People in my books: Mana-oua-oua

Born and raised on the island, Mana-oua-oua (meaning seagull) was an unaffected, straight-forward girl with no particular aspirations except to be good, honest, and to one day marry and have children.  It was all she wanted in life and, although the cinema had come to Noumea and she sometimes saw posters for films and pictures in discarded magazines, she had no wish to be anybody other than the person she already was.

And that was a nice person.  She was good-looking in the Polynesian way, slender, slightly coy, with a quiet but self-assured voice.  She spoke French fairly well and had a good smattering of simple English, but she did not regard these attributes as anything other than the norm.   Like most islanders she was slow-moving, never rushed, uncomplaining.  A small smile invariably played about her mouth and she had smooth coffee skin which she treated with palm oil as her mother and her grandmother had done before her.

Mana did own some European-style clothes.  There was a yellow cotton frock that she had bought in the second-hand stall in the market, also a skirt and blouse.  She saved these items for best but, if asked, she would have been unable to tell you what “best” was all about.  She was almost always dressed in a lava-lava, and she had some twenty or even thirty of these, which were shared with her sisters and other close female relatives.  When at home she wore the lava-lava around her waist, and when she stepped outside she hoisted it up under her arms.  She was always barefoot.

When Greg stepped in to her life he brought trouble with him.  She supposed she loved him, but knew automatically and instinctively that he was not for her.  He was a different league … not necessarily a better league, but a different one … and she looked forward, in her uncomplicated way, to meeting an island boy to marry.  But first, there was the problem of Greg.

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/people-in-my-books-mana-oua-oua/#sthash.XKfrGLXl.dpuf

Working in Kurdistan, Iraq

Our guest blog this week comes from a very dear friend working in Kurdistan, Iraq.

When I first moved to Kurdistan, Iraq for work almost nine months ago, there was some confusion and maybe some concern among my family and friends about my decision. For many, just mentioning “Iraq” triggers an emotional reaction and conjures up images, stereotypes, and fears. When I first began considering a job managing a gender-based violence program for an international humanitarian organization in Kurdistan, I had conflicting thoughts, but I knew I wanted work in a place where women and girls are most vulnerable and where I could put my experience and skills to good use.

Kurdistan is the semi-autonomous region in northern Iraq. It’s important to understand that most Kurds do not identify as “Iraqis” and they are clear to distinguish themselves from Arab Iraqis who are mostly located in central (Baghdad) and southern Iraq. Many Kurds express fondness towards America. In 1991 the US created a “No Fly Zone” in northern Iraq, which provided relief from Saddam Hussein’s horrific attacks on the Kurdish people. This area in northern Iraq is now known as Kurdistan. Many Kurds will tell you that they love George W. Bush and that he is their hero. In the words of some Kurds I have talked to, “George W. Bush gave us our freedom” or “America liberated us”. So, while the US invasion of Iraq was extremely unpopular around the world, some Kurds have a different perspective.

The focus of my job here is to work with government and local NGO partners to develop strategies to protect the rights of women and girls and to develop programs to prevent and respond to gender-based violence. When I first arrived in KRI, I thought for sure I would start a blog, but things became intense very quickly, and it’s been not only hard for me to find the time, but hard to find the words to describe my experience. To be honest, I have struggled here, and every day I struggle to stay. It’s really bothered me that I haven’t been able to write/blog/document what I’m seeing and experiencing, so I appreciate the opportunity to connect in some way to the rest of the world about my small place in this extremely complicated part of the world. Maybe someday I will write more, but for now, I will share a few thoughts.

There are many contradictions here in political, social, and religious life; it’s confusing. On the surface, Kurdistan appears to be very different from central and southern Iraq, but with the work that I do, I see the “underbelly” of the culture and society here; I get to see the darker side of Kurdistan that is not always presented to the rest of the world. Kurdistan describes itself as a “free” society and one of the more progressive regions in the Middle East. It also prides itself on tradition, which is not great for women and girls in this context because it’s mostly tradition, even more so than religion, that causes the most harm to women and girls. To be clear, women and girls are not free here. This is a religious society with strong traditional and societal norms that can be extremely harmful to women and girls, including honor-based violence and honor-killings; coerced suicide (mostly by burning); female-genital mutilation; forced marriage; child marriage; isolation in homes; and sexual assault and rape. Honor-based violence, including honor killing, is common here and occurs when a woman or girl brings “shame” to her family, and the family or community decides that the only way that honor can be restored to the family is to kill the woman or girl. Or, the family or community coerces the woman or girl to commit suicide, often by burning, in order to cleanse and restore honor to the family. One example of how a woman can bring shame to her family is to talk on a cell phone to a male who is not her husband or family member. Rape survivors are often forced to marry her rapist to restore this so-called family honor. In addition, the law includes provisions for the perpetrator in that if he agrees to marry the woman or girl that he raped, he receives minimal penalty for his crime.

The government has passed some important legislation in recent years, including the Family Violence Law in 2011, which includes some provisions to protect women and girls. However, this law is not being implemented, and international legal experts say that due to the many contradictions within the law itself and with the Constitution and other laws, it is impossible to implement; the law leaves too much room for interpretation, allowing the personal, cultural, and religious beliefs of judicial officials and tribal leaders to guide their decisions when faced with reports of honor-killings and other forms of gender-based violence. While these legislative efforts are encouraging on the surface, the laws are flawed and impossible to enforce as written.

I believe Kurdistan is moving through some difficult cultural and political changes; it wants to be a free and progressive society while holding onto to traditional norms that are harmful to women and girls. In there lies a conflict. A society cannot be truly free until all people enjoy equal rights, are living lives free of oppression and violence, and have equal access to resources. That goes for you too, America.

Do I feel like I’ve made any significant contribution to protecting the rights of women and girls? Most days, I do not. Some days, I do. I have some great Kurdish co-workers who are committed to improving the status of women and girls in Kurdistan. I am grateful for this. The progress is slow and sometimes invisible, and there are many discouraging moments. It will be interesting to see how Kurdistan deals with this dichotomy of tradition and progress in the coming years. I will always keep one eye on Kurdistan, no matter where I am in the world. Some places just leave a mark.

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Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist.  She lives most of the year in France, with extended patches in Belize and in the UK.  She was born & raised in Africa and has lived as an ex-pat, in one country or another, almost all her life.  Her books are available as e-books on this site (click below), can be ordered from Amazon/Kindle or from any leading book store or library.

https://payhip.com/b/tEva    “A Call from France”

https://payhip.com/b/OTiQ    ”French Sand”

https://payhip.com/b/BLkF    “The Man with Green Fingers”

https://payhip.com/b/1Ghq    “Saying Nothing”

Amazon link:-

http://www.amazon.com/The-Man-With-Green-Fingers/dp/1475029411/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1374222784&sr=8-1&keywords=catherine+broughton

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/working-in-kurdistan-iraq/#sthash.8EJfY1Vx.dpuf

Bullfinch

A few bullfinch facts:-

- there are 4 varieties of bullfinch

- they can be found all over Europe, Asia and Japan

- they stay with the same partner all year, maybe for many years

- they have two or three broods of eggs each year

- females are dominant over the males

- they eat buds and their short stubby beaks are especially developped for this

- when they have young to feed they also catch insects

- English bullfinches tend to stay in the same area and do not venture far whereas other bullfinches can travel south when the weather is cold

- bullfinches in northern Europe are bigger and brighter than others

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Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist.  She lives most of the year in France, with extended patches in Belize and in the UK.  She was born & raised in Africa and has lived as an ex-pat, in one country or another, almost all her life.  Her books are available as e-books on this site (click below), can be ordered from Amazon/Kindle or from any leading book store or library.

https://payhip.com/b/tEva    “A Call from France”

https://payhip.com/b/OTiQ    ”French Sand”

https://payhip.com/b/BLkF    “The Man with Green Fingers”

https://payhip.com/b/1Ghq    “Saying Nothing”

Amazon link:-

http://www.amazon.com/The-Man-With-Green-Fingers/dp/1475029411/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1374222784&sr=8-1&keywords=catherine+broughton

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/bullfinch/#sthash.9EjHRIMy.dpuf

French is a beautiful language

People often say to me “French is such a beautiful language” and yes – it is.  It sounds pleasant when you don’t understand it, and it is pleasant when you do.  Some languages are unattractive to our English-speaking ears.  Chinese always sounds somewhat ying-yongy (though I have never been to China and only spent a long weekend in Hong Kong in the days when it was British) to my uneducated ear, though Japanese sounds elegant.  My mother used to say that American children all sound like ducks quacking.  I wonder where she got that from ?  A lot of us find German a harsh and gutteral language.  I suppose it all depends on which languages you speak and where you come from.  For me Spanish is great.  Do you know, the very first word I learn in Spanish was zaggapuntas meaning pencil sharpener!   It has a great sound to it, doesn’t it?  Say it loudly: zaggapuntas!

Again, as they pop into my head, some French words & phrases you won’t learn at evening class (accents missing):-

en surcit – suspended, ie prison en surcit, suspended sentence

macho – chauvanist pig.  In English the word macho (which is a Spanish word) means manly, strong, even muscular, but in French it means a man who thinks he is sperior to women

chapeau! – I take my hat off to you

plusieurs reprises – several times (je vous ai telephone a plusieurs reprises)

pas plus mal – literally “not more bad” or “it wouldn’t be worse” (my husband often says this in English, using the direct translation), meaning “a good idea”, ie “c’est pas plus mal si on va a la plage ” – sort-of, yes, we might just as well go to the beach. Note: correctly written this should be “ce n’est pas…” though few would in fact actually say it like that

remue-mininge – brain storm

ca etait ? – was that OK?  The waitor would aks you this as he clears away your plates, for example

baisser les bras – to give up

c’est normal ? – “c’est normal qu’il y a de l’eau dans l’atelier?” meaning “were you aware there is water in the workshop?” (Technically qu’il y ait …)

machin-truc – thingamijig

pas un chat – abandoned, nobody about

deuxieme souffle – second wind

brouillon – rough, rough-and-ready, a bit messy

que Dieu vous offre – that God gives (ie she works every day that God gives)

eventuellement – perhaps, ie shall we go to the beach?  Oui, eventuellement …

Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist.  She lives most of the year in France, with extended patches in Belize and in the UK.  She was born & raised in Africa and has lived as an ex-pat, in one country or another, almost all her life.  Her books are available as e-books on this site (click below), can be ordered from Amazon/Kindle or from any leading book store or library.

https://payhip.com/b/tEva    “A Call from France”

https://payhip.com/b/OTiQ    ”French Sand”

https://payhip.com/b/BLkF    “The Man with Green Fingers”

https://payhip.com/b/1Ghq    “Saying Nothing”

Amazon link:-

http://www.amazon.com/The-Man-With-Green-Fingers/dp/1475029411/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1374222784&sr=8-1&keywords=catherine+broughton

(Photo: with my New Caledonia friend on the French island of Ile de Re)

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/french-is-a-beautiful-language/#sthash.4QRPTwb8.dpuf

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Jesus is watching you...

A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables when a voice in the dark said, ‘Jesus knows you’re here.’

He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight off, and froze. When he heard nothing more, he shook his head and continued.

Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard ‘Jesus is watching you.’

Startled, he shined his light around frantically, looking for the source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot.

‘Did you say that?’ he hissed at the parrot.

‘Yes’, the parrot confessed, then squawked, ‘I’m just trying to warn you that he’s watching you.’

The burglar relaxed. ‘Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you?’

‘Moses,’ replied the bird.

‘Moses?’ the burglar laughed. ‘What kind of people would name a bird Moses?’

‘The kind of people who would name a Rottweiler Jesus.’

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Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist.  Her books are available as e-books on this site:-

https://payhip.com/b/tEva            “A Call from France”

https://payhip.com/b/OTiQ          “French Sand”

https://payhip.com/b/BLkF         ”The Man with Green Fingers”

https://payhip.com/b/1Ghq        “Saying Nothing”

They are also available on Amazon & Kindle, or can be ordered as paperbacks from most leading book stores and libraries.

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/jesus-is-watching-you/#sthash.U2DOl0Ef.dpuf

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Snippets of French History: Jean-Paul Marat 1743-1793

Although Marat claimed to be a physician, he had no qualifications, and his reputation as a physician was born when he managed to cure his friend of gonorrea.  He was interested in medicine and in the sciences in general and worked as an unofficial doctor in London for several years, and then in France.

He has gone down in history as a journalist, the most out-spoken and inflamatory journalist of his time, a politician who vigorously supported the Revolutuion and a fierce advocate of human rights.  He was arguably the most radical voice of the French Revolution.

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/snippets-of-french-history-jean-paul-marat-1743-1793/#sthash.q6dS4QzQ.dpuf

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Snippets of French History: les sans culottes

Several people have asked me to write a “in-a-nutshell” summary of the French Revolution.  But I just can’t.  The politics of the years leading up to the Revolution, and the different factions, and factions within factions, in a constantly-changing political situation would be impossible to fit in to anything other than a very fat book.  The French Revolution was riddled with legislation and counter-legislation, small groups gaining a bit of power and then receding, mass murders, beytrayals and atrocities, shifting regimes and groups within the regimes … I recall a professor at University saying that it was like ever-moving and churning vomit with no way of knowing who was where and what was next.

So.  So, I have decided to split it up in to several different in-a-nutshell groups, starting with the sans-culottes.

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/snippets-of-french-history-les-sans-culottes/#sthash.mSfPQLxo.dpuf

Louis Pasteur was one of three children, born in the small town of Dole in the Jura (central eastern France) in 1822.  The town was a tannery town and Louis’ father was a poor man and a tanner.  The family were simple and devout Roman Catholics with no particular aspirations and nothing in their family history, as far as one can tell, to suggest a genius was born among them. - See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/snippets-of-french-history-louis-pasteur-1822-1895-in-a-nutshell/#sthash.YpqRoK0l.dpuf

Our guest blogger today is Megan Jerrard, a travel blogger from Australia

Megan is an Australian Journalist who has been travelling and blogging around the world for the last 7 years to inspire others to embark on their own worldwide adventure!  Her husband Mike is an American travel photographer, and together they have made the world their home.

Meg has recently launched “Where in the World is Megan Claire?!”, an up and coming travel blog which aims to give you the best tips and advice on travelling, volunteering, living, working and holidaying abroad.  She hasn’t been everywhere, but it’s on her list!

You can follow her journey on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Pinterest and Instagram also.

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/aboriginal-art/#sthash.yMgjufIs.dpuf

People in my books: Kirsty

Kirsty was in her early-to-mid twenties, a post graduate with a degree in English.  She moved to Cyprus with Tom, also an English graduate and, like him, had been to some minor Uni somewhere in the Midlands.

She was a clever enough girl, but no intellectual.  She had acheived her degree simply by reading and writing the right stuff and, like her fellow post grads that hailed from the same – and similar – places, had no proper knowledge or understanding of English literature apart from the books that had been studied on her course.

But that was okay. She was sharp enough to know that it was a mediocre qualification and bright enough to know that, for her at any rate,  it really didn’t matter that much.  She claimed that most teachers were over-paid and over-qualified, but she had the good sense to enjoy the long school holidays and the relatively short hours without questioning too many issues.

She was pretty in a straight-forward and uncomplicated sort of way. She had a lovely figure and a natural manner.  She had a ready smile and was kind.  More than anything, she loved Tom.  She knew it wouldn’t last, and in some ways she broke her heart over it. She befriended Stella mostly because she felt sorry for her – Stella was a fish out of water and – worse – would be a fish out of water wherever she went and whatever she did.  Stella was one of those awkward people, a tall gangly woman who desperately wanted to fit in and to be feminine.  And Kirsty felt genuinely sorry for her.

When the police came to her door it all became obvious, appallingly obvious, but at the time, it hadn’t occured to her …

Extract from “The Man with Green Fingers”:-

It had all been so easy, so amazingly easy.

Stella stretched luxuriously. Well, of course, not many people would have been able to do it. Very few would have known where to even begin. So from that point of view it was ridiculous to say it had been so easy. In fact, it had taken six months, slightly more. The planning had been meticulous. Every angle of every possibility was studied. Every scenario examined. She had had to be absolutely certain, could risk nothing.

And she had pulled it off. Brilliant. Quite simply, she was brilliant. She lay back in her chair, her head resting against the wall behind her, and closed her eyes against the sun. She could hear the small movements of a bird on the roof and the background sounds of the city beyond the confines of her yard walls. A satisfied smile crossed her face. She would rest here a while, then have a beer or two before changing her clothes and wandering back out in to the town. These little sorties were almost daily and never ceased to send a thrill of anticipation through her. The entertainment value of it was massive. She was aware that one day it would quite possibly pale and become boring, but for now it was hilarious and she loved it.

The shrill ringing of her telephone jolted her upright. She pressed her hands on to her knees as she rose and, her feet bare on the scorching brickwork underfoot, she went rapidly indoors and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she said in English.

“Stella – it’s Kirsty!” Kirsty had a delightful way of putting a touch of excitement in to her voice…

Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist.  Her books are available from Amazon/Kindle or can be ordered from most leading books stores and libraries.  You can also buy them as e-books by clicking on the links below:-

https://payhip.com/b/tEva

https://payhip.com/b/OTiQ

https://payhip.com/b/BLkF

https://payhip.com/b/1Ghq

Posted by Catherine Broughton on 14 July 2013

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/people-in-my-books-kirsty/#sthash.JB6Orf48.dpuf

Into the Coal Mine, Into the Past

This week’s guest blog comes from Heather Sinclair.

As the abandoned coal mine’s metal gate shuts behind me, a shiver runs down my spine. Not because the mine is dark and spooky (although it is both of those things) but because of how cold it is. I was sweating in the summer sun, but I can see my breath in the mine. The Bellevue Coal Mine opened in 1903 and closed in 1961. Tours of the mine keep the memory of Canadian coal miners alive.

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/into-the-coal-mine-into-the-past/#sthash.k6VST4ML.dpuf

People in my books: Stella

There was something utterly exhausting about Stella.  It was difficult to put a finger on it, for there was no one specific thing.  It was partly that she was just so loud – no, not her voice, but her way of dressing, with vastly too much make up and too much colour.  Her clothes, from her exquisite little hats down to her fashionable flatties, were expensive and tasteful … yet too much of a good thing somehow.  She bought her jewellry from a pricey little craft shop over in Limassol, or had it sent in from a source she discovered on-line in Sweden.

But it wasn’t just that either, the problem.  It was also the way she leant forwards to you as she talked, a little too earnestly, somewhat in-your-face.  It was her deep, husky voice, that apparently Quin, poor dead Quin, had found sexy.  It was that she was tall – not excessively tall, at 5’9″ or so, but tall. Overbearing perhaps?

And yet … and yet … she was likeable enough.  There was nothing specifically offensive about her.  She clearly enjoyed a chat, was very chummy.  Though that in itself was slightly odd, for she would sit and talk and giggle and then suddenly, with no reason, just leave.  She would make a funny little twiddling motion with her fingers, not quite a wave, and go.  Sometimes she would be gone for days on end, weeks even, yet appeared to have no other friends.

 Extract from “The Man with Green Fingers”, by Catherine Broughton, a novel set in Cyprus:-

He was a tall man, not as tall as Quin. Tall men seemed to like tall girls. Whereas Quin was tall and gangly, a bit like a giraffe with out-of-kilter legs, Kirsty had once said – and that described him brilliantly – Greggo was tall and heavy. His stomach protruded noticeably over his trouser belt, and broad shoulders that had once been magnificent now sagged sweatily under his sporty short-sleeved shirt.

He hesitated, seeing Stella’s reticence. She saw him visibly flounder about for a different topic of conversation.

“Are you going to the Fisher’s party tonight?” he asked.

“No – I’ve got a busy week-end,” she replied shortly and tried to start moving away.

“My dear Stella! You always say something like that! And what is it you do on your busy week-ends?” he grinned sheepishly at her, as if inviting her to admit to having a secret lover.

“Oh – this and that …” she said airily.

“Kirsty tells me you don’t go away, for your car is still outside …” he began but, seeing that he was clearly irritating her he suddenly changed the grin on his face to an expression of serious thought. “Well, must be off,” he finished lamely.

“Cheerio …” he called out as he turned on his heel, raising his hand amiably, if awkwardly, in salute.

“Cheerio!” Stella replied.

She watched him till he reached the end of the street. His big body ambled casually enough along the street, side-stepping a child on a bike, and then disappeared in to the post office building. She realized he meant no harm, but he was stunningly thick-skinned. Why couldn’t he see that she did not fancy him – not a bit, not one iota ? Or was she misreading things ?

Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist.  Her books are available on Amazon & Kindle, on turquoisemoon.co.uk as an e-book, or can be ordered from most leading book stores and libraries.

Click below for yur copy of the book.  It is also available as an e-book on this site.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Man-With-Green-Fingers/dp/1475029411/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1373271945&sr=8-1&keywords=catherine+broughton

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/people-in-my-books-stella/#sthash.r57wQIUm.dpuf

So you can speak French??

Just as they pop in to my head, a few things you may not learn at your evening class:-  (accents missing)

to rob Peter to pay Paul – deshabiller Paul pour habiller Jacques

jet lag – decallage horaire

alarm clock – le reveil

the News – le journal, or sometimes les actualites

homeward-bound –  au bon port

chicken- if it is a live chicken it is une poule, but if it is a dead one for cooking it is du poulet

back ache - mail au reins (les reins being the kidneys) if it is low back pain, otherwise it is mal au dos

custard – creme anglaise, though their version is runny and a bit light

jig-saw puzzle – un puzzle (pronounced puzz-ll)

Scrabble – le Scrabble (probounced Scrab-ll)

crumble - un crumble (pronounced crum-b-ll)

sweat shirt – un sweat (often written & pronounced swit)

no hard shoulder (on a road) – chaussee deformee

A French word I really like and that has no accurate translation is “les retrouvailles“. This is a noun created from the verb trouver, to find, and thence retrouver, to find again.  “J’ai retrouve mes amis a la gare” = I met my friends at the station (I re-found them).  The meeting of those friends, having not seen them for days or years, is called les retrouvailles – the finding-againses. Great word.

(illustration: an old gent watching a game of boules in the nearby village of Brouage, France).

Catherine Broughton is a novelist, a poet and an artist. She has travelled a great deal and blogs regularly.  Her books are available from Amazon (& Kindle) or can be ordered from most leading book stores and libraries; they are also available as e-books on this site, http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk)

- See more at: http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/so-you-can-speak-french/#sthash.hCDiNfRV.dpuf