Kalash Tribal, Fat Chance and Congo

I wish I could re-blog directly from BlogSpot, but as this isn’t possible, I’m sharing this important link with you. I first came across American Tribal Style dance two years ago when Kalash Tribal were performing at the Mid Devon Show. I was mesmerised by them and sent them a couple of photos I’d taken on the day. Since then I’ve seen them again and followed their activities on Facebook.
Kelley Beeston teaches the troop, as well as performing. But there is so much more to this lady than her dance. I noticed that she travelled to Congo to do voluntary work with women, that’s CONGO, an article in the Guardian a few years ago described it as the worst place in the world to be a woman. So Kelley has fundraised for a fishing net, contraceptives and sewing machines, to help them to help themselves climb out of poverty.These are women who have survived torture and rape, they deserve all the help they can get to change their future. With her husband Kelley has started a Community Interest Company, luminosity.org
These are Kelley’s words from her Facebook page.

Tonight I cried. I cried because a woman who is so very important to me revealed her vulnerable side publicly. I cried because she recognises the need of so many other vulnerable women. I cried because she wrote an appeal – please help if you are able

She included a link to Fat Chance belly Dance blog page where Carolena Nericcio-Bohlman has appealed for help for this important cause.
http://fcbdblog.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/sister-to-sister-project.html

If you can help in any little way please do. If you can't help financially – I know that times are hard, please spread the word, re-blog, post about it, create a post sharing Carolena's blog, tweet and share on Facebook.
Thank you for reading.

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RNLI Duck Race

The RNLI ( Royal National Lifeboat Institution for those outside the UK) has been rescuing people at sea since 1824 and in that time has saved more than 139,000 lives. They currently have 330 boats in 23 stations around the country of various sizes and classes. A registered charity, all of its funding comes from donations and it is manned by volunteers. We all know that they rescue people from stricken vessels. You may know that their lifeguards patrol beaches and perform first aid. Did you know they have a flood rescue team? Also volunteers, specially trained  in swift water rescue techniques and ready to travel anywhere in the world.

Today I was in Beer, a lovely east Devon village with a Lifeboat shop raising vital funds to keep the service afloat. I learnt that it costs £75 for a rescue tube, bright yellow and made of plastic foam, with enough buoyancy to get an adult back on dry land. This is a small necessity, a tamar class lifeboat costs £2.7 million. I don’t know why there is no government funding for  lifeboats, but I guess that if a charity works why would they bother?

Today it worked like this.

A duck race! It’s lifeboat week in Beer, this is one of their fund raisers and a great success with the little ones that also raises awareness.

Around the Charity in Thirty Minutes

There was a middle aged man sat on the ground outside the post office when I walked past on my way to the cemetery with the dogs. Scruffy, unkempt, unwashed and down and out. I made eye contact because I hate ignoring people – but maybe doing so was patronising? His eyes saw me blankly before we both looked away. He had a bottle of supermarket white cider half empty beside him, it was 9.45 am. I had never seen him or any other homeless person around my neighbourhood before but times are hard and services have been cut.

I went on into the graveyard, pulled the dogs away from the squirrel hunting spot just inside the gate and headed towards the 1887 theatre fire monument. There behind it I saw a fresh grave with the biggest, most ostentatious pile of wreathes and bouquets I had ever seen. I was instantly stuck by the contrast; our society’s caring more for the dead than the living. I did a quick calculation, there were about 25-30 lots of flowers there, some very expensive, others less so, but about £500 must have been spent. Enough to feed that guy, put him in a hostel for a month and get him some new clothes.

When I die I want a cardboard box coffin or better still a silk sleeping bag liner. I do not want anyone to bring more than one white lily to my funeral; if they want to spend money then they can give it to a charity. How do you choose which charity is most needy these days? They say that charity begins at home and if so then that homeless man and many others like him are right on the doorstep. Alcohol though, many would consider that he does not deserve charity. It’s easy to judge isn’t it? He’s brought his troubles on himself, he’s hit the booze and pissed it against the wall hasn’t he? How often do we stop to ask the cause? Who knows what despair has brought him to the gutter by Ladysmith Road Post Office?

I will always give to cancer charities, like many people I have lost family and friends to the creeping devil disease. The NSPCC have benefited recently when my friend and I had a craft table at a country fair and I regularly get caught for sponsorship at work. One of my pet hates is when teenagers, some as young as sixteen are ‘raising money’ so that they can spend two weeks in a third world country to help build a school or plant a garden, you know the kind of thing? These trips usually cost a thousand pounds or so and no doubt they struggle to get the cash together – sitting in a bath of baked beans, abseiling from somewhere high or eating fifty hot dogs in an hour – but who really benefits? Maybe they realise how privileged they are, they mean well, but do they make any difference? Do they have any skills of any value to offer? Most often they come from middle class families whose middle class friends happily chip in so that said offspring can go on the adventure, but wouldn’t they do better to just send a cow? Or some seed and tools?

One of the craziest projects in recent years has to be the aid programme that decided to help the Turkana people in Northern Kenya by supplying them with equipment to fish and a huge freezing plant. The plan was to both improve nutrition locally and provide an income. The Turkana cooperative allowed themselves to be taught to fish and a new food mountain grew. It’s unfortunate that no one did enough homework to discover that the Turkana are nomadic pastoralists and DO NOT EAT FISH!

Seeing that man with his cider bottle sent my thoughts on a roller coaster, all on a thirty minute stroll through the cemetery. I might have popped into the shop and bought him a pasty, but he was gone by the time I walked back. I hope he found some appropriate help.