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This three-week holiday represents a time of glee and feasting between two periods of fasting. The first records of the carnival in Bohemia and Moravia comes from the 13th century. The masquerade is the highlight of the Carnival.

The important parts of the parade constitute singing, dancing and feasting. Doing pranks, jokes and fun on the audience are the main roles of the participants. It’s like a feast of fools. There are several types of traditional masks that must not be missed during the parade. Generally, each mask has typical behavior, each mask expresses a particular type.

The Carnival parade, which took place in Prague recently, started on the Square of George of Poděbrady. It continued through the streets of Vinohrady and Žižkov to the City Hall, where the mayors handed over a symbolic key to the city. The parade was headed by a giant seven-meter figurehead of an angel, which was controlled by five strong men. Accompanying stilts walkers and artistes were playing around.

During this journey, the band Trombenik and Blabuburo took care of entertainment. Drumming orchestra Tam Tam Batucada set the pace to acrobatic stilts walkers named Long Vehicle Circus. Mime and circus shows were well performed by Brothers in Trick. The carnival parade was ended with a fire show by Amanitas Fire Theatre.

By Michaela Škvrňáková

Photos: Michaela Škvrňáková

And why a good bar is special

One of the national newspapers in Ireland hosts a blog called Generation Emigration and it reveals insights into the whos, whats, hows, and whys of the people who choose to leave Ireland. There are those who wish to return and those that don’t, those that miss it and those you are happy in a new life in a foreign land. As we approach St. Patrick’s Day, I would like to nominate an Irish bar that, for me, represents the best and the real of Ireland.

The James Joyce bar on Calle Alcala is the best Irish pub in Madrid. Indeed, it is the only true Irish bar in the Spanish capital and I could wax lyrical about it for hours but I shall do my best to contain my love for it within the limits of these pages. It is distinctly Irish because it is the only Irish bar in town that is owned by an Irish man and actually has Irish people behind the bar. I am sure they are only months away from being able to issue and reissue passports for Irish citizens in the wood lined and artistically hued walls and bar tops of this Irish watering hole.

Any reader of Joyce — or anyone who has pretended to read Joyce — will know that the dispensers of spirits were dubbed with the name of the people who dispense the Holy Spirit. Thus bar tenders were curates or seminarians if they were assistants in the bar.  The picture of Joyce dominates a wall in the bar there in much the same those round spectacles dominated his face and the visages of other great writers of note are noticeable between the vicissitudes of the indecently sober and the inarticulately inebriated. This is because the bar sits on the site of an old Spanish bar that was famous as being a meeting point for different Spanish writers, such as Benito Galdos. A cafe not too far away bears his name. On this point, too, the bar represents Joyce and an innate facet of being Irish: celebrating one’s Irishness while also being influenced by the outside.

The spiritual needs of an Irish person abroad can be met here because it is the only bar in the city that is adorned with the flags of the 32 counties and it broadcasts GAA matches of hurling and Gaelic football. It is possible to learn Irish, or Gaeilge, and the Irish Business Network meet in the pub quite regularly. Other bars are staffed by Russians or display pictures of the English cricket team, much to the chagrin of many an Irish person who has to live with an identity that many do not understand.

A twee statue of St. Patrick is rolled out on St. Patrick’s Day but a little bit of vice is alright; we’ve always been able to indulge our stereotype side and live up to the expectations we sometimes put on ourselves as much as others put on us. The descriptions of other bars in the blog speak of knowing nods and the craic of an Irish bar and the James Joyce exhibits the same qualities but, what is more, it is a hub where high-flying Irish business people, Spanish dance troupes that do Irish dancing, and lowly teachers can intermingle with each other and the world in the name of self-improvement, for home, for the horizons inside and out. If that sounds trite, I’m just deliriously happy that the bar hasn’t been discovered by stag parties. Probably because the pub is just outside the centre… that’s the luck of this Irish bar.

In the words of Flann O’Brien, a writer who also watches from the walls:

When things go wrong and will not come right,

Though you do the best you can,

When life looks black as the hour of night –

A pint of plain is your only man 

Wise words for a group of people seeking succour and solace when the burden of being away from home becomes too much. That is the real value of a real Irish pub.

By Enda Kenneally

Sources:

The Irish Times

 

ADDIS ABABA, Ethiopia — After hearing about Hanna Lalango’s story, I immediately joined the #JusticeForHanna campaign and began raising awareness against gender-based violence. I was committed to making Addis Ababa a safer place for everyone. My only problem was that I campaigned heavily for other people’s safety, but I somehow completely forget about my own.

More than 70 percent of Ethiopian women face physical and sexual violence. A majority of this group are females between the ages of 15 and25. Rape stories in Addis Ababa usually take place in the local minibuses. From there, things usually escalate to the rapist’s house or a dark ditch somewhere.

On weekdays, I usually stay late hours at school to study or utilize the school’s resources (e.g. Wi-Fi). My daily routine is that I leave school around 7 p.m. and reach home around 7:30 .pm. – 8:00 p.m. at the latest. Generally speaking, in Addis Ababa female seniors don’t stay out past 5 pm. on a school day. After 6 p.m., every female is a potential victim of rape or molestation.

My parents and siblings have given me multiple lectures about coming home earlier. I’ve always said I would improve my behaviour, but I never did. In other words, I’m a teenage rebel who never listens to anyone but herself. I knew all about rape crimes and sexual assaults happening in Addis Ababa on a daily basis but coming home late from school, that was the last thing on my mind. It might have been pure naivety, but I believed my neighbourhood was completely safe and sound and that nothing dangerous would ever occur. I was completely wrong.

On the 13^th of November, I experienced a near-death experience.

It was a normal evening; I was outside a supermarket near my school at 7:14 p.m., standing and waiting for a minibus to take me home. When a minibus came, I got in and frantically tried to switch my phone on so I could check to see if I had any previous missed calls.

Behind me were two young adults (most probably in their early 20s), slim, light-skinned and tall. They dressed like they were unemployed, high school jocks. I’ve never seen them before in my life; they don’t me and I don’t know them. At first, they began whispering in my ear, “Hey! Do we know each other?” I pretended not to notice. Then they began pulling my hair and tugging at my school bag which was carrying all sorts of heavy and expensive electronics. I turned around and without saying a word, gave them look that told them to back off.

That didn’t stop them. To humiliate me, they began preaching loudly in the minibus saying things like, “Yeah I know this one, I remember because I dated her sister once. Her name on Facebook is Veronica. She tried to kiss me once and I quickly backed away, she has the worst smelling breath ever!?

Immediately after, a handsome young man who was sitting next to me saw that I was frustrated and decided to stand up for me. He turned back at the two young gentlemen behind us and said, “Hey guys, why don’t you grow up? Huh? She’s not interested and you’re clearly embarrassing yourselves.” After that, they didn’t say a word the whole ride.

They paid for my taxi fare…they told the driver not to let me pay. I didn’t care if they were trying to be nice, I didn’t want their money. I tried to pay for myself but the taxi driver refused. He said, “Please stop, they already paid for you.” Angrily, I plonked the money back into my pocket and glared at them. When the taxi reached my neighbourhood, I asked to get off.

Immediately after I exited the bus, the two young gentlemen jumped out after me. They didn’t do anything because I was walking along the prime minister’s house. That area is extremely protected and secured with police officers 24-7. I took a turn and started moving quickly towards my house. Here there were no police officers, just a dark, dim area with strangers shuffling quickly up and down the streets.

I heard them getting closer by the minute. One of the guys jumped in front of me and said, “Hey listen, my friend who paid for you is now broke and needs money to go back home.” I looked at him in disgust and continued walking. He started walking alongside me. He said, “Ok you don’t have to give us the money back, but can you at least say Hi to my friend? He really likes you and he’s really nervous.” I began shaking inside. I didn’t know how to get rid of him. I knew he wouldn’t leave on his own.

I didn’t want him to find out where I lived, so instead of going home, I headed towards a shop across the street. It was a bit far so I began walking quickly. He saw that I was terrified and took advantage of the situation. He kept talking to me about his friend but I didn’t respond. He followed me, poked me, got desperately close to me until he could finally touch me then he grabbed my arm violently. “Stop ignoring me!” He exclaimed.

I wanted to scream at that point but I didn’t have the energy or the courage, I was trembling and it was cold. I pulled his hands away from mine and said, “Stop it! Just stop it, OK?” I said “Leave me alone. I have to go home.” “But my friend…” he implored, “Look, he’s coming, just wait here with me and say goodbye to him, please.”

When his friend caught up to us, he leaned his hand forward so I could shake it. When I saw his face, I felt like I knew him from somewhere. He seemed like a decent guy. I had no idea why his friend was pestering me to say goodbye to him. I looked to his friend and said as eloquently as I could: “No! Leave me alone.” He grabbed me by the arm again, and this time more aggressively, “What’s wrong with you? Do you have Ebola or something?” I shrugged away and managed to escape them.

As I walked away, I remember the friend muttering “It’s okay bro, she doesn’t want to talk to me. Let’s go.” They stood in silence for about three seconds when the stalker (the one who was badgering me this entire time) yelled, “No! Why is she acting so ridiculous? She can’t even shake your hand! I’m not going to leave her alone until I get her number.” He jumped with fury and continued to follow me asking his friend to hurry up. I could tell his friend was uncomfortable but he followed regardless. I realized that it wasn’t the nice-looking friend who was into me, but his ferocious, jumpy friend.

I went to the closest shop I could find. The people at the shop were basically my 2^nd family…I’ve known them since I was a little girl. As supportive and helpful as they were, I didn’t want to trouble them at such a late hour. They could see that I was distressed but they kept quiet for some reason.

I asked to phone my mom. Immediately she began yelling at me, “Do you know what time it is? Where have you been? Why is your phone switched off? Where are you calling from?” The guys were standing outside the shop waiting for me. I wanted to play it cool. “Umm… I’m at the shop near our house. Can you please come and pick me up?”

She wasn’t as understanding as I wanted her to be. She kept hanging up on me (and not by accident) – she wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. I tried her phone a few times. I could hear the stalker whispering to his friend, “She’s calling someone but I don’t know who.”

A few minutes later, my sister called to say that my mom was outside waiting for me. I couldn’t believe the relief. The minute I stepped out of the shop, I saw no one and thought for a moment that they had disappeared. I took a few steps forward, confidently and audaciously, and that’s when they crept out of the darkness like twin gangstas. I was beyond frightened. They began pacing closely behind me. They said nothing and that scared me even more. I continued walking and thankfully…it wasn’t long before I spotted my mom walking towards me.

She was furious but I didn’t care. I was hopeful and so calmed. She saved me! And yes, she might have yelled on and off during her big triumph… but she saved me. That’s all I could think about the rest of the night.

The two young gentlemen disappeared behind us and I haven’t seen them since. Their tenacity wasn’t the only thing that shocked me. In the midst of it all, I remember seeing my neighbour standing in the dark watching the whole thing unfold. He said and did nothing.

The next day I found him, I asked him, “Why didn’t you save me? You knew I was being harassed by that young man.” He was very apologetic and said with a soft tone, “I’m so sorry my dear, but I thought he was your boyfriend when I saw you walking alongside him, yelling at him and him yelling at you. I just thought you were having a heated argument and I didn’t want to intervene.”

For me, that’s not good enough. Even if I knew that young man, he was clearly bothering me and my neighbour stood and watched the entire time.

I realized there was no point in getting upset over it. It’s a societal issue, not an individual one. Even before Hanna was raped, people saw the kidnappers dragging her into their house. They saw her screaming for help but they did nothing to help her. Lying on her deathbed, Hanna asked her father the same thing I asked my mother: “Why didn’t they help me? They knew something was wrong but they kept quiet.” People are selfish; they only thing they care about is helping themselves. I guess it is a dangerous society after all.

If my mother didn’t find me in due time, who knows what could have happened to me. From the look of his face, I would say he was either going to beat me, rape me or stab me. The young man’s temperamental vibe gave me the feeling that I was going to be his next victim. But I wasn’t. I escaped death and agony – and I didn’t do it on my own.

I don’t understand how the society functions. Why bother standing there like a statue when you can call for immediate help? Why pretend not to notice when you can be someone’s hero? Everyone wants to be a hero but nobody has the guts to step up and show the world that they have what it takes. It’s regressive.

Let my story be a lesson for everyone out there.

By Eden Tadesse

 

To vaccinate or not to vaccinate is a choice which is undoubtedly the right of every person in the “free world.” Yet, when the discussion of the anti-vaccination movement comes up it becomes immediately obvious that we are not talking about individuals. At least not people who are able to make individual choices. Rather, we see collective asininity, new forms of group-think, and irrational mob-parentage.

The measles outbreak which has made headlines across the United States and in Canada has been worrying those of us whose rationality goes beyond the idea of what is “green” and what is not. Those of us who have an infinitesimal amount of knowledge of basic 6th grade science are able to discern that not vaccinating your children is a bad thing.  History is our proof.

Prior to the invention of the vaccine, people were dying, and they were dying in egregious numbers. The number of children affected by polio, influenza, and who knows what other ghastly pestilence before the vaccine was exceptionally worrying. People actually died. Many children would not see the age of 10.

Parents in those days also lived in fear, yet they did not live in fear of a scientifically inconclusive study that vaccines might have a side effect, whose rarity is so wide it is laughable. No. They lived in real fear that something like a fever could kill their son or daughter. They, whose level of education was probably lower than the average person today, lived in reality, while parents today live in asinine foolishness.

Yet what could account for such lack of reason? Collective mentality, not so different from the environmental movement, vegans, and so on. In fact many of these parent put their children at serious risk, only to feel welcomed part of some sort of perverse community where parents just “know better” not to vaccinate their children.

When you ask these people the simple question of “Why?” they will give you the same reasons in repetition. They are in an essence unable to think for themselves, but follow some sort of trend believing that they are doing their children good. Not so different how the mysticism in a community in Canada led to the death of a child because they refused chemotherapy, and rather took on “natural” forms of medicine.

The irony behind all of this is that we live in an age where anyone can access studies by scientists and doctors, yet so many people chose irrationality over reason, they choose collective bromides over individual thought. The fact that they are able to make such choices puts them amid those who are lucky enough to do so, all the while thousands die of influenza in some African countries, would they opt out from a chance to save their children?

Once reality hits, these “health-conscious” parents and children will begin to get sick — something which is already happening, and the most unthinkable — and as children begin to die as a result of their need to “feel welcomed” by the mob or “feel” as they are part of some greater collective group. perhaps they might see the error of their ways. This is a conflict of delusion, and reality.

Rant by Milad Doroudian

Image By NIAID

PARIS – This is the first Sunday after the terrorist shootings in Paris. The French government decided to launch a large-scale solidarity rally to show support for the victims of the extremist attacks.

However, one may wonder whether it would be safe to go into with a large crowd. Would it also become the target of terrorist attack?

According to a Parisian with whom this reporter spoke about such concerns, there were a large number of police and even police snipers, and the government had a large-scale mobilization plan in place.

Also, she thought the terrorists would not be interested in attacking the rally because massive murder did not match the ‘signature’ such terrorists have become known for.

She went on to say that we shouldn’t be afraid because that’s exactly what the terrorists wanted, while she also understood that would be easier said than done.

She might not have represented all French people but at least she revealed the thoughts of some French people–to be even braver when facing threats! After all, the historic, massive mobilization throughout the country has been consistent with this mentality.

In the afternoon, I set off from a metro station where the platform was full of people. Five trains passed but I couldn’t get on train at all. One Parisian told me in a text message that he had never experienced such a large crowd before, and expressed that it seemed incredible to him. He could not even reach the place where we were supposed to meet because some roads had been blocked.

I was finally able to board the sixth train that came, but it was extremely crowded. When I got off, a herd of people were moving slowly towards the exit. Since there were so many people, what usually takes around two to three minutes–reaching the exit–took almost 20 minutes.

Then I found myself already standing in the crowd once I reached street level. I walked in an opposite direction of the crowd hoping to find a space so that I could call my friend. However, the phone network did not work at all.

I was standing next to a bus stop at a crossroad while watching the people marching slowly across. There were people of different ages and various races. Many were holding signs with the slogan, “Je suis Charlie,” while some were holding French national flags. Some people also specially decorated their hats with coloured pencils to represent the cartoonists. One lady was wearing a hair clip prettily handcrafted with a row of colourful colour pencils.

The rally was very peaceful. Most of the time, people were just marching forward quietly. There was not much shouting of various slogans. No one used amplifiers. From time to time, the crowd would clap in rhythm and shout, “Charlie! Charlie!” or, “Liberté! Liberté!” On both sides of the marching crowd were those typical Parisian buildings. Some people up there went out to their balconies to cheer for the crowd. Some tried to lead the crowd to clap. Some were playing music to cheer the marching people. Suddenly, there came that most touching eternal classic:

“Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world…

“You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one.
I hope someday you’ll join us,
And the world will live as one” –Imagine, John Lennon

I couldn’t help singing along, and I could hear some people around were singing together too. People clapped after the song was over.

Letter by Rickovia Leung

Currently in Romania there are over 19,000 people living on the streets, including hundreds of children. Some such children are taken care of in shelters. In this video portrait, Alberto, a 14-year-old from a shelter home in Bucharest, explains what it’s like to live in an orphanage and how he got there in the first place.

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“The shocking part of this story is not that he has no parents or a family, but that he had them! The reason why his mother left him there was the only too well-known reason of money problems. With the father out of the picture, his mother didn’t have enough money to raise him at home, and the heartbreaking part is that he couldn’t go to school because he had to stay at home and take care of his younger brothers, which he dearly did–he loved them to pieces. A major reason for Alberto being where is is that he couldn’t stay away from them. He said that his mother couldn’t afford the rent, they didn’t have a proper place to sleep or take a warm shower, they could barely afford daily food.

“In spite of the hard life he went through, he still had a very positive mind.”

– Filmmaker Nicolae Constantin

[su_vimeo url=”https://vimeo.com/116757265″]

Kenya woke up to the death of the son of the former prime minister on Sunday, January 11. The son of the former premier had spent the previous night out with friends. He arrived home at 2 a.m. and a few hours later was pronounced dead.

Fidel Odinga, who was the eldest son to Rt. Hon Raila Odinga and Ida Odinga, is said to have visited his parents the previous day and excused himself to meet a group of friends that afternoon before joining his other close allies at a restaurant in Westlands, Nairobi, where the group stayed until their last drinks.

The country may have been robbed of a great son of the land and a young man who had serious ambitions, but as of yet not all is known about the death–the nation waits for the post-mortem results.

The premier’s son was an outgoing man and hit the limelight during the last elections following the succession politics of the Kibera constituency which his father has been representing for more than two decades.

Odinga was brought up in a political family. His grandfather was the first Kenyan vice president, the late Hon. Jaramogi Oginga Odinga. His cousin and fathers elder brother, Hon. Oburu Odinga, was a minister and a one time Member of Parliament. Fidel Castro Makarios was expected to follow his family’s footsteps and work in politics as well.

Odinga, as eulogized by several leaders, was said to be an outgoing, humble young man who respected all despite their political differences and ethnic origins.

The son to the former premier married an Eritrean, Mrs. Bekele Lwam, with whom he had a son named Alai Raila Odinga. Odinga was married at the Coptic church in Nairobi and was baptized by Pastor Makarios of the Coptic church clergy.

Assuredly, even with the death of Fidel Odinga, the country still has another Odinga who could be a force to reckon with in the future.

As Kenyans await the post mortem results, the government has promised to conduct an intensive investigation to ensure the family of the prime minister and the country at large of the true reason they were robbed them of such a promising young man. But even as we wait for the results, one is left to wonder if the Government will really succeed in carrying out the investigation, since even decades after the deaths of other key political personalities such as Tom Mboya and Dedan Kimathi the investigations are not complete. Additionally, the deaths of Hon. Mutula Kilonzo and Hon. Otieno Kajwang are still unknown despite the government having assured the citizens last year of carrying out credible investigations.

Mourned internationally, the funeral of Fidel Odinga was not very different from that of Sen. Mutula Kilonzo and Otieno Kajwang, two other men who once played their part in Kenyan politics.

Opposition leaders made a clarion call to the government to ensure the nation is told what robbed them of a young man with great aspirations. The leaders also used the funeral as a stage to call for the government to engage in dialogue with them.

Described as a hero (jowi), Odinga was the sponsor of the Kisumu rugby club as well as of the Gor Mahia club. As a sportsman, he ensured the two clubs were on course. He had a vision to make a rugby sports stadium in Kisumu this year; a dream that may now never come true.

In a mode to rememberance for Odinga, the governor of Mombasa, Hon. Hassan li Joho, has already named a street after the young man. Even as we await the post mortem, all we can say is: Rest in peace Fidel Castro Makarios Odhiambo Odinga.

By Morris Cerullo

The Moringa Oliefera tree claims to contain powerful supplement that can aid in the treatment and prevention of many diseases.  While usage of nearly all parts of this tree for many different purposes has been utilized for thousands of years, mostly in Asia, the notoriety of this potential superfood is rapidly increasing into the rest of the world.  However, more lab tests using human subjects are needed to substantiate this claim.

To attain the status of a superfood, a food must be nutrient rich and contain vitamins and minerals that are beneficial to the body.  However, many nutrition experts do not feel this term should be applied as easily as it has been, and is usually only applied for marketing and commercial purposes.  For instance, blueberries are sometimes labeled as a superfood, although it’s not nearly as nutrient dense as originally purported.  In fact, out of the many groups of superfoods, berries as a whole have not received the scientific scrutiny applied to others, such as salmon or leafy green vegetables.

The proponents of Moringa Oliefera claim that it is a powerful supplement and more than deserving of the superfood title. For instance, it’s high fiber, protein and vitamin content helps to alleviate the effects of malnutrition in many third world countries when its leaves are eaten. Studies have also shown that it contains antioxidant properties that can aid in the prevention of cardiovascular disease.

Dr. Mark Olson, a botanist at the Universidad National Autonoma in Mexico City, admires its ability to thrive in some of the world’s toughest growing regions.  “This is a plant that does…extraordinarily well in some of the most difficult areas…that are hot (and) dry.”  He went on to say that the plant has a secret in its resiliency.  “They don’t have particularly deep roots…they’re storing water in the roots and trunk.” (https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=SKnJgaHFLR0)

There can be a downside to eating the roots, bark and flowers by pregnant women, however.  Studies have shown that consumption can cause contraction of the uterus, possibly triggering a miscarriage.  Also, experts warn against eating the roots and their extracts, as they may cause paralysis and death. (  )

Also, there have been few random and double blind studies involving humans regarding the efficacy of Moringa Oliefera and it’s supposed benefits. Up to this point there have been mostly animal and in vitro testing.  These studies, while promising, seem to suggest that much more human testing is needed before Moringa Oliefera can be deemed super, much less a superfood.

By Brett Scott

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=SKnJgaHFLR0″][su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05aN75rhJ7s”][su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsQ63m4hLN0″][su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ctbc9kw1oHA”][/su_youtube]