We have a little rule here that we never slag off other charities – but that doesn’t mean we can’t get mad at them!
We heard last week that a ‘rival’ charity was launching a huge new advertising campaign, claiming to be the only charity that helps animals and therefore their owners.
What total tosh!
SPANA has been doing that since the year dot – Kate, our founder, was very aware of the poverty of the animal owners she saw, and how by treating their animals, she helped the people, particularly the women and children.
And I bet you can think of other charities that do the same, more or less.
So everyone has been hopping mad – the more so as the charity tried to pretend the words used didn’t really mean that. Weasel words. Then someone contacted the Advertising Standards Authority and asked them what they thought the words meant, and they agreed with us. So there.
But what can you do? Their fundraisers had clearly said, ‘this is a great new angle for us’, and blow SPANA and all the others. But if you see it, have a wry little chuckle, and move on.
At last we had a decent weekend, and those with better memories will remember that strange yellow thing in the sky – used to be called ‘the sun’.
So what better than to take out that anger on hedge cutting, lawn-mowing etc.
I have just reached a certain age, and where other men might be given Champagne, or perhaps a few shirts or ties or books - I got a shed.
So all the family rallied round, and we dug and levelled, carted and mixed rubble and ballast, then finally screwed the shed together. Just like a giant Airfix kit – I used to get those as birthday presents a long time ago.
Then just as we were clearing up, we moved a lump of old wood, and there, cool as you like, was Mr. Toad. Now our Masters keep telling us there is much wrong with our country – perhaps there is – but I’m proud to live in a country where in Spring, dozens of people are out on our country lanes with plastic buckets, helping migrating toads across the road so they don’t get squished. Really nice that – and perhaps I’m wrong, but I can’t honestly think of another country where that would happen.
So much nicer than weasel words in Ad Campaigns.
Jeremy Hulme
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
A Little Local Difficulty
Friday, 19 September 2008
Tunisia
And if you want to know why there is a picture of an Ostrich here, you'll just have to read on...!
Hate to say anything good about Air France, but we actually managed to stage through Paris and arrived in Tunis, more or less on time, and with nearly all our luggage. There is now no way you can fly anywhere in North or West Africa by British Airways – really thoughtful business strategy that – for example now there’s three planefulls of Brits every day, direct to Marrakech, and Willie Walsh doesn’t think there’s any money in that.
From the man who organised the flawless opening of Terminal Five? Well, anyway, there it is, so Air France it has to be.
And Tunis is still 35 degrees even in the night, and of course deep into Ramadan, just to remind any non-muslims, that means not eating or drinking during the hours of daylight. Not drinking, even when it’s forty degrees plus at mid-day. So a certain degree of discomfort for all and sundry.
After doing the budget, and visiting the Education Bus – entertaining (and at the same time teaching) kids at the cultural centre in town during the summer holidays, we set off on the road north-east to Bou-salem.
This is the road the British Army fought its way down against the Deutsche Afrika Korps. All along the road are little green signs indicating Commonwealth War Graves cemeteries.
Immaculately kept, they chart the battles against General Von Arnim and the heavy price that had to be paid in young men’s lives. There are many graves of Black Watch soldiers, my old outfit, all the more tragic by the simple inscriptions on the plain stones - ‘Our only child’, ‘Farewell Daddy’, or ‘Aged 18 years’. And all killed in the last days of April and early May 1943 – it was all over on May the 8th.
Now, they really did have a degree of discomfort.
All a bit humbling and deflating as we continued visiting our three centres in the country. Bou-salem in the north, Kasserine in the dry, bleak middle, and Kebili down on the edge of the Sahara in the south.
We built a little hospital there in the sand of the palmerie – just half a dozen stables, and a classroom over the top of the surgery. And a pond of course – and boy, you should see the colours of the dragonflies. Oh, I nearly forgot, two ostriches as well. And before you ask, no, I’ve no idea how we end up with two ostriches. But I bet the eggs make a hell of a big omelette.
What a place this is. In the hotel we stay in in Douz, a village about ten miles further south, you look out of the window, across a little road, and that’s it. Sand. Miles and miles and miles of it. About two thousand in fact, of wonderful, rolling dunes before you hit the Niger River (remember that?) on the other side. Some beach.
And lots and lots of camels.
But of course all this comes at a price. Tourists. Thousands of them.
Working with the mobile clinic amongst the camels (mostly treating them for mange), we watch as streams of tourists – usually Italian or French, stream by for their ‘desert experience’. They appear to have to wear a brightly coloured tea-towel wrapped around their heads, and a stripy sort of cloak thing - makes them look like convicts on a chain gang. One can only imagine it’s meant to make them look like some kind of Arab warrior. But as most of them are fat, wearing trainers, baseball caps (yes, under the tea-towel), and smoking or chewing gum – it somewhat fails to capture the desired romance and mystery.
Oh, what a piece of work is man!
Jeremy Hulme
Thursday, 31 July 2008
All Tuaregged Out
Finally got back from the desert this evening, and quite frankly I'm all Tuaregged out. We spent the weekend mucking about on camels, and my one - it actually goes by the rather catchy little moniker of Albajaz, did not respond to my overtures in quite the way I felt I could reasonably expect.
After a tolerably civilsed couple of days, I felt he let himself down at the end, by trying to bite me.
I have to say I was disappointed. Only my lightning reactions saved the day. Perhaps he was upset at watching some of his pals receive Ivermectin injections - this despite the Tuareg declaring that injections were bad for you because they drained your strength. But tablets are acceptable, apparently.
At one well we stopped at, word must have gone ahead, and about forty donkeys seemed to materialise out of the sand. Their owners seemed to think it would be ok if they had injections, after all, they're only donkeys. One poor thing arrived with an ear half hanging off. The owner said it was a bite - Amadou said, looking at the cut, it was a bite by a knife. Anyway, after some deliberation, he decided to take the risk of doing field surgery - we'd already seen that the owner had tried to treat it with sump-oil, and sooner or later it was bound to catch on a stick or branch. So the SPANA team went into action. Lots of local anaesthetic, then a long time trying to clean up the mess, before extensive suturing leading to successfully removing the remains of the ear. Anti-biotics and painkillers, then he was up on his feet, and without so much as a thank you, was running off home. But a nice way to finish, before we had to saddle up the camels again.
Then yesterday is probably better glossed over. We started six hours late! Six hours!
I know they didn't want to do what we wanted to do - ie search for the elephants in the Gourma - but the Tuareg method of getting their own way is very frustrating, and exhausting. We had a stunning array of excuses given to us - the originality of which I haven't heard since school.
We had 'neighbours child was ill - had to be taken to hospital' and 'slight car accident - had to take car to police station', then 'couldn't find insurance papers' 'couldn't get any fuel, ice, water etc'. Finally, beaten and demoralized, we just headed off into the desert again - the only place they are truly happy. And I must say the stretch of rolling dunes we ended up in was very beautiful. So we had the campfire, cooked a meal aned then rolled up to sleep in our blankets.
Yes, of course you've guessed it. At four o'clock we were woken by a screaming gale, the sand streaming off the dunes, and hitting us like a sandblaster. But Chris was happy - he got wonderful film until the cameras seized up in protest at the sand-blasting - then we spent the rest of the night huddled in the 4x4 against the driven rain. And then of course the rain gave us problems the next morning, with all the nice flat plains - used as roadways - flooded. We had to dig the damn thing out seven times before we got to Goundam. Perhaps it was not helpful that our driver was much more at home on a camel than a 4x4. Still, we finally made it. And I've 'done' deserts for a bit, thank you very much. Tomorrow, we're off by canoe to see some of the river villages where we have para-vets. And it's the hippo breeding season. When they're at their testiest.
Jeremy Hulme
Monday, 28 July 2008
In Which We Find a Storm...Then Regret it Immediately
Gordon Bennett - what a night! Following right on from 'what a day'!
Yesterday morning we met up with our group of Tuareg - they introduced us to the camels - they even had names, but don't ask me to repeat them, something like 'Idlib'. But I do now know that the Tamasheq for donkey is 'esha', cow 'tess' and camel 'anniss'. There you are. If that comes up in a pub quiz this week, thanks to SPANA, you'll get really good marks.
Anyway, off we went up north, looking for a particular well. Ten camels and seven donks, women and kids on the donks, men (and contrary to what you might imagine, daughters rather than sons riding pillion) and tents and firewood on the camels.
Oh, and us of course.
My job is to film Chris Terrill filming the caravan. I know, I know, very complicated, but I just do as I'm told. As always. But it's not easy, lurching along, trying to keep the camera steady. I got lots of really good bits of the sky, and plenty of the sand, but very little of Chris. Must try harder. We got to the well, filled all the water containers and gave everything a drink, then put up the tents, and someone lit a fire and started cooking a meal.
Meanwhile, we did lots of lying around, wondering if the clouds on the horizon were getting any bigger, and arguing if the wind was getting stronger or weaker. Then, late afternoon, the kids ran off to catch up the livestock, we saddled up and headed off again.
Finally, just as it started to get dark, we stopped and unloaded everything, and people stated lighting fires again. Clearly the idea was to spend the night here. The old boys with us kept saying there was going to be a storm, but we'd got wise to that trick. They've been saying that ever since we arrived. Perhaps we should have taken more notice of the firework display on the horizon - sheet lightning and fork lightning at the same time - pretty impressive. But it looked as if it was passing us by.
Some clot even said they thought it was moving further away. So we took no notice, and just lay on the sand eating our gastronomic experience.
Then it hit us. Like a thunderbolt. Gale force winds blowing sand everywhere, in our eyes, mouths, nose - God knows what it's done to the cameras. And the noise makes it difficult to speak, hear, or even concentrate.
Eventually someone suggested we make for the little school room, on the other side of our particular sand-dune. They are relatively common - one room, walls and roof made of woven matting (the kids just sit on the sand, and can even write in it).
Once inside, it was fairly sand free and, by this time (around mid-night), exhaustion took over, and despite the howling gale (and the snoring) I dropped off to a fitful sleep on the sand (very hard). Then next thing I knew, waking to the sound of rain drumming on the roof. No problem, I thought, they've been coping with this for thousands of years - the weave will expand and become waterproof.
Splat, right on the face.
Next hour, rain pouring in on sad-looking huddled pilgrims trying to doze through the drips and the sopping wet clothes. Ye Gods. There must be easier ways to earn a living. Then at dawn, rain stopped at last, we struggled out, looking like the last five miles of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow, and tried to warm ourselves up catching and worming goats and donkeys.
Don't showbiz people keep saying "the show must go on"?
Jeremy Hulme
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Not Too Old For A Camel Ride - Part II
Emboldened by yesterday's success, I'm having another go. Also, let's be honest, as tomorrow we are starting the big camel trek, judging by what the troops here seem to think of my physical prowess, it might be the last thing I ever write.
The dear Oloulu was an hour late this morning - pretty good time-keeping for him. Then he decided we'd better get some fuel. Then he decided we'd better get some water.
Then finally we left for the bled.
We arrived eventually at some non-descript bit of sand - but it is apparently home to the same group of Tuareg we met last time; Cue lots of dancing and singing round the camels - we have a paravet there and generally look after them. Everyone is in traditional dress, so we are also made to conform.
Much laughter at last visit's photos I'd brought along - 'that can't possibly be our Mohammed, he doesn't really have a crap camel like that' or 'gosh, look at me, doesn't my hair-do look great'.
Also nice to dish out the specs to the oldies. I have cousins in Winnipeg with an aged Dad in an Old People's Home, and as is the way of things, they end up with lots of un-needed pairs of specs. I get the same from my poor old mother's home. So it's great to make good use of them. I bring out a bagfull, and the old and bold rake through them until they finally find something that works. Eureka! They can suddenly see again, perhaps for the first time in twenty years. Then, in the midst of all the jollity, with absolutely no warning at all, my Tuareg trousers fell down. Round the ankles. Finally convincing the tribesmen that these unpredictable English, are really, truly, stark raving mad.
Jeremy Hulme
