An Education: Mariama Diallo and PT Smith
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Hey there. We here at The Moth have an exciting opportunity for high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors who love to tell stories. Join The Moth Story Lab this fall. Whether for an aspiring writer, a budding filmmaker, or simply someone who loves to spin a good yarn, this workshop is a chance to refine the craft of storytelling. From brainstorming to that final mic drop moment, we've got students covered.

Plus, they'll make new friends, build skills that shine in school and beyond, and have a blast along the way. These workshops are free and held in person in New York City or virtually anywhere in the U.S. Space is limited. Apply now through September 22nd at themoth.org slash students. That's themoth.org slash students.

Welcome to the Moth Podcast and happy Black History Month. I'm Devon Elise Wilson, the program manager of education engagement at the Moth and your host for this episode. Today we're going to continue to uplift Black voices as we showcase two stories all about the challenges and joys of growing up. And we'll also be telling you about a new podcast from the Moth, our very first spinoff, which touches on that exciting, scary time between being a teenager and being an adult.

On the Moss Education Team, or Team EDU as we like to call it, we work to inspire young people everywhere to tell their true, personal stories. Time and time again, we're told by our workshop participants what a breath of fresh air it is to be truly listened to. This is your cue to reflect upon how you're listening to the young people in your life. Wink wink.

And with that, our first story is from Mariama Diallo, an EDU alum. Each year, Education holds a showcase to highlight some of the most vibrant stories across all of our programs. Mariama told this story at one of our showcases in Brooklyn, where the theme of the night was Game Changer. Here's Mariama, live at the mall. Okay, when I was 11, I was really struggling with feeling like I had to be different from one space to the next.

It felt really lonely and I was really struggling to get a sense of community. A little bit about me, I grew up at the end of a Brooklyn tree line, brownstone line block with my two parents and my two younger brothers. My younger brother, Ibrahima, was my dearest friend, my ace, my homie, we did everything together.

We're the children of two US-- we're born in the US, and both of our parents are from West Africa, so they're migrants. And they're from the Fulani tribe. And they wanted to do their best to instill Fulani culture into us. So for example, on the weekends when we were younger, they would take us to yet another family gathering.

And I dreaded these because I feel like I wasn't doing the good balance of being the dutiful, you know, Fulani daughter and mastering like being an American. And I would dare not tell my father this because he had like this presence that could kill, like stare, just silence and you were to be seen and not heard and obey. So me and my brother would be stuffed into African clothes, we called it that.

And they were like really bright prints, colors unknown to the American eye, truly. And you'd make a sudden movement and it'd sound like thunder. And our parents would drag us up to the Bronx and they would mow us around to greet our family members. And we'd often greet them in Pular, that's the language that the Fulani people normally speak.

And we'd be like, "Hey, how are you?" By the time we got to you, our family members would cut us off with the most obnoxious laughter and say, "Wa ki li tonani?"

And basically that's like, you need to buckle down and learn Pulaad. Like that was disgusting. And you know, I would feel such shame. And I would like answer for me and my brother and be like, we will walk you little, we will get it together. And I'd often find a corner for us to like play or, you know, to avoid attention. And we'd feel sweet relief when like our parents were like, come on, let's go home. Monday would come, we dress in our yellow and our blue uniform and we'd be good.

And that was our balance. And then our father suddenly threw off that balance one day when he was like, we'd be spending our weekends learning the Quran at our local mosque. My father, like, you know,

centuries of our ancestors were Muslim. To be Fulani is to be Muslim. And it was our time to, you know, learn the Qur'an. And that Saturday I wore clothes that were really familiar to me, like a black tunic and a headscarf, for example. And as we made our way to the mosque, I felt really nervous. Like there was no guidebook, there was no expectations for what I would do.

And I looked to Ibrahima and, you know, he looked nervous too and we were silenced for once, but we were with our dad so that was to be expected. And we got to the mosque and like immediately like I just thought it was the most beautiful space ever. It's like, I don't know if you've ever been in a mosque, but it's like very like this reverent, silent space. It's unfurnished, it's carpeted and like

sound, like it's swallowed up by the carpet. And that's kind of the setup for the classroom too. It's a large space, unfurnished, carpeted, and boys and girls on each side, and our sheikh, the teacher, at the front of the room. And

I looked to my brother as if to say, like, we got this. And for weeks and weeks would go on, and we had it. Like, we were doing amazing. I was mastering Arabic and the Quran pretty well. I really liked it. And my teacher was praising me, and he was sending those praises to my dad. So, like, I'm like, I feel on top of the world and, you know, all this pride. One Saturday, I'm in class, and I'm, you know, reading my Quran, and I look to my brother, and

And his face immediately is like, it shocks me. It's tight. Like in the New York sense, like he's tight. And it's like tight with frustration and he's upset. And I look to what has his attention and there's these three boys who are immediately recognizable.

They are the children of the custodian of the mosque. And to be a custodian of the mosque is this really, you know, highly valued position in any mosque. You keep the community safe, you keep the mosque healthy and clean and things like that. You're respected and your family has that respect too. So these boys were untouchable. Like they're the MVPs of this class. And no surprise they're the bullies in this story.

So they're bullying my brother. And he's young. And I immediately feel defensive. Like, this is my... My brother is my everything. So I... Without thinking, like, my voice cuts across the space. I'm like, uh-uh. Y'all not gonna be doing that to my brother. And...

I lock up a little bit and I'm like, oh my God, what did I just do? And I look to the sheikh, our teacher, and like wordlessly he looks at me to say like, we don't do that here. You don't do that. And I still look at my brother and they're like, the boys are really like laughing that I did this. And I'm like, this is not the end of this. We're going to continue this.

So class wraps up and class usually resolves with our parents coming to the mosque and we pray Maghrib prayer today, together. That's the sunset prayer. And the prayer is going and usually my favorite prayer, my head is not in it, I'm like, what am I gonna do when I see these boys?

After class, I put on my shoes after the prayer, I run outside, and I see what I expect is fine. My brother and the three boys towering over him and they're arguing on the middle and the corner of this busy Brooklyn block. And they're going at it.

I push my brother to the side, and I'm like, and I'm just going off with these boys. And they're towering over me now, and we're arguing, and I don't remember what I'm saying. And I'm just loud, and just everything is coming out my mouth. And suddenly, their father is now in my face, and I'm arguing with him. And I'm just going off, and he's saying, I've never seen someone so young, and a girl like you so disrespectful. You should be ashamed of yourself.

And I look at him and I say, "You know, what do you look like? A grown man arguing with a little girl?" And it's really bad. And it's, you know, it was so bad. And I'm going, going, going. And I feel like, "Yeah, I got this." And then I suddenly feel that silent, you know, presence that is very familiar to me. And I know it's my dad.

And I shut down, and I immediately take notice of where I'm at. And a crowd had gathered. You know, you got worshipers and regular Brooklynites just on a corner just staring. And my father and the custodian, they kind of duke it out. My father promises it will never happen again.

And he takes me and my brother home, and my father lights into me. He's like, you've brought shame to me. You've brought shame to your brother, our family. I will never be able to show my face in this mosque. How dare you? I don't know what happened, but I know I better never see it happen again. And I feel such shame. And you know this place where I had, like,

gotten a sense of pride and I was developing a sense of community there. I knew that that was gone and diminished at that point and my father was so ashamed. I felt dismissed to my room. My father didn't even have to say that. I made my way to the room and I see my brother there and I'm like, oh God, I forgot about you. I lost sense of you, track of you.

And we have again this way, we looked at each other and we just busted out laughing. And we like start like recounting what happened that day. Just ridiculous. We're just going and in that moment I realized like, oh, this is what it was all for. Like if I was in this position again, of course I'm gonna take it. Like this is my ace, my homie. I never have to change for my brother. My brother understands me from moment to moment to moment.

He would always be that way, and I was so thankful to have him in those different moments. Thank you.

That was Mariama Diallo. Mariama is a proud Muslim and native Brooklynite. Along with being an EDU alum, Mariama was a teaching intern before becoming one of our current instructors, where she enjoys helping students share their own brilliant, true stories. The EDU program works with students in New York City and across the nation in our All-City and All-Country programs. Students can choose between virtual and in-person workshops after school and on the weekends.

The application for our Spring All-City Program is now open. Spread the word to those young people you know in New York City.

Up next is a story from P.T. Smith. But first, I wanted to tell you a little bit more about that spin-off I mentioned earlier. It's called Grown, and it's focused on the in-between. The nebulous, the liminal, the just plain weird time between those awkward teenage years and full-on adulthood. And whether you're dealing with that strange time now or just looking back on it with nostalgia, whatever age you are, we think you'll get a lot out of it. Grown debuts on February 8th. Here's the trailer.

I'm Aliza. I'm Fonzo. And this is Grown, a podcast from The Moth about what it means to grow up. Me and Aliza are storytellers. We're young people. Well, not that young. Speak for yourself. But most of all, we're excited to share Grown with you. Grown is going to feature never-before-heard and best-of stories from The Moth that explore the weird, awkward, and exciting time between being a teenager and being an adult. Nice.

And I feel like so small and clunky and like I don't fit into my own body right and I'm kind of starting to think that the mentality that I'll never fit into any scenario I go to is just gonna be how I live my life. So when I saw David flirt with Lisa, my diary

became less of a diary and started venturing into cheap erotic fiction. "Gay in 2 New York" was part of my super big revenge plan against my parents and everyone who had ever rejected or bullied me for being queer. You know, if an adult is a person who's fully grown and developed, like, I never want to be an adult. She was just amazing. Like, we had all these inside jokes with each other and

I just had this feeling that I couldn't hold on to this crush any longer. So I went home and I looked up on Google how to ask someone out to prom.

We'll go out into the world and hear people's thoughts and memories. She would just bring these Wonder Bread and American cheese sandwiches that she'd cut off the crust, of course. And I genuinely think of that as one of the best foods I've ever eaten. Yeah, I think it's just like the memory of like grandma's love. That's a special ingredient. Young adults will call in and share how they're feeling. So my whole life, I've never been skinny. And...

I've always gotten comments like, "Suck in your tummy," or like, "Correct your posture." Massive gender envy, but I appreciate a lot of experience because it made me realize who I really am. And I felt good. I'm like, "Yeah, I got abs. I'm a man. Ah, I got this, man." And you might even learn a little something about Aliza and myself. So I always felt like I had to hide it if I liked a boy, if I kissed a boy. Like, I wouldn't tell my mom, you know? Speaking of dates,

Do you remember your first dinner date? Yeah, I do remember. I'm just playing. No, no, let's talk about it. Grown will launch on February 8th, 2023. Available wherever you get your podcasts. Remember, no matter how old you are, you're never fully grown.

What I like most about Grown is that it showcases storytellers from our EDU program. That's where we met our hosts, Aliza and Fonzo. If you want to bring MOF programming to your school, visit our website, themof.org slash students. All right, back to our regular programming. P.T. Smith told this story at a Denver story center. Here's P.T. live at the MOF. What's up, y'all? When I was in sixth grade, I went to a middle school program

That when the principal got up and told us that we broke a record for fights, we cheered. When I was in eighth grade, we ran out eight math teachers. When I was in sixth grade, we all conspired to make our language arts teacher quit before the period ended. Two minutes before the bell rang, she walked out. The best thing about middle school was at lunchtime.

Because in sixth grade, we'd start by freestyling, right? We'd all huddle up and we'd freestyle together. And not like a good freestyle. Mostly like ums and ahs and a couple yo mama's thrown in there. And that was pretty much it. And then after we ate, we'd go outside and we'd play football until the bell rang. And it was the best. And y'all, I'd be a liar if I can tell you when and how it happened or how I received it. But at one point in sixth grade, someone handed me a book.

And I am not a reader. I don't come from a family of readers, unless you count my mom and my sister who read books that they had to quickly put behind their back when I walked in the room. Fifty Shades of Something. But they handed me this book, and I had never seen anything about it before. And I remember one night opening it up and just trying to get through chapter one. And y'all, that book completely changed my life.

I'll never forget how much I related to it, how much I related to the stories in there. And most of the characters, I could draw something that was like me. Take Harry, for instance. Like, yo, I knew what it was like to have pressure, so much pressure on you. See, when I was growing up, my dad wasn't around. He was in and out of prison. Most of the men in my family, they did not amount to what they thought they were supposed to amount to.

And so in sixth grade, I knew on a daily basis what was expected of me and my family. I didn't have no scar, but I carry scars. Or like Hermione. Like I remember like showing up to sixth grade wanting to be a good student, wanting to have read the book, wanting to ace the test, and people looking down on me for it. And my man Ron. Y'all, I get it. We was broke. We was so broke, if you tried to rob me, you'd just be practicing.

Normally you get hand-me-downs from an older sibling, but my younger sibling was bigger than me, so I got hand-me-ups. It's not a joke, it's true. So I knew what that felt like, to walk in with rags when everybody else felt like they was walking in with riches. Man, I was even familiar with houses. We called them hoods where I was from, right? I know the difference between Slytherin and Hufflepuff even before the book even said it. I've met so many Ravenclaws, it's not even funny.

I became immersed in this book, y'all. And I remember one lunch I brought it to school because I was at a part in the Sorcerer's Stone where I was like, you can't quit. You got to figure out what happens. And so instead of freestyle battling, I sat in the corner and read my book. Instead of going outside and playing football with the guys, I sat in the corner and I read this book because it was my world, but it wasn't. And it reminded me of something. And at the same time, it reminded me of anything at all.

It was everything. And I remember a teacher coming up and tapping me on the shoulder and going, P.T., P.T. Well, they called me Paul, right? I'm like, Paul, Paul, Paul. And I'm like, yes, Ms. Newton, yes. And she's like, how can you read in all this chaos? I looked up and I looked around, and of course kids was running around yelling. There was a fight because there's too many yo mamas in a freestyle battle. You get like three, y'all. And there was all this commotion. And I remember thinking, like, I don't have any chaos. I'm in a completely different world right now.

I'm not here. You see me, but I'm at Hogwarts. And I remember at the end of the day, I got called down to the office and she handed me this award for reading, which is really sad. Y'all, that's how little this sticks going on. But I realized something about my life. And it's this. Anytime stuff gets crazy, anytime there's too much chaos going around, you could probably find me in a book.

That was P.T. Smith. P.T. is a husband, father of two, and mentor who was born and raised in Northeast Denver. P.T. wanted to be sure to add that although his father was incarcerated when he was young, he is the best papa to his grandchildren. That's all for this episode. Remember to subscribe to Grown wherever you get your podcasts. And from all of us here at The Moth, have a story-worthy week.

Aside from her work on the Moz education team, Devon Elise Wilson is a storyteller in her own right. She's also a writer and community organizer. The thread that unites all of her work is the life-changing power of storytelling, a tool she wishes she had in her toolbox sooner. She's truly honored to be able to share it with young people on the daily.

This episode of the Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger. The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Catherine Burns, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Jennifer Birmingham, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Leanne Gulley, Inga Glodowski, and Aldi Caza. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storytellers.

For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the public radio exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.