Poppy is a writer whose way with words weaves vivid pictures into everyday conversation. Her use of language is a clear reflection of the way she interacts with the world around her. When discussing her experience with anxiety and depression, she simply calls herself a ‘frog’. It is only later in conversation that she mentions a frog named Gus Gus, one that hid in a barrel in her back garden. Having barely left the house since moving to Cardiff for fear of racist abuse, she would often watch him through the window, hiding too. One day, she says, she was looking at him and thought, ‘oh, I am a frog’.

Poppy and her family were forced to leave their home country 7 years ago and sought asylum in Wales, living their first 3 years in Wrexham and the past 4 in Cardiff. Growing up she was always writing. She got good grades in school; her father was a part-time reporter and encouraged her to write too. She had her own small desk and chair next to his and they would write together: ‘we did everything together’. For every birthday, Poppy explains, ‘all he gave us was a pen and a notebook. But, we loved that - we would be waiting, like, oh what kind of pen… I was waiting for Parker my whole life.’ 

Their lives back home were full. Poppy describes her sister as a brilliant painter who would hand draw images of goddesses to be printed as invitations for the temples. Poppy describes herself as ‘really a different person back home. I was the one taking care of my parents, managing everything, working, I was learning and teaching Indian classical dance, and painting. I was different…even after marriage it was the same, I was a football mum, I would say. I was always busy, brave, and took care of my skin. Everything changed.’

Upon seeking sanctuary in Britain, Poppy explains, this was all gone. These tenets of her identity, without the resources to fulfil them, dropped away. She no longer paints because the money she might spend on materials, ‘that 1 or 2 pounds, could go to the boys, for food or something. They’re growing, they need more. So, I stopped that.’ The only things that have remained are her cooking and cleaning, which, she says, ‘have got better, because I don’t have anything else to do.’ 

During this time of disorientation and distress, Poppy approached her newly emptied-out world with creativity. She was worried about her boys who ‘had no toys, they had no friends: their English was different to what the kids are speaking here, so it was really hard for them to make friends. So, my husband and I were the only friends they had and I wanted them to have something to learn, to practice and to enjoy.’ So, they began creating stories together. She would ask them for a name or a character, for example a cat, and then: ‘what shall we do? What do you like? One of my sons say I like to go out, and I will say ok we can use that… You’re too young, you can’t go out alone, so that’s the cat. That’s how we create stories.’ They would write these stories down and read them out loud at bedtime.

In Wrexham, Poppy began to re-build herself. She made friends and got help from charities such as North Wales Refugee Kindness, U are UK and EYST who provided art materials, food, clothes, and toys. EYST also supported her in completing various short courses at College Cambria Wrexham. On being dispersed to Cardiff, however, this support was lost and she was faced with re-building once again. Faced with more expenses, she stopped painting again in order to save money and, she says, ‘we don’t have friends here… just the neighbours.’ She focussed on making sure her boys were settled: they’re making friends, she’s spending her 2 pounds on their boxing classes, and ‘they are very brave, they are going out. Not like me.’ 

Here, she has faced increased racism, worsening her anxiety and depression. Now, she struggles to leave the house and, for some time, couldn’t even bring herself to go into her front garden. It was here, too, that she met Gus Gus the frog: ‘he was really chubby… It’s not chubby, it’s really fat. So whenever I see him, hiding in a tiny thing, it’s like a barrel, it always reminds me, it’s a connection, that it’s me - you and me.’

Last December, after a processing mistake, Poppy and her family’s claim was flagged for removal. Suddenly, there were officers at her door, entering her hiding place and counting all the windows and doors. She mentions this detail specifically in clear distress. The windows through which she had watched Gus Gus and the outside world had become something else: a representation of the distrust with which she was seen. She told them you don’t have to count them, we aren’t going anywhere. The family were told that they would receive plane tickets and had to leave the country in the next 3 weeks. She says she has never seen her two boys so scared.

Poppy emailed and emailed different solicitors without getting any response. This experience took her to the point where she was planning on taking her own life at the airport just to stop the plane from leaving and her family leaving with it. At the very last minute, someone picked up the phone. The solicitor who took on their case found that there were no grounds for their removal and that the family was in danger if they returned to their home country. Poppy explains, ‘all that traumatic process started 3 weeks before 2025 Christmas and the ticket got cancelled by the home office on the 3rd of January. Our Christmas was dark.’

As the family tried to settle back into everyday life - the boys went to school, Poppy stayed at home, her husband volunteered at Oasis - Poppy began writing again, in secret. She would tell her family that she was tired and head upstairs every evening to write. She kept it to herself, she explains, because ‘I was scared of failure… I was scared that my anxiety and depression would mean I wouldn’t write the book.’ For her boys in particular, she didn’t want to promise them something for fear of disappointing them: ‘it’s not nice for them when they are growing.’ So, she thought, ‘no, complete this, share it somewhere and then share the link to them, so that they will feel, oh wow, mum, you have done that.’

The book, which she has now released online, sprouts from storytelling with her boys at bedtime and is committed to the same sense of security that kept her writing quiet until the moment she had something to show them. During the original story, Poppy’s boys had added more adventure and monsters. ‘I cut all that out,’ she says, ‘we don’t need monsters there, we need more love.’ The main message she wants to give children through this book is that the ‘house is safe, always safe,’ and ‘the love in the family is always the best.’ Even though ‘the adventure, the outing is good - of course it’s good, to learn something, to explore - at the end, the house and the family is always good… better than everything.’ The movement through seasons in the book reflects both her boys’ love of spring and summer alongside hers of winter. In contrast to her most recent Christmas, it has always felt ‘cosy’ and ‘close to the family’ to her.

Even the fact that Poppy felt able to come into Oasis and discuss her book is a reflection of how much her mental health has improved in the past couple of months. She credits some of this shift to the support she received from Oasis: ‘I think I’m returning to the person I was back home.’ A lot of it comes from her writing, the practice of actively shaping her own story. She says, ‘I don’t want to die like this. So, if I start now, maybe in like 5 or 10 years, my writing would get better… I would get a chance to publish my book, even in Kindle, anywhere. I don’t have the idea to sell my books yet. It’s not about money. It’s about my passion, my dignity. I want to die as someone… Yeah, I’m scared of dying… as a failed human. Nothing.’

‘To tell you the truth, I don’t want to die as an asylum seeker, as a failed mum… I want the boys to remember me as someone… Like, I just told you, when you asked who’s your father? He was a writer. In future, when you ask my boys, who’s your mum? She was an asylum seeker, she was a cook, a very good cook, she cleans house. All of a sudden, I don’t feel good when my mind says that.’

Poppy expresses a common experience for many people seeking sanctuary. For Refugee Week 2026, Noah Bakour created the artwork ‘Refugee’ highlighting the multitude of human identities that are blanketed under the label of ‘refugee’. Often, without the opportunity to tell their own story, people can be reduced to others’ representations and misinformation. She does not want to be represented as ‘showing the pity face, sharing the sad stories. I don’t want to be that, so I have this… I’m brave now. I’m gonna write another book… a longer story, it’s about survival.’

At some point in the future, she would like to return to her interest in horror and thriller. For now, she is focusing on short stories. She explains that ‘when it becomes too long, more mistakes will be there… because I’m not writing… I’m not a writer.’ To contradict this and tell her that she is already a writer is to see her face break into a smile and receive a heartfelt thank you. The thank you is, of course, unnecessary because Poppy is a writer: she spins sentences, paints pictures and builds narratives out of nothing. She says, ‘I still don’t know whether it makes sense, but this is huge. Trust me, this is huge. If my father was here, he would be very proud of me.’ Writing her books now, Poppy still uses the same brand of pen that he would give her for every birthday.

You can read Poppy’s first book Scruffy the Cat and the Whispering Woods here. She is currently looking for ways that she might print her book. She would love to be able to donate it to local libraries and bookshops for other children to enjoy.