Sewing Hope
- Apr 1
- 3 min read
The Sewing Room is a very special place. It’s not a department; it’s a world of its own. Its atmosphere is the overflow of the Hope Centre. It’s a safe place within a larger safe space. It’s a kingdom of the heart. It’s a place where love and grace, caring and mercy meet over coffee and popcorn, alongside the click of crochet needles and the hum of sewing machines.
It’s a place where the broken find their voice. It’s a place of validation and empowerment. It’s a place where dreams that sustained Yezidi women when incarcerated in the fortresses of Raqqua kept them alive – breathing, telling themselves that if the day of release or escape should come, this is what they would wear
It’s a place where the teacher retreats in order to give the ladies a space to grow, to heal, to discover themselves. It is the place where they are offered love without condition, time without looking at a clock, and presence without any expectation of performance.
That is the nature and essence of Sewing Hope. It has taken us many a moon to reach this very cherished place. Ups and downs. Staff coming, staff going. Closing for a month whilst we looked for a lady with our DNA to “take ownership” and enable Sewing Hope to continue to mend frayed lives.
Rondik (that’s her nickname; her birth name is Hasna) was one of our students in the early days when the women who had been in the captivity of IxIX wore black, brown, and grey. They were trying to breathe; they had no desire for colour; their souls were dark; the lights had been turned off. Their clothes were garments of captivity – of harsh servitude and brutal treatment.
It has taken years (time without pressure) to see them shed their garments of mourning and exchange them literally for garments of life. Years of quiet patience and gentle encouragement, using the world of fabric and design as the medium for transformation.
Enter Rondik, a graduate of the Institute of Fine Art, bursting with talent, who showed all the possibilities of heading up, of guiding the sewing room, and she took us all back many steps to “Style Arabi,” namely the dingy colours and designs of captivity.
I sighed and sighed. We talked endlessly; there was something in her unable to connect with our DNA – namely, to that life so abundant that colour rejoices to be displayed. I wanted to give up, but something prevented me. She was our “woman for the job,” but she had not embraced the kingdom in which we live.
Then a “suddenly” happened; it was as if the sewing room began to sing with joy. The women’s faces changed. They became alive again. Joy was bursting through every seam as colour and creativity poured out. Rondik had embraced Hope and had carried it into the sewing room. The atmosphere changed. Gone were the dreary colours and traditional Arab designs. Life had crossed the threshold and taken hold of Sewing Hope.
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