It’s hard to describe the energy inside a sunset
Or better yet the feeling of sand as it sits in your hands
I’ve never been able to describe what it’s like to absorb
The portraits on earth that have erupted from mother-nature’s core
And for our time here in North Africa
We’ve seen amazing sights
And we’ve met extraordinary people whose greatness
Hangs like medallions from their necks
But it’s hard to describe the outstanding when it’s subtle
Or to explain the incredible when it’s subdued
So I’m not sure how to tell you what Ayya is like
24 years old
Arab, Muslim, African, woman
any and all expectations crumble around her
like the ruins of Carthage that line the coast here
and stereotypes splinter beneath her feet
like thin ice over an ocean of misconceptions
that she is fully prepared to dive headfirst into
cuz, the phoenix feathers in her hair will dry up every last drop of ignorance
long before she has to hold her breath
or her tongue
which is not something she’s not very good at
it can argue fluently in 3 languages
has an appetite for freedom
and abhors the taste of silence
if it hadn’t been for her
we would have likely lost our camera to undercover police
last week that wore their aggression pinned to their chests
in place of a badge
back in the states
there are students taking notes in lectures
on terms she uses to describe the demands of her people
while they stay up nights in libraries writing term papers
she and her peers are staging sit-ins in city centers
to make sure this semester doesn’t end like the last one
I watched her pride pour from her eyes
as she recalled the news of January 14
that the overseer living in the president’s palace for the last 23 years
had finally fled the plantation
she and the youth that led this revolution are sewing new crops
that belong to them this time
but the work is hard
the summer is hot
and the fields are still filled with police who are twice Ayya’s size and age
but she is unmoved
a revolutionary firecracker with a burning smile
gunpowder in her eyes
and lashes that stitch together into a fuse which burnt a house of cards
to the ground with conviction
until all that was left was a one way plane ticket for the king turned joker
because the revolution in Tunisia was ignited by the youth
thousands like Ayya who’s dreams were too bright
for Ben Ali’s henchmen to censor and smoke out
like Mohammad Bouazizi
the 26 year old fruit vendor who’s body was the first match
like El General
a 21 year old rapper who’s voice for justice fanned the flames from a prison cell
and like Mouhamed Hanchi
who’s body became one of over 300 reminders of why the youth will never turn back
an ember of inspiration that burns in Ayya’s eyes to this day
the ground in Tunisia is covered in wax and the burnt remains of the past
tears have been shed, blood has been spilled
but you can still hear the flames flickering behind her tongue
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