Ammar Alshukry – ICNA CON 24
AI: Summary ©
The speaker discusses the cultural and political differences between their hometowns, including past ties to the Sudanese and their desire for peace and family ties. They also talk about the importance of family ties and offer a recap of a movie. The speaker expresses their desire to see the artist and receive a hug from their mother, while also expressing their desire to see the artist and receive a hug from their father.
AI: Summary ©
Was there any country that did not get
shouted out just now? Okay.
So who's from Sudan here?
What else do we have?
Pakistan. Who's from Pakistan here?
What are you saying?
Kenya?
Who's from Kenya here?
Okay.
We said Ethiopia. Who's from Ethiopia here?
Where?
Ghana.
Who's from Ghana here?
Gambia. Who's from Gambia here?
Okay.
Nigeria. Who's from Nigeria here?
Okay.
Yes.
What are you writing, bro? And how am
I supposed to read that?
Canada.
Canada. What do you say? Yes.
Who's from Kosovo here?
Kosovo,
Tanzania.
Okay. Now you guys are just screaming at
me. Okay. Okay. Okay. Calm
down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm
down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Everybody
calm down.
Alright, guys. Listen.
Ghana is my hometown.
Jerusalem is my heart.
I flash a serious smile.
I've been Egyptian from the start.
My kindness comes from Pakistan.
My style is Guyanese.
Yemen and Somalia
joined 2 continents at my knees.
A Kosovan mind
Where were y'all from?
You guys were from Kosovo. Right?
A Kosovan mind, Nigerian
legs,
Arabian disposition.
Moroccan passion,
Moroccan passion,
Lubnani
fashion, and a Norwegian precision.
Wherever Allah is worshipped are my people. I
conclude
Bengali cuisine,
English esteem,
American attitude.
I
have history.
I have history in
no, no, no. Where were where were y'all
from?
I did Ghana already.
Oh, I have history in Gambian soil and
Malian sand,
a future shining, Afghanistan.
My present is where I stand. My eyes
peer from Kashmir.
Is that India or Pakistan?
India. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.
Okay. My eyes peer from Kashmir towards an
Indian rising sun.
My body's indivisible. I'm an ummah of 1.
Okay, guys.
I have to tell you, you're going to
hear a lot of poetry tonight. That's not
how we respond to poetry. Clapping is not
how we do it.
Okay. So let's do this exercise because there's
gonna be other poets coming.
So number 1, we have American style. Try
the finger snaps.
Because that's one way. I heard that there
are some Egyptians here. Egyptians, when you hear
something you like, what do you say?
No, no, no, no. What are y'all doing?
Calm down.
Go go Allah Allah. Try that out.
Allah Allah.
Allah Allah.
Then we have
Muslim style, we need a Takbir uncle to
go Takbir.
The Sudanis here can do something that nobody
else can do, and that's this.
You swing your finger and you make it
slap.
Or you make it snap. Like that. K?
You can't do it. If you're not Sudan,
you can't do it. You have to drink
from the Nile.
Okay. Then we have
One brother, he told me once. I said,
those are the styles that I know. Anything
else? And one brother said, what about Pakistani
style? I said, what's that? And he went
like this,
So try that out.
Okay? So these are all acceptable styles for
tonight.
So the Sudanese are mad at me because
I didn't mention Sudan in that poem, but
I have a whole poem about Sudan. So
this is the way that it goes.
Senegal's too late. Where were you when I
was asking for countries?
Come on.
Next time.
Sudan is my hometown.
Jerusalem is no. No. No. Hold on. That's
not the poem. That's not the poem. It
goes like this.
I'm from where kids smile sweet
and nows meet,
where the sun always shines and grandfathers tell
tales of golden times and grand mothers say
prayers that always rhyme.
I'm from that and women wrapped in tubs,
hands ended with sandalwood and sesame with end
of 4 decor.
And everybody's got an idea or a plan
that'll fix Sudan for sure. I'm from where
people still sleep outside
and stars still fill the sky.
Family ties are still a notion deep enthroned.
Meals, grief and happiness are never shared alone
and kids chase cars to welcome people home.
And your cousins are always trying to keep
your clothes and run your phone because we're
all family folk and kin with sun coated
skin and 5 100 is the amount where
your family count begins. I'm from where people's
dreams are worldwide,
and go way beyond the country where they
reside, if only because
home is beautiful and broken.
So to survive, we have to leave by
any means, by any token. Gotta run away,
can't stay. We just pray
for better days.
May Allah
protect the people of Sudan. Say,
And may Allah
allow them to return to their homes.
And our brothers and sisters in Palestine and
the Congo and in China and all over
the Muslim world.
I wanna share with you a letter
that I wrote to the prophet sallallahu alaihi
wa sallam.
And there were many times where I would
write letters to,
and I never liked the letters that I
wrote.
But on one occasion,
I jumped on the train and I pulled
out my laptop, and this poem came out.
And my favorite poems are the ones that
just come out all by themselves.
And this poem is called Until I See
You, and we're going to play it on
the screen for you. I want you to
read
or to see what
this letter looked like.
So we can play it. There we go.
And it goes like this.
You're the best person I've ever known,
the best friend I've never met.
Your sincerity to me is blinding enough to
completely canvas the world with drapes that read
respect,
honor, love, protect,
while creating a window for me to zoom
in on the important things, but those are
the things that I forget
or neglect.
I will do better.
Your ummah is fine.
Not because of me or mine or wounds
that heal with time or those who would
die for a dollar sign, but because the
promise is divine.
So when we feel like we're at our
worst and our sadness would cause our hearts
to burst,
it feels like there are times when there
are angels within our
lines, or hovering over squares with chants of
freedom in the air. And though tyrants may
step on our necks, we smile.
For history has always been on our side,
yours is an ombah that simply does
not die.
I'm sorry for my weakness.
For every time I've been ashamed of your
name and asked someone to call me Moe,
for not knowing enough about you to defend
you when they
made movies or put you on the cover
of magazines or drew cartoons or accused you
with the most heinous of accusations for
not getting over my distaste of reading and
waiting for Hollywood to put you on the
big screen
so I can know something about you. As
if Steven Spielberg or Mel Gibson or Johnny
Depp would somehow be able to recreate the
twinkle in your eye, or a beautiful bead
of sweat as it scaffolds on your forehead,
frantically riding gravity, not wanting to fall off
your body, I keep thinking of seeing you.
And if you would smile at me,
the thought gives me goosebumps.
You told me to meet you at the
pool.
So on that day, I hope and pray
that I will see you through the crowd,
that no angels barricade me as I sprint
at breakneck speed. I hope you recognize it's
me.
I will crowd the companions to get access
to your vision. I will obey my thirst
by quenching it from your hands. So until
that day, I will pray.
I will stand and I will pray as
if my feet are holding the earth
from splitting.
If I make it,
I cry at the thought of seeing you,
for I know that the words that I
used to read from books with all to
the same pages will do no justice to
your voice and your face and your scent
and your touch.
You see, my messenger of Allah has always
existed between the curves and dots of the
Arabic alphabet. So Muhammad ibn Abdullah
in 3 d and whatever other dimensions the
hereafter brings with it will be an overboard
of senses. I will fall in love
with your shadow.
I will tell Adi that his description did
not do justice. And so my mother, Aisha,
of how we heard her story, of how
you passed away between her chin and her
chest
over and over and over again, and it
made us cry every single time. Because we
never suffered any disaster that was greater than
what we suffered before. Our souls merge with
flesh, entering an earth that was without you.
Does the sky even recognize us anymore?
And I will sit in the shade of
your smile
and will ask you your story directly from
your mouth as we sit on
ice cold,
and would be terribly embarrassed if you ask
me for mine
because I never did anything right
other than loving you.
And then if you let me, I would
love
for a hug.
Everybody.
It's been a pleasure. May Allah
reward you all as my brother, Umar Regan,
comes back on.
I do wanna share that I'm gonna be
doing