The Single Story

Sitting in the office at my new job I feel as if I have regressed about 18 years and am 4 again on my first day at school. Everyone around me is filled with purpose and is busily chatting into telephones, clacking away at their email and saving the world in their own little way, one confusing acronym at a time. I on the other hand fidget with the hem of my cardigan, grin madly at anyone kind enough to cast a casual glance in my direction and try to look like a capable grown up.

I don't speak the language, I am yet to comprehend the subtle nuances of this particular mode of smart casual office attire and I can't even get into the building on my own. The blur of new faces, targets, outcomes, branding strategy, corporate values, jargon and all that jazz is a bit overwhelming and after lots of reassurance that 'it takes about 9 months to fully understand everything here' I'm not feeling very reassured. Finally after jetting all round the country (Nottingham) for training it was while sitting in a room full of strangers that this video that really spoke to me through the madness and reminded me why this work is so important to me.



This is a talk given by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie about the danger of a single story and how our perceptions of people are shaped. She's an inspirational lady and I'm about to order her book 'Half of a Yellow Sun'. I'll let you know how I get on with it.

This week I have been mostly listening to....

Bon Iver.

Discovered this little gem on a compilation and instantly went out and bought the album. Of course as with all my 'discoveries' my super hip and down with it pub buddies had heard of them a millenium ago and rolled their eyes at my lack of musical knowledge.

Anyway here is one of my favourite tracks that I willingly surrender to your scrutiny. Be kind for it is truely wondrous stuff.

The album is called 'For Emma Forever Ago' and I think we all need a bit of it in our lives.

What's your swap?

Fairtrade Fortnight is upon us again and although I'm sure you all do your utmost to buy fairly traded goods where possible (judging glare for those who don't) we all have our guilty pleasures. This fortnight let's all try to make a bit more of an effort because the extra few pennies we spend at this end can make a huge difference to those in the world's poorest countries.

Still not buying it? (Sorry that was terrible I know!) Here's a motivational visual delight from the Fairtrade Foundation to break it down for you.



Go ahead and change the world by making just a few extra swaps this fortnight. Everyone knows food tastes better with a pinch of justice in it anyway.

For more info on Fairtrade and to find out what you can do to support the movement go to:
http://www.fairtrade.org.uk/thebigswap/

Another Me

‘Because … I am afraid what will happen if people know what I have gone through,and because I am a Muslim girl.' (17 year old subject of 'Hidden by the Burkha')

I was at Greenbelt Festival over the August Bank Holiday weekend and whilst meandering around the various tents and stalls I came accross this rather amazing photo exhibition tucked away in one corner of the site.

Although only small reproductions, the photographs displayed had an extraordinary power and presence that made me want to discover more about the project, the photographer and the women involved.

'Another Me' is the name of this exhibition, described as 'Transformations from pain to power'. The subjects, all girls and women aged from 8 to 25 years, are survivors of trafficking, rape or abandonment, or are the children of sex workers.

This unique project is the work of documentary photographer Achinto Bhadra and was conceived by the Terre des hommes Foundation. The images show women dressed in elaborate costumes, face paint and masks which stems from a need to protect their identities but also as an aid to psychological transformation as they reveal hidden facets of their inner selves.

'Achinto's portrait's record trafficking survivors' imaginative visions of themselves as human, animistic and divine beings of power, love, revenge and freedom.' (Another Me website)

My favourite pictures are 'God' 'Durga, The Mother Goddess' and 'The Clown' but each photograph is beautiful from the vivid colours of the costumes to the poignancy of the stories that acompany each image.

To see all of the images and find out more about the project check out their website by clicking here

Photograph: Hidden by the Burkha by Achinto Bhadra from www.rencontres-arles.com>

Why I will be wearing black this Thursday

I'm in the process of moving house and whilst clearing through the mountains of boxes in my room I came across the diary I kept when I visited India at 18.

I always find it bizarre to read over my scribblings and looking back over the words I wrote makes me cringe a little as I feel I am an entirely different person to the one that wrote this. I wanted to share this experience with you, (almost) word for word as the work I saw on this particular day has become a foundation for what Thursdays in Black means to me.

‘This afternoon we travelled by rickshaw to Maher, a home for abused, exploited and destitute women and children. The journey was a real experience, I will never complain about driving in England again!

The traffic is so erratic with animals and people randomly wandering all over the roads. Drivers seem to use their horns before attempting any manoeuvre. At junctions you are deafened by the cacophony of horns from all vehicles ranging from huge lorries to bicycles and even carts as they are all vying for their place in the hierarchy of the road.

Rickshaw is my favourite way of travelling. Driving through the streets is a real assault on the senses with brightly coloured markets with spices and saris on show, cows sauntering through the city traffic and the smells of incense, sewage and mysterious treats sold by street vendors. All of these colours, smells and sounds are sharpened by the rain which has been falling on and off all day. Although we were drenched to the skin by the puddles we splashed through, the humid air would dry our clothes as soon as the deluge stopped.

At every junction the street children pressed their hands inside the rickshaw begging for money. Many of them are very young and some have been horrifically disfigured to encourage tourists to give more money. Yesterday I saw a boy with no legs pulling himself along on a skateboard, the driver told me it was common for children to be deliberately maimed by adults in this way.

This made me incredibly angry and I was frustrated by how powerless I am to prevent this. By giving money to the children you are proving that the violence is effective but by withholding money the children are punished when they return empty handed. There is no clear right choice and we are forced to ignore their outstretched hands or shout ‘Bas!’ if they get too aggressive to avoid being swamped. The guilt is overwhelming at times.

When we arrived at Maher all the women and children were lined up to greet us. They sang songs and performed a welcoming ceremony, presenting us with garlands of marigolds which the children placed around our necks.The flowers symbolise sacrifice and are used in many ceremonies here. We were also painted with a red and yellow kum kum on our foreheads by the older girls.

One of the house mothers then came forward and began to tell us the story of how the home had started.

In 1991 a destitute woman came to Sister Lucy [one of the project founders] while pregnant, begging for help. The woman’s husband wanted to kill her as he desired another woman. The sister had to turn the woman away as she had nowhere to house her that night, promising that if she returned the next day she would be able to accommodate her.

That night the woman’s husband doused her in Kerosene and set her alight. Both the woman and the baby died. From that day forward the Sister vowed never to turn away women in that situation and so set up Maher (Mother house) to council and rehabilitate the women, teaching them crafts so they can be re-introduced into the community and stand on their own two feet.

The work they carried out at the Maher house was amazing and it made me feel humble and privileged in my life at home. It is too difficult to describe all of the emotions I felt today but I think people in the UK need to know about what these women are suffering and help support these projects so that people like Sister Lucy will be able to go on helping them.’

It’s hard to see it from these words but India got under my skin like no other country I have visited before or since really. It was here that I first began to realise that development work was becoming a vocation for me.

My experiences at Maher have been the driving force behind wanting to promote Thursdays in Black and why I will be wearing black this Thursday.

To find out more about the Maher project please go to their website: www.maherashram.org

The Final Frontier...

So here I am, on the metaphorical outer rim of my comfort zone.... entering the magnificent and mysterious blogosphere. I would like to credit my decision to delve into the depths of internet catharsis to my good friend Emma, who is my personal authority and leading light when it comes to blogging.

For several months now I have been out in the cold with my nose pressed against the virtual window pane, admiring from afar the well polished and easy penmanship of seemingly natural born bloggers. It appears that every man and his dog is now blogging and in a desperate bid not to be left behind with the moth balls I decided to stop teetering on the brink, man up and take the plunge.

However this decision was not to be taken lightly, oh no! I did some research...which I won't bore you with the details of.....However, I recently read an article about one American journalist who produces up to twenty blog posts a day(!), all seemingly well put together and amusing (bastard).

I on the other hand have always struggled with the idea of written expression. As a child I remember our teacher reading Anne Frank's diaries to us in school which inspired me to rush home and start scribbling down my own memoire. Now, I don't know about you but at the age of seven I didn't really have any stellar material to fulfil my aspirations of creating a best selling novel. Generally confined to describing in meticulous detail my movements from the second I awoke (from what I had for breakfast to which socks I was going to wear) to the moment my head hit the pillow at night, I don’t think J K Rowling and crew had much to worry about. Needless to say after three days of dedicated scribbling my enthusiasm dwindled and I naturally progressed onto my next career as a fledgling palaeontologist (don't ask).

So it is with a little apprehension that I'm starting this blog. My friend Emma has assured me that blogs aren't only used by angst-ridden, narcissistic teenagers but by fairly normal people too. So I'm launching this as a platform through which to present my many musings and creative dalliances.

OK so what the hell do I write about??? Well mostly I think I’ll jot down whatever pops into my over-excited tiny little mind (ha poor you) but there are a few things I'd like to cover on a regular basis:

First and foremost I want to share with you all my films and all the other little projects I've worked on and maybe a few of my sketches (only if you're lucky though).

I may finally get around to reviewing some of my favourite arty farty European films to get a few people off my back (you know who you are) and prove that three years of studying film at uni was really worth all that debt.

I'm also planning to commit to virtual paper my adventures (commonly known as the many scrapes of Stephanie Hubbard) as self-deprecating humour is something I'm a dab hand at.

So this is me, nearly 22, filmmaker/violinist/doodler and charity adventurer breaking down the final frontier.......

'It's space, Jim, but not as we know it'