Ramla Ali - Not Without a Fight: Ten Steps to Becoming Your Own Champion

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First published by #Merky Books in 2021

Copyright Ramla Ali 2021

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover photo Mark Robinson/Matchroom Boxing

Lines from Dreams by Langston Hughes from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes by Langston Hughes. Reproduced by permission of David Higham Associates.
Lines from Enlightenment Step by Step by Amit Ray, Inner Light Publishers, 2016.

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain permission. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and, if notified of any corrections, will make suitable acknowledgement in future reprints or editions of this book.

ISBN: 978-1-529-11914-5

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For anyone who has ever felt like they dont fit in, this book is for you. The point is, youre not meant to fit in, youre meant to stand out and be great.

Of all my childhood memories, one stands out the most. I was around eleven years old, walking home from my weekly Quran studies at the local mosque in East Ham, which is where I lived at the time. It was September the cusp of autumn but the sky was dark and heavy with rain. I remember walking past the local shops on the high street the cash and carry and the chemist. The cars on the main road would race through the puddles, sending a gulf of brown water over my shoes and up my ankles. I had walked that route so many times that the previous journeys all seemed to bleed into one; but that day was different. My road, Sibley Grove, was behind East Ham station and the last five hundred metres of my walk was always filled with commotion, people streaming out the station and passing me by, it was normal. I would work my way through the crowd before turning left onto my road. If someone followed me, I did not think anything of it. On that day, the second I turned onto Sibley Grove, two boys on mountain bikes mounted the pavement in front of me, they braked hard and positioned their bikes to block my path. They did not look that much older than I did; at most, they were in their early teens. They both wore dark and baggy clothing. One of them had the sharpest blue eyes, and slicked-back hair that was damp from the rain, or an excessive amount of hair gel. I was so close to home, I walked on despite them being in my path. When they got off their bikes, my life changed forever.

Oi! the boy with the slick hair shouted. What are you wearing that for? He pointed at my head, covered by my hijab. I did not connect what he meant with what I was wearing. My hijab was a natural part of my attire when I was young; I wore it every day without really thinking about it. Both boys started laughing, which soon turned into an exaggerated cackling that I knew was aimed at me. Before I had time to respond or move out of his way, the boy with the piercing blue eyes marched right up to me. We locked eyes for what can only have been a few seconds though in that brief moment, time seemed to stretch and we could have been staring at each other for minutes. His next action happened lightning fast: his hand rose up and he ripped my hijab off my head with one forceful grab. He threw it onto the ground and stamped all over it, laughing loudly, his dirty footprints turning my blue scarf black. I could not understand what was happening. My head was instantly cold and my hair was covering my face, but I was too scared to move it out the way. I was motionless as they walked back to their bikes and rode off, taking a left at Browning Road and cycling away. It was only then that I let myself burst into uncontrollable tears. In all that time, no one else had walked down the street and I consoled myself alone, bending down to pick up my wet hijab from the ground. As I brushed my hair out of my face, I realised I was bleeding. The pin that had been securing my scarf behind my ear had come undone, leaving a stinging pain and a thin trail of blood dripping down my neck. I rubbed at the wound, which only made it worse, and spread a sheer reddish tone across my neck like warpaint. I walked the last few metres home with my other hand covering my eyes my family and I never talked about our emotions, and I didnt want to let them see me cry. I did not learn the importance of being able to discuss my feelings with others until much later. For a long time, I would bottle all of my problems up and try to face everything alone, and that is exactly what I did that day.

Back then, I was not old enough to understand what racism and Islamophobia were, but I knew I was not strong enough to face those boys on my own again. I gradually stopped wearing my hijab outside of my home. I did not talk to anyone about what happened, and while Mum would occasionally ask me why I was not wearing it, she never pushed me. I would tell her I took it off for a PE lesson and forgot to put it back on, until, eventually, she stopped asking. I realise now that my emotions from that day had slowly turned from shock to pain and a deep sense of otherness. I was young and I knew I came from a different country. Growing up, all I wanted to do was blend in alongside everybody else. That was the day I realised I could not. I was different, and try as I might I would never be able to fit in. While my hijab has always been a source of pride, in the eyes of those boys it was something they did not understand. A combination of fear and ignorance made them see me as an outcast, someone worthy of ridicule. I thought that if I never wore it, I would fit in, and then I wouldnt have been attacked; that they did it because I looked different. School confirmed my suspicions, as it was where I stuck out the most. For one, I was Somali I did not look like the rest of my classmates who were predominantly South Asian. I was overweight compared to the thin girls in my year, and I did not have long straight and shiny hair like them either. These popular girls always wore the latest clothes from Topshop and Miss Selfridge, and had boys lining up for them outside the school gates. My family were poor, and could not afford to buy me new clothes. Instead, I mostly wore hand-me-downs from my two older sisters. For a long time growing up, all these things combined to make me feel so sad, small and desperate to fit in. I did not know it then but that horrible day, one of the worst in my memory, would have a positive impact on my life. That moment inspired me to be a fighter.

It would be years before Id be putting on a pair of boxing gloves and learning how to fight inside the ring. My first unofficial fights started far from the gym: in the many moments in my life where I had to learn to defend myself, be resilient, be patient, and use my silence to my advantage. To stand confidently face to face with an opponent and strategically think about my next move. To transform all the things that made me an outcast into my superpowers. My life has been full of obstacles, but I would not have it any other way, because each of these hurdles has taught me something valuable. In the deepest, darkest moments when I have felt the most scared and alone, those are the times that have shaped me more than anything. Through tears, setbacks and heartbreak, I have learned to keep going, and that is how I became the fighter I am today. It is not easy, but sometimes you have to face your fears and turn your vulnerabilities into your advantages; that is how you learn to be your own champion.