27/05/2011

Nieuwe aflevering van Plots!

Zondag 29 mei is Plots#9 over knuffels te horen. Laura maakte het verhaal 'Kapitein Boogie en de knuffels' en Tjitske het verhaal 'Rouleerbeer'. Meer info en terugluistermogelijkheden vind je op www.vpro.nl/plots.  

18/05/2011

Citizens of Nowhere website online!

Els & Evelien hebben met veel hulp van Lex en Ernst Ruijgrok de website voor het project Citizens of Nowhere gemaakt. Sinds vandaag is de site online. In een serie reportages voor nrc.next, op de website en uiteindelijk in een boek vertellen ze verhalen van statelozen in Nederland en elders. Van mensen die officieel niet bestaan en letterlijk gevangen zitten binnen de grenzen van hun eigen land waar ze niet toe behoren. Wereldwijd leven zo'n 12 miljoen mensen zonder burgerschap: zij kunnen niet reizen, niet legaal werken, mogen niet stemmen, kunnen vaak geen opleiding volgen of zorg ontvangen. Het gaat niet om vluchtelingen of illegalen, maar personen die van geen enkel land onderdaan zijn. Hoe overleef je als je eigenlijk niet bestaat? Voor het project gaan Els & Evelien onder andere naar Thailand en Ethiopië. Aankomende zomer reizen ze naar Letland om het verhaal van 300.000 etnische Russen, die als non-citizen in Letland leven, te onderzoeken. Deze eerste reis wordt mede door crowdfunding gefinancierd. Via Nieuwspost kan iedereen bijdragen aan de realisatie van het project.

18/04/2011

In Rwanda

Evelien was in januari met Jacomien Kodde in Rwanda om een instructiefilm te maken voor lekenrechters, die getraind worden door RCN Justice & Democratie. We maakten ook een reportage voor Uitgesproken VARA.

05/04/2011

Sousa Mendes Guardian Article

Mark wrote  a piece for the Guardian about Artistides de Sousa Mendes, Portuguese World War II Hero who saved more than 30,000 people. Last month he spent several weeks visiting Sousa Mendes ancestral home and meeting with family and neighbors fighting to restore this piece of lost history. Read all about it.

29/01/2011

Plots#5 Lijstjes

Hoe besteed je de laatste weken van je leven? Wat moet er allemaal gebeuren als er oorlog uitbreekt? Aan welke eisen moet je partner voldoen? Deze week in Plots verhalen over bizarre en aangrijpende ‘to-do lijsten’. Plots is een programma met onwaarschijnlijke maar ware verhalen rond één thema. Kleine menselijke verhalen die je raken en je aan het denken zetten, waar je mond van openvalt of hardop bij in de lach schiet. Plots is gebaseerd op het Amerikaanse documentaireprogramma This American Life en wordt vervaardigd door de makers van de bekroonde VPRO-serie 1Minuut. Het programma komt tot stand met steun van het Mediafonds. Beluister de aflevering van zondag 30 januari op www.vpro.nl/plots.

28/09/2010

Simple Beauty in Kabul

After a month of frequent hello’s and short conversations, my Afghan friend AJ offerred to accompany me to any place I wanted to see in Kabul before it was time for me to leave the country.  The offer alone was flattering, knowing how often foreigners pass through this country doing short-term jobs and then moving on, I was honored AJ would spend time with me to see things he had probably seen a million times.   I told him I had read about the Bagh-e-Babur Gardens and that I would really like to see them.  Without giving me the least bit of a “that’s boring” reaction, AJ started planning the when and how.

A few days later we were in a taxi and speeding off to the Babur Gardens, built in 1528AD by the Moghul emporer Babur.  The whole cab ride AJ flipped through some wrinkled pages with Dari writing on them, I soon realized he had printed out background information for our journey. As any journey across Kabul requires, we were met with plentiful traffic which gave us more time to discuss education in Afghanistan and the United States, as well as asking the cab driver about his age and his upcoming marriage.  Crossing over the almost dry Kabul River, the gardens came into view, perched on the mountainside behind large walls that very successfully hide the splendor within.

After a brief discussion about how terrible it is that foreigners must pay money for accessing public gardens, we made our way passed the guards, passed the walls, and into the green.  Suddenly the world turns peaceful, the air turns clean, and the stone faces on the street give way to smiles.  As we walk up the tree lined path, I notice beautiful roses and an array of flowers to our right. Beneath the trees to our left there are people, men, women, friends, couples, sprawled out and relaxing just a few hours before lunch.  Some are speaking quietly to each other, others in large groups seem to be telling stories and having a good laugh, still others aren’t talking at all, just enjoying the tranquility.

A ten to fifteen minute walk up the path and we’ve reached a group of buildings. “This one is a ceremonial hall, that back there is a mosque, and up there is the tomb of Babur,” AJ explained to me enthusiastically, as we walked from one to the other. Upon arrival at the tomb we’re greeted by an old man with an ID badge on his arm, he welcomes us after waving goodbye to the previous visitors. What follows is a 4 minute, well memorized account of who is buried here, when they were buried, and what is written on the tombstone.  I would love to share with you what he said, but it all happened so quickly, all I know is that it sounded fantastic.  “Please sign the book”, he motions towards a series of books where tourists leave little messages.  I decide out of all the languages and identities that might already be in the book, it could use a Portuguese text, so I go to work on a nice message from Mark from Lisbon.

For several more hours AJ guided me past a palace, by the greenhouse, and towards a few works of art hidden between the trees and walkways.  Throughout this time we discuss the complexities of life in Afghanistan, from work to school, love to family, religion to tribes, it is one big final lesson in things I have been learning about all month.  These discussions are interrupted frequently as I stop to snap a picture or record a video, each time AJ would wait patiently for me, before carrying on where we left off.

Towards the end of our visit we spotted an open childrens’ game involving sliding plastic circles over a wooden board, a quick explanation and we found ourselves wrapped up in several games for some time.  The snack stand guy near us walked over from his responsibilities to watch us play.  He tried his best in Dari to coach me to victory, but in the end the foreigner could not master this unfamiliar game and AJ took the match.  As we said goodbye to the man, I shook his hand and snapped one more picture of the board.  Again AJ waited for me to take all the pictures I felt I needed to take, then he turned to me and said,“Thank you for coming here and taking these pictures. Thank you for sharing such moments with your friends so that they know that in Afghanistan it is not just war and bad things.” His words echoed in my head as we enjoyed one last fresh apple juice and walked back through the front gate and into a taxi.  I scanned the sad looking Kabul River for traces of water, and thought about all the beautiful things and people I have encountered, and how they have forever changed what I think of this magical country.

01/07/2010

Zeeziekte en andere hoogtepunten

Laura Stek reisde van oktober tot januarizowel over land als boord van de clipper tussen Salvador de Bahia (Brazilië) en de Galapagos eilanden (Ecuador). Mijn vriendinnetje stuurde vroeger altijd vakantiekaarten met teksten als 'Lieve Laura, papa is gestruikeld over een scheerlijn, mama heeft haar pinpas in de automaat laten zitten, Jasper heeft de gameboy uit het autoraam laten vallen en ik had een kakkerlak in m'n schoen. Verder is het heel erg leuk.' Laten we eerlijk zijn, dieptepunten spreken meer tot de verbeelding dan hoogtepunten. En daarom begin ik met de zure appel. Dat was met stip op nummer één die verdomde zeeziekte, waar ik eigenlijk geen woord meer aan vuil wil maken, maar die toch genoemd moet worden, omdat ik werkelijk niet wist dat ik in zo'n staat van ultieme ellende kon verkeren. Het was tevens een letterlijk dieptepunt, want gedurende zeven dagen ben ik - uit angst voor de confrontatie met etenslucht en onverwachte obstakels - in de diepe krochten van het onderdek gebleven. Een paar weken later voelde ik me op een andere manier uiterst onprettig. Dat was tijdens de onderhandeling met Indiaan Poppie. Ik weet nog hoe hij daar stond in de deuropening van zijn kleine huisje, met een breed lachend gezicht. Hij liet me trots zijn zelfgemaakte nijverheden zien, bood een glas ondefinieerbare kruidensap aan en zette me op zijn beste stoel. Maar toen de deur gesloten was begon het, honderd dollar voor een interview. Ik murmelde nog iets over journalistieke onafhankelijkheid, maar Poppie was al begonnen over zijn kapotte dakpannen, halfdode kippen, de gestolen visnetten, de discriminatie van de Indianen, en tenslotte over de slachtpartijen door de westerlingen. Ik kroop het huisje uit en voelde me een nare harteloze Europeaan, een lijkenpikkende journalist, een telg van de koelbloedige missionarissen die de Vuurlanders naar het kerkhof hebben gejaagd. Misschien had ik dan toch die honderd dollar… Hoogtepunten. De mast bijvoorbeeld, die voor mij als een omgekeerde thermometer werkte: de vordering in de mast liep synchroon met de verbetering van mijn toestand. Toen de top bereikt was - of heel eerlijk, het bungelende touwladdertje net onder de top - kwamen er merkwaardige superieure gevoelens naar boven. Op dat moment begreep ik die krankzinnige Mount Everest-beklimmers wel. En dan de verdwaalde keizerpinguïn, die verbluffende gelijkenissen vertoonde met mijn opa, de lunch op een stinkende vuilnisbelt op de Galapagos, een bezoekje aan het bijbelpretpark in Buenos Aires en de zoektocht naar een wc in de sloppenwijken van Rio. Allemaal hoogtepunten. Tot slot zou ik natuurlijk nog filosofische reflecties kunnen geven over de ervaring van 's nachts, liggend op het dek, kijkend naar de sterren, de tijdloosheid… of op een top in de Andes, niemand in de wijde omtrek, voorbij razende wolken, de zin van het leven… maar daar heb ik geen ruimte meer voor.

19/08/2009

Honoring Life By Acting Out Death

The pilgrimage of Santa Marta de Ribarteme in the northwest part of Spain brings together family, food and faith. “That afternoon, the weather was awful, with storm and heavy rain showers. I was afraid I had to cancel the fireworks. But how could the procession succeed without fireworks? The only thing I could think of was to ask Santa Marta for help. And then, right when the procession approached the church, the storm decreased. At that very moment, I could light the fireworks. It had to be Santa Marta’s work, no doubt about it. She is so powerful.” Abelino’s eyes fill with tears when he tells us about the miracle Santa Marta once performed. When he was younger, he used to be in charge of the fireworks that accompany the ceremonies. This task has passed to another villager, but Abelino still comes to church every year to light a candle for Santa Marta. — Travelling through Galicia, in the Northwestern part of Spain, we found a different land with a different people. Galicia is the land of the three F’s: Ferias , Fiestas y Funerales – fairs, festivals and funerals. The glue between these three, we learned, is Family, Food and Faith. It’s impossible to visit Galicia and not encounter a festival: they’re omnipresent and virtually anything is celebrated during summer – from virgins and patron saints to grapes, mussels or squid. As far as funerals go, we’ve been lucky enough on this trip to not encounter any. But in the ancient and traditional pilgrimage of Santa Marta de Ribarteme, the link between Festival and Funeral becomes strangely explicit. This festive day is famous for the procession in which people who have had near death experiences, express their gratitude to Santa Marta for having helped them (or their loved one) survive. The resuscitated or the enshrouded, as they are called, are carried around in an open coffin, resembling the ceremony that would have taken place if it weren’t for Santa Marta’s intervention. Our goal was to attend this curious festival in it’s home town As Neves, a small village on the border with Portugal. On the day of arrival we found ourselves in the middle of it all. We expected a quiet and peaceful village in the south Galician hills, but we were wrong. Only three days before the festival of Santa Marta everyone is dancing, eating and drinking because of the Festa do Tinto de Rubiós – the celebration of the light fruity red wine from grapes grown in vineyards around As Neves. As the saying goes – when in Rome; we join the crowd and enjoy yet another festival. Faviola, a well-rounded woman with a cheerful smile, offers us a plate of ‘pulpo’ – fresh cooked octopus à la Galicia. From her we learn that several religious celebrations have already started in the churches of As Neves and neighbouring San Xosé (where the Santa Marta church is). From July 20, during nine days up till the 29th, ‘novena’ masses take place, which devout believers attend in preparation for the pilgrimage. Faviola assures us that nobody knows about the coffins in advance: how many there will be, and who will be inside. It is kept secret to prevent bad luck. The next couple of days we ask everybody on the central plaza of As Neves about the procession, and find out that the secret is not too secretive. This year, two coffins will be carried in the procession. We meet Karina Domínguez, a young mother of two children, who will be in one of them. “A lot of people don’t understand,” she says. “But when you get to the point of desperation I did, you need something to hold on to.” Both her three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter have suffered from serious illnesses, and it was not certain that the children would live. She made a promise to Santa Marta to thank her for the life of her children by attending the procession in a coffin. “I am a bit nervous,” she says, “but others have told me that once you are in the coffin, you will be okay. Just have faith.” The pilgrimage of Santa Marta is among the oldest religious celebrations in Galicia. According to Catholic tradition, Santa Marta is the sister of Lazarus and Mary Magdalene. During her life, Marta was a symbol of diligence and hospitality. The story goes that she travelled to Galicia to bring Christian faith to the people and performed several miracles involving resurrections or rescues of the nearly drowned or the extremely ill. It was then that Marta turned into Santa Marta: the Saint of those in danger of death. The procession for Santa Marta takes place on July 29. From early morning till noon there are hourly masses, culminating with the grand ceremonial mass. All morning people arrive at the church – most of them come from villages around As Neves, by foot. By noon, the small church of Santa Marta is crowded and hundreds of people gather around the church to catch a glimpse of the ceremonial mass being performed inside. Manolo, a middle aged man standing next to us, explains that there’s a variety of choices for the devout who want to honour or thank the Saint during the procession. According to one’s own (or their loved one’s) situation, they decide upon the method of offering. Some people carry a person sized candle in the procession, some accompany this with a white habit made of lace cloth. “Others choose to walk to and around the church on their knees and in extreme cases, people make an offering by being carried in a coffin,” he explains. “But this is very emotional. I was in a coffin five years ago, after having survived a serious accident.” Manolo repeats the impact of lying in a coffin. “I was so frightened that I got medicine from my doctor to calm down a bit. It helped me a lot, but in the end I believe that it was the faith in Santa Marta that helped me through.” The church bells ring and our ears are traumatized by heavy fireworks that announce the beginning of the procession. Manolo says goodbye: he will carry Karina’s coffin, together with her relatives. People crowd together, trying to peek into the church doors. The first thing we see is a big cross and a pendant with Santa Marta’s image, followed by the two coffins. People who have been listening to the mass outside, join the parade of believers. We are astonished by the two very opposite scenes that surround us: the orchestra plays cheerful music and people continue their chit-chat, while the two coffins, the parade of family members and the devout with their candles is very macabre and chilling. Karina’s daughter is being carried by a relative, who sometimes lifts her high up so mother and daughter can see each other. Three experienced religious singers, ‘romeros’, accompany the coffins with their hymns to Santa Marta. The procession moves slow, taking over an hour and a half to complete the small circle over the hill in front of the church. We watch the coffins enter the church again. And as we are still digesting our first Santa Marta coffin procession, people around us leave the religious part of this festival at this point. They hurry up the hill to participate in the profane part of the day. Santa Marta is no exception to the rule of Galician feasts: you celebrate with all your loved ones and indulge in local delicacies. Our new As Neves friends drag us along into the crowd and once again we find ourselves in the midst of music, wine and our favorite ‘pulpo’ dish. We understand: after a funeral comes fiesta. Marieke Aafjes and Els Duran are freelance journalists and researchers. Based in Amsterdam, they work on various media productions with a preference for social, anthropological and international topics. They met in university where, during a research project on the human experience of public toilets, they discovered the fun of writing together. www.mediaridders.net.