Human Rights Film Festival, Nepal

Completely drenched through courtesy of the latest monsoon downpour, I arrived at the Human Rights Film Center (HRFC) in Kathmandu with a friend of mine in a rather bedraggled state! As I scanned the lobby of the building I noticed almost instantaneously that I looked both wet and under-dressed, having just returned from the Eastern Terai about an hour earlier! I am unsure of what the various dignitaries present thought of my appearance so at each handshake I ensured that I over-compensated by smiling my best English smile!

To give a little more detail regarding the above, HRFC is an organisation which promotes human rights through the use of film. The group was specifically founded by a group of media professionals and film makers in order to promote and protect human rights in Nepal. Believing that film is the most powerful tool to advocate for human rights, it is hoped that that public debate will help to promote changes in national policy.

The films that are being crafted include searching stories which are untold and unseen. These films include both short feature length documentaries and dramatic narratives which bring to the surface pressing human rights issues in Nepal. One of the first screenings in the Human Rights Film Festival, which I had been fortunate enough to be invited to was titled The Desert Eats Us. Produced and directed by Kesang Tseten, the 1 hour long documentary film provides a rare glimpse of the experiences of migrant workers in Qatar. While it is often poverty that propels workers to leave Nepal in search of work in other countries, they often find that their treatment and working conditions in other countries are very poor. The long working hours and intense heat often mean that workers struggle in their new environment, and the dream of finally raising a salary to send home often becomes a nightmare as the promise of a well-paid wage is broken.

HRFC hope that video is a powerful tool to raise the voice of the voiceless, and to empower poor and marginalised communities with a voice to address poverty, inequality and injustice.

I've got you ... under my skin! ...

I decided on Thursday that it was about time to face my fear! Getting around Kathmandu is fairly easy and there are always a number of options. I had usually opted to travel by taxi or on foot, though I took a different option this day in the guise of the local bus!

It was the best 15 Nepali rupees (Somewhere in the region of about 11p!) I had spent so far and the experience was one which I will not forget! Getting on the bus was not necessarily a difficult affair, though as it pulled away quickly from the side of the road I grabbed the rail above my head to stop me from falling. As the driver of the vehicle pressed the accelerator to the floor things became a little more challenging and I was forced to take a different stance akin to the beginning of some strange tai chi manoeuvre with two arms raised above my head, a leg bent upwards in front of me while the other foot tried desperately to hug the floor of the bus with the fairly useless grip on the bottom of my flip-flops! However, as the bus ground to a halt to let on another passenger, this composure quickly changed to the Sumo – arms still raised above the head grasping the metal bar, but both legs now firmly on the floor, legs bent and my centre of gravity thrown as far back as possible, in order to avoid being propelled towards the windscreen! As the bus continued to weave between cars, trucks, taxis and bikes so passengers continued to pile on the bus, and it was less necessary to find something to hold onto. Think of it a little like sardines in a tin!

While I didn’t have my eyes shut, I was able to take some time to observe some of my fellow passengers. An elderly lady in a red and gold saree sat crouched in the corner of the bus , not on a chair but on the stumpy divide that separated the driver from those who were just along for the ride, while the front seats were occupied by some young Nepalese singing along to the melodic drone of the radio. There were a number of teenagers riding to their afternoon classes, the girls dressed in neatly pressed kurta with starched-white socks and shiny black shoes. Others hopped on and off the bud in relative succession as they went about their daily business. At the last stop I handed my rupees to what I assume was the conductor, jumped off the bus (When I say jumped I mean literally, as it slowed more to a steady crawl than an actual halt!) and made my way to a popular local coffee bar, with a smile on my face! As Frank Sinatra would put it, this place is getting “Under my skin!” On the outside the journey by bus from Bhainsapati to Thamel was just that – a bus ride. But look beyond and it was a window into the lives of some people who I know nothing about, and I found myself wanting to know of their hardship, their troubles, their hopes, their dreams, their story!

There are so many groups and organisations working here to try and address the needs of the Nepali people.They have counted the cost, often personally, of what it means to try and make a difference to the lives of some of the world's most marginalised.
As I read recently “When your life is done what will you have lived for? Eventually everything on earth will turn to dust so give yourself to things that will last beyond your lifetime!”

A huge challenge to us all wherever we are in the world and whatever we are doing there!

Life Through the Lens 4 ...

Life Through the Lens 3 ...

Life Through the Lens 2 ...

Life Through the Lens ...

Okay, finally there seems to have been some time to catch up on some photo-editing and blogging since returning from Morocco. This should have initially been done during the weekend before term started after Easter, but what with the volcano and that, and then a more than hectic half-term (Or semi-half term as it were) this addition is late, late, late! (Some may laugh at this knowing my rather unreliable time-keeping at times!)

So, what is this post about? Well. I don't know exactly, but I hope that it encapsulates something about people and place, and that it articulates something of the identity of the voiceless. Morocco is a nation facing such huge political, social and economic challenges at the moment.

Sliding Doors ...

I remember watching the film Sliding Doors when I was in my early twenties (some time ago now!) and being hugely impacted by the fact that a few minutes of time passing in our lives can mean that the actions and decisons we make in a split second can have a have a massive impact on our futures, both individually, relationally and globally.

Last Thursday I found myself trying to check in at Marrakech's Menara Airport for a return flight to the UK with a friend of mine after spending some time supporting some friends in Morroco. Strolling into the airport we glanced at the check-in board, and confirmed verbally between us the number of the check-in desk we needed to head to, only to turn around to see a gentleman looking at us in a particularly perplexed way. That was not something new we had witnessed in Morocco, so we made our way to the desk anyway.

On arrival we were were greeted with a smile (I am a big fan of good customer service!) and it was explained that our flight was cancelled. The only thing we were able to be deduce from the conversation held in broken English was that there was something about ice and land. We thought about this for a while and concluded that the weather back home must have taken at severe turn for the worse, and that that was why we could not fly. Afterall, it was only two years ago that Heathrow Airport's runway was choked full of ice and snow at Easter. I know this as I was trying to make my way to Nepal!

It was only when the airline representative explained further that we realised the enormity of the problem we faced. A volcano had erupted in Iceland and therefore had interrupted our travel plans somewhat significantly. We spent the next few hours in snaking queues which at each turn revealed different information about our possible exit or not back to the UK.
Then we were allocated a flight a week away from our departure date, and I did one of those things I said I would never do after watching passengers travelling on a certain airline also broadcasted on TV, but I couldn't stop it happening! As our very helpful customer services representative offered us our rescheduled flight I felt the tears welling up and beading on my lower-lids. Before I knew it my eyes were watering profusely, and I was breathing rather deeply to compensate (Must have been the onions!) I joined the third queue of the day!

At this point in time it was not clear of the way forward, and my travelling companion and I were unsure of what to do. We wondered whether we should return to friends in the north of Morocco and sit it out there, or whether to sit it out in Marrakech. Both of us had visited before and as we piled onto the bus with other stranded tourists we weren't overly optimistic about the provision of our lodgings. At least we thought, we could hold in for the night and head North the next day if needs must!

On arrival at our hotel however we were somewhat pleasantly surprised, and also suspicious about whether the airline were actually footing the bill for our stay. I would struggle to pay to stay a weekend here, nevermind the airline providing complimentary full-board accommodation for a week.

So this is where we stayed .... An amazing place way beyond what we could ever afford... But it was provided ...

We spent a lot of time over the next few days with new friends trying to work things out and to come up with our own plan of how to get out of this place, like it was the last thing we might ever do, but it wouldn't work...

Then we gave up ... and let go!

On April 22nd we boarded our flight to the UK, just as UK airspace opened. Our seat allocation, row 22.

Those who know me well will know the significance of the above ...

More to follow on Europe and on Life Through the Lens over the next few weeks