Mariama Jobe is an accomplished young writer, poet and activist. Although she engages in different forms of writing, she came to KRULL’s attention through her poetry performances. Mariama is embarking on a brilliant career as a spoken word artist. She will be participating in Dramaten & Spoken Word, the sold-out series directed by Niklas Mesaros at *Dramaten Lilla Scenen, December 19 & 20, 2016

*The Royal Dramatic Theater of Stockholm

 

Tell us a little about yourself. Who are you?

Who am I? I don’t really know where I have myself. I’m always developing.

I’m someone who has developed into being a poet. I started off as not being able to speak in front of large groups. I had a hard time expressing myself and had stage fright as a child. Other kids wanted to be astronauts and princesses but I wanted to be the black Astrid Lindgren. I liked writing stories but never shared what I wrote.

In 8th grade my sister introduced me to the American slam poets on Youtube and I got stuck. Then I started blogging because I couldn’t keep all the loose papers in my journals. In the second year of high school we had a novel-writing competition where I came in second. At the same time Niklas Mesaros came to give a writing workshop at our school and out of nowhere I decided to read a poem. Everyone was like “Where has this been?” and I was like “I didn’t know I was gonna do it!” After that I just continued.

I’m very politically engaged, not in a particular ideology or party, but I’m interested in human rights issues. My friends got me to read a poem in public for the first time at the demonstration for Gaza that took place on Sergelstorg in 2012. So my first big audience was the whole of “Plattan“.*

*The square by the Central Station in the middle of Stockholm

What does writing mean to you?

For me it’s about being woke. I believe that language is power. It’s about being able to own my situation. As a black, Muslim, woman you feel very neglected; you feel very oppressed; you feel that things are narrowing you. I believe that being able to own it, to be able to write about it gives me a lot. Writing for me is a way of processing the society I live in, the world, and things that are happening outside of me. When I write, it’s not about me not just taking what I’m given, but being critical, analytical, more understanding of what happens. I see writing as free therapy. It’s destructive standing on stage and exposing oneself but it’s also rewarding.

You’ve talked about language being power. How do you use language in your poetry?

At first the language in my poems was very descriptive. Of a situation…how it felt to be in a situation. Like when I was writing poetry about the children in Gaza or talking about refugees and the new asylum laws at Almedalen*, I was putting myself in their shoes. So it’s been a lot from other perspectives.

Nowadays it’s changed. I don’t want to limit myself, so the poems can be critical, descriptive, surrealistic, softer. The surrealistic and softer ones I perform in smaller rooms, like for my friends or my little poetry community in my Facebook group, where I can write “I feel very loved today” or “I feel very happy”. Otherwise I take out the heavy stuff for political debates to point things out. The stuff that people don’t want to take up in social debates. When I read my poems, people can’t just sit there and listen without reacting. Josette (Bushell-Mingo) of Riksteatern describes it as “Kick-ass poetry!”

What do you see as the role of politics in poetry?

In Sweden, mainstream poetry in general is very shallow. It doesn’t stretch itself as it doesn’t need to. Poetry from the margins tend to be more immediate, about what is affecting the poet right now. When I listen to ten pop poems on youtube, it can be about how Mexicans are being treated; the current situation in East Asia; the Black Lives Matter movement, etc. And then I go to other sites and it’s a variation of “my goldfish died today”. I don’t have time for that. I need to listen to people who are furious about something. So I tend to gravitate to poetry with more substance. Powerful emotion is something to work with. I think my poetry does the same. It’s very political. It’s important to reflect what is happening in the world.

Can you talk a bit more about your subject matter?

I started writing about international conflicts. And that’s what I first performed. I still have that thought left but now I write more editorials and op-eds about that. Currently I’m writing mostly about the Black Lives Matter movement as it’s urgent and I have to be out as an activist. But the subject matter has become a blend of BLM, islamophobia and a lot of intersectionality. I also write a lot of “ego poems” for the women in the audience. Showing that we can take as much space as the guys. Screaming more or less as the guys do. Self-love. My not so hidden agenda is the girls. The girls that haven’t always felt on top. So I want them to get an ego boost from seeing themselves represented in the poems. There’s been positive reaction to this.

You talk about taking as much space as a guy onstage, as if there is an assumption that you shouldn’t do that. Do male and female poets operate from equal footing onstage?

People say “here comes the feminist” and get annoyed when I say that there is a difference in audience reception between female and male poets. But there is. Very often guys get more leeway as the expectation is that standing onstage is a vulnerable place for them.

When I started in poetry, there weren’t a lot of girls onstage. People have said to me “but isn’t it mostly girls who write poetry?” But I don’t see them on stage. It’s the guys on stage. The guys who dominate the competitions, because it’s a macho culture and it’s about claiming space. Taking space is still more appreciated from men. Because it’s not allowed in the rest of society, if a guy cries on stage, he is worth gold. But if a girl is emotional when reading about something that happened to her, then the attitude is that we expected her to cry because she’s a girl, that’s what girls do. So yes, there are expectations that everyone has when listening to poetry.

I am also interested in exploring how feminine a woman can be in her speech and subject matter before people stop listening. If I talk about things that are just about women, will men stop listening?

But I call people out. I make them listen. I force them if they’re in the room. Then I get called the “angry black woman” or it’s “reverse racism” if the audience is mostly white. The tag is more or less always there, but I have a lot to be angry about so their stereotype is very fitting but still…

What’s your advice for addressing white people in white rooms?

In the US they call out the stereotypes. They call out the dehumanising of black people in general. But if you do that in Sweden there is a big debate because Sweden doesn’t see racism as a reality. Why would I be on stage arguing about racism when it doesn’t exist? So then I must just be crazy… and black… and angry…with an afro (laughter). So yes, I’m aware of what people are thinking when I go up on stage but I’ve started to ignore it and just do my thing.

In the beginning if it was a big audience and most of them were white, I felt really uncomfortable. I was like praying over myself on the way home like “please God!, protect me…at least to the train home!” But now I’m like “It’s cool! If you take me, you take me”.

I got over my fear by talking about things that I knew would get a bad reaction. A year ago I read a poem called “White People Are Danger”. I explained myself before I started. Some people were applauding, some were not, but I was pleased as I’d done what I wanted to. It’s radical, but that’s a place that each person has to get to by themselves. It can’t be forced. But I would advise people not to do it alone.

A lot of white rooms are actually separatist. That’s why people of colour don’t want to go to a museum or an art gallery that is mostly white. They don’t feel comfortable, or safe in those rooms. It’s not inviting. It’s a psychological barrier that’s a part of structural racism. It’s important to go into white rooms, be seen, keep the door open for everybody else in the community. But the solution is to find people who will go in with you, to help you break the ice.

Has your idea of what poetry is changed since you started writing?

I had an idea in the beginning that it was all about pleasing the audience at every cost. The poem should sound nice. I used to think it had to be restricted. I now realize that I have to write for myself and then if people feel content with it then that’s good too. Spoken word has no rules. That in itself is very freeing. I’ve kind of broken up the language. English. Swedish. Made it my own. More and more I’m starting to refer to poetry as my own language. There are influences from Islam, from the Koran, Wolof and förortsslang/suburban slang. At first I didn’t want to use “förortsslang” because then I’d be seen as a “blatteunge,” a ghetto baby who was a troublemaker. You know, like an angry black woman AND a förortsbo! People were like “are you suicidal?” Maybe I am. Now I’m not afraid. I won competitions of late because it’s noticeable that I am no longer afraid. I used to sound like someone doing a telephone interview for a job. Now I come in the room and folks notice right away that “look, she’s taking take up space; she speaks kinda loud; she says what she thinks; she speaks a lot and she mixes between different languages; she speaks Swedish well, but she dares to also use different förutsslang.” So when you prove your competence and who you are as a person, then it doesn’t matter. Actually, if people are going to fail you then you’ve already been failed when walk in. The only difference is now I go on in a dashiki and an afro, so I’m upfront from the beginning.

Poetry has become my own. I’m very confident in poetry. I never worry about poetry. Poetry is my art form.

How do you think your cultural background has influenced your poetry? Or has it?

My background has definitely influenced. My parents are very proud to be Gambian. My father encouraged me to read African literature, inventions and history. He was like a history book and created a great lust for knowledge in me. This openness made me see a lot of things that may be invisible to others. Growing up in Jordbro also made me cautious. I understand how tough it can be for people in the suburbs; how kids from the suburbs grow up faster than other kids in Sweden.

So that has led me to become more subjective – more woke. I started realizing that I was black, Muslim, looked the way I did, second generation and can’t recognize myself completely in the Swedish identity. I don’t have to be, I have roots. I was forced to put this into poetry. It gave me a bird’s-eye view of everything. I don’t know what it’s like to be a refugee, but I recognize how it is to feel neglected by, and unable to integrate into, a society even if born there. I see the struggles.

How does a poem begin for you?
There are punchlines in my head all the time. It’s like a movie plot in my head. Like I go past something and it’s like “Ah, leaves!” and then I start a poem about like how people destroy for each other and wilt away. I also write little snippets that I collect and assemble later.

What’s the poem that you’ve done that you’re happiest with right now?

“Den här dikten”. I’m really pleased with it. It’s a compilation of the journey of what I’ve gone through these years.
I asked Simon Matiwos this question before and his answer was that people are seeking truth. You pull hundreds of people to your performances. Do you agree that people come to poetry slams because they are after the truth?

Yes. I believe so. People come because they know they will be getting something that they wouldn’t get in another room. I also think that there are too high standards set for poets. That they have to explain why the world is the way it is and how we’re going to fix it. As if poets are the new freedom fighters. It’s too high an expectation.

But it is as Simon says, there is always a reality you can relate to, and there’s always truth in it, even if you don’t like it. Poetry has become very modern in Sweden. Partly because we’ve taken over larger spaces. We’ve gone from the suburbs to Dramaten and SVT (Swedish Television) – more or less white rooms. The competition “Förortens Bästa Poet” has gone national and has reached a wider range of people. Poetry slam is now an art form that everyone wants to be a part of.

words and photography by ANDREA DAVIS KRONLUND

styling SAMANTHA BRAUN

makeup KIM IKONEN JENNINGS

location GALLERY ERIK AXL SUND

Cover look: Sweater dress & earrings H&M (stylist’s own)

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MARTYR av Mariama Jobe
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Ser ni?
Hur svarta kvinnor är redo att bära svarta män igenom eld om de måste?
Hur svarta män ibland är de som startar elden?
Hur svarta kvinnor tenderar att skydda gärningsmannen.
Det är svårt att förklara hur mycket vi älskar dem.
Hur jag andas in rök för deras skull.
Blir kallad för en arg svart kvinna när jag säger till dem att sluta starta skogsbränder.
Skyller på att det nog var det torra gräset som fick det att börja brinna samtidigt som jag hjälper de spola bort askan från deras händer.
Så jag städar rent mordplatsen åt dem.
Blir medbrottsling.
Men åker dit ensam.
Och de kommer inte ens på besök.
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Havet är en svart kvinna. Så fort någon lägger hand på mig är det en försvarsmekanism att få de att drunkna. Men inte om det är en svart man det gäller. När han är i närheten låter jag aldrig tidsvattnet upp på stranden. Lär mig svälja mina tårar och gråt i halsen. Jag håller tillbaka vattenfallen för hans skull, ja till och med tsunamis har jag lärt mig att svälja för att inte råka skada svarta män som hällt giftiga avfall i mina hav.
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Shiet jag undrar. Är svarta kvinnor självdestruktiva?
Eller är vi bara förälskade i tanken av vad för man en svart man har potencial att bli?
Är det därför vi går mot futurum och struntar hur ont det faktiskt gör att älska de i presen?
Bröstar smärtan.
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Älskling, Jag hade vingar en gång i tiden.
Jag gav upp dem för att kunna gå på mark med dig.
För dig slutade jag flyga.
Och han sa inte ens tack.
Han gav mina vingar till en annan kvinna.
Hon blev känd.
Efter det trodde alla att änglar var vita och hade blont hår.
Folk de har ingen källkritik.
Ser ni inte att hon saknar Gloria?
Tjuv.
Hon stal min Gött, mina läppar, conrows, dashiki, hon är min inkompetenta kopia
Vad exakt är det ni menar med att ni inte kan tänka er dejta en svart kvinna.
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Ni säger att det är för att ni inte orkar med arga svarta kvinnor och jag svär att jag är ett stenkast ifrån att ha ett vulkanutbrott.
Är bara så rädd att du ska bli skadad.
Men vet du hur ont det gör att svälja lava?
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Vi är inte monstren.
Ni är mytomaner hela bunten, för svarta kvinnor är livbojen alla tar för givet i stormen.
Älskling lek dum, du ljög för alla och sa att du lyckades ta dig upp till land på egen hand utan att bli svald av vågorna.
Konstigt för som jag minns det skrek du efter hjälp och höll fast i min hand även efter att dina kläder hade torkat när jag räddade dig.
Du ska vara glad att att jag inte är någon golare.
Det är lugnt din hemlighet är säker hos mig.
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Du sa till mig att livet är en dans på rosor men efter/bakom showen/drapienerna så bad du mig dra ut rosentaggarna från dina fötter.
För jag vet att ni svarta män måste visa er starka vart än ni går.
Annars blir ni lätt Ett offer.
För ni är alltid på flykt.
Du är jaktbyte.
Du är utrotningshotad.
Men det är jag också!
Men för oss svarta kvinnor så kommer er överlevnad före vår egen.
Jag behöver inte stående applådder för det eller att mitt namn står med i eftertexterna.
Ett liv bakom kulisserna klär mig.
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Ser ni?
Hur svarta kvinnor offrar allt för svarta män.
Hur svarta män ber oss att offra allt samtidigt som de säger att de inte vill veta av oss.
Det gör onnnt.
Jag är en gående martyr.
En svart kvinna är en svart mans sköld på heltid.
Men jag orkar inte längre skydda de som behandlar mig utan någon empati.
Så lär dig att hitta hem i åskvädret på egen hand från oh med nu.
Vi svarta kvinnor är trötta på att vara erat förgivnatagna lykthus.