Life Beyond the Border...

There’s something I have discovered as I have grown older and generally experienced more in life; and that is that the world is amazing.

I know that sounds really vague and dreamy, and makes me sound like I should be hugging a tree or pondering life by a lake or something. But over the few countries I have been lucky enough to travel to, I have realised that the culture, the sights and the people you can come across in other places can be ultimately remarkable to experience.

For me, a trip to Morocco last summer was what suddenly set me off on this “friend of the earth” kind of wave length- and I thought that since it was one year on from my time there, I would share all that I loved about the whole hot, dusty, donkey-smelling country.

                                                         Some of Morocco's hot and dusty Atlas Mountains

Simply getting there was a surreal experience in itself. You expect a country’s border to consist of tall wire fences, a fairly civilised, slowly moving queue of cars and a quick check of your passport – but not in Morocco. There, on the verge of the Spanish owned city of Melilla, was where life simply descended into chaos; and with a sweaty 5-hour wait in a pick-up truck, we found ourselves getting totally caught in the middle of it.

Women would stroll past with the blatantly obvious shape of fifty counterfeit shoes beneath their robes, children would come to your car window to sell you whatever they found lying around (we purchased a very handy half-used box of tissues); all while a few Moroccan policemen tried to flirt with you in an unusual Arabic-English mix.

And life beyond the border is equally as chaotic and colourful. The narrow streets of old town Fes are the best example. Tiny stalls line the alley sides, each of them like an alcove filled with glassy lanterns, gold ornaments or bright red spices- while multi-coloured shutters hang above your head- keeping the sun out and an interesting kind of leathery/sweaty smell in.

One thing you do need to adjust to though is the random spontaneous shouts of Arabic men. Something that sounds like “200 camels” as you walk past is probably an offer of what they’ll give to buy you- made worse for me by a guy I was travelling with who tried to pawn me off to some locals for free.

Another is just a crazed mix of Arabic words which suddenly sets the whole street into frenzy. People scatter into doorways and you’ll probably find a hefty Moroccan pulling you in against the wall. I came to learn this means “move or get hit” by the over loaded donkey that’s hurtling up the narrow, winding street towards you. 

The narrow, shuttered streets of Fes                                                               Colourful cloth handbags line the alley walls

So, I realise the picture I have painted of Morocco so far isn’t exactly a pleasant one. But what I found, was that just off the dusty, smelly hectic streets, there was always something entirely surprising and beautiful.

You would maybe find a narrow wooden doorway leading off an alley- and as dodgy as it may look, you might cautiously enter. But inside, a massive, beautiful building would open up before you, with cedar-carved ceilings and intricate mosaic covering the walls, filled with rich rugs, cloths or whatever the store happened to be selling. Moroccans love mint tea, and as soon as you come into their shop, they’ll have you seated around a small, low table while they pour you glasses of the concoction of mint leaves and about twenty six sugars- no exaggeration. It seems like a lot less of an offer than the 200 camels suggested to you earlier, but it’s definitely a lot safer.

     A friend and I get dressed by some local burka merchants

And that’s what I love about Morocco; about any other country at all really. Parts of it may smell of donkeys and the locals may seem a bit too presumptuous at times, but it’s all those little elements that make up its fascinating, beautiful culture.

It’s the sights, the smells, the people and their languages that left me totally enthralled with Morocco, and made me realise how amazing different parts of the world really are.

So while I probably won’t find myself embracing a tree in the classic “love for the earth” kind of way- I might just find myself back in the frenzied streets of Fes dodging over loaded donkeys and camel offers- but I’ll be loving every minute of it.

Back in the Summer of '99

Something magical used it happen about this time every year. It was the feeling the month of June used to have - it was a kind of building excitement that grew every day.. It was the feeling of doing less work in school and being able to watch videos and play with your toys in class. It was the feeling of knowing, that in a few short weeks you would reach the start of a long, long summer filled simply with fun.

But that was when you were eight years old. Now, on the brink of another summer, it has dawned on me that that simple jittery happiness you got at this time of year just isn’t the same when you’re nineteen.

Memories of my childhood summers always amuse me - they were so simple but at the time I was literally having the time of my life. The year I discovered how to build the perfect fort in the back garden, is a perfect example.  Turns out, all I needed was two large umbrellas and a picnic rug and I had the most amazing make-shift house for myself and my children (two teddies and a Barbie doll).

Another good one was the summer my sisters and I made a tyre swing on an apple tree in the orchard behind our house. Thinking about it now, I don’t know how a dirty rubber hoop and piece of rope gave us the full two months of fun it did – but being the country-bumpkin kids we were I guess it was more than enough.

                                         Loving life with a picnic and my older and younger sister

But the absolute highlight of the summer was almost as simplistic as our back garden antics. Each year we would drive up to the north coast of Northern Ireland to cram into a tiny three bedroomed holiday home with as many of our extended family as we could fit. I remember the drive there would feel like the longest ever, and when we finally saw the sea we would practically wet ourselves with excitement.

Whilst there, we would spend our days on the beach – and this was back when a day at the beach was a full blown swimsuit-picnic-beach ball-bucket and spade event. We would bring every beach-related item we could carry and make the most of every minute of it.

Now though, in my 19^th summer of life, there’s definitely something different about those holiday months. It seems like there is no such thing as that “school’s out for summer” feeling and there definitely isn’t a reason to wet yourself when you see the sea. Honestly, all I’m thinking about is working and money, and if I can afford a week’s escapism in the form of a cheap holiday package to any given Spanish destination.

So is this what getting older is going to be? Gradually watching all excitement disappear from everything you loved as a child? If this is has happened to my summers, I’m worried for my Christmases…

I’m determined not to let it happen. So I’m realising I need to embrace the free months I have at home – and though building myself a fort in the garden might lead to a few weird looks from the neighbours; I’m determined to bring back the simple fun. Could be time to grab the bucket and spade…

Writing for Multimedia: Assignment Blog

A Day for Women?         

By Naomi Wilson

To imagine your country being on the brink of war, your town to be in demolished chaos and your community to be in total uproar is almost unthinkable.

But to see seven of your neighbours and friends brutally murdered by government officials is something else altogether.

Appallingly, this is what happened in the Ivory Coast this month. As the country rises in protest to President Gbagbo’s refusal to leave to power, violence has become widespread throughout the nation as rebels battle with the government’s military.

But when women decided to hold a peaceful protest in their community in Abidjan on 3 March- open fire, random shots and bloodshed were certainly not anticipated. The result; seven innocent women killed for their search of a voice.

The demonstrators were members of a women’s group who are in support of Ouattara, the politician recognised as the winner of the last election. They lined the streets of Abidjan to sing and chant to encourage Gbagbo to leave, believing that the power of a women’s march would be what the leader needed to take notice.

Instead, the demonstration descended to carnage as military jeeps rampaged onto the scene and began firing. As hundreds were injured and blood ran down the streets, seven women lay dying- one with her baby still tied to her back.

It easily shows the corruption of the Ivory Coast - but what makes this worse is that this violence was brought out on innocent women who were doing nothing but trying to speak up for their country.

Ironically, this comes within the very week of the 100^th International Women’s Day - a day dedicated to listening to the voice of women and examining their rights across all nations.

The date saw many female demonstrations unfold across the world, as women spoke out against the discrimination they still face. In Egypt, hundreds of women held a protest against the sexual harassment that revolves in the country; though disgustingly, were rebuked, beaten and sexually abused by the 200 men who invaded the march.

Furthermore, with the sex trafficking of young girls in Thailand, the forced labour of women in the rural Congo and 1 in 4 women being victims of sexual abuse or remarks here in the UK, it is obvious that worldwide women’s rights are far from being achieved.

I do not think of myself as a die-hard feminist. I haven’t taken part in any bra-burning expeditions of female power. But it is things like this that cannot help but disgust me.

I just don’t understand how now, in the 21^st Century, governments can condone women being treated in such inhumane and demeaning ways.  How can we even hope for global development when women are being bought, sold, beaten, raped and even killed for their beliefs?

So, as International Women’s Day enters its 101^st year, what can we hope for in basic female rights? All I know is that as women continue to speak out in the Ivory Coast, protest in Egypt and search for equality worldwide, it seems like the search for global equality for women is far from over.

"Don't shoot us": The simple pleas of protesting women in the Ivory Coast.

Writing For Multimedia Assignment: News Story

Fears Continue to Rise Over Student Safety

By Naomi Wilson

Two weeks on from the alarming daylight attack on a student in Southampton fears for safety in the city are still heavily felt.

It was approximately 5pm on Tuesday 25^th January when the woman was assaulted as she entered Palmerston Park after leaving Southampton Solent University.

The attacker - who is yet to be identified - grabbed the 25-year-old student from behind and covered her mouth before piercing her neck with a sharp implement. The victim managed to kick herself free and flee the park to make her way home. She was later taken to hospital to be treated for minor injuries and the shock of the ordeal.

Though the attack was of an unusual nature, it proves to be just one of many regular assaults in the city centre.

Recent statistics released by the Hampshire Constabulary show the central Bargate area to be more dangerous than any other part of the city; with 225 incidents of violent crime having occurred in December 2010.

Such statistics prove a worrying trend, and as central Southampton hosts such a large student population it poses a question as to how safe young adults in the city are.

As a result, the Bargate region is now perceived as a dangerous and threatening place, where students cannot feel safe or protected.

Katy Kennedy, 21, a graduate from Southampton University said she never feels at ease when alone in the city.

“I don’t feel particularly safe. I seem to walk faster and avoid other people when I am on my own.”

Working for the University and Colleges Christian Fellowship (UCCF), Kennedy understands that young adults are more likely to be the victim of assault.

“I think it is the time that students are out that makes them more vulnerable and susceptible to attack.”

She added: “Though, of course it’s not just students, I think it’s anyone between 16 and 25 years of age who are at risk.”

Kennedy also feels the council and other local authorities do not do enough to secure the Bargate area and advise young adults on staying safe.

“They seem to be good at creating a scare with police notices about crimes that have happened,” she said. “But you don’t actually see any advice.

“There should be more police community support officers out and about, because you don’t see them in the parks in the evening at all. The council could also provide some sort of a dial-a-ride service like they have for the elderly. It would make sure people got home safely.”

Despite this, Southampton Council member, Derek Stevens, claimed students to be safe from assault in the city centre.

He said: “I don’t think students are a target in terms of violence.”

Stevens, who works for the Safe City Partnership, had the opinion that students are, in effect, responsible for their own safety. He claimed: “They are a target in terms of theft. They have laptops, iPods and iPhones. They leave their premises wide open, with their doors unlocked and windows open.”

This comes as recently published reports show burglaries to have increased by 76.1 per cent in the month of January alone.

However, Stevens insisted that recent statistics do not provide a reason for fear among young Southampton residents.

“We have reduced violent crime by eight per cent and criminal damage by 18 per cent, and crime overall has fallen by 14 per cent.”

Nevertheless, these figures seem to offer little comfort. In a city where reports of crime against students remain at a high level it seems there will always be fear for safety in the area.