the home of Sekuru Boroma Matsaramunda. My mother had been chased away by my grandfather and her brothers for getting pregnant. In their eyes she had brought shame onto the family. I was raised by my grandmother until the age of seven. When I was eight, I was sent to a boarding school reserved only for white farmers in Mvurwi (Umvukwes).

My life in Africa was full of love culture and soul consciousness. Having lived in Ireland for nearly 30 years, I’ve come to an understanding that my experiences are like those in Ireland in terms of emotional experience and rites of passage. I had to work hard to overcome fear of desertion and abandonment resulting from childhood experiences. The traumas from seeing violence and war have never really left me; I have just found ways of blocking them whilst being afraid of them returning. The triggers are many and I experience some of them every day. 

I remember 7 July 1996, at the height of the marching season, when Orangemen had been prevented from marching down the road where Nationalists lived. In retaliation the Orange Order instructed people to create makeshift roadblocks throughout Ulster. People were protesting over the Garvaghy Road blockade involving Orangemen, their supporters, and RUC (the police force). Large protests were taking place throughout Ulster, as protesters attacked Catholics and police. A paramilitary group called The Loyalist Volunteer Force (LVF) also shot a nationalist taxi driver; the organisation threatened to escalate violence against Catholics. 

I was driving along the Crumlin Road going towards Belfast city centre. Suddenly, a group of masked men appeared a hundred metres in front of me. Driving ahead of me was a taxi driver who swerved onto the curb to avoid the makeshift roadblock. He said something to the masked men, and they let him proceed. I thought I'd do the same, as the group walked towards me with big rocks in their hands, as if ready to thrust them onto my car. I stopped as this gang of masked men moved to surround my car. One of the men shouted: “there is a Nigger in the car!” 

My heartbeat was so hard that tears rushed into my eyes, my stomach tense with a twisting sensation in my gut. At that moment I felt scared, hot and sweaty, I quickly looked at my options. Do I put the foot down and try to force through the roadblock? I stopped, stuck my head out and asked, “what about you lads?”

“Where are you going?”

 “I’m going to the City centre, I am a musician, and I don't have a clue what's going on… here I’ve got drums in the car, I am coming from a community workshop with children.”

Another man appeared and said: “Haa, let him through!” I smiled and said cheers, mounted my car onto the curb, as one of the young lads removed the boulders from the makeshift roadblock. I was frightened as hell, my heart was pounding, my whole body was pulsating, sweating, and there was a fuzzy tingly feeling in my head.

That was just one of the reasons for me to participate in the protest at the Custom House Square during the BLM movement. To build a better Northern Ireland where my children and future descendants can realise their true potential. 

On 6 June 2020, the BLM protested in response to the brutal killing of George Floyd. The Belfast and Derry protests were targeted as Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) used anti-terror laws such as the Serious Crimes Act 2007 against activists, organisers, and speakers. These laws are reserved for organised crime, traffickers, and drug dealers. 

PSNI received political cover from the executive. Later, following numerous reports, it was concluded that the police had acted in a disproportionate manner, reports came short of calling PSNI’s policing as racist. On the contrary, the protest organised by United Against Racism was well organised and observed social distancing including all Covid regulations, such as sanitation and face covering. However, 72 fines were issued in Derry and Belfast. The following week a similar protest was organised by far-right groups outside Belfast City Hall. The police were seen laughing and joking with some of the protesters known for spreading hate speech and racism.

Since then, the police officers responsible for making these decisions have been promoted. No commitment and practical actions have been taken to address the loss of trust and the impact of police actions. Not even a budget has been set aside to address Racism in Northern Ireland.  According to PSNI statistics, race hate crime has surpassed sectarian attacks in Northern Ireland.

I love the energy of the Irish culture, the language, the spirit of the people of Ireland. Wearing their hearts on their sleeves. The people of Ireland are to me my family and, like in any family, there are complex challenges that we must overcome to be able to grow. I love Gaelic culture, tradition, heritage, spiritual order, myths, and legends, and most of all — the craic. 

Ireland has helped me to unpack my own trauma. My family is Séna, Gaelic and Sasanach.