BCN 07

Another week at the office, greeting royalty and super stars...

Last Tuesday was the annual Front Line Award for Human Rights Defenders at risk, which was held in City Hall. The awardee is Gege Katana, a human rights defender from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Gege founded and runs a women's organisation in Uvira in the DRC for victims of sexual violence, which is systematic and widespread across the country. Her organisation (Solidarity Movement of Women Human Rights Activists) assists and supports victims through all the consequences of rape (medical follow ups, councelling, assisting in bringing perpetrators to trial, supporting the children who are the result of rape, as well as lobbying for women's rights with local community leaders and government officials. Because of her work and the success of the organisation, she suffers almost daily death threasts, she was previously banned from travelling for 7 years, has been arrested on numerous occasions. Her house was completely ransacked and she lives in constant fear for her children's safety. (Gege adopted 15 children!) She told me that she never sleeps more than a handful of hours a night because she is constantly alert to any potential danger. With such an impressive profile, it was with considerable humility that I set off to meet Gege and to begin my week as her 'minder' and interpreter. So on day 1 I went to pick up Gege Katana in the lobby of the Clarence and was surprised to find this tiny woman in colourful attire waiting for me on a chair. She told me later that her appearance had saved her on more than one occasion, for in her region a myth has grown surrounding her name because of her work and she is known as 'La Dame de Fer'. She said that once a group soldiers came into her house and demanded to know where Gege Katana was. She asked them what this Gege looked like and they said she is a big tall woman. She told them she didn't know anyone who corresponded to that description but that she would keep an eye out for her! Gege is of a very quiet disposition and was quite hard work conversation-wise. We went out for lunch together and she had a pizza, which she had never heard of but told me was similar to 'chappati'. After lunch we went to the Department of Foreign Affairs to meet with some people from the Human Rights unit and I did my first official bit of interpreting. My god, its increadibly tiring! I had to interpret back and forth from English into French and vice versa and really had to struggle to concentrate in order to remember everything that was being said. (Plus, trying to remember the names of the various rival ethnic factions in the DRC... yes.. kinda skipped over those ones..). After our meeting we headed into Dunnes Stores to try and find some polo necks as Gege was actually freezing and hadn't packed enough clothes. (I had to try and explain that it was infact officially considered summer here, hence the lack of polo necks and instead an array of shorts and halter neck tops..) We managed to find a couple of long sleeve tshirts for her to wear under her cool congolese dress and trouser combos. She also bought a pair of heals in Barrats. So we had a taste for shoes in common! We had dinner in Bang (my choice.. there have to be SOME perks to the job, after all..) and I brought her back to her hotel. Unfortunately I then had to head back to City Hall to help set everything up for the following morning. Que annoying double and tripple checking of guest lists, place settings, information packs, snotting assistants from the corporate world butting in and a whole host of annoying set backs. Bed at 1 finally after a very very long day... Day 2, the day of the award I went to pick up Gege and we walked up to City Hall. (Note: was ridiculously chuffed by the proximity of the clarence-my flat-city hall triangle throughout the week!) We arrived to find a lot of the guests all ready standing around schmoozing, furtively looking around to try and spot the various dublin society members dotted around the grand marble hall. The hall itself looked increadible, with tables set in the centre of the tall columns and various flat-screen tvs around the circumference so that everyone could see what was going on. Obviously Gege and myself didn't particularly know anyone, bar the staff who where all running around, so we took our seats at the top table. We were told that Bono's 'people' (nauseating term..) had called that morning to ask if he could bring a guest, so a thirteenth place had been set at our table. Eventually everyone took their seats. Maurice Manning of the Irish Human Rights Commission was beside me and I really wanted to say “Hi, you used to be my lecturer in 2nd year!” but I refrained as he was engrossed in far more high brow conversations. I was also mentally willing Eamonn Mac Aodha to remember my face and give me a job when I finish in Front Line next Autumn... So finally when everyone was seated, Sir Bono (how can someone who isn't a subject of the Queen be knighted? Plus, what a shameless act of Brit-lovingto accept..) shimmies in with his guest, who just happens to be Queen Rania al Abdulla of Jordan. Why not? So i did my best not to sit and stare them out of the gaff, and continued to bare my best 'i sit with famous people all the time, i'm so unfased by this' pose. Bono, true to form, looked fairly ridiculous with orange glasses and those horendous Clash-esque crepe shoes that I'm fairly sure Jimmy Rabbitt from the Commitments wears. (What was ok in the early 90s is not always the case today, Paul..) I was quite surprised how dwarfish and box-shaped he was. (Skinny jeans...? Why?) He looked a bit like a girl with fat thighs actually... Anyway, he shook hands with everyone and so did Her Maj. (At the risk of ending up on some Jordanian government hit list for reporting this, i have to point out that Rania did infact wolf down her eggs, her tomatoes, her BACON and her SAUSAGES...! Controversial, i think?...). Bono, seated beside Gege asked her a few questions and I obliged by translating them and then telling him her aswers. He has these stubby little sausage fingers with weird little freckles on them. Unsurprisingly his transatlantic accent was a lot milder on this occasion. So the various speeches rolled on and i did my best to both translate for Gege and attempt to whisper. (Some things really don't translate.. ie the various little quips about the elections coming up...jeeez, laisse tomber..) Finally it was time for Bono's speech and after a hesitant and stamery start with various prolonged pauses (causing silent but palpable general 'cringe..' across the room) he pulled out a piece of paper and revealed that he had written a poem for Gege this morning (as you do, in front of your bowl of frosties). As he read at high speed, I'd say about 40% of the contents where lost in my translation. I keep having flashbacks about 'leaves of stone' and 'wells of despair..'... So clappedy clap eveyone went... Then I realised that it was actually time for Gege to go up and receive her award. As she went up to the stage a group of congolese people from Limerick who where tenuously connected to Gege's organisation SOFAD (and who had basically blagged themselves some invites by ringing up the week before asking what the address was and what time they should come at) crowded the stage and started singing and clapping. It was so deadly! In all this ruckus I noticed that the other person from Front Line who was supposed to go up and translate her acceptance speech to the room of 200 people was no where to be seen. You could tell that people where wondering when she was going to start speaking and everyone at the table was looking at me wondering why I hadn't gone up. So panicked, i made my way to the front of the side of the stage and asked the other guy if he was doing it or was I because there was this horrible 'temps mort' and someone needed to go up, like now! You are, he says. Well, funny that, cause they could have bloody told me that yesterday! It had been agreed 3 weeks previously that he would do that bit. Next thing i know, there I am standing beside Gege at a weird little lecturn, flanked by Queen Rania and Bono, trying not to look at the 200 or so people sitting quietly in anticipation. All i can say is that i'm glad Gege had her speech infront of her so at least I could read ahead, desperately clutching at nicely presented sentences in English in my head. Dear god, its increadible what adrenaline can do to focus the mind. It all went relatively smoothly with the odd hesitation and a couple of near fatal moments where my mind veared dangerously close to the edge of blankness and I had to steer it back into consciousness, thus narrowly avoiding public humiliation.. The award ceremony over, the press literally descended on Gege and Bono and there was articles in all the major newspapers the next day (including an article on Bono and his penchent for platform shoes in the Star or some-such reputable Irish publication). It was so great to see that Gege and her work got that much coverage, all be it in the context of association with Bono (regretable but that's the way it is with showbiz and whatever furthers the cause, ya know!) The whole celebrity/rich people on the guest list I have been humouring on the phone for the last month with annoying demands-thing is slightly disillusioning but its all part of the game I suppose. For my part I'm really happy that I got to spend the week with the real star of the show who told me lots of very increadible things about her country and her work. (Both increadibly sad and increadibly inspiring.) At the risk of sounding trite, the whole experience was a very humbling one for me (which to be honest can sometimes make for rather difficult conversation topics.. You don't want to sound like you're probing for details about how hard life is over there but then again how do make light conversation with a human rights defender (who literally puts herself at risk every day) without coming across as a shallow idiot?? Nevertheless, in our own way we got to know each other and I feel really priviledged that I was given the opportunity to spend time with a total legend like Gege! Click here for a short video on Gege's work.

Red speckled hen

Une poule sur un mur

Qui picotte du pain dur

Picoti, picota

Lève la patte et puis s'en va.

The calm before the storm

A recent post-op picture of me...

Dental Drama

Well, well, well... I've been totally out of action for the last few days because of the HIDEOUS dental operation I was forced to undergo that was everything i thought it would be and much much more. The indignation I feel has made me want to vent, and the venting has taken the form of blogging. What was supposed to be "a doddle", "really straight forward", "totally fine" actually veared into the nightmare-esque because basically... the sedation DID NOT WORK!!! So i was totally conscious and panicky and frustrated that the guy (dentist and wannabe self-help guru who looked like Gerard DePardieux in a BAD way) had partronised me and mocked me for 'taking the easy way out' and not going under local only, telling me my teeth would pop out like four little supositories. (His charming imagery should have been enough of warning of things to come..) GORRY DENTAL DETAILS TO FOLLOW... SKIP AHEAD IF PRONE TO SQUEEMISHNESS!!! See the thing is that on top of the 4 wisdom teeth that where to be extracted, i was going in to have this problem ive been having with a receeding gum at the front on the bottom teeth sorted, and the dentist was going to cut away that bit of skin that attaches your lip to your bottom gums to stop the gum from further receeding. (euuuughh...) I was already predisposed to disliking the 'dentist' since the first consultation where he was extrememly condecending and dained to pop-psychoanalyse me because my mum had the misfortune to mentioned that i am prone to panic attacks in the hopes that he might be a mildly more understanding as to why i was nervous about the whole thing. What followed was a 15 minute diatribe about being from a middle class background and that my parents listened and humoured me too much and that all one had to to do fight anxiety was just to stop being afraid. And anyway, im a pretty girl so what do i have to worry about?! Damn... If only i had thought of that! So basically, after ripping out my teeth he did this whole other procedure without even mentioning to me before or during what he was he was going to do. This consisted of cutting a whole bit of skin from my pallet and graffting it on the bottom of my gums with stitches. So all in all it was a very traumatic and extremely sore experience, not to mention the kurfuffle i got into from being completely bloody CONSCIOUS the whole time. Then i was carted to some 'recovery room' which was basically a hall that people kept walking through and wondering what the hell i was doing lying vaguely covered in some sheets with ly shoes still on. My mouth was full of blood but i couldnt spit it out cause my lips were all numb so i just had to stay lying with the taste of haemoglobin in my mouth. Awfullll... I got home and was in a hightened state of anxiety for several hours, the events of the day on repeat in my mind until eventually i fell asleep. Yesterday i was feeling a lot better but still a bit weird. I have all these threads that are in the front that make me queezy when i think about it that i'll have to get taken out in 2 weeks by some random person in London which is quite weird and stresfull to think about. Today im feeling pretty sore, basically on the bit of my palet he cut off and the front where the graft is. For some reason im a lot more conscious of the 4 holes i now have instead of teeth. So i've been having a bit of a tv-show marathon, watching Dawson's Creek and Gray's Anatomy and feeling bitter that my hospital wasnt at allll as cool as the one in Seattle and the doctors aren't half as glamourous or sexy. Also the Belge surgeons all wear these morbid plastic clogs that make me feel very uncomfortable and the walls where painted a colour that is the pigmentational equivalent of fear and loathing.. Well anyway, just had to get that off my chest. I shall take myself and my gammy mouth off to watch some quality Warner Brothers family entertainement and berate myself for not having a vocabulary as developed as Dawson, Joey and Pacy..