#Kuku Refugee Camp

[the-tru-story]

Seeing my mom’s old photos from China, which were all less about the size of a passport photo–including the ones taken with friends, made me dig up some photos of my family from Vietnam. In Mao’s China, it was impossible for rural farmers to purchase photos (hiring a photographer or going to a photo studio), let alone a camera, as they earned extremely little and couldn’t possibly save up to afford such a luxury. The oldest photo my mom has is of herself at 12 years old (the top left photo, with braids). Apparently her teacher recommended her to test for a more elite high school (she didn’t pass), and she had to take a photo for the exam.

On the other hand, I’ve seen plenty of “old country” photos of my dad’s side of the family. My family didn’t own a camera, so they hired people to take their photos. Saving up for a camera wasn’t impossible (my eldest aunt and dad had friends with cameras), but also not commonplace. My grandpa didn’t even own a phone in Vietnam, which goes to show that while Vietnam was not like China in terms of technology, it also wasn’t at America’s level.

The photos of my dad above were seen in my dad’s cousin’s home in Trà Ôn when we visited in 2018. My grandpa and dad sent many photos to him over the years (he is my grandpa’s cousin’s son). Some of these photos have Chinese written on the back but when we visited, he (“Chong 哥” in Hakka, last name is 陳 or Tran in Vietnamese) mostly spoke in Vietnamese to my dad and very minimal Hakka. Apparently he had lived with my grandma for a while and learned Hakka from her, and he in turn taught her Vietnamese. While my dad worked as a Chinese teacher in Trà Ôn, he sometimes stayed over at Chong 哥’s home.

The first photo at the top was taken after the fall of Saigon (1975), perhaps shortly before my uncle and aunt (both on the left) left as boat people. They left in September 1978 (must confirm month) and battled huge waves (my uncle used sound effects to demonstrate the monstrosity of these waves).

The second photo is of my dad in Indonesia, taken on August 8, 1981. My uncle who was already in Minnesota sent my dad $100 USD, so that’s how my dad was able to afford getting his photo taken. Well, that would’ve been more than enough for a while of comfortable living (apparently he was wearing new clothes in this picture). So how the heck do you send money to a refugee camp? When my dad reached Indonesia, he mailed my uncle, letting his brother know how to send him money. Apparently if you were living on a remote Indonesian island in the early 1980s, it was possible to accept international money orders, but not possible to make international phone calls. My dad first stayed in Kuku Refugee Camp, later moving to Galang Refugee Camp.

The third photo shows the remainder of my family who had not yet left Vietnam in 1985. This includes my grandpa’s large extended family. I think behind my grandpa to the right, wearing the white hat, is his older brother who my parents knew as “Man Shuk” in Hakka. To the left of my grandpa in the back row was 森譜（sp?）, who I knew as “Bak Bak” (伯伯) growing up and my parents knew as “Sen Pu Koh”. I was told by my mom that he passed away, but I do remember he sent flowers to my eldest aunt’s funeral.

The fourth photo also shows the remainder of my immediate family who had not yet left Vietnam. I assume this was the family portrait they took just before leaving, as April 4, 1985 (I think) is written on the back. With these photos, I can see that my paternal family’s obsession with taking pictures at family gatherings started much earlier than their “America” years. It was always to remember a moment, perhaps a “last” moment, together in the circumstance they were in.

Edit: urghh I added captions to all the photos (including Chinese-to-English translation) but apparently you can only view them if you’re viewing this post from your Tumblr dashboard.

[mubahood360]

Over 40 houses torched, dozens injured in ethnic refugee clashes

Over 40 houses torched, dozens injured in ethnic refugee clashes

Some of the refugees fleeing a fresh fight between Nuer and Kuku ethic communities in Palorinya settlement

Obongi, Uganda |  THE INDEPENDENT |  More than 40 houses have been torched and dozens of refugees injured in Palorinya settlement camp in Obongi district following ethnic clashes between the Nuer and Kuku community members.   

The fight erupted around 7pm on Monday night after a Nuer…

[jeffdonaldsons]

July 07, 2018 at 07:49PM

Established in 1992 following the arrival the “Lost Boys of Sudan” and with a population of nearly 190,000, the UNHCR refugee camp in Kakuma, Kenya, now resembles a sprawling shanty town. It has shops, restaurants, trades, and a makeshift power grid. Southern New Hampshire University has established an online degree program in the UNHCR refugee camp. The competency-based program, which has little traditional classroom time, provides students hope. -- Photography by Keith Bedford/Globe Staff - Read the Story - Teacher Kuku Kurimagi Agoumi, a refugee from South Sudan and a student of SNHU’s online degree program, leads his class in study at a school at the UNHCR refugee camp in Kakuma, Kenya, May 11. Teaching is one of the few jobs refugees are authorized to hold in the camp. (Keith Bedford/Globe Staff) from Big Picture via Jeff Donaldson’s Blog July 07, 2018 at 07:49PM

[cucinacarmela-blog]

A Time of Plenty: Celebrating Nowruz in America

New Post has been published on http://cucinacarmela.com/a-time-of-plenty-celebrating-nowruz-in-america/

A Time of Plenty: Celebrating Nowruz in America

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[Illustrations: Misha Zadeh]

I grew up without a sense of abundance, in pretty much everything except maybe imagination.

We were lower-class Iranians—a less visible phenomenon in our part of the US in that era. We were refugees on political asylum, from war as much as revolution, and we lived in a part of Los Angeles with few Iranians, many lives away from the very conspicuous Tehrangeleno elite. My brother and I shared a small bedroom in a small apartment in the undesirable part of town—the apartment district of mid-century stuccos, called “dingbat buildings” all over the Sun Belt—and my parents struggled with putting food on our plates. My mother still managed Persian dishes, but they were simple, and always served alongside whatever else was cheapest in America: pasta, salads with dressings made primarily of mayo and ketchup, Hostess snacks, sugary cereal, soda. I remember thinking we didn’t have enough, and that was just my lot in life.

I was cognizant of the fact that we had left abundance behind, of course; that in our native Iran, we’d had a lot. Not to mention lavishness just felt very Iranian. My father would remind us that we came from a great empire as he’d spread cheap supermarket caviar—a rare indulgence, even though it was the kind of terrible stuff that came in a jumbo jam jar for about the same price as jam—on Wonder Bread. My parents had left Iran at a time when they were two classes above what they became in suburban Los Angeles; the tragedy of supermarket caviar didn’t quite sink in for two kids who dreamed of Doritos and Ranch dressing, Hot Pockets and Pop-Tarts.

The only time of year when I felt the richness of the world they described, the Iran of the ‘70s and before, was during New Year. Ours, that is: Nowruz, the vernal equinox that marks a new year. American New Year was just an afterthought, as my parents were not partiers and we kids were too young to go out anywhere; all of us just huddled by the TV to watch Dick Clark and pray the drunk neighbors wouldn’t shoot guns from their rickety balconies. But Persian New Year included our whole family. Preparation started weeks before, and official celebration went on for two weeks after. It was a major affair and, sadly, one I could not share with school friends. There was zero acknowledgment of anything Iran-related in my school, especially in the ‘80s, when Iran was still freshly a dirty word.

But at home, our sad, musty beige and brown apartment would transform into a green and gold paradise. The haft-sin—the traditional table setting, consisting of seven items that all start with the Farsi s, or sin—was my mother’s pride and joy. All of it was there: sabzeh, or sprouts, symbolizing rebirth; samanu, or sweet wheat germ pudding, for power; senjed, or oleaster fruit, for wisdom; seer, or garlic, for wellness; seeb, or apples, symbolizing beauty; somaq, or sumac fruit, for patience; and serkeh, vinegar, representing longevity. Plus, there were mirrors, goldfish, candles, hyacinths, painted eggs, various candies, a copy of the Persian Book of Kings or the Koran or both. We kids knew we’d get haircuts and new clothes (it was auspicious to be in brand-new things at the moment of the equinox) and maybe some money. And for weeks we’d get to eat great Persian pastries that my mother would either attempt herself or buy from the Persian grocery stores in the heart of Tehrangeles—usually both. Sweet poppy seed–sprinkled rice cookies, clover-shaped chickpea-flour cardamom cookies, thin and crispy raisin cookies, little baklava morsels, marzipan berries with pistachio stems. Sweets were everywhere, and with them the scent of rosewater and saffron. Nowruz had the heaviest perfume, an irresistible and irresistibly abundant sort of aura.

And then the meal, New Year’s dinner: the only time in my childhood when my mother cooked fish, usually a delicate white fish, with the traditional herb rice (sabzi polo, basmati with cilantro, parsley, and dill), and often with a side of kuku, a Persian spinach and egg frittata. There was something so shockingly healthy about it, so light, so vibrant—I remember feeling like I was glowing as I ate. It was all so green—as if you were actually eating spring itself.

Haft-sin.

And then the picnics! We’d drive another hour to Irvine in Orange County, where some of our cousins had settled, and which was, I noticed, full of other types of Iranians—more conservative ones, it seemed. My mother rose to the occasion, suddenly becoming the sort of person who had a picnic basket lined with pretty linens, Tupperware filled with eggplant dip and kabob and saffron rice, and those pastries again. I lived for the nougat candy gaz, which could crack your teeth, the elders warned, but I loved its danger. Festivity meant we were in the realm of luxury—wants, not needs—and I never wanted it to end.

Suddenly, the new clothes came in abundance, too. All year I’d dream of this store in a nearby town, called The Adorable Shop, which was full of pricey dresses and designer sportswear. I’d always beg for something from there for Christmas, and instead end up with knockoff Guess jeans. Christmas just never mattered to our parents, even though they lukewarmly participated for our sake, with a small plastic tree and drugstore stockings. But for Persian New Year, we’d get to go to The Adorable Shop, and I could pick out something from the sale section—usually some lacy monstrosity that didn’t fit quite right, but I’d leave feeling like a princess.

Everything about Nowruz made me feel so rich, like we had so much, like we had things to spare. My parents, even at their most destitute, always gave cash as alms, but they reminded me that Nowruz is a time especially meant for giving, donating, and helping others.

I remember one Nowruz—I must have been 12 or so—I was in the car, holding a tin of Nowruz cookies to share with my homeroom class. We passed by a bridge underpass, where the usual homeless people were camped out. At the red light, my mother dug into her wallet and complained she had no change. I saw her take out a $20 bill and eye it for a good long while. She handed it to me.

“I can have this?” I cried, excited. Twenty dollars was 10 times what I could realistically imagine back then.

She shook her head. “No, I’m going to drive around back here, and I want you to give it to one of those homeless guys.”

I almost groaned. It was not the first time my parents had pushed me into giving to poor people—part of it was training, but another part of it, I was sure, was their worry about their imperfect English.

“You should give the cookies, too,” my mother said.

This was abundance. We could give more than ever away, just this time of the year.

I nodded obediently, more because I had heard it brought you good luck to do good to others.

My mother pulled to the curb after doing another loop, and I slowly got out of the car, twenty in one hand, cookie tin in the other. I walked to the closest guy, an old, bearded white man, slumped outside a makeshift tent, dirt all over him.

“Here you go,” I said, handing him the money and the tin.

“Wow, what have we here?” he said. “Thank you, God bless you.”

I saw him pocket the money and peer into the tin, with its heavy, sweet aroma.

“It’s cookies,” I said, “of my culture. Iranian. It’s Persian New Year.” I was mumbling, trying to get myself to wish him a happy new year, as I know my mother would have wanted me to do, but that was all that came out.

What happened next I only half remember, but I recall his expression changing, his eyes narrowing, and I heard some words that I did not understand exactly, but knew to be insults, and very ugly ones at that.

Alms or not, we were from Iran.

In the car again, I was quiet. I didn’t tell my mother. I just let her say she was proud of me, and hid my eyes, hot with tears. I told myself giving was in itself a good thing; it didn’t matter what you got in return, even if it was something bad.

By the time I went to bed the final night of that New Year, I had put this incident behind me, revisiting it only occasionally many years later, when racism and xenophobia began to take all sorts of forms in my interior and exterior worlds. What, I wondered, helped me survive that? All I can think was that it was the feeling of abundance, of new beginnings, of beauty and luxury—a realm that transcended simple survival. Nowruz had preserved me in its benevolence, and it would return every year, just for a few weeks, a reminder that we are more than what we don’t have.

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[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2sqmxc3

There is a chance you’ll be shocked at the sad state of the Congo. As bad as the media has presented it, it is much worse in reality. The physical and invisible conditions which its citizens are subject to are shared by a number of countries across the globe, but few have each and every one of them. There are a few root causes for the Congo’s dystopian daily life, but each of them can boil down to just a couple of historical events; one of the most egotistic people in the world and a particular Belgian King. The Democratic Republic of the Congo may have the most problems of any country in the world. The silver lining is that some of the problems which they deal with aren’t quite as prominent as various media outlets would have you believe, some of the ones you never hear about are even more disturbing. From things as minor as poaching to warlords to worse, the Democratic Republic of the Congo has a number of challenges in its path towards success. The country is in complete and utter turmoil and many seem content to leave it that way. Humanitarian aid only goes so far, especially when it is on the proverbial backburner. The country can move on from the issues listed below, but a concerted effort will be needed from all involved parties.

#1 Poverty The Democratic Republic of the Congo is one of the reasons why most people think of Africa as being poor; they are one of the most impoverished countries in the world. This has led to mass starvation and poor quality of education and housing, particularly when you move further away from the capital, Kinshasa. Power, roads, and access to basic medical care are functional luxuries which many Congolese are unable to afford. The country’s GDP per capita is just over $700 with a wide gap between the haves and the have-nots. This situation has caused a lot of issues inside the country. The rampant poverty is a major source for almost all of the country’s social ills. The rampant poverty in the Congo makes it only preferable to only a handful of countries around the world. The only good news is that it’s slowly improving thanks to steadily rising foreign investment.

#2 Forced Labor Although it is recognized internationally as a crime against humanity, forced labor and enslavement are commonly practiced throughout the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It is perpetrated by not only rebel groups operating in the most remote parts of the country, but by the government, the military, and many private citizens. The Congo is rated as one of the worst places in the world for forced labor. Not only does it permeate throughout society, it is a huge portion of the economy! Children are the primary victims of forced labor, particularly by rebels and private individuals. The reason that children are preferred to adults in many of these cases is simply that they are less likely to try and escape, and they are able to work in more enclosed environments. Coerced labor has served as the backbone of the mining industry in the country for many years, all the way back to the early Mobutu period; it is also how many roadways are built. There has not been much international pressure to alleviate the plight of bonded workers in the country and until that happens, it will continue with great force.

#3 Human Trafficking What is arguably the most horrifying part of this list, human trafficking is almost normal to the eastern and southern reaches of the country. For a nation dealing with massive problems regarding human trafficking, it is quite surprising to know that there are no laws which specifically outlaw the practice. The heartbreaking reality of this situation is that there seems to be a lack of willingness on the part of the central government to stop the sex and slave trade. The main areas in which human trafficking takes place are in the Ituri, Kivu, and Katanga regions of the country. These areas have high rates of ethnic violence and are rife with separatist sentiments. The Kivu region has the worst instances of this. The only silver lining in this is that the government has taken some initiative in passing acts which criminalize sexual violence.

#4 Cannibalism Although cannibalism is more prevalent in the Democratic Republic of the Congo than other African countries, it affects only a small percentage of the population. The main source of cannibalism in the Congo is in folk medicine and witchcraft. A belief which is shared among a number of people in the easternmost portions of the country is that albinos possess magical powers and that the consumption of their flesh will grant it to the consumer. That is pretty scary, but the scariest cannibal activities revolve around the Pygmies of North Kivu. The Congo Pygmies are an ethnic group who are reviled by just about everyone in the region. They are subject to extreme harassment by the government and village forces and are hunted as animals by various armed militias. The most prominent of the “pygmy hunters” are Les Effaceurs, or “The Erasers,” and the Movement for the Liberation of the Congo; the latter group is a part of the transitional government. The pygmy population is viewed as subhuman and little more than apes by many of the denizens of the region. Much like the albinos, they are sometimes believed to have magic in their flesh and bones. The disgusting situation that the Congo Pygmies are victims to can be resolved, but it is going to take a lot of international support and a willingness on the government to end the violence.

#5 Poaching Since the Congo is one of the most biodiverse regions of the world, it is without any surprise that it has some of the largest concentrations of endangered species! Poaching is a severe blight on the country as it has a negative impact on both its economic and environmental health. Most people who engage in poaching do it because they need to get money for their families, villages, or rebel groups they belong to. The black market trade in exotic animals and animal skins has caused many species to go extinct. The nature reserves in the country are where the largest share of the poaching takes place. The further east you go in the country, the more likely you are to find poachers. The rhinos and gorillas are the main victims of the poaching endemic to the country. Poaching also serves as a way to clear out dangers to illegal mining operations within the Congo.

#6 Internally Displaced Persons As a result of a long series of wars and government sponsored terror attacks, millions of people have been internally displaced. The largest wave of internal displacement in the country came about as a result of the Second Congo War when many regional armies and militias invaded the Congo. The extreme violence which has plagued the land for as long as memory holds has produced a problem with homelessness and shanty towns which cannot be fixed for some time. The millions of internally displaced people in the Congo are subject to extreme victimization and have high rates of HIV/AIDS. The horrible conditions which they live in are major contributing factors to the slow advancement of the country. In many of the refugee camps and shanty towns near the cities, soldiers, gangs, and regular civilians take advantage of the people. They are often the subject of rape, theft, forced prostitution, and other social ills. Among the most ostracized groups are former child soldiers.

#7 The Legacy Of Mobutu There is a giant ghost which haunts the Congo, much like the boogeyman, and its name is Mobutu Sese Seko. The former US-backed dictator was one of the most brutal and extravagant to lead a country. His own megalomania was manifested in the name he took for himself, Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga, which means “The all-powerful warrior who, because of his endurance and inflexible will to win, goes from conquest to conquest, leaving fire in his wake.” The gargantuan ego of this man saw him steal billions upon billions of dollars from the country. His government based on theft and extortion helped to establish the country’s poverty. He had turned the military from one of the best in Africa to being little more than a highly organized gang. The exact extent of the damage that he caused to the country remains a mystery and his style of rule continues to be seen somewhat in the present administration’s attempts to strong arm dissenters.

#8 Ethnic Conflict There are two things you think about whenever you think of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the first is extreme poverty and the second is an ethnic conflict. The country has not had a single day of peace since the 1970s as some form of insurgency or war has gripped the country since then. The most infamous of these wars was the Second Congo War which was the deadliest one since World War II! Presently, the main groups rebelling in the Democratic Republic of the Congo are found in the Ituri and Kivu regions; most being ethnic Hutus. The present conflicts in the Congo are some of the last proxy wars of the previous century. The largest foreign supporter of any of the armed groups in the Congo is Rwanda, supporting ethnic Tutsi militias in the Kivus. There does not seem to be an end in sight to the bloodshed.

#9 Arbitrary Arrest And Detention The first rule in the Congo is “Do not even look like you broke a rule in the Congo!” That is pretty much how the police and military forces of the country operate. According to the Congolese Constitution, such activities are illegal; too bad the authorities don’t really care. For little more than simply not being liked by the local magistrate, you may find yourself locked in a cell with ten other guys. In the Congolese context, this tends to be used against political opponents and for petty reasons. Police officials often times will use this as a way to extort money from locals and foreigners. Thanks to this being a major source of funding, many of those in law enforcement have turned blind eyes to the phenomenon. The arrests and detention of people for little more than base suspicion has impeded justice from being carried out. With so many people being on the payroll of one official or another, a tremendous amount of innocent people may have been sentenced to many years at hard labor…or worse.

#10 Deforestation The Congo is a land rich in natural resources and wonders, and among those resources are its rainforests. Jungle wood is a popular commodity, particularly for furniture, and so the dense forests of the Democratic Republic of the Congo are quite attractive to international corporations. The jungles of the Congo are some of the most biodiverse in the world, especially thanks to the many rivers. The exotic jungle wood market is only one of the reasons why deforestation takes place. The principle reason that deforestation takes place is growing populations and the need for farm and grazing land. People and livestock need to eat, so the forest has to go when push comes to shove. This is not something that is solely isolated to the Democratic Republic of the Congo, but there are fewer regulations there than elsewhere. Poaching is another major issue which causes mass deforestation.

#11 Privacy Is Not A Right  There is no right to privacy within the Democratic Republic of the Congo, something which is more than abhorrent to the majority of us. Mail, the Internet, and all manner of communications may be subject to extrajudicial surveillance at the behest of the local magistrates and law enforcement officers. The Democratic Republic of the Congo is rated as one of the worst places in the world for privacy for this reason. The excuse that is generally given for this is that the country is having to deal with large rebel movements. That would make more sense in the regions of the Kivu, Ituri, or even Katanga, but throughout the rest of the country, it just seems to be terribly overreaching. The fact that there is not a guarantee to privacy serves as a means to support the rampant political corruption. There is a level of irony to this as there are no access restrictions placed on the internet within the Congo.

#12 Child Soldiers Home to the largest number of child soldiers in the world, the Congo has one of the greatest humanitarian crises in the world. Throughout every conflict that has been fought in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, child soldiers have played a major role. From all three conflicts that Laurent-Désiré Kabila fought until the present Kivu Conflict, child soldiers have been a mainstay. The most famous case of child soldiers being used in the DRC has been by Joseph Kony, the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army. In all cases where children were used as combatants in the Congo, the same method of raising a village and kidnapping them has been followed. Not only have child soldiers been used by rebels, the actual government has utilized them! Efforts have been implemented in an attempt to reintegrate a number of those kids into society. There has been resistance to this as many former child soldiers are ostracized and face retribution for what they were forced to do. The scars of their ordeal often go well beyond the violence of the battlefield.

#13 Assault The Congo is not only one of the poorest places in the world, but it has some of the highest rates of sexual violence and rape in particular. The problem is so bad in the province of Katanga, that it is sometimes referred to as the rape capital of the world. From what few reliable sources that exist on this subject, it appears that almost half of all women in Katanga have been subjected to rape or sexual violence of one form or another. Children and men are also victims of sexual violence as it is used as a weapon by both rebel groups and the Armed Forces alike. One of the common victims of rape and sexual assault in the Congo are current and former child soldiers. They are treated as such because they are easy targets for predators, especially since they often feel ashamed of the things they have done. The United Nations has supported measures to eliminate the occurrence of the mass rape endemic in the country.

#14 Extrajudicial Killings By Government Forces Although the Democratic Republic of the Congo has not performed a state-sanctioned execution since 2003, military and police forces have taken it upon themselves to be judge, jury, and executioner. The Congolese forces do this for a variety of reasons, mostly to keep people from rebelling or demoralize rebel forces. There have been numerous incidents in Ituri of Lendu villages being burnt to the ground by government forces or government-backed forces. This is one of the oldest tendencies of the various governments which have ruled in the Congo. Although the number of killings remains extremely high, they are nowhere near as bad as those under Mobutu Sese Seko or under Leopold II. During the Mobutu period, the dictator sought to have any and all resistance to his personal regime eradicated like roaches. This saw an increase in the use of rape as a weapon of the state and the forced seizing of farm operations within the country. During the Congo Free State, under the absolute rule of the Belgian King Leopold II, at least 10 MILLION people were massacred. To some, it may be strange to think about but so many were killed during that period that it still has some effect on the country today.

#15 Entrenched Corruption Whenever people think of the Congo, images of untamed gorillas, vast jungle, civil war, and poverty come to mind. One of the darkest facts of life in the country is that it is rife with corruption. Corruption is found throughout every level of government in every corner of the country. It is so prevalent that it directly affects the livelihood of the vast majority of the people. What is perhaps the most blatant expression of this despicable practice is the military selling their weapons to various rebel groups. The fact that you can buy an AK-47 in good condition in the Congo for as little as $25 is frighteningly evident of this. The selling of resources and business licenses in the Congo is exceedingly rampant. The political corruption within the Democratic Republic of the Congo can be seen at the consistent refusal of President Kabila to step down from the office.

Source: TheRichest