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Perchè la guerra fa schifo.

There are stories that read books are impressive.

The same stories told by those who lived them are even more shocking. Especially when they talk about real life, when you know quite well who tells her, when they speak of the country where you are and the people around you, when in the eyes of those you see in front of emotion, involvement, fear, joy, memories and even then and hope. Especially when the game of pure chance that these stories will bring to mind images of faraway places and colors but you have personally seen.

There is a town in southern Uganda, on shores of Lake Victoria, which is called Masaka. It has about 70,000 inhabitants and is located on the "highway" that connects the capital Mbarara, Kampala.

Masaka was one of the stages of a fantastic journey (the journey, with a capital) that will remain forever in the heart, eyes and skin.

Karungu, Mwanza, Nyakatasi, Kigali, Mbarara, Masaka, Kampala, Jinja and then again Karungu.

Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda and Kenya again.

And now in Sudan-a was divided in half and crumbled by more than two decades of civil war between north and south, separated from oil, language, culture and skin color-meeting in a history of escape, division and rediscovered the same sounds and same images of Uganda crossed a few months ago.

Masaka and Kampala.

But the story is about a very different Uganda, the first of Obote and Idi Amin then, two of the worst dictators that Africa has ever had, whose personal and political history is crammed of blood, violence and terror.

In 1971, thanks to a military coup, did depose Amin and Obote became president, promising peace and prosperity and giving change only in ethnic cleansing, corruption and a nation to its knees.

At that time who told me this story he lived with his family in a village in Masaka district, about forty miles from Kampala.

The father and mother a few years earlier had fled from Juba, capital of South Sudan, when he was about to blow that same civil war between north and south of which still today live with the consequences.

The flight was timely and enabled them to avoid losing all they had to avoid periods of imprisonment in crowded refugee camps and in poor condition and enabling them to afford to buy a piece of land, rebuild a home and start a life.

But the arrival of the soldiers of Amin ended for the second time to this.

Because the person I am talking about was born in Uganda and attended the school not far from his village, but unfortunately he was kidnapped by militias in arrival and ended up in South Sudan.

alone.

E alone is broken, refugee from south to north. To a place, Khartoum, which was a kind of promised land. Where there was no war and where they could try to get by somehow.

now has a family, great and wonderful. He has a job, safe and important because it helps so many people have the money to afford the current house and send their children to school. And all this is so for a person living in a refugee camp, or sub-urban settlement for internal displaced people, or whatever tickles your fancy you can call a place like Mayo.

But the amazing thing was the story of how, 17 years after it was taken away from Uganda, has managed to get in touch again with his family and when, two years ago, be able to see his mother, who did not believe in tears to have it again in front of her son.

This is the story.

I do not know to tell stories, let alone such stories.

do not think I can to convey in words what I felt hearing this story, or looking into those eyes he told me.

But I wanted to try, because I believe it is right to do so.

Because I think it is fair that you know the war sucks.

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Il mantello del passato

" The mantle of the past is made with fabric the emotions of our lives and sewn with the threads of time enigmatic. In general we can not do is wrap it around her shoulders to draw comfort, or drag it behind as we strive to continue our journey.

But everything has a cause and an effect.

Every life, every love, every action, every emotion and thought have a reason and a meaning. And sometimes we see them. Sometimes we see the past with such clarity, and component parts appear to us with such clarity that every stitch of time reveals its purpose, the message it contains.

In life of everyone, no matter who is living in plenty or in poverty, there was no more knowledge of the bankruptcy, and more clearly in pain. And in the tiny precious wisdom that we get, those dreaded and hated enemies, suffering and failure, have the right and reason to exist " .

(GD Roberts, Shantaram )

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Salam aleikum.

E così capita che per giorni cerchi il Natale senza trovarlo, sentendoti orfano di sensazioni, colori, suoni, odori, sapori e facce che per 27 anni non sono mai mancati una volta. Capita che ti aggrappi a ogni singola finestrella del calendario dell’avvento e nella campanella o nella candelina che si scopre vorresti davvero sentire il tintinnio o vedere la luce calda dello stoppino che brucia. Capita che gli alberelli 15 cm plastic with fake snow and a star on top will make it even more sad about what you want to be and that you are actually to be. It happens that the lights mounted on the doll out of the rooms or you remember only an amusement park of the province and nothing else.

And then it happens that you wake up one morning and suddenly you hear the Christmas screams inside, strong, loud, stinging, and you realize that before they found it was just because they look in the place or manner wrong.

Two years ago at this time going down a plane at Linate that brought home after the first six months mission, with a suitcase full of dates, and red sorrel, and a head full of dreams and plans.

now and again and again before the Sudan, but the suitcase is empty, shut the closet and I'm in the Pediatric Clinic at Mayo, few km FUO re Khartoum, on the edge a refugee camp. Behind the thin plastic wall that separates the office from the short corridor that leads into the two rooms in the ward visit and feel the first children who enter. Someone cries, the mothers do not speak and the voices are just the staff that is already at work, visiting doctors, two nurses help them and the third takes care of a patient in the ward, the pharmacist preparing his table more wine pills and tubes, the lab technician sits in front of the microscpio, the cleaner system for the day and out the roar of the generator is the background.

Now, finally, I realized that Christmas I had it under my eyes every day from October, when I came to this magical and magnificent. And here's something that has become difficult to keep inside, is a lump in my throat that holds the words and strangled, and shining eyes and confused boundaries, you goose bumps for any thoughts. But it's also the beauty of the smiles and received data to those around me, whether staff or children or mothers.

year more than ever, Christmas has to do with peace. A broad concept of peace, which involves and encompasses everything and everyone.

Out of these four white walls, unfortunately, everything is full of signs and consequences of "non-peace." Twenty-five years of civil war between north and south , the tragedy of Darfur, the tensions between neighboring states, tribal violence and famine have forced people to flee from home to seek refuge in this "non-place" a few kilometers from a city that boasts a daily serenity that is not real and artificial peace fatta di soldi e barili di petrolio. E questo non-luogo diventa tutti i giorni un ritratto reale del Natale, un presepio fatto di 300.000 o forse addirittura 500.000 persone.

Ma non si tratta solo di questo. Perchè i segni e le conseguenze dalla “non-pace” ce li ho anche addosso.

Ricordo bene una giornata che ho passato con un amico qualche mese fa, una giornata trascorsa a versare millemila parole e altrettanti bi cchieri di amaro con un’etichetta che invece consigliava l’esatto opposto. E in quell’occasione particolare mi sono sentito dire che prima di tutto il resto quello che conta davvero è far pace con se stessi. Perchè è solo così c he potremo prima o poi far pace anche con gli altri.

Non so a che punto sono, certo di strada ne manca ancora tanta. O forse addirittura sono ancora fermo alla linea di partenza in attesa di qualcuno o qualcosa che mi dia il via, o della forza necessaria per farlo. Ma il fatto di aver capito in che direzione andare mi da un minimo di coraggio, così come le persone che per un motivo o per l’altro, coscienti o no di farlo, mi stanno dando una mano.

Mi dispiace esser lontano a fare il Natale, ma credo sia giusto così. Non saranno agree with the grandmothers, I know, but I'm sure they understand that at home.

So far I have written very little because I did not know where fingers on the keyboard I would lead and I was afraid, because so many sleepless nights and days watching the sky and the Nile really take away with thoughts, but now his head is full of everything Christmas is good opportunity to let out a small part of this whole.

And now I think I understand what I should look at the chaos that fills my head and stomach. Of course then you also know co I do find, start doing it, etc. .. but we can all pole pole, and I think I know people brave enough and strong enough to be able to testify that is true.

And the thoughts continue, they run. Meanwhile, outside the cries of children increases, the cries of mothers, the noises of the staff as everyday cares.

hours I'm going to dive into my Christmas, made of hot, kids, traveling companions, made an incomprehensible language, but now it sounds familiar, hope, dreams of peace, a desire to looking for strokes and lose not.

Salam aleikum.

Merry Christmas to all.

with the heart.

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Allaround

allaround.jalbum.net / travelnurse

's just a small beginning, but I hope to soon grow and make it grow. It is an exhibition of the best pictures but it is an attempt to tell stories. My way.
Or rather, is an attempt to tell stories as I have seen, read, interpreted, browse, translated, understood and experienced. Or imagine.
We are immersed in the stories, stories of everyday people's stories about witches, wizards, princesses and princes, funny stories, drama, current, improbable, trivial, adventurous, silly, exciting, etc. ...
All around us.
There are those who know how to tell those who write, who cares, who prefers to forget. This is my attempt to tell someone that deserves to be told.
Although in the end deserve to be told ( almost) all.

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PINEAPPLE::: MADE IN HEAVEN

Pineapple (Ananas ) is the title of the work of Nanoart of Alessandro Scali in collaboration with the Politecnico di Torino , in particular with the prof. Fabrizio Pirri, Gabriele Maccioni the PhD and Alessandro Chiolerio , and Alessandro Nesca of Microla .

For thousands of years religion and the promise of paradise are among the pretexts used to justify a war. In this regard, the pineapple in a particular subject is religiously cultivated fruit and lovingly produced in paradise.

The work consists in having an impact on the grenade - in dimensioni micrometriche, sulla falsariga di una ‘nota legale’ - la scritta MADE IN HEAVEN .

- - - - - -

PINEAPPLE is the title of the last artwork by Alessandro Scali , realized inside Politecnico di Torino Labs , thanks to the team leaded by prof. Fabrizio Pirri and PhDs Gabriele Maccioni and Alessandro Chiolerio , and Alessandro Neca from Microla .

By ages religion is and the promise of the paradise are among the most used pretexts to justify a war. According to this, the pineapple shown in the pictues is a very special fruit religiously cultivated and lovingly produced in paradise.

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Happy birthday Mayo!!

Four years to the day.
More than 66,000 children examined and treated. Free.
and a great desire to continue to do more and better.
Mayo Happy birthday!

outside the clinic

in white: the nurse and Dr. Lucia and Tereza. Khalda and Fatma
behind red Abdulgadir (cleaner) and Adam in blue (the chief of guards)

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Cartoline dal campo...