The Kids

Finally I have something to write about.

After talking about doing it for so long, I finally did some volunteer work with street children yesterday. As I was driving home last night I asked myself why I hadn’t been doing this my whole life. I could’ve been volunteering for the last ten years if I had really wanted to. But it occurred to me that I am probably of more use to them now than I ever would’ve been before.

Because now I am more tolerant, more patient, I have my own child, so I know what it is they need instinctively.

I am less idealistic, more practical and more in touch with reality, so I know what can be achieved and what cannot.

I am more willing to give, and less expectant. I am more aware of how the world works, so I can be of more use to them maybe through my work, maybe through just being there, who knows what will come?

It is very early days. I don’t even know if I will see any of those same kids again, but I hope I will. I hope they will come to recognize me, and know me as a friend.

Where do I start?
I was nervous, anxious. I was worried on our way to them in the ambulance equipped with doctor and social worker, hearing horror stories, wondering how they would react to me - another complete stranger trying to interfere in their lives.

We parked the van and they came running, all smiles and handshakes and high fives, and questions and energy.

Bareeza, he’s about 15 but he looks smaller. He can recite his ABCs, constantly wanting to play games, and constantly needs attention and physical contact.

Ramadan, barefoot, hasn’t been in school since the 2nd grade, and cleans cars for a living as do many of the others.

Hend, girl of around 15, harder and stronger than any man I’ve seen, yet really self conscious about her missing front tooth; she has a lovely face.

Asma’a, tiny little girl, who says she’s 12 but somehow I don’t believe her – showed me the proper way to say goodbye with her own special handshake. Bundle of energy.

Mohamed is 17, carries a little pink comb and tells a story of how he ran away from his town amid extremely violent clashes. Painted a picture in my mind of a village on fire, and then began to sing in a melodic voice. He is barely literate. He dreams of spending Ramadan with his parents and tells me how his dad only beats him if he doesn’t stick up for himself.

These are just a few of the kids I met yesterday. I wonder now how I can be of help to them. What can I learn or do to make things easier? Because really and truly, that’s probably the only impact I can make, I can’t take anything they’ve experienced away, I can only make it easier to take.

I know as a child sometimes you just need guidance, you need hope, you need someone to tell you everything is possible, that you are worth something; that life is there for the taking.

These kids just need to feel like they are still human beings with a chance of a satisfactory life. Promising them a good life maybe overly optimistic.

“Jazz is my Jihad”

I used to be a writer.

Back in London, as an aspiring journalist who basically had no idea what I was doing, I arranged my first interview for a website which no longer exists. I was their art & culture correspondent, and now that I look back, Gilad Atzmon (an Israeli jazz musician) was an interesting choice considering I was writing for Arabia Online.

I have no idea now how I found out about him, but his pro-Palestinian views and my love for jazz music may have had something to do with it. I went to meet him at one of his performances at a jazz club in central London and found a man of great talent, and great power. An Israeli, who was once in the army, who woke up one day, looked around him and decided that Israel was no longer a place he could call home. I went to see him perform several times after that, and each time I was struck by the energy that rushes off of this musician in tsunami waves whilst he performs.

What was said during the interview was controversial to say the least, and although I edited out as much as I could, it still never got published.

The reason Gilad comes to mind now is of course the atrocities that are currently happening in Gaza as I write this, and on which I have failed to find the energy to comment on in this blog -not because I don’t care about the people who are losing their lives needlessly, but because I am truly sick of politics, violence and bloodshed - particularly in the Middle East.

I am sick of both sides of this bullshit feud, and to say I wish they would just live in peace sounds childish and naive to say the least.

I stopped watching the news long ago, but there is no escaping what is happening in Gaza. The fact that I have a child of my own, who I would want to protect from a simple breeze (like they say in Egypt) doesn’t make it any easier. I can’t even begin to imagine what parents are going through at this very moment, wondering whether their children will make it through this horror, and whether they themselves will survive to take care of them, and I don’t want to.

I want to tell you a true story.

Once upon a time, there was a pro-Palestinian demonstrator, just like the millions who are marching through cities all over the world today. To say she hated Israelis is to put it lightly.
She was also a girl looking for her father, just like the thousands who are searching for a lost parent all over the world today, and she found him. With him she found two brothers she never knew she had - and they were raised as orthodox Jews. They had both volunteered in the Israeli army and navy, only a week each, but still. They had lived on kibbutzes and celebrated Hanukkah, and eaten kosher. They were supposed to be her idea of a sworn enemy, yet the first time she laid eyes on them she fell in love.

That’s what life does to you, when you think you are better, or have more rights, or are special in some way. It smashes your well formulated opinions, beliefs and judgments in to the nearest wall.

And you become more human for it; more worth the life you have been given.

Watch Gilad perform here.
Visit his website here.
Watch Jazz is my Jihad here.

Lord of the Flies

She felt like she was living in Lord of the Flies, that book she studied as a schoolgirl, the story seemed so improbable then, fantasy. But now she knew that man was right, leave them to their own devices and they become cannibals. Humans that is. Why is it supposed to be human, to be good and giving and caring, why is that described as human? Why “Oh the humanity of it all”? What is humanity, but a bunch of raving mad animals? A species. It’s not just a single race that is worse or better than another, it doesn’t come down to the citizens of a certain country, although these people she lived amongst were a ripe example of what humans are really like, deep down. No, it was human nature. That is what she found so utterly disturbing. Why? That’s the question that poses itself, why create us this way? And we all know, there are some whys that can never be answered.

Hitting the traffic again, for the 1000th time in this single year since she began working on the other side of the city, the sprawling metropolis, she saw a sight that at once soothed her eyes and troubled her mind. A tall building with so many windows was reflecting the orange of the sunset, more of them towards the bottom of the building, so that it looked like the building was on fire with flames leaping from its windows. It was pretty, it was also very apt. Yes this city is on fire; yes these people are all just waiting to die.

A man drives past on the other side of the road, he’s on a motorbike, and sticking up off the back of his bike is a handwritten sign, help us it says, and underneath that in smaller Arabic script, oh leader, help us. That’s all she could read as the man sped past. She wondered what kind of help this man needed.

A couple cross the road, she stops so they can pass, they are young, and pretty, she is happy and smiling, he is serious and protective. What do they have to look forward to except each other? And even that goes AWOL after a while. Everything is so fucking temporary.

The call to prayer, she hears it and turns off the music, she drives in a bubble of music and AC and tries to keep the rotten air out as much as possible. She turns the radio station from iTrip to the Quran station, so she can really hear it; she wants to dissect the words. She wants to hear what that call is saying to her and the other millions who can also hear it at this very same moment. It says God is greater, greater than any of your worldly worries you stupid little human being, with all your cares. Didn’t I tell you this a million times before, look to God for help, to Him for guidance, to Him for peace. He is the only constant. The why rears its ugly head, why make us with so many bad sides? Why make us at all?

Zeitgeist

i first heard about this documentary through a friend at work, and downloaded it months ago, only today did i find the time and the inclination to actually sit down and watch it.

initial reaction:

its very interesting

watch it if you can :)

download and read statement by the filmmaker here

although i don't agree with some of it, i do believe that the central message is one which we all need to learn regardless, and that is  - think for yourself. 

do your own research and don't take anything as a given.

Going off on a tangent

So I’m minding my own business on a Friday morning, surfing, as you do, reading about biodiversity and cures for childhood cancers, thinking “man, I love science, I wish I was a scientist” when I come across a headline: Human-animal embryos get the go-ahead.

This makes me do a double take worthy of a cartoon character, and I discover that yes that’s exactly what they are doing, you know ‘they’; they’re mixing cows and rabbits with humans.

Now, the whole cloning thang has been running around in my mind for a few days now, ever since I read about that mad scientist who cloned himself, I watched a movie called The Island (also about clones running around), and now this.

“…anti-abortion and religious groups launched a fervent campaign against the proposals, claiming that the research would undermine human dignity and blur the boundary between humans and other species.”

Blur?

I didn’t feel outraged, or feel horrible for the poor clones who might one day grow up to feel discriminated against, because you know they have tails and horns, no… I just thought, oh well.

Now the reason behind this apathy I think is because ‘they’ have been preparing us for life with mutants for centuries:

1 In association with the devil (aka Disney/Hollywood) we have been introduced since a tender age to delights such as Beauty & the Beast (or how romantic it is to fall in love with animals), The Elephant Man and Mutant Ninja Turtles.

2 ‘They’ overcame the whole ‘soulless freak’ issue by starting with Dolly the sheep, have you seen dolly? She’s cute man, and guess what? She must have a soul I mean otherwise, how come she’s breathing and stuff.

3 The ancient Egyptians already knew all about this cross-cloning shit, I mean just look at the sphinx, half man, half lion…nuf said.

4 What’s the worst that can happen ay? They have agreed to kill all the half human embryos when they are still no larger than a pinhead. So what if one day, an intern at the lab feels a special affinity for one of the pinheads, takes it home in a petri dish, feeds it and waters it and gives it life…nah, that could never happen.

for entertainment purposes

Last night while watching The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe..

Hori: What's that creature called?
Me: It's a Unicorn
Hori: Does it really exist?
Me: (Barely able to contain myself) No
Hori: Are you sure? It's ancient, I mean how do you know?
Me: (Silence)

Iraq protest art on Turner shortlist | Art & Architecture | Guardian Unlimited Arts

Iraq protest art on Turner shortlist Art & Architecture Guardian Unlimited Arts

See more pics of the art here

See the website of Brian Haw who's been protesting alone for 5 and a half years, and whose work was the inspiration for this art.

Just Want Everyone to Meet Banksy

Here

Will Never Say I have Seen it All Again

One day i'll tell the story of how i got my driving licence without resorting to corrupt measures.

Today i went to pick up my licence, and one of the people waiting with me to get his: was a man with a missing arm.