A 25-year old trafficked Nigerian woman crosses the road to meet a possible client in Turin, Italy. In Edo State in Southern Nigeria, many young women seek out smugglers who can help them to reach Europe and escape poverty. Instead they fall victim to traffickers. Other are “sold" by their own families. En route to Europe, they are stopped first in Libya, where gang members force young women into sexual servitude as means of repaying a portion of their debt. This continues in Turin, where they are threatened with violence if they refuse. The exploitation featured in this photo series should not be conflated with sex work that is consensual. This is Elena Perlino @elenaperlino sharing work from my long-term photography documentary “Pipeline,” about the trafficking of women from Edo State, Nigeria, to Italy. #humanrights #opensociety #stoptrafficking #italia #nigeria #opensocietyfoundations (Open Society Foundations notes that the exploitation featured in this piece should not be conflated with sex work that is consensual. For more information on sex work, visit: http://osf.to/sexwork)

A photo posted by Open Society Foundations (OSF) (@opensocietyfoundations) on Oct 27, 2015 at 7:00am PDT

Truth Tellers and Righteous Indignation: Cornel West on Obama, "I am a hater"

Support Yenkassa - Ghana Life!

I came across this wonderful blog (love Tumblr:)) and project today and I was so pleased to find that someone is out there actively trying to document Ghana's oral history before it's too late. I hope this video inspires you to support the project, too.

The man who turned his home into a public library

From the BBC:

"You don't do justice to these books if you put them in a cabinet or a box"

If you put all the books you own on the street outside your house, you might expect them to disappear in a trice. But one man in Manila tried it - and found that his collection grew.

Hernando Guanlao is a sprightly man in his early 60s, with one abiding passion - books. They're his pride and joy, which is just as well because, whether he likes it or not, they seem to be taking over his house.

Guanlao, known by his nickname Nanie, has set up an informal library outside his home in central Manila, to encourage his local community to share his joy of reading.

The idea is simple. Readers can take as many books as they want, for as long as they want - even permanently. As Guanlao says: "The only rule is that there are no rules."

Reading to get you thinking

Age of Crisis issue, July 2012

I’ve just finished reading an excellent issue of the New Statesman called “Age of crisis (and how to survive it).” Edited by David Miliband, the former British foreign secretary brings together a global cast of politicians and thinkers putting forward a range of ideas on finding our way out of our current predicament.

High points included former Australian PM Kevin Rudd’s excellent essay on China and the West and the fundamental questions that Western leaders need to answer in order to effectively engage with China. Michael Semple’s fascinating interview with a Taliban leader was also illuminating.

Relative low points came in the form of Hillary Clinton’s tedious and uninspiring piece on “The future of American power.” The Secretary of State offered nothing new but rather reiterated America’s foreign policy approach.

What was pleasing was that, while Milliband obviously has access to a wide circle of friends from whom he can draw on, there were counter-intuitive contributions that challenge the status-quo. Ozwald Boateng on how Africa can help Britain out of the crisis and Sir Richard Branson talking about the benefits of EU membership and immigration are two examples of this.

In short, it’s been a long time since I’ve read a New Statesman from cover to cover. As far as this particular issue goes, I’d encourage you to do the same.

Scene on a train: a short play

On Platform Two of Seven Sisters overground station. It’s seven twenty-two on a crisp December night. It’s dark and cold and there’s a buzz in the air. Christmas is but days away and, what with the bleak economic outlook and the exertions of the riots, it seems everyone is looking forward to a well-deserved break. People are in good spirits but there’s a hint of edginess in the air.

The platform is crowded. The 19.14 to Enfield Town is eight minutes late. People are checking their phones and watches with increasing frustration. They’re speaking into mobiles loudly and berating the unreliable service. Some of them have come from West End, having taken the Victoria line from Oxford Circus to Seven Sisters. Many of them are black, many of them are young.


Finally, the train pulls in to Seven Sisters, ten minutes late. It’s already full and those waiting to board are laden with shopping bags, making the usual jostle for position fiercer. When the doors eventually open, the usual etiquette is done away with. Those wanting to get off the train are swamped by those desperate to get on as everyone crowds in in a mad rush for seats.


People deposit themselves wherever they find space. Passengers shuffle in their seats to make way for those who are determined to sit down despite the overflow of people and bags. Some place their goods in the overhead luggage racks; others place them on the floor or even on the seat beside them.


In the four seats nearest to the door in the first carriage is a white woman in her mid-thirties, who is sitting against the window facing the direction in which the train is travelling. Resting against her arm is her son, who is about eight or ten years old. He is asleep. Opposite her is an older white woman, in her late sixties or early seventies. Her head is deep in an Evening Standard, although she is aware of the commotion going on around her and the scramble for seats. Her bags are placed on the seat beside her. She makes no attempt to move them to make way for someone to sit down (and feigns blissful ignorance with the aid of her paper).


An old white man in his late seventies gets on the train at Bruce Grove. He’s stooped but nimble on his feet. He’s wearing a grey flat cap and a fur-lined, camel coat. He shuffles into the carriage and hunts for a seat. All eyes are on the old woman with her bags on the only free seat.

This time, she reluctantly concedes and moves her shopping bags on to the floor in order to let the old man sit down.

Old man: Thank you. Thank you, dear, that’s very kind of you.

He takes a seat as the train starts to move off. There’s a brief silence. Rubbing his gloved hands…

Oooo, it’s cold today, innit. Freezing! Still, not as bad as last year. Last year was terrible. This year’s been quite good.

The old woman sitting next to him briefly averts her gaze from her paper and fakes a smile while the mother sitting opposite produces a genuine grin.

Mother: You wouldn’t think that Christmas was only a couple of days away.

Old man: Oo, Christmas. Doesn’t feel like does it. I remember when I was a kid it would be guaranteed snow. Now everything’s changed. You can’t tell whether you’re coming or going.

The mother smiles and there is a brief moment of silence as the train pulls out of Bruce Grove and Tottenham High Street comes into view as the train passes through it.

Old man: It’s terrible. I used to go to that post office in Bruce Grove before they burnt it down. Now I have to go all the way up to the post office at the Sainsbury’s in Edmonton. It takes me ages. Do you know the one?

Mother: No, I don’t.

Old man: The one by the big Sainsbury’s. I have to take the bus or get the train up cos I could never walk there. It’s too far to get to by foot. I used to like walking to the old post office in Bruce Grove. It was a nice bit of exercise, you know. Now, I don’t really get out much.

Silence.

There was a lovely woman who used to work at the Post Office in Bruce Grove. A little Indian lady. Do you know her?

Mother: No, I’ve never been there.

Old man: I wonder what happened to her? She was lovely. Really good at her job. I haven’t seen her since. I thought they might have moved her up to Edmonton but I haven’t seen her there. She’s the kind of person I feel sorry for. She didn’t deserve to lose her job cos some no-good kids decided to burn down her place of business.

All eyes shift towards the old man. The tension is palpable. Lowering her paper…

Old woman: That’s just an excuse. They would have closed them down anyway. The government was planning to shut down most of the Post Offices around here. The rioters did them a favour. Gave them a get-out clause.

Old man: Is it really?

Old woman: Yes it is. The government don’t care one bit about the likes of you and me. They were going to put you out of your post office regardless.

Old man: You’re right, you’re certainly right. But that’s no excuse for them burning down all those buildings.

Old woman: It wasn’t all of them. Some of them are good kids but the media tarred everyone with the same brush. None of the kids where I live were involved.

Old man: Fair point, fair point.

Hastily changing the subject…

Mother: Are you doing anything nice for Christmas?

Old man: Nah. My daughter lives in Essex and she’s got her kids to think about. She’s divorced, see, so she’s got her hands full. I’ve got a son too but he’s taken his family off on holiday. Gone off to the Caribbean for some winter sun, Gambia, or somewhere, he says, so he’s doing better than we are. It’s all about the kiddies anyhow. Got any plans for the little lad?

Mother: Oh, he’s spoilt enough. Nothing special. But he’ll know it’s Christmas.

Old man: That’s right, he deserves to be spoilt, don’tcha lad?

He ruffles the sleeping boy’s shoulder playfully, rouses the child but doesn’t wake him. The mother smiles.

When my kids were little ‘uns we used to really treat them at this time of year, me and the wife. We never had much but we made sure that they knew it was Christmas. We did our best.

Mother: I’m sure you did.

The train stops at White Hart Lane.

Old man: I’ve lived here going on fifty years. Used to take my boy to watch the football every Saturday when there were home games. It was safe as houses then. So much’s changed but I wouldn’t live anywhere else. This is England, warts and all.

The train passes behind a house with a huge St. George’s flag billowing in its garden. They all look at it.

Old woman: In all its ugliness and its glory.

Sunday praise: Giving thanks for Amiri Baraka

Amiri Baraka and Saul Williams

In yet more evidence of God fulfilling dreams that you didn’t even know you had, last night saw the realisation of a latent desire to be in the company of great men who have contributed significantly to our world and our lives today. 

Last night I had the privilege to spend time with legendary poet, playwright and activist, Amiri Baraka formerly known as LeRoi Jones. 

I was honoured to be able to see Baraka perform with legend-in-the-making Saul Williams at the Black Power of Speech event at KAAI Theater as part of the brilliant Spoken World Festival. I even dared to hope that I may be able to get my book signed, which would have been good enough. Watching Baraka, age 77, interacting with Williams, 39, was a lesson in contemporary black history and intergenerational dialogue and taught us all just how much we can learn from our elders and wisers. 

To be able to sit down with the great man over a beer (his) and in the collected good company of old friends and a new one was an education and a privilege. Baraka spoke to us about his life and times and expanded on some of the topics he’d raised in his performance and during his conversation with Williams and Flemish journalist, Frank Albers.

He spoke about how he was kicked out of the US Air Force and thrown in prison for one of his poems; about how he and African-Americans in the civil rights era looked up to African leaders back in the day but now there’s no one left to look up to; and about how African-Americans need to learn to be more sophisticated in their critiques of the first black president (although he's not feeling Tavis Smiley and Cornel West at all!). 

He told us how, in the Sixties, he empowered his New York community by sending out buses loaded with books, art and music to make culture accessible and engender pride in culture; his experiences of speaking his truth around the world and performing his poetry to diverse and, on rare occasions, hostile audiences; and his run-ins with the establishment even to this day.It was a revelation and a pleasure and we talked long in to the night, eventually leaving the theatre at just after one in the morning. The show officially finished at ten forty-five. 

I’m often asked why I don’t go into politics given that the political interests me. My reply is always that I’d like to contribute to changing the world and engaging in the political discourse in ways that are more natural to me. Last night, Baraka and Williams reinforced for me that my way is through words, written and spoken. Not that I was in any doubt but they served as a timely and powerful reminder. The event also reminded me - us - that living in Brussels has its benefits. The opportunity to get close to renowned international artists is definitely one of its lesser known advantages.

I thank God for the opportunity to engage in conversation with someone who has lived a life and did something with potent it and I pray that I take from this encounter the lesson I was meant to take. I pray that there are many more opportunities to learn from the wisdom of elders.

Read Somebody Blew Up America, the poem that got Baraka fired from his Poet Laureate position in New Jersey after 9/11.

A bright idea from a Bellray

The wonderful Bellrays

Justin, the really cool guitarist from the California band The Bellrays, came up with this great suggestion yesterday over a delicious dinner home cooked by our very own dynamic diva, Dorrie D.

As a voracious reader who’s on the road a lot, Justin’s become a big fan of the Kindle (or, rather, Barnes and Noble’s version of the Kindle, the NOOK). He told me that the Los Angeles Public Library, of which he’s a member, loans books digitally just as they do physically. The books are downloaded onto your device and are available to read for a specified period, say, three weeks, after which time the book becomes inaccessible from your reader. Presumably, you can renew the books just as you would in the real world.

I’ve been thinking about how I can incorporate new forms of publishing, e.g. e-books and digital devices into the library and this is a great idea. Users will also be able to borrow books digitally therefore being allowed to take them off the premises (dependent, of course, on them having a digital device of their own in the first place). On a side note, I’m currently considering options for bulk purchase and distribution with partners. All ideas welcome but thanks, Justin, for this one.

Check out The Bellrays (motto: Soul is the teacher, Punk is the preacher) at www.thebellrays.com.

Dinner with new friends

It’s been almost a year since I arrived in Brussels and how time has flown! In the last twelve months I’ve met many interesting and creative people from all over the world, the kind of people it’s been a pleasure to learn from and to know. They’ve all been generously encouraging and personally inspiring in their individual ways.

Last night, I was lucky enough to be in the company of such a group of people thanks to my new friends, Lies and Sulaiman, who hosted a lovely dinner party with a creative, engaging, caring collective: Cleve, Lee, Anne and Tim, Omar and, of course, Tamara, who introduced me to Lies and Sulaiman in the first place.

At several points in the evening, the discussion turned to ‘my’ library idea. During the course of numerous conversations, the assembled intellects pointed out the following:

• Reading is a form of escapism.
  I recently interviewed Andy Thornton, Director of AfriKids UK. He told me that people, in their generosity if not in their wisdom, would donate toilets to villages in Ghana where there was no plumbing. And yesterday when I remarked that people in the north were too poor to worry about reading books Cleve pointed out that that wasn’t necessarily the case, that reading can often be a form of escapism for those living a harsh reality. Later on, Sulaiman told me that when he was living in a refugee camp as a child, he and his brother would voraciously read copies of month-old newspapers to stay in touch with the world and maintain their knowledge but also to escape into other worlds. Moral of the story: Never underestimate the importance of books and reading to anyone and never underestimate the value of knowledge. Books (and newspapers / newsmagazines) may age but the knowledge contained within them never dates, even if the world has moved on, the world contained within their pages still has a value.

• Get members to donate books.
  I was telling Lee about my plan to charge for membership to subsidise other/rural branches and the various levels of benefits associated with each membership. He suggested that one way to subsidise membership would be to get people to donate their old books in exchange for a reduced rate. This hadn’t occurred to me before. By offering this incentive, it encourages books to be recycled as well as growing the collection. Or, even better, get people to donate a book in addition to their subscription. Both great ideas!

• Facilitate the move from an aid economy to a knowledge economy.
  Omar, who has spent his life working for the UN and is now retired, said he had two big regrets about African development: the failure of African leadership and the dependence on aid. Omar has a lot of knowledge gained from vast experience of development around the globe. He’s passionate about Africa moving from an aid-dependent economy to a knowledge economy and books, of course, play an important role in this.

• Developing a reading/writing culture.
  At the end of the night, Tamara, my Malawian friend and South London homegirl who’s lived in Nigeria - Lagos, no less - became my Socratic interlocutor. ‘Will people be willing to pay to read books?’ ‘Who will your market be?’ ‘How will it make money?’ ‘What sidelines can you add on?’ All extremely valid questions which need airtight answers in order to firm up the idea. Then she raised my biggest bugbear – the lack of (internationally renowned) Ghanaian authors, especially in comparison to Nigerian authors – Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Ben Okri, Chimanda Ngozi Adichie, E.C. Osundu, Teju Cole, the list goes on… This is, of course, very true. The aim of the library is obviously to encourage and develop a reading culture but, through this, develop a writing culture too. Almost every successful writer is an avid reader. The two go hand-in-hand. As well as a repository of books, the library will also hold writing workshops, host writer events with visiting authors and, over time, develop a publishing arm as an added incentive to encourage budding writers. She pointed me to the wonderful Cassava Republic Press, a Nigerian publishing house whose mission is to change 'the way we think about African fiction'.

‘My library idea’ is now ‘our’ library idea! Thanks to everyone for their generous input. I look forward to many more dinners where ideas are shared and refined in the company of talented, creative and caring people.