Give Them A Voice

I just looked through my blogs twice and realised I have not yet spoken about Annabel!!! Annabel a young person that I work with. Obviously, her name is not Annabel, but for today that is what we will call her (She would not be impressed in my chosen name. Trust me lol)

So my blog today is to tell you…walk with the yute. Take a walk in their shoes, even if it is only the journey they may do to and from school. Leave the car at home once a month and take the journey. I promise you will learn stuff not only about our young people, but also how society views some of our young people. Powerful stuff.

When she said that about my hair I got defensive and rude. I swore…. a lot… and tried to walk away from her, my face flushed with embarrassment. I knew that I looked a state. It was not that I didn’t care, I just didn’t really know what to do. My mum had always washed my hair, I had never washed my own hair in my life. I had tried a few weeks before in the bath. Mum had not been shopping for so long, there was no shampoo (Or tooth paste) so I used washing up liquid. If you can imagine a 10-year-old girl trying to wash her own hair (That was down to my waist), Over a bath with washing up liquid and cold water…then you can imagine why it was in such a state.

As she spoke aloud He looked up. “What” he said in his deep accent. “Nothing, chatting to myself” she replied angrily. He threw his head back and laughed a deep belly laugh. “That’s a sign of madness, talking to yourself” He chuckled away as he weighed out gram after gram of crack cocaine on the scales. She didn’t smile. She didn’t play along. Bun that.

Her first trip to Margate when she was 13 was not for a visit to the seaside…trust. She was “going country”. Or County Lines as professionals now call it. She had never gone country before. She was scared. You would never admit that, but she was. She missed her mumsie but knew she had to do this. Mum was not well right now and they had no money. She had told her mum she was going on a youth club trip to the seaside for the weekend. Mum had barely looked away from the window she was looking out of in the living room when she said that. Just picked up another fag, lit it, and said “Be careful”. Mum was not ok. If mum had of been well she would have asked to see a letter at least. But not this time.

What the school playground can feel like to some children....

“You gonna cry miss” he says smiling. I say nothing but cut my eye at him jokingly. I tell everyone in the room that will listen about how well he has done. Pictures are taken. Then its time to leave and he just hovers. Gets his phone out and says can he have my number to stay in contact. I tell him no, we can’t do that. His head snaps up like it did that first time I called his mum “But what if I need you?” he says. “You know where to find me if you do” I said.

I am back in the hear and now. “Just open your mouth” he keeps saying. Over and over. He knows I don’t want to. Can blatantly see that I do not want to. But he just keeps on and on. Both he and I know that he would much rather that the person laying here right now was at least pretending they wanted to be here. At least showing they were willing. Unlike me.

I don’t often cry. Its not who I am. But I held back tears as I watched Child C break the other day. I watched what was once a naive little lost girl lashing out and angry. Shouting “Fam” this and “Fam” that. Darkness in her eyes. I held back tears as she was led away, knowing that she will be passed around somewhere else now. And it’s not her fault. Its our fault. The adults. The professionals.

It was 4 in the morning and it was cold. Of course, it was cold, it was 4 in the morning! It was around Feb/March times. It was a few weeks before her 14 birthdays. She shivered and looked down at her trainers. Nike air Jordan’s, pure white, got them the day before….. They were krissss.