Recently, I came across a photo essay in The Calvert Journal. A stunning array of earthy and breath-taking images brought alive the vanishing art of tightrope-walking in the mountain villages of Dagestan.
Samia Rahman
Many years ago, I read what should have been a cheery, bite-size Q&A with the writer and academic Slavoj Zizek, on the Guardian website. Question: What makes you depressed? Answer: Seeing stupid people happy.
Come in, come in. Please, esteemed guest, kindly take off your shoes. If you wish you may recline on the charpoy. Are you comfortable? Can I bring you a glass of hot sweet chai? This heat is insufferable, no? Perhaps cool water instead? Or a hand fan? Perhaps you would like to meet the local Maulvi for some spiritual comfort? Or see a show from the village juggler?
My university days were played out pre-Facebook and therefore documented only in photographs possessed by very few and viewed only by a chosen few. Life was certainly very social but not broadcast via any form of media. I had what was once called a ‘private life’, locked away for the most part in memories and nostalgic reminiscing.
Saudi Arabia killed my father. There was no violence. No Frank Gardner-style hail of bullets. There was no sound of shrill sirens. Crowds did not gather to witness robed figures dancing in the shadows.
Brandon Stanton began a photography blog in 2010 entitled ‘Humans of New York’. He trawled the streets of the US city, initially with the aim of capturing the pictures of 10,000 strangers simply going about their business. His project evolved into a montage of flourishing New York. Photos are accompanied by illustrative text, a snippet… Read more »
It was blurry. She could make out only shapes and figures. The tension in the air was palpable and she had the distinct feeling that all eyes were upon her. An entire life had been building up to this occasion, and now it was time. ‘Here, take this,’ said a voice she recognised and yet didn’t know.
An unashamed Orientalist fantasy, Sex and the City 2 was contemptuous in its portrayal of Muslim men as misogynist while depicting Islamic society – through the oh-so-representative prism of Abu Dhabi – as repressed and oppressive.
With Sudan again hovering at the precipice of uncertainty and hope, and the Arab world writhing under the weight of popular upheaval, Leila Aboulela’s dynastic novel ‘Lyrics Alley’ could not be more timely.