Three years in South Eastern Liberia.

While in SA on vacation, my wife and I found the post, as program manager for a Danish relief organisation in Liberia, advertised on relief web. Previously we had been told by others within the aid world, that the Scandinavian aid organisations paid best, and after 5 years of working for peanuts with other groups, I looked up Harper on the net, found some pictures of the beaches and then decided to try for the post. Very quickly they replied and I soon found myself in Copenhagen lodged at an 800 euro a day hotel waiting for an interview. Good start and I gave my best effort to make sure I got the post. 2 days later I was back in Germany at home and still looking for available work. I almost accepted an Afghanistan posting with someone else, but the Danes came through first and I found myself back in Copenhagen at a briefing on my way to Liberia. The contract was for a year to close a 5 year project and to distribute half a million dollars of assets to the local population and authorities. It was clearly stipulated by the head of section that the money should all be spent with nothing remaining at the end of the year. A bit of confusion surrounding the information on what assets actually existed, but this was a normal situation with most organisations, with the HQ not completely up to date on what was going on in the field. No question of saving any funds as had always been the case with previously. Good salary and lots of money to spend-a seemingly perfect situation. My wife was pregnant and we did not want anymore war postings as we had had previously in Angola, Ethiopia, Somalia, Guinea and Zaire where we had even been taken hostage-albeit for a short time, but the stress was enough and we were looking for a quiet posting by the sea somewhere.

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Drishtipat, Arnob & Friends

Arnob and friends at http://www.brooklynvoice.com/arnob/arnob.html New York,  Review .

Brooklyn

Brooklyn, Pospect Park, Ditmas Park, Kensington, Brooklyn Library, Brooklyn school, Bay Ridge, Sheepshead bay, Belt Park way, BQE, Brooklyn writers, Brooklyn Book Store, Brooklyn Magazine, Brooklyn Poem, Brooklyn History, Brooklyn restaurant, Park Slope, Fort Green, Prospect Park,

Through Indian Eyes

Through Indian Eyes
by: John Shadowwolf
Choctaw

Who are we, What are we, and why do they lie? These are just some of the questions I will try to answer in this series of writings. What I write here will be the truth to the best of my knowledge.

We are called Indians- we are not Indians! We are called Native Americans- we are not Native Americans! Although, both terms are acceptable references to whom we are. I will explain the statements made; we are Indigenous people- meaning we were already here in this country before the coming of the white man. Christopher Columbus was sent to find a new trade route to the West Indies, that’s pretty much common knowledge- what isn’t common knowledge is that he failed…

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Spiderland “By Richard Swigg”

It’s about the time where there’s 200 miles left to go that you realise its going to be a long night. 200 miles ‘til either the sun comes up or the voice on the radio changes. But where do you go? Except forward. Forward, in a van, with an obsolete company name scratched off by speed, distance and time. The time is the propeller. No time to say hello. No time to say goodbye. But time to drive. Definitely time to drive.

3.20am, 95.8fm

The eager young science teacher of the 3am to 6am slot informs the insomniac and international audience of what I’ve known was going to happen for a good few hours. Not massive news to anyone, wherever they may be in their beds. The man in the van, already on his way ladies and gentlemen, no need to panic, no need to adjust your frequencies, the man in the van is already on his way. I look out ahead and realise the ticker tape parade is on hold, at least for now.

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Rain back home “By Hammad Ali”

A village hut. Early morning

The heavy downpour had been on ever since late last night. By now the sky looked clear white, but the rain persisted at the same constant rate. The leaves of trees seemed to sparkle a shade of green so pure it only seemed possible in paintings. Puddles had formed here and there, and one could see people running to and fro, having to work but eager not to get wet.  A stray dog lay curled up under a big tree, wet and shivering. A boy in his early teens sits by the window, looking longingly at the outside world of wild breeze and hard rain. Of course, he would much rather go out in the rain, for a game of football with the other kids. But no luck there! His parents had actually allowed him to skip school today, just so he would not have an excuse to go out in the rain. When parents let you miss school, you know things are serious! Sitting in his room, by the window, the boy sighed, longing for the day he would be old enough to decide when or when not to go out.

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Britain & The USA – A Comparative History, by Steve Newman

Britain & The USA – A Comparative History

Part One: The City

Steve Newman

Although today we might consider Britain and the United States to be, in some ways, very similar we must remember that those same similarities are only skin deep, and not least urban growth. For instance, when we look at the pace at which London and New York grew in the 19th century there can be little doubt that these two particular conurbations were considered – on both sides of the Atlantic – to be cities. Yet, the definition of what could be called a city in Britain was very different to that in the United States.

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NEVER ALONE BUT TOGETHER, The Drawings and Sculptures Of Ashok Patel

The Noble Sage Art Gallery: 3rd – 28th September

The Noble Sage is proud to open ‘NEVER ALONE BUT TOGETHER’, the long-awaited exhibition of the sculptures and drawings of Gujarati artist, Ashok Patel.

Ashok Patel ‘s art returns us to the spiritual core of India. It leaves aside religion and concentrates on the enhancement of the soul. This exhibition demonstrates Ashok’s continuing fascination with drawing and the translation of these creations into a sculptural form.

Read more about the event in Brooklynvoice.com

A selection of ten poems. by Esa Mäkijärvi

1. Night glasses

In the night glasses the water stays, the surface shivers,
runs as the natural light touches the surface
and passes the water without touching it,
in the night glasses the water stays, it’s surface shivers,
something drives by as the movement forces us to the
same pace and somehow we can’t stand still,
in the night glasses the water stays, together they can’t stay,
touches the pure surface without a trace that
they are moved by the same thing as us by the same time.

Read the rest of the 9 poems at brooklynvoice.com

“Walt Whitman – The Novel” by Steve Newman

Steve Newman

Steve Newman is a freelance writer, actor, director, historian, playwright and publisher who lives and works in Shakespeare’s Stratford.

Walt Whitman – The Novel

Steve Newman

Chapter 1 – March 26th 1892

Walt Whitman had been afraid to go to sleep because when he did the young stranger came and started his damned idiotic chatter about times long gone, and people long dead, and places not seen for forty years or more, and about secrets Walt wanted kept secret; and anyways the room was too small for two people these days what with books and papers all over the floor, and plates of uneaten food – leastways uneaten by Walt but greedily consumed by the mice who were getting as big as rats but weren’t rats because the rats had enough to gorge themselves on down by the wharf.

So Walt sat by the open window sipping water and brandy and listening to the night noises: the distant barking of dogs, the occasional shot of a gun, and the less occasional fight outside in the street between a couple of drunks on their way home from one of a dozen saloons, bars and whorehouses. Walt loved their idiotic insults and ineffectual brawling, liked to listen because it was his sound, the sound of the streets; and the streets were where Walt had lived and worked and prospered and added his two-cents worth and had the odd fight or two himself. Where he’d once horse-whipped a cab driver for horse-whipping his weary old horse.

Read more at “The Brooklyn Voice”