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snowqueen-68 · 4 years

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I survived Christmas...

Yay! @billyhargrovens had me watch The Witcher and I will forever be grateful - ‘cause where have you been all my life Geralt of Rivia?! :) Anyway, here’s a bit more of MY story. Thanks for reading!

...His sentences were brief and clipped, matter of fact, delivered in the manner of someone used to ripping band-aids off wounds quickly and efficiently. Lily blinked rapidly. “Um …?” she could feel his words attempting to penetrate into her brain and not making it. “Please say that again,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. Bryan did the same and speaking more softly said, “Your parents have found you.” He paused for a brief moment, cleared his throat and then continued, “I don’t know what Emmett intends to do. I think we’re gonna have to move you again. I know it’s not optimal but at least its safer…For everyone.” This time Lily heard his words, but still couldn’t process them immediately or completely and she swayed on her feet as momentary dizziness made her head spin. She gripped the edge of the sink, hard, with both hands, so hard she could feel the chill of the porcelain sinking into the pads of her fingertips and she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, green eyes wide and horrified her, her face pale and without color. Emmett and Evelyn had found her? Really? Could this be true? “Lily? Lily?” Bryan repeated her name, sounding concerned, “are you there? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He paused, “Well, not intentionally anyway.” Lily shook her head forgetting that he couldn’t see her, forgetting about the receiver, still tucked against her shoulder. It fell, and she scrambled for it, bringing it back to her ear. “Did you say they’d found me? How? And how do you know?” She shuddered. Sweet Mother of God, nobody could put the fear of all the Heavens and Hell into her like her own father. Or mother for that matter. “Well, the truth is,” Bryan said, sounding more than a little wary, as if reluctant to tell her, “late last night my guy on the inside escaped Emmett’s compound. Your father did quite a number on him, so we think that’s how he found out. Long story short, they know where you are. I guess you’ve been their primary target for…well since you left. Anyway, like I said, we have to move you.” Lily reached over and tapped off the running water before moving away from the mirror and out of the bathroom. Thoughts raced through her mind, disorganized, without direction, as she tried to make sense of this unexpected news. “Ok wait…wait…wait. Let’s back up,” she said, crossing the broad hallway and pulling the phone with her into her bedroom. “First, what do you mean ‘guy on the inside’? You told me that you were just going to watch Emmett from a distance. I told you what he was like, I told you everything I knew. And you sent someone in any way? You are the little guy, Bryan. Unless you’ve grown drastically in the last three years. What were you thinking?” Bryan let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, I saw an opportunity to insert someone so I took it. If I could capture Emmett Allen and put him away it would…” He stopped, and Lily shook her head as she plopped herself on her bed placing the cradle of the phone at her feet and straightening up to stare out her window. “It would what Bryan? Be great for your company? For you?” “No. Well, yeah but for the town, too, Lily, you know that. Emmett’s been doing a number on this place for decades and he needs to be stopped.” Lily pushed a strand of long, dark hair behind one ear and rolled her eyes. “So, you thought you’d take it upon yourself and your security company to take care of the biggest bully in town? Not a great idea.” Bryan said nothing though Lily heard him sigh and she felt a momentary stab of guilt. She knew that Bryan and his team had been after her father for years, ever since Bryan’s stint in security at Allen Warehouses. Lily was pretty sure he’d seen lots of things out there that he’d wished he hadn’t, but what he had seen had given him the drive to start his own company and to start collecting evidence on Lily’s father, his corruption and crimes. Up until today, Lily had assumed that the biggest thing Bryan’s company had ever accomplished was to spirit her away three years ago right out from under Emmett’s very nose. No mean feat that. Afterward, Bryan had promised to lay low for a while and Lily thought he’d understood just exactly how dangerous Emmett Allen really was. “Is your guy ok? I told you that Emmett could smell a rat from a mile away… no offense to you or your people of course. He’s still alive you said?” Bryan chuckled, regaining his sense of humor. “No offense taken. And yes, he is still alive. But for your information, Miss Allen…. sorry, Miss Ashford, that guy of mine lasted in your father’s organization for…well, since you’ve been gone. He’s good. He knows what guys like Emmett Allen are like, he knows how their organizations function. Or he did until yesterday. Fortunately, we got to him in time before they killed him. Sadly, several of your father’s men did not make it.” Lily sucked a breath in through her teeth. “Well that’ll put you on Emmett’s hunt-down-and-kill list,” she said dryly, “if you weren’t there already. Doesn’t like being made to look foolish or stupid, my father. Which kinda sounds like what happened.” Bryan exhaled wearily like maybe he hadn’t slept in several days. “Lily that’s why we have to move you. We’re pretty sure your father didn’t get much information from our man. He still doesn’t know for certain who he was or who he worked for. But he did get enough to discover that he’d been in there since you left. It did not take long for your father to connect your disappearance with our arrival in his org. It’s a good bet that he’s now convinced that you had a hand in the whole thing and that you have given away state secrets. As you love to point out to me, Emmett is not dumb.” “No,” Lily agreed, “no he’s not.” She gnawed at a corner of her lower lip as she thought about Emmett piecing together that his own daughter had betrayed him because Lily knew that was how he’d take it – as a betrayal. Which, technically it was since she’d turned family and company secrets over to a firm whose primary goal it was to put Emmett Allen behind bars forever. Add to that the fact that she had just up and disappeared one day and, well, she was sure that it was all more than Emmett and Evelyn could deal with. Having a daughter choose to leave the family circle in such an underhanded way most likely had not played well in the Allen’s social circle, and Emmett would surely define sneaking away in the dead of night with no previous warnings as underhanded. Lily rolled her eyes again, she didn’t have to work too hard to imagine her parents’ individual and collective rages, she’d been a witness to those many times during her childhood. And beyond. The thought made her chest ache and she pressed at her sternum with her free hand, ignoring the panicked spinning in her head. “I am not going to let them get to me, I’m not,” she muttered and forced herself to take several slow deep breaths. I am not going to let Emmett and Evelyn scare me or make me fold to their demands, I am not going to let them make me move again. She kept these thoughts running through her head as she considered the last three years of her life. Finally safe here in this relatively unknown German city – unknown to Emmett anyway, at least until today – safe with the American Army, safe in her job. Her assumed name was close enough to her old one that she’d barely noticed the change. She’d made friends, built herself a life and now…now it was all over? No way. If truth be told, it hadn’t occurred to her that Emmett might still be looking for her. Oh sure, she’d expected that he would at first, at least right after she’d escaped his clutches. As she had noted to Bryan, her father did not like being made to look foolish and that’s exactly what she had done. But after three years?! Really? It made no sense! For the love of all that was holy, she was 29, an adult and should have been able to live her own life any way she saw fit, without fear. Clearly, she’d been mistaken. Rage burned in her belly, warming her extremities and coloring her cheeks, and Lily shot up from her seat on the bed, unable to sit still. She paced back and forth in front of her closet and the window, not really seeing through the lace curtains that hung there, or past the beam of afternoon sunlight filtering through the pattern. “I’m not leaving, Bryan,” she said softly, anger clogging her throat, preventing her from speaking any louder. “I won’t.” “What?! Lily are you even listening to what I am saying?” he asked, sounding truly exasperated now. “I am not sure you understand the gravity of the situation. It would be foolish of us both not to consider that your father sent someone out to bring you back the moment he discovered your location, so- “ “No!” she cut him off. “No, I am not moving. When I left my parents’ compound that night I swore to myself that I would not allow Emmett to push me around, frighten me, and I am not giving into him or whatever scare tactics he might decide to use. I am just not. I will take my chances. Look, Emmett might be capable of many things, but he won’t hurt his own daughter. Maybe he will even just leave me alone. Why shouldn’t he after all these years?” “For God’s sake are you hearing yourself?! That’s ridiculous. Don’t ever make assumptions about a man like your father. You’ve told me that yourself, a thousand times! He is more than capable of killing, clearly, and I don’t think it will matter one whit to him that you are his daughter.” His words turned Lily’s blood to ice, and she swallowed hard. She knew Bryan was not wrong, she’d grown up with Emmett, and he was nothing if not cold and ruthless. But still, the idea of leaving Bamberg, her job, this house…well it was untenable, not to be considered. The very thought of it almost made her feel physically sick. “Bryan, I like my life here! I have friends, a house, I love my job! You guys GOT me this job! And now you want me to leave it?” “Of course I do not want you to leave that job, Lily. I don’t want any of this to be happening. But this is for your own safety, never mind that my firm has spent a lot of money getting you where you are and keeping you safe. You are an asset, Lily, an important part of this investigation. You are moving and that’s that. We have no more time to argue about this.” Lily’s eyes widened in surprise at Bryan’s words. He’d never spoken like that to her before. She narrowed her eyes, excess emotion beginning to make her head throb painfully. “No, I am not moving, Bryan,” she finally said making sure her own tone sounded just as definitive as his had, “And here’s why…” She paused to take a breath, the connection of the long-distance call crackling in her ear. “I gave you evidence against Emmett, Bryan. Lots of it, though clearly you don’t or didn’t feel it was enough. Since, ya know, you put a guy in there anyway, despite everything I told you about my father, despite everything you saw when you worked at his warehouse. And now because of your guy, Emmett knows where I am, so thanks for that. In my book that makes us quits and I get to do what I want no matter how much you spent on me, no matter what kind of ‘asset’ you consider me to be. Frankly, I don’t feel I owe you, and so now I am telling you, not asking but telling you. I am not moving again. Let Emmett come and get me if that is what he wants to do. I don’t really care. I’d like to think he’s got better things to do.” These were bold words that made her knees quake, but she held her ground. Like she said, surely after all this time Emmett and Evelyn had moved on, forgotten her. So what if they had found out where she was, it wasn’t like her departure or her telling tales to Bryan’s little security company had had any effect on them anyway. They had no reason to be concerned with her at all. In Lily’s mind she was as quits with them as she was with Bryan. “Honestly, I think maybe you are totally overreacting about all of this, and well maybe being a little selfish.” Bryan groaned. “Jesus, Lily, this is ridiculous.” He was close to shouting at her now and she held the receiver away from her ear, “You are acting like a stubborn, spoiled child. Emmett is completely capable of doing exactly what you think he cannot. Have you forgotten what he’s like…like in the last five seconds?” “Of course not! How could I? I-” “Hang on,” Bryan cut her off, his tone sharp and annoyed. She could hear his voice, muffled now, speaking to someone else, probably in his office. Bryan didn’t seem to have any other place. Lily waited, pacing then stopping to tap her foot impatiently on the carpet, and then pacing again, the hand holding the phone cradle swinging vigorously at her side. The movement whipped its long black cord back and forth until it managed, without her really noticing, to snake itself around her feet, tangling her up. She swore and, sitting down hard, bent to untangle the cord, once again tucking the receiver between ear and shoulder. As she worked to free her feet from the cord she marshaled more reasons why she wasn’t going to move. After a few moments, Bryan returned. “OK, I’m back,” he said, not explaining what he’d been doing, “and I talked to the people I had working on this case and they all agree. Emmett’s going to come after you and he’ll be there sooner than you think. We are out of options-” “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lily cut him off, still sitting on her floor. “What are you talking about? We are not out of options, I don’t care what your ‘folks on the case’ say. There are always options. Though in this case moving is not one of them. I am staying here. You can guard me here, that is an option, but I am not moving. I am sure you have time to get guys here. There’s no way Emmett is going to move that quickly, I’m like 5,000 miles away.” Bryan said nothing, and Lily climbed to her feet again just as a sudden sweep of black, like a flourished cape flashed by her bedroom window, then swirled out of view. “What the…???” She stepped closer to the glass, pressing her nose against it so she could see through the curtains and around the edge of her window. She gasped and ducked so fast that she sat hard on her rear again, awkwardly rolling and scooting herself into the corner between the window and her closet, her heart pounding hard. Oh my god, oh my god. She could barely breathe. Calm down Lily, calm down. On the phone, Bryan was speaking again, and Lily had to work hard to hear him. “Lily, I get that you are pissed about having to move again and I’m sorry,” he sounded like he was talking through clenched teeth and a tense jaw. “You may think that Emmett is willing to let you go, but you have to trust me when I say he’s not. So, as I tried to say before, I’m sending someone over to your house right now to get you. Please be ready to go.” “It’s too late,” Lily said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded when her gut was twisting with a nauseating combination of chagrin and fear. Bryan had been right, she had let her emotions get away from her and now she owed Bryan an apology that she literally had no time for. “What are you talking about?” he demanded warily. “What do you mean it’s too late? Lily, what did you do?” “Nothing! I just mean it’s too late,” she said again. “Lucien is here, he’s outside my flat. I just saw him.” Bryan sucked in a breath and swore. “Did he see you? What’s he doing?” Lily shook her head, rolling it side to side against the wall. “No, I don’t think so. I was sitting on the floor and there are lace curtains over my window and now I’m huddled in a corner out of sight. He can’t see me, and I have no idea what he’s doing. I think he was heading for my front door, though I doubt he’s gonna knock.” “Is your door locked?” Lily’s eyes widened and she frantically tried to remember if she had locked both doors when she got home. She was supposed to but sometimes she forgot. “I think so...wait, hang on a minute…let me listen.” “Lily, wait…don’t expose yourself, stay hidden, stay put…” His warnings sounded frantic. Lily ignored him and pressed the receiver against her stomach muffling the sound of his voice in the material of her bulky sweatshirt and strained to listen. Silence reigned, nobody rattled a door or knocked, though Lily thought she could hear several masculine voices outside. Which meant Lucien had company. Frogs and Coffee! She put the receiver back to her ear. “He’s not trying to get in, but I think he brought friends. I am gonna see, at least if I can see where he is I might be able to figure out what he’s going to do.” “Lily be careful! Don’t do anything rash, help is on the way!” “I won’t, I will be,” She promised, and then placing the cradle of the phone behind her back on the floor listened again for any sounds that might give her a clue as to where Lucien was. They were still out in the back but the masculine voices were fading, moving, as far as she could tell, away from her front door and around the other side of her house. She doubted that meant that Lucien was giving up and leaving. She wasn’t that lucky, Lucien wasn’t that easily deterred. Lily considered her next move. The idea of leaving her room made her feel vulnerable and exposed but better to know what Lucien might be up to than to be surprised and all that much more defenseless. She pressed her back against the wall and slowly pushed herself upwards, leaning over just long enough to get a glimpse out of the window, letting out an explosive breath when she saw nothing lurking beyond the lace curtains. The coast was clear. Feeling a bit safer, she moved out of her corner, nervously looking back over her shoulder with almost every step as she made for her bedroom door. If Lucien and his buddies still lingered anywhere on the path outside the house’s entryway door, she would be much safer in the hallway. They could decide to backtrack and peer in at any moment and see her and that would be disastrous. Moving quickly, Lily tucked around the corner of her bedroom door into the hallway, leaning back against the wall and catching her breath. She’d been holding it in like she was afraid that Lucien might hear her if she allowed herself the luxury of oxygen. Light from the windows of the two bedrooms across the hallway illuminated the broad space but she wasn’t too worried. Those windows were high up off the ground, so unless Lucien could scale the side of the house or had a ladder, she didn’t think they posed any danger. What was dangerous was lingering too long where she stood. If she looked left she could see directly down the hall and through the set of glass doors that sat behind her dining room table. And the curtains at those windows were sheer and see-through. With her dark hair and brilliantly red sweatshirt, she stood out like a bright red flower in a bed of white blooms, not good. Briefly Lily considered peeling herself out of her sweatshirt but the t-shirt she wore beneath was also red. “Who knew clothes were going to be dangerous today,” she muttered, following her own instinct to make herself as small as possible and crouching down to the floor again. If someone passed by that dining room door they’d still see her, Lily knew, but this position made her feel a bit better nonetheless. She skittered diagonally across the hallway as quickly as she could on all fours, the tile floor hard against her knees, coming to a stop at the edge of the wall on the opposite side. From here the bulky shape of her sofa, which sat directly in front of her in her living room, partially hid her from view and that was a good thing. Lily allowed herself to pause again for just a brief second before peeking around the corner of the hallway into the large square main room of her flat. The room itself, brightly lit despite the fading afternoon, was empty except for furniture. Through the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that took up almost the entire front wall of her flat, Lily saw four men gathered in a tight circle, talking and loitering on her front patio, a big octagonal-shaped slab of concrete that looked out over her street and the village beyond. Over the summer a small table and four chairs had occupied that space, but now Lucien and three other men stood there deep in conversation, no doubt discussing exactly how they were going to kill her...

#original work fantasy romance

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bibliotheksbewohnerin · 7 years

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“Don't villianise the cis het white man. he was born that way. and was not born a villian due to this.“

is the the new, hot copy pasta?

[image description: screenshot of a youtube comment by someone named Daniel, it reads:

“Would it be better if there were just less cis het white men? Sorry. but here's the thing. There is a set of people who often can gather on youtube and other places like it who have a set of allies with sympathetic symbiotic or parasitic goals. These groups fall into two broad categories. One. the idealogically possessed white loving anti feminist uber capitalist. two the SJW RADFEM anarchic communist BLM anti trump anti brexit. So when you start to say something like CISHETWHITEMALE... ugh. Then you seem to fall into one of the camps. this creates an edge. Because i just responded to this Emma Geisler. And i DIDN'T echo chamber her exactly. My message sounds like it is critical. So Since Emma falls into category two in assumption due to her use of terminology. My answer by reason of detraction falls into category one. Though i am no white supramacist i am white. though i am no misogynist i am male. Though i am no expert i am in my thirties diagnosed with asperger syndrome at 14, I am a Cambridge Graduate in Education and English, where i focused on autistic education. And i have ten + years of employment history working with autistic and asperger individuals in social care and education contexts. THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE except in fictional media portrayals of attention on Autistic people who are not cis het white. Your statement is false unless it is pertaining to movies and drama shows only. which you do not indicate. So it is false. And it is dangerous in it's falsehood. Feminism has shown recently a side to itself which covertly infliltrates other spheres of influence. Only to co-opt and corrupt that sphere of influence to gain more power. Many reading this may not believe me. But I advise you to research the rise of feminism yourself. Especially with reference to Athiesm+, GamerGate, And the partnership with the religion of Islam. (go ahead and be ignorant if you want, but if you want to be informed. really study that shit. it's ridiculous) Autism is a buzzword feminism wants to own. it is also a buzzword for the online misanthrope of any creed.. (how many of you have heard or read the words "Autistic screeching" recently?) How much do you think the cis het white men are keeping from the non cis het white men autists in the world? How much do they want to be the only people seen as autistic? Autism is an over acute process of thought. characterised by a triad of impairments and sensory differences. usually with reference to hyper or hypo sensitivity to stimuli. It presents in as many ways as there are personality types. And as such is prone to misdiagnosis. As there are other clusters of personality problems which can emulate autism and mental health difficulties which autism can present as. and the opposite is also true for these scenarios. When I began working with autistic people one of the biggest problems was the number of boys and girls who had autism but were diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. This was particularly a problem as invariably when you medicate an autistic person with schizophrenia medication such as was available then. they then develop schizophenic symptoms. And once that happens they just have schizophrenia as well as the autism. and that was caused by misdiagnosis. Now there is a different problem. Many "true" and "documented" diagnoses of autism are going to people with personality disorders like Narcissistic Personality Disorder (and it's covert cousin) or Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder And individuals suffering from long term abuse also see their depression and PTSD as Autism. and are told it is so. (on a seperate note, you ever tell someone you are autistic and they immediately switch into "patience for the retard" mode? dafuqizdat? i was communicating fine with you up to now. why does it now seem you are going to pour my drinks in a sippy cup?) Autism is more prevalent in boys. It is not more prevalent in white people. I live in a multicultural city and my client base across my career has been almost a perfect intersection of all races of autistic men and boys. (why not girls? I generally work with the more violent behaviourally, and these are positions where gendered hiring is necessary as a safety consideration, I have worked with asperger and autistic female clients but there are a lot fewer of them and they generally have needs which require their main carer be female) Emma Geisler. Don't villianise the cis het white man. he was born that way. and was not born a villian due to this. Don't be racist or sexist in the pursuit of equality. that is an oxymoron. Don't use your feelings to get in the way of facts. if i may this is showing a lack of practice as an autist. We are supposed to have a bit of an advantage with that kind of anti-emotion thought process. Don't be a pawn to someone else's queen. Don't assume you have to go kill the king. if a cis het white male is getting attention towards Autism and asperger syndrome. Then more attention could be being used to get acceptance and understanding of autism. If the attention leads to understanding and acceptance that is fantastic. But attention on it's own does nothing. Attention on it's own equals autistic behaviour being interpreted by the ignorant as a criminal offense. The man on the bus in australia who wanted to high five small asian women. Who got filmed and publicly shamed by a white woman for his behaviour (sitting right next to small asian woman. holding his hand up in the air and asking loudly for a high five while smiling at them without regard for personal space) Anyone here see a problem with this behaviour IF HIS AUTISM WAS TAKEN INTO ACCOUNT? Instead he was targeted for beatings and threatened with death by locals for his abusive misogynistic racist behaviour. and people WHO DID KNOW had to rally to his defense and i cannot thank them enough for doing so. He cannot remember faces. it's an autistic possible symptom which permanently affected him. One of the people who is friendliest to him is a small asian woman who gives him a high five whenever he asks for it. One of my clients had the EXACT SAME ROUTINE with me. It's a reassurance and a safety check for that guy. putting the puzzle together gets so much easier when you look at the back of the box.social justice groupthink is the enemy of autism. individualism is how to deal with it. Autism is presented to the world like a kaleidoscope pattern on a wall Autism is like the coloured glass filtering light to create the pattern The autistic person's personality is a lightbulb throwing a kind of light at the coloured glass and onto the wall..... that was some rant. last time i went on a rant like this i got accused of going testerical. Good word eh? All this is from the heart, without malice, and with a lot of concern. I hope it finds you, reader, whoever you are, well and i hope it has helped your understanding in some way.“]

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uncheckedtomfoolery · 7 years

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What about the hot Nazrin opinions? She doesn't necessarily seem like she's from Japan, and she seems a lot older than many animal youkai.

Oh, look. Someone else who likes Nazrin. There might be a whole… five of us, now? Standard disclaimer applies (this is my opinion etc.), rest is below the cut. The good news is that I’ve written a lot on the topic before and can pillage that for something to put here. Bad news, it’s gonna be a bit of a rambling mess maybe.

Off the bat, I’m going to address the stuff you point out. You’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage there; I hadn’t realised she’s quite as old as she is, for one. I’m also at a loss to explain her name, sorry; one could make a case for a corruption of ‘nezumi’ into ‘naz’ but that seems like a real stretch, and it doesn’t really map to anything else that I know of. That’s not a very promising start, but I’m glad you brought that to my attention. As for age, funnily enough, this makes her older than Mamizou (assuming she’s basically Danzaburou-danuki. Indeed in that case, Mamizou’s not even half as old as she likes to act, by youkai standards.) Now, onto things I can say with a touch more confidence. First of all, what does she do, exactly?

Shou and Nazrin are both leaders, after a fashion. Shou is a figurehead. No, that’s not meant to diminish her importance or anything; it’s shorthand to say that she’s the one who’s seen, who talks and smiles and inspires people and is generally very impressive. Shou is the face. The regal one, if you like. Nazrin stays behind the scenes. She organises, she manages, she cleans up little problems and keeps everything running smoothly. It’s a job that’s partly about saying the right things when around others, but equally, about saying the wrong things, pointing out the stuff no one is quite willing to admit. Being, at times, the realist who’s willing to speak out of turn. It’s not always nice and it’s definitely not glamorous. She prefers it that way. She doesn’t care for glamour, and praise is awkward at best, offensive at worst to her. It’s a pretty thankless job, and she prefers it that way; she’s the sort of person who enjoys having something to complain about now and then, and despises the spotlight. I take the view that she probably could have a shot at the avatar role if she wanted to. She’s smart, capable, reasonably powerful with her gadgetry on hand (which is about where Shou sits), and has a good heart and a mind for tactics. Sure, Bishamonten would probably let her sign on. She doesn’t like that, though. She’s not the type and cannot stand the idea of… avatar work, basically. Time spent in the limelight, being generically inspiring and dealing with people all day, like Shou does. She’s quick to say she could never do what Shou does, even if “I don’t want to” is a lot more accurate in practice. Depending on my mood, I’ve even written her as not being especially religious at all. She likes Byakuren, but she’s no strict Buddhist. She has no strong opinions on Bishamonten/Vaisravana, but if Shou wants to do this, she’s happy to help. That sort of thing. Officially, since this seems to work out best (and because Shou is meant to be the public face), she’s a follower. In practice… ask them which one is in charge and they’ll both laugh at you. It’s not really like that.

Next up (yes, I’m still going, you knew what you were getting into after the last few posts), how does she view Byakuren’s private crusade for youkai/human unity and the like? Well and poorly, all at once. In her mind, youkai are ideas. You can’t change nature, you can bend it a bit, and eventually either you fail or it breaks outright. Things like ‘you don’t need to settle’ and ‘everyone can change’ are uniquely human luxuries in her eyes. Byakuren and her followers have no clue what they’re doing. They’re a bunch of misguided idealists, thinking they can save the world, going off on their hopeless crusade. Everyone can change; that’s why the human doesn’t quite understand youkai, the tiger spends her days being big, impressive and scary, the mouse hides out of sight and finds little hidden things, and the yamabiko shouts all day… right? Case in point. Whole thing is stupid. And you know, she loves that. Sure it’s probably hopeless, but these are good people, working towards a fine cause, and she’s not about to stop them. The world needs more optimists and good-hearted people, and she’s more than willing to enable them. No one’s place to stop them, right? The closest she’ll do is contribute as she is; after all, they can use someone who is neither unfailingly idealistic, nor always a good person. Having someone like that on hand is useful, she figures. Besides, she does what she can in her quiet way to keep the wheels turning. In a way, she’s probably somewhat reassuring to others in the temple. The transition to a Buddhist lifestyle is no doubt challenging to many, and we know not everyone at the temple plays by Byakuren’s rules… so seeing someone higher up who’s not exactly perfect and is willing to cover for them now and then probably helps. Both because of her age, and all the little rats/mice (same word in Japanese, who knows?) she looks after… she has a slightly Tewi-like trend (I refer strictly to my own Tewi as mentioned in previous posts) to… well, basically to treat them as children. Let the kids dream, it’s good for them and she’s happy to encourage them, keep them safe, all of that. Would be rude to outright say that to them of course, so she doesn’t. Who knows? Maybe some day they’ll prove her wrong and it turns out they can do everything they set out to do after all. That would be nice, it really would.

On faith, I’ve written something I can more or less copy; may as well not let it go to waste. She’s a follower of Bishamonten, broadly. She’s a helper to his avatar, given. She would hasten to say, though, that she’s not particularly religious. The gods do a good job of getting much too full of themselves without any encouragement, and she’s already close enough to the ground without any kneeling adding to that. Anyone who can change the world by snapping their fingers and still needs validation from others bowing and scraping has, in her view, some explaining to do. Likewise for those who somehow have so little to worry about in this world that they need to start concerning themselves with the next as well.There just isn’t the time for that sort of thing.Not that she’d put it that way to most. This does not preclude living in a Buddhist temple, or attending the sermons, chanting sutras, and even observing some restrictions. It’s a matter of making others comfortable, and she finds it to be a wonderful exercise for centering herself anyway, so why not? Out of sight, she doesn’t adhere to the rules quite as closely; she’s no saint and would be suspicious of most people who claim to be one. It has its advantages, too; there are things the youkai at the temple need to talk about, and some of them are the sort of thing you need to bring up with ordinary people, not saints.She likes to think she does ‘ordinary people’ quite well, in her own way. You don’t take one of the columns holding temple up and call it a pilgrim, and in the same way, she‘s no worshiper. Hijiri is a good person, and if the others at the temple aren’t, then they certainly try their best, which is all anyone can hope for. Bishamonten, too, is probably a decent sort on the balance; she hasn’t quite had enough time face to face to figure him out, of course, but he seems fine enough. Shou likes him. Shou doesn’t usually like bad people. There’s faith there. Not for gods, no; they do fine by themselves. She’s just found some very good people to put her personal faith in.

Because this inevitably will come up: I do not view her relationship with Shou as particularly romantic. Or rather, it probably has been at some point, it might be now, and that’s not really important. Youkai are odd, and they’ve also known each other since forever ago; I figure they’ve basically attempted every (positive) configuration possible for their relationship, and at this point they slip into whatever they like the idea of at the time. Meet their mood for a couple decades. They’re going to be very close whatever happens, anyway.

So on a closing note, having talked almost entirely about her work around the temple and her role there, what about her free time? Well, it’s usually uninterrupted, for one. There’s a quiet assumption that she knows what she’s doing (and therefore she can afford any break she’s taking), to begin with. Besides that, though, she always seems so tired. She might be, with all that she does, but partly… well, honestly, she’s just one of those people who has looked and acted exhausted her entire life. It doesn’t necessarily mean much. Her love of casual grumbling only pushes this further. If you ask her what she does in her free time, she’ll laugh, shake her head, and promise to tell you if she ever gets a chance to find out. Let her have her exaggerations, she thinks it’s funny. The real answer is… a few things. She’s an avid reader, for one, but an eccentric one. Memoirs, accounts of great battles, anything written by tacticians and generals of the past, and so on. It’s not an act of faith, just an overlap of interests with Bishamonten. Actual martial pursuits, though- well, no, she never found that too interesting. Nazrin is the kind of person who reads instruction manuals for fun.

She also has a bunch of picture books, which she reads to the little mice in her basket. They don’t understand a word and she doesn’t expect them to, but they seem to enjoy it. And lastly, she has a love of go, shogi and (after Murasa introduced her to it) chess. She’ll read about it, practice openings, theorycraft endlessly, and solve puzzles. She even plays against herself a bit, though it’s not ideal. She’d rather not, you understand, but there aren’t many that would play against her near the temple, and she’d rather not get rusty.

…And there you have it. More than anyone ever wanted to hear about Nazrin, I’m sure. Future askers, if you want to hear about a character and also don’t want a gigantic wall of text hurled at you, please tell me and I’ll restrain myself on levels of detail.

#Touhou #Asks #Anonymous ask #Nazrin #Long post #Nearly 2k words oh dear #Presented with my apologies #Analysis

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bad-pooka · 6 years

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Coming Together: My Attempts to Understand Trump Supporters

I have struggled to understand Trump supporters. I have been engaged in a personal battle of understanding since the surreal horror of watching the 2016 election results. Every time hateful, racist, misogynistic, and narcissistic words come out of his mouth or across his Twitter feed I feel like a game show hostess gracefully waving my hands in the direction of the ugliness. “Look at what you won! Enjoy your orange-painted lemon of a car.” But they do. They enjoy it. His supporters continue to take pride in Trump as president and I have been baffled. Since then I have made efforts to really understand why this is happening. I had to. After all, people that I consider to be of perfectly good character support him. I thought that either I had seriously misjudged some of those close to me or they had been completely fooled. Right or wrong. One or the other. No in-betweens. Either I was completely wrong or they were. But things are never so simple.

He says what he means. So this is one of the first phrases I get when I ask someone why they like Trump. He speaks his mind regardless of the consequences, they say. He doesn’t get all mealy-mouthed with platitudes or double talk. He is an everyman who is brave enough to speak his mind, and it’s high time America had someone who could just say what they mean. My Trump-supporting fellows are correct in that we do deserve honesty from our public officials and we have gone far too long without it. We have come to expect that our leadership can and will say one thing and do another. We take it for granted. I can completely understand how believing that we finally have a politician in office who speaks his mind honestly could feel like a breath of fresh air over rolling, stale fields of lies. But my Trump-supporting fellows are also so very, very wrong. Just because someone regularly says things so offensive that he obviously doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about it doesn’t mean that he is an honest person. It just means he is an offensive person. He has regularly and demonstrably lied to us and perhaps even to himself. The first thing he did upon taking office was to lie about how many people attended his inauguration. Of course, he also talked about how the rain held off just long enough for the cosmically important event of his inauguration to take place, so you are already taking anything out of his mouth as hyperbole at the very least. The two obvious lies I mentioned are just some of the first ones, and among the very innocuous. Others are much more harmful. The New York Times and other respected publications have written entire articles about how many times he has lied- what he has said, when he said it, and the proof against the various claims and statements. Yes, there are plenty of conspiracy theories, but even if you rightfully sweep those aside you are still left with an entire flaming dumpster filled with falsehoods. Where we come together: Screw lies. We have the right and responsibility to hold our public officials to the highest levels of honesty.

He’s not a career politician and this makes him a man of the people. It is extremely appealing to believe that someone who represents us in government actually is one of us, that they have gone through the same problems and joys and understand all the details about our concerns and share them. But he’s not a man of the people. Unless you are in the 1%, you and Trump don’t come from the same place at all. Trump lives in the bubble of extreme wealth. Things that are practically a life and death matter for us don’t blip on his radar. They don’t have to. The safety buoy of his wealth floats him well above the thousands of things that concern us deeply and make up a good deal of our life’s work, struggle, and challenge. Even for a normally wealthy family, the difference in the life he leads and the life you lead are impossibly vast. He is only the “man of the people” for the tiniest and most sheltered percentage of the population. Where we come together: I think we all want people in office who represent us well and accurately, and that there is particular comfort in knowing that a representative has led a life similar enough to ours that they are going to hold some common beliefs and understandings. We should definitely be able to know that the people who represent us in government will actually represent us.

His good business sense will make America prosperous again. Trump has spoken a lot about making America more prosperous and bringing in more jobs. A promise to bring more jobs to our country can make us feel like we’re about to enter a lovely new era of wealth. A lot of people must look at the money that Trump has and believe that because he has that much money he must know how to make it. They may also make the assumption that because he has that much money he also wants you to have that much money and is about to make that happen. But Donald Trump does not want to make you rich. Donald Trump wants to make Donald Trump rich. Well, richer. Donald Trump also kind of wants to make some of his rich friends even richer, too, when that serves him. But he doesn’t care about making you rich. His policies thus far have helped companies be more corrupt, more harmful for the environment, and, yes, make more money- for a small percentage of people who actually own some of the businesses that are benefiting from various tax breaks and policy changes. None of those changes have made their way down to the rest of the population, and they won’t. It is going to stay in the pockets of CEOs, owners, and investors in major corporations. Because it is designed to. Also, he is a terrible businessman. At the very least he is a hit and miss businessman. He’s done well in some projects and failed horribly in many more. What he is good at is entertainment and branding. This is pretty ironic, since if you were to assign a brand to America he is very busy destroying that brand in the eyes of nearly every other country on the planet. So really, he’s not even doing branding well for us as president. But people sure are watching him. So he’s got that down, at least.

So in the end, we all pretty much want the same things. It doesn’t matter what political party we belong to, how much we make, or what our gender or personal beliefs are. We all want to be financially secure, to be empowered through good representation, and to be able to trust our leaders and, yes, our media. And I think both sides can even agree that all of these areas need some work. But all of that doesn’t quite answer why people support Trump. Not when each “good” reason has such evidence to the contrary. Not when his rhetoric is promoting racism, misogyny, and greed. Not while he angers and provokes multiple world powers and makes childish threats involving nuclear bombs. Not while he turns a blind eye to our environmental crisis. And not while he shows such disregard for basic human dignity. None of these are American values.

So I figured that the situation might be kind of like falling in love. No, really. We place expectations and beliefs on our sweethearts, especially early in a relationship. We may even miss a lot of who they really are as an individual at first because we see “lover”, and our minds apply to that person all of the qualities we are hoping for in a lover. Who hasn’t tried to tell a friend that the person they’re dating is oh-so-wrong for them? This is a thing we do, a thing so easy to do that we often have to consciously be careful not to. When we are lucky, time allows for us to see that person as they really are and we can slowly fall in love with each revealed facet of the individual. Or, you know, the opposite. And when we do find out that we’re wrong, we are sometimes still so caught up in who we wanted them to be that we will believe that they just… changed or that they weren’t the same person they were when we started the relationship, even though anyone else could say otherwise. So how hard would it be, really, to miss someone’s faults, even the glaring faults? We’ve all done it. And so I think some people listen to Trump and take what they are hoping for from it. This is also why I suspect that the greatest majority of people who support Trump are still the basically good people they were before the election. They are still people that I have a heck of a lot in common with, instead of some big mass of enemies that I need to get my fight on with.

Now anyone who is as upset about Trump’s actions as I am may be wondering why I’m being such an apologist for Trump supporters. I’m not. But I am much more in the mood to build bridges. We have far too much in common with most of them to do otherwise and I think it will do us much more good than bickering and finger pointing. He is benefiting from our broken social bonds. He is benefiting from our infighting, our side taking, and our anger, and I’m pretty done giving him that. This entire political farce has done us the favor of bringing to light a number of things we need to heal together. One example are those supporters of Trump who have an entirely different problem going on. I’m not so naive that I think every person who votes against human dignity or the Earth’s survival is just a little bit misled. Actual racists, bullies, and misogynists have been stirred from their hiding spots in the slimy muck and emboldened by Trump’s toxicity. These are not the people I’m talking about. These are the people that I think the average Trump supporter and the average “leebral” like myself can happily team up and stop. I think we can differentiate between people who are genuinely harmful and those with better intentions. And I also think we can step back from our own perspective enough to honor other people who actually are doing their best to be decent human beings and good Americans, and to move forward with them. And if they’re still managing to stay in the first flush of presidential romance with the Cheeto in Chief, even against our best girlfriend advice, I think we can be patient with them and help them out anyway. Because the crash from that kind of blinded romance is a harsh one, and we all still have a lot of work to do.

#politics #democrats #republicans #Trump

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africanpete-blog · 7 years

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part two

Oct. 8, 2016

I’ve been trying to learn Swahili, but it’s hard. I spent a whole Sunday trying to learn the numbers 1 to 10. Moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano, sita, saba nane, tisa and kumi - easy to write out but impossible for me to remember. Yesterday I greeted my Maasi doorman with ‘Kariba’ which later I realised made no sense at all. I should have said ‘Habari’ I was mixing it I guess with ‘Karibu’ which means ‘welcome.’ Kariba is a lake in Zambia. The only way things sink in is if can make some association with the word. So if I want to remember daladala - the word for the private bus, I have to imagine the Dalai Lama sitting on one. Recently, in an effort to try to speak Swahili, I called the waiter over in a bar and said - ‘tafadhali ninataka kisahana cha jivu la cigara?’

‘Uh!’ he exclaimed, as if I had asked him to take off his trousers. Embarrassed by my failure, I muttered in English that I was trying out my swahili and wanted an ashtray. Not a successful first attempt, but I will keep trying, or maybe quit smoking.

Last week I cycled to my beachside fitness centre for another yoga class. On the way I noticed there were people sweeping the roads this time, which was good. The road edges, where the sensible cyclists ride, are usually covered in sand and broken glass, so it was good to see the sweepers out. Drivers honked at me as they approached from behind, possibly a gentle mocking response to the large, wide brimmed and slightly ridiculous straw hat I am now wearing to keep the sun off my face, but most likely because that’s what drivers do here. They tend to honk gently, just to tell other drivers that they are approaching, whereas in London drivers honk out of anger - indignant because they feel wronged, and that an injustice has taken place. There’s little road rage here. On a journey in a Bajaj the other day, the driver did what most Bajaj drivers do, which was to swerve left and try to overtake the vehicle on the inside, and in doing so, he almost hit a young Tanzanian chap on a bike. The cyclist wobbled a bit, regained his balance, and then as he moved on ahead he merely turned round and gave the driver what I would describe as a slightly irritated glare. He was inches from being driven into the steep ditch at the side of the road and that was all he did. If it has been me, I would have screamed something foul. But here, a slightly irritated glare is about all you get. I’ve seen a couple of accidents, where cars have hit other cars. The drivers have got out, examined the damage, given each other slightly irritated glares and then got back in their cars and driven on.

I arrived at the yoga class early. It’s unusual in Dar for anyone to arrive early, or even on time. A Kenyan friend told me it’s not done because there is no-one there to appreciate it. So I sat under a tree outside and had a preparatory cigarette. The yoga almost killed me. It wasn’t just the hour and a half of incredibly hard body bending, stretching, limb knotting and unknotting. At the beginning we were told to stretch our arms up over our heads and my finger was struck by the blades of a rotating fan above my head. Another inch and the fan would have sliced the tip off and blood and finger tips would have splattered over all the yoga participants. Not very zen.

I managed to continue, but I fear this power yoga might really be too much for my creaking bones and aching joints. The yoga teacher urged us all on, saying 'Angels fly, because they think lightly' but I still opted out of the hand stand. Fuck that. A step too far for me.

After the class I cycled on into the centre of town to find a music shop, to buy some strings and other bits, so I can repair some of the broken guitars I've been given. I gave up cycling as I got very lost. There are virtually no street names or signposts indicating where in the city you are. I finished the journey in a Bajaj.

The shop was located in Kariakoo, which was the same bustling and chaotic area of the city centre I visited last time, with narrow streets clogged with cars, bikes, and Bajajs. Every city in the world is choked by cars, but Dar must be one of the worst. I sat in the back of the Bajaj, gripping the rail in front of me while my fearless driver zig-zagged though whatever lane, track, pavement or mud track he could find, missing bikes and people by inches. Eventually we found Dar's only music shop. I was disappointed to see very few musical instruments on show. After much searching the dusty cluttered shelves, a set of classical guitar strings was found. I climbed back into the Bajaj and half an hour later I was back on my bike. I arrived back at my apartment exhausted, hot, and in need of a stiff drink to calm my nerves.

24th September….

I gave a piano lesson to a colleague yesterday, and afterwards we decided to find a bite to eat. I am sure that Tanzanian food is unique and wonderful, but so far I have not been lucky with restaurants. I’ve been getting the chef who’d once poisoned a coach load of nuns with undercooked meat and now to be sure, he cooks it till it’s dry, chewy and utterly tasteless. This evening was no exception and I was served a plate of the tough, inedible, dry grissly beef. As I chewed endlessly through the meal, picking out the tasteless undigested morsels from my dilapidated teeth, I asked my colleague about her experience of Tanzania, about its political life, and tribal culture. She’s Kenyan and has been living here for six years, and everything she said was fascinating.

She told me from which tribes the other Tanzanian teachers originated, how their physical appearance was an indication of what tribe they were from and how frightened her mother was of her marrying a man from the wrong tribe. She said Tanzanians told jokes based on individual tribal stereotypes. (A Maasai, a Chagga and a Holoholo walk into a bar, and the Chagga says……)

She told me of her trip to Germany when she was a child and how she refused to go out and instead stayed indoors, staring out at the street below, looking for black people. She said it was the first time she was aware of the colour of her skin. I understand this well. Every time I step outside I am acutely aware of the colour of mine…

The Tanzanians stare at me a great deal, because my whiteness stands out, in the same way a black or asian person walking down the street in a provincial town in the UK might get stared at. It makes me feel self-conscious and perhaps a little uneasy, but most of the time I think it’s just a look, a curious stare. I may be attracting more attention because I’m frequenting places where locals hang out, rather than just hanging around the ex-pat ghettos. I get that curious stare especially when I’m on a bike. I’ve had local people laugh out loud when they see me holding my arm out as I move gingerly into the centre of the road at a junction, to indicate that I am turning right. No one else ever does that here. Not sure how long I will keep that up for…

If I happen to be wandering around a local market or a relatively poor part of the city, sometimes small children will call out ‘How are you?’ and then hold their hands out in expectation of money. The assumption is that white means rich, as racist in a way as a white person in the provincial UK clutching their wallets when a black person approaches, but less offensive perhaps.

Today I had a lunch appointment in town with another Tanzanian, who is a friend of someone I know from the UK. But in the morning I had to shop and when I returned, my charming young Maasai door-keeper asked to borrow my bike. I tried to explain that I would need it in an hour and he nodded and smiled and said yes, but after he left I got nervous because I had no idea whether he understood me. This is why I should learn Swahili as quickly as possible. He brought it back of course. I was being anxious again for no reason.

I was in a cheerful mood as I cycled to the restaurant and the journey amused me further. I saw a car ahead had broken down at the side of the road, and the driver had plucked half a dozen leafy branches from the nearby bushes and placed them in a neat line in the road, to indicate to approaching drivers to give a wide berth. Who needs bollards? A while later I passed a sign with a large arrow pointing up a side road. It read: ‘Office For Directional Signs.’ It is I believe the only directional sign I have ever seen in the city. I must pop in one day and find out what exactly they do. Then as I approached the restaurant I passed another restaurant sign which read ‘Chattanooga Iranian Barbecue Restaurant.’ Sounds very exotic but after last night’s experience I won’t risk it. Probably too much chew chew for me….

I met my friend at the Cape Town Fish Restaurant, located on the beach, very near to where I have my yoga class. We sat on the terrace, looking out onto the bay, with its clear bright calm blue water and white sands, and sailing boats and dhows. Delightful. The restaurant was posh and populated by the wealthy westerners and Chinese. It was my first expensive treat. (I’m trying to save a bit of money here, because I’m still clinging to my dream of buying an old factory in the south of France and creating a puppet theatre, once my African adventure is over.)

I avoided the meat this time and munched happily through a modest tuna salad.. My friend was charming and once again I found myself asking many questions about her life in Dar, and her experience of Tanzanian politics and culture. She talked about local government corruption, which is still endemic, despite the noble efforts of recently elected President Magufuli. I’ve since been reading up on the ivory trade and the fact that Tanzania has lost over sixty per-cent of its elephant population in the last three years. They’ll all be gone very soon, thanks to a the lucrative trade with Asia, and the inability of the Tanzanian government to stop the hunters and the officials who protect them. Shameful madness. For centuries African tribes have built their huts out of branches and elephant dung, which I guess might pong a bit for a week or so, but which lasts as long as concrete and is so much more environmentally friendly. Personally, I’m not keen on going on a safari and sitting passively in the back of a jeep and looking voyeuristically at what remains of Tanzanian bush life. I just wish everyone else would leave these beautiful animals in peace.

I love my balcony. From it I watch the sun rise over the ocean in the morning. In the evening I gaze down at my neighbours. In front of me is a patch of wasteland, and a shack, half built with breeze blocks and finished off with sheets of rusty corrugated tin. It’s occupied by a large family. There’s no electricity or water. Next to the shack is a makeshift toilet, a hole in the ground closed in by sheets of plastic tied to sticks. I’ve seen the mother in the morning, washing herself using one small cup of water. I watch the entire family sitting under a tree every evening, the children playing with bits of cardboard, old tyres and any other pieces of rubbish that fire their imaginations. The children run around, barefoot and cheerful, until it gets too dark to play. Around the house, chickens wander about, sometimes a few goats arrive and graze, and occasionally a few cows. Next to the shack, across the mud track road, in sharp contrast, is a large smart house with beautifully kept gardens, high fences and huge palm trees. It has a pack of guard dogs, who tend to howl like wolves most nights. In the morning I watch the ground staff open the large steel doors, and a couple leave in their shiny silver BMW, passing in front of the shack on their way to work.

And at night I can can look up at the huge expanse of sky, littered with big bright stars, and once a month, the biggest moon I’ve ever seen. Lucky me.

28th September.

We’ve had some serious rain today. The roads were pretty bad first thing this morning when I cycled to school, but after that I watched the torrents fall most of the day. On my journey home, the pot-holed track leading from the school had become a river of fast flowing mud.

Further along, a temporary road bridge over a small river had been completely washed away. This bridge was next to the main bridge that had been washed away during the rainy season last January. A few dozen men in high viz jackets were standing around the river bank, scratching their hard hats. I have to find a different route to school tomorrow.

The good news is that my flight case of musical instruments that I was supposed to get a month ago, has finally arrived. I was delighted to unpack my trumpet, my lovely guitars, recorders, cds of my favourite music, books, and all my old teaching notes. It’s a joy to have those few familiar things around me again.

The guitars and puppets now hang on the wall of the music room. Bit by bit, I am starting to raise the profile of music and drama in the school, which in the past had been unable to offer very little of either.

I am enjoying the teaching, though I am still making mistakes. It’s taking a while to remember how to do it well. But every day there are very satisfying moments. A few days ago one of my five year old Kenyan students walked into my class during the lunch break and boldly picked up one of the child’s guitars I’d been given. She said she wanted to play. So I sat her down and placed the guitar on her lap and managed to get her tiny black fingers on the third fret of the top E string. I sat with her, picked up another guitar and showed her how to strum. She picked it up in a flash and together we strummed. I started to scat and she joined in with her beautiful little voice and we improvised for ten minutes. It touched me deeply.

One of my guitar students is a young Tanzanian guy called Abraham, who works as a school gardener and caretaker. At the start of term he brought me his old beaten up guitar, which I have restrung and repaired as best I could. He’s progressing very well. I’ve not taught guitar for twenty years and I am no follower of pop, so I’ve taught him to play ‘The House Of The Rising Sun.’ I’m a bit embarrassed about not having anything more contemporary to use to teach guitar, but it’s a good tune to learn to get the basic chords under your fingers. Abraham’s English isn’t great and being from Tanzania, he’s almost as unfamiliar with western pop as I am, though he says he likes country music. I found an old Sting cd and we listened to a couple of tracks. He recognised the tune ‘Englishman In new York’ and so I’ve got him playing that. A weird choice I know, but the chords are simple.

Several of the male staff and groundsmen play football after school every Friday, and I had been invited to join in. The idea appealed. I remember the first school I worked in - a large and rough UK secondary modern school, where the staff played football in the gym every Friday and I used to enjoy it. It used to be amusing to watch some of the quiet and well-mannered staff, who had been wound up all week by their rough, unruly students, finally release their pent up rage during the game, and run about tackling like wild beasts.

But that was thirty years ago. On Friday I decided I would play. All day I was thinking it might not be great idea. My recent power yoga session had tested my ageing body to the limit. Was this not going to finish off my knees completely? But as my close friends know, common sense is not something I tend to use a great deal and I also know there’s a lot of Peter Pan in me, who is oblivious to the fact that I am no longer eighteen.

In the boys changing room, I lost my balance and toppled over as I was stepping into my shorts, and pulled a muscle in my thigh. That was not a great start. I limped out onto the football pitch in the heat of the afternoon sun. My fellow players were teachers and young male ground staff, playing bare feet, and of course running rings around me.

But I played as best I could, and survived. I limped back to the changing room after an hour, completely soaked in sweat and panting, but content I had done no permanent damage to my body.

I cycled back to my apartment, as dusk was falling - a great time of the day in Tanzania. The light turns orange, and the colourful street stalls selling pyramids of oranges, tomatoes, onions and watermelon

start to get busy. Everyone seems to be in good spirits. The stall-owners smile and wave at me, now they’re used to seeing me pass on the bike. It’s good to feel like a local and to be a part of a neighbourhood again. One the way home, I saw a man walk up the side of a huge palm tree in bare feet, with no rope or harness. I’m not quite sure what he was going up there for, but it was amazing to see. It was one of those moments when I stopped and watched, delighted and incredulous. It made me think - wow, here I am, living in Africa!

In my last blog entry I used the term ‘third world’ and have have been admonished for it. One is supposed to say ‘developing country.’

Living here confuses me because what I see is a huge clash between traditional African culture - with its tribes and customs, and western culture, with its shiny materialism, its cars and smart phones. I’m not convinced that the term ‘developing country’ is much better because it suggests that countries which have not taken on board the advancements of western culture are underdeveloped, which of course is not true. The longer I live here, the more see the way in which the trappings of developed nations are destroying the unique characteristics of Tanzania. After all, its the developed nations who create the ivory trade will soon wipe out the remaining elephants Tanzania. It’s developed nations who sell petrol to Tanzania which is so high in pollutants that it would never be allowed to be sold in the west. Every morning I see the Maasai, dressed in his beautiful red robe, sitting under a tree. He’s often on his smart phone, which is incongruous enough. But he’s also chewing on a white stick. The stick is miswak, and he’s cleaning his teeth with it. It works much better than a toothbrush, and the miswak contains natural antibiotics, minerals and ingredients which are apparently more beneficial to the human body than toothpaste. Miswak has been used to clean teeth in Tanzania for centuries and every Maasai I know has white and healthy teeth. I must learn how to say ‘May I have some miswak to brush my teeth?’ in Swahili. Goodness knows what the result will be. Wish me luck.

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