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

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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

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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.

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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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Berlusconi: "'There is no freedom of the press? A joke of cattocomunisti"

What Do All The Shag Bands Mean

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?

Mount And Blade Wedding Dance Tips

Communicate

Italians and fantasy

Steady State Heat Conduction Solution By Scip

Tricolour Arrows

Case Libya.

"Shut down the engine, you have a delay." Twice the commander of the Tricolour Arrows, Massimo Tammaro, which was taxiing on the runway of military Maitiga received the order from the control tower to turn off the engine and fall because the exercise was canceled.

requires Italy to Tripoli green smoke.

The Italians: a maximum of green we can bring some Albanian .....