healing trauma: mutual recognition and responsibility

How do we have to be to witness, listen and hold the pain of those many wounded amongst us and see ourselves in them, and they in us? If love and loss are what is common, and what is shared. What spaces are there for us to share these? What spaces can we create in our homes, offices, matatus to have these dialogues, to name and witness our pain? To witness each other, and restore our humanity.

ruuude! when worlds meet

What happens when worlds meet? When ways of viewing the world meet? When ways of organising the world collide? Is one way always right? Does one way ‘win’ and the other get subsumed under it. Does it matter where it happens? A few stories: Number 1: Once in college, my roommate (and friend of 3…

25 images of transition in brazil

I spent two and a half months working alongside various initiatives that were part of a larger Transition Brasilândia network while in São Paulo, Brazil. Brasilândia is located in the North East of the city, and a 2 hour and multiple bus ride away from the centre of São Paulo. It is also the only…

stories and histories – museums in cape town

I have a friend who loves museums (hi Betsy!). She says that it’s interesting to see what a city or nation chooses to remember and how they do it. Of all the places I have been to I would choose Cape Town as a city of museums. While I was there I visited the slave…

decolonising in practice- post on brainstorm

This experiment to me represents knowledge revival in two senses. Reviving my grandmother’s knowledge: she herself couldn’t tell me how she processed maize in this way, being bodily gone from this world; but at least I know that she did. In a second sense, this is knowledge rebirth – using beneficial indigenous knowledge from a…

on poetry, and agosín’s ‘i lived on butterfly hill’

“Poetry is a violence from within that protects us from a violence without” Wallace Stevens One evening many years ago, I stood up in a modestly filled room at the Goethe Institut, Nairobi, walked somewhat unsurely to a seat at the front and read some poems from my ‘Pink book’ notebook collection of poetry. The…

an ode to brasilândia

What is Brasilândia? A many layered thing- literally. A mix of textures, colours, sounds, “lá tudo nublado, aqui tudo colorido” as my host sister put it, The day she took me on a walk Through her colourful neighbourhood. A slice of life all in one short street. Where the church and local pub vie for…