• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 01
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My mother often talks about our home country, an island in the Indian Ocean. She talks about the rich colours, the fulfilling sun and the big-hearted people. I can’t relate.

It’s not that I can’t relate, but I can’t understand. Lovell House is like an island. I sit and stare out of our flat window at the vehicles. They take over the streets like the foam of the sea. The comparison is quite accurate because London drivers’ attitude’s are quite salty.

The high rising buildings in central are like palm trees. Right at the top are the coconuts, hard to get to but sweet and delicious filled with sustenance. We’re all thirsty to get to the top.

My island keeps me safe. It protects me from the lurking sharks and preying killer whales. But it’s lonely on this island, the fruits are among the dangers and sometimes disguised with bait.

My island is looked down upon by the residents of the tall trees and boastful birds. We work hard on my island, we contribute to the environment and protect the reef. We bond as a community and even though we are from all over the globe.

So, I say to my mother;

‘Your island is in the Indian Ocean. My home is here in London, my island is here in the tower block estate of Lovell House.’