EVERYDAY - stories about the human condition

EVERY DAY

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Dare to dream 04

by Lilli Breininger

Ship to shore 12

by Evgeny Makarov

When to leave home 20

by Megan May

Old habits 28

by Lani Holmberg

Moving forward - historically 36

by Lizz Cardwell

XY ladies 44

by Cristina Casotto

The reel and the real 52

by Kishor K Sharma

A mother and two tiger cubs 60

by Terje Abusdal

The calm of crisis 68

by Kayla Kauffman

The present is a gift 76

by Emine Akbaba 2

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Dare to Dream

by Lilli Breininger

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A Biotope of Love

Tamera is an eco-village, a community living in the South of Portugal. Known for its holistic approach to a peaceful way of living with nature as well as with each other as social and sexual beings.

Sabine Lichtenfels and Dieter Duhm, the founders of Tamera, are sitting in a circle with more than 50 other visitors in the aula during a seminar called Love School. Dieter, a thin man in his 60s, starts to speak about “the secret of love and the end of patriachry”. He describes the beginning of his ­relationship to Sabine in Germany “Sabine for me was love and ­social commitment at once. With this woman I could take my time, I ­discovered something universal from this person. Love is the discovery of beauty. This is tied to the true nature of a ­partner.

Love is the foundation on which nothing breaks. If you are awake enough you will find a partner sometime. Partnership and free love complement each other. When I was with Sabine in the late 1970s in Germany, the practice of free love was not accepted by society. Nevertheless, with her, I was able to explore other women, it was possible.” Their relationship was open from the beginning.

Sabine says: “Universal love, free love and partnership are different from each other. Partnership has shady sides. Therefore you need a trustful community to solve conflicts. The Problem of a couple is always bigger and lies in humanity. For ­solving issues like that the current structure of society does not have the foundation, we have to create that first. When I was with Dieter, I was very curious how he looked at other women,

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what experiences he made and what fascinated him. Of course, there was jealousy sometimes. But if we step out of blaming each other and listen to our true longing, there is a release.”

Food for Thought Just right before noon, the circle ends and people put on their shoes to walk from the aula to the reception area. It is a few minutes walk, the way looks like a small part of a dusty ­country road, passing a sign saying “A base station for the Global Campus is arising here” with a dark green canopy top behind it, underneath bales of straw to sit on. The warm breeze smells like pine trees. There is a little round lake behind the bushes and a compost toilet on the other side of the road which looks futuristic with its round shapes like different sizes of pillars in white and yellow clinged together in one building.

Walking up a tiny hill towards a house with a veranda and solar panels besides. It smells like food already. More than 50 people are gathering in front of the tea area where the food is served on four long tables. The kitchen lady greets everyone, gives thanks to the kitchen team and to mother earth for ­providing millet, filled eggplants, a hot and a spicy sauce as well as other vegetables and various kinds of salad. People applaud and stand in line before they sit together at the tables under

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Left: Gardening nearby the South lake.

Middle: An office at the Solar Village.

Right: Kitchen team is preparing lunch at the Global Campus site.

the sun shades. Vegan meals are offered three times a day. The Global Campus site and its kitchen is mainly for visitors, Tamerians usually eat at the Solar Village.

Mar, a young girl from the Boston area, came to Tamera as a visitor and joined the à-votre-service which means she does about four hours of work everyday. She is assigned to the ecological team and just harvested beans in a field on the south side of Tamera. She is barefoot, wet soil is still sticking to her feet and to the bottom part of her jeans trouser suit, she wears a folded bordeaux cloth around her head and a neckless with a green stone in shape of a little buddha. She has a plate well-filled with fresh salad in front of her. She holds the plate in her hands and closes her eyes for a moment before she starts eating. After the first bite, her lips turn into a huge smile, so big that her eyes become smaller and she says: “Oh my god, this is awesome, it’s so good! Everytime I sit here and eat this food, I know what I’ve been working for the whole day.” Slowly, more people come to the Bori in the center of a circle during a forum.

table and sit down. Moody, a young man from Israel says “Have you been to the love spaces yet?” Another woman who sits at the table with her partner asks “What is a love space?” “Well, it’s a place for people to make out, they build different kinds of tents all around the area but it can also be up at an attic of a hut. Usually it’s pretty nice, they have mattresses, blankets and candles.” he says. “Oh, haven‘t seen this yet. Where are they?” she says with a british accent. The young men responds, “Really? They are all over. I know at least six or seven!” “Oh you must have a fun time then.“ she replied.

A Circle of Integrity Many people join group meetings which are called forum.

Depending on the status of time and integration in Tamera

there are different forums for everyone. Beside year-round ­Tamerians, some people live in Tamera for a couple of years or months and finish the basic education programme, they are in the “Einsteiger” group.

Bori, an elderly German women, and Dara, a young pretty girl with tanned skin and brown eyes from the United States, are hosting the forum for people doing the à-votre-service. When the meeting starts more people come in one by one, take a chair and join the circle. This leads to a discussion about punctuality and how it is important to contain a group process.

After Bori explains the rules of a forum, a young thin man enters the center to talk about his issues. His upper body is moving forward with every step he makes around the circle, from time to time he looks up and starts explaining that he often feels rejected by the group, how he is not seen and that he feels shy to just be himself infront of others. He sits down and people applaud.

A young girl goes to the middle. She turns her back at him and speaks to the people sitting at the other side of the circle, looking around from time to time. She speaks faster and louder, says that she does not know him well and explains how she recognizes him as self-confident and rather arrogant because of his body language. People applaud again. Then, another young girl enters and says that he is welcome in the group and actually is part of the group already. Another applaud.

Bori enters and requests the young man to reveal himself.

“If you are not playing a role, who are you then? Show who you are” she says. “The solution should come from yourself.” Other issues such as free love while having a partner or being seen as a sexual object rather than a woman are discussed as well. At the end Bori reminds the group to speak with integrity outside the forum about what has been said there. These daily discussions open up a new learning experience for everyone and make communal living very transparent.

Not Scarcity but Abundance “Tamera is the mother cake for a new culture baking in the world with different places such as the love school or the eros

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The Place of the Children is a separated area where kids have their own space.

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park having its own space. I see a nature park, a deeper connection between humans and nature that grows stronger, peace workers find a place to re-tank their battery, communities are build again, they are re-called by the land.” Sabine says during her speech.

Community in Tamera happens a lot on a geistig level which refers to a higher level of consciousness. It is very theoretical at first, many speeches and talks in order to prepare people, so if they go into contact with each other it can be more truthful.

The theoretical approach suggests to get loose from many concepts of the western world, for example the dualition of body and mind on a personal level or the scarcity of resources on a political level. The thought of abundance in resources is reflected in the solar village, architecture and its ecological building material, the water retention and building of lakes as well as the permaculture gardens. Similarly, political activism is seen as an inner and outer process which is an inspiration for international peace work and networking. Dieter dreams of “a

plantearian community. We cannot foresee the future but what we need for sure is a transformative bordell.” Even the condoms are fair trade.

But free love does not just mean to have sex with a lot of people it rather bears another idea of society and communal living with a great foundation of trust.

A young man from Berlin admits that all these talks give him a hard time: “I’m a skilled information scientist, you know, energies for me are volts, ampere and watt. But somehow this place still attracts me, it opens my heart. Imagine, the ­Tamerians have done forums for hours and days over thirty years now, they must have seen the craziest things.” Then he adds: “To me love is like music: a partnerhsip which is build on deep trust is like a nice deep growling bass. Love is more like the middle pitch, being newly in love and having butterflies in the stomach is like the altitude. And all together it makes the real music.”

“Tamera was a dream, first we thought we are crazy but then it became reality.”

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Ship to Shore Today, the increased focus on efficiency demands more from sailors and makes the job lose its romantic appeal. Working long hours and spending months at a time at sea, the seafarers value every moment they have on shore.

by Evgeny Makarov

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he blue van rushes through a labyrinth of containers, ­bridges and terminals. Lit by artificial light and i­nhabited by moving trucks and freight trains, the port exists like a city of its own. The men inside the car look exhausted. They ­quietly watching the lights pass by the windows. As the van stops in front of a small building, they come to life, jump out and quickly and vanish inside. They go straight to the reception desk and ask for telephone cards and internet access, then melt into different corners of the room to punch in phone numbers of beloved friends and family back home.

The International Seamens Club Duckdalben is hidden behind huge shipping container terminals, railway tracks and busy highway crossroads in the middle of Hamburg’s industrial harbour.

The club, which is open 365 days a year, seeks to provide communication services and leisure activities for seafarers, as well as medical, legal and pastoral suport. In 2011 it was v ­ oted Best Seafarer Center of the Year Worldwide by its visitors ­because of the service it offers.

No romanticism “There is no romanticism in modern seafaring anymore“ said Jan Oltmanns as he watches the sailors arrive. He is the head chaplain of the club, and has worked at Duckdalben since it was founded in 1986. ”The crews get smaller, the turnovers faster and the lay time shorter,“ he explained. ”The result is more work and almost no time for the seamen on shore.“ Sometimes sailors only have five hours before they need to be back on the ship. It is a long way to get from the port into the city and many seafareres don`t have the time or money to pay for a taxi. Duckdalben offers a shuttle-service that picks up the sailors at their ships, brings them to the club and back again. The club makes it their goal to visit the seamen wherever they are. Typically, this means on board the ship, but sometimes in a hospital or even in prison.

“We try to see the human being behind the position,” said ­Oltmanns.“ On board these guys have to work hard. When they get on shore they leave their duty behind and are finally human beings.”

Chances On board the sailors are often very lonley. David Wolfe, having already spoke to his parents and girfriend is sits in the corner of the club having a beer. For a few hours he can relax and get his mind off the work.

The 20-year-old deck cadet from Cork, Ireland joined his first ship only two and a half months ago.

Clockwise from top: Alemu Dawit Asres, 25, from Ethiopia, Addis Ababa Randel C. Vernaiz, 26, from Philippines, Dipolog City David Wolfe, 20, from Ireland, Cork Garrz Ananuevo, 36, from Philippines, Manila

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“Once you are alone in your cabin you feel everthing.

You miss your family — and the only chance to call them is on shore.”

Rafael Rayo, Seafarer from Philippines

Since 1986, 661.701 seafarers from 200 different countries have visited the Club.

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One room in the club holds an altar for every major religion. Sailors are welcome to leave their prayer in the guestbook.

Not every sailor gets to go to shore if the job on board is not finished.

With increasing efficiency in the ports laytime is often as little as a few hours

”I have to be honest, even I thought becoming a sailor would be romantic, but at the end of the day, it`s a job and you do your duties and try to get money for your family“ he said.

For David, the lack of jobs in Ireland and the recession were the reason for becoming a sailor. He says at least now he has the chance to come back to Ireland once in a while. In Ireland young people are moving away, and often don`t come back at all. But when family and friends ask him how he is doing, Wolfe explains: The job isn`t that easy.

“Some people think this job is romantic and nice as it was back in the days when they had sails, but it`s not like that at all. Life at sea now is a business, and as every business they try to save money and do everything as quick as they can. Once we are done loading in a port there is no time off, you must go straight back“ David enjoys every hour he can get on land. The ship is very cramped. The only time crew members get to socialize is during the half hour they have for dinner. The rest of the free time on board the people are confined in their cabins. Therefore the time on shore is very important for David.

“You are on the same ship and see the same faces everyday.

We could be on the ship for three months without stepping on dry land. So it`s very important to clear your head and get on shore“ he said.

years already and can endorse the situation on board. With short routes and a lot of stops in different ports they may get only five hours of rest and get very tired. However, it`s easier to cope with the situation when working, he says.

“Sometime its very lonley on board. Once you are alone in your cabin you feel everthing.“ He pauses and stares for a while at the wall in front of him „You miss your family - and the only chance to call them is on shore,“ he explained. The first thing he does when arriving at a seamensclub is to ask for internet access and telephonecards. He reaches inside his pocket, shows the newly bought telephonecards and slowly the sadness in his face dissapears.

Rafael has a two-year-old daughter and a wife waiting for him. Everytime he sees his daughter on Skype he realizes how fast she is growing and how much he is missing out. The salary he would earn in the Philipines is not enough to support his family, so working as a seafarer is his best option. This means hard work far away from home, but it is better than the alternative. „Last time I was on shore was a month ago, sometimes the wait is longer. Maybe you have a three hours stay but have to get your job done. Then you stay on board.“

Loneliness Rafael Rayo, a 29-year-old from the Philipines is standing outside, and having a cigarette. He has been a seafarer for seven 18

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goes here When to Leave Home More than 200,000 Irish people have emigrated from the country since the recession hit in 2008. The majority of them are in their twenties.

The consequence- an exodus of a generation from Ireland.

by Megan May

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t´s a Friday night and after a long week Jamie McNern is excited to relax with some friends at the local pub. He walks through the entrance, only to be instantly disappointed by the turn-out. Four middle-age men are perched on stools watching a football game, and McNern was hoping the place would be packed. With no other option for entertainment, McNern grabs a seat and orders a beer. He is relieved to see a friend at the end of the bar and soon they are playing darts. After a few more rounds of both, McNern calls it a night, grumbling about the poor turn-out as he walks home.

Although McNern is upset by the uneventful night, it is a scene he is coming across more often. Thousands of young adults have emigrated from Ireland over the past five years.

Living in Glencolumbkille, a small town in County Donegal, McNern says that the effects of this mass emigration are magnified.

Big Fall Ireland experienced unprecedented economic growth, referred to as the Celtic Tiger, from the early 1990s until 2007. The crash of the Irish banking system and subsequent financial bailout in 2008 threw the country into a recession that it has yet to recover from. While other bailout countries such as Spain and Greece are experiencing higher levels of unemployment, Ireland has significantly larger rates of emigration.

Jamie McNern and Victoria Byrne are amongst the those wanting to leave. Boredom is a constant challenge young adults face in Glencolumbkille. Byrne spends her time either working a pub or around the house relaxing and helping run her family´s bed and breakfast. Although she has time on her hands, she said emigration has deteriorated her social life.

McNern estimated that about 15 young adults from the area had moved abroad since the beginning of summer. In a small parish like Glencolumbkille, this has a substantial effect on the local economy and the overall community.

“There´s shops closing and there´s pubs closing and it´s all to do with that: emigration,” he explained, “Everyone else is gone, I´m just fed up...once my work runs out I´ll be gone.”

Job Hunt

According to a recent study published by the University of College Cork, rural areas are disproportionally affected by emigration. The majority of emigrants are young adults in their twenties. Their departure distorts town demographics, causing a swell in the proportion of young and old citizens.

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Although unemployment is still high in Ireland, almost half of Irish emigrants are leaving behind full-time jobs. In addition, about two-thirds have a level of education higher than the n­ational average. There is a growing concern that this will r­esult in a “brain drain” of educated and qualified workers.

The construction industry was impacted the most by the recession. House prices fell in value by over 50 percent, and subsequently the number of people working in construction fell with them. Like many prospective emigrants, McNern works in this field. Certified in stone masonry and general construction, he hopes to one day own a landscape contracting business, but sees the possibility of reaching that goal unlikely if he stays in Ireland.

“Im doing stone work right now but I suppose there´s only so much of that. In a small place I´ll eventually have every wall built in Glen,” he said chuckling.

Byrne is having difficulty finding consistent work. Graduating from the Institute of Technology in Sligo this month with a degree in business and marketing, Byrne wants to continue her education in beauty school and eventually open a salon. ­Although Byrne recieves income from two jobs, she still isn’t able to meet her financial needs. She explained that there just is not work available, especially for full-time positions.

“Towns around here are small and don´t have much big 23

i­ndustry,” she said, “The only real options are to work in the fish factory or a grocery store.”

Left Behind When emigrants leave for the prospect of a better life, their families are the first to feel the effects. Katherine McNern, J­amie McNern´s mother, said parents have conflicting feelings when they see their children leave.

“It´s probably for the best for them, but not for Ireland,” Katherine McNern said, “I hate to see them going. Most ­parents don’t want to see them have to leave.”

McNern said her fear is that her children will move abroad, settle down and never move return to live in Ireland. While 4 in 10 emigrants say they’d like to move back to in the next three years, only about 22% see that as a possibility.

Like many others, McNern is frustrated by how the g­­­ ­ o­ vernment is handling the issue. She feels that qualified young adults are encouraged to move abroad in order to skew unemployment rates and reduce the amount of money spent on social welfare.

“They’re getting the best of an education and then they´re b­ eing shipped out of the country…” McNern said, “That´s what´s really annoying me, they just want to get them out of the country. In a few years time they’ll be trying to get them back in and they probably won’t come back.”

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Jamie McNern entertains his cousin Katie by showing her funny YouTube videos. Besides being the second oldest in a family of five, McNern also has many extended family members nearby. Born and raised in the Glencolumbkille area, he has not moved away from the parish for an extensive period of time, therefore never living far from his family.

“I´ll miss my family and I´ll miss the beauty of the place...It´s like a new adventure, a new begining,” he said, “Maybe I won´t like it but I more than likely will.”

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Victoria Byrne visits with friends during a community festival in a parish near Glencolumbkille. The festival offered a rare chance for them to get together; many have moved away in recent years.

“I don´t socialize much, there´s nothing to do anymore,” she explained.

Although Byrne is looking forward to meeting more people when she emigrates, she thinks she will long for the familiarity a small town provides.

“I´ll miss the way people go on around here,” she said, “They´re so laid-back.”

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Old habits

Women like Sister Shirley are an increasingly rare breed. She is one of a dwindling number of missionary nuns living in convents in rural Australia.

by Lani Holmberg

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Sister Shirley is a missionary nun who has retired to Elmore, a small town in rural Australia. It is likely she will be the last nun to live in the town´s historic convent because of declining numbers of women joining the order.

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ister Shirley shuts the door quietly, leaving two worshipers kneeling in the tiny convent chapel, braced against the cold. It´s an early September morning in Elmore, a small town in rural Australia. Outside the spring sunshine wipes frost from the grass and dances across the chapels stained glass windows. Inside the night chill remains undisturbed and hangs like icicles from the ceiling. The doorbell rings. Sister Shirley returns to the room with a third churchgoer. Dressed habit to toe in cornflower blue, she moves around the chapel setting up for mass with purpose that defies her 79 years.

Taking her regular seat, she closes her eyes in meditative silence. At the stroke of 8am, the priest emerges from a side room and takes his place at the pulpit in front the congregation of five. Unperturbed by the turnout, Sister Shirley leads the small group through mass with an easy confidence, pronouncing words carefully and clearly through a clipped accent, evidence of many years abroad. After mass, the smell of coffee and fruit bread promises to settle the grumbling stomachs. The décor of the formal dining room transports the room and its occupants back to a time before flat screen televisions and IKEA. As the 30

morning sun climbs steadily the group chat over breakfast, the conversation intercepted only by Sister Shirley´s infectious chuckle.

This ritual of prayer and toast takes place when regular mass isn´t scheduled in the Elmore church up the street. The large red-brick building has almost continually housed Daughters of Our Lady of Sacred Heart (OLSH)– an order of Catholic missionary nuns – since it was built in 1929. Sister Shirley has called the convent home for four years, retiring there after more than 50 years working in Papua New Guinea as a teacher and missionary. In recognition of her dedication to the church and education, she was awarded the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (MBE) in 2009.

“I´ve got more to do than listen to these practical jokes!” chuckled Sister Shirley when a nun called to tell her she had been sent a letter from the Queen. The Chinese community had nominated her for the award following her work in the PNG prisons so she agreed to receive it, believing it was good thing for the order and for all the sisters who did missionary work.

“They were great years,” she says on reflection. “I had an ex-

traordinarily happy life despite considerable hardships and difficulties. When I look back on my time there was laughter and tears more than anything else. Joy was the big thing and I made incredible friends from all walks of life.”

Behind the veil In the twilight years of her vocation, outside of daily prayer and mass, Sister Shirley spends her days visiting the sick and elderly, taking religious education classes in local schools and maintaining active participation in her congregation and community. Afforded a quieter life in this rural town, she gardens with passion and takes a keen interest in water saving for conservation. In the evenings, as the television glows in the ­living room, she emails friends abroad or simply chats with her housemate and friend, Sister Lorraine.

“We live simple but meaningful lives,” says Sister Lorraine.

“Sometimes I think people forget that we are just ordinary people behind the habits. I clearly remember a little boy looking so surprised when he discovered that we eat normal meals. Did he think we don´t need to eat?!”

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“

We live simple but meaningful lives. Sometimes I think people xxforget that we are just ordinary xxpeople behind the habits.�

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so surprised when we discovered we eat notmal meals. Did he think we don´t need to eat?!”

The kitchen is as bright and cheerful as the red laminate bench-top and the nuns themselves. Visitors enjoy sweet cakes and cups of tea served with a heart-felt interest from the sisters. Outside of the kitchen there is a distinct quiet and stillness that fills the convent corners. Sometimes the quiet settles comfortably, as if encouraging reflection amidst the religious figures in paintings on the walls. At other times, the silence and absence of personal items around the house gives the building an eerie empty feeling, as if hardly lived in. Closed doors hide disused bedrooms, a stark reminder of a bygone era for the order.

Sister Shirley has a small bedroom with a single bed, desk and a sink. On the mantlepiece old photographs reveal something of the room´s final inhabitant but there is no proud display of the MBE medal.

“I gave it to my nephew who liked memorabilia and those kinds of things,” explained Sister Shirley, almost shrugging off the accolade. “I thought, what would I do with something like that in the convent?”

In the laced window light Sister Shirley says morning prayers before putting on the habit over her cropped hair. She´s worn the veil every day for sixty years and believes it is a vital part of her identity.

“Nobody sees nuns today. Our sisters look no different from other women, there is no witness factor,” she says. “You´re not going to walk up to a complete stranger and tell them your problems, you need to speak with someone you can trust. That trust is what the habit provides.”

The future OLSH sisters have worked at home and abroad since the order was founded in Australia in 1885 by a French priest. In the 60s and 70s the number of OLSH nuns swelled to around 700 Australian sisters working across the Asia-Pacific, Africa and in Indigenous Australian communities. Today, Sister Shirley is one of just 150 living nuns of which the two youngest are already 40 years old. She thinks a lack of difference between the life of a modern nun and the life of a young Australian woman could be part of the problem.

“There is no challenge for girls entering the order today. If you were to join you wear exactly the same clothes as other young women. You would probably do the work you were already doing. You would have a lot of choices about where you want to go and what you do,” she said.

“More traditional orders in Australia and Europe – ones that still require the girls to wear religious habits and spend a lot more time in prayer – are getting vocations. It seems to me that girls want something that will be a challenge, and we´re not doing that.”

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Moving Forward - Historically

by Lizz Cardwell 36

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Paul Weisman, a crofter in North Tulsta, on the Isle of Lewis, sits at the kitchen table with his mother, as she goes through his finances for him after breakfast.

A confused rooster crows at the full moon. Woken suddenly, the sheep yelp and the pigs squelch, disoriented in the dark. A light flicks on, and a neighbor can be heard faintly cursing the rooster from his window, just a few meters away.

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hat first appears to be a small white house dropped into the center of a miniature farm, is, in actuality, a croft. Crofting, a system of small-scale communal agriculture, is native to the British Isles, but now exists only in rural villages in the Highlands and outer islands of Northern Scotland.

In an environment severely limited by climate and geographical make up, the historical and practical significance of 38

crofting is reflected in both the Gaelic culture, and the surrounding physical landscape. Agriculture is made possible in this region only as a result of centuries of crofters working, fertilizing, and irrigating the land. “Crofters have always been custodians of the environment,” explained Fiona Mandeville, volunteer board member of the Scottish Crofting Federation (SCF).

Despite the Highland clearances

of the mid 19th and 20th centuries decimating the population and nearly wiping out all evidence of local cul­ ture as Highlanders were forced from the land, the tradition and practices of crofting continue in these remote areas as both a historical anachronism and a living testament to Gaelic culture.

Crofting, which is unique in both its heritage and practice, has been and still is the “anchor and cultural mainstay

From top: David Weisman stands outside his son Paul's house in North Tulsta after grinding turnips to feed to the cows and pigs. At 73 years old, David comes over to his son's house every morning to help feed the livestock and tend to the crops.

Joe White, a crofter on the Isle of Skye helps his favourite sheepdog Spike over the fence separating his croft from the neighboring common grazing ground. Despite his excellent performance as a sheepdog, Spike often attempts to jump over obstacles that are too high for him.

Crofter and carpenter, Murray MacDonald sips tea in his shed in the village of North Tulsta, on the Isle of Lewis.

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“For me, crofting is our history, it’s our past, but it’s our future too.

New ideas are important and we really musn’t reject them.

The status quo really isn’t an option,

”

things move on.

- Fiona Mandeville Director of the Scottish Crofting Federation

Trenches and fences separate individual crofts in North Uig on the Isle of Skye.

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The Aurora Borealis, as seen from a hill on the outskirts of the crofting township of Tulsta, on the Isle of Lewis.

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Crofters and spectators look on during the cattle auction at the Dingwall mart.

of the highlands and islands for centuries,” Mandeville explained.

Mandeville is one of many individuals actively working to preserve the crofting tradition. Differing from other forms of small-scale agriculture in both its communal nature, and unique tenancy regulations, crofting faces an equally unique set of problems in a modern world largely dominated by industrialized agricultural production.

An exodus of young people from rural areas has hit the crofting community hard in the past 50 years, raising the median age among active crofters today to about 55 years old. Recent years have seen an increase in the number of incoming crofters, individuals who relocate to 42

the region from larger towns and cities around the British Isles.

A variety of hindrances surround this process, however, often inhibiting these newcomers from contributing to ­existing townships and thereby limiting any ­relief that new participants might provide to the ongoing aging trend. It is not uncommon for well-intentioned newcomers to have difficulty gaining tenancy of a croft, despite good intentions to work the land and contribute to the community.

Croft tenancy is typically passed down or inherited, and it is not unusual for current inactive tenants to want to hold onto their tenancy for sentimental reasons. Although this is understandable, it is detrimental to both the crofting com-

munity, which desperately needs new members, and to the physical landscape, which must be actively worked in order to remain arable.

The increase in tourism, especially in places like the Isle of Skye presents somewhat of a double edged sword. In both brings in revenue to struggling ­rural areas, and erodes the importance of cultural heritage. It seems as though, despite the hard work of individuals like Fiona, the future of crofting is by no means guaranteed.

In a place that feels like the end of the earth, as the the pre-dawn mist rolls in, it just may be that a tradition is fading in the light of a new day.

Joe White doses his sheep on his croft on the Isle of Skye. Dosing, a process where the sheep are injected with preventative medicine is the increasingly common alternative to ‘dipping.’ Each crofting township used to gather and dip their sheep in a preventative wash every few months. However, with the decline in community participation and growing environmental concerns, many crofters now choose the dosing method.

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XY Ladies ...going from a man Malene to a woman and Kirsten are women with a common point: they are transgender. They have lived most of their life in a body that doesen´t feel right.

by Cristina Casotto 44

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“I

must live as a full person,

not live this double life”

I

can

For around 20 years, Malene Andreasen, a Danish MTF, has lived with her wife and her children knowing she was a woman inside a male body. ”When I was a teenager I tried on the bra of my mother when she wasn´t home. Sometimes she came home early and was so shame about it. This thing made me down.”

The first time Malene met a girl and she saw her breasts she thought she would likes to have it. ”I think I had been ready in my head but at that time, in my opinion, it was wrong to think about that”, Malena said. During the day she tried to be the person she was born and sometimes at night she went to a LGBT Cafè in Copenhagen to live her woman life.

The Malene decisive moment

When Malene was 50 and her children was growing up she took a decision. ”My wife didn’t know this part of my life and she needed one year to accept it, it has not been simple. It was a long process to accept myself and at first I started to think about me like an old version and when I accepted myself like a woman I had been ready to show my identity, my world, my feelings to people ” , she said.

At that time she went to LBL, a Danish association open to the trans people, and she met a FTM guy. She had a good talk with him and they said that is important to tell and share experience about the transsexual people to the others and shared the

experience, therefore they decided to found the T-Group. This became a way to stop to feeling alone.

Thailand surgery

“It

is a long process. above all

I don’t want somefor me, it is my choice”

am not sick and one deciding

I

Malene thought that she had to change her physical appearance and decided to take female hormones. After 2 years she had surgery. On August last year she went to Thailand for one month undergo her sexual trasformation. She decided to do it in foreign country following a suggestion by a trans-friend that had the same operation. In Denmark, if you want to change sex, the government asks you to go to psychologist first.

“After the operation I relaxed my brain because before it was full of things about that moment and now my vagina functions is very good”, she said.

The surgery she had didn’t change her but was part of the natural process to become a woman; by this she could change officially name as ”Malene”. The voice for the MTF transgender doesn’t come by the hormones only for the FTM comes by the hormones. For trans women it is different, it needs a lot of training and it is hard, they have to learn to take the highest level of the voice and then everything happens automatically. ”At the beginning when I understood my woman nature I wasn´t attracted to men. I was only focused on the physical. But today I thinks I should try because I would like to understand what men means for me. I feel like a teenager a little old but it is fantastic” Malene said.

Kirsten Mols is a 56 years old divorced MTF who decided 5 years ago to live full time as a woman. In her opinion, transgender people are not sick, they are just a natural variety of people.

The first time she felt something strange was when she was five years old.

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“WHEN YOU GO AGAINST SOMETHING IT IS REALLY HARD. YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT IT AND SOMETIMES YOU CAN BE STRONG AND LIVE IN A DOUBLE LIFE BUT THE AWARENESS IS LIKE A GASOLINE AND EVERY THING COMES OUT”

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”I

was playing with my friend

John and I tried to wear John’s sister shoes; John told me that I couldn’t do it because I was a boy but at the end I repeated this for the next years.”

The double life

”I feel harmony inside. I don’t need to be magnificent, ask me who know, but

I

I

I

am

I am just me. If you then

I

really don’t

just call myself trans woman

don’t think about its any longer.“

As a 19 years old, during the university, Kirsten met a nice girl and forgot about her woman part for few months. Honestly at the end of this period, she realized that this feeling remaind and was something that had to be in her life forever. For many years she managed a double life: she pretended to be a happy man during the day but in her spare time she has be a female. At first her wife accepted the double life but with a condition: no one had to know about it. This lifesyle was difficult to sustain and did non tast. ”I became sad when I was not be kissed from my wife and I started missing thinking about love all the time; so 5 years ago I decided to the divorced”, she said.

When dressing as a woman Kirsten felt like someone who comes home after being, she felts like the real Kirsten and not a fake.

When i said ´I would like to be a woman´ people told me “You can´t be a woman because you are 6 feet, anyone can see that you are not a woman””, she said.

Kirsten decided not to get surgery because probably her sexual feelings world disappear. She is not sure if she wants to live without her sexual feelings. The government pay for the hormones and the surgery but don’t get pay for the breast ­operation, hair treatments and more; there are public helps but it is only a small part. ”Instead of discussing who has to pay for the surgery, is much more important to discuss if the transgender people like me had the right to be here. In the trans-community you are not consider a real transgender if you don’t want to have surgery. First you have to be ready inside yourself. If you are not ready inside of yourself surgery doesn’t help you”, she said.

MTF (male to female): are born male but see themselves as partly to fully feminine, FTM (female to male): are born female but see themselves as partly to fully masculine Genderqueer: are born with any sexual physiology, choosing not to identify as male or female Drag Queen: Male-emulating female, usually campy, often (not always) gay.

Butch: Masculine-appearing person.

Femme: Feminine-appearing person.

Drag King: Female-emulating man.

Transvestite: Person who enjoys wearing clothes identified with the opposite gender, often but not always straight.

Crossdresser: Another term for transvestite.

Androgyne: Person appearing and identifying as neither man nor woman, presenting a gender either mixed or neutral.

Kirsten IT Manager

It took like 15 years for Kirsten to live totaly like a woman in a free way; nowadays she lives with her girlfriend and is a IT ­Manager for Coop Denmark.

“The first thing I did to be accepted at work was to change shoes, then lady trousers, maybe female t-shirts, nails not red but clear, very neutral lipstick and some rings. In the past I was in a terrible state inside my head and I thought ´I have to change´; now I am me and i think also that the more you tell the story the more important it is not to back off because you are afraid. I am preventing myself backing off”, she said.

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The Reel and The Real

Azzam Omar Azzam debuted in a short film that depicts real life events in Gellerupparken, an official ‘Ghetto’ neighborhood in the western suburb of Aarhus, but also a home for many young people like him, which houses many dreams and aspirations.

by Kishor K Sharma

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Getting ready for the first scene.

The Reel

I

t is a bright sunny autumn day. A film crew is setting up for a shoot in Toveshøj near Bazar Vest in the western suburb of Aarhus. Inquisitive pedestrians stop by, many others look on from the windows of their apartments equally curious. A young boy, looking a bit nervous, appears for the first scene. He walks by an apartment and stops to light a cigarette. An old lady, with a plastic bag in her hand walks behind him and collide with him hastily, dropping her bag. He helps pick up the scattered stuff and they both walk away together. The director approves the shot after couple of takes. The film crew moves to the next location and start preparing the next shot.

“This is the first time I am acting,” says Azzam Omar Azzam, 18, with a smile. Azzam who plays the lead in a short film ‘Exit Neverland’, was born and brought up in Gellerupparken, the largest housing plan in all of Denmark, in the western suburb of Aarhus.

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It was constructed between 1968 and 1972, and contains a total of 2,448 apartments in two neighboring sectors, G ­ ellerupparken and Toveshøj, with 1,824 and 624 apartments ­ respectively housing approximately 10,000 people.

“The short film I am making is about 3 youngsters born and raised in Gellerupparken,” said the director Chadi Abdul Karim who also grew up in Gellerupparken. Chadi started in the ­­­­mid90s as a musician and actor, and now mostly works behind the camera in small-budget short films.

“I would like to say it´s a realistic social drama with real life inspirations,” he elaborated, “I decided to shoot the film here in Gellerupparken to make it more authentic”

P

eople call this place a ´Ghetto´, but for me it is a home, a ­community where people are helping each other, taking care of each other.

“The character I am playing wants to make something out of his life, though he falls in the trap of committing petty crimes with his friends,” Azzam answered smiling when asked if he relates to the character he is playing.

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At home.

With his cousins in Gellerupparken.

“I am not the same trouble-maker like my character in the film.

I think there is a reason why I’m here. I am not here to be at home and get some money from the state while just sitting and sleeping. I want to do something productive. The character I’m playing also wants to do something, to prove some worth. That’s where I find a connection between us,” he explained.

Gellerupparken Azzam’s grandparents moved from Palestine to Lebanon where his parents were born. In the late 80s, his parents moved to Denamrk. He says his parents share stories of Palestine with him, which they heard from their parents. He has never been to Palestine but ‘Palæstinenser’ is in the middle of his name on facebook and the map of Palestine in the locket around his neck suggest a strong sense of affinity to his Palestinian roots.

The Majority of the residents of Gellerupparken are of ­foreign origin and youths under 18 make up around 38% of total ­population. The area has also been officially labeled a ‘Ghetto’ - an ‘especially vulnerable residential area’ - by the ­­­Danish M ­ inistry of Housing, Urban and Rural Affairs (MBBL).

MBBL annually publishes the report based on measures like percentage of immigrants population, unemployment and ­ crime rates. Residents are now demanding the “Ghetto” label be lifted, as it detracts many people to come and live in this place.

“You can do something about two of the measures, crime and unemployment, but you can’t change people’s inheritance. You might soften the ratio, if Danish people move in but they are not going to move into the place labeled as a ‘Ghetto’,” says Helle Hansen, a journalist and the President of the Board of Gelleruparken.

“People think about ‘Ghetto’ as in American movies - a very ­dangerous place to go. It’s not actually the case because it is much more liveable here,” says Hansen who herself lives in Gellerupparken. She is optimistic about the government’s ­ new move to lift ‘immigrant’s population’ from the criteria of ­measuring the “Ghetto” status. Gellerupparken is also the ­poorest area in Denmark, with significantly lower e­ mployment and e­ducation rates. There are many challenges facing the youth here and one of them is attributed to their foreign ­heritage.

“It’s kind of a thing you have to remember, when you go out in the society people look at you as a foreigner,” says Hansen.­­­ 56

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“There is lack of proper connection and communication ­be­­tween teachers and parents. Many families also can’t afford to meet the needs of their children so, I imagine there are conflicts in the households. Many kids opt to quit school due to this,” she elaborated.

The Real Azzam quit his school last week and started working as well.

‘I feel bored at school. I can’t imagine myself sitting in the ­classroom for hours, I can not concentrate,” he said. ‘My mother was furious with my decision but my father said nothing, he just wants me to be happy.’

“I was born here, my friends and family are here. Most of the times, I spend my time here with them. I don’t see this place as a ‘Ghetto’. For me it is a community where people are helping each other, taking care of each other, but my Danish friends are scared of visiting me here because they have only heard ­negative things about the place,’ he complained.

“The young people must have faith in them, but most of them don’t have that courage or motivation to challenge the image that society has given them. If you keep telling them they are bad, they will end up being bad,” Says Chadi. He believes that media and society often portray only the negative aspects of Gellerup and leave out the positive things happening there.

“I never thought of myself as an actor but I saw an open call for acting so I applied and got into it. When I tried acting for the first time. I felt good about it. I liked it. It’s fun and there is a teamwork, which I greatly enjoyed. I also came to know that it is very expensive to get into the theater classes but I was ­offered to take some preliminary classes in the film school ‘Super 8’ after playing in this film. I’m making my mind up to join it soon. For now, I want to work for some time, save some money and buy my own car. I already got my driving license.”

“And on days like this when there is nothing to do, this place looks dead” he said looking at the sky, sitting in a park near his apartment few days before the shoot. The park has very few people, and the fallen autumn leaves along with gray sky makes the day gloomier. When his cousins joined him later, they walked up a small hill inside the Gellerupparken, where they hang out often. It is one of his cousin´s birthday. He later went to Godsbanen, a newly established cultural hub in downtown Aarhus for the rehearsal where Chadi works with an ­alternative film school, ´Super 8´, as an Instructor.

Rehearsal in Godsbanen, a newly established cultural hub in downtown Aarhus. There are three characters in the movie with Arab, Danish and Somali origins. The Danish actor in the film is a professional actor.

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A Mother and Two Tiger Cubs in Rock City

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It began in the night. Inside it is dark, cold and damp. Under the stars, heavy leather boots trample the dust. A child cries silently as the smell of fear fills the room. The soldiers are hunting tigers.

Passing time

by Terje Abusdal

T

he sun is about to set in Rock City, Namsos, 400 kilometres below the Arctic Circle. From the docks by the bus station, the hillside glows amber. The chlorophyll in thousands of leaves is about to degrade, and soon nothing but bare stems will be left behind. Like small conductor batons that together with the southerly wind from the parliament in Oslo, play a symphony about the fate of asylum children. A symphony that has played for years yet nobody knows the chords for.

First Movement. Escape Three people – like small tones in this composition – live in a basement at the Mission Center, about four roundabouts from the centre of town towards Trondheim. Sivalatha (30), Piriyanka (12) and Pirunthusan (8) are Tamils who fled civil war in Sri Lanka to Norway four years ago. After their last application for protection was turned down, the family decided to seek refuge in the small church to avoid forced deportation.

“We came to Norway in the spring of 2009, at that time we had already been on the run for two years. My husband was a soldier in the Tamil Tigers (LTTE) and I had to escape from government soldiers who were looking for me. They wanted to know about my husband’s network, who he was meeting, where he had been. I was terrified for my own and my children’s lives,” Sivalatha said quietly.

The mother of two has just turned thirty. Her face is small,

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surrounded by long, raven black hair tied in a thick braid. She has pearl earrings, a beige shirt with thin brown stripes and a strong story to tell.

“My husband was killed in December 2007, but I did not know it until six months later. I did not bury him and do not know how he died, other than that it was government forces that killed him and that they took his body.”

The civil war in Sri Lanka was one of Asia’s longest-lived conflicts. The separatist movement, Tamil Tigers (LTTE), were fighting for nearly three decades to create an independent state in the north of the island. After a major offensive from the Sinhalese government forces the tigers were defeated in May 2009, ending the war. The last part of the conflict was particularly bloody, as a lot of the civilian population were trapped in combat areas.

Second movement. Asylum The tan-coloured table in the middle of the room bears silent witness to church coffee, baked goods and red cordial. A steady, low hum emanates from the kitchen and fills the basement like the sound of the freezer in a country store on a warm summer day. In the corner are three sofa groups, from three different decades. Along the wall rests an out-of-tune piano, and under the small basement windows with red curtains drawn, a green ping-pong table.

Playground

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Coming home

Piriyanka

Pirunthusan

Excursion

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School

Classroom

Deceased father and husband

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Dinner in the basement

“It is hard to live here. I cannot go outdoors, plan the future of my children. My life is filled with pain and sorrow. All I care about now is my children, that they will not suffer like me, that they will be happy.”

Sivalatha sits hunched on the red chair, her head downwards against her delicate frame. She is looking at her nails with sad eyes, drumming her fingers on the table.

“My daughter is only twelve years old, but she has already changed schools five times. She cries when I say we might have to move again. It is painful for her to leave her friends, again and again, to start over.”

The Norwegian Directorate of Immigration (UDI) states in its asylum guidelines from 2012 – based on the UNHCR recommendations – that, in general, it is safe for Tamils to return to Sri Lanka. But all is not beaches, tea and elephants on the holiday island. There is still an unresolved ethnic conflict and frequent violations occur, particularly against suspected LTTE-sympathizers. As late as February 2013, a British High court stopped the forced deportation of a group of Tamil asylum seekers, on the basis of reports of torture.

Third movement. Asylum children “O´thou who fills the small birds,” sings a little child voice with a pure dialect from Trøndelag, also known as the region that make up mid-Norway. Pirunthusan is eight years old and knows dinner grace must be sung before food can be eaten. On the table is sodd, traditional fare consisting of grey meat lumps and broth, served with boiled carrots and potatoes.

The two children are more Norwegian than Sri Lankan, more Trønder than Tamil. After nearly five years in Norway they speak only Norwegian to each other. They also use Norwegian to 66

talk with their mom; the youngest child barely speaks his native language.

“The kids have a good life here. They go to school, they have friends. My daughter wants to be a doctor, my son wants to be a policeman or engineer. In Norway, they can decide what they want to be and it is possible,” Sivalatha said with a hopeful voice.

The little boy with the long name sings a song in thanks for the food, before he leaps from his chair and over to the couch.

He head-dives into the pillows; three servings of chocolate pudding with custard, two glasses of hot chocolate, a couple of slices of cake and an unknown number of glasses of lemonade gives power to the limbs. Energy needs to be burned.

“They will even be allowed to choose their own boyfriends and girlfriends. I did the same, but it cost me my family. In Sri Lanka, it is tradition to disown a son or daughter who marry against their will, and I have not seen my parents or siblings since I was 17.”

A little later in the evening, Piriyanka brings out the transverse flute. An unpolished version of Norwegian artist Halvdan Sivertsens song Butterfly in Winterland flows out of the barrel, guided by narrow, brown fingers. An appropriate song for the family, a couple almanac pages from the coldest months of the year.

“Piriyanka is almost a teenager. There exist gruesome testimonies about rape and abuse of family members of LTTE. She will be very vulnerable if we are sent back. We have no one to go to, to help us. My husband is dead and my family do not want to have anything to do with me.“ In February this year, the international NGO Human Rights Watch (HRW) published a 141-page report documenting extensive and systematic sexual abuse of Tamils suspected ​​ of affiliation with LTTE from 2006 to 2012. The report concludes with

Winter is coming

maintaining that ‘politically motivated sexual violence carried out by the military and police continues to this day.’

When asked about the HRW-report, Marianne Rusten, Head of Section in The Norwegian Immigration Appeals Board (UNE), says they are familiar with the fact that sexual abuse against Tamils from the north still can occur, but there is no evidence that this is happening systematically against Tamils or returnees. UNE evaluates every case on an individual basis, to determine whether or not the person from Sri Lanka is at risk in case of an eventual return.

Fourth movement. Finale Piriyanka and Pirunthusan were baptized in late September, just after the autumnal equinox, which marks the halfway point before the sun again turns, taking us towards brighter days. The ceremony took place at the Mission Center. In the feast that followed, sodd was of course, the main meal.

Spiritual salvation notwithstanding, the fate of the family of three is yet to be determined. A little flame of hope was lit in early October, when the Christian Democrats proudly presented their amnesty for asylum children, but the joy was short-lived when it turned out that the agreement signed on Sundvolden Hotel did not include all the asylum children.

A knock is heard on the basement window at the end of the room. Quick steps on the wet gravel outside, then silence. Sivalatha looks up, an anxious expression in the face, her cheeks are pale. Painful memories of nights in hiding, soldiers hunting.

“We cannot go home. Back in Sri Lanka there is no future, only uncertainty, suffering and death.”

THE CIVIL WAR IN SRI LANKA •

•

•

•

•

•

The Tamil Tigers, LTTE, were a separatist organization that fought for a Tamil state ­independent from Sri Lanka.

The mainly Hindu Tamils ​​ count for ­approximately one fifth of Sri Lanka’s population. The majority of the inhabitants on the island are Buddhist Sinhalese.

Between 1983 and 2006, the war is believed to have cost approximately 67,000 people their lives, most of them civilians. An ­approximate 800,000 were internally displaced.

An additional 40,000 civilians were killed in the war’s final months in 2009, most as a result of indiscriminate shelling by the Sri Lankan military.

In May 2009, following the fall of the last LTTE-controlled areas in the north of Sri Lanka, the government declared its victory over the LTTE. The Tamil Tigers´ leader ­Velupillai Prabhakaran was killed during the fighting.

In August 2011, the UN presented a report holding both sides of the conflict responsible for war crimes.

Source: Store Norske Leksikon and UN

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THE CALM OF CRISIS With a 26 percent unemployment rate, and public deficit at nearly 100% of the GDP, Spain is currently in economic crisis. In rural areas, families must rely on new measures to get by.

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S

weat rolls down the neck of Henry Lozano as he picks up his soaked beige hat and re-adjusts it on the top of his head under the sweltering Valencian sun. At forty-five years old, Lozano has spent the past three winter seasons picking oranges in eastern Spain.

He works every day in blistering heat, wearing thickcoated working gloves and long sleeves to protect his arms from the snares and thistles of the fruitful orange bushes.

Prior to being an orange-picker, Lozano worked in the construction industry for eight years. Like many others, he lost his job in 2008 at the height of the global economic crisis. The crash, caused when an economic property bubble burst, hit Spain especially hard. Five years later, the country has not yet escaped recession.

Henry Lozano is lucky — his only child is 25 years old.

After the crash, the construction company he was working for was forced to close, because no new work was being done. For two years, he looked for another job, while collecting government unemployment. He was able to extend his unemployment for an additional six months, but by the time his benefits ran out Lozano had still not found a job. Like many other desperate job seekers — primarily new immigrants and poorly educated men — Lozano took a job in the Spanish orange groves.

Oranges are the foundation of local economy in rural spain. Vast amounts of men traverse the rural countryside to work in various fields, picking oranges; women work in large industrial warehouses processing the oranges and packing them to be shipped. They live and raise their children in the same small towns where they grew up. In small towns in the Spanish countryside, industrialized orange farming is everywhere. Harvesting oranges is labor-intensive, but the task is still done by hand — each orange is removed from the bush with a sharp gardening shear, cutting the stem to a tiny nub to prevent it from puncturing the other oranges. Orange workers quickly fill crates with oranges they cut, and carry them to a central location to be weighed and loaded onto a tractor. From the tractor, the oranges are then driven by semi-truck to be packaged in nearby towns.

The workers are paid between €1.40 and €2.00 per crate they fill. It takes about fifteen minutes to fill a crate with oranges, and the work days are notoriously long; orange-pickers usually work from 7:00 in the morning until 4:30 in the afternoon or later. Typically, the workers earn between 60 and 80 euros a day. The work is mono­ tonous, physically challenging, and in sweltering heat.

Still, it is a way for families to keep food on the table.

Stories like Henry Lozano’s are quite common. According to figures released by the National Statistics Institute in September 2013, one out of four people do not have jobs — unemployment in Spain is currently 26.3 percent.

Further, according to NIS, nearly 13 percent of Spanish households last year had great difficulties making ends meet last year. ·····

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Parents wait to pick up children after school in Almenara, Spain. With such high rates of unemployment, the four o’clock after-school pickup has become a daily town gathering.

Above: Victor Agut Membrado, 31, takes a resume and job hunting class at the La Vall d’Uixó Red Cross. Before the crash, Membrado worked in the industrial maintenance sector. He has a professional certificate in maintenance, but has not been able to find a job in his field for two years. The lesson is being taught by Amanda Ballester Serrano, who has volunteered at the red cross for over a year. Serrano, who finished school in June, is twenty-five years old and also unemployed. In Spain, the current rate of unemployment for people under age twenty five is 53 percent.

M

aria Teresa Barelles adjusts her glasses as she positions a small blue tennis shoe between her thighs. Her gold bracelets jingle as she quickly ties the laces in a neat bow. The five-year-old girl of whom the shoe belongs squeaks “Gràcies” – in Valencian, a dialect native to the eastern coast of Spain – and hops down from the table she was sitting on to return to her desk.

Barelles teaches second grade in Almenara, Spain, a small town about 40 kilometers north of Valencia, Spain’s third-largest metropolitan area. Since 2008, Spain’s economy has shrunk by 7.5 percent, leaving millions of lowskilled laborers out of work. To combat the problem, the Spanish government made major cuts to health, education and social services and raised taxes. The public deficit in Spain has reached almost 100% of the GDP. According to Barelles, of the 21 pupils in her secondgrade class, only two families are known to be in economic distress. The Spanish catholic charity organization Cari-

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tas made major news this month when they released a report that current the current austerity measures coupled with perpetually low employment levels put Spanish families at high risk for family poverty. According to Caritas, the number of families living on less than €307 a month — their threshold for what is considered poverty — doubled from 2008 to 2012. By their standards, more than six percent of Spain’s population lived in poverty in 2012. A recent report by The Council of Europe also drew headlines when they warned Spain that its austerity program could have a devastating impact on children. According to their report, in 2011, Spain’s child poverty reached 30 percent, and the recent cuts in welfare, health and education have left some children homeless and malnourished.

Barelles knows that every second-grader in her class has a place to sleep at night and is being fed, but she knows that most families in her class are struggling to make ends meet. Of her 21 pupils, Barelles says two children have parents who both work full-time jobs.

Second grade teacher Maria Teresa Barelles, far right, attempts to lift one of her pupils, who is being picked up from school by her grandmother and her father. Like many students in the class, the student’s father is out of work. Recently, her grandmother has taken over her care.

A grandmother attempts to feed her granddaughter Paella on a Sunday, in Almenara, Spain.

Sundays in Spain are still typically reserved for family gatherings.

Extended families who live in the same city generally get together for lunch — the largest and most important meal of the day in Spanish culture.

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In fact, not many students in her class have one parent with a full-time career.

In the Valencia area, oranges are one of the primary exports. Most children in the class have parents who work seasonally as orange pickers, or have found temporary work as waiters and grocery store workers. This has supplied at least some degree of employment for many of the parents in Barelles’ class.

Earlier this fall, Barelles’ class had the opportunity to take a field trip to the zoo so students could see firsthand the animals they were learning about. The trip cost €22 per student.

“All of the students, even those with financial problems, went and paid,” said Barelles. “Even if they cannot afford it, it

is important to the parents that the children have opportunities for their education. The parents believe it’s important for them to go and see.” In this specific case, Barelles did not inquire as to where the money came from; she believes that even parents who are unemployed still want to pay for their field trips if they can scrape together the money.

When families are struggling, it is often grandparents who must help their children. Barelles believes grandparents are helping the families of most of the students in her class. Help comes in all sorts of ways; from preparing lunch for the students to helping families make ends meet by contributing financially out of their pensions. It is not uncommon for students in her class to get picked up

from school by their grandparents and spend the majority of the day – including dinner – with them. ····· Still, in towns like Almenara, on the outskirts of Valencia, traditions survive despite the hardships. Sundays are still reserved for paella lunches with the family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and grandparents all gather together to share the traditional Valencian dish. Bulls still run through the streets during local festivities, and sweets are still thrown by parents to small children following baptisms. Spain’s economy is showing slow signs of recovery, but the people survive.

Living with less, it seems, does not necessarily mean living worse.

Above: Women return to work in an Almenara orange storehouse at two o’clock in the afternoon.

Right: The income disparity in Spain is growing. In 2011, the number of dollar millionaires increased by 13%.

Not everyone in rural Spain is struggling — this family hired a 20 piece marching band to march them through the streets of town to the baptism of their baby daughter.

Right, opposite page: A fire bull runs through the streets of Moncofa, Spain, during town festivities. Bulls are an important part of Spanish culture — and bull runnings draw significant crowds from nearby towns. At midnight, this bull was released into the streets, horns ablaze, the final celebration after a week of local religiousbased festivities.

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The present is a gift The small family Skjerning-Rasmussen lives in an allotment garden.They never go to the cinema or have dinner at the restaurant.

Marta is working as a clown and Jon is an acrobat.

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Seven o´clock in the evening. It´s just after sunset and already the sky is turning dark blue. The autumm leaves are drifting in the twillight when Marta stands in the kitchen to prepare dinner. The whole family sitts at the table. The only light comes from the candles around them.

Sumsumsum - this hypnotic sound is the only background music in the littlehouse.

The air conditioner hums over their heads.

by Emine Akbaba

“

Good crazyness”, said Jon, touchs his beard and describs their life.

“We are a crazy family, but in a good way,” he laughs, “There is bad crazyness and good crazyness. It means just to be individual and to see life from another angle. We do not wanna be something special or extra­ ordinary.”

He prepares workshops with social workers to talk about ­individual personalities and how to behave with them. His goal is to create a ­ ­sympathy between people. The circus is a good way to realize that.

Jon and his wife Marta do not have an average middle-class career or an expensive car. They want to give their children the freedom to research their opinion on their own way.

For them there isnt a separation betweeen “normal” and “abnormal” lifestyles, but still exists social norms about how people should behave and live in the society and those are influencing our view and the way we categorize the people around us.

Inside their tiny house are books, paintings, toys and mirrors. Every inch of space is taken up.

“We built the rooms step by step, when we have the financial o­ pportunity.

The furnitures are a mixture of everything and describing our life. Just the kitchen is from IKEA, like in every Danish house,” sa Marta while she cleans the flour.

“After the graduation in arts at the Universitat Politècnica de València“the clown in me just appeared and wanted some attention,” she laughs, “So I became a clown and I still am. My father had imagined a different life for me. I should teach art at the university.

A god job means to him to be independent. He always wanted to be an musician, but he never lived his dreams. He was just too afraid.”

Marta explained, as a mother she gets emotional while working with sick children.

Crazy in a good way - Jon teaches students from the department pædagoguddannelsen at the VIA University College.

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Marta has lunchat the hospital with the patients as she does everyday that she works.

Marta and Jon value creativity and encourage their kids to explore and create through play.

Clowning around The hospital kitchen is filled with childrens’ laughter. They stand around the counter. The worktop is cluttered with flour and pastry. The smell of disinfectant is in the air. Some parents play with their child at the table.

The cancer-stricken children wait for her from Monday till Wednesday.

Marta bakes some rolls, plays on her Ipad guitar or she gets her nails painted. The clown can let the children forget the dreaery daily life at the hospital for a few hours. “I have been working at the Aarhus University Hospital in Skejby for three years now and I do not have to be really fun to make that happen,”said Marta, “they just wanna have some distraction. We do not have a job to earn money and we would never accuse each other of not having one. It is important to do your work with passion and we appreciate it to have the freedom to choose. Then there is no past, no future, just the present and that is a gift.”

Another day at the allotment garden. It is getting dark again. The streets are empty and the inhabitants are in their small houses. Jon tells Felix a good night story. They lay in his bed. Every space of the wall is covered with poster of FC Barcelona. Laughter comes from the kitchen.

Marta and Sylvester plays together.

Jon reads to Felix, as he does everynight before Felix goes to sleep.

“There is no past, no future, just the present.”

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Marta and Jon make it a point to spend as much time with their children as they can.

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Everyday

Drops in the East Wind, 1966 You’ve left the big storms behind you now.

You didn’t ask then why you were born, where you came from, where you were going to, you were just there in the storm, in the fire.

But it’s possible to live in the everyday as well, in the grey quiet day, set potatoes, rake leaves, carry brushwood.

There’s so much to think about here in the world, one life is not enough for it all.

After work you can fry bacon and read Chinese poems.

Old Laertes cut briars, dug round his fig trees, and let the heroes fight on at Troy.

Olav H. Haugew

Produced by the Photo 1 International Students.

Danish School of Media and Journalism Fall, 2013 Front cover image: Cristina Casotto Back cover image: Terje Abusdal Editor: Lani Holmberg and Kayla Kauffman Copy editor: Lizz Caldwell Picture editor: Cristina Casotto 86

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