Life in Western Mongolia is an adventure. Training eagles to hunt, herding yaks, and racing camels are just a few of the daily activities of the nomadic Kazakh people. Filmmaker Brandon Li spent a few weeks living with them and experiencing one of the most unique cultures in the world. Saddle up and enjoy the ride.
I Was Called The N Word in The Philippines
It was only my second day in the Philippines and my Couchsurfing host invited me to watch a basketball game that he was playing in. Granted, the Philippines was a completely new country to me. I never thought that 2017 would bring me to Southeast Asia, but it has. In the Philippines, the heat makes you sweat relentlessly and you have to take numerous showers a day. Stray dogs and cats search for food in the streets, and trees are a beautiful invasion in the cities I’ve visited thus far. So much of it reminds me of my childhood visits to see family in Jamaica.
I head to the game around six pm and sit with my Couchsurfing host’s friend. It is only day two, but I’ve already become accustomed to one thing here. People stare at me. A lot. I know it’s because I’m black and traveling. The questions are always the same when I meet a new person here.
Do you play basketball? Do you know Lebron James? Is your father tall, just like you? Do you have a girlfriend?
Although traveling is about leaving your comfort zone, there is something to be said about how the identities that we are given in this world will affect us when abroad. I would never wish that I were white so that I could travel and feel more comfortable in this sense. I simply wish my representation in the media wasn’t controlled by people like who me and not white CEO’s.
The game starts and I notice little children gathering near me. They stare, whisper to one another and giggle before running away. After a few minutes, one little boy comes up to me and smiles.
“What’s your name?” he shouts.
I smile and tell him, “My name is Ryant. How old are you?”
He holds up seven fingers and then runs off. His friends greet him with an explosion of laughter. I am sure he will get the award for Bravest Boy in the Neighborhood later. Soon all of the kids are surrounding me, climbing onto my lap and asking questions. I’m invigorated by all of the energy, but I can’t help, but feel like a weird toy that one of them found and can’t wait to show off. More questions are fired off, an auction of how much information I can spit out. Then it happens.
“You’re a n----!”
My Couchsurfing host’s friend is sitting nearby and doesn’t bat any eyelash. On the outside, I nod awkwardly, but on the inside, I don’t quite know what to think. Since starting and graduating college, I’ve filled my mind with the words of many famous black freedom fighters. Angela Davis, a famous black activist born in Birmingham, Alabama in 1944 and who later faced an unfair trial for crimes she didn’t commit, wrote about the children she met while in Cuba:
Despite the language barrier, the children accepted us as members of the family. They helped me with my Spanish lessons each day. I was extremely embarrassed that I had not learned a little Spanish before the trip, for it is an affront to a people to visit them before having attempted to learn their language. Because I spoke Spanish so poorly, never having studied it, I felt less inhibited with the children. They were patient, corrected me and helped me find words when no dictionary was available.
It was a sad day indeed when we had to pack up our things and board the bus, ready to move on to the next stage of our journey. All of us cried — men and women alike, in our delegation as well as on the Cuban side. The hardest part for me was saying good-bye to the children. A young boy of about nine or ten, who had always been the toughest one of his group, seemed reluctant to come up and say good-bye. I thought that it was his natural shyness. Just before I got into the bus, I went over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He tore away from me and ran as fast as he could. But once in the bus, I saw him standing behind a tree, trying to conceal himself as his body shook with sobs. The tears that had been flooding my own eyes slid down my face.
I think of her often when I can’t immediately find the words to respond to an ignorant comment from an acquaintance or when I need a push to live out my ideals for social justice. I’m looking at the faces of these cute Filipino kids and wondering how I can possibly unravel to them my life, my pain, and what it takes for a twenty two year old gay, Caribbean American boy to uproot his life and buy a one way ticket to Southeast Asia.
I realize it’s impossible.
“You shouldn’t say that word,” I tell them. “In the United States, it’s very bad.”
Immediately the kids start to frown and look at each other in confusion.
“Why?” the first boy who ran up to me asks.
I tell them the basics. In the United States, black and brown people have been treated badly for a long time. That word was used by white people to make people that look like me feel bad.
“Oh… That word means gangster fighter in Tagalog.” the kid replies.
I laugh as the coach in the game blows the whistle on a foul. The serious part of me doesn’t want to laugh, but I can’t help it. One problem leads to another of a different shade I suppose. I can’t break down racial stereotypes to a group of elementary aged children just yet.
“Teach me some Tagalog.” I request.
They all giggle and teach me phrases. When the game is over, they pull me onto the court and beg me to shoot a basket. Inside I’m rolling my eyes and wishing this wasn’t happening this way, but my heart is still melting. They run around me, teach me how to dribble and all jump in excitement when I shoot a basket after a million tries.
On my walk home, they all ask to add me on Facebook and I am laughing more. I’ve accepted that these moments may be a reality wherever I go, but acceptance does not mean I won’t struggle towards a more loving way of life. Travel opens the eyelids, pumps blood into the heart and fills the body with moments of awe. I felt that awe as those kids stared at me with their curious eyes and interacted with me so openly. I knew that I could strive to do the same in return and attempt to shed light on confusing, yet present truths as well.
Yes, I was called the n-word in the Philippines, but I do not define myself by the rules that society sets for a black person, a traveler, or 22 year old who is just trying make sense of a messy world. Instead, I keep going forward with conviction, sure that I’ll speak up whenever is necessary along the way.
RYANT TAYLOR
Ryant Taylor is a writer and activist from Cleveland, Ohio. He has participated in protests in France, Ferguson, and Standing Rock. He is the creator of Decolonize The Mind, a travel blog, and is currently freelance writing in the Philippines.
KOREA: The Inner Lives of Korean Monks
Almost entirely cut off from the world, enclosed by mountains that resemble the petals of a lotus flower, lies one of the jewels of Korean Buddhism. As winter melted into spring, Alexandre Sattler lived alongside the monks, privileged to witness their daily lives and rituals.
"TEMPLE OF THE SPREADING PINE"
Looked upon as one of the Three Jewel Temples of Korea and renowned for its teaching of dharma — the eternal law of the cosmos, inherent in the very nature of things — today Songgwangsa is one of the foremost temples in the world for practising Korean Buddhism. In search of spiritual awakening, monks, pilgrims, believers and tourists all find their way here, to learn, meditate and exchange ideas.
Around 1190, Jinul, who was a master of seon, the Korean variant of Zen, stopped in front of an abandoned temple at the centre of a mountainous valley, where an abundant stream was flowing. He planted his stick in the ground and announced to his followers that in this place — from then on known as Gilsangsa — they were going to build a new temple.
According to legend, the stick took root, and is still waiting for Venerable Jinul to be reincarnate before flowering. This is how, at the very heart of what has become Jogyesan Provincial Park, a few tens of kilometres away from the sea, the prestigious temple of Songgwangsa — or “the Spreading Pine,” in keeping with one of its etymologies — now stands. Held to be one of Korea’s greatest national treasures, it currently falls under the jurisdiction of the Jogye Order, one of the branches of Korean Buddhism.
Almost entirely cut off from the outside world, Songgwangsa is enclosed by mountains, and wooden edifices occupy both sides of the stream which flows through the site. None of the spaces between the buildings is linear, as is often the case with traditional Japanese temples. Here, it seems as if man has reconciled himself to nature without attempting to impose upon it. Snakelike pathways move from one temple to another according to the whims of the contours.
To erect the temple, the monks-turned-builders depended on feng shui doctrine, favouring the feminine energies, or yin, of the place. It is said that the surrounding mountains resemble the leaves of an enormous lotus flower, whose stamens are represented the temple buildings. So as not to impede the flow of energies, the monks chose not to draw upon dome-like stûpa — synonymous with yang, or masculine energy — unlike the custom in other Korean temples.
I came to Songgwangsa in February, at the tail end of winter. It seemed as if Nature was still asleep. The sky was grey, the temperature barely more than five degrees. When the bus stopped at the terminal, the other travellers and I found ourselves standing at the foot of Mount Jogye. The climb up to the temple is magnificent. As you follow the banks of a waterway, slumbering pines appear out of the fog and the wind whistles softly in the bamboo plants. It takes around twenty minutes of quiet, contemplative walking to reach your destination.
Initially, I had thought that I would only spend four or five days at Songgwangsa, but the monks made me see that time should not be rushed, and that new things tend to come to us when we are prepared to receive them. On entering the reception room, I discovered first of all that I had been admitted on the basis of a misunderstanding. Journalists and photographers are usually sent to a different temple.
Despite this, I was granted an unadorned room with a mattress, blanket and pillow, which I would learn to fold carefully and tidy away in a little cupboard each morning. I came to realise that to write and take photographs, it would be necessary to be truly met with approval by the whole community. More than anything, I would need to commit myself to the daily rhythm of the monks, their rites and ceremonies.
After a time, I was accepted by the sangha. The monks became fond of coming to say hello and talk to me, and some of them regularly invited me to take tea in their cells. I formed a friendship with Dokejo Sunim, the senior monk in charge of instruction in dharma and also a photographer.
During my first week I learned to live as the monks do, following their teachings and taking part in their prayers, meals or daily tasks. But I was not yet allowed to capture the slightest image. It was actually only because every member of the assembled community gave their consent that I became the first photographer permitted to take shots of their ceremonial spaces, or of the incredibly intimate tonsure.
In fact, Dokejo Sunim told me that previously, no other professional had been trusted to take these kinds of photos, and that in all likelihood it would never happen again. For this reason, the photos I publish here are an exception of sorts. At the end of my stay, Dokejo Sunim even requested that each and every one of my shots be sent to him.
Upon my arrival at Songgwangsa, the monks had explained that the winter retreat was nearing its end, but invited me to stay until the first full moon of the new season. If I prolonged my stay, they suggested, I would be able to meet Venerable Hyon Gak Sunim, a monk well versed in English who would be able to have a more in-depth conversation with me. In the following weeks, although I became used to crossing paths with Venerable Hyon Gak Sunim, it was impossible for him to speak to me, as he had made a vow of silence for three months. So I decided to extend my stay and wait until the very end of his winter retreat.
“Buddhism is a science whose proposed theories are only proven after they have been experienced.”
I like this idea. They say that the Buddha used to end his addresses with the following, “Don’t believe what I tell you, experience it for yourselves.”
As spring took her first breath, so Venerable Hyon Gak Sunim emerged at last from his weeks of silence. He seemed happy about our encounter, which he led with incredible energy and presence. His voice often broke the room’s silence, and his words deeply affected me.
One day, I made the point that life in the temple felt distant from the material world lived in by much of humankind. I asked him my questions about meditation and the search for release which seems to be too inward-looking, while all around me I sense the urgency for change, to ensure a sustainable future for everyone. Why choose to pray here, I wondered, far from all of us, while we are in desperate need of spiritual light to make sense of our everyday actions and our place in the world?
“Prayers are like carbon reservoirs”
Venerable Hyon Gak Sunim explained to me that prayers are like trees, silently maintaining the vital balance of man and life on Earth. Each tree, no matter how large or small, acts as a “reservoir,” soaking up atmospheric carbon, unobtrusively helping to reduce the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, and lessening global warming as a result. Skimming over a forest, you see only the trees and their impact remains invisible. It is the same with prayer.
Coming to Korea, I could not help but compare this country to Japan, where I had lived previously. Knowing that Hyon Gak Sunim had also lived in Japan, I asked if he could explain the difference between Japanese and Korean Buddhism. He told me, “In Japan, people eat with chopsticks. In India, with their hands. In Europe, with a knife and fork. In Korea, people eat with a spoon and chopsticks… but at the end of the meal, they all have a full stomach! Whatever the technique, the result is the same, Buddhism simply offers different routes into enlightenment.”
This story has only become a reality through the involvement of all the monks at Songgwangsa and the help of Yong Joo An and Jieun Lee. All my thanks go to them. Original text translated from French by Zoë Sanders, Maptia.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA
ALEXANDRE SATTLER
Alexandre Sattler is a photographer, traveler, and producer of audio documentaries on our planet's diverse cultures. With an aim to showcase our shared humanity and the environment, more of his work is available on through gaia-images.
VIDEO: Schoolgirls For Sale in Japan
In an effort to understand a growing underground trade of school-aged girls, Vice News interviews women who have been caught up in this sinister business.
Turning Tears to Power in Nepal
Young girls share their life stories with photographer Katie Orlinsky at a rescue center in Nepal that helps victims of sex trafficking regain their freedom and happiness.
Regularly described as one of the poorest and least developed countries in the world, Nepal is a ‘source’ country for traffickers, and its most marginalised people are also the most frequently targeted. While its capital Kathmandu benefits from a growing tourist economy, in general the country’s economic potential (for example, through opportunities to develop hydropower) is stunted by continued political instability, as well as very poor infrastructure.
Rural Nepalese — some 80% of its people — rely on subsistence farming, which frequently does not provide a stable or sufficient income to feed a family. It is under these already difficult circumstances that the sweet-talking and cajoling of sex traffickers infiltrate and take hold.
Passing through the India-Nepal border in Gaur, Nepal. Nepal’s border police have been notoriously lax in stopping suspected traffickers and are known to be susceptible to bribery. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Narayani, Central Region, Nepal
Fake migration schemes are one of the most common ways girls end up trafficked. Job options are scarce in Nepal, and around 200,000 women leave to work abroad every year, mostly as domestic servants. Poor, rural women think they are going to be domestic workers in Dubai, but instead end up working as prostitutes in Delhi.
Seeking migration paperwork at the district administration office in Haidera. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Narayani, Central Region, Nepal
The sex traffickers methods are varied and unpredictable, which is why so many people fall victim to trafficking in this region, despite the initiatives and interventions of extraordinary agencies on the ground.
Shakti Kendra in Kathmandu is one such shelter, managing to educate hundreds of girls. I met fifteen current residents during my stay, all survivors of trafficking to brothels in India or of rape within Nepal itself.
Founded by Charimaya Tamang — the first trafficking survivor in Nepal to press charges against her traffickers and win — all of the staff at the shelter are also formerly trafficked women, some of whom have been specially trained by Shakti Samuha in Japan on how to run workshops and look after their young charges.
Young sex trafficking survivors at the Shakti Kendra shelter in Kathmandu, Nepal holds up their favorite drawings. From left to right, “an angel helping a girl in need”, “an imaginary house”, “going shopping”, “a house in the mountains” (Photographs: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
The children living at Shakti Kendra take classes at the centre and are also involved in drama, weaving and jewellery making programmes.
A young survivor at Shakti Kendra traces a scene from an anti-trafficking awareness cartoon. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
As a photographer, the Shakti Kendra shelter was an extremely challenging place to work. It has a strict media policy to protect the identities of all of its members. Still, I wanted to document the girls’ world, but it meant I had to be patient, and make a lot of images with turned backs, blurred faces and deep shadows.
An underage trafficking survivor rehearsing a play about trafficking at Shakti Kendra shelter. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
In time, some of the adults opened up and let me tell their stories, but for the children, the policy was non-negotiable. Although frustrating from the point of view of documenting this issue, I respected this choice.
Trafficking survivors face huge stigma in Nepal, where the shame associated with the sex industry is so great that most survivors’ families don’t even want their own daughters to return home if they have been rescued.
A photograph discovered on the internet identifying a trafficked girl or woman could have repercussions — from an employer not wanting to hire them to a man not wanting to marry them.
Drawing class at the arts and crafts centre at Shakti Kendra Shelter. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
I was by no means the first foreign visitor to the shelter, but it was hard to tell judging by how excited they were to see me. Some nights I would stay late to watch TV with them, and those were probably some of my most relaxing and memorable evenings in Nepal. I stopped thinking about the pictures and interviews and would just enjoy the company of the sweetest girls in the world as they tried to teach me Nepali and asked me a million questions on every last detail of my life.
[1] A sex trafficking survivor who works at the Shakti central office as a receptionist. [2] A sex trafficking survivor, who now works at Shakti Kendra shelter as a recreation officer and teaches weaving. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
Growing close to women and girls who have experienced such a level trauma was difficult and emotionally exhausting at times.
It was particularly hard with the children, like thirteen-year-old Sabina who had been rescued from a brothel in India just six months ago. She had a bright smile and so much love to give it seemed she might burst.
A Shakti Samuha adolescent group meeting in a slum area of Kathmandu, where staff members raise awareness about trafficking related issues with at-risk youth. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
She loved pop music and called me ‘Katy Perry’. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she was the same age as my niece in New York, and how Sabina has already lived a life filled with more pain than I hope my niece would experience in a lifetime. Sabina dreamed of travelling, studying and getting a good job to help her family, who lived close by. She missed them, and talked about them constantly. What she had yet to understand was that it was her own family who sold her into trafficking.
Residents and staff at Shakti Kendra perform a play they wrote and directed themselves. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
Trafficking in Nepal is not only something that can be managed and prevented, it can end, and it can happen within our lifetime.
It starts with the work of anti-trafficking survivor-run organisations like Shakti Kendra. These women have the motivation, ability, sensitivity and understanding to tackle the issue from all angles, from prevention and rescue, to prosecution and rehabilitation. They will not shy away from fighting to identify and imprison traffickers and their collaborators, from small-time pimps to local police to family members.
One day these young girls at the centre will take their place as the next generation’s leaders in the fight against trafficking.
Young residents dancing at the Shakti Kendra shelter. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA
WRITTEN BY THE LEGATUM FOUNDATION
Finding Family On the Go in Nepal
Foregoing proper family time is one of the biggest sacrifices I make as a professional traveler. It is too easy to go “off the grid” and think that every one just understands a vagabond lifestyle. Far too often it is just assumed that the traveler in the family is out of the country and the conversations go from, “Hey let's grab lunch!” to “When’s the next trip, how long are you gone and why are you leaving me again?” Always absent from the birthday parties, weddings and the impromptu Sunday morning coffee chats with the grandparents. Absent from the little one’s baseball games, grandma’s chemotherapy appointments and the family BBQ’s at my parent's pool. Absent becomes an all too common trend.
When looking at my niece and younger cousins, I think about the close bond I made with my favorite aunt as a kid because of the trips to Chuck E. Cheese’s, the movie nights and always knowing without a doubt that she would be in the crowd at every baseball game. Will I be that awesome uncle or someone for them? I notice that my parents are donning a few more greys these days and my grandparents are having run-ins with illnesses more often. Should I be home reigniting the Sunday family dinner tradition that was so strong throughout my childhood? These questions run through my mind regularly and fill me with a small sense of guilt.
Sometimes, I would do anything for a one way ticket home to surround myself with family and bask in the cheap rent prices of the Midwest. However, that is not in the cards right now and won’t be for a long time. Until then, I will forever appreciate Southwest Airlines for the cheap flights (and 2 free checked bags!) from NYC to Kansas City that I frequent 2-3 times a year. I highly cherish this valuable family time and am incredibly thankful for it.
I finally turned a corner on not feeling guilty for being gone on my most recent trip to Nepal. As a part of my job with buildOn, I get the privilege of living with different host families twelve times a year around the globe. As a trek coordinator, I manage teams of Bronx high school students and volunteers traveling to a community to break ground and construct a primary school. This experience is called trek, and yes, you can get involved. My host families have all been amazing.
However, my latest host family in Nepal was unlike any others I had stayed with. They left me feeling full of so much warm love and happiness that I didn’t want to leave. For 9 nights, I became part of the Sunar family in the Bhagatpur Village. Despite our language barrier, our differing skin tones and our unique understandings of the world, I truly knew I had found long lost family members that I just had not had the opportunity to meet yet.
Every night when I wandered back into my room of their tiny concrete home, I was exhausted. It would have been very easy for me to take my bucket shower, eat my dinner and go to sleep without much interaction. Instead, no matter what time I rolled in, my three host sisters, Joti, Alicia and Aribica were eagerly waiting to greet me with the biggest smile and a “Namaste brother!” I couldn’t help but smile and quickly put my things down to join them for dinner.
Dinner time in Nepal is all about sharing family time. We would all surround a little fire stove while sitting on straw mats on the dirt floor and take our turns washing our hands. My host grandmother proudly served us heaps and heaps of rice, lentils, potatoes and vegetables that she had been preparing for hours in her primitive kitchen. My family never served themselves first and always made sure that I was so full that I could barely move because not taking seconds is simply not an option in Nepalese culture. Most nights we would practice our languages, and without fail they would burst out laughing every time I butchered a Nepali word or phrase. One night, I gave them a 100 piece jigsaw puzzle with the photo of two elephants on it. To my surprise, they had never seen a puzzle and were very confused as to what it’s purpose was. For 45 minutes, we sat and focused on putting that puzzle together and I happily observed as their problem solving wheels turned every time they placed each piece. Most people would have given up, but all 7 family members huddled around to tackle this puzzle. This reminded me of the days spent piecing puzzles together with my mom as a kid and even though I was filled with nostalgia, I knew how proud she would be to see me teaching them our favorite past time.
Piecing together that puzzle was just one of many activities we shared in that small little kitchen. Thanks to my great friends at LuMee, we took hundreds of illuminated selfies and videos. My host sisters sat one night and artistically colored in my henna tattoos with markers I had brought them. We talked about their religion, their family and how education is important for everyone. We laughed and laughed and laughed. We were family. No matter how stressful the day, every night when I went to sleep underneath my mosquito net on my bed that doubled as a table, I couldn’t help but think about how much they have, despite lacking many modern day luxuries that so many of us prioritize. They have family, they have love and they have community - is that not what we are all searching for?
When it was time to finally leave my family in Bhagatpur, I was filled with the usual sadness I feel at the end of my treks because of the unknowing of whether or not I will ever see my host families again. The reality is that I very likely will not. As I walked to the bus with both little sisters palms in my hands and my entire family following behind, I looked at them and grinned and said, “I love you family” and through their tears they said, “Love you brother!” In that moment, I knew that my family has forever grown by seven members.
My family means the world to me. If I didn’t travel that world, I would never find my family members like the Sunar’s, and that to me is more than enough reason to keep traveling. My family will forever grow.
#lucasonthego
Photo from Featured Collectives by Thet Paing Htay. Life of Ferry Boats. Yangon, Myanmar. 2015. CC License
MYANMAR: Crowdsourced Photography Website Showcases the Beauty of Everyday Life
A crowdsourced photo blogging website, Featured Collectives, encourages submissions from photographers who capture the day-to-day of Myanmar's ordinary people.
Photographer Chit Min Maung, who is running the site, told Global Voices that the online project is intended to showcase the creativity of Myanmar's photographers and link them to the international community. He said:
“In Myanmar, we usually shoot landscapes and portraits and we don’t make much choices. So, we wanted to show that we still have different types of photography other than those two.”
Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, was under military dictatorship for more than 50 years until it transitioned to constitutional democracy in 2010. During the military rule, Myanmar largely remained detached from the rest of the world, preserving a unique culture and way of life. Last year, the opposition defeated the military-backed party in a historic election that could usher in a new era in Myanmar society.
As Myanmar prepares to pursue more reforms in the next few months, websites like Featured Collectives are essential in documenting everyday life in a rapidly changing society.
The photoblog features photo essays and individual photos submitted by photographers from both inside and outside the country. For example, one collection shows a man creating wooden beads.
Photo from Featured Collectives by ThuYein. © ThuYein Photography. CC License
The essay reads:
“Beads are an essential object for Myanmar people. It is evident that it has also been a form of women’s jewelry. Bead necklaces from the Pyu era 2,000 years ago were famous. […] Ornamental beads may not be used by everyone but meditation beads are important for every Myanmar Buddhist. […] Meditation beads are primarily made from wood. As it is considered sacred, they are made using fragrant wood. […] Mandalay is the centre for providing almost all of the country’s meditation beads. […] Leftover fragrant wood from the production are not simply thrown away after making beads. They will be used during the holy festival, called Da Poe Twe, to offer fire to the Buddha image.”
Here are some more of our favorite photos that depict everyday street scenes in Myanmar. Make sure to visit the website to see more amazing photos.
Photo from Featured Collectives by Phyo Hein Kyaw. Childhood. Mandalay, Myanmar. 2015. CC License
Photo from Featured Collectives by Khant Min Htun. Mandalay, Myanmar. 2016. CC License
Photo from Featured Collectives by Thant Zaw. The Coffee Shop. Yangon, Myanmar. 2015. CC License
Photo from Featured Collectives by Myat Thu. Rakhine State, Myanmar. 2015. CC License
Photo from Featured Collectives by Zarni Phyo.Novices. Lashio, Shan State, Myanmar. 2015. CC License
Photo from Featured Collectives by Zarni Phyo. Yangon, Myanmar. 2015. CC License
THANT SIN
Thant Sin is a post-grad media and development student at SOAS. He is interested in all things about Myanmar society, linguistics and history. Also Burmese language lingua editor at GV Myanmar. Feel free to drop him a line.
INDIA: A Café Run by Acid Attack Survivors Attracts Visitors from around the World
The women of Sheroes' Hangout serve coffee and share their personal stories.
Ritu Saini, Chanchal Kumari, Neetu Mahor, Gita Mahor, and Rupa at the café. (Photo: Courtesy Sheroes’ Hangout)
The Taj Mahal may be one of the world’s top architectural wonders, but just a half mile away, a new destination is gaining attention: Sheroes’ Hangout.
“I was exhilarated the first time a group of Indian tourists who visited the café told me how much they appreciate my courage,” says Rupa (who goes by one name), a 22-year-old survivor of acid violence who, along with four other women, runs the café Sheroes’ Hangout. “Since then, we have had regular customers who come here not only to enjoy a cup of joe but also to talk to us.”
Visitors to Sheroes’ Hangout always leave with a sense of fulfillment. It’s not only because of the cutting-edge coffee and delicious snacks the café serves.
Opened in December 2014 in Agra, a city in the north Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, Sheroes’ Hangout started as a crowdfunding project by Stop Acid Attacks, a group committed to ending acts of violence against women. Its “pay as you wish” contributions go toward the rehabilitation of survivors of acid violence in India.
“Our visitors are mostly people from around the world who hear about us in the news,” says 20-year-old Chanchal Kumari, another survivor who helps operate the café. A man whose marriage proposal she refused attacked Kumari in 2012. “They come here to see how acid attack survivors like us are coping with our lives.”
(Photo: Courtesy Sheroes' Hangout)
Kumari, who is recovering from her fifth reconstructive surgery, works alongside Rupa, Ritu Saini, Gita Mahor, and Neetu Mahor, all of whom lived a secluded life in their homes for several years, dealing with the pain of a charred face and a scarred soul. Then they discovered "Stop Acid Attacks," a Facebook campaign that was started on International Women’s Day in 2013. Based in New Delhi, SAA works with acid attack survivors in India, assisting them with legal and medical issues and helping them deal with the trauma of the attack. Sheroes’ Hangout is one of its several initiatives.
Acid attacks are a gruesome reality in India. The National Crime Records Bureau, a government organization that recently began recording acid violence, estimates that more than 1,000 such crimes are committed around the country every year, though the majority of attacks go unreported because of the shame the girl and her family feel and the fear of being attacked again.
SAA has been collecting data through its volunteers across the country and has information on 430 survivors, 350 of whom were attacked in the last two years. It is in touch with, and has assisted, more than 70 of them. According to the data collected, about 70 percent of victims are women, more than 50 percent of whom are attacked by spurned lovers. One of the biggest reasons behind the high rate of acid attacks is the lack of laws against the free sale of acid in India—a liter can be purchased for just 50 cents.
SAA wanted to do something for Gita Mahor, 42, and her daughter Neetu, 26, who were attacked with acid 23 years ago by Mahor’s husband, Neetu’s father. Both were left with mutilated faces and limited vision. Neetu’s one-year-old sister was sleeping next to her during the attack and succumbed to the injuries the acid caused to her. With no one else to support them, mother and daughter were forced to continue living with their assailant. To relieve them from their everyday distress and further domestic violence, SAA found it important to provide them an avenue of earning a livelihood so they could gradually move away from their home and lead a happier life.
“Acid attack survivors’ lives become even more traumatic when they start facing rejection from society due to their disfigured faces. They need someone to hold their hand and restore their self-confidence,” says SAA founder Alok Dixit.
Today, Mahor and Neetu dress up every morning and go to the café to serve coffee and treats—and share their stories with customers.
One of the objectives of SAA at Sheroes’ Hangout was to provide skills training in the subject that each survivor was interested in learning. With SAA’s help, Mahor took a baking course at a hotel in Agra and will soon be serving cookies and cupcakes to customers. Neetu, who is almost blind, is taking singing lessons from an SAA volunteer. “I love to welcome the guests at the café cheerfully, so that they know we are coping well,” she says.
Saini, 19, played volleyball for India before suffering an acid attack by a male cousin in 2012 over a family property dispute, resulting in the loss of her left eye. She is unable to compete in the sport anymore, and she now handles accounts at the café. “My life changed ever since I joined SAA,” she says. “With the emotional support I received, I regained the confidence to go out with my face uncovered. Now I don’t care what people think of my disfigured face.”
Rupa—whose stepmother attacked her with acid when she was just 12—is a skilled tailor and an amateur apparel designer. The outfits she designs are exhibited and sold at the café. “Sheroes’ Hangout is not only giving us a chance to move our lives forward; it is also getting our stories out,” she says.
“True that,” says customer Shikha Singh, 20, a student of fashion design who finds herself in the café at least once a week. “I would never have known about the reality behind acid attack survivors had I not met these women. It is amazing the way they are working to fulfill their dreams despite the hurdles. I now prefer to spend on Sheroes’ Hangout rather than a McDonald’s or KFC. At least I’m sure the money will be used for a good cause.”
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON TAKEPART
PRITI SALIAN
Priti is a Bangalore-based journalist whose work has appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, The Women's International Perspective, The National, Femina.in, Prevention, Discover India, and many other publications.
SOUTH KOREA: Surfing the Demilitarized Zone
38th Parallel Beach is located just 50 kilometres south of one of the most dangerous places on Earth — the line dividing North and South Korea.
Known as sahm-parl in Korean (the numbers 3 and 8), 38th Parallel Beach is a harbour, military base, beach and a highway rest stop. Weary travelers can stop for strong, sweet coffee, spicy food and tacky souvenirs. They can inspect the coastline and enjoy the rare beauty of the Gangwando coastline. Today it is also a rather unusual surfing spot.
While living in Seoul working as a university teacher, I spent three years photographing and surfing with the Korean and foreign surfers who were establishing the area as a legitimate surfing community.
I was drawn in by bar tales spun by roughish Australians who said they had surfed with local Koreans in blizzards, but pre-Facebook and iPhones, proof was murky. Poor photos of clean waves in deep snow and a complex myriad of forecasting and unreliable local bus info made it even more confusing. Eventually these rumours led me down a three-hour stretch of highway from Seoul to the 38th Parallel on Korea’s east coast.
As I left, my Korean co-workers giggled at me for coming to the country with a surfboard, but a peninsula must have wind I thought — and where there is wind and water, well, there must be waves.
Arriving at a protected harbour I could immediately see some small but nicely shaped waves, peeling intermittently down a well-defined bank. I was impressed and could see its potential, so we jumped in.
It was a fun spot. Surprisingly, when we came in a film camera was shooting us as we came up the beach together. Turns out they were filming a commercial for nuclear waste storage and our water exit appealed to them. I posed for a photo with the bespectacled producer and later learned that we had made it into the commercial.
38th Parallel beach felt special from day one and this slightly surreal first experience would set the tone for my future visits.
In the months to come, I discovered some of the best waves I had seen in the country, and to my surprise there were a lot of surfers, too. Koreans, Kiwi surf rats, and even some wobbly Nova Scotians, all hunting for peaks to break the grind of Korean ex-pat life. The good surf days remain particularly vivid in my mind because my lowered expectations only amplified my ‘stoke’. The surf and culture on the east coast of Korea surprised me and my experiences were in a word, unique.
Surfing in Korea is tinged with madness and magic. Koreans tend to go full throttle with everything they do, and surfing is no different.
On a weekend, the line-up resembles a chaotic Korean market place with people and boards going every direction. Korea is small country with an enormous amount of people, so fighting for your position is a way of life and the surfing line-up is no different. Luckily, over 3ft Mother Nature takes control of the space politics and the line-up clears out significantly.
South Korea has gotten the surf bug badly, and 38th Parallel Beach has fast become a hub for Seoul’s young jet-setting surfer class, traveling down through scenic Gangwando to reach this barbed wired bay.
On any given day, and in any of Korea’s four distinct and extreme seasons, you will see trendies, gangsters, Hongdae hipsters, Gangnam DJs, and foreign English teachers all jostling for a wave.
The car park overflows on every swell with Seoul surfers chain-smoking in the latest gear and waxing up only the hippest of shapes. Koreans love to do things together, be it banquet-style eating, all night drinking, or raucous socialising. Surfing has become another activity to share and the entire culture is geared up for it with various surf stores and camps along the coast catering to the dedicated Seoul surfing clique.
With some of the most consistent and powerful waves in the country and with ever improving forecasting technology, modern social media and South Korean connectivity, the short lived swells that originate in the East Sea are no longer left un-surfed, even in the deepest of winter.
Koreans adore trends, and the newest trend, surfing is red hot. The surf community at 38th Parallel Beach has grown rapidly, enjoying a strange co-existence with the local fishing community and the ever-present ROK (Republic of Korea) defence force, who have been protecting South Korea from the distant threat of a North Korean attack or DPRK defectors since the 1950s.
Being a lifelong surfer, the mixture of this semi-remote location, the exotic culture, and these three dramatically different groups all occupying the same space is incredible to me. Over the next few years I tried to spend as much time as I could out at 38th Parallel Beach, getting my surf fix and capturing the amazing and strange things I saw.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA
Shannon Aston
www.shannonaston.com
Shannon Aston is a world traveler, surfer, and photographer from New Zealand.
Cambodian Orphanage Shows Effects of Voluntourism
We all start with the best intentions, and want to make a positive difference in the world when we travel. But when orphanages become volunteer tourism destinations, they create incentives to direct children with living parents away from their homes, 3 out of 4 Cambodian "orphans" have a living parent. Studies show family-based care is a far better solution for these kids.
CONNECT WITH ORPHANAGES NOT THE SOLUTION
Our Daughters For Sale Documentary (2012): Sex Trafficking In Thailand
High in the hills of Thailand are villages where selling children for profit—not for survival—is commonplace. While the government would prefer to say that no such problem exists—one organization stands in their way. The Children's Organization of Southeast Asia (COSA) is working on a new method to stem the tide of child sex trafficking in northern Thailand. While most other organizations 'rescue' children who have already been sold and been victimized. In villages where satellite dishes and other amenities have taken the place of sold children, COSA is working to educate villagers on the benefits of not selling children—they are working on an individual basis to solve the problem for each child before it happens.
CONNECT WITH COSA
Explore Laos
In the third episode of his series “In Asia,” German traveler and director Vincent Urban transports his viewers to Laos. We travel with him to Luang Prabang, a city in Northern Laos that is home to abundant Buddhist monasteries and is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Our next stop is Phone Savan, capital of the Xiengkhouang province, where Urban captures the daily lives of people who work the fields and bring their produce to market. In Vang Vieng, we are introduced to the region’s aquamarine freshwater lagoons and waterfalls. Vincent finishes his trip by exploring Vientiane, the lively capital of Laos, on bike and by visiting Don Khong, an island in Southern Laos, where he engages in various outdoor activities, including playing soccer with the local children. He concludes the video by teasing his next stop: Cambodia.
MALAYSIA: Take Off with Vincent Urban
The first of five episodes about a Southeast Asian Journey by Landrover, by Vincent Urban and Clemens Kruger. Take off with them as they explore Malaysia. Watch.
CONNECT WITH VINCENT URBAN
VIDEO: Scuba Diving in the Heart of Yap
Julie Hartup, part of Manta Trust, a non-profit organization, recently went to Yap to begin a long-term monitoring and research program. This footage was complied over four days of scuba diving at a shallow cleaning station with help from the Manta Ray Bay Resort.
CONNECT WITH MANTA TRUST
A Glimpse at Myanmar
The military junta has ruled Myanmar since 1962; challenges to the junta are quickly thwarted with a heavy hand. Information coming and going is monitored closely. Journalists cautiously sneak in and out, but many are blacklisted after reporting about the political situation.
The former capital city of Yangon, while not without its beauty, is developmentally stalled in the past with beat down cars cruising by crumbling buildings. No ATM’s can be found; a visitor must bring all the money they need with them.
It’s easy to forget the 2007 Saffron Rebellion. It’s easy to forget that the country’s beloved Nobel Peace Prize recipient, Aung San Suu Kyi, was under house arrest for the better part of the past two decades before her release in November of 2011. But regardless of its troubled past, you will rarely have a smile unreturned wherever you go. It’s easy to have a look around and feel that everything is just fine and dandy.
JUSTIN MOTT @jmott78
Justin is an editorial and commercial photographer born in Rhode Island, USA. He is living in Hanoi, Vietnam and working throughout SE Asia on personal projects and assignments. In 2008 his work on Agent Orange orphans was recognized in the PDN Annual and was awarded the Morty Forscher Fellowship for humanistic photography given out by the Parson’s School of Design in NYC.
For more on Justin and his photography visit: Mott Visuals
PHOTO ESSAY CURATED BY: Nelida Mortensen