Meet Direct Provision's Mr. Busyman

Mosney is an evocative name for many Irish people. For some, it evokes hazy memories of childhood summers spent in the wave pool at Ireland’s only Butlins’ holiday camp, in Co. Meath. For others, it may trigger even hazier memories of raving to Underworld and Orbital at the acclaimed Homelands festivals, back at the turn of the century.

Now, 20 years after the Meath coast was home to the biggest names in dance music, refugees and asylum seekers occupy the chalets.

Rilwan Kadiri is an affable 24-year-old who’s been in the direct provision system for 15 years. He studied Creative Digital Media in IT Blanchardstown before being forced to drop out due to financial issues: asylum seekers have to pay full international fees.

“When I started college, I wasn’t really open to the idea of how much pressure there would be to have your papers,” he tells me over the phone.

The growing debt eventually became too much to carry.

“I just got my papers now,” he explains, “so I’m trying to get work, so I can pay off the debt that I owe to college. I want to finish my last year.”

Creative Digital Media was the right course for the prolific Rilwan. A hip-hop artist, he is behind the Real-Kid Original project. Singing, he says, runs in his family.

“My mom sang to me as a little kid – nursery rhymes, songs to motivate me,” he recalls.

She was the first person to encourage him to make music.

“She was like ‘Why not? Just do it cause it’s what you’re good at and it’s what you like doing,’” he says.

Pursuing a music career seems to be paying off. He’s played Electric Picnic two years in a row, starting in 2017. “That was the biggest thing that ever happened in my life so far,” he says with a note of pride. “It was amazing. We performed about 3, 4 tracks and we met with other acts, Irish and international.

“We didn’t know if we would be invited back,” he adds, “but we practised anyway. When we got the call we were so, so madly excited that we didn’t know what to do. Overall the experience was unbelievable.”

MOSNEY’S GOT TALENT

One song that means a lot to Rilwan is ‘I Don’t Wanna Waste Time’. “I’ve wasted enough over the years,” he reflects, “waiting for my papers. I want to now give back, not only to my family but to my community.”

The first time I called Rilwan, I caught him at a bad time: he was helping a kid with his English homework. Living in direct provision comes with a heap of downtime, and Rilwan spends as much as possible passing on his skills, training and knowledge to the younger residents. “It’s like a role model kind of thing,” he says. “If you know a route to do something, and you don’t share it, what’s the point of having the knowledge?”

He often uses equipment he bought for college to stage movie nights, to keep people’s morale up – which is particularly important in the dark Irish winters, which can take some adjusting to. “They need to have the state of mind that everything’s okay – not to be in that worried state,” he says.

Being exposed to the storytelling in film also makes a difference. “Last year, this girl from Syria started crying during a movie,” he remembers. “I was thinking, ‘Was the movie that bad?’ But it turned out she felt a connection to a girl in the movie. She shared the same pain. I was able to reassure her: I understand where you’re coming from, but things do get better.”

This desire to encourage Mosney residents to express themselves is what drives Rilwan’s biggest project.

“I saw group of girls – they were dancing, just for the fun of it, but they were so in sync. And they didn’t know how to improve and how to get themselves out there.”

This was the genesis of the now annual Mosney’s Got Talent competition which launched in the summer 2017.

“We got so many groups, singers, dancers. Some were doing magic, some were doing comedy. We have real talent here in Mosney: they just need someone to encourage them to come out and do it.”

Rilwan’s commitment is obvious.

“There are many people here that feel alone – maybe their family is not here. With this kind of talent show, they can come out, and mingle with other people, from different cultures, and different backgrounds.”

A STATE OF SUSPENDED ANIMATION

All this organisational work has led to a packed schedule for Rilwan Kadiri.

“If you come to Mosney and you ask anyone about me, they’ll say ‘busyman?’. That’s my nickname now. They know I’m always doing something, no matter what it is.”

In what are really difficult circumstances, such positivity is remarkable – and inspirational.

“My way of thinking is,” Rilwan says, “no matter how things are, you can always make it better – either for yourself, or for other people. And there’s no greater feeling than helping other people feel safe, and feel happy.”

There is another, far less positive picture of Mosney: that it curtails the freedom of refugees in a way that is completely wrong. And that, if you look at it sufficiently critically, it can be seen as a kind of open prison. After a visit in 2016, the then-President of Sinn Féin, Gerry Adams, described it as “Long Kesh without the watchtowers.” And he had a point. People can be forced to wait for years, in a state of suspended animation before they have any hope of getting on with their lives.

But Rilwan never let it get him down. Then again, most people are nowhere near as resilient as Rilwan Kadiri.

“I really actually enjoy Mosney,” he says. “Even though you’re going through some things back home, you can still come to a centre like Mosney, and you can feel safe.”

And for people who have been through the trauma of war and displacement, that is no bad thing.