Broken Cappilaries On Upper Cheek

Stand-by reflection from Ethnographic

This train of thought is currently under stand-by reflection from Ethnographic!
time grows short, Jan. 25 returns to the old continent, to my life, my usual route, but that I missed and I miss them so much, in this reality sometimes so alienating, sometimes so familiar.
Compared to the real reasons why I'm here, I will require to make a point of the situation.
" We must find means of measurement in the world does not know the scale, draw our own plans, receive feedback, establish connections, to reduce the error, try to learn the real function ... focus on what incalculable plot ? "(Thomas Pynchon - Gravity's Rainbow)
In words not mine, this is the task that falls to me.
But I will return 'to renew this story ... I just need a little' time to think about ...

Shoe Company Names & Symbols

Justice for all!

Pay for all. Like yesterday, nondivers domani.Offre by coffee, cigarettes, smiles do not make up the vuoto.Lo greeting, even from afar. "Hello George, how are you?". A elementodel landscape, such as postercon the face of his son, affissisul wall, from right to left. The disperazionenon is an impressionist painting. "For two years pensosolo the death of Gabriel. Persodi I view everything. All quelloche happened, he said and insinuatoper omicidiodi hide my son is unacceptable. Luckily, from the north to the Islands, I avvertitouna solidarity trasversale.La people do not water down the coscienza.Non bows his head, not SIFA condition. " Giorgio Sandri esed at a table in a bar. Davantial his clothing store, which soon lost Esens crushed by debts of general or particular, will close insegne.Aprì in '74. The name, Harrison, borrowed from the Beatles. Then there was-no time horizon and chitarre.Oggi, only the sound of nothing. "I will leave the business. It was regnodi Gabriel. We semprevissuto nostrolavoro of dignity, but in this story dolorosaabbiamo spenderetanto had money. Gabriele irapporti cared, my wife Daniela, the administration. After essermisobbarcato everything on his shoulders, honestly, I do not care, néforza. I am sixty, I'm tired. "Giorgio Sandri wait a ritornoimpossibile. No you will awaken from the nightmare that 11novembre two years ago, portòvia a child. One Sunday piovosa.Due-shots through the highways and the existence of which is red, the other a break between a viaggioverso Milan, Lazio, one partitadi football. In July, 14, unasorta of the Bastille on the other hand, has recovered lost corner of fiduciacui Sandri dad was not to sink aggrappatoper in pessimismo.L 'Luigi Spaccarotella agent, at first instance, it was six years condannatoa reclusionecon previsionedel the aggravating fact. The prosecutor had chiestiquattordici. Dellapena subtraction, for the family, is played as the final insult in a long series. "Until then we were relativamentesereni. Then we crollati.In a country where just unavoce corridor ingalera to send a person, we do not sonostati five testimonioculari enough to get on top of verità.Semplicemente, the Court has considered Dont. " So the future Eun black hole and the present, a insopportabilepeso to sustain. "Gabriele was labeled comeultras but football, with the suamorte not had nothing to do. Comenel case of Stephen Cucchi, costruireun context incasellareuna victim of blind brutality helps divulgarel'immagine piùadeguata a raccontofallace. The Sonoco dissimili.L loroparabole not 'important lafabbrica of lies, is to passareun message distorto.Così sostenereche Cucchiera only a drug addict in a quadromenzognero, and a fold nonfa affermazionidi Giovanardi, servonosolo to offend the piety. "

F ascista, violent habitual lanciatoredi stones distupefacenti taker. He went so anchecon Gabriel. "The fact that cigarettes and chese fumasseneanche had seen an ounce of hashish, he would have traded percioccolato, nulla.Chi points the finger does not change or make the moral, should have the decency to vederedentro home. Aldrovandi, Cucchi, Genova, Sandri, Teramo. I could draw a vocabolariodell'indecenza and vergog na ". He pauses, lights a cigarette, draws strong. "The state didiritto, in Italy, is definitivamentemorto. Think Cucchi. On suoscandalo will fall into oblivion. Holetto yesterday that two Albanian suspects a Moldovan. According to her, in the end, who are the perpetrators? ". The confused response in ventoprende behind the doubts and lispazza on. "The Berlin Wall Ecade for twenty years but not crollanomai barrieredi silence and power. Our politicians promise chiedonoe only at the date of election but to them, deicittadini, assolutamentenulla not interested. " He looks up, keep the windows of the house, Camerado Gabriel, an altar laiconel which every thing has remained Alsu place. "Just as two Annifo. Each week, however andiamoal nostremura and scope of the cemetery, flowers on the grave that people comunelascia. We also siamoandati August. It is the way we do not cut ilfilo, fleeting, that keeps us attaccatialla reality. " His wife, Daniela, is not well. It could not, would anchese. "In two years he never lost as we were approached persapere. Not one shred of assistentesociale c'est who has knocked on miamoglie to say: 'Excuse me madam, need to an aspirin? Perhaps, killing a child, the abbiamofatto a headache '. Ilvuoto. We were the poor souls, Daniela potutotranquillamente would die. Log EESC clinics. Incontinuazione cries, she attended psychology neurology. In addition, he cominciatoa drink. When aprol'armadio, instead of finding camiciee robes, look bottigliedi wine. It 's a total ruin, a serious degradation of cuinon give a damn about anyone. "Uniforms, the role of emotional chaos and forzedell'ordine cheinevitabilmente from novembre2007, splits into two fusodritto this white-haired and often occhiliquidi , nonostanteil modesty will be soaked, Sandriparla without acrimony, "Manganel -Li has released some dichiarazioniper rehabilitate Gabriele.Lo thank dimenticoche between the police and I do have friends who keep molticari Sucio happened to my son, a healthy, indeflettibile, indignazione.Generalizzare sarebbesbagliato and too simple, if maanche Marrazzo, me lolasci say, the military police unapessima figure. Only a movement born from the inside nopuò dipulizia and renewal. In miopiccolo, Did I suggested: 'Re-Bellat, imagination collettivopagate comportamentodei for your colleagues'. Peroli tell the truth. Are saturated, exasperated, defeated. By dint of tagliarenastri fotografiee openings and expose myself to, I venutala nausea. Just so, just per364 days a year, with only six iltuo abyss. " George drinks, rispondeal phone infretta dismisses the other party, begins: "There are laws and giustizia.Non believe in anything. The mortedi Gabriele would rappresentatouna occasioneda extraordinary part of the driver and the game perriavvicinarsi offrirelimpidezza citizens. " Opportunities evaporatadietro rhetoric. "From MESIS speaks only of escort and trans.

There is a precise design. Fumonegli eyes to divert attention from the crisis at-cheattanaglia the country. Take responsibility, sometimes, not farebbemale. "George laments the old days, traveling to Terni applaudirela Ternana of Viciani letrasferte and officiated as a tribute allaLazio, the golden age trasformataora currency opalescent. "There were Untempo Moro, Berlinguere Almirante. Today, pale epigoni.La question has not been didestra or left, the problem EESS men. " Saturday in Rome, Italy manifesterannocontro ultras across the card of the fans. "I hope there are no incidenti.Non avvenire.La card that should never, however, impose arbitrary and Viminalevuole anticostituziona-le. If I trovassia volessiandare allostadio Milan, not to indicate potrei.Attenti categorieassolute.Quella classificazioneche not a football fan cattivoè maiconvinto me. Even TORPIGNATTARA in occasionedella fiaccolataper StefanoCucchi, he scuffles parlatodi provocatidai centers. CREDOC to the streets to protest, but not scendanodefinizioni soltantocittadini unhappy. " Athens feet, avoiding the Paedisprofondare sindromevendicativa Alberto Sordi nelfilm most ruthless of a director asuo comfortable with the nastiness, the Monicellidi 'A piccolopiccolo bourgeois', the other son Christian. "They made me a estremista.Ero a quiet man, pensavoai my kids, my vecchiaiafelice, to a final partitaquieto. All destroyed, defaced, lost. Cristiano had unbambino. The day before yesterday has compiuto7 months. He called Gabriele.Non Cristianostesso and I can enjoy it, is no longer the stessapersona than before. Av vo cat makes OpenAL and the robe now, laindossa with annoyance. " Giorgioora cries. Scusa.Lascia asks that you leguance bagninosenza intervenire.Poi rises. Today, two years ago.

Tiffany Granath Foto Hard

Madagascar Which?

often the case, when you look closely, you reveal unexpected details. As those surfaces that look white, compact and yet, if you stop to study them with our eyes, hidden ruts, cracks and crevices, gaps in which beats a lifetime, a network of micro you have not noticed that at the beginning.
Madagascar is an evocative name, the name of a picture postcard, with long white beaches and sea bright, dense forests and animal paradise ... And yet, as soon as we get inside, this picture shows you that, in its light and dark, lurk a thousand stories and a contradiction. It tells you not only lush, but treeless plateaus, not only of fine sand, but also a shortage of drinking water, not only of downhill runs in the dugout, but also "impossible to walk the streets where distances are measured in hours not kilometers ", not only of romantic cabins in the ocean, but also houses of earth from the walls so thin that you feel drawn by the pencil of a child. Tells you about a large island with the atmosphere of a continent, I said yes to a paradise, but hell.

They call the country in the developing world, but to which development is moving, this Madagascar?
When I was little we called them Third World countries, a definition which, in retrospect, it seems to have at least one advantage: it would evoke among alternative ways of life possible, including different ways to get back on top. Option number one, number two and number three, and although we are implicitly saying that one is more valid than the others, including less desirable maintain their own raison d'etre. Developing Countries, by contrast, seems to taste eschatological and universal, as if everyone were moving in a linear and unambiguous, to one great goal, but we have already achieved: the development, the one with them capitalized. Then what is it? Education, health, drinking water and electricity for all? Roads, technology, sales and marketing drive? Abundance, choices, consumption? As the anthropologist Arturo Escobar says, "everybody says the same basic truth, namely that the development is to open the way for the creation of conditions that characterize the rich societies: industrialization, agricultural modernization and urbanization." If we question the concept of development, seems to speak mostly about us, our West, of which other countries should hurry up and become a copy, so finally we will have new markets to sell and other mirrors, referring the reflection in our bellies, we confirm that we did the right thing, spreading prosperity and civilization in the world.
So here: I put my nose in on this gloss and I began to see the corners of faded color, some patch of black and accounts that do not add up to anything, so it makes me reflect on the creative power of the definitions, limits and the ambiguities of the concepts.
What we say when we say country in the developing world? First, a reality which we define by negation, an entity suspended indefinitely for a "not yet" that perhaps the time to submit criteria for a presumed universal logic that, for our part, we give enough to granted, without ever asking if there are other possible logics. Is not it true that when we name things, we carry on them a form of power, often imbued with ideology, under which, for reasons of clarity, objectify, leading the way in which they exist? Escobar is always saying, "development was the primary mechanism through which the Third World was imagined and imagined himself in this way precluding or marginalizing other ways of seeing and acting." And this has meant that what we now meet, when we move in developing countries, is a definite reality for the absence, by subtraction, in denial with respect to the comparison with ours. Object, on and off, commiseration, rejection, and welfarism.
But I want to play down! Anthropology alone already gives me enough fish to fry, just imagine you dress with the complicated social theories! Yet, when I reflect on this thing is because, if there is an advantage in being in anthropological apprenticeship is to be to deconstruct their own value judgments. Then, try to make a clean sweep, I met in my bag a piece of imagination that is referenced by Escobar. And talking to other vazaha I met, I became angry that they also had, and this prevented him from Madagascar to see what it really is. Our imagination prevents us from coming to a showdown with the complexity of reality, with the contradictions of a hell that is in heaven!
The reason I say all this is that sometimes I think that the murmur of the West there has historically prevented to hear what others have to say about what they are and the future they want. The idea that development of these countries is an invention of the West chase. For this they depend on us to achieve it. Maybe if the get rid of this negative image they have of themselves, these companies find their identity and begin to dream about their future. I know, invent new theories is not enough to change reality, but it makes us take the first step to rethink it. Vince once said: "The real poverty is the inability to have dreams." And maybe, I might add, also found to dream the dreams of others. As Luis said
Mallart: "¿Por qué no nos callamos a moment, proponer dejamos de temas de Conversación, y lo que ellos libremente escuchamos Tienen que decir sobre África-si es que les apetece-Hablar de África".

Mount & Blade Wedding Dance Hack

"Hear hear!" A reawakening with the auctioneer

The next morning it was drizzling. We ought to leave, but given the time, the difficulty of the course and the sympathy of the entire clan and Rakoto, we decided to stay another night. It was still morning soon when I heard for the first time: it was an auctioneer! Yes, he, in fairy tales that always makes his entrance with a loud "Hear ! Hear !!!". Sakaivo appears that, as in medieval villages, the news spread in the public interest as well, with this figure rising up the hill to the town center and starts to scream, so that his screams reach all the inhabitants. I listen to try to understand what he was saying. And I can make out the words: " Vazaha " ... "Teny Gasy Mahay " ... But ... we're talking about! And what will it be? I am going to ask Rakoto Enlightenment. He, who greets me with his usual smile, tells me that morning that one of his younger grandchildren have lost money (15,000 Ar, a tidy sum) in the central square of the village. He tells me that someone found them, a girl, but no one knows who he is, nor did she know where to return them. Then the auctioneer was given the task of persuading her. And as a bogey - and here we come in! - You have been warned loudly that it is best that you resolve to do it quickly, because there are vazaha country, which also speak Malagasy, and have a technological tool (a lie?) Can detect liars and criminals. Rakoto did not have time to finish telling the story, that the girl's mother comes to return the money.
So here we are: we have indirectly participated in the completion of a good deed! And we also had first hand experience that the threat of the white man (like the one black man from us!) Continues to run, alas!

Spotting Pink And Brown

tranomena

zafimaniry Among the villages we visited, Sakaivo Avaratra deserves a special place, a cluster of about fifty wooden houses at the foot of the peak of Laibory, at a height of 1450 m. The village is presided over by a board of elders, a member of which, Rakoto Emanuel, offered us hospitality during our stay. Rakoto 73 years old and is a special guest, one of those that to imagine the future has already tried: while not speaking a word of French, he built a house to welcome visitors next to her, insisted that the guides to teach his grandson how to cook European-Desy, so when there are visits, he can make up a bit 'of money, built a rudimentary toilet and a shower room: small basic comfort after a day's journey are appreciated. The atmosphere created is so simple and familiar that the vazaha can forget for a moment his pale skin, and relax to enjoy the warmth of traditional hospitality. To make the rest of us think the grin of Rakoto and two or three droplets of toaka, rum time: the spell is done.
Rakoto's house, like almost all the houses in Sakaivo, is a traditional house zafimaniry. The tranomena, so it is called, follows a precise geographical position that brings with certain features common to other traditional houses of the highlands, the origins and beliefs of a people whose ancestors came from Malaysia on board rafts. All the houses in the village are lined up along the north-south axis, with the opening facing to the west to protect it from winds, rain laden winds blowing from the east. The southeast corner, which in this cosmology is metaphorical and miniaturized the Indian Ocean, is where you normally keep water, ie the bulk bin with the proviso that each day is filled morning at the source. The northeast corner is rather well-wishing, in memory of ancestors from Asia (located just north-east of Madagascar), and "Masoandro", which translated literally becomes the "eye of day": so that the Malagasy call the sun. In this corner, before beginning the toasts and speeches of welcome for newcomers, turns a quick thanks to the ancestors, offering them a few drops of rum. The house of
Rakoto respects this provision. In the south there is the hearth, consisting of three stones, which represent father, mother and children that hold up the pot with the food that feeds them. The ventilation hood, however, is not there, so the environment is constantly invaded by the smoke: the only way to stop tears to your eyes is perched on low stools, remaining below the thick, toxic cloud. The soot that blackens everything it does offer the advantage that permeates the walls and seals the interior of the house, making it more resistant to weathering. With this little trick a tranomena, despite being made entirely of wood, can withstand up to 300 years! In the room there is no other furniture that Nattes, raffia mats on which the zafimaniry, and the Malagasy countryside in general, eat, talk, and often sleep too. A large kit and some Nattes stool is in fact the first gift for a girl to be married.
our part, I must admit that we had some luck, because we ended up at the home of Rakoto during a big family gathering at the second sowing of paddy. According to a tradition that is unfortunately becoming increasingly rare in Madagascar for farm work is most appealing to the solidarity of the entire clan, which meets to help out without expecting much in return that share of the meal, heartfelt thanks and toast rite. These meetings, in addition to the obvious practical purpose, are extremely important to cement kinship ties, as are moments of encounter and understanding between all branches of the family very extensive, so time to discuss unions, births and deaths.
When we arrived at the home of Rakoto, in the late morning of Friday, October 2, the entire clan was then in full force, and between men, women and children, we were about fifty. In the south of the house reserved for women, the bulk boiling pot full of corn intended to feed the workers, who at that time were working in paddy field. Rakoto welcomed us instead in the north, the normally reserved for men. After a European style with a refreshing drink beer THB, afternoon has elapsed between pleasant conversation and a visit to the rice fields, to look at the work. At dinner time, the house was crowded with people. It has not had time to swallow the last spoonful of rice were already beginning toasts and speeches: a shot at the head of household - Rakoto - and a guest! A primer to the chieftain - Rakoto - and also a vazaha! A toast to the village elder - always Rakoto! - And one to his cousin! And so it goes fine until the drunk killed the conversation and started the songs and countermelodies, grooved explained that went on for a long night. In all this, in turn, and all drank from the same glass. Just as well - thought my demon hygienist - that's 80 ° to kill germs thinks alcohol!
The presence of myself and Vince, whose eloquence Madagascar melted as they increased the level of alcohol, was after all a small event. But in the end, the real star of the evening was mutual aid, the family solidarity so delicately portrayed in a sculpture of the reasons most dear to Zafimaniry. That is the motto: Unity is strength.

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Within a few notes on Zafimaniry

In the heart of the highlands of Madagascar, east of the town of Ambositra, live Zafimaniry. Their founding myth has it that, two centuries ago or so, this Betsileo source group took refuge in the mountains to escape the incipient deforestation and conscription imposed by conquerors Merina.
What has been the desire of intact forests or freedom, these people have lived practically isolated for some time, on the tops of difficult access and perpetually shrouded in mist, practicing subsistence agriculture based on corn, sweet potatoes, taro and cassava , obtained with the system of "slash and burn" cut trees and shrubs, leave them dry in the sun, then set a controlled fire with which it will release the parcel of land cultivation. After the harvest, before returning on the same plot, let it sit for a couple of years. This technique, which saves the trouble of tilling and plowing, but has the consequence that, after two or three rotations, the ground, lifeless, produces nothing but ferns and twigs. Currently this group has about 50,000 people scattered in about a hundred villages, like the rest of Madagascar, are constantly growing population. If it is true that they fled to the mountains to "desire" of the forest (Zafimaniry fact means "descendants who want to"), there is no doubt that the forest have loved to Death: the wooded expanse of time is now reduced to a corridor that narrows with each passing day. "Maty ny Wing" - you say - "the forest is dead "and seem to allude to an inevitable disaster with which they have nothing to do. But the forest, alone, will never die: they are the Zafimaniry that if they are, quite literally, eating.
However, it is not to blame them that I went to meet them!
With their traditional symbiosis with the forest, the Zafimaniry have developed a great skill in woodworking. Almost everything in their world, comes from the forest: the houses, all of rosewood, are masterpieces of joint, built without a single nail is completely removed and finely carved windows and doors, which sit on the stools are made from a single wood block; the large containers with such a time when the forest was still lush and generous, they went to collect wild honey, logs are hollowed out, the family tombs are heavy sarcophagi, the oldest of which are assembled with only two blocks of a single trunk . In everyday life, the Zafimaniry recognize and use about 23 different types of wood, each with its own precise function. This incredible mastery was declared in 2003, Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO. But while their art becomes a World Heritage Site, the resource that allows them to be teachers is slowly (but not too much) and without any fuss, which was destroyed by the very people who should be guardians.
Nevertheless, the country of Zafimaniry continues to provide a panorama of extraordinary beauty and be a destination for many tourists who venture into one or more days of trekking, visiting the small wonders of rosewood hidden in the mountains.
So there I was, watching the interactions and changes resulting from contact with foreigners, in a world of plants on which the request to give empty plastic bottles and is some mobile phone (but only works if you climb to the mountaintop ), represent the first, but certainly not the last, a sign the worst of globalization spreads.
zafimaniry I spent about three weeks in the country, during which I met and discussed with the notables of the village and all those who, in one form or another, may be involved directly or act as observers in the meeting privileged tourist. Three weeks have been physically demanding, because, to move from one village to another, I had to make the trek - the natural diversion of tourist - the prerequisite for my work. To reach the various villages in fact you have to climb up on the mountain and then back down to the valley: one, two, three times as many valleys and mountains, on uneven paths that often end up on the lightest bridges that cross numerous streams and then cling to the walls of granite. One step after another, you end up walking at least ten miles to each shift. With each new route, it makes you think that, whatever was running away when he came to settle here, these people I had to have a tremendous fifa! These same paths for Zafimaniry are the bread and butter because they travel at incredibly fast pace each day to and from the fields and woods. On Wednesday, market day, battered caravans of people from the four cardinal points, in single file through the mountains towards Antoetra, the capital of the municipality from which they return carrying their loads, the women on their heads, men on shoulders. Al market's Zafimaniry go there to buy, almost never to sell, and move in groups for fear of robbers who, cruel irony, in these times of widespread poverty are robbed of even the simple peasants lucrative. However
arrive in a village before they can speak with potential informants for my research, I had to then wait patiently for the evening, because until there are only dusk street kids: anyone who has strong arms is at work in the fields . Obviously, not all villages Zafimaniry receive the visits of tourists: the hundred that I mentioned, I will have visited a fortnight and only four can be said to be fully "on tourism." Curiously, these four are not necessarily the most beautiful, but only the most accessible. Even more curiously, their people travel they know little or nothing, despite receiving an average of a thousand visitors a year. For them, tourism is white people who come to take pictures, and whatever hope is that the leave pens, notebooks and some T-shirt used, which however, from a different point of view, it's the worst that could happen . Still less, more curiously, they know to be "Intangible Heritage of Humanity." Paradoxical, no?
But then that might have meaning for them these labels? The definitions are useful only for those who know how use them and in many cases serve to fill dictionaries and guides. True, burning the forest and with it the future generations. True, maybe tourism could become an effective lever for development and contribute to the preservation of nature. However, after some exchanges with the locals, I wonder if on your side, whether with those who maintain or who destroys. The latter, after all, what choice do you propose? The future lies elsewhere and is not essential for them to begin to imagine, especially on an empty stomach. Then again, who knows these people that tourism has never even been in the capital? Theirs is a "tourist" they despite that no one has ever explained what or how they might use it to avoid being forced to beg. Outside the pages of books
the vision of the world is increasingly complex and nuanced. The items to be sufficient to describe with justice, have to cross many cultural barriers and get down into the valleys of meaning.
But for the moment because they want to be only fragments, which have never claimed to be able to tell the truth about the reality of this island, I will start telling stories.

Orkester Sound Bank Reason 3

Dedicated to all those who love Heroes

Speechless

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJTNVfITLP8

Letter Of Sales Of A Car, Or Property

There are heroes by the common names.

There are heroes because people do not deserve even a minute of silence.

Hello Simone.

Sims 3 Windows Blinds Theme

Sorry, but ... wait ...

Travelling is good because it makes you appreciate the things we take for granted. Some time ago I read that reflect on what you have is a good exercise to train their sense of gratitude. That being the case, then I'm combining business with pleasure and working to become a better person (!).
When I came to Madagascar, that someone else had been before me were surprised that I feared the lack of communication with the world. There is little enough to realize that perhaps he had never been in Madagascar, or at least, its Madagascar was not the same. This Madagascar, from which I write, the ADSL has not yet arrived, the phone only takes in the cities and to attach a pdf file the other day, after searching and discovered the only Internet point of this town of 30,000 inhabitants, a task that in itself took about half a day of investigation, took me 94 minutes of beauty! And that, for the avoidance of doubt, if sometimes makes me nervous, most of the time makes me think very deeply about the West but where I come from and the daily life of a country in the developing or Third World, as we said before the advent of the "politically correct" ... but that's another story, and I will tell it again.
These technical difficulties forced me to post with great delay, while that of water under the bridge will continue to pass and the situations and feelings change quickly. However, do not give up the desire to feed this blog telling the facts, even if they lead to work backwards, I was useful to document all the steps in recent months.
Today, 5 October, I returned from two weeks of field work in communities zafimaniry. While waiting to digest the information gathered and the experiences I leave you with what happened two weeks that seem like an eternity ago ... Happy reading!

Congratulations On Baby Expectation

About

So much for toys, we take a thread left hanging. Do you remember the long, tortuous history of visa? To the delight of fans of soap operas, the story is not over yet!
The last time we had heard, in early July, the undersigned, after ten days spent in the corridors of the Ministry of Madagascar, was able to obtain a "receipt of filing the application for a visa," which gave the right to move more or less freely in the country until August 9. "We will send you a notification by mail before the deadline!" I told the nice officer at the door.
few days before August 9, in effect, a notification has arrived. "Dear Madame - read the letter which I paraphrase freely - we have the honor to inform you that, bla bla bla bla bla bla, if you want to get a visa We shall give receipts for payment of very substantial sums, ie, 60 € for the visa more than 92 others for the purpose of issuing the residence. " GULP. It's not that I died from the desire to invest a further € 150 in stamps, here! In addition, I believe that students should be half the price!
need a face to face. Taking advantage of the arrival of my faithful companion of snacks, Vince, I go to the capital. Plano over the offices of the Ministry. The employee is always there. Today, to give the air more busy than usual, is playing solitaire. After I was ignored for about ten minutes, during which I imagine exorcise the wait to pee in middle office or to set fire to all those piles of paperwork that off the shelves, the girl shudder an eyebrow and gives me an annoyed "What are you doing here?" no "she" and without "s' on vous plait. " I explain that I received a notification of the visa fee, but maybe there must be a mistake, because I am a student and you're asking me an exaggerated sum, twice the official one, which not only is publicly posted at ' input but also printed on that alert that dangles in front of the nose. "Sure, sure!" - Says unconvinced our champion of note - "but the fact is that there are different types of students. " "Sure, sure - I think, more than ever determined to not give up -" And where would , this classification of the various types? "" Mmm ... bahhhh ... well .... Let me check ... maybe ... "and leaves by the lonely to pretend to take some time before returning back to reason and give me the discount. Then tear off the notification that I had come, take a clean sheet and is preparing to copy the text by hand. It blocks a time because he can not do 92 divided by 2 without a calculator. Resume writing. "Behold! You can now go to pay. I will pay € 30 directly to the Treasury, the remaining 46 by bank transfer addressed to the Ministry of the Interior. Ah, I forgot! This is the second payment must open a bank account in Madagascar! "-" Excuse me, but I could not do it from my English bank account, the payment? " -" What is expected to return to Spain in the coming days ?.
undecided whether to laugh or cry, I understand that our official familiar with the technology is limited to the solitaire game, so the best, after all cordially, and, now in pieces, we ski to the bank.
Coda.
Hold.
my turn came: "Good morning, I should make this payment" - "Excellent. Here the list of documents to be delivered in order to open a bank account. " Another dozen photocopies, stamps, certificates, photos, cards and papers from one day to splash each. Call
lawlessness.
invite corruption. Call
terrorism.
NO. NO. NO. I DO NOT WANT TO COME AND LIVE IN MADAGASCAR. I DO NOT WANT is for ever. I JUST WANT TO MAKE A SMALL, SMALL, SAFE SEARCH AND THEN BACK TO MY HOME. I DO NOT WANT a residence card. I do not want a bank account. ALREADY HAVE MY TICKET AND RETURN WITH me, I am also ready to use NOW. PLEASE NOT THE WOMEN tortures me, my time is running out.
But you know, the prayers do not help to much, if God which has the visa expired he too. The next day, and then, after long reflection, I resolve to look for someone who has a bank account and can make the payment on my behalf. I find it. We should meet but he is ill. Then, just to start somewhere, I'll do the first of two installments, one at the Treasury. And right there, that he too is doing the line, I Said Ahmed, a student Comorian. I ask him: "But how do you, do all these dies? A bank account you have it? "Ahmed Said It tells me the bank account that he did not have it, but anyone willing to make a deposit in his place, and even if I need my already knows. So I follow Vince and Said Ahmed, who takes us on a little square, where there is a type. He wants the money, but I do not do them daughters. "Go to make the payment before - I say - and then, with the receipt in hand, I will refund the money . Unbelievable but true, and this is Madagascar, the type back after half an hour with the receipt. All right, all in order, do not ask me even a penny, but I think it's because somewhere if its crest must have already done. I still pay the taxy it to him, and then I think the minimum is less than one euro. Thank you. By Ahmed Said we run the Ministry, which has already closed, but let us enter the same. I have all the documents, all payments, all pre-franked envelopes, all the photographs. " Everything in order" - says the increasingly official idling "In a week can go to withdraw the visa. For the residence card, will have to wait about a month. Until then, we keep your passport there us. "
That was August 25. To date, my passport is still there. So in three months I did not ever asked anyone. I hope that the visa is ready, I hope I did not have lost. What should I do? If I had known it was a subject so interesting, I wrote my thesis on the bureaucracy Madagascar!

Nitro Buggy Off Road Blueprint

Two money to see a penny

September 18: Who is saying: "We are still missing money to see a penny ?". Because to me this sentence, obviously referring to myself in recent weeks reminds me of like a refrain. It is the corollary, justification, the caption to my moments of frustration academic.
Before arriving in this country, I imagined I research different: I already saw in the land without prior remote village, greeted by choruses and dances, armed to the teeth with notebooks and tape recorders, ready to catch the slightest rustle of events . I thought I could forget about the shape of the ante, I thought, finally, to be able to devote myself to my work without having to occupy the other. Evidently, even though I'm not surprised all the way, was wrong. Instead ...

Before beginning my research, for example, I have to worry about buying tons of batteries. So then I do not stay without right in the middle of recording a litany that unrepeatable. Before beginning my research, I have to worry about how to find a way to get where I gotta go. Because here there are no cars or people in high places that rent offer me a ride. And also, before you take care of my research, I try to make me someone I suggest someone else who can accompany me to find that someone who will help me do the research. And, if this someone let yourself be enchanted by such high-sounding as fake speeches, before embarking on my research I have to make sure I have in my pocket a little 'grain to oil the hoarseness of his uvula. Why, of course, is that people do not just fight as to say its in my research. And I must not forget to dress properly before embarking on my research, because even if the interview is done in village in the middle of the jungle to get there and you walked half an hour under the sun, it is important to maintain a 'organized and professional appearance, or else, that you have credibility? And also, before embarking on my research, I maybe take off the habit of gesticulating much and especially to point the finger, a gesture which I do regularly when I want to emphasize a demand, since this is considered bad manners. And always before starting my research, I must not forget that you have in your pocket, prepared with care, so many beautiful questionnaires, tailored to the circumstances and the audience, because maybe that guy you've persecuted by phone throughout the week you meet him while he is shopping at the market, or even, finally tired of hear him play, he decides to answer the phone, and then says: "O see you immediately or never! "and then, if you're not prepared properly your research, you have missed an opportunity to those that do not recur again. And a little 'devotion, before embarking on my research, do not spoil anything, as here, to pull the strings, there is always a servant of God, who first give you a hand, he wants to make sure that you received all the sacraments.
Thus, in this immensity my thought drowns
... Well, to me, to do the research, the Institutional-type high-sounding, I lack a little 'pieces. In addition to the accessories mentioned above, I would like to have an SUV and a pith helmet. Then, a cure pretty strong against the "Stockholm syndrome". Finally, I look a bit ' more authoritarian, perhaps even work well on the air really unlucky, thick glasses, the r dull, this attitude a bit 'more squeamish, the kind that make you square the people down. And maybe a bit 'over fear, because if I had, I would stay among the skirts of the institution, rather than being always vomited out, in all situations to be invented and where I find myself almost alone in believing. If I had more concerns, and seek more protection for trade, maybe even find more institutional support. Instead I find myself here on the ground, and I think, architect, projects and organize. And, to a certain point, so good. Notebooks regurgitant information. Ribbons of fresh and fresh evidence to come in a language that nobody understands. Until this professor's advice that: "In community, you should always go for someone's hand!" did not become a threat: "If you do not know anyone , will not be able to continue your work ! ". Where, where is my Ogotemmeli? Where are the crowds of informants and interpreters of my textbooks? Where are the institutions?
Here, these are the two pennies that I miss, I always missed to appear a penny! Having the right keys, the presentations that bring in awe, the magic words open the doors. Here as elsewhere, the logic is always the same: if you do not send anybody, nobody will notice when you arrive.

So I step back and change strategy. By exercising the newly acquired biblical virtues of patience, something to be contacted by the parish communities zafimaniry, who offered to accompany me and guests. Of course, the alternative would be to go with tour guides. But you tell me how do I get information sincere and wanting even critical, if that makes you an interpreter has all its interests at stake? Discard the thirty or so tour guides, including abusive and officers, rejected the regional secretary of the Ministry of Culture, which after the usual refrain of presentations, obviously mistaking my request, he looked surprised from behind his glasses and said: " I would be happy to take her, but you see, here I am alone to take care of everything (!) and then, I have not even a car. What would you say if I recommend a guide friend of mine? Other people, not that I know "The parish priest Father aspect Max, in fact. A real boon, one might say. But the father in question, including his lost sheep mica live there. The visit, from time to time. So, I expect the call arrives. For ten days. Needed a break before embarking on my research.

Naturİzme Vİdeo

Letters

26 - 09-2009
The following letter, dated 23 September 2009, Paul, a supporter of Brescia. In 2005 (at the station, after Verona-Brescia) was unprovoked and savagely beaten by the police. He ended up in a coma for several weeks. Since then, over the past four years, but justice has not yet been made.
Paul's Letter

Ill.mo Interior Minister President of the Republic pc pc pc Prime Minister of Justice pc Mayor of Brescia Brescia pc pc Prefect of Police of the Mayor of Verona Brescia pc pc newspapers and television writing this letter to eve of the anniversary of a date that changed my life: 24 September 2005. My name is Paolo Scaroni, Castenedolo live in a small town in the province of Brescia. I was a breeder of bulls. I a regular guy, with friends, a girl, passions, including sports-healthy values \u200b\u200band the right of curiosity. I was in fact a lot of sport and travel when I could. I was especially a big fan of Brescia. A normal person, like many others, Lei would say I no longer (actually I was the supporter of Brescia, though no longer able to live the game at the stadium as I was wont to do: singing, jumping, enjoying or suffering). Everything changed on September 24, 2005, in the Porta Nuova train station in Verona. That day, the equivalent of thousands of fans from Brescia, including many families and children, I decided to follow the Lioness in Verona with the best intentions, for what promised to be a crucial challenge for our Serie B. After the game, we were escorted to the police station without any hitch or tension. After I went to the bar below the station, I was walking calmly to the train reserved for us fans by bringing water to the rest of the company (it was a very hot day and we were almost all dried). All other fans on the wagons were ready to quickly return to Brescia. Was a few minutes and platforms of the station was completely deserted. Which seems rather strange given the period, the time and especially the city where we were, the nerve center for the passage of trains. Suddenly, without warning or apparent reason, I was overwhelmed by a charge of "relief" in the swift service department that day to maintain public order and beaten to death, without even the possibility of shelter. Taken from the beating by his friends (themselves affected by the fury of batons), I went into a coma within a very short and almost died. After about twenty minutes from having lost consciousness, I was loaded onto an ambulance-opposed, more or less covertly, by the same department that I had attacked and taken-Borgo Trento hospital in Verona. There have been emergency surgery. There have been saved. There I got back from a coma after several weeks. There I spent a few months of my new life. A life of hell. Meanwhile, my family, a state of mind that hard to imagine, was under pressure and threats that my story maintained a low profile. My friends did not go any better, despite all efforts to bring out the truth. Obviously, some things I have mentioned above sapute long after my assault. The rest I discovered thanks to my lawyer. From the findings of fact and by the many testimonies reveal a disturbing picture, almost beyond belief, but for this to be made public. Following serious injuries at the public prosecutor of Verona began proceedings against policemen and officials identified as authors of the injuries suffered by me. Although the investigating judge Preliminaries has twice rejected the request for storage, the prosecutor has not yet exercised the prosecution against the suspects. I wonder why this happens and why I have denied justice. Today, after losing almost everything, so I stay waiting for a process, not so obvious, given the background and attempts to discredit me. Besides, the cops were all masked, and are not identifiable (as is this possible?), Although there was a person to command them recognizable. After so many lies and malice outputs so instrumental in my account as a result of the story, I look above is the dignity returned. Ill.mo Minister of the Interior, Although my story has not attracted the same sensation, reminiscent 'of the tragedies of Gabriele Sandri, Carlo Giuliani, and in particular Federico Aldrovandi (happened a few hours away from mine), with a small, big difference: I my story I can tell yet, despite everything. The dynamics of the events mentioned above may not be identical, but the will to kill, yes, it was the same. Otherwise, it explains the tenacity of these people to me, especially considering that there was a real danger it was all quiet, I fell to the ground, I was completely helpless. But the beatings, as described by the medical report, there were more stops. Perhaps I thought, than the life they wanted to take away the soul. In short, in a few seconds I lost almost everything they had lived for this-I feel every day closer to Frederick, and for no apparent reason. Of course that there is always an excuse to unleash such cruelty and efficiency. My bodily functions were reduced significantly, and despite the lengthy rehabilitation that I undergo for years with great tenacity will not have much room for improvement. I know almost for sure: the only thing running through my body as the first fact is the brain, active as never before. After four years I have not yet established whether this was a fortune. I lost my job, although he has a stubborn father who insists in running my company, stealing time and value to its commitments. I lost the girl. I've lost the taste for travel (in most cases those who had leisure routes have been transformed into real wayside because of my physical condition), despite still push me very far. I have lost a great many certainties concerning freedom, respect, dignity, justice and above all safety. The confidence that she prays everyday, and attempts to impose new laws and new rules by adding to existing ones (until now very effective, at least for the public). Too bad that these laws have not been able to defend myself, Fred, Charles and Gabriel from the excesses of those representing, at that time, institutions. Ill.mo Minister of Interior, some things are hammering me more than anything: every day I wonder what it can push men to that. I do not have the answer. Every day I wonder if any of these tragedies could be avoided. The answer is always yes. In my humble opinion, what has allowed these people to leave the worst part was the safety of himself to get away. It seems paradoxical, but in a country like ours where people are talking about "certainty of punishment" and "responsibility" and "silence", the very people who should lead by example can act with impunity and not breaking any written law, dishonor rationally divided and representative institutions, defending one of their mistakes with impunity. Ill.mo Minister of the Interior, after so many speculations, I have come to a conclusion: if these people were immediately recognizable and therefore responsible for their actions, they would not behave that way and I would not have lost so much. I would therefore ask: how is it that in Italy the police would not result in a sign of immediate recognition as happens in most European nations? Ill.mo Minister of the Interior, I do not seek revenge, if anything, Justice. I appeal to you and to all people of good sense that these men are still stopped and prevented in doing their "duty". I therefore ask that you do the process, and nothing is covered up.
Sincerely. Paolo Scaroni, the victim of a distracted state

Shiny Rayquaza Emerald

I'm coming

Exclusive. Rai moved all the programming to make room for this evening to the transmission Porta a Porta.

Berlusconi is confident the presence of Vespa that assures: "There will be no plastic, during the four-hour broadcast will show you how to build earthquake-proof a house."

Will Aids Come For Gays

A desert called peace

From the Republic: Dealing with sport, football in particular, has its positive sides. For example, I could turn to the Minister Maroni about his directive on transfers Supporters of ignoring other, more dramatic, travel on the Channel of Sicily. I could but I can not. Only two points. It 's very strange' attitude of many members of the League. It is proposed as the most avid defenders of the values \u200b\u200bof 'Christian West and just some bishop or some priest said something that did not send him back to brutally fuck the sea (Milan is a way to say it should be understood as the Sweep' ocean, and in greek, would be part of the gathering). Then (first rule: deny, however, or at least question) is pretty atrocious their arithmetic. The 5 in 73 say they were alive, 14 dead recovered (from memory). 19 And they, where are the other 54? As if the sea were an ATM, a safe, a little 'and asks for a receipt. But we know that the accounts should be returned (to their home too, so they learn). But here it comes to football, other travel expenses. I was surprised the favor with which decisions of Maroni have been successful, apart from the world of ultras (already poisoned by the judgment-Spaccarotella) and Zamparini, who went down to the usual flat talking about fascism and Maroni obviously had a good game in respond with a good book to read. In my Maroni also would not hurt to read a good book, if only then should find someone who explains what he read (see '94, Biondi decree) and you would do later. In other words, to go to the stadium away from 'the beginning of 2010 will be indispensable The "paper fan." Indispensable in Italy, because all 'do not know what is foreign and that in itself could give rise to some doubt. He had not even thought of Thatcher, so to speak. The minister, and you may believe, has heralded some interesting data on violence in decline: fewer injuries among the fans, between the forces of 'order, fewer accidents. But it is normal, given the limits that already exist for postings. Prohibit the figures calerebbero yet, but this paradox evokes Tacitus ("made a desert el 'called peace") and not good. Still, the minister (and someone who 's predecessor) should be acknowledged,' mitigating clubs rather inert (a few exceptions) before the problem supporters' violent or uncooperative, often willing to unload on the shoulders of the state. Sometimes I dream of going on a joint message oalla N share (Maroni-Galliani) whose juice is: statevene home, subscribe to pay-tv that you want and amen. Stay at home can be a choice or an obligation. Some cases penny. A: I am a Chinese tourist (or Mexican) who was visiting Rome. Can I buy a ticket for the derby? No. B: I am a Sardinian living in Milan. Can I buy a ticket for Juventus-Cagliari? No, the sale is often reserved for those who live in the province in which you play. C: I am an honest family man, I speak better than Milan Bossi and his son, for I have two children, I can take the derby? No, because often you can not buy more than one ticket per person. And then they keep saying that we must bring families to the stadium. Here, in three cases, I think I see a limitation on individual freedom. In other words, pure and comfortable, let's divide the fans into good and bad. The villains identified, in theory, are already subject to Daspi, then registered and controlled. But what need is there 'is to record the good ones? This is the point. While the touts are still doing good business and if they do not care of the individual ticket, while not bad, until proven otherwise, but a little 'rough move anyway, then we'll see, I would like someone to explain to me why a national criminal record, no specific precedents, is not free to travel in his country and go to the stadium and just paying a ticket, how do the rest of the world. If he breaks the law, we think the police. Treat the good from bad, so we know they are good, is not fascism, it's pretty dumb enough management of power. He buries it, without a flower, the Sunday of the good people who use them only the knives in a restaurant before or after the game. It affects the rights of a majority to limit the damage of a 'small minority. If this is normal, tell you. I do not think so. If freedom of movement passes through a catalog (this is no more, no less), It seems to me a condition of freedom. C 'is for a constitutional case that has something to say? - Gianni Mura

Dragon Age Pc Load Savegame

Four walls and a door that opens: a visit to the prison Ambositra

From the outside you do not notice it. It is a building with a plan, similar to those of government, with the Malagasy flag hanging on entry. We go there on Sunday. Tantely and Lova, two small guest house, they visit their mothers. The sister is Tantely them locked up, with the mother who is in and out between the other pregnant: steal, enter, escape, falls in love every time a different man, then returns to surrender, because after a roof, in certain circumstances, it can not hurt. For each flight, the pain grows and accumulates. It will still for a long time. When we arrive, the scene is different from how you would imagine. Tantely not running the meeting, did not throw her arms around his neck. That girl smiled before, now is against it. Agrees to visit him in his arms but it is as dumb. The watch with detachment. The other child, Lova, is also not so diplomatic: when he sees her, his mother, bursting into sobs in despair. Like it or not, they will remain there until tonight.
Ambositra The prison houses about 300 men and 20 women. The prosecution is the most common theft, but for men there are murderers and rapists, for the series "a little of everything '." Some detainees are awaiting trial, others have already been convicted, but you go to understand how the law in a country as corrupt as this and for someone who can not afford even a lawyer office.
After visiting the women's section, look, sitting in the sun, before moving on to the men. Who imagined barriers and barbed wire, of course he was wrong. The doors are made of wooden boards, one written in chalk with the O-shaped little heart invokes the Lord's help, China and the lock is the key there was a guard from the air absolutely corruptible. "The people at the end mica is locked them all the time" - says Giovanna - "Look, if the guards take them well at home, make them work as slaves, and mica give him a plate of rice, but! " The guards, meanwhile, are there. There's a charming, female, who seems to have just bought the new uniform, it is so beautiful, clean and ironed. At boot you can almost see yourself there. There are two other, eye drunk, lazy weigh the options to win the game of dominoes. Another, however, pulling faces and polished the barrel of a whole lot of guns, which appear to be recovered through sale of the Museum of the Risorgimento: like the rest of the weapons supplied to the army of Madagascar are all different from each other and the first bullet was shot at least twenty years ago. The picture is completed by a prisoner who, sitting in the hall, is using a sort of corkscrew to do a foot massage, it seems against hypertension, a family came to visit.
On Sunday, in prison, is a special day: the wretched state rations, which provides 50 grams of dry cassava per person per day, in a single meal that everyone cooking for themselves, add rice and meat, a gift of the Sisters of charity. Good thing there are the religious holidays! Unfortunately, by that big bag of rice came from outside, the guard pulls out a tiny amount, clearly not enough for everyone. The rest disappears into the warehouse. The guard turns the key in the lock and if the pockets, like everything else.

We enter the men's section. An open space the size of a football field, surrounded by buildings which are the dormitories. Let's take a look: they are completely bare. Hard to say how many are sleeping. Mats and blankets are folded and stacked in the corners. There is the acrid smell of closed and crowding.
In the open space, the first impression is to watch a replay of the life that's out there, less noise and women. If in European prisons individuality dissolves in uniform, in this prison, each retains its own style. So met the young rapper and also a farmer. Who was the poor out, it is also inside. Parlotti people in small group, are sold here and there small piles of peanuts, some people play checkers with the stones, Who is cooked boiled cassava. There is no air of desperation, rather than pending review. Moreover, the Malagasy know better than to wait for anything else.
John greets many people and everyone stops to exchange a few words. It is the image of the outside world, the news coming, maybe even a hope of intercession, freedom ... who knows. From her we learn that two young boys who until a few days before they went to record in his studio, are in for marijuana. " But think about you! They told me that unless you do some barrel rolls out the artist in you! But now, in here, what he'll have to pull out, among 'sti bandits? " Attack button with a guy who says he is the imam of the second Ambositra. He arrived in town 18 months ago, after 8 and ended up in prison, even as his work of conversion began to bear fruit. The charge: rape and torture a child. But to him that the sentence imposed on him is nothing but a backwards jihad, a holy war against the spread of the Islamic faith. They wanted a scapegoat and they found him, but the Union Muslim Malagasy able to pull it off, Inshallah!. I was almost convinced of his release, when Joan, who has known the victim, the decision to deny "It's just a pedophile, a liar." Here is how to put the truth in balance on the edge of the doubt! Here's how you create, another truth, reduced to a convincing way to tell a lie!
ring a bell. It is time for mass. The priest has not arrived, but prayer is held, however, in a small chapel. Many present. In life outside, putting stuff is mainly of women. But here everything is different. God I no longer need to scroll the look on their faces: what evidence could reveal the crime they committed? That history tell their eyes? They are the victims? The company's miscarriages of justice, poverty? Or murderers? Of the weakest, the poorest? Looking at his face, it is difficult to distinguish innocence from guilt. The physical proximity of these men makes you seem incredibly remote possibility the crimes. It is always easier to condemn the protagonist of a story in the paper that your neighbor's bench. For him, of which feel the breath and see his eyes, it seems almost led to find an excuse. A naive thought that the gates of his past. A charge paid to the story that satisfies the individual's guilt. The song that closes the
put me back to reality. The layman who has officiated asks Joan to introduce us and the assembly of the visit thanks with applause. I realize the extraordinary, which may have accounted for our visit.
On the way home, the purpose of this prison seems to exhaust itself in the separation of people within the people outside. The march from the healthy. No attempt to re-educate, to rectify, to reform. Just a pause between a crime and another. But we also know that beyond our impressions, life in there must be much harder than it seemed to us today, that it was still Sunday.

милена вельба

The house compliments the green and yellow

In these two weeks, me and Vince we were a little 'around, looking for direction and inspiration for the future course of my research. Ambohimahamasina temporarily abandoned, then we Ambositra stationed in the Malagasy capital of the craft, a lot 'to the north. In this region, in fact there are two sites that could provide interesting food for my reflections on the anthropological tourism is a Soatanana, rural town famous for silk weaving wildlife. The other is a collection of villages inhabited by ethnic zafimaniry. The
zafimaniry, "people of the woods", are famous for their skill in wood carving. They live in villages with difficult access, in which more or less regularly, receive visits by tourists. In 2005, their art is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Soon then, try to understand a little 'better than what it is. For now, we're pretty busy trying to get a good touch up to it, as simple as tourists go, as well as being excessively costly, it would be methodologically the most appropriate choice.

And just looking looking for, we happened to knock on the door of a house green and yellow. The house Fanomezantsoa. Fanomezantsoa is a home for children of prisoners. Its backbone is called John and is from Venice. Joan has 24 years, and as Vince says, the face of choice. Open and smiling face, a look that invites to confidence, has been here for 4 years and has invested everything: the resources and above all the heart. Italians abroad are able to be nice people. "Mine was a pique," she says, rolling the words fast one behind the other, in his Venetian accent. When he speaks Malagasy totally changes the tone of voice, but the speed remains the same. In both cases, you find it difficult to keep up. " Why, I said, if the parents have committed a crime, must be paid to children, left to live on the street, trying to live among the stalls of the market, destined, sooner or later, to finish well in their a vicious circle? "So I began his visits in prison, the first contacts with authorities to obtain information about who was left behind in a family split up by the crime, separated by a double-locked door delivery. Little by little, has collected thirty children, between marmocchietti unsteady on his legs and chubby little girls a bit 'bigger. Everyone has a story, more or less painful. Everyone needs: rice, love, and regain confidence. A Fanomezantsoa, \u200b\u200bchildren have a place to live, at least until the parents return in freedom, the possibility of going to school, a hot meal and the warmth of an extended family. Giovanna
rejects the idea of \u200b\u200bdepending completely from the outside, so, to ensure financial continuity his plan, as well as some intermittent help from the Diocese of Venice, you are given a little 'to do: he joined the family a home-school music and a recording studio, a rice mill decorticate and soon a farm for the moment still under construction. In addition, a pair of vans in the dry season are service taxy-bush, with her driving. And here also broken a blow for women's empowerment: the women who drive a taxy-bush, now I had not seen it yet, let alone a vazaha!. " The problem is when you break the machine - more - twice or three! Then, at least a bit ', you know where get your hands! "All these activities are
cash for the home and for people who work there. Together with John, care of children think about Lalla, a real general in a skirt, her husband Elias, who is also president of the association and Marie, the cook of the house.
Since our first meeting, Jane has given us, without hesitation, you can install our headquarters with them. We opened the door and turn their lives: the telephone, contact, meet, in short, we begin to pave a path that leads straight up to zafimaniry, probably with a missionary friend of his, next week.
For now, therefore, waiting to begin this new journey, is from here, from a home green and yellow, with many many pictures of sunflowers, which we write.

Milena Velba Ice Cream

Betsileo

take you from afar. To try to explain the extraordinary formality of the Betsileo country, which appear in a series of affectionate greetings, for which each exchange, the greeting thanksgiving, becomes a sweet litany to alternative voices. And take it from a distance because in Italy we would call them salaams, a term that derives from the Arabic greeting: Alekum Salam! Arabs are, in fact, those famous for the greetings cuts, who say everything and nothing at all, call upon the appropriate party, all his family and the ubiquitous Allah. The Arabs arrived Madagascar in the first of Europeans, say around the X-XI century. We introduced the divination, writing and manufacturing handmade paper. Their passage still echoes in the greeting: Salama, a Hello! which is wishes for good health. So, going a little 'back in time, perhaps you can make a reason for the origin of the Betsileo pleasantries.

Imagine that it is dawn, but could be any other time. As part of the village begins to wake up, the other is standing long ago. Two people, who do not necessarily know each other, meet:
R: Akory, aby akory - How are you? As we all?
B: Tsara, tsa manahy. Dia Isik? Well, no worries. And you, how did you go?
R: Tsara, misaotra ago. Well, thanks
B: Soa soa aby - Excellent, excellent
R: Soa soa - Excellent, excellent
B: Inon'aby vaovao? - What's new?
R: Misy Tsa. Inon vaovaonao ny? Nothing new. And for you that's new?
B: Tsa Misy makes Mangini. Maresaka? Nothing new, everything is quiet. What stories?
R: Tsa Misy, mangingina. Nothing, it all pretty quiet.

And so on ...
The exchange, if desired, can extend at least another two or three bars, all of course with the same content. Eventually, the player who first gets tired and leaves the field with a decisive: Eny ary, velooooma : All right then, arrivedeeeeerci!
This ritual is a sing-song voice whispered sweet. If the people you meet are in a group, are even intonarsela in unison, and bow slightly forward, hands behind his back and head toward an elsewhere from the other person, as a sign of respect. A theater that can make it look like our Dry Hello, how are you? Well thanks, you? a hicks stuff!
The downside of fitting the Betsileo and that often comes about automatically, and the worst is when you are involved in spite of his, put the case at first light, when you put your nose out of the house only for a quick run in bath and keep there own to open both eyes, much less to operate your brain, and yet ... ACT! here you are engaged with a festive " Vita soa ny alina" - "is over a good night!", which is the prelude to everything else. To you, in a low voice, we have to protest: "Tsy Mbola life" (which in my mind translates as: "For me it has not even finished the night !!"), so, while they are laughing, you will vanish as quickly as possible.
Another curious aspect is that love to talk to the Malagasy proverbs and phrases. It is a hallmark of their particular qualities and speaking on the first really leaves you speechless. How will they ever, you wonder, to have always the right thing for the right time? Simple trick: The phrase was already written in the wisdom of the times, mica is the result of personal creativity! For example, the first time I have said, "Mangini ny Trano rehefa Miala ian" - "The house will be very quiet when you gonna run to you," I'm really excited. Just as when, in the early days Belfast, all responded to my "Thanks " with a friendly: "You are welcome ." Then levitate with joy to see that my guests did not lose this opportunity to repeat that they were just happy that I came. This time has been rejected by decision of the doubt that he meant ironically to my tireless chatter, I gloated, thinking that they would miss me when I was gone. In fact, even if this does not diminish the reasons, I had to stay a while 'evil, and all twice, because those phrases, polite and affectionate, was not thinking of me that had been issued.
are simple ways to tell.

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From The Time: Morning of an ordinary day, a Sunday two years ago. In a service station in Arezzo fans of Lazio and Juventus meet by chance. A hint of a scuffle and two patrols of the road involved, then a shot in the air scares the boys arguing. The tires screeching on the asphalt, is a general stampede. Suddenly another shot rings out in the air, a shot at first denied but which many witnesses have heard. 9:15 am to 11 November 2007, died as Gabriele Sandri, the neck pierced by a bullet exploded from the order of the assistant police Beretta Luigi Spaccarotella. It took two years and a long, tortured trial court to arrive at a truth that perhaps the truth is not, in a strongly contested by the ruling family of cages, ready to challenge the decision on appeal. That cop, Spaccarotella Louis, was sentenced to six years imprisonment for manslaughter, the prosecutor, asking for 14 for murder. Yesterday I published the reasons. And all around the axle to a gradient legal so slight as to seem inconsistent, yet so profound as to claim the life of a boy. It's possible intent, which qualifies the state of mind who committed the crime: run chase with a gun in his hand, aiming to pave the weapon with both arms outstretched, shoot towards the Renault Megane of those guys who ran dall'autogrill Arezzo Badia al Pino. Really wanted to kill the cop? He wanted to hit Gabriele Sandri? Requests that the Court of Assizes of Arezzo has dissolved, giving confidence to Spaccarotella: "Never, never could accept that the bullet ended up hitting someone or even kill the occupants," the judges shall record in the 143 pages of the measure. But they are questions, however, that make no sense and who depart from an incorrect assumption, namely that Spaccarotella would hit the tires of the car. Neglecting the only detail of importance in this whole damn story from that perspective, the tires of the Megane were not visible. The bullet went through it so the highway, but the view was covered in that portion of the hedge. Irrelevant diversion that the nose cone suffered due to the impact with the wire, which deflected the shot, it's true, but only horizontally. If anything, what matters is the height of the shot, what matters is that the same Spaccarotella, heard by the prosecutor after the facts, never spoke of wanting to aim for the tires, or rather has continued to defend the thesis of accidental blow to party Having accidentally stumbled in the race, "stated that it considered that if I shot with the intention of hitting the car that position, but I could hit any of the cars at that hour travel along roadways, "his statement in the minutes. Five witnesses, however, dismantle the view of the incident, said they saw him point the gun, and even the judges deny this possibility: he wanted to shoot at the wheels, this thesis, but wrong is intended, the bullet was deflected by the network, Gabriele Sandri died. Murder because, in short, no matter if Spaccarotella has never admitted any of this: the court holds that "the blow was directed, undirected, mind you, but directed toward one side of the car be placed no more than approximately half of its height. " The evidence to the contrary, however, are many. The witnesses first, that crystallize the image of the cop who takes aim, the view, reconstructed by experts, according to which from that point of focus on the bottom of the Megane was covered. So the question is starting to be wrong: that is, if you really wanted to kill the agent. The right question is: "What was intended Spaccarotella?" From that position he could only aim for the cockpit, the answer, though certainly not wanted to kill himself Gabriele Sandri, who did not even know. So here is the notion of intentional possible: the doctrine and also to the case, the last sentence of the Supreme Court of the 44,712 in December 2008 that the magistrates in Arezzo neglect, is the acceptance of the risk of procuring an event-crime, the decision to do whatever the cost, namely risk prediction and its consequences. What risk could then lead, not just a cop with a minimum of experience but in the eyes of anyone, the decision to shoot across the highway against the cockpit of a speeding car, whatever the cost? Gabriele Sandri, guilty of being a fan and you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, he discovered on his skin.

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A mmbriachi

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Tauromachie

Each world is country. It is a phrase indifferent, I know, but when you travel, they discover why. Sisco My friend recently told me - and forgive me if I'd put even mention it in mine - that the purpose of the trip is to find the similarities and surprising differences. Like with like, here I found a kind of bullfight, as in the country that welcomed me in what, ironically, I like to call exile, mostly because of that country, which gave me the chance, I have this other .
Fin bref ... even here in Madagascar is a form of bullfighting. It's called Savik or tonolon'omby and celebrate especially in the north of the highlands, and its almost exclusively this season. We have seen Ambositra, a town of 30,000 inhabitants south of Antananarivo. The purpose of
Savik is anything but similar to that of the bullfight, but the medium is the same: to play with the bulls, showing that man is superior to the beast. However, while in the Iberian consideration the battle is the first sound of a trumpet, here there are no blades or plates or flags. In Madagascar the man, barefoot and armed only with a stick, he can win only if he can dominate the beast by force. Which means, in our case, taking it to the hump. Needless to point out, Madagascar is the version of a zebu bull.
The fight takes place inside an enclosure no larger than 10 meters by 10 meters high and surrounded by a fence a little more than a man. Perched on the edge of this, there are the players, more or less than a fortnight. From their vantage point, the zebu harass discreetly, if necessary down the arena and inciting him to change direction, trying, as they can, gettarcisi of the neck. There are 3 ways to catch it: for the hump on the neck or horns. So be careful to form them. Long and curved: positive! Court and massive: Brand bad! With horns long you let your fit, while the horns always make it to court zebu some room for maneuver. Be grabbed and shaken it is always better to find that gored and torn, so: " ol napivarahana dia manana ny roa Hery " - a man warned, that is for two, as they say in these parts.
Once on the zebu, the skill lies in trying to stay as long as possible, challenging the strength of the animal, like a rodeo, drag the litigant in a very dangerous ballet. And if Spain are what count courage and coolness, but here is the melee. And here, the zebu, once finished the game, the arena comes with its own legs. Mica kills you, not you bleeding. Madagascar I'm not crazy, to shred the strong arm of their work in the fields, the most accurate thermometer of their wealth, the equivalent of a cake ready, to be shared when there is something to celebrate, are weddings, funerals or renewed health. The zebu is hard cash on all fours. How many fighters depend on the life of the bull to go on? Maybe that's why, here bullfighting is still a game, not a cruel war. Between man and beast is still a deep bond, cemented by the earth and from work and the role it plays in the economy of the zebu rural society. And it is this complicity in setting the rules of the contest.

Morning Dizziness More Condition_symptoms

words air and words

implosive Writing is an act, an act that serves to create imaginary interlocutors, to trace and freeze a train of thought. If you have someone to talk to someone in the flesh, it is easy to substitute words for words paper air time of solitude and reflection is full of dialogues and ideas in motion. Even those leaving traces, perhaps less tangible but no less profound.
Vince joined me on the island red and accompany me for the next three months. I take a breath of fresh air before returning to immerse myself in work. Maybe I'll write less?

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Communicate

Italians and fantasy