It’s been just over six months since I joined Restless Beings and thereupon visited the  proposed site for a rehab centre and home for the needy yet awesome street kids of Dhaka.

• The safety of having a roof over their head and a place they can rest at night
• Three meals per day to rid the children of malnutrition
• Full medical care and assistance to ensure the children are immunised against major diseases
• Psychological counselling to ensure that any sensitive issues or abuse cases are handled and help the children to overcome their ordeals (including self harm and substance misuse as well as physical and sexual abuse)
• A manageable education, where the children are taught according to their capabilities
• An array of life skills lessons that will empower the children with real vocational ability that they can use. As an organisation we believe in a holistic approach to developing these young people, and the key here is to encourage autonomy and confidence
• Creative Nourishment & Growth: A programme which involves the development of key skills and talents of each child to promote creative growth, which may open the doors to opportunities that these children would not normally have

Tariq -  2009 - Restlessbeings

It was yet another cold winter’s evening in London, the sky was overcast with clouds, the scent of foredooming rain could be picked out of the breeze, amongst the hundred other aromas London is well known to possess. But a particular aroma that one rarely comes across was soon to fill the air in front of the India House, that of burning candle wax.

I was walking to Southbank from the top of Aldwych, taking pictures for my portfolio and going to meet some friends at a Christmas market. I noticed a few police officers standing near India House, and considering what had happened just a few days ago this didn’t surprise me. But that there was a very small crowd of twenty people in the square of India house, in a circle, sporting white armbands did. On approaching the group I eaves dropped that they were holding some sort of manifestation, and asked a young man by the name of Oaisim what was going on. A spontaneously organised candle light vigil for the dead of the massacre in Mumbai was being organised, by friends, relatives and concerned Indian citizens.

I left these volunteers and driven individuals to their organising, since I had a rendezvous on the other side of the Thames. Upon my return the whole square was packed with people, holding candle in their hands, the wax dripping on their bare skin, cupping the flame of almost 200 dead from the chilly wind that threatened to blow it out. Most of the faces in this crowd were blank, a few hid their tears well, as if they were still under shock from what happened. Although the mood was not sober, it was more one of impatience, this was not a public mourning; it was a vigil and a call to arms from within the Indian community in London.

The many speakers that came forth presented their thoughts, raised several points and expressed their sorrow and disgust for what happened in the best ways they could. Speaking words of passion and lost love, and not of hate or restlessness, some struggled to raise their voices so that the whole congregation could hear, but all passed on their thoughts through action. Through being together, on a cold winters Sunday, as the foreshadowed rain started to drizzle down, none moved.

There were a couple of press photographers and a reporter present, marauding the crowd with their camera clicks and high intensity flashes. They were there to bear witness for the rest of the city, absent and unknowing of this occurrence, much like I would have been if I had not stumbled upon this scene and enquired about what was happening. I personally took some snap shots, available for all to see on my profile, for the benefit of recording this event and tracing its story. These members of the press were asked to join in on holding hands together in silence, but because of professionalism they had to refuse. I seemed to have been the only one, with camera in hand, to have held a candle, said a prayer under the rain, and held hands with fellow brothers from another nation under the gaze of the bronze bust of Jawaharlal Nehru, towering over the square. I simply felt the need to be part of this, and not just to be a spectator, as I signed the guestbook that was being passed around, Nicola Lazzari, Citizen of the world. It is with this in mind that I wrote this article, and added the pictures to facebook, hope it gave you a glance into something that happened, but you probably never would have known.

My greatest condolences go to those who have lost loved ones in these attacks, and as always I shout out to the world; LOVE LIFE AND PEACE.

- All thoughts and pictures: © Nicola Lazzari, alias Speaking Aperture

The morning rush – hour is undoubtedly the worst part of my day.  It is actually worse than waking up still feeling tired.  I mean of all the places that you want to be at 820 on a Monday morning, the platform of a tube station waiting to be packed in like a sardine, is not anywhere near my ideal.  The worst part is watching the digital clock slowly reaching to the point whereby you are no longer waiting for a train to the point where you are praying for a train to come quickly.  And then it arrives, on your platform, and you are faced with a choice of either squashing someone else and dislocating their shoulder, or awkwardly positioning yourself between a human body and a steel door and dislocating your own shoulder.  Inevitably, its always my shoulder that gets dislocated, because worse than having a bad morning myself, is making someone else’s morning bad too. 

Apart from rambling on about public transport for a bit, the reason why I wanted to introduce my rush hour journey, was to tell the story of an incident I saw unfolding in front of my eyes a few days ago.  Basically, after watching 7 central lines go without being able to get on them and seeing the clock tick from 8.19 – 8.49 (8.42 is the point where I am guaranteed to be late), I finally made it onto the train and as has become statuary, dislocating my shoulder so as not to hurt anyone else.  The normal, sudden stops that the driver thinks is funny as about a million people come crushing into one other occurred, and my attempt to sleep standing up was broken time and time again.  By the time I had got to Bank station, the train had emptied out a little and I was relieved to be able to feel my toes again after someone had decide to stand on my foot the whole journey.  As people were departing, I noticed from the corner of my eye, that a young lady was tipping to one side, and before my brain could process what I was seeing (I am not slow, it was like, a millisecond) she had feinted and made a heavy thud contact with the floor of the train.  One angry commuter in fact forbade a concerned commuter from ringing the bell as he was ‘F**king late anyway’. 

In fact the lack of support and help from my fellow passengers shocked me, and it was another woman and myself that had got some water for the girl and were helping her to slowly come around.  I couldn’t help but notice that the young lady’s ring on her wedding finger had slid off as she fell to the ground.  It was quite apparent that she was in shock and very quickly she was struck with overwhelming panic and she was no longer responding to questions and completely fazed out.  Angry, concerned, reserved, late, worried passengers all looked down at the girl and she looked back up at them.  The mere act of a few of her fellow passengers to crouch down to her level seemed to be too painful.  She was ushered off by underground staff shortly afterwards so she could regain her awareness.

There are a variety of reasons why she may have feinted.  Being me, with a hyperactive imagination, I had convinced myself that she must have had a barney with her husband in the morning, skipped breakfast and got on the train without him.  In truth, she probably was feeling a bit hot, a bit claustrophobic and a bit sleepy.  The point is, that at some point she will have the chance to call her husband and explain her trauma of the morning commute.  Despite, looking up and seeing disgruntled, angry, concerned and worried faces and feeling like she was an inconvenience and beneath everyone else on that morning train, she would have the chance to either joke about the whole escapade or be lent a shoulder to lean on by her husband.  Either way she has someone. And so do we all.  If we don’t have parents, we have siblings.  If we don’t have siblings, we have friends.  If we don’t have friends, we have colleagues.  If we don’t have colleagues, we have our local newsagent.  We have someone. 

Some have no one. Some have nothing.  And I guess the reason why the whole train thing stuck with me, was because as I leant forward and told the young lady to sip on the water, I remember having the same dialogue with a little boy I met in Dhaka, nearly a year ago.  Most of you guys reading this will remember that image of a little boy with what he thought was a balloon in his mouth.  As I passed him on the rail track last December, I noticed that in fact that balloon was the used contraception of a seedy visit to a ‘working girl’.  I too leant over to him, his name was Akbar, told him to wash his mouth out and sip on water.  He had no one.  I suppose that thought of being alone either in the young lady’s [position or Akbar’s would be scary.  What is scarier is not having someone to talk to about…. 

Blogger – Mabrur Ahmed

I don’t know how many readers will relate to this but I grew up as a sly brown guy absorbed into an all-white world and the only black people I knew were Andi Peters and John Barnes (that most prolific of football players),  the only  exposure I had to my forefathers’ world was the odd trip to Bangladesh and the regular rantings and ravings of my mother in her mother tongue.

Unless you’ve chosen to be on a very remote island it would be difficult to elude the global credit crunch and bailout fiasco which has dominated the media. This is not the place to provide the financial theory behind this all but more to articulate some fleeting thoughts on surrounding issues.

One thing to mention early on is that many investment bankers and hedge fund managers are awesomely intelligent, have created wealth and opportunity for countless others and can be fantastically generous,

But this whole episode does take me back to the very first principle I ever learnt in finance – high risk can lead to very high returns (which it did for a while), and can potentially lead to disaster (which It has). It also takes me to another principle I have learnt via observation – that success is addictive and can make individuals both arrogant and oblivious.

Described by one commentator as ‘fantasists in porsches’ some of these guys illustrate the vulgarity of our society. All these risks for what? greater and greater returns, and why?

Too many people in our world define their lives through earnings, possessions and appearances; this can make people miserable as it impedes their ability to meet their fundamental needs. Fundamental needs? What are they, it’s a tough one but this is what me reckons:

Emotional/material security:

Emotional? Being at ease with oneself and one’s situation, it’s always too easy to compare and want – ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife’.  

Material? Okay, I have discussed the evils of pointlessly seeking ‘greater and greater returns’. However, to an extent money is definitely important, important for the whole ‘food, water and shelter’ thing, but also for fulfilling another need – the pursuance of passions.

Passions:

I guess this can mean different things to different people and contradicting my last point, enjoying them can be free but for me it definitely means money - Arsenal FC and street dance (Danceworks: £6 members/£10 non-members)

Friends and family:

As for friends, not talking the fickle FaceBook type but those who we genuinely can trust, share with and look out for. And as for family, I needn’t say more…….

A feeling of competence and self-worth:

We all have gifts and most of us need a level of recognition, even a feeling of authenticity.

Masters of our own destinies:

A feeling of some control over our lives and our futures, an ability to pursue our needs (as opposed to our wants).

So here I am, preaching about happiness and fundamental needs? I’ve got it all sussed right, always as happy as a sand boy? How do I currently rate on the ‘happiness index’?

Well, I am still on a Ramadhan-high (for those readers who don’t know, this holy month has just ended in which Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset). This level of sacrifice does give one a new perspective and convinces me (not that I needed convincing) that spirituality (of any kind) goes a long way….

However, my luxuries have become my regular needs (one session with my trainer could feed a family in Congo for a long long time), and although I certainly don’t ‘covet my neighbour’s wife’ it can be easy to desire what some have.

Okay, so I’m nowhere near, but who in our world has stumbled upon the elusive secret to eternal happiness? That’s a hard one and I’m not sure anyone knows the answer, but I do want to refer back to my last blog re my work with Restless Beings, when describing the street children I encountered at Kamlapur train station (Dhaka, Bangladesh) I did describe how disgusted I was at their situation and I am not too sure how many ‘fundamental needs’ they meet, but something I did go on to say:

‘It is wrong to generalize the whole community as distressed, many of the kids seem happy with their own ‘habitat’ and are perhaps emotionally richer than many of us in the West.’

Tariq

Restless Beings

p.s

1) But some of these street kids would be so much happier if we could provide them with a rehab centre.     

2) Whilst writing this, am pursuing another passion, namely X-factor (watching, not performing). My fave’s Laura, a cheeky Northerner with a real unique tone, and Daniel Evans (in particular his life story) will bring a tear to your eye every time (guaranteed)…

I’ll start of with a quick “about me” I love collecting stamps – the travelling kind! Who wouldn’t be proud to show of a well travelled passport with all the wonderful stories that come with it?! I also adore children (not the bratty kind!) and god willing plan to have my own one day until then I have my adorable nephews and nieces to keep me occupied. Some day I’ll be a story teller and tell them of my travels but for now let me tell you my story.

Bangladesh is one of the smallest and poorest of countries, though in my opinion it has some hidden treasures in terms of some truly stunning places and the people are warm and welcoming – if you ever go travelling there take along ‘The Lonely Planet Guide to Bangladesh’ and it won’t be long before you stumble across some of these great places. I’m writing about my memories from my last trip to Bangladesh in January 2006, which marked the final leg of my tiring and exhaustive yet amazing solo tour of the Far East and South East Asia. Rest assured that will be my one and only solo trip, as I have got married since and now I have my permanent travel buddy!

One of the first things I noticed about Dhaka is the traffic and chaotic scenes outside in the airport vicinity - the poor trying to target the international passenger, vying for your hard earned pound or dollar. Some begging, some offering porter services, taxis etc. Ofcourse like any other city, there are some beautiful places and very well developed areas where the super rich and powerful live. But you don’t have to travel far before you get into the poorer districts where there is wide spread poverty and the substandard quality of living, likened with Hong Kong, where the rich and the poor live side by side in some places.

During my travels, I experienced a wide array of emotions, the highs and the lows. You would truly have to be heartless and without a conscience to be apathetic to the plight of the poor – it can be emotionally draining. My strong connection with children meant that I found it particularly distressing seeing children as young as 2 or 3 walking the streets with their siblings/families scavenging and begging for food, raiding dustbins (other people’s rubbish for crying out loud!) looking for whatever bits of food they can get their hands on, chances are that’s the only thing they’ll be eating on any given day. My affinity towards children is because many of them are helpless and vulnerable and can’t fend of for themselves and it’s seeing the children living like that which really gets to you especially if you have young children of similar age in your family whether they are your own children or your nephew/niece, that’s when it really hits home, makes you think it could have been one of our children, It could just as easily have been any one of us in an alternate reality.

When I heard of Restless Beings and what they stood for and the fact that the first project is working with the street children in Dhaka, I did not have to think twice to get involved especially having witnessed first hand the problems there. The thing is I know some people think “I want to give to my own people” the truth is the geopolitical borders do not exist in terms of poverty or to the needy, try explaining that to a young child! The children are the helpless innocent victims of circumstance, they are all our children and we have a duty to protect them by whatever means we can.

We are in the Muslim holy month of Ramadhan; it is a time for reflection and generosity and for encouraging empathy and compassion for others, especially those less fortunate than ourselves - the poor and the vulnerable around the world. Although the month of fasting comes by once a year, for many of the poor, they endure fasting almost every day of the year! Those who fast will no doubt know what it feels like to have an empty rumbling stomach and the hunger pangs that just do not seem to go away at times, yet we are not too concerned as we have the luxury of knowing that, as soon as the sun sets, we can break our fast and devour into a lavish meal. What about the luxury of the poor? They don’t know if and when they will be having their next meal! What about their lavish meal? They will be lucky if they have a plate of rice which they will share with the rest of the family!

It isn’t possible for all of us to go and work as aid workers – I wish I could, I would love to do that some day – but for now we can do the next best thing which is to provide financial help via organisations like Restless Beings who have the necessary resource in place. We should all give and encourage others to give whatever amount is within our means, no matter how big or small as every penny counts.

By Yousuf Goni – RestlessBeings Community Relations Officer