As the women cry out, 

The gods listen and become stronger,

Acculturating to what we need in the new land.

Their muscles defined blocks,

These holy body-builders show the physical strength my women desire.

A show of outward strength necessary for the treacherous journeys ahead.

As my people continue to be forced to wander, these sculptures are our gods, idols to be carried with us. Each element is meant to be taken apart, easily mobile, a traveling temple. The figures are crude, they are humorous, they are the dark joke that these talismans carry any true protection. They reflect the refugee experience - having to remove all trust in governments, in neighbors or friends, in logic or reason as forces of protection and safety. We turn our gaze to the supernatural.

We laugh even as we flee.

We brag of our strength, even as we are conquered.

These ancient gods may not have power here, in this new land, but just in case…we continue to burn besma, speaking our troubles to running water.