Emma Thompson’s Diary

4 LIVI NG
Sunday Independent 6 March 2011
Emma Thompson’s Diary
‘One girl started to
bleed excessively. They
tied a noose around
her neck and dragged
her until she was dead’
FEBRUARY 5
THE FIRST thing I learn is
the Liberian handshake. A
series of squeezes ends with
a click of your fingers.
Liberia's founders were the
children of people who'd
had the tops of their third
fingers chopped off to
identify them as slaves. The
finger-click is a firm but
playful indication that their
offspring were anything but.
Atop the highest point in
Monrovia sits the dusty
ruins of the Palace Ducor
Hotel. Abandoned by its
owners in 1990, this huge
Intercontinental was used
by the warlord Charles
Taylor as a barracks.
From the wreckage of the
coffee-lounge terrace you
can see the shanty-town of
Westpoint stretching to the
horizon. We walk into the
empty swimming-pool.
Children used to slide down
it on plastic trays but the
place is razor-wired off now.
We leave the haunted
space and spend two hours
in Westpoint. It's wild.
Winding pathways through
mud houses set cheek-byjowl, women selling giant
spoons made from recycled
tin-cans, piles of the
ubiquitous and fierce
Liberian peppers, dried and
fresh fish, chicken-feet,
various hooves, pettytraders stalls dealing in tiny
bags of herbs, salt, chickenstock, squalling babies,
battered motorcycles
buzzing and tooting,
humans on a constant roar.
Tindy is so happy.
“I want to stay here for
at least a month,” he
shrieks. Here, the young
outnumber the old by a
huge margin because of the
30 years of conflict.
Liberians call them World
Wars I, II and III. They only
ended in 2003.
Getting out of the shanty
to a better life is tough. It's
not just who you know but
what your name is. An
Americo-Liberian name like
Dennis, Johnson or
Thomson (inherited from
the inventors of the handshake) will get you in the
door. An indigenous
name like Kollie, Saki or
Towaye will get it slammed
in your face.
FEBRUARY 6
LEAVING Monrovia
westwards, we pass several
check-points called “gates”
where, during the wars,
strange tortures were meted
out. Korto Williams
(ActionAid's country
director) points out
someone selling a pile of
whelk-like shellfish.
“We call them ‘Kissmes',
she says, “because you bite
off the pointy end and suck
out the flesh. They used to
say to people ‘swallow 10 of
these whole and I won't kill
you'. But if you swallowed
10 you'd be dead anyway”.
We stop to greet the
district commissioner and
meet our first female town
chief. An old man sits
listening as she says that
one of the greatest
problems in the country is
rape, which is endemic.
Rape within marriage has
just been recognised under
the law. The old man leans
back and closes his eyes. I
assume he's tired but am
told later that it was
intended to show his
disrespect. He thinks the
whole idea of rape within
marriage is ridiculous and
has withdrawn from the
discussion.
We reach a town called
Karnga in one of Liberia's
15 counties, Grand Cape
Mount. There, I meet
Massah, a 33-year-old
woman with four children.
She went to school until she
was six, when the war put a
stop to it. Later, rebels
killed her husband and
raped her. Her mother was
killed during the next wave
of fighting. She's exhausted,
having spent all day
foraging for food in the
bush and all night looking
after the babies. But she
says that taking part in
ActionAid's Reflect
programme, a model for
peace-building and
leadership skills, has helped
her feel less alone and more
able to take part in
decision-making.
Yatta lives in the room
next door. Her husband
tried to stop the soldiers
from raping her and was
shot dead.
“I want to make soap,”
she says. “Everyone needs
soap.”
Next door, Jenneh, who
has had a pain around her
heart and lungs ever since
she was gang-raped, says
Reflect helped her to speak
to people without being
aggressive.
“Violence here has
dropped away enormously
since ActionAid arrived. All
we need is a living…”
I find Tindy in a green
football shirt from a set
that has been hired by
ActionAid for a game.
Everyone walks down to the
pitch to cheer and dance.
Joanna Kerr, ActionAid's
new and first female CEO, a
Canadian alight with
articulate passion for
women's rights, says the
leaders of the community
are more impressed by this
than by anything else we've
said or done.
Normally, they say,
people come and listen as
briefly as possible and
then leave. “We know you
are interested in our
difficulties,” they say. “The
fact that you are also willing
to share our joys shows a
different kind of leadership.”
FEBRUARY 7
ON our way to Gbarpolu
county, a white van nearly
crashes into us. As it drives
off, Tindy points out that
the sign on the back reads
“God is in Control”.
“Ha!” he says.
When we arrive, the
school we were to visit is
closed — there is no cell
phone coverage so no-one
has been able to warn us.
Instead we visit another
where the classes are a
mixture of grown men and
students as young as eight.
The men are ex-childsoldiers whose education
ended when they were
kidnapped. It doesn't look
like it's working.
I spend two hours with
women and girls who have
been on a project designed
to tackle violence against
girls in education. Twentytwo-year-old Vera leads the
discussion.
“Here's what prevents
girls from getting educated
— early marriage, teenage
pregnancy, traditional
beliefs and practices,
poverty and rape, lack of
parental support — my
mother never went to
school so she thought
there was no point in me
going either. But here's the
other problem — tell her”
she says, turning to another
girl,
A very beautiful 15-yearold says. “I had just taken
my exams and asked my
teacher for my grades. He
said he had failed me. I was
shocked and asked to see
my papers. He told me to
come to his house and he
would give me better
grades…”
She didn't go but many
teachers trade good grades
for sex.
In the same community,
ActionAid has been working
with another female chief
called Jenneh. We have a
private discussion after the
formal meeting:
“I don't know how old I
am but I have four brothers
and three sisters. One
brother was killed in the
war. We heard fighting was
coming in 2003 so we all
ran from here. The rebels
caught me and my husband
with our little girl. They put
my husband in jail and took
me as a bushwife. My little
girl cried herself to death.
When ActionAid came, they
made me brave. After the
training, all the women
wanted me to stand for
election. After I was vicechief for two months, both
men and women voted me
in as the new chief.”
I ask how she uses her
power.
“I help people to solve
their issues without
lawyers.”
Tindy asks how she
enforces those decisions.
“I give them time. People
come to me when they are
vexed. I help them to wait
before they leap against
each other.”
I tell Jenneh we have an
appointment with her
NEW WORLD: Oscar winner Emma Thompson and her adopted son and ex-child soldier Tindyebwa (Tindy) Agaba talk to Beatoe village chief Jenneh Sando
president and ask if she has
any message.
“I only want one thing.
You see these roofs?”
She points to the thatch
on the circular huts.
“These roofs are terrible
during the rainy season. I
need corrugated sheets for
300 roofs. That's all I want.”
FEBRUARY 8
I'VE learnt the traditional
Liberian greeting:
“What news?” you say.
“No bad news,” they
reply.
Two-and-a-half hours
north, we are welcomed
with enormous gratitude by
a farming community in a
cathedral of towering palms.
Korto and Joanna say,
“You owe us nothing. We
are only here to help you
get what is yours by right.”
A small, rounded woman
called Mamie shows us
round with her eleventh
baby strapped to her back.
Only five others are still
living.
“I'm maybe 43? I only
know because I remember
President Tolbert was in
power when I was little.
There was no farming
during the wars — we
survived on relief. After I
did the ActionAid training, I
found 35 women and seven
men to join my farming
project. They need a lot of
encouragement because it's
hard work and long hours.
My husband won't do it, he
says there's no point.”
“But he still eats the
cassava when she brings it
home,” says Grace, who is
the wise and witty district
commissioner.
Mamie grins and says:
“This community is now
self-sufficient and we want
to be able to export — why
can't the country feed the
city?”
Tindy and I help Mamie
carry a huge tub of sweet
potatoes to her village.
Mamie pops it on her head
and trots, hands-free as
though it weighed nothing.
Tindy finds it easy after his
childhood water-carrying
years. When I put it on my
head, I can barely stagger
50 yards and have to clutch
it with both hands. On the
way, Mamie describes her
home economies.
“If I sell all these
potatoes, I'll get about $5.
Then I can buy fish or meat
for the family. If I don't sell
them, we'll just live on
them instead.”
She has a livid scar on
her ring finger, which was
made by the bullet that
killed her mother.
Forty minutes later we
reach her village. There's an
older man sitting in front of
her house. He's not very
friendly so I try and charm
him by extolling his
daughter's skills.
“She's my wife,” he says,
disgustedly.
FEBRUARY 9
AT Liberia's first women's
radio station, I meet a
journalist who tells me the
story of a 10-year-old girl
who, according to custom,
was taken by her
grandmother into the bush
to be initiated into the
Sande Society, the
traditional female
organisation.
Along with 25 others, her
clitoris was cut away, the
same knife being used for
all. One of the girls started
to bleed excessively. They
tied a noose around her
neck and dragged her about
until she was dead. All the
women made loud noise as
this occurred. The 10-year
old asked her grandmother
why. The old woman told
her it was not permitted to
die alone in the forest and
her family would be told
that the devil had taken her.
Then the child asked why
the women had made all
the noise. This was in order
that her screams not be
heard in the village.
Next, the initiates were
made to lie on the ground
where they were covered in
fresh grass. They had to lie
for three days without food
until the grass was dry.
Then a meal was
prepared. There were little
knobs of meat in the food
and when the child asked
what they were, the
grandmother said that if
the clitorises were eaten in
this way, it would ensure
that any child who dared to
speak about what they had
seen would surely die.
Female genital
mutilation is still common
in Liberia and to speak out
against it is very difficult,
even for the president.
The afternoon is spent
with 30 women from all
over the country who are all
partners of ActionAid.
Annie, who has travelled
three days to get here and
has 15 children, offers this:
“Where I come from, they
say women's ideas cannot
go very far. Women's ideas
stop just below”, and she
cups her breasts. Everyone
laughs.
“When a woman is
pregnant with a girl-child,
according to customary law,
a man can buy her while
she is still in the womb. The
price he pays goes not only
to the father of the girl but
the whole family. Then a
second bride price is paid
for the girl when they
marry. So you see, the
community feels it has paid
a huge double price for this
girl and her own family
have all received benefits
from her sale. To whom can
she complain if she is
beaten or abused?”
“But if I buy a pair of
shoes I look after them.
Don't you want your
property to remain in good
condition? Why is there so
much violence?” asks
Joanna.
“They want their
property to remain quiet
and under their control,”
answers Annie.
This customary law is
upheld by the modern
Liberian Constitution.
Annie and I walk in the
forest and she shows me
the trees and plants she
uses to cure toothache,
bring on childbirth, heal
paralysis and stem bleeding.
She often helps others with
her medicines.
“Don't they regard you as
a witch?” I ask.
“No. I just show them
the plant and tell them how
to use it. It's always better
to share your power. That
protects you and makes
people respectful and
grateful.”
FEBRUARY 10
TODAY I spend a very
emotional morning
watching Tindy talking with
a group of ex-child-soldiers.
Most of them share the
same story — they were
kidnapped around 14 years
old, although one of them,
Benjamin, was taken when
he was just nine. He says:
“Guns were our mothers
and fathers. They protected
us, they got us food.”
Tindy agrees. He says:
“Being a soldier makes you
strong in some ways. It
makes you want to enjoy
life because you have
missed so much of it.
Laughter must be your new
weapon. I lost my laughter
when I was in the army but
I rediscovered it and it
helps me with every part of
my life. When I first got
out, I could hardly speak.
An office with lots of people
in it was simply impossible
for me to deal with. But I
had to learn how to act
with institutions. Without
those skills, you cannot
move forward. There are
places out there for you to
explore and use.”
There is a child
protection officer at the
meeting called Onike, who
has known some of them
for years. She says: “People
will say to these guys, ‘Well
I didn't make you go and
fight, so don't come running
to me.’”
Benjamin again: “We
were cut off from our peers.
While they were learning,
we were fighting.”
The terms “ex-child-
soldier” and “ex-combatant”
are now being replaced
with “war-affected youth” to
try and reduce the stigma.
There are 60,000 of these
young men in the country.
Later, in the coldest
room in Africa (I think the
air-conditioning unit was
on the blink), we meet
President Ellen Johnson
Sirleaf, Africa's first female
premier. Her Wikipedia
entry neglects to mention
that it was the
demonstrations of
thousands of women all
dressed in white that
ensured her victory over
Charles Taylor.
She is quietly spoken,
dignified, steely and
humorous. Impressed by
the transparency of
ActionAid (every cent of its
$2m budget is accounted
for to local government), we
feel hopeful that she will
allow her office to engage
with Korto on a regular
basis — she was clearly
taken with her brilliant
countrywoman.
FEBRUARY 11
IT'S Armed Forces Day.
Time to leave.I greet
everyone we meet with a
cheery “Happy Armed
Forces Day!” Every single
one of them just laughs.
• Emma Thompson visited
Liberia with ActionAid.
Olga McDonogh, CEO
ActionAid Ireland, said:
“ActionAid works with local
communities helping women
and girls to understand
what their legal rights are
and supports them to take
legal action to enforce these
rights. This is done through
formal and non-formal
education. In countries
such as Liberia where
Women’s Rights are not
enshrined in the law we
work with local and national
partner organisations to
change this.”
To find out more and
support their work visit:
www.actionaid.ie or call on
locall 1890 704 704.
Jenny’s furnished with talent of a top designer
Having won the acclaim
she deserves, Jenny Walsh
is now becoming a pivotal
player in the world of
design, says Andrea Byrne
‘Y
OU can’t put a price
on doing something
you love,” furniture
designer Jenny Walsh says,
explaining her decision to
leave a well-paid job as a
manager in one of Boston’s
best restaurants to return
home and fulfil her dream of
designing furniture — an
ambition guidance counsellors in school had advised her
to stay well clear of.
“After three and a half years
in America, it was beginning
to feel more like home than
Dublin, so I thought either I go
home now or I stay forever,”
she smiles.
Thankfully, the gamble
paid off. Jenny is making quite
the impact on the Irish design
landscape. She was even
chosen as a member of the
Cream of Irish Design, which
is a massive coup considering she wasn’t long out of college when she was selected.
Bbecoming a member also
meant she found herself working alongside the very people
she had been studying about
in college.
Colourful and quirky,
Jenny’s style of design is
geared towards a more modern house.
“If I design a cabinet, it’s
not a variation of the cabinet;
it comes from a completely
different place. It’s from a
story, from a sketch of a person, fairytales. Hopefully, that
comes through,” the petite
designer says softly.
Jenny graduated from
Colaiste Dhulaigh in 2007 with
a Higher National Diploma in
Spatial Design. In a testament
to her ability, she was offered
a part-time teaching position.
Asked why she thinks she was
chosen over her contemporaries, the 28-year-old designer from Sutton in Dublin is
loath to reply for fear of
appearing cocky.
Pressed, she says: “I guess
it’s because I would spend
more time showing other people in the class how to do
something, than actually
doing my own work. I guess
they probably saw that,” she
shrugs.
Jenny also went on to
obtain a first-class honours
degree in Interior and Furniture Design in DIT.
She arranged for seven Irish
designers to show their creations in London, in what is
the furniture design equivalent of London Fashion Week.
“It involves a lot of paperwork to try and get funding
from wherever you can. The
Irish Government is the only
government that doesn’t send
a country pavilion. It would
help exports so much if they
put the Irish designers there.
“Furniture buyers from all
over the world go to this show.
If you’re not at it, you don’t
have much hope,” she says.
Many people have been
encouraging Jenny to move
to London to further her
career but she’s keen to make
it here first. “The cream of
Irish design has just been phenomenal in their help with it
in trying to make it happen
TABLE IT: Jenny Walsh is out to cut prices. Photo: Tony Gavin
here”, she enthuses, crediting
fellow designer and “mentor”
Shane Holland.
Jenny is based at the Duff
Tisdall Interior firm in the
Malthouse Design Centre in
Dublin. They have just
revamped their showroom
and are opening an exciting
new initiative in the coming
weeks. More than anyone, it’s
the consumer who will benefit, as a handful of resident
designers have set themselves
the challenge of making a
unique piece of furniture that
will retail from between €80
and €200.
How does she plan on
keeping costs low while still
being creative? “It’s about
pooling resources. There are
five of us at the moment working on the project. It’s about
being very clever with your
process, and making sure you
get as much as possible from
your material. It’s great to
design something and win
prizes ... but if it’s too expensive for people to buy, what’s
the point?”
Jenny also has a pop-up
shop in the RHA and is working on a project for an English
furniture manufacturer.
While she would never turn
down a top design job with big
homeware companies such as
Ikea (she’s a big fan and credits them with giving us a better appreciation of design),
Jenny likes the control that
working for herself affords,
particularly when it comes to
ethical and environmental
aspects of her job. Her ethical
practices even extend to what
she wears. “It really limits
where you can shop,” she
laughs.
Future aspirations for the
young designer include
branching out to do “more
unusual, more sculptural”
pieces and eventually open
her own shop. But, as she says
herself: “I guess the Malthouse
initiative is the first step
towards that.”
www.jennywalshdesign.com
The Malthouse Design
Initiative is on April 7. For
information see themalt
housedesigncentre.com