Brian Oosthuysen, on the birth of the Rainbow Nation and the death of Mandela

This is a guest post from Brian Oosthuysen on the death of Nelson Mandela. Brian is a Labour Party Gloucestershire County Councillor in Stroud and he is also a consistent campaigner for freedom, fairness and human rights both locally and internationally. Brian tweets @BrianatRodboro

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Apartheid was an evil, vicious system which saw the death of many thousands and the incarceration of even more. It dominated all aspects of life and was one of the reasons I left SA as a young man.

Nelson Mandela was one of those sent to prison and he suffered in many different and horrible  ways during his 27 years behind bars.

In the 70s and 80s I often addressed meetings as a member of the Anti-Apartheid Movement in England and I always ended my talk with a look into the future, which I saw as unbearably bleak.  “It will”, I would say, “end in bloodshed and the deaths of thousands of black and white people”.

And then Nelson Mandela (Madiba) was released and almost immediately transformed the political and social landscape in South Africa, and the Rainbow Nation was born.

His act of forgiveness to his former warders, his call for reconciliation and his setting up of the Truth and Reconciliation Committee showed the people of South Africa and the world that he was a man of towering stature and amazing integrity.  The constitution which his new government brought in is recognised across the world as one of the most progressive, and his stamp is clearly on it.

South Africa has many problems but the South Africa we now have is a country more at peace with itself than it has been since before 1945 when the Nationalist government came to power and Madiba is the reason for this.

Madiba once said, “No one is born hating another because of the colour 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.”

He lived out that maxim and his death leaves the world a darker, colder place.

Hamba Kahle, Madiba.

 

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Mandela will never, ever be your minstrel

This is a cross-post from Musa Okwonga

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Dear revisionists, Mandela will never, ever be your minstrel. Over the next few days you will try so, so hard to make him something he was not, and you will fail. You will try to smooth him, to sandblast him, to take away his Malcolm X. You will try to hide his anger from view. Right now, you are anxiously pacing the corridors of your condos and country estates, looking for the right words, the right tributes, the right-wing tributes. You will say that Mandela was not about race. You will say that Mandela was not about politics. You will say that Mandela was about nothing but one love, you will try to reduce him to a lilting reggae tune. “Let’s get together, and feel alright.” Yes, you will do that.

You will make out that apartheid was just some sort of evil mystical space disease that suddenly fell from the heavens and settled on all of us, had us all, black or white, in its thrall, until Mandela appeared from the ether to redeem us. You will try to make Mandela a Magic Negro and you will fail. You will say that Mandela stood above all for forgiveness whilst scuttling swiftly over the details of the perversity that he had the grace to forgive.

You will try to make out that apartheid was some horrid spontaneous historical aberration, and not the logical culmination of centuries of imperial arrogance. Yes, you will try that too. You will imply or audaciously state that its evils ended the day Mandela stepped out of jail. You will fold your hands and say the blacks have no-one to blame now but themselves.

Well, try hard as you like, and you’ll fail. Because Mandela was about politics and he was about race and he was about freedom and he was even about force, and he did what he felt he had to do and given the current economic inequality in South Africa he might even have died thinking he didn’t do nearly enough of it. And perhaps the greatest tragedy of Mandela’s life isn’t that he spent almost thirty years jailed by well-heeled racists who tried to shatter millions of spirits through breaking his soul, but that there weren’t or aren’t nearly enough people like him.

Because that’s South Africa now, a country long ago plunged headfirst so deep into the sewage of racial hatred that, for all Mandela’s efforts, it is still retching by the side of the swamp. Just imagine if Cape Town were London.  Imagine seeing two million white people living in shacks and mud huts along the M25 as you make your way into the city, where most of the biggest houses and biggest jobs are occupied by a small, affluent to wealthy group of black people.  There are no words for the resentment that would still simmer there.

Nelson Mandela was not a god, floating elegantly above us and saving us. He was utterly, thoroughly human, and he did all he did in spite of people like you. There is no need to name you because you know who you are, we know who you are, and you know we know that too. You didn’t break him in life, and you won’t shape him in death. You will try, wherever you are, and you will fail.

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Photographs: Fire at Kampala’s Owino market

For the 4th time in 4 years, Kampala’s Owino market has once again gone up in flames. the fire broke out this morning at approximatly 4:00am.

The rabbit warren of a market makes up a large section of downtown Kampala and is the largest open air market in Kampala. On the scene in the early hours this morning, the New Vision newspaper took these photos.

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More photos from the fire can be seen on the New Vision facebook page.

Dramatic photos from the 2011 fire at Owino can be seen on Tom White’s photography site.

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Jayyous – one year on

Kate Cargin, who served as a human rights monitor with EAPPI just after me, writes about going back to Jayyous a year after we served there. 

Abu Azzam, welcomed us back to Jayyous like members of his own family and his wife Sehan laid on a lavish meal. I had met Juliane, my team-mate from EAPPI last year, in Jerusalem and the two of us were invited by the current team to stay in our old placement house.

Supper with Abu Azzam. Photo: Per-Ake Skagersten

Photo: Per-Ake Skagersten

Now, as then, the most serious problem for people living in Jayyous is the ‘separation barrier’ or ‘separation fence’, which divides the village from 75% of its agricultural land. All other problems stem from that: increasing poverty, emigration, demonstrations and arrests.

The impact of the fence and accompanying restrictions on the village is profound and life-changing. Farmers have to pass through ‘agricultural gates’ to access their land and permits to do so are often not forthcoming. It is a precarious way to live. Not only are people cut off from their farming income, but because of demonstrations against building the fence many have also been denied permits to work in Israel. Breadwinners and young people emigrate; students are pulled out of university. Regular army incursions with exchanges of stone-throwing and tear gas result in arrests, many of them of children. The prevailing emotion is loss and grief. Jayyous used to be a prosperous place to live. Now it is estimated that up to half its inhabitants receive food aid.

When the fence in this area was completed in 2003, the case for Jayyous was taken to the Israeli high court to contest its route. In September 2009, the Israeli High Court handed down a judgement to reroute the barrier to return some land to the village. Yet the farmers were not represented subsequently when the new route was determined which would return only a third of the farmland to the village. The villagers did not accept this, pointing out that all of the land belonged to them. They organised demonstrations which resulted in many arrests and increased army presence in the village. As Abu Azzam put it ‘We are expected to welcome the return of 2,488 dunums (1 dunum = 1,000 m2) and one underground well to the village. However, more than 5,000 dunums and four underground wells remain behind the fence.’ When the new fence is complete, most of the farmers will still have to pass through agricultural gates and some will even have to take a longer route.

Fence showing re-routing in progress

Photo: Fence showing re-routing in progress

Water is a huge issue in Palestine. While I was in Jayyous, villagers were suffering from a chronic lack of water because the fence cut them off from their main water supply. We had a very small well in our garden with a back-up supply from the next door village of Azzun and were warned not to drink it. There had been an agreement to pipe water from some of Jayyous’s own wells back through the fence. This was to be implemented and financed by the International Red Cross. Like many agreements it was taking its time and nothing happened during our time there. After a shaky start when the settlers destroyed the initial pipes, a pipeline is now established from three wells behind the fence to the Jayyous reservoir. However, the villagers have not been given planning permission to lay electricity cables to run the pump. They have been told to use diesel which would increase the cost eightfold. Currently there is a stalemate.

Israel says that the separation barrier is necessary for security. They claim that it has prevented suicide bombings in Israel (the last suicide bomb in Israel was in 2006). However, we remained sceptical. We were told last year ‘everyone knows where the holes are’. All of our team had seen people going through a hole in the fence near one of the checkpoints. Sometimes soldiers went down to guard the hole and sometimes they did nothing. We were very surprised, returning a year later, to see that the same hole was still in operation and had not been blocked. We were even more surprised to be told by a local man that there are eight holes in this section of the fence.

men detained at checkpoint for attempting to go through a hole in the fence

Photo: Men detained at a checkpoint for attempting to go through a hole in the fence

Nevertheless Jewish Israelis are clearly afraid of their Palestinian neighbours and believe that the fence makes them safer. I saw several manifestations of this fear. Last year, when my daughter came to visit me, the border guards tried to stop her entering the West Bank for her own safety. ‘You will be kidnapped and robbed’ they said. On another occasion, an Israeli woman warned me against getting on an ‘Arab’ bus in Jerusalem. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ she exclaimed in surprise when I asked why that would be a problem. The fear is undoubtedly genuine but it is cynically manipulated by politicians to justify theft of Palestinian land and in the process all Palestinians are demonised. The sad truth is that the separation barrier will not make Israel more secure and does not bring about the end to fear.

My British MP, a reasonable man, was unimpressed when I pointed out the deviation of the separation fence from the Green Line and told him how it represented the livelihood of an entire village. He described it as a small bump on the map. When people talk about a two-state solution they blithely talk of ‘land swaps’ allowing some settlements to remain and Palestinians to be given land elsewhere. This is what ‘land-swaps’ can look like on the ground. Where else can Jayyousi farmers farm if not on the land next to where they live which their families have farmed for generations?

The settlement outpost caravans, which we used to monitor, have been moved from the area designated for return to Jayyous and are now on land next to Abu Azzam’s largest farm. This land was confiscated in 1988 from the Khaled family when Abdul Latif Mohammed al Khaled went to work in Jordan and the land was classified as owned by an absentee. Planning permission has been granted for 40 new houses to be built there and as with all settlements, the houses will be for Jewish Israelis only.  According to official Israeli data, Palestinians have been given only 0.7 percent of confiscated land in the West Bank; around 38 percent has been allocated to illegal Israeli settlements.  Abu Azzam told us that someone from the settlement council comes down to look at his land every day. On one occasion, he told Abu Azzam’s workers: ‘Tell Sharif (Abu Azzam’s given name) this is our land and the shed is our shed.’

Abu Azzam is a naturally cheerful man but he was more worried than I had seen him before. The Israeli army had given him a map showing the re-routed fence. There were also strange yellow lines marked on it going across his land. He said, ‘I do not know what the lines on the map mean. Are they going to take my land? Have they already confiscated my land and I do not know about it?’ This is not without precedent. Sometimes land is declared forfeit but nothing happens on the ground until some years later.

Remembering also that two sizeable plots of Abu Azzam’s land are still behind the rerouted fence, I asked him if he was afraid that village access to land behind the fence would be more difficult now that some of the land had been handed back.

His answer was to tell me a story about a melon farm which had belonged to his extended family. It was situated between the nearby town of Qalqilya, on the Green Line, and the railway, in what is now Israel. The area was designated as a buffer zone when the 1949 armistice line was drawn up, to be neither Palestinian nor Israeli. At first they were assured that they would be allowed to continue farming; then the Israelis simply sealed it off.

I looked at Abu Azzam and wondered how he could bear it. It has been his life’s work to defend his village’s land. He just shrugged and replied quietly, ‘For the moment, they say they will allow us to go there’.

Kate no longer work as an Ecumenical Accompanier and the views contained in this blog entirely her own.

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Learning to kayak the Nile

Waves crashes over the front of the kayak. All around, white water sprays up into the air. The relative calm of the flat-water section that follows this 100 meter long rapid seems like a long way off. Every wave that hits the side of the kayak holds the potential to knock this novice kayaker out of the boat and into the white-water. A few minutes later, the perilous waves that were surrounding the kayak are replaced. Now, all around are the ecstatic grins of the other first time white-water kayakers who have just completed the grade three rapid, aptly named, ‘Jaws’. This is just day one of the introduction to white-water kayaking course on the river Nile in Uganda run by Kayak the Nile.

Located a few kilometres to the north of Jinja, arguably the adventure tourism capital of East Africa, the Bujagali Lake offers a more tranquil start to the beginners learning experience. This large section of flat-water provides a picturesque area for first-time paddlers to practice their kayaking skills. The course begins with an introduction to basic kayaking techniques as well as safety and rescue techniques.

The credentials for the instructors passing on their knowledge couldn’t be higher. Out on the water on this morning offering instruction was Emily Wall, two times British Champion.  Perhaps more importantly than her experiences of competing at the highest levels of freestyle kayaking though, is Emily’s patience and obvious enthusiasm for teaching beginners.

Photo by Sim Davis

Out on the water, metaphors are used liberally to explain the movement and science behind kayaking. Whether it is through skiing or surfing Emily finds an analogy that relates to each of the would-be kayakers. Joanna Reid, a British nurse volunteering in Uganda, said after the session that, “Emily was world class and has a gift for teaching. She always made us feel safe. It was Emily and the team that made the day really enjoyable…”

But it’s not just the instructors who make learning to kayak at the source of the Nile special.

To start with, the water is dam released, making the rapids accessible, fun and relatively predictable 365 days a year. Every day you can expect an impressive 1600 cumecs meaning that you know you will have big volume rapids to learn on.

Secondly, the average monthly temperature in Uganda varies by less than two degrees meaning that most days you can expect the temperature to rise to the high twenties, but significantly, little more!

In short, it’s always shorts and t-shirt weather and not wet suits.

Lastly, the range of rapids on the river offers everything from grade 1 to grade 6 with an almost infinite number of lines into the rapids. With the right instructor there really is something for everyone, regardless of confidence and ability levels.

Explaining why she chose the Nile as her home for teaching kayaking, Emily said, “I have kayaked across five continents, yet I’ve chosen to call the Nile home because of the awesome training ground it provides for kayakers of all levels. The white water we have here on the Nile is unique; not only are the rapids warm and deep (with no rocks or crocs), the sun shines and the water flows all year around!”

Photo by Emily Wall

Photo by Emily Wall

In the afternoon then, the beginners head out to explore what this ‘training ground’ downstream of Bujagali Lake has to offer. Of course, fresh faced kayakers are not thrown straight into a grade three rapids. Most of the afternoon is spent practising breaking in and out of fast flowing water (and invariably putting rescue and swimming skills to practice).

But, as the afternoon draws on so the sense of excitement in the groups grows. The group of first-time white water kayakers paddle to a few hundred meters short of the ‘Jaws’ rapids. The river’s immediate horizon has spouts of white water kicking above it and there is the unmistakable sound of water crashing against rocks. Emily, with an ever calming voice gives the internally good advice, “whatever happens, stay calm”. Before adding, “Just keep an active paddle in the water and you’ll be fine”. And that was that.

With a healthy dose of luck and everyone vehemently following Emily’s suggested line through the rapids every learner kayaker comes out of the rapids the other end. Most, if not all, of them are still in their kayaks. But everyone, without exception, has the unmistakable grin on of someone who might have just stumbled across their new passion, white-water kayaking.

Photo by Emily Wall

Photo by Emily Wall

More information:

Visit: www.kayakthenile.com/
Follow: www.twitter.com/kayakthenile
Email: Info@kayakthenile.com

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Filed under Outdoors, Politics, Sport, Travel, Uganda

Eugene Grant: “We need to talk about men’s health.”

This is a guest post by Eugene Grant. Eugene is a great friend of mine, a freelance writer and social commentator. 

173796_507019340_815239236_nWe need to talk about men’s health. Not the magazine filled with adverts of pricey protein bars and photo-shopped photographs of male models. I mean we need to talk about the health of men.

It’s not an easy subject. For many males – admittedly, this writer included – our psyches are modelled and moulded by traditional discourses of masculinity, hardiness and gendered provider/protector roles. Forget what you’ve heard about man-flu: we don’t get ill, hurt or tired. Well, much. And when we do, many of us abide by an Omerta-like code of silence that could inspire the envy of even the most conspiratorial Mafia family.

But it’s not true, and it’s not helpful.

Almost 20% of men are likely to be treated for mental health issues. Over the past three decades, three to four times more men have taken their own lives than women. There has been no point during this thirty-year period when the rate of suicide among women was higher than that of men.

One of such man was a close friend of mine. One of the hardest, toughest, most creative and humorous people I’ve known took his own life after years of trouble and turmoil most of us cannot – thankfully – even imagine became just too much. That was a few years ago. I wish his family knew how much I miss him, sometimes.

A year or so later, in 2011, over 10,500 men died from a different health condition: prostate cancer. Prostate cancer is the second most common cause of cancer death among men in the UK. That year, a further 2,000 men were diagnosed with testicular cancer, according to leading charity, Cancer Research UK.

Us men do get ill. Seriously ill. We do breakdown. We die – often before our time.

It is with all this in mind that this year, for the first time, I signed up to participate in Movember – growing a moustache, on it’s own (no beards allowed), for the whole of November – to raise funds for vital support and research programmes that help men and their families who live with these conditions, day-in-day out.

Movember is great fun – and possibly the best example of global, co-ordinated and (effectively) branded volunteer fundraising there is. Men everywhere are either taking part or know someone who is. Facebook is awash with clean-shaven ‘selfies’; gyms, pubs and canteens buzz with discussion about whether to grow a handlebar, or a walrus; whether to emulate Tom Selleck or copy Salvador Dali.

My girlfriend is utterly horrified and a staunch opponent of me growing a ‘tache’. I can’t say I blame her. I am under no pretences that, by the end of the month, I will look truly terrible: more like a prepubescent Ethan Hawke than a modern day Teddy Roosevelt.

But it is precisely the sacrifice of dignity – something else many men are bad at – that embodies much of the spirit of Movember.

After all, we’re not invincible; we do get ill; we do breakdown.

And that’s okay.

So let’s help each other, and our families, through it the best we can.

We need to talk about men’s health. We need to talk about your mo’.

If you’d like to donate, then please give what you can, if you can. To find out more about Movember or the programmes it supports, click here.

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The end of Liberal Conspiracy

This morning Sunny Hundal, the Editor of the left-wing blog Liberal Conspiracy, announced that after 8 years of blogging he was no longer going to be up-dating the site.

Over the last few years, Liberal Conspiracy was kind enough to publish a series of my articles. These included:

Liberal Conspiracy has given me a platform to write about issues that I am passionate about. It also provided me with a wealth of interesting articles to read and learn about.

It will be missed.

In an industry that focuses so much on negative attacks and smears, I thought it only right then to publicly thank Sunny and everyone else over at Liberal Conspiracy for everything they have achieved over the last 8 years. They have often provided a positive left-wing alternative voice in opposition to the dominant mainstream media of the day. As I said, this will be missed.

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Dyslexia – what do I know about it?

This is a copy of a letter I sent to the Daily Nation – Kenya’s leading newspaper

Dear Editor,

I was pleased to see your article “Dyslexia: What do you know about it?” (22/10/2013) – It is important to raise awareness of dyslexia. With the right support and help, a child can prosper in any profession they choose despite their dyslexia. .

Like Rachel, I am also dyslexic. But, so are an estimated 700 million people world-wide – approximately 10% of the global population.

While my dyslexia was only formally diagnosed towards the end of my masters degree, I was supported in a good education system that enabled me to prosper both academically and socially. For this I am truly grateful.

However, all around the world – including in Kenya – children do suffer greatly because of lack of diagnosis. The academic and psychological consequences of unaddressed dyslexia can be devastating for all concerned – including family and friends. Dyslexia is one of the main causes of school drop-out, marginalisation and social exclusion. Studies show that dyslexic people are over-represented in prisons, among adolescents who commit suicide, and among people suffering from mental illnesses, including depression.

This is a global phenomena but one that is exaggerated in low and middle income countries.

I now work in Kampala in communications writing under deadline and pressure on a daily basis. It is a profession that I love. With the right support there is no reason why others with dyslexia cannot consider going into any career that they wish.

Yours sincerely,

Steve Hynd.

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Millions in Africa do not have access to morphine and suffer unnecessary preventable pain

This article was originally published on Left Foot Forward, Britain’s No 1 left-wing blog

Palliative care

Palliation – literally, the removing of symptoms of life-limiting illnesses such as pain – has been brought sharply into focus in Africa due to the dual burden of an ageing population and an increased disease burden.

To give just one example, 70 per cent of people living with HIV worldwide live inside sub-Saharan Africa, a region which constitutes only 12 per cent of the global population.

Millions of these people in sub-Saharan Africa require palliative care to address the medical/physical, social psychological and spiritual challenges as a result of the life-limiting illnesses.

Despite the large demand, there is still little palliative care provision across much of Africa. Many countries do not have any element of palliative care: no hospices, no formal training for medical professionals, no or little integration of palliative care into national health systems and often little public awareness.

It is estimated that only 9 per cent of countries in Africa have palliative care integrated into mainstream health services.

One of the largest challenges facing pain relief efforts in Africa is the availability of, and access to, oral morphine. It is thought that Hospice Africa Uganda, a centre of excellence of palliative care in Uganda, can mix a three week supply for a patient for ‘less than a loaf of bread’.

Despite this, oral morphine is still not widely available to most Ugandans, let alone the rest of Africa.

Bernadette Basemera, a palliative care nurse based in Kampala, explains part of the problem:

“Morphine wrongly incites fear: Doctors wrongly fear patients becoming addicted, the police wrongly fear drug related crime, and members of the government fear falling short of international drug control frameworks.”

As a result of this fear, millions do not have access to morphine and suffer unnecessary preventable pain.

In recent years however, there have been signs that this might be a thing of the past. In the last two years alone four countries – Rwanda, Swaziland, Tanzania and Mozambique – have all adopted stand alone palliative care policies.

Although policy development does not immediately translate into oral morphine availability, a number of countries such as Kenya, Nigeria, Zambia, Namibia Ethiopia and a few others have improved access to oral morphine. Meanwhile Hospice Africa Uganda, in a partnership with the Ministry of Health of Uganda, continues to produce and distribute oral morphine whilst at the same time offering training courses to practitioners from all over Africa.

At the heart of these developments are passionate workers like Bernadette. Once again working late, Bernadette describes why she wants to work in palliative care, saying:

“Palliative care is the sort of care that you would hope you and everyone you care about receives. No one wants to think of a loved one suffering unnecessarily.”

Bernadette offers a simple motivation for her work in palliative care. This simple motivation, however, could benefit millions of Africans. Palliative care needs to be rolled out, and people like Bernadette might just be the way to make it happen.

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On Israeli settlers: “They come down from the hills and get us with dogs and guns”

I have just stumbled across this article that the wonderful Kate Hardie-Buckley wrote after visiting me and my former colleague Emmet Sheerin in Yanoun in the Occupied Palestinian Territories.

I don’t think I shared the article on Hynd’s Blog at the time.

The title, “They come down from the hills and get us with dogs and guns“, might read to some as being as slightly over the top. The fact that I can promise it isn’t says a lot about life in Yanoun.

Anyway, have a read of the article and let me know what you think.

PS – you can also watch Emmet’s video about life in Yanoun.

 

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Reflections from a palliative care conference

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Delegates at the joint APCA/HPCA palliative care conference

I have just returned from the African Palliative Care Association and Hospice Palliative Care Association of South Africa joint regional conference in Johannesburg, South Africa and I am inspired.

This was my first palliative care conference. A year ago I didn’t even know what these words even meant. Before the conference started I could have told you about palliative care and perhaps more importantly why it is important. I would quite possibly have waxed lyrical about it being everyone’s right to live a life free from preventable pain. I might even have told you about someone inspiring that I’ve met who has spoken about the importance of palliative care to them.

But, if I am being honest, before this conference I wouldn’t have really felt it.

Something in the way I think about palliative care has changed over the last few days though. Trying to put my finger on exactly what is difficult – so much has happened. It could have though been the moment when a Ugandan journalist who I was sharing a stage with let a single tear drop roll down her cheek as she talked about her Aunty being unable to access basic pain medication in her dying days.

It could also have been when a complete stranger, who I still don’t know the name of, approached me and talked to me about the burden of feeding her bed bound mother every day as she was too frail to feed herself and that the local hospital would not accept her because, so they said, “there was nothing wrong with her”.

It might even have been that unspoken moment when a delegate was asked if she had children and after a moment’s pause she responded that, she “used to”.

But of course it was a cocktail of this and more. It was spending 4 days in close confines with inspirational people who were dedicating their lives to ensuring as many people as possible experience the palliative care that they need.

People who had talked the Bush administration into setting up a fund for palliative care in their HIV response programme. People who had pioneered palliative care in Africa 2 decades ago and were still as passionate and articulate as they ever were. People who felt a guilt for attending a palliative care conference because it meant that they were away from their patients bedsides for just under a week.

The passion and empathy of so many of the delegates from around the world touched me in a way that I didn’t necessarily expect it would.

On the final evening of the conference there was a diner reception. As I was standing watching delegates dance, joke and chatter, I thought to myself that it felt just like a family reunion. There was a tacit acknowledgement that everyone understood, at least on some level, why everyone else was there. Just like a family is bound by the bond of blood so at this conference it felt like there was an unspoken bond in the knowledge of, and passion for, palliative care.

As with all families though, there also exists unspoken traumas that rest just beneath the surface. But standing watching delegates dance I reflected on what I felt to be the strength of this “palliative care family”. Palliative care gave each member the opportunity to be able to share these traumas that we all have with each other. Everyone was accepting and expecting to offer a ear when someone needed to talk about losing a patient, friend or loved one.

During one of the workshops Reverend Rick Bauer made a comment that stuck with me. He said, “When you are talking to a patient the most important thing you can do is be there 100% with them at that moment.” I think what made the atmosphere at this conference so special was that, almost without realising, delegates were 100% attentive to those around them and to others commitment to rolling out palliative care to all those who need it.

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Driving in Uganda – fun, but not always easy

Rachel (185)The windscreen started misting up as the sun finally disappeared over the horizon leaving the four of us in pitch darkness. Both the wheels on the right side of the car were in a foot deep ditch. The mud that surrounded the car was comparable only by the amount that was inside the car carried in by feet and hands after an unsuccessful attempt to dig and then push the car free from its ditch.

We were sat a few kilometres inside Kidepo National Park in the north-eastern corner of Uganda. Famed for its packs of lions, buffalo and hippos, we could have chosen better places to have got stuck after dark.

We could also have chosen worse though. We had just completed a 12 hour drive through the remote Karamoja region of Uganda from Sipi (in the very south east) up to Kideop (in the north east). The drive had been beautiful but also, at times, very remote. At least here in the national parks there was Uganda Wildlife Authority staff to help us out.

Over the phone:

“Hi, we are stuck in a ditch, could anyone come and pull us out?”

“Of course”

“Great, thanks. How long will you be?”

“Maybe 2 hours, we have to wait for the river to go down.”

“Oh”.

This was first we had heard of any river. Normally I wouldn’t have balked at a river crossing. Truth be told, I actually quite like them. The problem on this occasion was that the windscreen, after 12 hours a shudders and judders now moved about an inch to the left and right and, significantly, about 1/4 and inch back and forth.  Our short term solution, with the kind help of a chap that called himself a mechanic, was to stuff strips of cut up flipflops between the dashboard and the windscreen.

I can tell you now, this is/was a less than adequate solution. When splashed going through puddles, pools of water seeped in to the car. As such the foot wells were soaked.

In short I just wasn’t convinced about going through a river that needed to go down before anything (tractors/army trucks etc) could get through.

The water though remained a secondary concern to the immediate issue of being stuck in a ditch.

Helplessly we sat and waited out the 2 hours until Major Livingstone turned up with 15 soldiers and pulled us free from the ditch. As we departed we asked about the river. Their response:

“There is nothing to worry about, there is no river. Just go straight.”

So, we ventured on through the thick mud. In about 700 meters, we came to a river that in our headlights looked alarmingly fast flowing and had downstream from the crossing a meter or so high waterfall.

Again on the phone:

“We’ve reached the river”

“Don’t cross it”

“We weren’t going to”

“I will get the tractor to pull you through”

“Thanks”

Half an hour later and the tractor turned up. 10 minutes later but over 15 hours from the start of our drive we arrived at the campsite.

The next few days were filled with wonderful safari drives around the park. Lions were spotted and generally a good time was had by all…that was…until…we got a puncture.

Of course, a puncture is a bit of a regular occurrence driving in Uganda and so, eager to be all manly, I jumped out of the car to change the wheel. I pulled the spare wheel cover off to be met with, not the spare that I had checked just weeks before, but a blown out a tyre.

The only explanation I can think of is that someone must have swapped it at a garage when we weren’t looking. As a swore under my breath it was pointed out that a second hand spare tyre might fetch you about 125,000 UGX (just under £30),or to put into context, about half the average primary school teacher’s wage.

So, back on the phone:

“Hi, yeah. It’s us again.”

“Hello”

“We have a flat tyre”

“Sorry”

“And our spare tyre has been swapped for a bad tyre”

“Sorry”

“Can you help?”

“We will send someone”.

Two hours later, some very friendly UWA officials did turn up and then drove us an hour outside of the national park to the nearest trading centre (to the untrained eye it might have just been a small village but we were assured it is a trading centre).

Half an hour and 15,000 UGX (£3.50) later our tyre was fixed and back with us.

As the UWA staff left us, they departed with eternal advice:

“Please try to not get stuck again”

Exploring Uganda is incredible fun and it holds a variety and depth of beauty unmatched by anywhere I have travelled but, and this is a big but, it is not always easy.

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I will always wear a cycling helmet but should government force people to?

The debate about whether or not wearing a cycling helmet should be compulsory is once again raging. This time, the catalyst for the debate is the heart wrenching story of Ryan Smith who is now lying in a coma after being knocked off his bike. His father has made a plea to parents to ensure kids wear a helmet.

But, what seems like common sense (wearing a helmet saves lives in the same way wearing a motorbike helmet does and so should be compulsory as well) is more contentious than it might first seem.

The cycling charity, CTC, makes the point:

“Given that the health benefits of cycling outweigh the risks by around 20:1 (one recent study put it at 77:1), it can be shown that only a very small reduction in cycle use is needed for helmet promotion (let alone helmet laws) to shorten more lives than helmets themselves could possibly save, regardless of how effective helmets might be.”

Essentially, it is saying when Ryan’s father publically talks about the importance of helmets – he’s making people less safe…I assume they would say the same for other people speaking out about helmet use (for example the wife of James Cracknell after his near fatal accident).

A study in the British Medical Journal however shows that:

“helmets reduced the risk by 63-88% for head, brain, and severe brain injury among cyclists of all ages.”

The road safety charity, BRAKE, supports this saying:

“Last year, over 17,000 cyclists were injured on UK roads with over 2,500 killed or seriously injured. The vast majority of these deaths and serious injuries were the result of a head injury. This is precisely why many of our international and European partners have already introduced compulsory helmet wearing,”

These, initially contradictory statements have fuelled a debate that divides cyclists, journalists and politicians alike.

All this evidence though seems to be pointing in the same direction – against the legal enforcement of wearing a helmet, and towards the incentivising of helmet use. It is difficult to believe CTC’s claim that appropriately constructed promotion campaigns would significantly put people off from cycling and as such make people less safe.

There seems to be no shortage of steps that could be taken.

Currently in the UK, a reasonable helmet for a commuter will cost around £30 (for example – this Lazer introductory sports helmet).  I couldn’t find any studies to show cost to helmet use ratios, but anecdotally I can say that I cycled for 3 months in London without a helmet because I lost my old one and at the time couldn’t afford a new one. I would be surprised if there was no correlation there.

Equally there are a host of other measures that could be dreamed up to promote the use of helmets ranging from school curriculum to better helmet storage facilities (when you lock your bike up somewhere you normally have to carry your helmet around with you).

Would having somewhere safe to store your helmet really put people off cycling?

But, to a certain extent, these arguments miss the point. What makes cycling safe or unsafe, primarily is not about what gear you’re wearing but where you are cycling. In cities for example that have physically separated cycle routes, the number of accidents reduce massively.

The flip side of this is of course that badly designed roads massively increase cycle accidents. For example, evidence shows that multi-lane roundabouts act as a death trap for cyclists (anecdotally I cannot help but to think of Elephant and Castle in support of this). This study concluded saying:

“Evidence is beginning to accumulate that purpose-built bicycle-specific facilities reduce crashes and injuries among cyclists, providing the basis for initial transportation engineering guidelines for cyclist safety. Street lighting, paved surfaces, and low-angled grades are additional factors that appear to improve cyclist safety.”

Reading these studies feels like it is just adding weight to common sense. But then again, wearing a helmet also seems like common sense.

Cyclists are safer in large numbers and people only get on a bike when they feel safe. Forcing people to wear helmets will not make them feel safe – investing heavily in separated cycle lanes will.

Is this too simplistic a conclusion?

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My love affair with Kampala

I am on an elongated honeymoon with city in which I live, Kampala. A rational mind living in this city would see the congestion, the number of motorbike accidents, and the levels of petty theft, but the mind of a lover is anything but rational.

My mind sees green hills, standing pert overlooking the beating heart of the city centre. It sees the taxi buses that serve as the blood flow of the city, bringing life to each of its extremities.  It sees the millions of people swarming through this landscape, each like an atom of the body, for a limited period, an inseparable part of this wider being – Kampala.

The irrationality of my mind was brought into focus a few days ago when I was walking back from work over one of Kampala’s hills. On this occasion the weather was close and heavy. It had been raining most of the day and it felt like there was more to come.

On this day, a thick mist was rising from the sodden ground and dancing in the air with the heavy low clouds. Walking through this was like entering a steam room as the thick air stuck to the inside of my lungs.

For most in Kampala, their thoughts in these few minutes were on finding shelter before once again the heavens opened. My mind though, was caught in that moment, enjoying it, literally breathing it in.

I stopped and stood, just for a few seconds, and watched the moisture lift from the ground and glide through the overhanging tree branches. Through the mist I caught glimpses of other houses and people making preparations for the inevitable downpour. But for those few seconds, it felt like I was alone in the city.

The air of Kampala was slipping into me, dissolving the distinction between the two of us, for a few seconds making us one.

Of course the sky then opened dropping heavy thunderous balls of rain. Every other resident was dry under shelter as I was striding through the streets with thick red mud clinging to my feet.

Somehow though, I didn’t mind, I still enjoyed it.

As with every honeymoon, I know this will all end. I know there will be a day where I will be walking the streets and feel my wallet slip from my pocket as the sun burns that bit harder onto the back of my neck  and I will long for nothing more than the soft comforting embrace of the temperate valleys from which I am from.

But that day is not here yet and so, just like every other lover around the world, I will continue forwarded, blinkered by the beauty of all that sits around me appreciating it to its fullest.

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Peace and palliative care in the DRC

This article was first published on the Africa edition of ehospice

Dr Paul Pili Pili is a representative of the Democratic Republic of Congo’s Ministry of Health. But like many people from the DRC, he has been affected by the war, knows people who have died and more than anything, wishes for peace and stability for his country. Steve Hynd from the African Palliative Care Association met up him to find out more.

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An alternative ascent of Pumlumon Fawr: Wales

This article was published in The Great Outdoors Magazine

An alternative ascent of Pumlumon Fawr: Wales

Steve Hynd takes a scrambling route up a Cambrian classic

Pumlumon Fawr (Plynlimon in English) sits at 752 metres above sea level and is the highest point in the Cambrian Mountains in Mid-Wales. W.A Poucher described the ascent saying: “There is absolutely nothing to relieve the monotony of the landscape on this route: no trees to break the skyline, no colourful flowers to carpet the wayside, no birds to charm both ear and eye, just the green and brown of grass and bog.” The Welsh Peaks (1962) by W.A. Poucher.

I assure you, this doesn’t have to be the case. Pumlumon Fawr is best approached from the north and I don’t just mean driving from the A44 and parking by the Nant-y-moch reservoir (GR: SN775880). To get the most out of this mountain you need to leave your car by the lake ‘Glaslyn’ and prepare yourself for the long haul.

From Glaslyn I left the Glyndwˆ r’s Way and followed the main stone track to the lakes of Glaslyn and then onto Bugeilyn, taking in the incredible views over the valleys to the west. As I approached Bugeilyn I saw the remains of an old house formerly known as ‘The Lodge’ that shows signs of the lives that used to exist in this now barren landscape.

I followed the track round from Bugeilyn, and on my left I was met by the wide valley of Afon Hengwm which leads down towards the Nant-y-Moch reservoir, the site of Owain Glyndwˆ r’s battle against the Flemish. This valley led me down towards the foot of Pumlumon Fawr that sat in the distance. Making my way down the boggy Afon Hengwm was a challenging experience – any suggestion of a footpath soon disappeared. (As with much of the walking in the Cambrian Mountains, wearing a pair of gaiters pays off.) I followed the river down to a series of spectacular waterfalls by the footbridge.

Crossing the footbridge I continued on a marked footpath diagonally up to Llyn Llygad that sits just below Pumlumon Fawr itself. As I looked up from the lake, I could easily pick out routes up the rocky hillside. There are a number of different options for scrambling that vary from a grassy hillside through to technical scrambling and climbing. As a rule of thumb, stick to the extreme right or extreme left for easier routes. Once up I had little more to do than to stroll to the summit and to take in the panoramic views of the plateau that stretches out below. This alternative ascent of Pumlumon Fawr offers waterfalls, ruins, hidden valleys, and scrambles. It is spliced between forestry tracks, footpaths and cross-country sections. Where else can you get all of this with little chance of seeing another soul for the entire walk?

 

WALK DETAILS
DISTANCE:
22km/13 miles
ASCENT:
550 meters/ 1800 feet
TIME:
7 Hours
START/FINISH:
Glaslyn, Machynlleth (GR:
SN831942)
MAP OS:
1:25,000 Explorer Map Sheet 213 (Aberystwyth & Cwm Rheidol)
TRAVEL:
Train to Machynlleth
INFORMATION:
Machynlleth Tourist Information Centre (01654 702401)

ROUTE DESCRIPTION
  • From Glaslyn head S towards Bugeilyn on the main track. From Bugeilyn follow the bridleway SW that takes you into Afon Hengwm – footpath ends but follow stream until a footbridge (GR: SN784891) short of Nant-y-Moch reservoir.
  • Cross footbridge and follow footpath to Llyn Llygad. At Llyn Llygad leave footpath and head to the right of the main rock formation and then make the final ascent of Pumlumon Fawr. Return by the same route.
An alternative ascent of Pumlumon Fawr: Wales

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Eugene Grant: “I prefer the term dwarf”

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Eugene Grant is a dwarf and the founder of the viral site EveryDayDwarfism that chronicles the day-to-day experiences of what it is like to be a dwarf in 21 century Britain. Despite his experiences, Grant is optimistic that he can contribute to changing people’s understanding of dwarfism. Steve Hynd caught up with him to find out more.  

For many readers the term ‘dwarf’ is one they are not familiar with. I know some people are nervous about using it, afraid that it is derogatory. Can you tell us what the word means to you?

I personally much prefer the term ‘dwarf’ as opposed to others like ‘midget’, which many dwarfs I know find offensive. But, for me – and this is where the whole idea of political correctness becomes redundant – what’s more important are the intentions behind the terms used.

People can be ‘politically correct’ but employ such words with malicious intent; others may use quite derogatory terms without any idea or intention of insulting or hurting a person. It all depends on the way such terms are framed.

Can you tell us a little about why you set up EveryDayDwarfism?  

The aim behind EveryDayDwarfism is to document and present just some of the things that I – and my partner who also has dwarfism – go through during our day or week. Its purpose is to try to make people just that little bit more aware as to the things we encounter as dwarfs.

A lot of what we experience, I would put down to stigma and discrimination still being relatively acceptable to lots of people. The whole tone of the site is not supposed to be angry or ‘martyr-ish’, but relatively neutral, matter-of-fact and informative.

It’s to say: ‘these things happen, quite regularly. I just wanted you to know’.

Within the EveryDaySexism movement, there is a strong feeling of finally ‘shouting back’. Within EveryDayDwarfism it also feels like there is quite a lot of rage, is this an important element of responding to discrimination?

It depends what you mean by rage. Rage is very important but it needs to be channelled in the right way and used very carefully.

Leaving out abuse in the form of physical violence, I think when responding to discrimination it’s vital to ask oneself: ‘what is it that I want to achieve here?’ and, more importantly, ‘how will I get this person to change the way they think and act towards me and others like me’.

Can you tell us a bit about how you coped with the attention and discrimination before you started chronicling it on EveryDayDwarfism?

It really depends on two things: the type of abuse, attention or discrimination, and the intentions behind it.

Some abuse – e.g. an individual shouting insults from a moving car – is best left ignored. What can you achieve when they’re 100 metres down the road by the time they’ve finished their sentence?

Others – the attention from a small child for example – is normally fine; although, as I wrote on the site, it’s often the reaction – or lack thereof – from the parents that is the most frustrating thing.

Some abuse though might manifest itself in the form of totally unprovoked physical violence or confrontation.

Have you been in contact with other dwarfs, how do they feel about EveryDayDwarfism? Do others relate to your experiences?

It’s very important that people don’t think that EveryDayDwarfism or my own experiences reflect those of other dwarfs; I can’t speak for them. Not even my partner.

However, I do know that lots of people like me experience such things – sometimes less so, sometimes more so.

If you had one message to the metaphorical guy in the street who tries to take a photo of you with his phone, what would it be?

Just stop, for a moment, and think: What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Why would you or your friends find that photo or film to be of any value or interest? What does that say about your character, as an adult, and how you think about and respond to people who are different? What if I was your brother, son or cousin? How would you see it then?

A bit of a long message!

You wrote for the Guardian about the portrayal of dwarfs in the media, do you see EveryDayDwarfism as an effort to counter some of that through the illustration of agency?

Not really, no. Sadly, but also deliberately, EveryDayDwarfism documents some of the negative things that happen. And in this way, there is a negative tone to the blog.

What I was trying to say in the article you mention was that there needs to be more boring, regular, neutral representation of dwarfism in the media – weather reporters, Masterchef contestants, Question Time panelists, kids on CBBC – whatever.

Basically, more portrayals of dwarfism that do not limit that person’s identity to ‘a dwarf’ but reflects what they really are: a citizen, a parent, a doctor or lawyer, a voter, someone with views, ideas, etc.

What has been the reaction of family and friends to EveryDayDwarfism, are they shocked to hear of such day-to-day encounters? 

It was actually as a result of encouragement from friends to set up EveryDayDwarfism that I did.

Often friends have no idea of the things that I – and lots of others like me – encounter on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. Some have even been in situations with me when there has been abuse or something happen. Quite often, they are absolutely shocked at the way some people behave. It’s not a question of going looking for abuse or discrimination – that’s not a productive or positive way to live – it’s that, a lot of the time, this stuff finds youseeks you out, interrupts your day, your evening, when you’re just trying to live your life. And that’s what I wanted people to realise.

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George the Poet – ‘Go Home’

George the Poet is a spoken word artist. In this video he takes on the government’s latest pilot policy encouraging illegal immigrants to ‘Go Home’.

You can follow George the Poet on Twitter.

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‘That was my mosque you tried to burn down’

Police outside Mosque on Ryecroft Street in GloucesterIn the early hours of this morning, someone tried to burn down the Masjid-E-Noor mosque in Ryecroft StreetGloucester. CCTV footage shows someone pouring petrol onto the front door before lighting a rag to ignite the fire.

This is just one of a recent spate of anti-Islam (Muslim?) attacks that have occurred since the tragic murder of Lee Rigby.

In reaction to these attacks the liberal left have gone on what I refer to as the, “we are all the same” offensive. Owen Jones writing in the Independent illustrates this phenomenon by stating:  “83 per cent of Muslims are proud to be British…compared to 79% of the British public” – a gallant effort to highlight the ludicrousness of the EDL’s arguments.

I think something slightly more nuanced than this though.

I don’t really share many nationalistic sentiments, with the right or the left. Why would I? What have I got in common with someone from Glasgow, or Gilford, or even Glandyfi?

In contrast however, what do I have in common with someone from Gloucester? Well, quite a lot now you come to mention it…and yes, I do take it personally when an arson attack occurs in Gloucester.

The good people of Gloucester and I, we share a lot. We probably share friends, favourite places to eat, bus routes, schools, hospitals and everything else that makes a community. And yes, despite being a de facto atheist our friends and family will share places of worship.

So when a man approaches the mosque with petrol and matches in hand, he isn’t just approaching a place of worship that is special to hundreds of Gloucester residents. He is wading through the centre of my community.  He is lighting a fire under something that I hold very close to me.

The vibrant Muslim community in Gloucester is part of what makes the city what it is. The Masjid-E-Noor mosque has been part of this city for generations. People have been worshiping in the mosque since 1974 and at the site even longer. An arson attack on the mosque is like burning a hole in the patchwork rug of Gloucester.

This arson attack, on my local mosque, is no different to trying to burn down my neighbour’s house. It’s fucking with people that are close to me, and the metaphorical flames of hatred might burn down something that I deeply care about – the diverse tolerant multicultural ambiance of my home town, Gloucester.

You can sign a letter to Yakub Patel and the congregation of the Masjid-e-Noor mosque on the hope not hate website – here

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