A year later, I failed my first driving test before I'd left the car-park of the test centre, but I went ahead and did the test, receiving two more 'majors' due to unfortunately placed bollards and cyclists. Fast forward twelve years, two cars and 10-years no-claims bonus and some might be surprised to hear that I spent this morning driving a zippy Chevrolet around the island of Barbados. I drove along windy island roads beside the sea; I drove along an (unexpected) dual carriageway; I even drove through the centre of Bridgetown! There is no hiding the fact that Zippy is a hire car; all hire cars here have an unmistakable 'H' as the first letter of the registration. Aside from the occasional tail-gater, which, to be fair, you get in Plumstead, the good people of Barbados were very tolerant of this first-time island driver.
At one point, I was driving behind a bus, which stopped periodically, as buses tend to, mainly at bus-stops, but also sporadically in the middle of the road. I realised that you know when the bus will stop because a limb - usually an arm or leg - appears out of the side door, then it stops suddenly.
I once lived in Uganda, in 2004, studying African Christian Theology, as one does when doing a theology degree; the way to get a 'matatu' (local minibus) to stop was to shout 'MAAASOWWWW' - I never found out what that meant, but the locals did it, so I started doing it too and it worked every time.
I wandered up to the bar last night, to refresh my g&t. A woman I had chatted to earlier started talking to me. She asked me what I did for a living. I told her that I ran a maternity rights charity, because that is what I do. She looked blank. I started talking about our two strands of work - advice and information for pregnant women; and supporting vulnerable migrant women, like refugees and asylum seekers. Well - that was it. She went off on a Daily Mail-style rant about how the UK is at capacity and all these people are coming over here and taking our jobs. I obviously had to set her straight. I proceeded to explain the difference between someone who is an 'asylum seeker' and someone who is an 'economic migrant'; the two - as you will know, I hope - are very different. I went on to explain how the UK actually hosts a tiny proportion of the world's asylum seekers and that the majority of refugees seek refuge in a neighbouring country, for obvious reasons. I went on - 'someone who is seeking asylum is seeking refuge from persecution. We have a duty of care to humanity, under the 1951 Refugee Convention, to which the UK is a signatory'.
Well - that was news to her. I persisted; 'If your life and that of your family was in danger because of your religious beliefs, political affiliation, or something similar' (I thought it would be too much for her to get into the specifics of what membership of a 'particular social group' means) - wouldn't you flee if there was any opportunity? I proceeded to explain some of the stories I have heard from midwives working with women seeking asylum; the unthinkably horrific situations women are fleeing; the things they have experienced in their often young lives; family members murdered; sexual violence; exploitation.
I don't think she's going to speak to me again. But sadly this epitomises attitudes of many members of the public. And it's the tabloids which feed this scaremongering.
It's dinnertime now, and I've remembered that the 'mango of doom' hasn't yet made it into the blog. But actually, there isn't a lot to say. A mango fell out of a tree on the way to breakfast; three steps further forward and there could have been a disaster.
Goodnight all.
At one point, I was driving behind a bus, which stopped periodically, as buses tend to, mainly at bus-stops, but also sporadically in the middle of the road. I realised that you know when the bus will stop because a limb - usually an arm or leg - appears out of the side door, then it stops suddenly.
I once lived in Uganda, in 2004, studying African Christian Theology, as one does when doing a theology degree; the way to get a 'matatu' (local minibus) to stop was to shout 'MAAASOWWWW' - I never found out what that meant, but the locals did it, so I started doing it too and it worked every time.
I wandered up to the bar last night, to refresh my g&t. A woman I had chatted to earlier started talking to me. She asked me what I did for a living. I told her that I ran a maternity rights charity, because that is what I do. She looked blank. I started talking about our two strands of work - advice and information for pregnant women; and supporting vulnerable migrant women, like refugees and asylum seekers. Well - that was it. She went off on a Daily Mail-style rant about how the UK is at capacity and all these people are coming over here and taking our jobs. I obviously had to set her straight. I proceeded to explain the difference between someone who is an 'asylum seeker' and someone who is an 'economic migrant'; the two - as you will know, I hope - are very different. I went on to explain how the UK actually hosts a tiny proportion of the world's asylum seekers and that the majority of refugees seek refuge in a neighbouring country, for obvious reasons. I went on - 'someone who is seeking asylum is seeking refuge from persecution. We have a duty of care to humanity, under the 1951 Refugee Convention, to which the UK is a signatory'.
Well - that was news to her. I persisted; 'If your life and that of your family was in danger because of your religious beliefs, political affiliation, or something similar' (I thought it would be too much for her to get into the specifics of what membership of a 'particular social group' means) - wouldn't you flee if there was any opportunity? I proceeded to explain some of the stories I have heard from midwives working with women seeking asylum; the unthinkably horrific situations women are fleeing; the things they have experienced in their often young lives; family members murdered; sexual violence; exploitation.
I don't think she's going to speak to me again. But sadly this epitomises attitudes of many members of the public. And it's the tabloids which feed this scaremongering.
It's dinnertime now, and I've remembered that the 'mango of doom' hasn't yet made it into the blog. But actually, there isn't a lot to say. A mango fell out of a tree on the way to breakfast; three steps further forward and there could have been a disaster.
Goodnight all.
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