Talking ‘bout evolution

This article was first published on The Malaysian Insider on 12 December 2011.

As a child, it was mandatory to obtain Mom and Dad’s permission before I could leave the house. It was also mandatory to inform them of my whereabouts at all time. Thankfully, I was mature enough to understand that the rules were imposed in my best interest. Hence, I followed them without much resistance.

Dad was however, particularly unreasonably strict. He would go to the extent of forbidding me from participating in optional school trips and innocent outings with my cousins. There were times when I would spend days prior to the actual trip obsessing about how I would ask Dad’s permission, only to know that the answer would be a strict no. I would resort to political tactics by using Mom as an ally. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time it ended up in failed negotiations and days of cold war that followed.

You see, Dad is a reclusive and introvert person. He believes in traditional values based on hard work and sacrifices. He believes that one must sacrifice frivolous pursuits and individualistic wants in order to maintain harmony and achieve academic and professional success. He also believes that if you release a horse’s rein, the horse will go wild and never return once it has tasted freedom.

So I grew up feeling in awe and at the same time resentful of Dad. I respect and admire him for his integrity and honourable pursuits and yet I can never agree with this particular principle of his that restriction is necessary to keep a person from straying. Perhaps, that is one of the reasons why I’ve become fiercely independent and suffocate under authoritative environment.

A couple of months ago, I had the opportunity of accompanying a group of young American fellows on a private tour of Malacca. The tour guide was an elderly man who takes great pride in his origin as a bona fide Malaccan. He was the perfect person for the job as he was knowledgeable, passionate and eloquent in his narrations.

I was particularly amused by his footnotes, some of which were not entirely relevant to the purpose of that tour. You see, he avidly shared his strong condemnation of the government’s destructions of historical monuments and treatment of indigenous people. He was a sympathiser when it came to the topic of corruption and he even claimed that he works closely with indigenous tribes to protect their lands. You could see that he abhors some of the government’s policies and was not ashamed to express it, even before a group of foreigners.

After the tour, a few of us, including the elderly gentleman, stopped at on old-fashioned coffee shop on Jonker Street to have coffee. I brought up the subject of the Bersih 2.0 rally in the most innocent of manner and asked what he thought about it.

Indeed, he got pretty heated up but to my surprise, he was extremely critical of the demonstrators. He said that he did not condone the rally at all. He agreed that dissent is necessary but definitely not Bersih 2.0’s method of choice. He argued fervently that assembly of any kind in protest of the government is not the Malaysian way. National harmony must not be compromised at all cost.

When asked what else could be done if all diplomatic negotiations have failed, he was unable to produce a convincing answer. When asked how a peaceful assembly can be harmful, he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His point of argument was solely from a cultural perspective. It’s simply not the Malaysian way of doing things.

I found the juxtaposition of his contrasting views intriguing and could only conclude that he belongs to an older generation of Malaysians who still hold on to certain traditional values that are simply too strong to let go.

There are lessons to be learned from these two stories. I grew up in a generation that places greater value and appreciation for human rights and liberty as result of economic progress and globalisation. We are no longer isolated from the rest of the world and hence, are able to evaluate, compare and conclude for ourselves that respect for human rights and true democracy is fundamental towards progress and human evolution. Some would say that this is solely a Western concept but seriously so what? Isn’t it naïve to say that we want to be as progressive as Sweden but only insofar as its economy is concerned but not its form of democracy? Isn’t the very piece of garment worn by most Malaysians on a daily basis influenced by Western fashion? Besides, honestly what is the Malaysian way? Is the Malaysian culture based on corruption and abuse of power?

Democracy and respect for human rights is synonymous to progress. Brutal killing as a form of entertainment in a gladiator arena is a thing in the past. Child abuse and gender discrimination are now prohibited by our laws and they were not plucked out of thin air. It would be extremely foolish of the government to believe that all Malaysians of my generation would be content with just economic progress and half assed implementation of selected rights according to their whims and fancies.

Nature would dictate that human beings will continuously fight for their own survival. Once they’ve succeeded in that, they will move on to fight for freedom and progress. It’s called evolution and has been historically proven by the fall of great dictatorial empires.

Some would argue that there are those who genuinely reject progress and it’s only a selected few who impose on them the notion of progress. As true as it may be, the key word here is choice.

Dad’s method of discipline was wrong. If I had in any way betrayed his trust, he would have the right to punish me, but not to restrict me from the very start. The same applies to those who want to go on a peaceful street protest. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but that choice must be presented to those who have the desire to do so. Punish those who abuse that right but not those who want to exercise that right responsibly.

Evolution is part of nature and it will happen whether we want it or not. There comes a time when every child will want to grow up to become a free adult. The question is when and how. This is something the government must think about.

Technorati Tags: Malacca,Bersih 2.0,peaceful assembly,democracy,gladiator,evolution,Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011

Say No to the Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011!

An example of video posted by someone on the bus

Technorati Tags: Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011,PAB2011,PA2011

Souvenirs from France

This article was first posted on The Malaysian Insider on 12 November 2011. The original version is reproduced here.

They live a lifestyle where clichés appears original.

Even with an armload, a baguette is conspicuously seen tucked under an armpit. It is almost as if that part of the body, often scorned as an object of odour despair, is made to cater for that precise purpose. I find this curious observation simply marvellous for who would’ve thought that the dreaded armpit can serve as a tool to hold food?

Here, dogs are men’s best friends, even for the destitute and homeless. The odds of encountering a homeless man begging for a stick of cigarette are higher than a stray dog begging for food. A man can be homeless but a dog is usually never without a master. I suppose it makes perfect sense to have someone who loves you unconditionally as your best friend. Dogs certainly make great candidates.

Old and young couples take lingering strolls with their palms locked together, almost always interrupted by long pauses of embrace and kisses. Evidently, their air is not only filled with the scent of expensive perfume but also of love and desire. It is a home where love is often made, not babies.

They live a lifestyle of intricate contradictions that can easily inspire a voluminous collection of great ideas for dinner party conversations.

For example, some women (of any age) may feel completely at ease lying naked on a public beach, but would never be caught dead strutting along the promenade in a g-string bikini, as you would have seen on American television. They make nudity seems natural and unintentional. Nobody blinks or gapes and it’s just another summer of sun and fun.

Foie gras isn’t just a piece of politically incorrect food but one that provokes the question of how well the rest of world are treating their own animals before turning them into American quarter pounders and fried chickens. The cows I’d seen on the Pyrenees are probably one of the healthiest and happiest in the world and needless to say, pets are not meant to be chained and confined to the porch. Neither are they to be subjected to the ridicule of dressing up like human beings.

Prostitution is tolerated more than pretty women who prey on wealthy men (and vice versa). Should sexual morality be held more sacred than deceit, dishonesty and greed?

Among the three virtues upheld by their national motto, liberty is perhaps the one that is most treasured and practised by them. It is often linked to a philosophical way of life, rather than just a literal translation of the word.

Restrictions and obstacles are to be limited and overcome as much as possible so that one can experience joie de vivre to the fullest. Being obedient to the notion that “I-shouldn’t-be-doing-this-because-society-says-so” does not make you decorous, but a body that’s absent mind, spirit and soul.

They talk about politics, religion and sex more openly than Malaysians talk about food. There are no sensitivities surrounding these issues because one of their greatest thinkers once said that he might disagree with what another person said, but he would defend to his death the right of that person’s speech. Plus, it would be completely delusional to believe that if you don’t talk about sex, it means you don’t think about it at all. The same applies to the rest of the other issues. Besides, isn’t it true that dissenting views are the ones that make far more interesting and intelligent conversations? A winning view is one that withstands the test of challenge, not one that is won by default.

I went for a walk on the promenade overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in Biarritz on an early Sunday morning. It was quiet and calm as the whole sea resort was still recuperating from the night’s partying. I stopped at one point to breathe in the cold morning air and when I looked down, there was a small group of men and women getting undressed together.

From afar, one wouldn’t take a second look to conclude that they were just a bunch of crazy kids attempting to conquer the cold sea water but for their silvery white hair. Stripped down to their bathing suits, only then were their age revealed. They could easily be at least seventy years old judging from the loose and heavily wrinkled skin all over their tanned body.

They ran towards the sea and dived into the freezing water with the courage and capriciousness of teenage adrenaline. Their total abandonment sent a strange shiver down my spine and it wasn’t until later when I understood that feeling as freedom and happiness.

According to French revolutionists, "Liberty consists of being able to do anything that does not harm others: thus, the exercise of the natural rights of every man or woman has no bounds other than those that guarantee other members of society the enjoyment of these same rights.”

I learned from them that freedom applies to all; whether you’re a grandfather, a mother of three, blind or a homosexual, as long as you’ve not done anything to have caused that right to be taken away from you. You’re free to live the life you choose and not what society expects of you. Passing judgments should be left in a court of law; not at school, workplace, supermarket, park or even the street.

Perhaps that is why women sunbathe naked but not strut around in mini bikinis. It’s not about parading their bodies for the whole world to see. It’s about feeling free in your own skin.

Maybe that’s what liberty really means.

Technorati Tags: France,joie de vivre,baguette,liberty,French revolutionist,g-string bikini,Biarritz,Pyrennes,foie gras,quarter pounder,Atlantic Ocean,homosexuality

The truth shall set you free

This post was originally posted by The Malaysian Insider on 4 July 2011.

Whenever I flush the toilet at home, my cat, often seen lazing on the floor would spring to her feet and run for her life. It’s obvious that the sudden sound of rushing water petrifies her tremendously. 

Sometimes, out of strange habit, I find myself warning her that I will be flushing the toilet in false hope that she would not get agitated. I used to think that once she gets accustomed to the noise, she would get over her unreasonable fear.

I’ve had her for more than two years and each time I flush the toilet, it still has the same effect on her, with or without my warning. 

It then dawns on me that my cat will continue to have this fear simply because she is unable to comprehend what is happening. There’s nothing I can do about it for how does one explain to a cat what a flushing mechanism is?

Life is full of fears. We fear for our safety, we fear for our future, we fear humiliation and we fear death but what we probably fear the most is what we don’t know, just like my cat. 

In the past weeks, the government has been carrying out a campaign to instill fear in the rakyat. We have been warned that if we participate in the Bersih campaign, we will be committing a crime and as result of that, our freedom will be taken away.

It is quite understandable that every reasonable person will be frightened by this knowledge. If the most fearsome thing in this world is indeed ignorance, why are we then still afraid despite knowing the consequences of our actions? 

Many people have asked me whether I am afraid. The simple truth is, yes I am but not so much of what will happen in the next couple of days, but of what will become of our beloved country if we continue to allow the government to intimidate us.

Knowing what might happen to my security and freedom is only half as scary as not knowing the fate of our country and the future of young Malaysians. 

Great religions and nations teach us to stand up for the truth. Our government teaches us otherwise. When a government becomes the main agent provocateur of fear and at the same time warns its people that they will be guilty for provoking fear and instability, something is fundamentally wrong. 

So far, the real culprit for instilling fear and provocation seems to be coming from the government, not those who choose to wear yellow T-shirts, blow bubbles into the air, carry yellow balloons and walk peacefully on their streets on July 9. The colour yellow does not provoke, but public threats of arrest and detention do. 

A few days ago, I confessed to a friend that what’s happening in Malaysia stresses me more than what I had experienced in Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Cambodia. He was surprised and wanted to know why. My answer to him, “Because this is not supposed to happen here. You expect it to happen in those countries but not here.” 

What most people don’t seem to understand is how fundamentally tragic and wrong it is to be ruled by a government that imposes arbitrary laws that go against the core principles of human rights and to add salt to the wound, resist the call by its people for free and fair election. I’ve seen it in Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Cambodia and sadly, Malaysia seems to have hopped on the bandwagon. 

Some friends have argued with me that Malaysia is far better off than these countries. I was asked to evaluate our economy and told that I should come to the conclusion that we are better off. I’m reminded that we’re blessed for having a government that promotes economic growth and I should just be grateful. 

It would be a persuasive argument but for the nagging question that if a man provides for his family, does it entitle him to do whatever he wants with them? Are they saying that if their father has looked after their welfare, then surely they should be able to forgive him for raping their sister? 

These days when I walk on the street, I look over my shoulders, not for snatch thieves but for the police. When an innocent citizen feels threatened by the very people they depend on for protection, something is wrong.

When an anxious child who is afraid of the dark is being told that monsters will come after them when the light is turned off, something is wrong. If you still don’t know how to differentiate who the real coward and culprit is in this situation we’re facing today, then shame on you for refusing to believe and see the truth. You’re not a cat and you should know better.

For close to half a century, we have been living in fear. I’ve seen that fear in my parents and friends. I’ve experienced how we have conditioned ourselves to lower our voices when we talk about “sensitive” issues.

I’ve seen how people disguise themselves as someone they’re not simply because they believe it is safer to live a lie than to face the truth. The only credit the government can ever claim is that they’ve run a pretty successful campaign, thanks to us.

We’ve come to a crossroad where we either rise above our fear or allow it to perpetuate for generations to come.

Plato once said, “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” 

We have been living this real tragedy for far too long. 

Technorati Tags: Bersih,Plato

, Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Cambodia, Yellow

Time is of the essence

This article was originally posted on The Malaysian Insider on 6 June 2011 with the same title. 

No one valued time as much as Benjamin Franklin.

As a student, we learned that Franklin was a scientist. In our history book, he was known as the man responsible for the invention of the lightning rod.

What most of us didn’t know was that he was also a publisher, printer, writer and philosopher who then became one of America’s greatest statesmen. One of his many profound accomplishments included the drafting of the American Declaration of Independence and Constitution.

It is then fair to conclude that Franklin was a man completely and utterly obsessed with how he optimised time. How else would you explain his level of productivity (yes, I’m mindful of the fact there were no royal wedding broadcast, Facebook, Twitter or Angry Bird at that time)? My father is such a man.

My father considers watching television as a sinful act of boondoggling, except for the prime-time news headlines. He doesn’t read anything fictional nor “trashy”.

His reading materials are limited to two newspapers, the Reader’s Digest and biographical works of successful businessmen and politicians. He loves quoting them and I grew up listening to wise proverbs and quotes from people I never knew existed.

As teenager my father would tell me this, “Never leave til’ tomorrow what you can do today.” Little did I know that this was a quote from Franklin.

Franklin was also known to have said the following: “Time is money”, “You may delay but time will not”, “Lost time is never found again” and “Don’t you love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.”

Although my father understands the value of time, he has never in his entire life worn a watch. It is as if his profound appreciation of time has influenced his internal body system to stay in synch with the constant ticking of the clock.

Everything he does is calculated with the precision of a Swiss watch. Fifteen minutes for breakfast, one hour to read the papers, 10 minutes for shower, 30 minutes gardening, etc. But I don’t remember my father ever telling my brother and I that he has no time for us.

What I find curious is this: what our ancestors considered precious, we, the younger generation, seem to treat as if it’s limitless and therefore worthless. Is it because we now have longer life span? Or is it because we have better technology to help us accomplish much more in a shorter period of time and hence leaving us with more time to indulge in things of a frivolous nature?

The irony is this: the gifts of longevity and technology have in fact rendered us more worthless to human civilisation while time, on the other hand, remains unequivocally precious.

One of the things which I find frustrating living in the city is the amount of time wasted on the road and waiting for someone. It is as if we spend most of our lives just waiting for things to happen. I would like to share some examples.

Meetings in true Malaysian fashion never seem to start on time because we’re perpetually late. I have experienced many occasions when I am late for a meeting simply because my previous meeting started late.

Sometimes, I rush to my next appointment as best as I can only to find the person I am supposed to meet arriving late. This upsets me because I end up wasting my time just waiting when I could have utilised it for something more meaningful.

Those who devalue time encourage others to do the same. I often find myself thinking that if others do not respect my time, why should I respect theirs?

If they have no remorse about making others wait, why do I kill myself to be punctual? In the end, it becomes a perpetual vicious cycle where tardiness turns into a shameful culture.

Whenever I am tempted to be late, I am reminded by these words, “Making someone wait is disrespectful. It’s even worse than stealing because the truth is, no amount of sorry and repentance will ever give that person’s time back.”

The other common example is the amount of time we spend on whining, self-pity and of course the most popular of all, getting over a heartbreak. We all have gone through heartbreaks at some stage of our lives and we all know it is not a unique situation.

Most of us tackle this situation with an even less unique method. We tend to spend our time dwelling or obsessing about it. I realise how much time I have spent thinking and rethinking why a relationship failed. We think that the whole world has stopped, or perhaps time has stopped but the scary thing is, it hasn’t.

Before we know it, six months, one year, two years and, for some, a lifetime has passed us by and yet we’re still hanging on to something which isn’t there anymore.

Friends who have confided their failed relationships to me often receive this piece of advice: “Keep those memories with you but move on with your life. Don’t waste it by dwelling on it because you’re just letting precious time slip away from your hands. You’ll look back one day and realise that you can’t replace the time you have lost by mourning over someone who no longer means anything to your life.” If I ever go through a heartbreak again, I hope these are the words my friends will tell me.

Of course, you have some people who constantly tell you that they don’t have time. H. Jackson Brown said: “Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein.”

Indeed, most of us will never be as productive as the names mentioned above because let’s face it, a better standard of living also means we get to spend time doing things for ourselves and not just for others. The big question is, how do we want to spend it?

I don’t advocate for anyone, including myself, to follow the way my father lives his life. Not because it’s pathetic as some of you may have judged too quickly but simply because not everyone can or wants to utilise time the same way my father does or Franklin did.

The point is, do I want to lie on my deathbed begging for God to reverse time so that I can spend it better or being contented with the memories of what I have achieved in my lifetime?

Time is always punctual and it waits for no one. So make yours count before it’s too late.

 

Technorati Tags: Benjamin Franklin,H Jackson Brown,Helen Keller,Pasteur,Michaelangelo,Mother Teresa,Leonardo da Vinci,Thomas Jefferson,Albert Einstein,time,royal wedding,Facebook,Twitter,Angry Bird

From LoyarBurok: Two Women, Two Tribes and A Journey of a Lifetime [Part IV]

Two Women, Two Tribes, and a Journey of a Lifetime is a 9-part series penned by Lim Ka Ea about her one year stint in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia where she accompanied her husband on his 9th humanitarian mission. No stranger to travel and humanitarian missions herself, she learned that Ethiopia is not really Africa and Africa is not really all about national parks or long distance-runners. She also learned that being a "tai-tai" is so overrated unless there is another "tai-tai" to get into mischief with. This 9-parter tells the story of how two "tai-tais" explored Ethiopia and discovered their life as both an individual and a woman. This weekly series started with Part I: My first encounter with Africa, Part II: The faces, sounds and smell of Addis Ababa and Part III: The gift of a kindred spirit.

Part IV - Getting in synch with nature

A short distance away from the industrial areas of Addis Ababa, we passed acres of green houses in Debre Zeyit, erected to accommodate the blooming flower industry of Ethiopia, soon overtaking Kenya as the biggest flower producer in Africa. Vertically stacked chopped-up eucalyptus trees lined both sides of the roads neatly. They are valued commodities, serving locals with many purposes; construction of houses, fencing, scaffolding and firewood.

We could start to breathe more easily due to lower altitudes and less air pollution although trucks ahead of us often blurred our frontal visions by leaving behind thick trails of dust which seemed to linger for more than 100 metres at a stretch, especially on unpaved roads.

The landscape varied intermittently from flat arid fields to luscious green and fertile highlands often with layers of man-made terraces to accommodate small agricultural crops. Acacia trees shaped like giant bonsai with their trunks and branches twisted on their own will, aloes and euphorbias were seen spreading sparsely in arid fields. Many acacia trees are used by birds to support their nests and men to hang their traditional cylindrical bee hives made of barks and dung to collect mar or honey.

What is Africa without its bastion of wild animals? We were constantly fascinated by the vast species of birds and animals flying and roaming freely in their undisturbed milieu. I wonder how long would it take before the white pelicans, helmeted guineafowls, vultures, falcons, marabou storks, camels, baboons and dik-diks begin to disappear in order to give way to homo sapiens’ insatiable appetite for development and eventually destruction.

Against a constant background of volcanic hills and the Arsi, Fike and Guge Mountains which seem to stretch for an eternity, clear blue sky invaded by fluffy white clouds, it was definitely a quiet and soothing retreat from the madding crowd of Addis Ababa.

Otherwise a landlocked and mountainous country, which often provides a sense of claustrophobia, the ubiquitous images of the Rift Valley lakes serve as a temporary soothing alternative.

With elevations varying from 450m to 1,700m, the temperature was inevitably erratic. It could rise as high as 40 degrees Celsius, as experienced in Mago National Park and Omorate, to as low as 20 degrees Celsius in higher grounds such as Wolayta and Jinka.

Between Arsi Negele and Shashemene, the landscape changed from the small deciduous leaves of acacia trees on barren soil to thicker foliages thriving on green carpets. We were delighted at the sights of luscious fuchsia-coloured bougainvillaea and crimson red poinsettia trees. Hedges comprised of small yellow-coloured daisies, locally known as Meskal Flower, lined both sides of the road.

"Blue donkeys" were replaced by herds of cows, goats and sheep under the watchful eyes of les petites shepherds. Occasionally, we saw young boys balancing their lean bodies effortlessly on flimsy-looking rubber-wheeled carts pulled by horses along the sides of narrow roads. It did provide an impression of an African version of Roman chariot racers.

In bigger towns like Shashemene and Wolayta, red or blue tuk-tuks, similar to those seen in India and Thailand, and horse drawn carriages serve as public transportations.

Big concrete buildings are being substituted by tukuls, traditional round huts made from clay with conical grass thatched roofs (see picture above). The tukuls are often small and low, which made me wondered how many people it could actually accommodate. While I was concerned with the issue of space, Irada was occupied with a rather different thought, perhaps less grave but definitely more humourous in nature.

She turned to me and said solemnly, "It’s amazing that the cows are not eating the roof."

Shashemene, about 179km from Addis Ababa, is a busy and crowded town, a place where Rastafarians pay homage to. Although deeply disappointed by the absence of men with dreadlocks and marijuana plants, we were still charmed by the sound of bells dangling around the horses’ necks as they galloped along with their attached carriages filled with passengers. It sounded exactly like the sleighing bells of reindeers as often portrayed during the Yuletide season.

A few kilometres after Shashemene, we passed the village of Aje. The tukuls are now much bigger with some beautifully painted with drawings of the Lion of Judah, a revered imperial symbol representing the Emperors’ direct lineage of the Israelite tribes, both according to local legend and Rastafarian belief. There are others wearing some sort of locally made ornaments on top of their roofs.

Local men were seen wearing tall straw hats with orange, red and green horizontal stripes. We were told by Jalalem that these were Oromo men in their traditional hats.

After travelling for almost six hours, the asphalt roads finally ended as soon as we reached the town of Alaba Kulito.

No pain, no gain

While I struggled to take notes during the remaining bumpy journey, my writings were reduced to illegible child-like scribbles. Irada, on the other hand, was faced with a much harder and frustrating task at hand. Due to the influx of tourists over the years, local tribes have begun to take advantage of the benefits of tourism by charging 2Birrs (10Birr is equivalent to roughly 1USD) for each photo taken of them. Prior to our travel, we had been advised to agree on the terms of payment before taking any picture of the local people.

As a bona fide photographer, Irada aspires to capture her subjects in their natural state of being and environment, none of these artificial poses, thank you very much! However, as human beings begin to understand the power and ability of the camera to immortalise images, we also learn to limit the potential of appearing vulnerable and ugly by posing. As such, the locals often looked into the camera with sterile smiles imprinted on their faces.

In order to minimise such monotonous images, Irada often tried to take spontaneous snapshots surreptitiously in order not to alert the people. Unfortunately, unless you are a magician, it was impossible to hide a 24-70mm zooming lens. As soon as the locals saw her with her camera, they rushed towards her demanding for payment or worse, insisting her to take pictures of them so that they could earn some money. It didn’t really matter how far her subjects were because they would often run after her, shouting "2Birr! 2Birr!"

It didn’t matter either whether she had taken a picture of them or not because by having a camera automatically entitled them to assume that she had. Very often, our frustration and patience were taken to a new height when many locals insisted on being paid in fresh new notes.

There was an incident which created much discomfort in me although it didn’t affect Irada’s photographic instinct. As we were passing through a village, a Tsemay boy, dressed in his traditional best, attracted our attention from a distance. He was strolling along the road with a machete in his hand. Many of the local men and boys tend to carry spear-like weapons and AK-47s, as a form of protection against wild animals.

As our car moved slowly towards him, Irada started to take pictures of him. The boy started waving his machete in a fury as soon as he realised that a farenji woman was taking his pictures. Irada, completely unperturbed asked the driver to stop by the boy so that she could take a close up portrait of him. Meantime, the boy continued to wave his machete in front of Irada, obviously very upset judging from his verbal conduct and frantic gestures. Although I was sitting at the other side of the car, I was stricken with fear that the boy might just slash Irada with his machete.

Thankfully, nothing happened as soon as we drove away and left behind a rather angry and upset boy.

Next: Part V - Hardships and Friendship

Ka Ea used to be a globe trotter. She has lived in Timor Leste and Afghanistan while working as a civic education and human rights officers for the United Nations. She then tried to be a full time housewife in Ethiopia and Cambodia but failed miserably. Now, she works with lawyers and human rights activists by day and watches Discovery Travel & Living by night. She writes for The Malaysian Insider during her dwindling free time. She longs for the day when someone would pay her to travel, eat and write.

Irada Humbatova was born in Azerbaijan’s capital Baku on 12 July 1974. She trained and worked as a midwife from 1994 to 1997, later assisting the International Federation of the Red Cross/Red Crescent with maternal health work by training and supporting traditional birth attendants in rural areas. Since then she has followed her husband on Red Cross missions around the world, developing her love for photography into a passion and profession. Inspired by Africa’s immense beauty and its people’s suffering she moved from art photography to photojournalism. She has since grown to become Reuters’ stringer for Ethiopia and work on assignments for other news outlets and magazines. Irada is currently back in Baku continuing her work with Reuters. She contributes most of the photographs in this series.

 

Technorati Tags: Ethiopia,Addis Ababa,Debre Zeyit,Kenya,Acacia,Dik-Dik,Arsi,Fike,Guge,Omorate,Wolayta,Jinka,Arsi Negele,Shashemene,Meskal,Tukul,Tsemay