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...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sleepless in Sana'a....
Sounds romantic?... trust me, it isnt.Unless you consider laying down wide eyed staring at your ceiling a romantic experience..in which case,it doesnt take much to sweep you off your feet. Sleepless in Sana'a is how Ive been for the past two weeks. My zombified expression testifies it to be true, and the bags under my eyes I could go shopping with.. I really dont know what it comes down to. I've heard a lot of theories as to why I may be finding it hard to sleep, such as " Get off the drugs, John" or, "Maybe you have a lot on your mind", but the most plausible so far came of course from my sensible cousin Alexis, which was "John, its the altitude bro, It plays funny tricks on your sleeping patterns". Ok, so its not me being high in Sana'a that is the problem, but Sana'a being high up. That should make my mum feel better already.
Apparently if you have low blood pressure, which Alexis usually has in Australia, the altitude stimulates your blood to produce more white blood cells, which in turn helps the body to retrieve more oxygen, which then helps you sleep like a king... if you have low blood pressure that is. As for me, I now have officially developed a high intolerance to resembling a zombie from the night of the living dead. Im averaging three hours per night, which multiplied by seven is barely a full day sleep per week. Then there is my beloved and dearly cherished random skanky street dog that has suffers from some sort of mental illness. He is not my dog, but some white skanky dog sent from the pits of hell whose sole purpose in life is to come directly beneath my window and bark for hours on end at.....a wall? Seriously, I dont know if this dog has suffered some traumatic experience as a pupp whereas he was continuosly thrown against a wall, or maybe ran into a wall one day and never forgot about it, but even if so... then why my wall? There are so many walls to go nuts on in Sana'a, but this dog has chosen the 2x2 square metre block of wall directly beneath my window for no apparent reason.
So I'll be laying in bed, tossing and turning, convincing my eyelids they are tired, hypnotizing my brain into some sort of mantra like state where, as there are no sheep in Sana'a I find myself closing my eyes and counting skanky street cats jumping over a fence....One skanky street cat...two skanky street cats..and so on. But the latter is to no avail, as eventually I realize that counting skanky street cats just isn't sending me to sleep. At around 4 am in the morning, just when Im on the possible verge of maybe, just maybe, falling asleep, white Lucifer appears from nowhere. I can hear his skanky paws approaching my down-trodden alley as soon as he nears the corner. He has this fatigued ,asthmatic like breathing technique, kind of like he's on his last breath, which unfortunately never seems to come true.
He pauses briefly, gasps one last asmthatic drool towards the floor, then begins the long 3 metre journey towards the wall beneath my window. I've sat there countless times observing him, at first trying to scare him off, but this also to no avail.
Point is, there are at least 10 windows along the driveway...so, once again, why mine? Once in position, which is directly placed staring at the nothingness of my white wall, he begins his lament. Ten minute intervals of the most miserable barking Ive heard in my life. A lazy..Woof..Woof...Woouuuf...Ahhh..(gasps for more air..) Wooouuf... and on and on. This is a ritual he performs for the next hour. By then my nerves are frail. Rapid eye movement sets in as my eyelids flutter like a butterfly on crack cocaine...begging to be laid in peace, to close for just one hour at least. Then, right on time for the Incredibly loud prayers to come pouring out of the mosque's megaphone at 5 in the morning, a whole new type of lament begins, and the dog disappears, just like a bad dream, only this is a re-occuring one.
Sometimes walking back from class, where I teach graphics, I'll be walking my usual journey back through the perished streets of Saafia. Its mid afternoon, the sun is high, I'm armed with a red bull in hand, completely fatigued from the day's occurences, when all of a sudden...Lucifer, the Skank..appears from nowhere. He'll be wagging his balding tail, happy he's found a new pile of rubbish on the streets to savour, when, as if he knows something is not quite right, he turns his head slowly, towards me...our eyes meet. Im not sure if he knows I know its him, because the other night when I threw a half drunk can of coke on his skanky head he didnt even budge... or look up..just kept on his demoniacal barking uninterrupted, Coke still dripping down his furry face. But he knows something is not right..the vibes just arent the same, the atmosphere has thickened with hate, and so our eyes meet, and they remain locked for the twenty or so seconds it takes for me to make my John Wayne walk past his skanky fatigued self. We both know we've seen each other somewhere before, just not sure when, and we both know our paths will cross again...
To Be Continued...
Apparently if you have low blood pressure, which Alexis usually has in Australia, the altitude stimulates your blood to produce more white blood cells, which in turn helps the body to retrieve more oxygen, which then helps you sleep like a king... if you have low blood pressure that is. As for me, I now have officially developed a high intolerance to resembling a zombie from the night of the living dead. Im averaging three hours per night, which multiplied by seven is barely a full day sleep per week. Then there is my beloved and dearly cherished random skanky street dog that has suffers from some sort of mental illness. He is not my dog, but some white skanky dog sent from the pits of hell whose sole purpose in life is to come directly beneath my window and bark for hours on end at.....a wall? Seriously, I dont know if this dog has suffered some traumatic experience as a pupp whereas he was continuosly thrown against a wall, or maybe ran into a wall one day and never forgot about it, but even if so... then why my wall? There are so many walls to go nuts on in Sana'a, but this dog has chosen the 2x2 square metre block of wall directly beneath my window for no apparent reason.
So I'll be laying in bed, tossing and turning, convincing my eyelids they are tired, hypnotizing my brain into some sort of mantra like state where, as there are no sheep in Sana'a I find myself closing my eyes and counting skanky street cats jumping over a fence....One skanky street cat...two skanky street cats..and so on. But the latter is to no avail, as eventually I realize that counting skanky street cats just isn't sending me to sleep. At around 4 am in the morning, just when Im on the possible verge of maybe, just maybe, falling asleep, white Lucifer appears from nowhere. I can hear his skanky paws approaching my down-trodden alley as soon as he nears the corner. He has this fatigued ,asthmatic like breathing technique, kind of like he's on his last breath, which unfortunately never seems to come true.
He pauses briefly, gasps one last asmthatic drool towards the floor, then begins the long 3 metre journey towards the wall beneath my window. I've sat there countless times observing him, at first trying to scare him off, but this also to no avail.
Point is, there are at least 10 windows along the driveway...so, once again, why mine? Once in position, which is directly placed staring at the nothingness of my white wall, he begins his lament. Ten minute intervals of the most miserable barking Ive heard in my life. A lazy..Woof..Woof...Woouuuf...Ahhh..(gasps for more air..) Wooouuf... and on and on. This is a ritual he performs for the next hour. By then my nerves are frail. Rapid eye movement sets in as my eyelids flutter like a butterfly on crack cocaine...begging to be laid in peace, to close for just one hour at least. Then, right on time for the Incredibly loud prayers to come pouring out of the mosque's megaphone at 5 in the morning, a whole new type of lament begins, and the dog disappears, just like a bad dream, only this is a re-occuring one.
Sometimes walking back from class, where I teach graphics, I'll be walking my usual journey back through the perished streets of Saafia. Its mid afternoon, the sun is high, I'm armed with a red bull in hand, completely fatigued from the day's occurences, when all of a sudden...Lucifer, the Skank..appears from nowhere. He'll be wagging his balding tail, happy he's found a new pile of rubbish on the streets to savour, when, as if he knows something is not quite right, he turns his head slowly, towards me...our eyes meet. Im not sure if he knows I know its him, because the other night when I threw a half drunk can of coke on his skanky head he didnt even budge... or look up..just kept on his demoniacal barking uninterrupted, Coke still dripping down his furry face. But he knows something is not right..the vibes just arent the same, the atmosphere has thickened with hate, and so our eyes meet, and they remain locked for the twenty or so seconds it takes for me to make my John Wayne walk past his skanky fatigued self. We both know we've seen each other somewhere before, just not sure when, and we both know our paths will cross again...
To Be Continued...
Sunday, September 27, 2009
From Sunsets to Sunrises...
Im sweating profusely.I feel as if Im in a complete semi-comatose state. Sprawled out on the internet cafe chair, one hand rubbing my belly, the other typing away like a deranged chicken, pecking at the keyboard in a casual fashion because, to be sincere, Ive eaten too much, and am now paying the consequences. This is what Buddha must have felt like, no offense intended, but I feel like im 90 percent stomach and 10 percent human. A walking belly with two eyes poking out of it. Combine this factor with the "I know I should not be eating in this restaurant because the guy serving is picking his nose while preparing the food " and I guess the end result is self explanatory and could have easily been avoided. But gluttony and laziness walk hand in hand, and I was too tired to find a decent restaurant, and too hungry to wait for a good restaurant to come to me. So, having established just how nauseus and full I am, let me go on to other topics, such as "Aden".
Aden, situated on the southern tip of Yemen, is one of the oldest port cities in the world according to Wikipedia:), and though Wikipedia in itself may be unreliable. let me reassure you that our get away was sincerely welcomed and thoroughly enjoyed, and that's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!, and that in itself is something you can rely on. Priorly colonized by the brits, Aden managed to retain a state of open mindness. Not quite as open as the Western world of course, but in comparison to Sana'a its like a prison cells with the gates swung open and a bright neon sign inviting you to escape if you like. My tattoo was looked upon as arty rather than farty, and by that I mean the look of disapproval that its met with in Sana'a was replaced by "wow's" and " goooood man" and "I love you", which, I dont think its meant literally, but is amongst one of the very few sentences Yemenese pick up from the land of Hollywood and its cheesy films. That and,"where you from?", to which I now always reply "Planet Earth", and after a puzzled look am smiled at and officially "welcomed to Yemen". My arabic still sucks. Probably more so than a gang of hungry vampires vacuuming their castle, but I still manage to get around with a lot of "Hamdulla's" and "Shukran Habibi". So... back to Aden, we arrived on the first day of Eid, which is the beginning of the celebration of "pigging" out after having fasted for a month. The word "Ramadam" still sends a chill to my spine everytime I hear it, because Italian and fasting cannot possible co-exhist in the same vocabulary. Descending from the plane we all experienced the same feeling, which was a mixture between a slow suffocation spiced with a little melting of the skin. Aden is hot, really hot!, but Aden also has a beach, and swimming is allowed, and as we all knew that, we endured the 30 seconds walk from the airport doors to the taxi and informed the driver gently to "please take us to the beach now or we will proceed to beat you to a pulp of sorry mess", shukran habibi.:)
The first beach we went to was a place called elephant bay. I didnt actually see any elephants there, so I suspiciously began to look for overweight bikini wearing ninja's, but inshallah, there were none of those either. Although there were three girls decked out in their full ninja costume attempting to swim without drowning .Wrapped in their all black outfits, and looking as least scandalous as ever, I tried not to laugh, so I giggled instead, but it was still a sight to behold. After approximately 1.6 seconds I had my shirt off and was running towards the water like a thirsty madman running towards a mirage. It wasnt just the need for cooling off, but the pure exhilaration of finally having my shirt off in a public place which was so hard to conceieve, let alone believe. Lex soon followed on the point 8th of the second, and his pale self notoriously lit up the beach blinding everyone in the 100 km vicinity. Soon ,about six of us were splashing around in the water like a pack of dehydrated seals, and it felt good...sooooo good. The main reason for our trip to Aden was of course Mahommed's wedding. Mahommed is one of Lex's closest friends. An aspiring journalist with a keen eye for the deep and meaningful, he now works for Yemen times and has finally managed to lock down his beloved. The wedding in itself actually consisted of two. Not that he married two women, but he held a western style wedding and a traditional Somali one. And to be quite honest, the Somali one was soooooooooo much better. Immagine yourself in a room packed with hundreds of Somali people, decked out in their most colourful costumes and with Somali music blaring from a live band onstage. Everyone, from young and old, sporting bright smiles and enjoying each other's company as relatives and friends hugged, danced, chit chatted and awaited the arrival of the bride. Mahommed looking nervous as heck but trying to disguise it under a cool "deer in the headlights" pose, sitting on the throne front stage. Andrew, Lex, myself and our lady friends on the table of honour wearing traditional Somali costumes, which consist of white t-shirt, white skirt, colourful belt and prop shoulder drop ( refer to facebook photos).The atmosphere was completely magnetic, and if you managed to resist the urge of joining in the dancing it meant you were either paralyzed from head to toe or just a complete party pooper, because even the Grandma's were breaking it down so no excuses were available. It was honestly a privilege to be a part of it, and an experience I will cherish always. We spent our days in a mid-way hostel, which was actually pretty good, and the staff as pleasant and polite as ever.
On that note, let me share something with you. The Western media feeds you, and fed me, lies. People of Arabic descent are usually portrayed as evil terrorists, a race unable to be trusted and one always in conflict with the white counterpart. I cannot stress enough how untrue I have found this to be, and how deceiving and politically manipolized the media in the Western world is in concern to this issue. All day, every day, I am met by smiling faces. They welcome me, they ask me where I am from, they go out of their way to catch my attention with a wave of the hand when walking on the other side of the street, and though communicating is hard, I always feel at ease, and as if the person im chatting with is genuenly interested in my well being, and not just asking for the sake of asking such as" how are you mate". Not to put down the auzzie culture, because I love Australia, its my home, but you know what I mean:). I felt the need to express this because I know that when I first arrived in Yemen I sincerely expected to be spat on and threatened witn an AK 47, but it has been the complete opposite, and I am delighted by the culture and the people, even though most times it is so starkly different and in contrast to the one I am used to.
After four days in Yemen, we were officially partied out. Exhausted from late nights swimming at the beach, dancing at weddings, chewing Qut and talking for hours from the meaningful to the trivial, and walking.... a lot of walking. It was time to farewell Aden and return to Sana'a where our duties awaited us, though we weren't necessarily awaiting them quite yet. The flight back is a blur. All I remember is sitting in the middle seat, Lex to my left and Andrew to my right. I turned to ask Lex a question and was met by Lex in a coma, eyes wide shut and snoring like an elephant. I laughed and turned to inform Andrew of Lex's snoring, but Andrew followed suit and was himself snoring like a wild boar, only with a trickle of saliva languishing from his wide open mouth wetting the pages of the book he obviously meant to read prior to departing to la la land. I decided there and then that when you cannot beat them, join them, so Cap tilted down to block out the lights I myself fell into a tired stupor and only awoke to the grinding sound of the wheels trying to grip the surface of the notoriously damaged tarmac of Sana'a airport. Home sweet home... It was quite funny actually, because we all woke up at the same time. All stunned and ritarded like mummies awoken from a century deep sleep, and all tried to mumble a coherent sentence, yet all simultaneously failed and rubbed the sleep from our eyes.
Im now back in Sana'a, good old Saafia and have already been surrounded by my gang of fans, a group of young children who live close by who keep asking me to flex my biceps so they can all stand wide eyed in disbelief and shout out "Hamdullah!", which in arabic means.. praise be to Allah. Ha ha.. its so funny I crack up everytime it happens, and have noticed that they just do not seem to tire of me doing it, but its rather me who at times tries to avoid them so that I dont have to flex my bicep once again...
The internet guy is informing me the cafe needs to shut so I will continue this blog in the next couple of days. I hope everyone is well and if I know you , know I am missing you and look forward to seeing you again:)
This is Jonathan,reporting from Yemen..
Over and out....:)
Aden, situated on the southern tip of Yemen, is one of the oldest port cities in the world according to Wikipedia:), and though Wikipedia in itself may be unreliable. let me reassure you that our get away was sincerely welcomed and thoroughly enjoyed, and that's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!, and that in itself is something you can rely on. Priorly colonized by the brits, Aden managed to retain a state of open mindness. Not quite as open as the Western world of course, but in comparison to Sana'a its like a prison cells with the gates swung open and a bright neon sign inviting you to escape if you like. My tattoo was looked upon as arty rather than farty, and by that I mean the look of disapproval that its met with in Sana'a was replaced by "wow's" and " goooood man" and "I love you", which, I dont think its meant literally, but is amongst one of the very few sentences Yemenese pick up from the land of Hollywood and its cheesy films. That and,"where you from?", to which I now always reply "Planet Earth", and after a puzzled look am smiled at and officially "welcomed to Yemen". My arabic still sucks. Probably more so than a gang of hungry vampires vacuuming their castle, but I still manage to get around with a lot of "Hamdulla's" and "Shukran Habibi". So... back to Aden, we arrived on the first day of Eid, which is the beginning of the celebration of "pigging" out after having fasted for a month. The word "Ramadam" still sends a chill to my spine everytime I hear it, because Italian and fasting cannot possible co-exhist in the same vocabulary. Descending from the plane we all experienced the same feeling, which was a mixture between a slow suffocation spiced with a little melting of the skin. Aden is hot, really hot!, but Aden also has a beach, and swimming is allowed, and as we all knew that, we endured the 30 seconds walk from the airport doors to the taxi and informed the driver gently to "please take us to the beach now or we will proceed to beat you to a pulp of sorry mess", shukran habibi.:)
The first beach we went to was a place called elephant bay. I didnt actually see any elephants there, so I suspiciously began to look for overweight bikini wearing ninja's, but inshallah, there were none of those either. Although there were three girls decked out in their full ninja costume attempting to swim without drowning .Wrapped in their all black outfits, and looking as least scandalous as ever, I tried not to laugh, so I giggled instead, but it was still a sight to behold. After approximately 1.6 seconds I had my shirt off and was running towards the water like a thirsty madman running towards a mirage. It wasnt just the need for cooling off, but the pure exhilaration of finally having my shirt off in a public place which was so hard to conceieve, let alone believe. Lex soon followed on the point 8th of the second, and his pale self notoriously lit up the beach blinding everyone in the 100 km vicinity. Soon ,about six of us were splashing around in the water like a pack of dehydrated seals, and it felt good...sooooo good. The main reason for our trip to Aden was of course Mahommed's wedding. Mahommed is one of Lex's closest friends. An aspiring journalist with a keen eye for the deep and meaningful, he now works for Yemen times and has finally managed to lock down his beloved. The wedding in itself actually consisted of two. Not that he married two women, but he held a western style wedding and a traditional Somali one. And to be quite honest, the Somali one was soooooooooo much better. Immagine yourself in a room packed with hundreds of Somali people, decked out in their most colourful costumes and with Somali music blaring from a live band onstage. Everyone, from young and old, sporting bright smiles and enjoying each other's company as relatives and friends hugged, danced, chit chatted and awaited the arrival of the bride. Mahommed looking nervous as heck but trying to disguise it under a cool "deer in the headlights" pose, sitting on the throne front stage. Andrew, Lex, myself and our lady friends on the table of honour wearing traditional Somali costumes, which consist of white t-shirt, white skirt, colourful belt and prop shoulder drop ( refer to facebook photos).The atmosphere was completely magnetic, and if you managed to resist the urge of joining in the dancing it meant you were either paralyzed from head to toe or just a complete party pooper, because even the Grandma's were breaking it down so no excuses were available. It was honestly a privilege to be a part of it, and an experience I will cherish always. We spent our days in a mid-way hostel, which was actually pretty good, and the staff as pleasant and polite as ever.
On that note, let me share something with you. The Western media feeds you, and fed me, lies. People of Arabic descent are usually portrayed as evil terrorists, a race unable to be trusted and one always in conflict with the white counterpart. I cannot stress enough how untrue I have found this to be, and how deceiving and politically manipolized the media in the Western world is in concern to this issue. All day, every day, I am met by smiling faces. They welcome me, they ask me where I am from, they go out of their way to catch my attention with a wave of the hand when walking on the other side of the street, and though communicating is hard, I always feel at ease, and as if the person im chatting with is genuenly interested in my well being, and not just asking for the sake of asking such as" how are you mate". Not to put down the auzzie culture, because I love Australia, its my home, but you know what I mean:). I felt the need to express this because I know that when I first arrived in Yemen I sincerely expected to be spat on and threatened witn an AK 47, but it has been the complete opposite, and I am delighted by the culture and the people, even though most times it is so starkly different and in contrast to the one I am used to.
After four days in Yemen, we were officially partied out. Exhausted from late nights swimming at the beach, dancing at weddings, chewing Qut and talking for hours from the meaningful to the trivial, and walking.... a lot of walking. It was time to farewell Aden and return to Sana'a where our duties awaited us, though we weren't necessarily awaiting them quite yet. The flight back is a blur. All I remember is sitting in the middle seat, Lex to my left and Andrew to my right. I turned to ask Lex a question and was met by Lex in a coma, eyes wide shut and snoring like an elephant. I laughed and turned to inform Andrew of Lex's snoring, but Andrew followed suit and was himself snoring like a wild boar, only with a trickle of saliva languishing from his wide open mouth wetting the pages of the book he obviously meant to read prior to departing to la la land. I decided there and then that when you cannot beat them, join them, so Cap tilted down to block out the lights I myself fell into a tired stupor and only awoke to the grinding sound of the wheels trying to grip the surface of the notoriously damaged tarmac of Sana'a airport. Home sweet home... It was quite funny actually, because we all woke up at the same time. All stunned and ritarded like mummies awoken from a century deep sleep, and all tried to mumble a coherent sentence, yet all simultaneously failed and rubbed the sleep from our eyes.
Im now back in Sana'a, good old Saafia and have already been surrounded by my gang of fans, a group of young children who live close by who keep asking me to flex my biceps so they can all stand wide eyed in disbelief and shout out "Hamdullah!", which in arabic means.. praise be to Allah. Ha ha.. its so funny I crack up everytime it happens, and have noticed that they just do not seem to tire of me doing it, but its rather me who at times tries to avoid them so that I dont have to flex my bicep once again...
The internet guy is informing me the cafe needs to shut so I will continue this blog in the next couple of days. I hope everyone is well and if I know you , know I am missing you and look forward to seeing you again:)
This is Jonathan,reporting from Yemen..
Over and out....:)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Back on the road, part 3, c
ON THE ROAD PART 3
Amongst friends there are few that I would count as close, and amongst those few a handful that I would consider the equivalent to my soul friend. You know, that certain someone whose trust and acceptance is proven by time, and whose friendship provides a solid foundation where all matters can be discussed, wheater minor or major and whose opinion you hold in high regards for you know their interest lies not in what can be gained, but what can be given. Amongst those special few, there is one who holds a unique place, and that person is my cousin Alexis. To describe Alexis in one word would be SELFLESS. From a young age, born into a family where education holds a prime spot in the upbringing and development of a child, Alexis, learnt two keys to academic success from an early age, Persistence and Determination. He’s six years my junior and I still remember vividly being in Italy looking at a picture of my new born baby cousin sent by my Australian aunt. A young pale child sprawled out on a flamelette colourful blanket, with big blue eyes and a huge smile layed out from cheek to cheek. Lex, (In Australia we seem physically impaired to speak the whole name so abbreviations are a must) is my best friend. But more than that, he is also blood. I first met him when my family and I emigrated from Italy and upon my first visit to his house I was intrigued by my stick welding, tree climbing Australian cousin. We visited his house in the Kalamunda hills, a place about an hour’s drive from Perth. I remember this young, light blue eyed fuzzy haired guy descending from a tree at our arrival, and though my English vocabulary ranged from the word “Hello” pronounced as Halo.. to the word “Orange” which no doubt sounded like Orang-utan, he was quick to introduce me to his favourite animated cartoon, “Footrot flats”. He must have been in turn intrigued by his Italian, elegantly dressed cousin. I say “elegant”, because It did not take me long to discover that the fashion varies greatly from Rome to Perth. The beige dress pants and neatly ironed shirt I sported upon my arrival stood out like a sore thumb from the baggy blue jeans and crumpled up, faded t-shirt worn by my Australian peers. And it took me even less to realize that If I did not quickly change my accessories, my facial figures would have been permanently changed by the older, tough looking “Bogons”, a breed apart who roamed the Australian streets sporting ultra tight black jeans, black t-shirts proudly displaying the word AC/DC or Metallica, accompanied by detailed graphics of skulls with snakes protruding from their eyes, or a person being struck by lightning while sitting on the toilet. I remember how weird I found their flat top haircuts, short and spiky on top, which rebelliously launched to a woman’s length at the back of their skulls. Known as “The Mullet”, it is a very terrifying hair cut indeed, for more than one reason, but that’s another topic.
So there we were, west meets west, though completely and utterly different. His knees still scruffed and grazed from the various falls he would have taken on the red, muddy coloured dust of the Australian soil he walked, played and rode his bike on, faced with a prim and proper, (in appearance at least), green eyed boy who’s hair was so tightly and firmly slicked back that a tornado in its full wrath could not have altered.
Ever since that day, though there have been times in our life where for obvious reasons (such as life’s occurrences) we spent times apart, he has been to me an ever constant source of entertainment and someone I could confide in and vice versa. He is also the reason why I am now in Yemen. In reference to my prior introduction of Alexis as “selfless”, the reasons are many, but one in particular stands out amongst the rest. Having studied hard throughout his academic years, Alexis graduated from University as a fully fledged lawyer. After graduating he spent time, as an upcoming lawyer must do, fine tuning his skills and knowledge in a small law firm in Fremantle, Perth. It was throughout this time, likely due to the weight of dealing with the stress related field of family law (such happy events as assets distribution and child custody as an aftermath of the nowadays trend of divorce), that Alexis found himself travelling to Cambodia and Vietnam to breathe a breath of fresh air. The story is long, but throughout his time in Cambodia in particular, to my understanding, he found himself involved in volunteer work as a waiter in a Orphanage/Restaurant. His life, his soul, his mentality and view of life’s values and priorities were forever changed. He came back a completely different person. Ever since then he found no joy in the thought of striking it rich as a lawyer, knowing he would never find true fulfilment in a luxurious mansion or a shiny BMW. His whole life’s direction shifted, and through a series of events he found himself applying for a position as a United Nations eligibility officer in Yemen of all places. There are many things he has done to benefit the lives of those less fortunate that will never be known to others but those directly affected by it. No shouting from rooftops, no seeking of rewards. The guy is a legend, and my affection and admiration for him runs deeper than perhaps I myself know. So, to make a long story short, he made it possible for me to come and spend some time doing volunteer work here in Yemen, and it was also Alexis, that about 9 days ago, having seen me in a down mood, sat me down and got the low down on what got me feeling and looking so unlike my usual self. I’m a tough nut to crack, and strictly and solely open up to those I consider extremely close, so all it took from Lex’s behalf was a…”John, what’s up bro?” with that certain look he gives me, and the beans were spilt. I was able to get the thoughts rummaging around my head out in the open, and once released, its amazing how much clearer your vision and judgment becomes on issues you were so hard pressed by beforehand. Life is different in Yemen; ever single fibre of society’s life is completely and utterly different from the ways of the western world. From how people related to one another, to family life and values, from commerce to how business is conducted and so on, and as Alexis filled me in on his experiences and realizations acquired so far in Yemen, it became clearer and clearer that all I was experiencing was solely and issue of cultural differences. You see, over here, even though people are lovely and embracing of any help offered, organizational schedules run on a near invisible wave length. The best way for me to phrase the feeling is “If you want something done, you have to do it yourself, and at times you need to do so in what seem to be the hardest of conditions, and that is purely because of the lack of organization and cultural differences evidenced in this country”. But that in itself is something that pushes and inspires you to grow as an individual, because in the end, either you react, or you go down in burning flames.
And I am glad I went through the cultural adjustment, because it has re established my focus and determination so see something positive happen, and the change in my attitude saw a change in my circumstances. I have since struck a friendship with the right hand Amar, and funnily enough, through conversation have realized that he too fights the same difficulties I’ve been facing in my walk to be active. Sometimes I hear him complain of how his boss never replies to his texts or e-mails and that he is frequently left in the lurch with lack of direction….ha ha.. Anyways, it has now been a week that I have been teaching Photoshop and Illustrator at the “Succeed” centre to a group of 19 fresh faced Somali students. I cannot express how much I love doing so. Not only due the interaction and satisfaction of seeing a young person who knew nothing of design programs come to an understanding of basic functions and eager to learn more, but also because now I have a willing audience to subject to my lame cheesy jokes and they HAVE to laugh because I am their teacher!!!..lol.. So I teach daily for three hours from 11 am till 2 pm, then I go to the IDF clinic and comm. Service centre to update information on brochures and informational posters I work on in the afternoons while sipping macchiato’s at a near by café’ with wireless connection and will soon begin to paint a mural and teach art to young kindergarden children…..How good can life get?. In two days it is the end of Ramadam, so operational hours will go back to normal, I hope, but Ramadam is followed by a ten day holiday known as Haid?..when everything and everywhere is closed for business, and it is during this time that I will be away to Aden, down south, to attend the wedding of my dear friend Mohammed, to his beloved soon to be wife. My cousin, my Somali friends and Andy, one of the funniest English guys I met, will be chilling for four days at a hostel 50 meters away from the beach, and as Aden is extremely hot, and Ramadam will be finished, meaning I will be parading and soaking up as much sun as I can without a t-shirt on..lol…haram haram!!!. Then it’s back to Sana’a, where I will re commence teaching classes, Idf work and the kindy. I cannot wait… and if you are reading this, thank you for bearing with me through the endless amount of words and my moping through the previous chapter. This is Jonathan, reporting from Yemen, Over and out
UPDATE TO COME WHEN I RETURN FROM ADEN…….
Amongst friends there are few that I would count as close, and amongst those few a handful that I would consider the equivalent to my soul friend. You know, that certain someone whose trust and acceptance is proven by time, and whose friendship provides a solid foundation where all matters can be discussed, wheater minor or major and whose opinion you hold in high regards for you know their interest lies not in what can be gained, but what can be given. Amongst those special few, there is one who holds a unique place, and that person is my cousin Alexis. To describe Alexis in one word would be SELFLESS. From a young age, born into a family where education holds a prime spot in the upbringing and development of a child, Alexis, learnt two keys to academic success from an early age, Persistence and Determination. He’s six years my junior and I still remember vividly being in Italy looking at a picture of my new born baby cousin sent by my Australian aunt. A young pale child sprawled out on a flamelette colourful blanket, with big blue eyes and a huge smile layed out from cheek to cheek. Lex, (In Australia we seem physically impaired to speak the whole name so abbreviations are a must) is my best friend. But more than that, he is also blood. I first met him when my family and I emigrated from Italy and upon my first visit to his house I was intrigued by my stick welding, tree climbing Australian cousin. We visited his house in the Kalamunda hills, a place about an hour’s drive from Perth. I remember this young, light blue eyed fuzzy haired guy descending from a tree at our arrival, and though my English vocabulary ranged from the word “Hello” pronounced as Halo.. to the word “Orange” which no doubt sounded like Orang-utan, he was quick to introduce me to his favourite animated cartoon, “Footrot flats”. He must have been in turn intrigued by his Italian, elegantly dressed cousin. I say “elegant”, because It did not take me long to discover that the fashion varies greatly from Rome to Perth. The beige dress pants and neatly ironed shirt I sported upon my arrival stood out like a sore thumb from the baggy blue jeans and crumpled up, faded t-shirt worn by my Australian peers. And it took me even less to realize that If I did not quickly change my accessories, my facial figures would have been permanently changed by the older, tough looking “Bogons”, a breed apart who roamed the Australian streets sporting ultra tight black jeans, black t-shirts proudly displaying the word AC/DC or Metallica, accompanied by detailed graphics of skulls with snakes protruding from their eyes, or a person being struck by lightning while sitting on the toilet. I remember how weird I found their flat top haircuts, short and spiky on top, which rebelliously launched to a woman’s length at the back of their skulls. Known as “The Mullet”, it is a very terrifying hair cut indeed, for more than one reason, but that’s another topic.
So there we were, west meets west, though completely and utterly different. His knees still scruffed and grazed from the various falls he would have taken on the red, muddy coloured dust of the Australian soil he walked, played and rode his bike on, faced with a prim and proper, (in appearance at least), green eyed boy who’s hair was so tightly and firmly slicked back that a tornado in its full wrath could not have altered.
Ever since that day, though there have been times in our life where for obvious reasons (such as life’s occurrences) we spent times apart, he has been to me an ever constant source of entertainment and someone I could confide in and vice versa. He is also the reason why I am now in Yemen. In reference to my prior introduction of Alexis as “selfless”, the reasons are many, but one in particular stands out amongst the rest. Having studied hard throughout his academic years, Alexis graduated from University as a fully fledged lawyer. After graduating he spent time, as an upcoming lawyer must do, fine tuning his skills and knowledge in a small law firm in Fremantle, Perth. It was throughout this time, likely due to the weight of dealing with the stress related field of family law (such happy events as assets distribution and child custody as an aftermath of the nowadays trend of divorce), that Alexis found himself travelling to Cambodia and Vietnam to breathe a breath of fresh air. The story is long, but throughout his time in Cambodia in particular, to my understanding, he found himself involved in volunteer work as a waiter in a Orphanage/Restaurant. His life, his soul, his mentality and view of life’s values and priorities were forever changed. He came back a completely different person. Ever since then he found no joy in the thought of striking it rich as a lawyer, knowing he would never find true fulfilment in a luxurious mansion or a shiny BMW. His whole life’s direction shifted, and through a series of events he found himself applying for a position as a United Nations eligibility officer in Yemen of all places. There are many things he has done to benefit the lives of those less fortunate that will never be known to others but those directly affected by it. No shouting from rooftops, no seeking of rewards. The guy is a legend, and my affection and admiration for him runs deeper than perhaps I myself know. So, to make a long story short, he made it possible for me to come and spend some time doing volunteer work here in Yemen, and it was also Alexis, that about 9 days ago, having seen me in a down mood, sat me down and got the low down on what got me feeling and looking so unlike my usual self. I’m a tough nut to crack, and strictly and solely open up to those I consider extremely close, so all it took from Lex’s behalf was a…”John, what’s up bro?” with that certain look he gives me, and the beans were spilt. I was able to get the thoughts rummaging around my head out in the open, and once released, its amazing how much clearer your vision and judgment becomes on issues you were so hard pressed by beforehand. Life is different in Yemen; ever single fibre of society’s life is completely and utterly different from the ways of the western world. From how people related to one another, to family life and values, from commerce to how business is conducted and so on, and as Alexis filled me in on his experiences and realizations acquired so far in Yemen, it became clearer and clearer that all I was experiencing was solely and issue of cultural differences. You see, over here, even though people are lovely and embracing of any help offered, organizational schedules run on a near invisible wave length. The best way for me to phrase the feeling is “If you want something done, you have to do it yourself, and at times you need to do so in what seem to be the hardest of conditions, and that is purely because of the lack of organization and cultural differences evidenced in this country”. But that in itself is something that pushes and inspires you to grow as an individual, because in the end, either you react, or you go down in burning flames.
And I am glad I went through the cultural adjustment, because it has re established my focus and determination so see something positive happen, and the change in my attitude saw a change in my circumstances. I have since struck a friendship with the right hand Amar, and funnily enough, through conversation have realized that he too fights the same difficulties I’ve been facing in my walk to be active. Sometimes I hear him complain of how his boss never replies to his texts or e-mails and that he is frequently left in the lurch with lack of direction….ha ha.. Anyways, it has now been a week that I have been teaching Photoshop and Illustrator at the “Succeed” centre to a group of 19 fresh faced Somali students. I cannot express how much I love doing so. Not only due the interaction and satisfaction of seeing a young person who knew nothing of design programs come to an understanding of basic functions and eager to learn more, but also because now I have a willing audience to subject to my lame cheesy jokes and they HAVE to laugh because I am their teacher!!!..lol.. So I teach daily for three hours from 11 am till 2 pm, then I go to the IDF clinic and comm. Service centre to update information on brochures and informational posters I work on in the afternoons while sipping macchiato’s at a near by café’ with wireless connection and will soon begin to paint a mural and teach art to young kindergarden children…..How good can life get?. In two days it is the end of Ramadam, so operational hours will go back to normal, I hope, but Ramadam is followed by a ten day holiday known as Haid?..when everything and everywhere is closed for business, and it is during this time that I will be away to Aden, down south, to attend the wedding of my dear friend Mohammed, to his beloved soon to be wife. My cousin, my Somali friends and Andy, one of the funniest English guys I met, will be chilling for four days at a hostel 50 meters away from the beach, and as Aden is extremely hot, and Ramadam will be finished, meaning I will be parading and soaking up as much sun as I can without a t-shirt on..lol…haram haram!!!. Then it’s back to Sana’a, where I will re commence teaching classes, Idf work and the kindy. I cannot wait… and if you are reading this, thank you for bearing with me through the endless amount of words and my moping through the previous chapter. This is Jonathan, reporting from Yemen, Over and out
UPDATE TO COME WHEN I RETURN FROM ADEN…….
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Back on the road... Part 2
....And waited eagerly was something I did, or rather, my waiting for more information turned from an enthusiastic "when do I start?" to a frustrated.."Ok..hello..is anybody out there?".... let me explain......
I’d finally managed to establish some sort of strategic structure of how I was going to tackle the brochures, pamphlets etc.., which in itself is a colossal feat during Ramadam, due to the fact that shops (including internet cafe's which is what I primarily use to work on my brochures) are only open from 6.30 pm to 3 am and that half the people that are supposed to be my contacts for the translations from English , Somali to Arabic just don’t seem to show up to work.
So, In a way I was ready to rock and roll. I began by interviewing the right people for the right info, and spending late nights at internet café’s trying to accomplish the job ahead, all in a race against time, as it was and always is “ Man versus power cuts” when it comes to using electric fuelled products in Sana’a. In other words I had some sort of flow going on, and when I was then called to see Mr Dhubai in regards to teaching classes, I felt I had to put everything on hold, because after all, he is the top dog, and if he felt there was something more useful for me to be doing then maybe his judgment was one I should rely on, even though I did so with regret. I don’t like letting people down, and to begin a project and not bringing to completion has repercussion effects not only to the party you promised you’d get the job done to, but also to yourself, as it feels as if you’ve begun to work on a puzzle only to realize your missing fundamental pieces, and cannot complete the picture that looked so beautiful on the front cover.
So the waiting game began. Two days passed and I began to wonder wheater I was going to receive the phone call or the laptop promised, so that I could begin to plan how I would structure the classes and also find out necessary information such as wheater the students had any basic computer literacy or understanding of the English language. Three days passed, and still no call, no e-mail, no messenger pigeon and no sign of any change in the horizon.
I may come across as impatient, but when you have a limited time span in a country and when the quality of people’s lives is at stake, time is of the essence , and the last thing I wanted to do was sit at home waiting for someone to call me when at least a couple of days earlier I had a job to do. I decided to break formality rules, got over my phobia of disturbing a very important person with a phone call from a mere volunteer and called Mr Dhubai. My first five phone calls were met by the notorious Arabic answering service informing me the person required is unavailable. I decided to ring the right hand man, but was met by the same answering service. The only option left was to go to the IDF Comm Service office where the right hand man , Mr amar, works .I hailed down the first taxi in sight, reached the centre and asked for Mr Amar’s whereabouts. Nobody seemed to have any clues as to his location or as to when he would arrive, so not really knowing what to do next, I headed back home. I managed to get both Amar’s and Mr Dhubai’s e-mail address from my cousin, so headed off to the net café just to send a quick message asking to be contacted when best convenient, mainly because I was really eager to know more, and also sent a text message to both just in case the e-mail did not reach the desired parties. Confident a reply was around the corner, I found my bed, reached for the book I bought on departure from Perth, and before long, drifted off into a deep sleep that saw me wake up the following morning, still fully clothed and with the book wedged between my cheek and the pillow..
My first thought when awake, even if still in dopey mode, was to reach for my phone, half excited at the prospect of a text message or a missed call, but my excitement was soon extinguished by the absence of either. This was my third day. I got dressed, went to the net café, checked for new messages but the outcome was ditto. I went through the same process again, call, text, e-mail, visits to the center, finger crossing and so on, but for the following four days all I got was the same silence and lack of response. By day six I began spiraling into a half depressed half frustrated self sympathetic mode that really was unproductive for either myself or those around me. A more analytical person would have found some logic around as to why I suddenly felt left in the lurch, and no doubt would have handled the situation with a more controlled, logical reaction. However life is a continuous teacher, and the lessons we learn are many and can sometimes last longer than we’d like them to. I felt I needed to react, because this …“poor me why am I not being contacted back” attitude was pathetic, and a voice deep down in my soul told me that the lesson to be learnt from this chapter was a valuable one, one that would define character and attitude for the times to come. Its funny, but when you volunteer to do some free work for people less fortunate than yourself, in a way “self” likes to put itself on some sort of pedestal and scream out the world…”Hey, I’m putting myself out here…I could be back in my comfortable surroundings thinking about me, so how dare you snob me when I volunteer to put my time aside to come give a hand?????...
Its sickening right, but to my understanding human nature is at its essence is selfish, and it is a conscious realization and decision one must make to look at the issues from the other side of the coin, the side that does not include you, your comfort, or your needs, but it is that very side that also holds the key to a greater understanding of life, and the depth of its core. All I ever need to do is sit down with one of my Somali friends and listen to their story, the hardships they endured, the journey they’ve walked, to realize that my problems are sooooo little and insignificant in comparison, and to awaken to the fact that in order to see change, I must be willing to change myself...
TO BE CONTINUED….
I’d finally managed to establish some sort of strategic structure of how I was going to tackle the brochures, pamphlets etc.., which in itself is a colossal feat during Ramadam, due to the fact that shops (including internet cafe's which is what I primarily use to work on my brochures) are only open from 6.30 pm to 3 am and that half the people that are supposed to be my contacts for the translations from English , Somali to Arabic just don’t seem to show up to work.
So, In a way I was ready to rock and roll. I began by interviewing the right people for the right info, and spending late nights at internet café’s trying to accomplish the job ahead, all in a race against time, as it was and always is “ Man versus power cuts” when it comes to using electric fuelled products in Sana’a. In other words I had some sort of flow going on, and when I was then called to see Mr Dhubai in regards to teaching classes, I felt I had to put everything on hold, because after all, he is the top dog, and if he felt there was something more useful for me to be doing then maybe his judgment was one I should rely on, even though I did so with regret. I don’t like letting people down, and to begin a project and not bringing to completion has repercussion effects not only to the party you promised you’d get the job done to, but also to yourself, as it feels as if you’ve begun to work on a puzzle only to realize your missing fundamental pieces, and cannot complete the picture that looked so beautiful on the front cover.
So the waiting game began. Two days passed and I began to wonder wheater I was going to receive the phone call or the laptop promised, so that I could begin to plan how I would structure the classes and also find out necessary information such as wheater the students had any basic computer literacy or understanding of the English language. Three days passed, and still no call, no e-mail, no messenger pigeon and no sign of any change in the horizon.
I may come across as impatient, but when you have a limited time span in a country and when the quality of people’s lives is at stake, time is of the essence , and the last thing I wanted to do was sit at home waiting for someone to call me when at least a couple of days earlier I had a job to do. I decided to break formality rules, got over my phobia of disturbing a very important person with a phone call from a mere volunteer and called Mr Dhubai. My first five phone calls were met by the notorious Arabic answering service informing me the person required is unavailable. I decided to ring the right hand man, but was met by the same answering service. The only option left was to go to the IDF Comm Service office where the right hand man , Mr amar, works .I hailed down the first taxi in sight, reached the centre and asked for Mr Amar’s whereabouts. Nobody seemed to have any clues as to his location or as to when he would arrive, so not really knowing what to do next, I headed back home. I managed to get both Amar’s and Mr Dhubai’s e-mail address from my cousin, so headed off to the net café just to send a quick message asking to be contacted when best convenient, mainly because I was really eager to know more, and also sent a text message to both just in case the e-mail did not reach the desired parties. Confident a reply was around the corner, I found my bed, reached for the book I bought on departure from Perth, and before long, drifted off into a deep sleep that saw me wake up the following morning, still fully clothed and with the book wedged between my cheek and the pillow..
My first thought when awake, even if still in dopey mode, was to reach for my phone, half excited at the prospect of a text message or a missed call, but my excitement was soon extinguished by the absence of either. This was my third day. I got dressed, went to the net café, checked for new messages but the outcome was ditto. I went through the same process again, call, text, e-mail, visits to the center, finger crossing and so on, but for the following four days all I got was the same silence and lack of response. By day six I began spiraling into a half depressed half frustrated self sympathetic mode that really was unproductive for either myself or those around me. A more analytical person would have found some logic around as to why I suddenly felt left in the lurch, and no doubt would have handled the situation with a more controlled, logical reaction. However life is a continuous teacher, and the lessons we learn are many and can sometimes last longer than we’d like them to. I felt I needed to react, because this …“poor me why am I not being contacted back” attitude was pathetic, and a voice deep down in my soul told me that the lesson to be learnt from this chapter was a valuable one, one that would define character and attitude for the times to come. Its funny, but when you volunteer to do some free work for people less fortunate than yourself, in a way “self” likes to put itself on some sort of pedestal and scream out the world…”Hey, I’m putting myself out here…I could be back in my comfortable surroundings thinking about me, so how dare you snob me when I volunteer to put my time aside to come give a hand?????...
Its sickening right, but to my understanding human nature is at its essence is selfish, and it is a conscious realization and decision one must make to look at the issues from the other side of the coin, the side that does not include you, your comfort, or your needs, but it is that very side that also holds the key to a greater understanding of life, and the depth of its core. All I ever need to do is sit down with one of my Somali friends and listen to their story, the hardships they endured, the journey they’ve walked, to realize that my problems are sooooo little and insignificant in comparison, and to awaken to the fact that in order to see change, I must be willing to change myself...
TO BE CONTINUED….
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Back on the road again...PART 1
First and foremost, my apologies. So far as keeping a blog goes, one should aim to update on a daily basis to ensure most accounts are told and no details left to be blurred by the sands of time, however, so far as the past week goes, the accounts to be told are few, and the details, well, maybe best forgotten.
All was sailing smoothly as previously told in the 'IDF Thrown into a world of confusion chapter', or at least, as smoothly as being thrown in a non English speaking disorganized environment could be. However, my genial brainstorming concepts of how I was going to revolutionize IDF and re organize it into a functioning modern clinic was thrown into complete chaos by the introduction of a phone call from the HEAD Honcho of The IDF community services department.
I was asked to meet with him and his right hand man to discuss some ideas he had about my being there. From the initial tone of voice he used, which was quite stern and distant, I thought the meeting would involve his politely asking what the hell am I doing volunteering in Yemen and would I please mind leaving on the first plane available..or helicopter..or boat..or heck..to even start swimming, but as it turned out, his agenda was quite different. I got up the morning of the meeting and was quite nervous about the whole ordeal, but decided that whatever may be awaiting was obviously unavoidable and perhaps already sealed by the hands of fate. So,resigned to whatever may lay ahead, I proceeded to light up the little gas bottle in my 1x1 square meter kitchen and got on with my familiar coffee making ritual.
I hailed a taxi, and arrived at the prescribed building using a mixture of hand gestures, try hard arabic/japanese slang and a whole lot of finger pointing, which as I later realized, was quite useless as I myself did not know where I was going. On a footnote, it seems that basic information is unnecessary here in Yemen,like ,if it is Allah's will, it shall come to pass, and if not,well, it was never meant to be.
Ushered into the building by a cross eyed Yemeni I was directed into the room where "The Boss" was waiting for me. I looked for firing squads, secret assassins lurking in the shadows waiting to jump me, or at very least immigration officers eager to direct my behind back to Australia, but alas, none of the above were present....just an empty room, with a large grained wooden table and a harmless looking guy sporting a wide grin on his face.
"Welcome Johanahathahan!" was the greeting I received. I guess all those h's used in my name were the arabic equivalent to how my name is pronounced, or maybe, just maybe, the guy heard my name through the arabic grapevine, which well, seems to tangle and distort information to a great extent.
He invited me to sit, and asked......"So, what is your specialization Johanahathahan?"
I was tempted to reply with a " eating a huge bowl of pasta in the blink of an eye" but as I really dont have a specialization, I told him that I enjoy art, graphic design and would like to help in whatever way possible. "The boss", after deciding that Im not actually as ritarded as I may have looked, decided to unfold his plan, or rather , his ingenious Idea of how to best utilize my talents. He told me they run a non for profit training center by the name of 'SUCCEED", which aims to equip refugees and yemeni with skills such as Information technology, computer literacy, english and design related knowledge using programs such as ILLUSTRATOR, PHOTOSHOP, COREL and so on... He then asked wheater I would be interested in teaching at the center, to which I eagerly replied yes.
With one swift move of his left hand " also known as the Haram hand" for it is used for unclean purposes such as wiping your butt after business is taken care of ( Toilet paper is not used in Yemen), he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled for Amer,his right hand man.
Noise pollution is not accidental in Yemen, but frequent and on purpose, and this is demonstrated not only by the incessant blaring horns of cars and buses, but also in the way Yemeni communicate with one another. It's a common sight to witness two friends walking hand in hand on the street, standing basically millimetres apart, screaming into each other's faces at a decibel volume that would make a heavy metal band blush in comparison. Maybe they feel that unless everybody in the 100 km radius hears you, its just not worth saying, but at the same time Im convinced that spending one year in Sana'a would render my ear drums as usefull as a pair of tits on a bull. So, after screaming into the handset informing Amer that Johanahahathahan Is ready to be picked up and taken to inspect the center, we conclude our meeting with a hand shake (using the right hand) , and I tell the boss it was nice to meet him and that I look forward to any future co-operation.
Im at taken to "SUCCEED", and make my way to the third floor where I am told Amer is waiting. I see a lift, but the doors are partly closed and it looks like the last time it was used was prior to World War 1, so I figured excercise is good after all, and make my way up the stair case. Amer greets with with a few less h's to my name and shows me around the center. Im taken back,the center is actually modern looking, clean, and well equipped, which is something that I haven't had the opportunity to witness so far in Sana'a. He explains to me that the whole graphic design side of Succed is a new concept they have come up with, and it must have been Allah himself who dropped this foreign master of art and design upon their doorstep. Im humbled, but proceed to explain to Amer that although Im ok at various programmes Im not exactly a Design professor and that I will only be staying in Sana'a for three months, after which, this design master will need to be replaced by someone else who knows what they are doing. I also tell him that Im currently involved in other activities concerning IDF and the kindergarden and that teaching 4 classes on an average of seven hours daily may send me to an early grave and greatly reduce the impact I would have on the other struggling establishments. Amer reassures me that it is ok, and that any help I can provide would be more than sufficient but fails to detail when the classes would begin or of any teaching structures they may already have in place. A tad confused at the casual feeling of it all, I tell Amer I look forward to discussing further info and that I will be waiting eagerly........ TO BE CONTINUED...
Monday, August 24, 2009
IDF, thrown into a world of chaos..
Saturday I began my first official day as a volunteer at a clinic called IDF. Before writing any further I should add that everything in the arab peninsula is pretty much vice versa. Not only is reading and writing done from right to left, but the weekends are thursday and friday, with saturday and sunday being normal working days. Enough to cause a national riot in Australia no doubt, but its the way it has always been here and when I tell people Sunday I usually sleep all day I get looked at as an alien . Well...I get looked as an an alien anyhow, but once again I think its because Im 3 foot taller than anyone else.
Anyhow, back to IDF. I dont think anything Ive done prior to this in my life could have ever prepared me for Saturday.I woke up saturday morning bright and early, feeling a little like a kid on his first day at school. A tad nervous , a little excited, but mostly confused because I didnt exactly know how to get to the place and the new part of Sana'a where I am staying ( refer to facebook pics),is a maze.
Picture a labyrinth of streets littered with rubble, rubbish and chewed up cud ( cud is the local leaves consumed by all that has a narcotic property to it ).
All the narrow streets look the same, they all lack signs and even if there are some they are in arab so no help there. Im given directions by my cousin Lex, finish my powdered coffee and head out the door ready to face the day. Half way to my destination I notice the streets are deserted which is very unlikely for Sana'a as the streets are the heart and soul of the Yemeni's social life. A constant bustle of horns, merchants and basically chaos define the average Yemen road. All of a sudden the abnormal tranquility is broken by shouting and what sounds like cursing. I turn to see an old man in traditional arab clothing waving his dagger frantically and spitting curses in my direction. I seem to make out the words "Get out!!! Get out!!"... At first I think..wow..the guy speaks english, but I then remember he's waving his dagger and heading towards me so I decide that to keep on walking would be my best option. I figure the guy is probably insane. There is a lot of mental illness amongst the elder Yemeni population as most of them have spent a lifetime of sleepless days and nights chewing Cud which eventually catches up with you and renders your brain to mush.
I walk another Km and finally find the bridge my cousin told me to turn right on. As a sidenote, Iv'e never walked so much in my life as I have here in Sana'a. The buses, which are actually rusty vans, are incredibly hard to catch because (A) their destination is marked in arab and (B), they are always full to the brim with people.
I spot the IDF sign by pure miracle. As I head towards the entrance I meet my friend Salah. He is from Canada and is also doing an internship but is due to finish this coming friday, after which, Im on my own.
IDF is a clinic which acts as a branch of the UNHCR. Its exhistence is to provide medical aid to refugees only, but as I quickly find out, it is so understaffed and so ill equipped that the amount of assistance a refugee can get is very minimal. As I walk past the guard into the courtyard I am met by at least thirty to fourty Somalian women holding their children on their laps or sitting down with a desperate look on their face. Tears are shed, frustration is evident and there is a general feeling of unease in the air. Im approached almost instantly by an elderly Somalian woman. She cries tears of despair, and explains to me in broken english that she needs to get urgent assistance for her sick husband who has been rejected from the three major hospitals and is suffering from cancer of the bladder. Or at least I so understood. I guess the fact that I am white, and Im saying this without a hint of racism, makes me a doctor automatically in her eyes. My heart breaks, and I wish with every fibre in my body that I could personally say " Dont worry, just give me your husband's name and I will personally make sure he is attended to".... but truth is, I have no power or connections around here. I am just a volunteer, and at that I cant even seem to find the person in charge of the place to explain that I have arrived and If all I can do to help is clean the toilets then that's what Im there for. I ask around for Dr samir, the guy Im supposed to meet. Nobody speaks english. Im met by puzzled looks as I try to communicate my reason for being there. Finally a gentle mannered Somali asks me if he can help me. His english is scarce but at least there seems to be some kind of understanding. He introduces me to Dr Lina, a Yemen born lady with kind eyes wearing an "Abaya", the traditional black veiled dress worn by women in Yemen.
Her english is on par with the Somalian guy who introduced me, so communicating around here is going to be interesting. I sit with her, and I begin interviewing her, trying to understand what the main needs around the clinic are, and what I can do to help. I can tell she is a woman with a big heart, but can read the same frustration in her eyes as I saw In the eyes of the Somalian women. As we speak I jot down some notes, and after thanking her for her time I leave her office to go sit in the courtyard. Reading through the notes what stands out are a few main factors.
(1) There is a complete lack of communication between staff and patients.
(2) Animosity is high as refugees feel rejected and pushed aside, this I put down to the broken line of communication between the two parties.
(3) There are no leaflets, brochures, banners or information boards available to refugees to inform them of available services and procedures.
(4) There is no creche or playing toys for the many children attending the clinic.
(5) The C.O.W team (community outreach workers) employed by IDF, comprised of ten somali youths who's job is to go visit patients who are too sick to make it to the clinic and report on their conditions are firstly, completely unaware of how to conduct their job, and secondly dont have any report forms with which to take down the patients details and conditions to report back to the clinic. On this note I've been told that the last time a C.O.W worker brought back a report was on the back of a scrunched up piece of newspaper unto which he wrote " the patient's house is dirty".
I figured the best way for me to help Is to create brochures, ads, and posters for the notice board which is missing half its wooden backing. Then I will put together a report form for the C.O.W workers, and hopefully, with a little assistance from the Australian side, get some money together to get a creche and some toys happening for the children. In relations to the animosity built, I would like to put together a survey for the refugees, where with the help of a translator I would like to get their feedback on what they would like to see improved around the clinic, and what type of information and assiatance they would like to be made available to them. I think this would help them psychologically to know that they are valued, and though the clinic is ill equipped and under staffed their opinion is valued, and changes are in the horizon. Another major problem amongst the Somali community Is F.G.M , more commonly known as female genitalia mutilation. This is a long standing tradition carried out by the mothers and fathers where the daughter's clitoris and labia are cut off, and the opening to their vagina stitched to leave a tiny opening which allows them to pretty much barely pass Urine. The reason behind F.G.M is that the mother believes that by doing so the daughter will be pure and clean and able to find a good husband. However, nowhere in the Koran does it state for this practice to be carried out, and although its origins of introductions are unknown as it is such a taboo topic amongst the somali community, it is an extremely dangerous practice which aside from making sexual intercourse extremely painful for the girl it has also left behind countless deaths due to infection and loss of blood. The only way to beat ignorance, is through information and education, and luckily the U.N websites has a vast variety of information on the topic, from which I would like to get inspirations to create a series of posters using a mix of shock tactics laced with perhaps a passage from the Koran which promotes life and discourages unnecessary suffering.
All of the above will have to be created in English, to be then translated into arab, and Somali. As a very large portion of the refugees community are illiterate, the wording will need to be extremely simple and visual ads powerful enough to get the message across. Its a huge task, not only due to its volume of work, but also because I cannot speak or write either arab or somali, so Im hoping that the connections Ive made with my Somali friend A.K and another arab youth who are bilingual will come in handy when translation is required. Bureocracy in the U.N is also a stumbling block as all documents, brochures and banners will need to also be checked and approve by three different offices, which is a lenghty process due to the general disorganization that runs rampant around here, and also because it is the month of Ramadan, where normal work hours are completely altered and offices remain closed for a large part of the day.
It is now 1 am, my eyes are burning as it has been an extremely long day. Im on my third day at IDF. and though the task seems huge, I notice that where there is a will and patience, there is a way, and that in itself motivates me to keep on.
Over and out for now:).
Friday, August 21, 2009
UNHCR: UNITED NATIONS HIGH COMMISSION FOR REFUGEES
NAMES IN MY BLOG ENTRIES WILL BE CHANGED TO PROTECT IDENTITIES OF PARTIES INVOLVED.
This Blog entry is in regards to the first meeting I attended with Raquel, the wonderful Community Services manager who allowed me the opportunity to volunteer in Yemen. I have skipped on a few days happenings in between but will catch up on those in following blogs and will let pictures and videos soon to come speak a thousand words.
On wednesday I was invited by Raquel to attend a meeting on AIDS and health issues amongst the refugee community in Yemen comprised mostly of Somali and Ugandan people.
We arrived at the hotel where the meeting was held only to find that out of 40 of the invited representatives from the various NGO's ( Non Government Organizations)only 6 showed up. 5 from our office. It was a real let down and Raquel was furious. I took one look at her and knew heads were about to roll. We waited around for a while in the hope of some late arrivals, and speaking to a lovely U.N.V named Monique, this is what I learnt....
* To my knowledge so far, rape and sexual assaults are rife in Sana'a. Assaults are commonly perpetrated on children and women who seem to be the easier target firstly due to their social position and also due to the lack of forensic facilities in Sana'a itself. A rape of a woman for instance can only be prosecuted if reported within the first 24 hours of the occurence. This is made extremely difficult firstly by the fact that refugees here are completely looked down upon and disregarded by the local authorities. Access to hospitals or police station is restricted and hard to gain access to for a Yemenese, let alone a refugee. A woman must also have five female witnesses to the event, as well as needing to retain evidence of the attack, which then in turn needs to be sent to the only forensic facility which is in Jordan...another country away.This is a time consuming process which greatly increases the perpetrator's chances of getting away with the crime scott free.
Many offenders presently walk the streets of Yemen as free men,which would no doubt increase their confidence of a repeat offense knowing that the chances of being punished are extremely few and rare.
There has been a recend incident where a six year old boy was raped and killed.
As the story goes, a father took his young boy to the barber to get a hair cut. He temporarily left the boy there while he went off to run some errands. While the father was away, the barber raped the young boy, then to silence any evidence he took the child to the seventh floor and threw him out of the window.
At the father's return he enquired of his child where abouts and was informed by the barber that the child made his own way home. The father became suspicious and began an investigation.
After a lenghty enquiry the barber was found to be guilty. Under the law of the Koran, if a person is found guilty of rape, he is to be thrown from the window od the tallest building in the city. As the tallest buildings in the city are run by foreign government agencies, this was not possible, so it was decided that the barber was to be first shot dead, and for his limp body to be thrown out of the same window the child was thrown from.
Justice is seldom in Yemen, but carried out to the harshest extreme when guilt is proven. This is one of the few stories where justice ran its course, but many innocent cries have been unheard. This is something that needs to change.
Sana'a Sana'a,big city of dreams...like...keep dreaming
Finally In Sana'a. The plane is about to land on an airstrip missing half its tarmac. Everyone on the plane crosses their fingers and begins their prayer to which ever God they may believe in. I begin to sweat profusely. The air strip seems to be roughly 600 meters long. Long enough to land a paper plane no doubt... but Im flying on one which is surely double the length of the runway. The adventure begins. Im flying Yemen air.....comforting then when rattling noises mean the wheels are out and ready to kiss the tarmac perhaps one last time. The seat belt lights flash on and off,perhaps the electrical wiring has seen better days, or maybe its an arab tradition to do and undo ur seat belt as landing approaches. The rattling noise increases, almost to a deafening level. We are now 100, 80, 60, 40, 20 meters to........TOUCHDOWN!!!!!!!! The plane lands as gently as an 800 kg ballerina attempting a backflip... I open my eyes and uncross my fingers. Either we made it or heaven is one hell of a let down. No, we made it Im reassured by a hostess as keen to get off the plane as I am. Im looking for the airport but all I can see is a tiny little building who's sign reads S N A A PO T.
Either its an anagram or its missing a few letters, I decide on the latter and as I descend down the rickety plane stairs I head for the building. Surely it cannot be the airport...its 10 x10 meters and there are people yelling and pushing each other into a claustrophobic cue where I am handed two leaflets in arab. I think Im supposed to fill them out so I can hand it to the guy standing in the cubicle chewing on some strange grass. Only problem is I cannot speak arab...so... where do I put my name and so on? I decide to fluke it, start filling out random info such as my favourite colour and which pop band I prefer and as I smile my way past the AK 47 guard also chewing on the strange grass, I hand the leaflet to the cubicle guy. He reads it, gives me a strange look, like.... YOU DO KNOW BULLETS HURT RIGHT?...but decides Im probably mentally ritarded and therefore not a major threat to Yemen, so after looking for the appropriate stamp for about ten minutes, he stamps my life goodbye, the guard puts the safety catch back on the AK and Im given the green light to proceed. I'll skip through how long it took me to retrieve my luggage and fast forward to having hugged my cousin and making my way to his house in the taxi he has waiting outside. The taxis in Yemen are recycled from post world war 1. Some are missing doors, some rear view mirrors, some have wobbly wheels just screaming to be set free, and all are rusty beyond the point of recognition. This does not however deter the drivers from Impersonating Michael Shumaker ( forgive the spelling) as they scream down pot holed roads at maniacal speeds. There are no road rules in Yemen,either than the bigger car wins the right of way, and the boldest driver takes home the loot.
We make it, somehow, to Lex's pad. Its early morning, I havent slept in three days and Im beginning to hallucinate. I must however remain awake just another 12 to make sure I get over the jet lag. My first day is a blur. All I remember is almost being run over on an average of 5 times a minute as we walk the streets to find some food. EVERYONE IS STARING AT ME. Could it be Im twice the height and width of your average Yemenese, or the deranged look on my face as I try to stay with it just a few more hours. We eat, I mumble something to Lex and all I recall after that is hitting the bed.......hard!!. Yemen will indeed be an interesting place.....
On the way, finally.
After what seemed like ages twisting and turning on the plane trying to find some sort of comfortable position, the pilot finally announced we would be descending in Dubai and to please ditch any drugs or American propaganda we may have. Not quite the Arab world yet, but good preparation for what lies ahead. The plane lands, I bump my head on the airplane door one more time while exiting and find myself at the Dubai airport. I only have one hour before my connecting flight to Sana'a, so I decide to wonder around the airport to see what delights Dubai has to offer.
It seems there arent too many 6 foot 4 blondies walking around the airport so Im immediately met by curious stares. Maybe its the way I look. Completely zombified from a sleepless flight and desperately in need of a shower. My ears are still more obtuse than a pack of drunken rednecks as I begin to ask directions to the departure gate. A coffee is definately in order to kickstart enough braincells to get me to the gate. Perhaps a ciggie might go down well too. I ask directions to thhe smoking room and as time is passing by quickly Dubai itself will need to remain unexplored for the time being, which is just as well as I just paid 14 US dollars for an apple juice....So so cheap. Two days here and I would be broke and on my way back to Oz. After a 15 minute walk I arrive to the smoking room. It is absolutely gruesome. I walk inside and develope
bronchitis,lung cancer and emphasyma all in the first breath. Disgusting..feral..are the first words I can think of. Im surrounded by a pack of smoking afficionados . They stem from all parts of the world, all magically drawn to the one shitty disgusting room at the dubai airport to share in the same common passion....chain smoking. It seems there is some sort of unspoken yet understood contest going on as to who can continuosly light one ciggie of the last in an never ending conquest to smoke themselves to death. The winner gets to leave in a body bag. I light mine up, but I just cant seem to do it. Its way too depressing in here. I take one drag, met by curious eyes wondering if perhaps I too am there to join the death contest. Not today thank you... I butt mine out after the first drag and walk out of the gas chamber minus 3/4 of my noirmal lung function.
As i proceed to the Sana'a gate Im approached by a nosey airport worker who asks me" Hi, where are you travelling to?"... I feel like saying mind your business but I reply " to Sana'a"!!, cheesy smile plastered over my sleepy face. His jaw drops, he searches for words to say, but all he manages is a drawn out...."why?".. as in..why the heck would you possibly want to go there..
I tell him, no, Im not part of a western espionage organization and no, Im not going there to be trained in a terrorist camp.. Im just visiting my cousin.. he lives there, we are very close and I need a vacation.. and seriously..does it really matter anyways?. His face is puzzled, he searches for clues, I give him none. An uncomfortable silence holds us both stunned like dear in headlights, this is my cue to cut the odd conversation short, so with a quick...well, have a good time working in this extremely expensive airport, I grab a hold of my hand luggage and continue towards the gate. Give me some sleep.. Give me Sana'a... air travel sucks...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Mini panic attacks and other travelling related symptoms..
Sunday, 9th of August 09. My first blog entry......
Over the past week I've started to experience the usual symptoms that any person about to embark on a very unusual journey to a foreign and from hear say not so very friendly land would experience. This symptoms range from experiencing mini panic attacks in bed ,where all of sudden you realize that in six days from now you will be waking up in a completely new and foreign environment. Away from the comfort of familiarity, unable to reach friends or loved ones that would normally be reached via a simple phone call or a short drive, and most importantly, not knowing which coffee shop has the best coffee to help your mind, body and sleepy spirit begin its usual functionality. Oh, and did I mention the " No one speaks english....guess I best be learning arab quickly" factor? Other symptoms include utter frustration trying to hurry up non english speaking embassy workers to return your visa and passport so that you can actually leave the country and suffering under the maniacal sadistic touch of a way too eager nurse with a three inch needle prodding your arm fourteen times with a concoction of very expensive substances that will apparently shield you from any harm which may come your way. Friendlies such as yellow fever, malaria, cholera, tuberculosis, Hep B and A, Tetanus, Bad b.o, stinky breath, Mc Donald burgers and a whole other bunch of dangerous and menacing threats.
I asked Nazi Nurse if she had one that would protect me from being chatted up by extremely obese bikie women in a bar setting, to which the nurse grunted 'not funny!" and returned to plunging the needle deeper into my now swollen arm, sporting an even creepier smile on her deranged and contorted face. Someone needs a holiday.
So Yemen it is. Dont ask me why. Until two months ago I would have never imagined that one day I would travel to a country rated by news casts as a boiling pot of terrorism, but then again, like all things pertaining to the media and to what we are fed by it, what is to believe, and what is to give the benefit of doubt to? I guess Its one of those you dont know until you go scenarios , which is well, part of the reason why I'm going.
The major reason to my departurehowever is something I'm still not truly able to believe I have been given the opportunity to take part of, and the following is all largely due to my cousin/best friend/confidante who has been living there for over a year now and well, partly due to what I guess you'd call the subtle hands of destiny that guide our path in mysterious ways, mostly when we least expect it to. I have been blessed with the amazing opportunity to work alongside an organization in assisting refugees . To my understanding I will be teaching English to young orphaned children, and will be in charge of a group of 20 or so Somali youths where I will be trained and take part in organizing activities and well...whatever else may be of assistance. Its all so fresh I still dont really know much, but will update my blog as the days go on by. I'm getting really tired now, my eyes are blurry and my writing is getting worse and the sentences go on by, so I'll pull the plug and call it a night. It has been an incredibly busy two weeks preparing myself for the trip. I'm excited and a tad nervous, but what I'm mostly feeling right now is overwhelmed with sadness from leaving my family and loved ones behind. However, the show must go on, and as I've discovered in life anything worth doing always comes with a price tag , maybe one of sacrifice or loss, but if it is truly worth it, the gain will be immeasurable and the experience once in a lifetime. So, to all who've come this far, I appreciate your interest and would like to wish you the very best as you partake in this journey with me. This is Giovanni, over and out! Peace :)
Over the past week I've started to experience the usual symptoms that any person about to embark on a very unusual journey to a foreign and from hear say not so very friendly land would experience. This symptoms range from experiencing mini panic attacks in bed ,where all of sudden you realize that in six days from now you will be waking up in a completely new and foreign environment. Away from the comfort of familiarity, unable to reach friends or loved ones that would normally be reached via a simple phone call or a short drive, and most importantly, not knowing which coffee shop has the best coffee to help your mind, body and sleepy spirit begin its usual functionality. Oh, and did I mention the " No one speaks english....guess I best be learning arab quickly" factor? Other symptoms include utter frustration trying to hurry up non english speaking embassy workers to return your visa and passport so that you can actually leave the country and suffering under the maniacal sadistic touch of a way too eager nurse with a three inch needle prodding your arm fourteen times with a concoction of very expensive substances that will apparently shield you from any harm which may come your way. Friendlies such as yellow fever, malaria, cholera, tuberculosis, Hep B and A, Tetanus, Bad b.o, stinky breath, Mc Donald burgers and a whole other bunch of dangerous and menacing threats.
I asked Nazi Nurse if she had one that would protect me from being chatted up by extremely obese bikie women in a bar setting, to which the nurse grunted 'not funny!" and returned to plunging the needle deeper into my now swollen arm, sporting an even creepier smile on her deranged and contorted face. Someone needs a holiday.
So Yemen it is. Dont ask me why. Until two months ago I would have never imagined that one day I would travel to a country rated by news casts as a boiling pot of terrorism, but then again, like all things pertaining to the media and to what we are fed by it, what is to believe, and what is to give the benefit of doubt to? I guess Its one of those you dont know until you go scenarios , which is well, part of the reason why I'm going.
The major reason to my departurehowever is something I'm still not truly able to believe I have been given the opportunity to take part of, and the following is all largely due to my cousin/best friend/confidante who has been living there for over a year now and well, partly due to what I guess you'd call the subtle hands of destiny that guide our path in mysterious ways, mostly when we least expect it to. I have been blessed with the amazing opportunity to work alongside an organization in assisting refugees . To my understanding I will be teaching English to young orphaned children, and will be in charge of a group of 20 or so Somali youths where I will be trained and take part in organizing activities and well...whatever else may be of assistance. Its all so fresh I still dont really know much, but will update my blog as the days go on by. I'm getting really tired now, my eyes are blurry and my writing is getting worse and the sentences go on by, so I'll pull the plug and call it a night. It has been an incredibly busy two weeks preparing myself for the trip. I'm excited and a tad nervous, but what I'm mostly feeling right now is overwhelmed with sadness from leaving my family and loved ones behind. However, the show must go on, and as I've discovered in life anything worth doing always comes with a price tag , maybe one of sacrifice or loss, but if it is truly worth it, the gain will be immeasurable and the experience once in a lifetime. So, to all who've come this far, I appreciate your interest and would like to wish you the very best as you partake in this journey with me. This is Giovanni, over and out! Peace :)
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