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mind entropy of the ethiofricanArchive for Africa
What Obama Should do for Africa
I have been floundering attempting to understand and articulate the Obama doctrine on Africa post-Obama-euphoria. It’s a bit premature for Obama to have the policy drafted and published,…but somehow, I’ve stumbled upon a fantastic article which articulates exactly what I believe Obama’s approach should be toward Africa. Read below an excerpt.
Military or humanitarian concerns alone will serve neither the US’s, nor Africa’s long-term interests.
A deeper understanding of US interests in Africa would require supporting Africa’s overall desire to lead herself and enhancing African institutions that promote democracy, accountability and human rights. A new US Africa policy should aim to trigger fundamental internal changes in the modes of rule in the continent.…
Africa would benefit from an Obama presidency if more resources were invested in long-term projects in rural and inland infrastructure, agriculture and health, basic and higher education, trade facilitation and enhancement, the elimination of obstacles to private investment, the development of credit facilities, support to African civil society organizations, leadership, institutions and expertise and the sound management of Africa’s natural resources and open its markets to Africa’s exports.
The US will not alone provide the full array of investments that are needed to overcome the continent’s economic problems. But Obama could significantly strengthen and revitalise important public constituencies for Africa in the US and broaden the basis for US engagement in the continent. Read more.
I think it’s so important to lock focus on building self-sufficiency rather than building dependency on aid. Ideology-based diplomacy which beams on African issues through the tinted prisms of ‘war on terror security issues’ ‘anti-abortion/abstinence’ and in the past ‘anti-communism’ is also not a good idea.
An exciting emerging phenomenon is mentioned in passing in the article as a “revitalization of important public constituencies for Africa in the US”; I’ve alluded to it in previous posts. This phenomenon is the increasing number of young educated African Immigrants in the US and their engagement in US politics. 1st-3rd+ generation African Immigrants working within capitol hill…getting involved in campaign organizations like Africans/Ethiopians/Somalis etc.. for Obama. There is a chance these organizations will be a trigger for the involvement of the African diaspora within U.S. politics. As stakeholders who fulfill their obligations, these Americans can harness their rights to make demands. The development of these Africa-affiliated public constituencies (i.e. political/community African Immigrant Organizations) could mean they can push the African agenda…at a time when the U.S. will continue to have an expanding basis for engagement with the continent. Jewish communities are well known in their ability to unite for their common causes.
There are reasons to believe these organizations played key roles in some of the successes of the Obama victory last week. Concrete data is pending; however, allow me to indulge in some extrapolations:
- CNN called VA decided by the African American turnout.
- Precinct 8 is the primary locality for a majority of the Ethiopian Americans in Virginia. The report on precinct 8 is: “Obama’s win in Virginia was buoyed by his margin of victory in Northern Virginia, in particular Arlington, Alexandria, Falls Church and eastern Fairfax County, inclusive of the 8th and 11th Congressional districts…Out of 3,470,390 total votes cast in Virginia, Obama’s 154,238 statewide advantage, for 51.7 percent of the total, was matched almost exactly by his 154,749 margin in the 8th and 11th districts.” Read more.
What is to come; we shall see. What these Africa-affiliated public entities will amount to; we have no clue. But their engagements early on in the Obama campaign, the dynamism of the young African-born immigrants who have “the highest median earnings/highest education amongst immigrants in the US” and a common ambition to see a better Africa tells me there are some intriguing times up ahead.
There is due cynicism revolving around Obama’s Africa policies. To be expected, especially when taking over from Bush, reportedly one of the more successful leaders in his engagement with Africa… at a time when the U.S has woes that would restrict the plane of vision of any well-meaning, informed president…And here I issue my disclaimer that I agree with some of the skepticism surrounding the issue. But for once the euphoria makes me see that there is more in our hands than we initially perceive. We should help Obama help us. Stay tuned world.
Childhood Crush
the boy, the city, the spiciness of the experience…
I was 10-12 I think…
Every summer I went to visit my grandmother and great-aunt away from the rainy, muggy kiremt into the sunny humidity of the East. My great-aunt was the precious kind of woman who exuded love to all the kids of the area and gathered them into her home, showering them with the little cares of a grandmother. She would cajole, scold, hug, kiss and nurture as if they were her own. She was many things at all times, the versatile abode that is Woman. Personified, she was the vesicle for culture, the treasure chest of folktales; a linguist, like many in her generation. She spoke Haderi, Arabic, Amharic, Oromiffa, Somali…saying exactly what was on her mind as the need presented itself!
Almost every night, us kids would gather outside by the grayish blue gates around my great aunt’s feet as the sand settles and the heavy nefasha air breezes past the leaves; the teeming starry sky twinkling above us. I was a big fan of these nights, nights of teret teret storytelling about ali babba, the always mischievous monkey and the smart girl, the selfish one…the stepmother (Hmm…maybe this is why I’m such a sucker for breezy warm days that caress as they prode out a contented smile; like a lazy Saturday afternoon by the Potomac waterfront…)
Anyhow, back to another time and place.
Every summer I would reel from excitement as i make my way to Dire to start a month long excursion filled with dankira with the kids and happy days with my adorably talkative aunties. freedom! These summer friends of mine had their own slang; the juiciest kind that combines all the languages of the area. “Kale Waria!!” “Abooooo tewaaa!” “Abshir new, Alhamdililah!” “Intalo, injiru bishaniti?” Qesht, Abo, Senduq, birka, shillingi, roqa, medebir, mamilla, CHebo…and thus I rack my memory: to find all these and more profane wordy varieties…
It was then that I became crush-struck. My younger cousin’s best friend was about 1 year older than I. The star footballer and the little arada of the area with his hitched walk and croaky voice; sure to be crowned mr. congeniality; deserving by far. It seems I was drawn to personality more than looks, even then…He had sharp accented features (big eyes, big nose, brownish soft hair) and he was light-skinned. Tall and skinny be he.
The old ladies were his fans, the other kids admirers of his mischief. Him and Cuz would tell me stories of classroom antics, football rivalries, adventures running errands around Dire and those vicious kids at the khat terra with whom they waged reckless battles. I’m not sure if I wanted to be them in their recklessness and my rebellious tomboy aspirations or hang with them for some girly reasons I couldn’t fathom! Nonetheless, such were the vagaries which plagued the mind of a little girl coming-of-age.
Jeezz, I was so ashamed of my heart doing a violent and loud ruckus! My tongue-tied little mouth releasing hitched breaths …jitters as he played football outside, came to buy Rossmans…crush-struck! lol, It was petrifying for the little girl that I was. It didn’t even occur to me that I could like him. I badly needed to keep my casual ease – sliding smoothly into funny stories, rants and raves about childhood naughtiness …and juicy neighborhood gossip, for good Dire measure…But No! his voice started breaking as I started breaking into sweat! what silliness!
Sure enough I never told him how I felt- maybe because I didn’t know what it was despite the plethora of teenage books and movies I devoured! At age 11, I expected he would laugh in my face. And as we grew older he would come visit and I would grasp at composure, fumbling… Mainly, I would hear about him from other people…he repeated a class, he was thinking of joining the national football team, he joined the team at the ‘C’ level, then went to vocational school for carpentry …finally he’s joined the federal police… and such a path destiny took…
My little memory vesicle still holds this swanky character with fondness…A fondness that encompasses a town full of people in flip-flops and short-sleeved shirts; long skirts and flirty scarves. Neighbors that come out in the fading warmth- in the cool, calming dusk under acacia trees…as they sit on steps across narrow roads and yell out conversations about so-an-so’s illegitimate child and the price of water… ah! the freedom and openness! Dirty laundry always adorns the dingy streets; if u care to stand for a quick second and listen!
This is a town with equal opportunity hoya hoye where girls ran around with boys, chanting and singing for coins; where people (read: bachelors) buy ‘muslim’ meat pasta with marinara sauce in thin plastic bags with handles. The pasta spot sells chick-pea porridge ‘fuul‘ at breakfast (a middle eastern meal? As staple as dunked bread in sweet spicy tea, as far as I could remember)
Here, the mid-afternoon starts with a calm when everyone clamors indoors to chew on khat and rewind after the noon nap… Mid-morning is marked with knocks by entrepreneurial contraband salesmen, beggars and milkmaids calling for attention. And what of the open blue-grey gates? These gates are always ajar. Open to sounds of children kicking around balls; little girls mixing sand to build play-houses…and passersby exchanging greetings along with drips of the social update for the day.
This small city ruckus is topped up with the sound of the mamilla-CHebo coming around asking auntie for lunch or work carrying stuff in between his cigarette swigs. Infamously, this year’s mamilla was an amazingly intelligent english teacher until the blinding sun-khat -and sand turned him looney!
the world feels like a different place
History has been Made
I cannot begin to express how this feels! I cannot begin to put thoughts into words! This is awesome; phenomenally, fantasmicaly ahhhhhhhhhhh!– between crying, bouncing about like a monkey and hugging everyone around — I’m at complete loss for reactions. Today at work, I am over-processing information; binging on all the political news and analysis I can find! Just pure erratic, ecstatic ingestion of all info being spewed out about this beautiful beautiful VICTORY!! A victory where the PEOPLE were the change agents. I was looking at my coworkers thinking; wow. They are as excited about the results…him and her too? wow…There was even an impromptu ice cream party and calls for champagne at lunch.
HISTORY WAS MADE through a grassroots victory. The man chosen is a true leader exuding immense maturity, intellect, good measured judgment and an acute and fixed attention on the interdependence of our existences. An individual of awe-inspiring wisdom. A man who sees listening as the true cornerstone for peace! An individual with an incredible grasp for the extremely intricate complications of the world’s systems and yet seems to have a locked focus on the simpleness of humanity’s interconnectedness. A man of Compromise.
When I think of Obama’s perspective on issues this MLK quote comes to mind: “Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.”
At last. The president of the leading nation in the world has been elected due to the quality of his character and not the color of his skin.
At last. This world has a political leader who brings people together, a leader for us to look up to and say – I want to be like him/i want my kids to be like him when they grow up.
Finally. Finally. Finally.
Congratulations all my beautiful People rejoicing all across the world, from Addis to Lima to Moyale to Jedda. The opportunity to make change is truly and surly in the handsof the PEOPLE of the leading nation in the world.
The People
More than anything — America has sung out to the world that indeed a democracy of the people, for the people, by the people is possible! That is HUGE! Anything is Possible. We will have to wait and see how the Obama Administration plans to engage the owners of the Obama campaign, but everyone testifies to the grassroot nature of the Obama Movement.
The people own the campaign, the people should own the presidency! This is the real call to real ACTION. To speak up, to end the revolting taste of apathy and take the issues further work for a better order! It’s striking that during his victory speech Obama sounded so sober and calm. Indeed the road ahead is steep and hard. And there’s plenty reason to be overjoyed — everyone is invited to the round table. It’s the People’s Ball and all need to come out and partaaaay – start dancing on that round table!
Sobering Reality
For the world; the sobering realization is that America is a nation with its individual national interests; and that shall not change. We have seen a Clinton America sitting around sipping coffee over the definitions of the word ‘genocide’ as hundreds of thousands have died; we have seen a neutral America standing by as war is waged in the dry barren corners of the world where American interest is not adorned with neon lights. We have seen the failures in Moqadisho and the back-seat position cool gaze of the US in place of a prodding finger to abusive, nondemocratic governments across the world- that prod did not happen to the ‘right’ direction if the right direction was not for US interest…
The sobering reality is that a man of African decent in the white house – an East African American none-the-less is not going to herald emancipation from many of the chains in daily life within East Africa. BUT — this moment is huge because this IS going to be a different Washington. This will be a Washington without lobbyists at the forefront but a clear invitation for individuals to become activists and for organizations like Africans/Ethiopians/Eritreans/Somalians for Obama to to actively involve their communities in issues they care about through organizing. This is a Washington with ears for the humanitarian pleas of its people who are clearly gaining more and more interest in a better world order (refer to the numbers of study abroaders, international volunteerism and development initiatives by the American people). This would be a government which listens and has the potential to be less of a selfish chess player aiming for a win in foreign affairs less but rather — with a beacon of light guiding its Foreign Affairs agenda: Defense, Diplomacy, Development. There are rumors about a possible proposal in the Obama Administration to establish a separate Department of International Development, expanding the small agency USAgency for International Development currently under a department. This would elevate international development as an issue of national importance on equal level as Condi’s Department of State issues.
A Moment for Africans in the Diaspora
This is not the same Washington that the developing country governments sent lobbyists to, for ruling party interests. This is a Washington glancing away from lobbyists to give an opportunity for people to scream out what they want and be heard; for diaspora communities to have a voice. It is your moment Ethiopians in the Diaspora! Horn of African Americans.
Being Black in America
We are at the pinnacle of an incredibly historic event which has people dancing in the streets across the world! This pinnacle would arguably be the very end of the Civil War (awesome article by Friedman). We can believe again — ALL things are Possible even the realization of an old joke in Kisumu that a Luo-Kenyan will become president of the United States before becoming president of Kenya.
And lastly and most passionately, there was the Jessie Jackson minutes of tears. — that said beyond words the meaning of Obama’s status as the first African American President of the United States only 40 years after the murder of MLK. Years of struggle and pain for a people has reached the pinnacle of a dream being realized.
Anything is possible! YES WE CAN and WE DID!
Reactions from Around the World:
In Tunisia, the Arabic daily Al Chourouk said: “Today America elects “The President of the World.”
Many in the international media are saying stuff along the lines of “THE END of 8 years in hell. Wooo hooooo” 
Obama’s family in Kenya were partying and getting ready to start packing for the white house “Who needs a passport? We’re going to the White House!” they sang.
“This has restored my faith in democracy,” said Duncan Adel, a computer technician who had been part of the election protests in Kenya last year.
“The World Enters America” was the headline of the Hindustan Times lead editorial Wednesday morning, reminding the 44th president of the United States to be mindful of an interconnected world roiled by a financial crisis and two wars. “For America to chart these choppy waters, it will have to have a helmsman who understands and engages with the world on the world’s terms,” it urged. – New Delhi, India
“The biggest economy in the world has a leader that the world can talk to,” said Alejandro Saks, an Argentine television scriptwriter. “There is the feeling that for the first time since Kennedy, America has a different type of leader.” – Buenes Aires, Argentina
On t’Brink Again: Hungry Horn
the looping setting on the horn of africa. BAM!
2008 ~9.6 million hungry people (hi food prices), 3.25 million affected by drought.
2001 ~over 12 million people in Ethio, Eritrea needing urgent aid within drought.
1984 ~ 5-7 million affected with very high death rate: drought/delayed response/war.
read more.
it’s worse than the last time…they say…
i did something last time.
i wonder if i will again.
having experienced being at one of the sites they always show on news clips of people collecting food, i am intrigued by how news stories depict the scene…
here’s a pre-commentary, pre-news-edit video, part of the world food programme press release on the drought…
the bareness of the video was chilling to watch. but specifically, watching it in detached mode, i could think of a million ways someone could cut and paste this to make it ‘news worthy’. now, take that little snip with naked emaciated kids with bloated bellies, children collecting grains from the dust.
this piece of material could make a bang…yes, it is indeed as bad as 1984. yes, indeed this is the condition of the horn. sad reality that it is…
at the risk of viewers dismissing the news piece scoffing ‘ahhh…yea…didn’t they have that show on last nite? that infomercial about giving money to feed starving babies?’ the ‘pity-worthy-ness’ to a lesser degree, and the creative spin to a greater degree. these could be the uumph that can compete with other news pieces for the front page, the headline, the breaking news…and prove the point this is indeed comparable to 1984. the always-ness of africa. take a look!
i wonder.
what could be going through the camera person’s mind while they’re recording it? or the producers’ in thinking about what appeals to his audience? what kinda agenda/bias do they bring by editing?
relaying the urgency of the situation, the need for response…a successful news story that reaches the front page…tv superstandome?? i guess good news, is no news…
but really… what of the things that fall through the cracks. that wouldn’t bolster stereotypes…
a cultural value system and context lost in translation? like…respect and reverence of food in that it shouldn’t be wasted. Proverb: “migib kibur new”/”food is to be revered.” This presumes all food is not to be wasted unless it has been contaminated irreversibly…
Also, there may be different conceptions of contamination and germs…and an integrated perception of food-and nature…along with different ideas on ‘wastefulness’ ‘food’ ‘materialism’….’cleanliness’…
an understanding of these things make the scene with kids scrambling for grains on the sandy ground less dramatic.
Edit. Edit. Edit.
the construction of recent history
…versus a recording of the past…
Tata Mandiba Mandela
if there is any political world figure I feel I need to pay tribute to, it is this man. A man who stands for peace! and what better time than his birth day when the world celebrates him – a world which he has recolored, recharged and graced.
“How blessed we have been. He has become the most admired statesman in the world, an icon of forgiveness and reconciliation, a moral colossus.” – Desmond Tutu
His many names:
Tata – This isiXhosa word means “father” and is a term of endearment that many South Africans use for Mr Mandela. Since he is a father figure to many, they call him Tata regardless of their own age.
Madiba – This is the name of the clan of which Mr Mandela is a member. This name is much more important than a surname as it refers to the ancestor from which a person is descended. Madiba was the name of a Thembu chief who ruled in the Transkei in the 18th century. It is considered very polite to use someone’s clan name.
Tribute to Mandiba, the man through his quotations:
~ I dream of an Africa which is in peace with itself.
~ Whatever the sentence Your Worship sees fit to impose upon me for the crime for which I have been convicted before this court may it rest assured that when my sentence has been completed, I will still be moved as men are always moved, by their conscience. I will still be moved by my dislike of the race discrimination against my people. When I come out from serving my sentence, I will take up again, as best I can, the struggle for the removal of those injustices until they are finally abolished.
~ No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.
~ True reconciliation does not consist in merely forgetting the past.
~ If there are dreams about a beautiful South Africa, there are also roads that lead to their goal. Two of these roads could be named Goodness and Forgiveness.
~ Extremists on all sides thrive, fed by the blood lust of centuries gone by.
~ As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others… For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.
~ The curious beauty of African music is that it uplifts even as it tells a sad tale. You may be poor, you may have only a ramshackle house, you may have lost your job, but that song gives you hope. African music is often about the aspirations of the African people, and it can ignite the political resolve of those who might otherwise be indifferent to politics.
~ As I have said, the first thing is to be honest with yourself. You can never have an impact on society if you have not changed yourself… Great peacemakers are all people of integrity, of honesty, but humility.
~ I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.
~ If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner.
~ It always seems impossible until its done… There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires.
~ There is no passion to be found playing small – in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.
Dance Free!
Dancing is pure freedom! It is…completely releasing all inhibitions in an act that seizes the moment. In a moment …you set free all nagging thoughts and nuances to sway, step, slide, twist …to pulsate! A pulse navigating out of the speakers to fuse in sync with your beat, your inner rhythm.
I love to dance… Could probably literally dance the night away, most days!
…So I thought I’ll drop 3 things on dancing into the senduQ:
~Minyeshu
Minyeshu is an Ethiopian traditional music vocalist residing in the Netherlands. I stumbled upon her when I found a flickr picture of hers looking like the lady on the senduQ header. 
She just released an album ‘Dire Dawa’ this past April and has a previous album ‘Meba’ released 2002.
I love the ^ fashion, and stage energy… She exudes joy when on stage, in dancing; a free-spiritedness that doesn’t need an entourage. Simply put: Tishekeshikewalech on stage. I like how her fashion seems deliberate. The yellow dress does not come across as stereotypical, but does a great fusion of many styles from different cultures while keeping the flare of a traditional touch.
More than the music, which to me isn’t incredibly, incredibly original. Though her music uses notable full-on acoustics and makes a great and enjoyable attempt at fusion (of sounds from within and beyond Ethiopia) just like her attire…I like that she expresses a different take on the diversity that is Ethiopia …and that she pays homage to the best treasure jewel in the harur valley – Dire.
Joy of African Music and Minyeshu’s Website (I like ‘Dire Dawa’ from the music snips on her site.)
~ I am reading ‘Tuesday’s with Morrie‘, a story about a vibrant old man who is dying and the life lessons he teaches his old student in the last course he taught – through his own death. The opening of the story was so endearing:
“He had always been a dancer, my old professor. The music didn’t matter. rock and roll, big band, the blues. He loved them all. He would close his eyes and with a blissful smile begin to move to his own sense of rhythm. It wasn’t always pretty. But then, he didn’t worry about a partner. Morrie danced by himself.
He used to go to this church in Harvard Square every Wednesday night for something called “Dance Free” They had flashing lights and booming speakers and Morrie would wander in among the mostly student crowd wearing a white T-shirt and black sweatpants and a towel around his neck, and whatever music was playing, that’s the music to which he danced. He’d do the lindy to Jimmy Hendrix. He twisted and twirled, he waved his arms like a conductor on amphetamines, until sweat was dripping down the middle of his back. No one knew he was a prominent doctor of sociology, with years of experience as a college professor and several well-respected books. They just thought he was some old nut.
Once, he brought a tango tape and got them to play it over the speakers. Then he commandeered the floor, shooting back and forth like some hot Latin lover. When he finished, everyone applauded. He could have stayed in that moment forever.”
~ I came across two new fun oldies videos. love the costumes…
Hand-tied: pulse of the horn
* Another green drought in Ethiopia with 4.5mil people needing emergency aid + hunger due to food prices in the towns (I’ve heard of govn’t job holders eating Qolo and water)! + blackouts in the cities
* Scattered explosions in Addis Ababa * Djibouti and Eritrea about to start a war, Djibouti backed by France * Ethiopian soldiers burning towns and villages in the Somali region * Continued fighting in Somalia, Ethiopian soliders occupying the country
and the list goes on…
I feel completely hand-tied sometimes! Like that time there was this group activity thingie where everyone had their eyes blinded or hands tied to test drive a disability.
Sometimes I feel rage, this bubbling anger at the brutality people allow for their luxurious, ridiculous pleasures. I want to screammm, yell at them! Harass them into submission! Something!
Sometimes the corners of my eyes sparkle with unshed tears, my heart so freaking heavy and jaws clenched that it hurts below my ears… some other time I just can’t help it and I chuckle at the heartbreaking predictability and absurdness of the events in the horn!
The horn of Africa is in flames (ha!…who knew keratin could be so flammable? hu?!) the Horn is an incomprehensible, unfathomable mess beyond all limits I knew! It is such a mess it makes me mad sitting and contemplating it,, chatting along with others about ‘ohhh this freaking government!!’ or some other forsaken issue we try to solve…!
So then I decide I won’t talk. I will act instead.
After all, I’d rather pick something and do something about it than yap about it all day, dammit!
I realize even the tiny darn bit would help! The horn is desperate!… so why not get my azz up and take action…? I do! I get up. Then I get so burnt, discouraged, disillusioned. It irks me to make a generalization that the ethiopian diaspora community is more about having a grand old fiesta than any other past-time (where drought relief efforts happen, of course!)… ahem… so I won’t make such a generalization!
…phshhh oh enough already with these abstractions here’s the brutal truth:
It is so easy to turn one’s back, get swept away by the tandem of life’s events in the US, minutes ticking away…despite how disheartening that is; it is very easy to fluff our pillows with nonchalance and complacency in the Godforsaken first world!
…then I can’t help thinking… Really, Is a life within the horn of Africa worth least in this world, today? There really is not much of an opt-out as minutes tick away …
non-nonchalance:conundrum shift
And then there are incredible stories that knock u right out of your daily conundrum!
Have you ever heard the bizzaro idea about creativity being the most potent weapon individuals have against war?? I thought it was a bit too ‘happily ridiculous’ at first…until closer consideration… Ever heard people say “necessity is the mother of innovation.”? Well, Wednesday’s news made me say: “hell ya!”
The quirky reflection that came to my mind reading the news goes…
“”It is in creativity, in the fashioning of self and world, that people find their most potent weapon against war.”
…1st, let me meander to a tiny bit of intro….I first stumbled upon this bizarre concept in Carolyn Nordstrom’s “A different kind of war story” on her experience in the devastating 16-year-long civil war of Mozambique. As an anthropologist, she reflects on the messy nitty-gritties of war, civil society intricacies and the trajectories of individual lives…yadi yada…
nyways, she says “……ultimately, war victims have taught me, violence is about the destruction of culture and identity in a bid to control/crush political will.” She saw human condition at its ‘lowest’, when people were helpless, vicious, greedy, desperate and deeply disturbed. According to her “It is often in what we relegate to the margins of life process and theory [violence and the unspeakable] that speaks most fundamentally about core aspects of human existence.”
i think it’s real; in times of war people have very few choices. when they are caught in the most devastating corner of all, they either create ways to survive, maintain their humanities and fight back…or get sucked in to becoming helpless puppets which push the gears of a viscous ‘war industry’.
According to the book, some resistance tools toward survival & peace include communities, creative expression and non-violence…
Here’s the true story that hit the headlines. I’m applauding these brave souls who stepped up for the community, regardless of the side they are on! in breaking rules to find solutions, they were indeed innovating a path away from the mainstream…
“Ethiopian troops in Somalia’s capital, Mogadishu, have distributed food aid bought with their own salaries. About 400 bags of sorghum were handed out to about 500 people in southern Baynile district. An Ethiopian soldier said his colleagues had organised the collection to help their neighbours in need.
Ethiopian troops, who support Somalia’s interim government, are not popular and the food was accepted with surprise, the BBC’s Mohamed Moalimuu reports. The UN says more than a third of all Somalis rely on outside assistance and the urban poor are finding it difficult to get enough to eat.
p.s. how does it freakin make sense not to have the word ‘chalance’ when there is ‘nonchalance’!?
tickles of bunna nostalgia
my eyes glaze as pupils dilate basking in the otherness of my past….
the things i remember are not expected etches within my memory, they are random recollections of flickering visuals, smells, tickles and sounds…
the clatter of coffee beans nosily scattering on a metal roasting plate. incense flitter flattering the breeze, caressing curves of air wafting upward and sideways; releasing smells of home, comfort and cosiness. smells that mingle with prickly acid tastes of long grass strands spread across the floor, the musky, spiciness of incense and, soil, freshly moist feeding the grass outside the door, by the veranda.
incense rising around us frames my auntie’s face already framed by the peach-beige shawl. my mom has owned, my auntie worn this shawl during all her over-night visits to our house ever since I could remember. The luscious red rose petals appear to dance across the shawl amongst tiny brown geometric patterns adorning the length of her legs which are stretched out on the mat. she sits near the coffee mini-table with 9 tiny white cups appearing to gaze adoringly at a glorious black clay coffee-kettle.
When my auntie speaks, her mouth edges to one side; the scars across her neck create protruding fringes hidden till she arches her head up; a head with thick silky short locks usually big-curled or in curling bigodins.
i remember a conversation in this setting about a girl who lived across the driveway. She went to america to school, she was something of a legend in our neighborhood circle. A neighbor told the stories of the girl’s trials to my auntie who was sharing it with the rest of us. I could sense that we all felt butterflies of anticipation about my departure. With nerves at tickling ends, each of us wondered…could my experience be like hers?
