The Moth - Cotton Candy and Revolutionary Rides: The Moth Radio Hour

Episode Date: June 30, 2026

In this hour, an unconventional church, a bike ride for rights, and burning up the dance floor. This episode is hosted by Moth Executive Producer, Sarah Austin Jenness. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Storytellers: Lutheran minister Nadia Bolz Weber starts her own church.  Wallflower Audrey Pleasant teaches herself the slide and ends up in the spotlight. Bushra Al-Fusail begins a Yemeni revolution on two wheels. Podcast # 986 To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

At the Moth, we're using the power of storytelling to connect teachers with their students. Once a student develops their story and voice, they can show up more authentically in the classroom, their relationships, and beyond. Which is why we developed the Moth Teacher Institute, a annual conference that brings together educators who want to use the Moth storytelling techniques in their classrooms and communities. The programming features live storytelling, panel discussions, and hands-on workshops. to help find, shape, and tell your own true personal stories. To learn more and apply, visit the moth.org slash edu.

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SAP Grow is built to grow with your business, no matter its size. With AI embedded at its core, working across every system, all ready to go from day one, you can hit the ground running. Bring it with SAP Grow. AI Cloud ERP for any size business. This is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Sarah Austin Janice. At The Moth, we come together to connect through personal stories. The Moth has over 500 public events a year where everyday people stand on stage to tell their true stories. In this episode, a bold bike ride in Yemen, shaking a tail Feather in Harlem, and our first story by Lutheran pastor from Denver, Nadia Bowesweber. Nadia told this in front of a sold-out crowd of 2,700 at a Moth mainstage in Oregon,

where we partnered with Portland Literary Arts. Here's Nadia, live at the mom. I'm not what you would call the biggest fan of church, which can be awkward since technically I'm a Lutheran pastor. My dislike of church, I came by honestly. I was raised in a really very strict, conservative Christian church where there was just a whole lot of rules and very little fun and no possibility of actually getting to be my whole self.

And so when I felt the call to go to seminary, I thought, you know what I want is to start a church from scratch. there could be very few rules, a whole lot of fun, and everyone gets to be themselves. So in 2008, I founded a congregation called House for All Sinners and Saints. And the amazing thing about being able to start a church from scratch is you don't have to worry about being conventional, so you can just make shit up. So if the very first thing you want people to see when they enter in the church, church is a velvet painting of Elvis crying that says Elvis welcomes you to House for All

sinners and saints, you can do that. And if you don't really want to do a blessing of the animals, but you want to do a blessing of the bicycles, you can do that. And if you want to take over the basement of a bar quarterly for an event called beer and hymns, you can do that. And we did all those things, and that's what started to get the attention of my nomination. And I was so excited to get an email that said, we want to invite you to give the keynote presentation at a pastor's conference. We really want you to share your expertise. The thing you

need to know is I didn't graduate college until I was 36. I had never been an expert in anything. And when I went to seminary, I was so old that they called me a second career student, which I thought was adorable because it implied I had a first career, which I did not. But the difficult part of starting a church from scratch is that you have to start it from scratch. And so my denomination gave me a little funding to get going, but all they cared about was how many people came and how much money did you bring in. And it started to feel like every Sunday I was throwing my own birthday party and waiting to see who liked me enough to show up. And then I was like, it's not supposed to be about me, it's supposed to be about God, and then I felt worse.

And it was rough. Like, we would have, like, maybe 50 people on a Sunday, but during the summer, the numbers just started getting really low. And we ended up not getting more than, like, 35 people on a Sunday during the summer. And so the day before, I was going to Chicago to keynote that pastor's conference as an expert, I found myself single-handedly trying to get a cotton candy machine in the back of my Honda. And my back was hurting, and the reason is because I had just come from Costco, and I had lifted all these cases of soda and enough burgers to feed like 80 people and an industrial bag of Doritos, and I'd put it all in my Honda.

When I realized, hey, we've got to try and get people back, I remembered that there's this really quaint tradition in the Lutheran church called Rally Day. Rally Day is when you're trying to get all the families back for the start of Sunday school after everyone's been traveling through the summer. And so you have like a little carnival for the kids. And we didn't have any kids and we didn't have Sunday school, but I was like, fuck it, we're having Rally Day. And so I ended up setting everything up.

I made cool flyers. I texted everyone in the congregation. I was so excited to get all these people back to really get a lot of people. So I put the sodas on ice, and I put out the napkins in the little, like, circle, and it was all fancy, and I got all the burgers ready. And I put out a collection basket for donations, because it costs like hundreds of dollars for all this stuff, and it's just easily recoupable with that many people. And so I was doing so much work

and that I didn't actually go into the worship space until about two minutes before the service was supposed to start. And I'm walking up the stairs of this 100-year-old church building and I'm so excited to see everyone. And I see the sun coming through the stained glass and bouncing off the 26 people who came. 26. 20 fucking six.

And I didn't know what to do, so I quickly pivoted, turn around, went downstairs like I'd forgotten something. But if I'd forgotten anything, it was definitely my goodwill towards humanity. And I went into the women's room, and I literally knelt on the peeling linoleum and was like, dear God,

I hate all those people who didn't show up. so much that I'm having a hard time appreciating the people who did show up. And as you know, I have to start, like, a worship service in two minutes. So if you could, like, you know, remove this resentment, like, rip out my stony little heart and replace it with a human, fleshy, beating one again. I'd really appreciate that. Amen. So my desperate prayer helped enough for me to get going, get the service going.

And then the prayers that people were beautiful, and that helped, too, because J.P. He prayed, he was glad he got a job after six months of unemployment. And Clarice was like, I've been off heroin for a year. And then someone else was praying for their aunt who had breast cancer. Just the realness of that helped as well. And so about 20 people stayed. And there was a group of my parishioners who were like grilling up all these burgers that we had for like 80 people. And they're like, we should just take them down to Triangle Park to like feed some hungry people.

And then this other group of my parishioners were making cotton curtailed. candy and handing it to every single car that stopped at the stop sign by the church. They were having a blast. I was busy doing what I called a resentful cleanup where you're trying to mask how disappointed you are. And I was hastily trying to get everything cleaned up. And one of my parishioner, Stewart, looked at me and he said, Pastor Nadia, are you okay?

Now, the thing you need to know about Stewart is he has an official role at church as the minister of fabulousness. And he's like the church drag queen. And the reason is because when we were doing our first stewardship campaign, which is like a fancy church word for fundraising, and Stewart's like, oh, I know. We're going to sell t-shirts. And on the front, it's going to say, this shit ain't free.

And then on the back, it's going to say, so you better tie, bitches. If you don't have a church drag queen, I'm just saying, get busy recruiting one. But anyway, so Stuart goes, Pastor Nadia, are you okay? And I did that thing where you tell a half-truth. I was like, well, my back's really hurting. And he looks at his partner, Jim, and our friend Amy, he goes, Jim, Amy, we're going to pray for Pastor Nadia right now, and I thought, the hell you are. But sometimes you have to submit to a blessing. I just remember the Colorado son and his big drag queenie hands warming my black

clergy shirt and them praying over me. And it sounds bonkers now, but I swear what happened is it felt like those muscle spasms in my back went from being like fists to being like open palms. And it like released. It was beautiful. And I thanked them. And then his partner, Jim said, Pastor Nadia, would it be nice to have some help cleaning up? And I said, yeah, it really would. Thank you. And a couple seconds later, Jim goes, well, what do you want me to do with this? And he held up a completely empty donation basket. Now I hated all the people who didn't come. And I hated all the people who did come. And also, I had to get out of there pretty quick because I had a very early flight in the morning because I had to go be an expert at a pastor's conference. It was probably

midnight when the resentment and anger and self-loathing left my body enough to fall asleep. And two hours later, I was jolted awake with what I can only describe as a bitch slap from the Holy Spirit. I jolt up in my bed and I go, oh my God, I missed it. Like, I had back pain all day. And then after they prayed for me, I didn't for the rest of the day. And I didn't even notice. And I didn't notice what a blessing it was for people to pray for their pastor who usually

prays for them. And I didn't notice how amazing it is that hungry people got warm burgers and that all these strangers inexplicably got free cotton candy at the stop sign. And I was so wrapped up in my expectations not being met that I missed everything that did happen. So the next day, the next afternoon, I'm in Chicago. and I'm going through this PowerPoint presentation for the pastors, and they're loving it.

I'm like, Blessing of the Bicycles and the Elvis, and I tell them, like, every year on Reformation Day, we do a selling of indulgences bake sale, and they're laughing. And then I tell them how at House for All Cinners and Saints, we have what's called an open table, which means everybody, without exception, is invited to receive bread and wine at communion, and how we had this young queer girl who spent a year in our community,

and having this open table, and she traveled to Michigan to visit her parents, and I get this phone call from her on a Sunday morning, and she's weeping, and I'm like, baby, what's going on? She goes, I met my parents' church, and they're doing communion, and I can't take it. And she was just, like, destroyed by it. And I talked to her for a bit, and I said,

do you mind if I share our conversation with some folks at church tonight? And she said, that was fine. So I tell some of the people at church about Rachel. and without skipping a beat, Stuart goes, we'll just have to take her communion to the airport when she gets home, I guess. And so at 9 o'clock at night on a Tuesday, 10 of us show up to Denver International Airport

with bread and wine and like a chauffeur sign that said Rachel Pater, a child of God. So I'm telling him this story, now they're crying. And I thought, well, if I think church should be a place for your whole self, I should tell them the whole story. And I took a deep breath, and I said, and last night, I cried myself to sleep

because I felt like a failure, and I told him the whole thing, the cotton candy machine, the healing I didn't notice, the bitch slap from the Holy Spirit, the cotton candy, everything. And the coolest thing was at lunch later. They didn't treat me like an expert. They treated me like a sister and a colleague,

and they regaled me with stories of their own failure. And it was so beautiful because we felt like connected. And what I've always wanted my whole life is to feel less alone. And it's great to be dazzled by people's virtues and for experts to just stun us with how amazing they are. But that never makes me feel less alone. I only feel less alone when people share their failings, with me. They're mistakes. Their misconceptions. They're jagged edges. Because I think those jagged

edges of our stories create enough texture on us that it allows us to have something other people can hold on to. Thank you. That was Nadia Bowles-Weber. Nadia is the founding pastor of House for All Saints and Sinners. She's the author of several best-selling memoirs and lives in Denver. where she says, quote, I continue to write about my personal failings for the benefit of my fellow spiritual misfits. She's pretty sure she hasn't consumed cotton candy since 2009. To see photos of Nadia and the congregation with that cotton candy on the first rally day, go to the moth.org.

In a moment, lessons in parenting and riding on two wheels with women in Yemen. When the Moth Radio Hour continues, The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This episode is brought to you by L'Oreal Group. Beauty is a powerful force that moves us. That's why L'Oreal Group has built a business that is inclusive at its heart with 100% of its brands, championing diversity. With 25,000 professional opportunities for people under 30 worldwide and 54% of leading positions held by women, Diversity is a strength that helps L'Oreal Group

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This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Janice. Our next story is from Audrey Pleasant, and she told it at a moth night that featured outstanding stories from our community engagement program. Here's Audrey. Tommy. Tommy Johnson.

That was my humiliator. I mean, at the age of 13, how could you be so humiliated? Let me not get ahead of myself. You see, I was going to a church right across the street, from me. That was at 141st Street in Harlem, between 7th and 8th Avenue. They had a center down there that we used to go down to dance. My dance step, side-to-side shuffle. Side-to-side shuffle, regardless of what type of music it was. And I would go there and I sit on the side where the young ladies would sit,

that didn't get a chance to dance too much. And I would sit and sit. And this young man, by the name of Tommy Johnson, would come and ask me to dance. I'd get up, and I'd follow him out to dance floor like the morph to flame. And we'd get out there, Tommy would do slides, turns, splits, bend over and shake a tail feather. And I would do my little favorite step.

Sigh, sighs, sigh. Regardless of what he did, I would sigh, sigh, sigh. Side, sigh. That was my movements. Well, Tommy did this so much, and I got tired of it. I mean, I really got tired of it. And I went home one night after being humiliated. And I laid on my bed crying.

and thinking about Tommy and his splits and his turns and his bending over and shaking tails ever. I thought about doing a step. I said, I could do this. I could do this.

I got up off that bed, got my belt out of the closet, put it on the door knob, tighten it up, close that door, and I started doing me some slides. Almost tripped over my own foot, but I still did my slides. And I bent over and I shook a tail feather. I even did a little twirling.

Then I did the half split. I couldn't do the whole split, of course, but the half split would suffice me. And I kept this up for a whole month. I mean, I would eat. I would stop and eat, yes. I'd stop and go to school. I mean, I had to go to school, but my mother wasn't going to have that. And I come back home, do my homework, have my dinner, go to my room, and I do my little dancing.

I'd practice and practice and practice. One night, the closet door came over and I bumped my head, but I just shook that off and kept right on dancing. And I even practiced doing a headstand. I bumped my head again on the floor, shook that off, and tried it again until I got it. I said I did that for a whole month till I felt I had it together and then one night, one Friday night at six o'clock I got dressed and I went down to the center and I sat in my same little spot now I don't know who time was dancing while I was gone but I guess he was danced with somebody but I stepped my same spot waiting just wait

waiting for him to come over and ask me to dance. Through the form, here comes Mr. Tommy Johnson. And I got up and I followed him out to the dance floor. Now when you get out there on the dance floor, if you're really doing something spectacular, a crowd will gather around you. Now that crowd is there to help you stay inside the circle to let the person that's doing the fantastic dancing, do their thing. And if you're not dancing so good and you try to get out of that circle, you can't go nowhere.

You got to stay inside that circle and endure the humiliation. Well, Tommy had asked me to dance again, and I was inside the circle. And he was doing his splits. He was doing his turns, his slides. I mean, he had it going on. He was sliding all over the face. And then bending over and shaking a tail, pepper. tail pepper. And I let him go right ahead. Go ahead. Slides tomorrow. Do the split. Shake a tail feather.

And he even galloped like he was riding the pony. I said, yeah, go right ahead. Go right ahead. And I got tired of looking at him doing all his slides and everything. And I slid up to his face. And he stood there with his mouth wide open, looking at me all wide eye or bug-eyed. And I showed him what I could do. I showed him my slides. And I mean I slide. You could think I was James Brown. I was sliding so good. And I showed him how I could bend over and shake a tail feather. And I went and did me a half split, which I could do.

Get it pretty good, too. And he just stood there looking at me with his mouth wide open, all buggy eyes. He tried to walk out the circle. But they wouldn't let him out. They came in tighter and enforced it. And that made me more determined to do my slides. might shake a tail feather and I even did like the pony too showed him I knew what I could do

and then when I tired of him I slid up to his face again and do him a kiss let him know that hey you ain't got it all like that I got me a little bit of it too and I walked out of that circle now I didn't go back to the center for a while and I didn't know what I'm going to know what I

happened to Tommy Johnson. But anyway, one day I was walking down 125th Street between 7th and 8th Avenue, the Paro Theatheatians found there. And then across the street there was a store called the record shack. And they were playing some music. I mean, they were throwing down.

And it was one of James Brown's records too. And I just, something just came over me and I started dancing. Next thing I knew I had a crowd of people around me, and I just showed off even more so. And this man stepped out of the audience, And he said, you know what, miss, you should be at the Apollo Theater. I looked at that man like he was crazy.

He said, I'm serious. He said, here. He said, come here at this time and on the state. I took the paper and I said, well, I couldn't lose it. I made getting something. And on that day, and at that precise time, I went to the Apollo Theater. And they had a group of performing up there called the Coasters.

and the lead singer was Speedo. He would come down and interact with the audience. He would take the mic and he would put it to somebody. He said, whoa, and then he put the mic to somebody's mouth, and they said nothing. He went to the next person, whoa, he got nothing. He came to me. He said, whoa, I said, wow!

He jumped back and looked at me, and he grabbed my hand, and he pulled me up on the stage. And that's the first time in my life I had ever seen anybody do the twist on one leg while they got the other leg extended in front of them Well, I couldn't do that So I did the best thing I could do I turned around and showed in my posterior jumping up one at a time And he took off his shirt But when he went to take off his pants, I screamed and I ran off the stage I heard him and got back to my seat

The Usher came down with a flashlight and he was shining in my face I said oh gosh did I do so something wrong. He said, Ms. come here. And I got up and I went to him. He said, the manager wants to see you. And I thought to myself, I'm going to get put out of the theater. They're going to put me out. They're really going to put me out. And I paid to come

in here. But I went up to the manager, brave, very brave. He said, are you working anywhere, miss? I said, no, sir. Now, here I'm 13 years old. And he said, would you like to appear here on the stage with the coast for the rest of the week? Would I? Yes.

He said, you'll get paid Friday, just like they do. I said, thank you. He said, you wouldn't have to go up on the stage every show, but be here every day. And I was through the phone. I was here every day. I went up on the stage some of the time. And one time I was up here on the stage, and who made an appearance was James Brown himself. I said, wow, then I really did something then.

I did my slide. And I had trained myself so well as I could do the slide and make it in a figure eight. He looked at me and said, wow, little mama. That became my stage name, little mama. And from there, I went to the Carver Ball Room. the Renaissance ballroom, the Audubon ballroom, the Baby Grand, Smalls Paradise, and I did my slide, and my bend over and shake a tail fellow.

I even did the fly, and I stopped doing my little side to side. That was off the hook, no more doing that. I know more doing that. But you see, I never knew what. happened to Tommy Johnson but deep down in my heart I thanked him for humiliating me the way he did because it made me more determined and I mean I was determined to show him that I was not going to be a little step step step step step I was going to show him something and I showed him and I showed the ones that held me back in that

circle that I could do something hold him back Let me do my thing. Whoa! Mom got a brand new bag. That was Audrey Pleasant. Audrey is a poet from the Bronx, and she wants you to know she can still shake a tail feather. You can find out more about our community engagement workshops

where we craft and develop stories with veterans, nurses, and neighborhood groups by going to The Moth.org. While you're there, you'll also see a photo of Audrey in her star-studded gown, on stage at The Moth. In a moment, a story of riding on two wheels with women in Yemen. When the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This spring, denim gets a softer, lighter update.

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I'm Sarah Austin Janice. Bushra al-Fusail tells our final story in this hour. It takes place in 2015 in Sana' Yemen during a three-day ceasefire with Saudi rebels, but that doesn't mean that the city is safe. In fact, her choices in this story garner a lot of outside attention and put her at risk. I called Bushra to have her set the stage for us. You said you were the golden sheep at one point.

I just loved that phrase. What kind of a kid were you? Well, I was quiet, but also I was a rebel. I remember when I was five years old, my mom started to teach me Arabic stories, and the boys would always go with their fathers, and the girls would always go to the kitchen and cut. I always ask my mom, why the hell the girls are not going with their fathers. So that was my style as a golden kid.

And how was that received by your mom and your dad? Well, that was the norm. Like the boys goes with the fathers and the daughters goes with the mothers and clean and make sure they have food and cook and clean and take care of the house. But the boys would go outside with the fathers and, you know, have fun. So, but I was, I always liked to go out with my father. I was, what they call it. A daughter, father girl, what's that phrase?

And so when this happened, did they, could they have seen it coming? Was this within your character to step out in this way? Oh, yes, my mom, she always used to freak out every time I bring any sentence towards woman's rights. So was this the first war you had lived? through? Unfortunately not. Through the history of Yemen, we always had civil war, but this was the first time we had airstrikes. And was it just a dangerous landscape? With airstrikes, we just didn't know how to deal with it because there's a bomb coming from the sky, so we don't know which areas are safe and which

as well as is not. So everybody was locking their self inside the houses, so the street were empty. For context, this story takes place in 2015 when Bushra was 27 years old. Live from the Moth Main Stage in Los Angeles, in collaboration with public radio station KCRW, here's Bushra al-Fusail. One of the nights in 2015 in Sana'a, Yemen, I used to live. I used to live, at my parents' house, and it was around 12 a.m. and I woke up, and I felt my bed was shaking. I get out of my beds, and I heard a huge explosion, and I saw my dad standing on my bedroom's door screaming, telling me to go to the basement. I ran to the basement, and I saw my mom and my two siblings. There was no electricity and there was no internet. An hour later, the internet was

back. So I went to my Facebook and I see Saudi coalition started to bomb Yemen. My parents were really scared because we never been bombed in Yemen. We always had a civil war, but we never been bombed. We never experienced. and airstrike. So me and my parents decided to stay at home and try to keep safe. But two weeks later, I started to get depressed, and I wanted to go back to work. At that time, I used to work at the UN agency,

and I was a freelance photographer. So I had a fight with my mom that I want to go back to work, and they were just telling me, it's crazy, it's so dangerous. But at that time, San'a was controlled by Yemeni rebels, and it was under a siege as well. So we didn't have any fuel in the country. And it wasn't the first time that we had a fuel crisis. So I knew from where to get fuel from the black market and knew to which point and which street they're just standing with gallons of petrol.

So I decided to go to the black market and to buy a gallon, which cost me that day from 80 to 100 used to cost $15 to $5. So I was so happy I got the fuel, and I took my car the next morning, and I decided to go to the office. I started to drive, and I looked up, and I started to see men are biking. And I was like, okay, this is, I felt happy because people are trying to find alternative ways. And it's not very familiar that bikes in Yemen, to be honest. And it reminds me as well about my childhood where me and my older sister, Sarah, we used to bike in the old city of San A,

which used to be safe and people were open-minded. And while I was driving, I looked at the other side, I started to see women are waiting for public transportation, fully covered from head to toe, holding a very heavy grocery plastic bag under heads, under a very strong sun. And it reminds me about why I can't bike anymore. So Yemen is one of the most patriarchal country in the middle of

East. And it's not forbidden that woman couldn't bike. It's not against the law and it's not against the religion. But it's against the society and against the traditions in Yemen. And as much as I ask myself, I started to get more angrier why I couldn't continue to bike. So I started to talk with my friends. What about we start to bike? And then I decided to talk to my friends. And then I decided to just to create a Facebook page called Yemeni women bike, just to see what people are going to react about it, and to create a platform that I could just suggest about women biking in this crisis. So people started to like that page,

and I was happy that people started to talk about what if women could bike in Yemen. And at that time, the Yemeni rebels were having a negotiation with the Saudi Arabis. Saudi coalition for having a ceasefire for three days. And I was like, okay, if I'm going to bike, I'm going to bike in these three days. So I did a Facebook invitation inviting Yemeni women come and join me for a ride bike. But then the problem is, again, Yemen is not Amsterdam. We don't have bikes. I can't just, you know, I can't just go to the United States.

I can't just go to the street and rent a bike. So I was like, okay, around 100 girls, they signed up that they're going to attend this campaign. So I decided to call friends and family and everybody, neighbors, who's going to lend me their bikes? So me and my friends, we gathered around five bikes, which is amazing. So I remember that night I was so nervous

because I didn't know what to expect. is so dangerous. Anybody could shoot us. There is no government in its presence at that time. And to be honest, even if the government was there, they would never protect women. But I was like, I have to do it. So that morning came at 6 a.m. I woke up. I wrote on my Facebook, it's a revolutionary day. And I hid the bikes at the backyard because I didn't tell my parents. I was always the golden sheep in my family. So I just hide them, and I took my car, my dad's car, and I just shoved them inside,

and I just went. And then I chose this huge highway in Yemen, and I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted us to be very visible for everybody, and I just want everybody just to see us. But that street was, destroyed because there was before they bombed that street. So there's rock there and there and there there. There was a checkpoint. But I ignored all these facts and I just put the five bikes next to me.

And I was just waiting, holding my camera. And I thought that, okay, I'm crazy. Maybe nobody's going to show up. It's just going to be me. But I look up, I saw my friend. And I was like, that's great. Two of us is amazing. And then I look up. Then my other friend came. I was like, I can't ask for more than that. Three of us is amazing. And then I see two ladies are walking from the checkpoint toward us, and she came and introduced herself. She's like, hi, this is me and my daughter. We came to support the campaign, but we don't know how to bike. That was the cutest thing I ever saw any event, to be honest. So I was so happy, and around five minutes,

we gathered 11 girls, and everybody just started to take the bike and take the turns. And everybody was so happy, and I was trying to take photos with my phone and my camera, and the girls told me, please don't show our faces, and I respected that. So I was like taking photos. but not showing the faces.

And it came my turn, and as I said, we were like a long obaya, so I pulled out my abaya and got on the bike. And as soon as I started to bike, I started to feel the breeze into my scarf, into my abaya, and I went back. I felt like the term moment they're just biking. And I was so happy. I completely forgot that we were under a siege,

or controlled by Yemeni rebels or being bombed with the Saudi coalition. And as well, there was like men were driving through with their cars and screaming, they were crazy or go back to your home and all these nasty words, but I completely blocked them out because I was so happy and I just felt the moment of freedom at that moment while I was biking. So for two hours we biked. Everybody left, everybody was happy, and I was so excited. I shared some pictures to my friends.

I was like, what do you think? And I returned the bikes, I went back home. And as soon as I stepped in, my parents were standing there, telling me, Bushra, what did you do today? Did you bike? I was like, no, I didn't bike. I just photographed. I lied.

They're like, people are knocking at the door, people are calling us. They were so mad, but I just left to my room. I was like, I just photographed, that's it. So I went in, and I checked my Facebook, and I started to receive all these phone calls and messages. What have I done?

Where is my dad? Why is they're not controlling me? People are starting to knock the door, asking about my dad, what have I done? Was I creating a war in a war time? I'm a bad influencer for the Yemeni girls. And all these messages that they said that if they ever saw me biking, they're going to just beat me up.

So it was very intense. I just closed the phone. And my dad ignored his phone calls too, and he didn't open the door for anybody. Next morning, my mom decided to take us to my older sister's house because it was so intense. and we went there. I had a nap that afternoon, and I woke up,

and I was listening. I heard that my mom, she was laughing. So I went down, and I went to the backyard, and I saw my mom is trying to get on the bike, trying to balance. And our backyard, like nobody could see us, is fully covered. And that was like a silent solidarity from my mother, without no words, which was very, very cute.

And then my sister came, and she was telling me, look at her Facebook. I started to look to the photo, and then there's this Yemeni girl who posted a picture while biking in Yemen, underneath it saying, in solidarity with Yemeni woman bike. And then while scrolling more down, I started to see Yemeni women, in Canada doing a campaign in solidarity with Yemeni women bike.

And then I scroll down from Canada, from Egypt, from New York, from D.C., from London, from all over the world, and hundreds of hundreds picture that have been posted, posting in Facebook and hashtagging in solidarity with Yemeni woman bike. I was extremely, extremely happy, and I felt like I'm not that crazy girl. And I showed my parents like, see your dad. daughter is not crazy. We have the right to bike. And it's true that this happened since five years. And unfortunately, the war is still going on. And the Yemeni rebels are stronger. And there's no rights for women in Yemen. And it's true that we were just 11 girls, including myself. We were

biking, but it felt a moment of freedom. And thank you. That was Bushra Alfusail. Bushra lives in New York now. She spends her time organizing in the Yemeni American community. She works in property management, and she's still taking photographs. Here's Bushra again. Do you think women are still biking? No, unfortunately not. As I said, they're controlling more the city, controlling more the country, and women are being more scared. So do you think that the bike riding was worth it? Yes, definitely yes, because the amount of the Yemeni woman that I get support after the campaign and that they know this is possible, but not under the rebels.

Definitely not. But they know as soon as they're not controlling the city, this is an option for them to bike. But right now, as long as they're there, unfortunately we can't. It's like Taliban in Afghanistan. But you think the mothers and the daughters remember this day and know that at some point it could happen again? Definitely. That's one mission that I'm going to do and remind the people that one day, under controlling these rebels and under the airstrikes of Saudi coalition,

that we were able to do it under three days of truths. But one day, you never know. You just sound like such a badass because it doesn't sound as dangerous as I think it actually won. Do you just have nerves of steel? How dangerous was this? Well, it was so dangerous. Thinking about it today,

but at the moment, I didn't think about it because I was afraid of I'm going to stop. myself from doing it. I was panicking. I was really panicking because I was responsible for the girls who was going to come and there was a big huge possibility that will be shot, we will be beaten, we will be kidnapped. And this is what I'm seeing today from the rebels that they're controlling sonar. This is what they do for women, especially outspoken women like me or anybody tried to challenge them. So definitely doing this.

I was risking my life and risking other people, but we didn't have anything to lose at that point. Either we're going to die from airstrikes or from these people. So I decided at least doing whatever I want to have. That's my right. And when you think this is your right, you're not that afraid. Like you're willing to challenge whatever it needs to go out. And you just do it.

It's incredible, incredible, incredible. And can you describe some of the beautiful photographs that the photographs related to this historic event? Well, my favorite photo is the one that comes with the background of the mosque. But I love taking pictures while the girls were getting on the bike and just riding the bike and, you know, seeing their habeyas are just flying at the back of their bikes. So I never imagined that I would see that at all.

So seeing that, I felt like I was in a dream. Bushra al-Fusail. You can see Bushra's photographs from this historic day at the moth.org. Do you have a story to tell us? You can pitch us your story by recording it right on our site. You can pitch us online at the moth.org, where you can also share these stories or others from the moth archive and buy tickets to moth storytelling events in your area

through our website, the moth.org. There are moth events year-round. You can find a show near you and come on out and tell a story. The moth can be found on all major social media platforms. That's it for this episode. We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of The Moth Radio Hour

was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Sarah Austin Janice, who also hope. hosted and directed the stories in the show, along with Catherine Burns. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer, Emily Couch. The Moss leadership team includes Gina Duncan, Christina Norman, Marina Clucay, Jennifer Hickson, Jordan Cardonnale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Patricia Yorrainea.

Mall Stories are True is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour is from Epiore. Epidemic Sound. Podcast music production support from Davy Sumner. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including executive producer Leah Reese Dennis. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, which we hope you'll do, and to learn more about the moth, go to our website, the moth.org.