Definitely time for a new entry....because chapter 1 is now 3 days away from finishing and Chapter 2 (A.K.A) Sri lanka, is about to begin. I will not have a computer while traveling around Sri Lanka, and judging by my previous memories of the place, finding an internet cafe is close to impossible, and finding one with a connection that works..well..not even Tom Cruise can pull that one off....
So let me begin. Finishing off from my previous entry, a lot has happened. The event however that strikes me the most was graduation day. Everyone, well, at least those who have had enough patience to read up on the blog ( and bothered to leave a comment..lol..Dana u rock! ) will have known that I was given the privilege to teach graphic design to some amazing people, a.k.a my somali refugee friends..even though I hate referring to them as refugees... cuz if anything, they are Somali heroes. The day, pressed by the hands of time, finally came, so last Saturday we held the official graduation/ceremony at the SUCCEED center in Hadda Street.
Once again I found myself in the position of pretty much organizing the whole thing.....pressing people into saying yes or no rather than Inshallah.. which means, if Allah wills ( commonly used as an excuse to say..If I dont chew qut..If I dont have a bad hair day..If I have my coffee...If the world doesnt end...If I can be bothered...then maybe, just maybe..it may get done..but no promises..). N e ways, to cut to the chase, finally by Saturday morning we had the certificates ready, the posters printed, the projector in place and the room set up with a big humongous chocolate cake courtesy of Mr Khalid Dubai. Present at the ceremony were students from the IDSL course..which is basically general computer knowledge..my amazingly talented students, and..wow..Mr Alexis Garnett and the famous Egyptian/greek/brit/yemeni/all round dude Mr Andrew Knight representing the UNHCR dept. Also present were Mr Khalid Dubai and Ammar, representing succeed and IDF. The atmosphere was buzzing, there were smiles all around and all were ready to get their certificate and comment on their experieneces gained.
To be continued....
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
AK's story..
He is one of those people who easily are overlooked. Although his features stand him apart, his skin is black to the point his Somali friends playfully call him ‘Black man’, his face has hard features where you can perfectly tell the outline of the skull in part due to his profound skinniness, but yet his character is so easy going, so non-obtrusive, impeccably polite and well natured, he passes by easily unnoticed.
Once upon a time, things were peaceful and prosperous. A little skinny 8 year old boy was growing up in Baardheere, a southern town near the border of Kenya in Somalia. The little boy’s life was good, he is the youngest and he is adored by everyone, especially his mum. Dad was a cleric at the Mosque, mum was running her own market business, they had a house and 3 meals a day. War erupted, the family fled the rural area outside of Baardheere. Before they leave they hide the entire families wealth in a secret area within the house that nobody could find. 4 months living in the bush they return to their town. The once lively town is destroyed. A burnt out shell represents their house. Mum’s market store is looted. The family’s secret hidden money, all their money in the world, is nothing more than ash. There is nowhere to go, but no reason to stay. They have family in Mogadishu. Violence is flaring up around the country. They beg a man travelling in a car to Mogadishu to give them a lift. The man generously agrees to let them pay later if they can. A few short hours into the journey the driver looses control of the vehicle and it overturns in a bush wasteland far from anywhere. Thanks to Allah nobody is killed, but mum’s arm is broken in 2 places, she is screaming in agony. They wait by the side of the road praying for a lift. No cars come, they sleep by the road. A little boy sleeps to the sound of his mother crying in pain. The next day a vehicle comes past, takes them to the nearest rural village no further. The village, little more than a few straw huts and poor subsistence farmers, has no medical facilities. People know each other in this part of the world. They recognise the little boy’s mum from her market store, they let the family stay. Mum’s arm is now the size of balloon and her pain is intense. The villages traditional healer ‘bleeds’ her arm, a process of making incisions into the flesh to allow the swelling blood a place to drain. No anaesthetic, no sanitation. The family stay living with the village for 6 months, waiting for mum’s arm to heal. It’s a hard life for city folk, one meal per day at the discretion of the other village families and no amenities. One day the villages pool together some money, they give it to the little boy’s family so they can pay a driver to take them to Mogadishu.
They reach Mogadishu finally, its 1992 and the city is in the grips of civil war. The family take shelter with some relatives. Venturing outside is risky business, no guarantee to return back. Robberies, clan violence, stray bullets. But the family have no money. The family’s eldest son lives in Saudi Arabia, he sends $150 to the family, the elder brother goes to get the money from the transfer office, but he is robbed along the way and only brings back a fragment. Dad “doesn’t do much”, he puts his faith in Allah and spends his days in prayer. The little skinny boy can’t watch his family slowly starve and so he starts working. He takes a drum of cool water to the market place to sell to the people a glass of cool water at a time. He work his tender age, intentionally makes himself adorable, jokes and talks to every potential customer in the market. The people love him and although there are other water boys, they wait for him to pass to purchase from him. The throws of the civil war continue, but the little skinny boy does his business. Everyday he wakes up at 5AM, goes to the market there is no breakfast, he is now selling 3 tanks of cool water per day. He returns only at 4PM when the family eat their one meal of the day. The little boy saves 5000 Somali shillings per day (about US$1.50). He has a hiding place, tucks it under his mum’s bed, under a pile of rags, in a little nook in the wall, in a little casket. It’s his secret, nobody knows about it not even mum. Everyday the little skinny boy dutifully heads out into the city in the middle of a civil war, sells his glasses of water and saves a little each day. His older brother sees his little brother’s success and starts selling water as well. But seemingly everyday he is robbed of all his hard earned money. The little boy’s secret money stash grows to 500,000 shilling (US$150)… but nobody knows.
Mum has a problem, her eyesight is failing, after less than a year in Mogadishu she can now hardly see. Before long she is blind. The family have no money. Everybody is lucky to have 1 meal before them, the war around has only escalated and even the markets are closed now, ending the little boy’s water business. Mum only knows which child she is holding by gently running her hands across her Childs faces to feel the outline. She knows her youngest, as he has a scar running just above his nose between his eyebrows. She refuses to sleep without a hand on her little boy at night. The brothers take mum to a student hospital and beg someone to practise their skills and treat her. Thanks to Allah a student doctor agrees to conduct surgery on their mum’s eyes for a nominal fee. They take her home with the doctors warning, “She must have rest, and the healthy foods I told you, and importantly she must have her medicine or she might never see”. The brothers go home, the older brother calls a family meeting, just for one box of medicine it will cost 100,000 shillings. “What can we do?, we have to buy mum medicine, but we have no money”, his older brother breaks down in tears, his 15 years can take no more pressure. Mum speaks gently, “Don’t cry my son, I have lived 45 years, I have worked, I have married, I have raised my children…. I have seen enough”. On these words the little skinny boy is crying, he takes his brother hand and leads him to mum’s bedroom. He opens his secret stash. His brother lets out a cry of joy and amazement, “Where did you get this money!?”, Mum hears the commotion, they tell her the good news. The family choose the little skinny boy to go to the pharmacy to buy the medicine as if anyone else goes they will probably be robbed. He is successful. He returns with a first box of the precious medicine. His mother takes him aside, feels his identifying scar on his forehead, “My son, you have done a very good thing for your mum … you can never be in trouble again”.
Every month the little skinny boy makes his way through the Mogadishu streets, he is never bothered by anyone, his 10 years and tiny frame, an unnoticeable character weave a cloak of invisibility, he travels always to the medical clinic. Always visits the young student doctor who operated on his mum, “When can we take mum’s bandages off her eyes?”. The Doctor says, “Come here little boy, not yet ok”. After the 3rd month, the doctor finally say its time, he issues a warning to make sure she only opens her eyes very slowly and gently. Elated the little boy runs home. Despite being the youngest, he is now the head of the family. He instructs his older brother to take the bandage off mum’s eyes and tells mum to only open her eyes slowly slowly. Mum says, “Come here my little boy, let my son who returned my sight be the first person I see.” Her eyes open – she can see again!
Late 1992, the Americans arrive. Peace is slowly brought back to the city. Business can start again. The little boy still has 100,000shillings left ($US25) from his old water business. He has a new business idea. He buys 3 packets of cigarettes, selling individual cigarettes around the city. He is adorable. He jokes and is light hearted with every customer. Again the people love him. They wait for him to come past and insist to purchase cigarettes from the little boy. Again he is saving his money in a little stash each day. Again he is working from 5AM in the morning, marching throw the Mogadishu streets until 4PM when he drags himself home to eat the first and only meal of the day. His business is good enough, the little boy approaches a teacher, he wants to learn something, he has never attended school. He knows the family rely on his earnings he checks with mum, she agrees. He pays the teacher some cash each day, insisting, “I will come to class exactly on time, but you have to be there on time also, I have business to get back to and will only stay exactly one hour.” The teacher agrees and the little boy starts hungrily learning. His brother again copies his brother’s business, selling cigarettes. But routinely he is robbed and the little boy has to re-stock his older brother’s stolen supply. The little boy laughs, “Why are you always robbed and me never?”. His older brother replies, “Cos mum said you can never be in trouble again”.
Slowly mum’s health returns, she returns to market business, over time the family’s position improves, they now eat 3 meals a day. Every week the family have a meeting together. One day the little skinny boy, says “I want to leave this country”. Mum disagrees. He insists. Next week and the week after, the little boy makes the same statement at the family meeting, “I want to leave this country”. Eventually mum relents and gives her little boy her blessings. He leaves for Kenya, studies a little, and eventually winds up in Yemen.
AK tell me that no-matter what circumstances come and go, if he loses a job, if he has to ask for money from his family, if he needs a place to live… still too this day, he has never been in trouble.
Once upon a time, things were peaceful and prosperous. A little skinny 8 year old boy was growing up in Baardheere, a southern town near the border of Kenya in Somalia. The little boy’s life was good, he is the youngest and he is adored by everyone, especially his mum. Dad was a cleric at the Mosque, mum was running her own market business, they had a house and 3 meals a day. War erupted, the family fled the rural area outside of Baardheere. Before they leave they hide the entire families wealth in a secret area within the house that nobody could find. 4 months living in the bush they return to their town. The once lively town is destroyed. A burnt out shell represents their house. Mum’s market store is looted. The family’s secret hidden money, all their money in the world, is nothing more than ash. There is nowhere to go, but no reason to stay. They have family in Mogadishu. Violence is flaring up around the country. They beg a man travelling in a car to Mogadishu to give them a lift. The man generously agrees to let them pay later if they can. A few short hours into the journey the driver looses control of the vehicle and it overturns in a bush wasteland far from anywhere. Thanks to Allah nobody is killed, but mum’s arm is broken in 2 places, she is screaming in agony. They wait by the side of the road praying for a lift. No cars come, they sleep by the road. A little boy sleeps to the sound of his mother crying in pain. The next day a vehicle comes past, takes them to the nearest rural village no further. The village, little more than a few straw huts and poor subsistence farmers, has no medical facilities. People know each other in this part of the world. They recognise the little boy’s mum from her market store, they let the family stay. Mum’s arm is now the size of balloon and her pain is intense. The villages traditional healer ‘bleeds’ her arm, a process of making incisions into the flesh to allow the swelling blood a place to drain. No anaesthetic, no sanitation. The family stay living with the village for 6 months, waiting for mum’s arm to heal. It’s a hard life for city folk, one meal per day at the discretion of the other village families and no amenities. One day the villages pool together some money, they give it to the little boy’s family so they can pay a driver to take them to Mogadishu.
They reach Mogadishu finally, its 1992 and the city is in the grips of civil war. The family take shelter with some relatives. Venturing outside is risky business, no guarantee to return back. Robberies, clan violence, stray bullets. But the family have no money. The family’s eldest son lives in Saudi Arabia, he sends $150 to the family, the elder brother goes to get the money from the transfer office, but he is robbed along the way and only brings back a fragment. Dad “doesn’t do much”, he puts his faith in Allah and spends his days in prayer. The little skinny boy can’t watch his family slowly starve and so he starts working. He takes a drum of cool water to the market place to sell to the people a glass of cool water at a time. He work his tender age, intentionally makes himself adorable, jokes and talks to every potential customer in the market. The people love him and although there are other water boys, they wait for him to pass to purchase from him. The throws of the civil war continue, but the little skinny boy does his business. Everyday he wakes up at 5AM, goes to the market there is no breakfast, he is now selling 3 tanks of cool water per day. He returns only at 4PM when the family eat their one meal of the day. The little boy saves 5000 Somali shillings per day (about US$1.50). He has a hiding place, tucks it under his mum’s bed, under a pile of rags, in a little nook in the wall, in a little casket. It’s his secret, nobody knows about it not even mum. Everyday the little skinny boy dutifully heads out into the city in the middle of a civil war, sells his glasses of water and saves a little each day. His older brother sees his little brother’s success and starts selling water as well. But seemingly everyday he is robbed of all his hard earned money. The little boy’s secret money stash grows to 500,000 shilling (US$150)… but nobody knows.
Mum has a problem, her eyesight is failing, after less than a year in Mogadishu she can now hardly see. Before long she is blind. The family have no money. Everybody is lucky to have 1 meal before them, the war around has only escalated and even the markets are closed now, ending the little boy’s water business. Mum only knows which child she is holding by gently running her hands across her Childs faces to feel the outline. She knows her youngest, as he has a scar running just above his nose between his eyebrows. She refuses to sleep without a hand on her little boy at night. The brothers take mum to a student hospital and beg someone to practise their skills and treat her. Thanks to Allah a student doctor agrees to conduct surgery on their mum’s eyes for a nominal fee. They take her home with the doctors warning, “She must have rest, and the healthy foods I told you, and importantly she must have her medicine or she might never see”. The brothers go home, the older brother calls a family meeting, just for one box of medicine it will cost 100,000 shillings. “What can we do?, we have to buy mum medicine, but we have no money”, his older brother breaks down in tears, his 15 years can take no more pressure. Mum speaks gently, “Don’t cry my son, I have lived 45 years, I have worked, I have married, I have raised my children…. I have seen enough”. On these words the little skinny boy is crying, he takes his brother hand and leads him to mum’s bedroom. He opens his secret stash. His brother lets out a cry of joy and amazement, “Where did you get this money!?”, Mum hears the commotion, they tell her the good news. The family choose the little skinny boy to go to the pharmacy to buy the medicine as if anyone else goes they will probably be robbed. He is successful. He returns with a first box of the precious medicine. His mother takes him aside, feels his identifying scar on his forehead, “My son, you have done a very good thing for your mum … you can never be in trouble again”.
Every month the little skinny boy makes his way through the Mogadishu streets, he is never bothered by anyone, his 10 years and tiny frame, an unnoticeable character weave a cloak of invisibility, he travels always to the medical clinic. Always visits the young student doctor who operated on his mum, “When can we take mum’s bandages off her eyes?”. The Doctor says, “Come here little boy, not yet ok”. After the 3rd month, the doctor finally say its time, he issues a warning to make sure she only opens her eyes very slowly and gently. Elated the little boy runs home. Despite being the youngest, he is now the head of the family. He instructs his older brother to take the bandage off mum’s eyes and tells mum to only open her eyes slowly slowly. Mum says, “Come here my little boy, let my son who returned my sight be the first person I see.” Her eyes open – she can see again!
Late 1992, the Americans arrive. Peace is slowly brought back to the city. Business can start again. The little boy still has 100,000shillings left ($US25) from his old water business. He has a new business idea. He buys 3 packets of cigarettes, selling individual cigarettes around the city. He is adorable. He jokes and is light hearted with every customer. Again the people love him. They wait for him to come past and insist to purchase cigarettes from the little boy. Again he is saving his money in a little stash each day. Again he is working from 5AM in the morning, marching throw the Mogadishu streets until 4PM when he drags himself home to eat the first and only meal of the day. His business is good enough, the little boy approaches a teacher, he wants to learn something, he has never attended school. He knows the family rely on his earnings he checks with mum, she agrees. He pays the teacher some cash each day, insisting, “I will come to class exactly on time, but you have to be there on time also, I have business to get back to and will only stay exactly one hour.” The teacher agrees and the little boy starts hungrily learning. His brother again copies his brother’s business, selling cigarettes. But routinely he is robbed and the little boy has to re-stock his older brother’s stolen supply. The little boy laughs, “Why are you always robbed and me never?”. His older brother replies, “Cos mum said you can never be in trouble again”.
Slowly mum’s health returns, she returns to market business, over time the family’s position improves, they now eat 3 meals a day. Every week the family have a meeting together. One day the little skinny boy, says “I want to leave this country”. Mum disagrees. He insists. Next week and the week after, the little boy makes the same statement at the family meeting, “I want to leave this country”. Eventually mum relents and gives her little boy her blessings. He leaves for Kenya, studies a little, and eventually winds up in Yemen.
AK tell me that no-matter what circumstances come and go, if he loses a job, if he has to ask for money from his family, if he needs a place to live… still too this day, he has never been in trouble.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Thoughts In Motion..
We all wonder and walk in unknown places through each and every day we’re given.
Sometimes lost, without clear direction, we flirt with fire, an excitement to bring newness to the same old situation.
Life is boring, and happiness seldom grasped, for one moment we may feel it, but the next its gone, a fleeting past.
I admire people with purpose and direction in their life, for focus gives a reason to be strong when you don’t feel like being strong, its like knowing that though the tunnel is dark now and foreign objects scattered on the ground may slow your walk, by taking a few more steps and maybe acquiring just a few more bruises, you’ll reach a point where the fading glow in the distance will soon become a guiding light, a destination point, a promised land of clarity and reason.
No more fearing a fall, for light will then highlight all the same old obstacles you so easily stumbled on whence in the dark. It makes the walk through the tunnel worth it, for you know it was the only way to reach that place, that place of comfort and experienced gain.
Sometimes lost, without clear direction, we flirt with fire, an excitement to bring newness to the same old situation.
Life is boring, and happiness seldom grasped, for one moment we may feel it, but the next its gone, a fleeting past.
I admire people with purpose and direction in their life, for focus gives a reason to be strong when you don’t feel like being strong, its like knowing that though the tunnel is dark now and foreign objects scattered on the ground may slow your walk, by taking a few more steps and maybe acquiring just a few more bruises, you’ll reach a point where the fading glow in the distance will soon become a guiding light, a destination point, a promised land of clarity and reason.
No more fearing a fall, for light will then highlight all the same old obstacles you so easily stumbled on whence in the dark. It makes the walk through the tunnel worth it, for you know it was the only way to reach that place, that place of comfort and experienced gain.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
We keep on forward for backwards is old news...
Guess the time has come to update the blog. Think about two weeks has passed since the last entry and though much has happened since I'll try to stay away from the deep and meaningful, the introspective or the humorous because although there is much to be talked about, Id like to sum up all events as "Im still alive, and breathing", which I guess is quite obvious, otherwise writing this blog would have been extremely complicated. So, Lex is finally back from Rwanda, which means I'm back on the single 2 cm x 2 cm foam square also known as my bed. Each room in the house we are in has been appropriately named in accordance to its comfort and functionality levels. The first room I was in, now occupied by Andrew, I titled "Solitaire" because of its dimensions, its lack of light and oxygen...and because the greater amount of my sleepless nights was spent there...alone, cramped, in the dark, struggling to breathe.
Then, in Alex's absence , I moved into "Forty Virgins", titled so because sleeping on his bed gives one a brief insight of what life in heaven must be like. The room is big, the oxygen to spare, the light forthcoming from all directions, and his bed...well...his bed.. is the epitome of comfort in Sana'a. One sleeps, and sleeps well while on its soft accommodating features. But Now Alex is back, so I'm back into the living room, A.K.A , "the theater", for everything from chewing Qut, reading books, working out, drinking coffee..listening to music and so on, happens in this room. The room is faced directly facing the streets, which gives me a greater aiming position to kill Lucifer, the skanky white dog, who has now recruited two more skanks into his army, all three white, and all three skanky. This room also exposes me to a level of noise compared to being stuck inside the speakers of a heavy metal concert, which definitely aids my sleep....but I did promise, no whingeing in this chapter. Love life here..well, let's say I met a barbie girl, who looks so pretty on the outside, and giggles like a three year old high on cordial. After three dates, I figured I was so bored that jumping from a cliff sounded like a suitable option, meaning I moved on... and am still left to wonder.. will I ever find Miss right?.. the woman who radiates intelligence, witt, looks, warmth and love for others other than how pretty she is, or should I walk through this life alone, with a few kisses on the way?... lol.. over it! N e ways... three weeks to Sri Lanka... I cant wait. I finally received a replied from my dear friend Vernon, who will be waiting for me at the airport and has arranged a room for the first night while I decide what part of Sri Lanka I want to explore. I miss my family to bits...Mum, if yo are reading this out at a Sunday lunch to all the lazy people who couldn't be bothered opening a webpage and reading up ( Granny excluded as she has no net) please speak this out on my behalf. Rebecca and Kris, no greater joy do I have to hear that the two of you have decided to tie the knot.You are both people of depth and character, and both are growing in the knowledge of grace and love for the man up above. What you will gain is a lifetime friendship, a love not determined by situations but steadied in a commitment to love and honor one another through the good and the bad times, and for this times ahead, I wish you both the very very best. Love you both to bits. Jasmin, what can I say, you are the air I breathe. My best friend in so many ways, my sister and companion of laughs who through your love for me manages to laugh at my lamest jokes while refraining from speaking out loud "poor special brother..bless bless". I love you soooooooooo much, and to Dillan, your b/f and one of the softest hearts Ive had the pleasure to meet, even though he tries to cover it with his "Maulry maulry" statements and his strangle holds... bro, love you man, and the girl you have near you is one in a non countable amount, so act accordingly hey:).To Ken, the wise words you left me with still sound loudly in my heart and mind..."George bush is an idiot and boxing is one of the greatest sports invented", however you, mum, and everybody else sitting at the table and beyond knows that you are a man of a golden heart who's qualities are to be admired and impersonated..."except for your hieroglyphic style handwriting. To granny, I couldn't have done this without you. You gave me the financial kick on the backside to get me serious about saving money and taking off on this journey, and I deeply appreciate that you take the time to read and enjoy my blog entries. Thank you once again, and as you may have gathered from the entries, it has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride, but one still very much happening. To rob and tash, what's there to say about you that isnt told by the love you share? Tash, you are an amazing writer and when I get back I want to see your name on the shelves of bookstores. Dreams happen one day at a time, but if you add desire, passion and willingness to your dreams those seeds will bring forth fruit in due season. To Rob, bro u figured out how do do your tax online?..lol.. Bro I love you immensely man, I miss the coffee's we shared on the strip and just catching up with my bro. I hope all is well with your job, that Australia is finally over the whole recession thing and that the days as an apprentice may fly by for you. Look forward to catching up with you. To angelica... You are not at the table, so my words for you will be expressed when I cover you in kisses in Sydney. I love you and miss you so much that words could not convey, but the same can be said about you and Jordan. Best of friends, an amazing future ahead..and Jordan..look up in the sky and thank him everyday for the girl you have by your side. Finally to mum..I love you from the depth of my most inner being. A confidante, a friend, a mum and a provider. Wisdom graces your neck like a necklace made from the finest jewels, and you are a woman who others follow not from words, but inspired by your actions. You could never be replaced, you are and always will be a role model to me, and to say I admire you and love you would be like skimming the surface of the deepest lake, where though only the glimmering light of the surface is visible, there is so much more laying underneath. I love you guys so so so so much.
Lex and I are doing great. Not sure on Lex\s career future yet as he hasnt filled me in, but I will report back on any news.
Much Love from abroad.
Jonathan.( ps.... to Jeffrey... stop looking at the food and go guard the house or something..)
Then, in Alex's absence , I moved into "Forty Virgins", titled so because sleeping on his bed gives one a brief insight of what life in heaven must be like. The room is big, the oxygen to spare, the light forthcoming from all directions, and his bed...well...his bed.. is the epitome of comfort in Sana'a. One sleeps, and sleeps well while on its soft accommodating features. But Now Alex is back, so I'm back into the living room, A.K.A , "the theater", for everything from chewing Qut, reading books, working out, drinking coffee..listening to music and so on, happens in this room. The room is faced directly facing the streets, which gives me a greater aiming position to kill Lucifer, the skanky white dog, who has now recruited two more skanks into his army, all three white, and all three skanky. This room also exposes me to a level of noise compared to being stuck inside the speakers of a heavy metal concert, which definitely aids my sleep....but I did promise, no whingeing in this chapter. Love life here..well, let's say I met a barbie girl, who looks so pretty on the outside, and giggles like a three year old high on cordial. After three dates, I figured I was so bored that jumping from a cliff sounded like a suitable option, meaning I moved on... and am still left to wonder.. will I ever find Miss right?.. the woman who radiates intelligence, witt, looks, warmth and love for others other than how pretty she is, or should I walk through this life alone, with a few kisses on the way?... lol.. over it! N e ways... three weeks to Sri Lanka... I cant wait. I finally received a replied from my dear friend Vernon, who will be waiting for me at the airport and has arranged a room for the first night while I decide what part of Sri Lanka I want to explore. I miss my family to bits...Mum, if yo are reading this out at a Sunday lunch to all the lazy people who couldn't be bothered opening a webpage and reading up ( Granny excluded as she has no net) please speak this out on my behalf. Rebecca and Kris, no greater joy do I have to hear that the two of you have decided to tie the knot.You are both people of depth and character, and both are growing in the knowledge of grace and love for the man up above. What you will gain is a lifetime friendship, a love not determined by situations but steadied in a commitment to love and honor one another through the good and the bad times, and for this times ahead, I wish you both the very very best. Love you both to bits. Jasmin, what can I say, you are the air I breathe. My best friend in so many ways, my sister and companion of laughs who through your love for me manages to laugh at my lamest jokes while refraining from speaking out loud "poor special brother..bless bless". I love you soooooooooo much, and to Dillan, your b/f and one of the softest hearts Ive had the pleasure to meet, even though he tries to cover it with his "Maulry maulry" statements and his strangle holds... bro, love you man, and the girl you have near you is one in a non countable amount, so act accordingly hey:).To Ken, the wise words you left me with still sound loudly in my heart and mind..."George bush is an idiot and boxing is one of the greatest sports invented", however you, mum, and everybody else sitting at the table and beyond knows that you are a man of a golden heart who's qualities are to be admired and impersonated..."except for your hieroglyphic style handwriting. To granny, I couldn't have done this without you. You gave me the financial kick on the backside to get me serious about saving money and taking off on this journey, and I deeply appreciate that you take the time to read and enjoy my blog entries. Thank you once again, and as you may have gathered from the entries, it has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride, but one still very much happening. To rob and tash, what's there to say about you that isnt told by the love you share? Tash, you are an amazing writer and when I get back I want to see your name on the shelves of bookstores. Dreams happen one day at a time, but if you add desire, passion and willingness to your dreams those seeds will bring forth fruit in due season. To Rob, bro u figured out how do do your tax online?..lol.. Bro I love you immensely man, I miss the coffee's we shared on the strip and just catching up with my bro. I hope all is well with your job, that Australia is finally over the whole recession thing and that the days as an apprentice may fly by for you. Look forward to catching up with you. To angelica... You are not at the table, so my words for you will be expressed when I cover you in kisses in Sydney. I love you and miss you so much that words could not convey, but the same can be said about you and Jordan. Best of friends, an amazing future ahead..and Jordan..look up in the sky and thank him everyday for the girl you have by your side. Finally to mum..I love you from the depth of my most inner being. A confidante, a friend, a mum and a provider. Wisdom graces your neck like a necklace made from the finest jewels, and you are a woman who others follow not from words, but inspired by your actions. You could never be replaced, you are and always will be a role model to me, and to say I admire you and love you would be like skimming the surface of the deepest lake, where though only the glimmering light of the surface is visible, there is so much more laying underneath. I love you guys so so so so much.
Lex and I are doing great. Not sure on Lex\s career future yet as he hasnt filled me in, but I will report back on any news.
Much Love from abroad.
Jonathan.( ps.... to Jeffrey... stop looking at the food and go guard the house or something..)
Friday, October 9, 2009
Just another day....
And that's how it feels sometimes. When overseas you experience a range of emotions which seem to come and go like a runway roller coaster. Sometimes you begin to reminisce on the familiarity, the comfort of the surroundings you left behind. The ease involved with being able to call up and meet with a friend, a family member, or to join the whole family on one of mum's famous Sunday lunches, where laughs are shared, exquisite meals served and where everyone gets to chill out on the oh so soft and inviting couch while sporting a belly that would make Buddha green with envy. Then you remind yourself that however much you may love your close ones, there was a pressing reason that drove you to yearn for change, to embrace something foreign and unknown, because in my opinion, the unknown, though unwelcomed at first, also attracts us with its magnetic promise of adventure and excitement, holding the key to experiences that could seldom be had when one remains in the realm of familiarity.
So there you are, having extracted yourself from your comfort zone, you find yourself in a land not only foreign in its flora and fauna, but also intricately different in its cultural and social fibre. The language is different, the customs and ways of doing things completely alien and at times so hard to comprehend that you wonder how things can seem to function or work when you are so used to things functioning the only way you know how...which is how they work in the environment you were raised. But that's what fascinating, that is what makes traveling to other places a must, if only to realize the world is a varied and intriguing place, where your way is not the only way and the colours of the painting that make the world so intricate shine brighter than you've ever seen before.
So here I sit, in a net coffee bar miles away from my "home", sitting alone trying to make sense of the variety of feelings I find myself confronted with. Alexis left for Rwanda today. He will be gone for two weeks and I already know Im going to miss him. I have other friends here but Lex is like a foundational stone for me.
However life goes on, and so do the various expectations placed on me from various sources... such as.."Hey, Gio, could you design my wedding invites for me?... and.. "Hey, Gio, could you design my concert promotional posters...oh.. and more ID cards for the clinic..and oh..".. and so on and so on....
Sometimes I feel on the worn out side. I really enjoy what I do, the satisfaction I get from seeing my students progressing with their computer skills, helping out friends promote their causes or bands, helping a refugee based clinic become more organized and therefore more functional through better communication methods and equipping their staff with the necessary tools, but at the same time, Im running out of money...fast ..and considering I still have a month left in Yemen followed by a further three weeks in Sri Lanka I must admit sometimes the worry level is increased in the form of anxiety. I have the option to teach english at at an institute near by, which would provide me with some cash, but the only problem with that is that my daily schedule is jam packed with voluntary work, which is the reason why I am here, so I find myself torn between the two, not wanting to let anyone down, but at the same time realizing I too need to survive. I don't like relying on others for support, as I feel that this is something I ventured into out of my own will, yet at the same time I feel myself pressed into a wall, saying.."what now?.
So far as the future goes, after Sri Lanka I will be heading back to Australia to first and foremost give my loved ones a big hug, but I'm also planning God willing to do a three month English teaching course which would give me the necessary paperwork and skills to take off to another part of the world, where I could organize myself between teaching english on a paid basis, and doing voluntary work on the side.I feel Im getting addicted to the lifestyle, the immersion of oneself into a foreign land, into unknown situations. I love learning new things and meeting new people, and I have a deep inner desire to make my life count for something, which in turn, really, means living it for others. Who knows, through the little I give I may be helping out a future up and coming graphic designer,spark in him/her a passion that will see them develop their skills and support and teach others in turn. Or perhaps teaching english to someone who one day will use the language to lead his people in a presidential or influential position.
The fact is, and remains, that we are not always aware of the repercussion of our actions. What starts off as a ripple may in time turn into a tidal wave of an enormity we may never get to witness with our own eyes, yet it still happens, and I guess the beauty of this life we live is hidden in its unpredictability. What we know, what we see, is only a small part of what is. This I witness everyday through observing others, and the influence they've been able to have in the lives of people using what they have, weather little or small, and imparting it into the lives of others as seeds that will one day sprout and bear fruit. Time is precious, time is of the essence, but with little time so much can be achieved if only we learn to use it wisely, and that is something Im trying to learn the value of more and more everyday.
Just venting thoughts I guess... I'm in a pensive mood , happy, yet sad, fulfilled, yet lacking, sure, yet confused. Ever had one of those days?. Though I have friends, at times I feel as loneliness is a constant companion of mine. But I have felt this all my life. Surrounded by a million faces I still sometimes feels its claws gripping deep inside, like a well that cannot be filled, a dark , cold room where the only sound heard is the echoing of my own breath, and it is in that room where In my mind I would love to reach out, and grab a sure hand, a hand which is steady and will not let go, one that loves unconditionally and will accept me as I am. I wonder If Im alone in this , I wonder if others feel this too, but I guess its true of all, just different in its varying degrees. K... got a bit dark then..sorry..but as I said... just venting thoughts...
All in all, everything is well. What is today will change tomorrow, but let us live today, let us be glad in the good things we have, and let us first and foremost look at the beauty that is being human, with our strengths and our flaws alike. Life is precious, life is powerful, but life is best when shared wit others, this I know for sure.
OVER AND OUT:)
So there you are, having extracted yourself from your comfort zone, you find yourself in a land not only foreign in its flora and fauna, but also intricately different in its cultural and social fibre. The language is different, the customs and ways of doing things completely alien and at times so hard to comprehend that you wonder how things can seem to function or work when you are so used to things functioning the only way you know how...which is how they work in the environment you were raised. But that's what fascinating, that is what makes traveling to other places a must, if only to realize the world is a varied and intriguing place, where your way is not the only way and the colours of the painting that make the world so intricate shine brighter than you've ever seen before.
So here I sit, in a net coffee bar miles away from my "home", sitting alone trying to make sense of the variety of feelings I find myself confronted with. Alexis left for Rwanda today. He will be gone for two weeks and I already know Im going to miss him. I have other friends here but Lex is like a foundational stone for me.
However life goes on, and so do the various expectations placed on me from various sources... such as.."Hey, Gio, could you design my wedding invites for me?... and.. "Hey, Gio, could you design my concert promotional posters...oh.. and more ID cards for the clinic..and oh..".. and so on and so on....
Sometimes I feel on the worn out side. I really enjoy what I do, the satisfaction I get from seeing my students progressing with their computer skills, helping out friends promote their causes or bands, helping a refugee based clinic become more organized and therefore more functional through better communication methods and equipping their staff with the necessary tools, but at the same time, Im running out of money...fast ..and considering I still have a month left in Yemen followed by a further three weeks in Sri Lanka I must admit sometimes the worry level is increased in the form of anxiety. I have the option to teach english at at an institute near by, which would provide me with some cash, but the only problem with that is that my daily schedule is jam packed with voluntary work, which is the reason why I am here, so I find myself torn between the two, not wanting to let anyone down, but at the same time realizing I too need to survive. I don't like relying on others for support, as I feel that this is something I ventured into out of my own will, yet at the same time I feel myself pressed into a wall, saying.."what now?.
So far as the future goes, after Sri Lanka I will be heading back to Australia to first and foremost give my loved ones a big hug, but I'm also planning God willing to do a three month English teaching course which would give me the necessary paperwork and skills to take off to another part of the world, where I could organize myself between teaching english on a paid basis, and doing voluntary work on the side.I feel Im getting addicted to the lifestyle, the immersion of oneself into a foreign land, into unknown situations. I love learning new things and meeting new people, and I have a deep inner desire to make my life count for something, which in turn, really, means living it for others. Who knows, through the little I give I may be helping out a future up and coming graphic designer,spark in him/her a passion that will see them develop their skills and support and teach others in turn. Or perhaps teaching english to someone who one day will use the language to lead his people in a presidential or influential position.
The fact is, and remains, that we are not always aware of the repercussion of our actions. What starts off as a ripple may in time turn into a tidal wave of an enormity we may never get to witness with our own eyes, yet it still happens, and I guess the beauty of this life we live is hidden in its unpredictability. What we know, what we see, is only a small part of what is. This I witness everyday through observing others, and the influence they've been able to have in the lives of people using what they have, weather little or small, and imparting it into the lives of others as seeds that will one day sprout and bear fruit. Time is precious, time is of the essence, but with little time so much can be achieved if only we learn to use it wisely, and that is something Im trying to learn the value of more and more everyday.
Just venting thoughts I guess... I'm in a pensive mood , happy, yet sad, fulfilled, yet lacking, sure, yet confused. Ever had one of those days?. Though I have friends, at times I feel as loneliness is a constant companion of mine. But I have felt this all my life. Surrounded by a million faces I still sometimes feels its claws gripping deep inside, like a well that cannot be filled, a dark , cold room where the only sound heard is the echoing of my own breath, and it is in that room where In my mind I would love to reach out, and grab a sure hand, a hand which is steady and will not let go, one that loves unconditionally and will accept me as I am. I wonder If Im alone in this , I wonder if others feel this too, but I guess its true of all, just different in its varying degrees. K... got a bit dark then..sorry..but as I said... just venting thoughts...
All in all, everything is well. What is today will change tomorrow, but let us live today, let us be glad in the good things we have, and let us first and foremost look at the beauty that is being human, with our strengths and our flaws alike. Life is precious, life is powerful, but life is best when shared wit others, this I know for sure.
OVER AND OUT:)
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Sleepless in Sana'a Part 2
Sooo.. having established tha main cause of my sleepless nights, that being Lucifer, the skanky white dog, the update report on that story is that I've since slept six hours.. and the dog, is still barking, and skankier than ever. However life is too short to dwell on such futile matters...(yeah right..try not sleeping properly for a few weeks then get back to me on the futile statement)..however, there are more pressing updates to be told, such as the Graphics class. A couple of days ago I uploaded some pics of my students up on facebook. Things are going great, They are a delightful bunch to teach. All of them Somali and all have it made it to Yemen after a miraculous boat trip here ( Please watch a documentary called Martyrs Of Aden if you get a chance to get an understanding of how understated the term "miraculous" is , and all have been given the opportunity to study for free under the dictatorial hand of the white slave master, which is.. well... me.
So we meet everyday at Succeed for a three hour class, and we all struggle together against the various adversities one must face when in a computer lab in a developing country. These being...VIRUSES... each computer has more viruses plaguing its 3 dollar hardware system than a hospital ward would have during the outbreak of a Viral pandemic. Which of course slow down the already slow pc's that the museum kindly donated to the centre after realizing that they are too pre historic to put on show. The motto in class being, "to work faster, pedal faster!". On top of that we fight the good fight against the lazy, Qut chewing I.T guy who doesnt seem to realize that the money he is given as salary is not given due to his charming looks, which arent actually charming, but are given on an understanding that he should carry out some I.T work. Basic things such as...installing anti viruses to keep the defunct computers from frying out completely, and .. halas...to installing photoshop and Illustrator on each p.c. The aforementioned tasks were given to him at the beginning of the course one month ago, and so far, he finally completed one of those tasks yesterday, being the installation of both programs. So far we managed to pull through by using a version of photoshop that was released in 400 BC, and used as a protoype tool to facilitate the writing of hieroglyphics in the pharaoh's palace. This also worked on a pedal faster technique, and it also had to be re installed every class because of an anti freeze program on the computers that wiped everything off each time the computer is re started. So, yesterday, when we arrived in class to discover the installation of a recent and permanent version, we all broke into a jubilation of songs, dancing and rejoicing at the possibility of being as cool as the kids overseas. After all, the I.T guy wasnt such a tough nut to crack. He eventually broke down after I pulled his nails out one by one and had him slapped around by a large arab guy, all while he was tied to a chair in a secret desert outpost with a light dangling over his bruised and swollen head. But Halas!, we now have the programs...and a few more beatings should be all that is needed to get the anti viruses installed . Or maybe a couple of night sleeps at my house in the company of lucifer, the skanky white dog are all that is needed.
So we meet everyday at Succeed for a three hour class, and we all struggle together against the various adversities one must face when in a computer lab in a developing country. These being...VIRUSES... each computer has more viruses plaguing its 3 dollar hardware system than a hospital ward would have during the outbreak of a Viral pandemic. Which of course slow down the already slow pc's that the museum kindly donated to the centre after realizing that they are too pre historic to put on show. The motto in class being, "to work faster, pedal faster!". On top of that we fight the good fight against the lazy, Qut chewing I.T guy who doesnt seem to realize that the money he is given as salary is not given due to his charming looks, which arent actually charming, but are given on an understanding that he should carry out some I.T work. Basic things such as...installing anti viruses to keep the defunct computers from frying out completely, and .. halas...to installing photoshop and Illustrator on each p.c. The aforementioned tasks were given to him at the beginning of the course one month ago, and so far, he finally completed one of those tasks yesterday, being the installation of both programs. So far we managed to pull through by using a version of photoshop that was released in 400 BC, and used as a protoype tool to facilitate the writing of hieroglyphics in the pharaoh's palace. This also worked on a pedal faster technique, and it also had to be re installed every class because of an anti freeze program on the computers that wiped everything off each time the computer is re started. So, yesterday, when we arrived in class to discover the installation of a recent and permanent version, we all broke into a jubilation of songs, dancing and rejoicing at the possibility of being as cool as the kids overseas. After all, the I.T guy wasnt such a tough nut to crack. He eventually broke down after I pulled his nails out one by one and had him slapped around by a large arab guy, all while he was tied to a chair in a secret desert outpost with a light dangling over his bruised and swollen head. But Halas!, we now have the programs...and a few more beatings should be all that is needed to get the anti viruses installed . Or maybe a couple of night sleeps at my house in the company of lucifer, the skanky white dog are all that is needed.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Are words enough?
To speak of you, are words enough or am I just filling void in the realm of time? Where do I find the phrase to speak of your courage, how can I pretend to know your sorrows? How do you keep on walking when my legs feel faint just seeing your burdens? Tears well up but my anger is quick to dry them. I feel stupid for even contemplating that I may touch your scars, and feel the pain you felt. When I watch you, I see a smile that stands up right in the face of adversity, yet I know that had I been you I would have lost my way a long time ago. I cannot know what it was like when your father was shot and killed before your innocent eyes. I would not be able to carry the anguish of not knowing if my mother is still alive . Knowing she was violated by strange man, their eyes void of pity and their souls poisoned by the thirst of their lust. No one knows your story. No one will ever know of your journey. Though you are an unsung hero, and this not by choice, please know, you are a better man, and I wish you justice, peace, and a place to call your home...
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