De revolutie van de vrouw in Ierland. Weg met het achtste amendement.

Vrijdag werd een grote middelvinger opgestoken naar het gezag van de kerk. Er werd een eind gemaakt aan het duistere verleden van Ierland. het verleden van de Magdalen Laundries, de industriele scholen, de verkoop van kinderen aan Amerikanen door de nonnen, het dumpen van kinderlijkjes in een sceptische tank, de duizenden reizen naar Engeland om een zwangerschap te beeindigen, dikwijls van onleefbare foetussen, waarvan de ouders dan de asse over de grens smokkelden, of waar het soms met de post naar hun thuis werd verstuurd vanuit Engeland. 

De opluchting is groot, hier in Ierland. De strijd om 'Repeal the 8th' is al jaren bezig. De abortuswet werd al lang omstreden, maar kreeg plots volle vaart toen Savita Hallapanavar stierf nadat de artsen haar wens om de zwangeschap die slecht zou aflopen, te beeindigen.
Savita stierf door het gevolg van sepsis, die volledig te vermijden was.
Sindsdien is er een sterke vrouwen organisatie ontstaan die de druk verhoogde om het amendement te verwijderen.

Vrouwen in Ierland hebben het nooit gemakkelijk gehad. De kerk had hier altijd het gezag in de hand, met alle gevolgen vandien.
Zelfs nu staat er nog altijd vermeld in de grondwet dat de plaats van een vrouw in het huis is, gelukkig wordt daar niet veel belang meer aan gehecht, alhoewel het volgens mij toch beter zou zijn die vermelding ook uit de grondwet te halen.
Sinds de dood van Savita hebben de vrouwen de strijd niet meer opgegeven. en, voor het eerst, kwamen ze uit hun schelp, met echte verhalen. Vrouwen getuigden van hun ervaring met abortus, soms om hartbrekende redenen, soms omdat de zwangerschap gewoon niet kon.
Een echtgenoot vertelde hoe de chemotherapie van zijn vrouw stopgezet werd, omdat het te gevaarlijk was voor de foetus, zijzelf en haar baby stierven net na de bevalling.
De verhalen waren oertriestig en, denk ik, de aanzet voor vele twijfelaars om 'ja' te stemmen.  Ook de dokters voor keuze, die getuigden waarom het achtste amendement hun werk zo moeilijk maakte heeft bij velen de knoop doorgehakt.
40,000 expat-Ieren zijn teruggevolgen om te stemmen, er werd een gofundme campagne opgericht om de vluchten te financieren van zij die het geld niet hadden. Ze kwamen uit Europa, Amerika, Azie, om hun landsgenoten een hart onder de riem te steken en om te stemmen voor hun zusters, tantes, moeders en kinderen.
En de overwinning kwam er, geheel onverwacht, een overtuigende tweederde van de bevolking heeft ja gestemd.
De kerk is geschokt, dat is wel duidelijk. De bischoppen zeiden vanmorgen dat zei die ja gestemd hebben gezondigd hebben en naar de biecht moeten, hun laatste stuiptrekking volgens sommigen.

Ierland is eindelijk de 21e eeuw ingestapt, en we ontwaakten Zaterdag in een nieuw land. Er werden tranen van ontroering gelaten, en hier en daar kwam er een ontladende 'Fuck You' naar de oude kerk gericht.

Op de mural van Savita in Dublin werden honderden kaartjes nagelaten met berichten van de Ieren. Er werden bloemen gelegd door anonieme voorbijgangers. Er is hoop, en er is fierheid. De politiek had er niet veel mee te maken. Deze winst gaat naar de vrouwen aan de bron die een waardige strijd gestreden hebben en die de kerk en de oude garde op hun plaats gezet hebben. Dit is het nieuwe Ierland, de kettingen van de onderdrukking zijn eindelijk los.

de mural van Savita, met de honderden kaartjes en bloemen

Vlaanderen Vakantieland: Nog meer Wild Atlantic Way

Vlaanderen Vakantieland's Wild Atlantic Way is afgelopen, en mijn 5 minutes of fame zijn hiermee voorbij.
Het was echt leuk om eraan mee te werken, en eigenlijk had ik nog een pak meer in petto voor Bill en Tina, maar er was niet genoeg tijd.
Wat je op TV zag was  inderdaad mooi, maar er zijn zovele hoekjes en kantjes aan de Westkust, waar de toerisme dienst niet over spreekt, en dat is wel spijtig natuurlijk.
Zo wilde ik Bill en Tina  hier Garrettstown, strand  laten zien met haar mobiele surfschool,  mobiele sauna en mobiele pizzeria en koffieshop, een dubbledecker bus- café-snackbar en de kite-surfing school.

En mijn plan was om hen te laten cliff jumpen met mijn zoon, Bill en de camera crew hebben dat well off-film gedaan.
Hier is mijn zoon Fintan en zijn vrienden

's Avonds was er nog een plan om nog eens een echte sing-song mee te maken in Ballinadee, een dorplje waar de tijd heeft stil gestaan. Ik had er de plaatselijke bevolking al voor opgewarmd, maar er was helaas niet voldoende tijd.

Ik heb in ieder geval veel plezier gehad/Als jullie het ook leuk vonden en graag eens tot hier zouden komen, help ons dan aub door deze petitie te tekenen om de Aer Lingus Cork-Brussel vlucht te redden. Deze vlucht brengt je meteen naar het startpunt ( eindpunt op TV) in Kinsale, waarom zou je naar Dublin vliegen?

The Fringes of ( Irish) Society

Imagine running away from home for fear of being bombed, tortured or killed. Imagine running away as fast as you can, your heart pounding, hearing your torturers run right behind you, coming closer and closer.
Suddenly you see a beautiful house, full of light and music, with Neon Lights outside spelling 'Welcome, you are safe here'. You stop for a second, not believing that you finally found a safe place, you run forward and knock on the door. The door opens, a voice says, do come in, you are safe now. You are inside and for a moment all you can see is the light, all you can hear is the beautiful music, and you cry tears of relief and happiness, you are safe.


The day after your arrival in the safe haven of the Emerald Isle, though, reality kicks in. The gentle voice who welcomed you is now not so gentle any more, but is trying to make you see that you actually had no reason to run, that you were really just pretending and that a serious investigation is needed to find out whether you were indeed at risk of being killed or tortured, or if you were just hungry and needed a place with plenty of food.
As long as this investigation is running, they say, you can stay in a place called Direct Provision Centre, where you will get food, not the best food, but something you can eat and you may have to share your room with a few other people who also ran away from their countries, and you ask if you could maybe do some jobs to earn some money and find your own place and cook your own food while you wait for this investigation to finish, and the voice says 'No'. Thou shalt not work! Thou shalt get 19€ a week to buy thyself a drink and a snack, but thou shalt not work!

So what do you do?

You try your best. You try and get on with the others in the Direct Provision houses. You befriend them and you chat to them and you soon find out you are all bored out of your minds.
So you put your pennies together and get some alcohol and organise a party. It feels good to be drunk, you want to do it again, but hey, your week's 19 € is all gone. What to do?
Maybe if you could do some work on the black? Don't let the Direct Provision Centre's manager notice, just go for walks around town, find a restaurant to wash the dishes where the owners don't care if you have a work permit.
Go and paint houses, fix cars, anything, anything you used to do at home and can put to use here will do. A long as it is a little secret.
So you find a job like that and you work and earn less than the average worker, but more than the 19 € a week, and you are able to buy more alcohol and party and forget.
The more alcohol you consume the more people you meet who also drink to forget, and you soon form a circle of friends of the wrong kind.
You work on the black and you drink and you drink some more, but you are a grown-up man and you need sex. So you date drinking Irish girls who swear every two words and want an adventure with a man of a different colour. Drunk, of course.

You carry this on for a few months and you drink more and more until the day your drunken spirit starts a fight with another guy who thinks you screwed his woman. You return to your shared room with two black eyes and a few teeth missing and you fall asleep, or rather nearly in a coma.
You wake up with a bursting headache and stumble to the bathroom, and there you see yourself in the mirror.
'Is this me?', you think. You remember how only last year, before the bombing started you were a teacher in your country, you enjoyed a certain status and you were respected by everyone in your environment. Is this me? How did I get here?
Am i really this bum that goes around drinking and fighting? How can I get out of this?
You stay indoors that day and find a woman from one of your neighbouring countries who is willing to talk to you. You tell her about what has happened and how ashamed you are of what you have become. She doesn't react.
She stares at the floor and sighs. You ask her what she's thinking. She looks at you, her eyes filled with tears, and says 'at home I was a nurse, I took care of people, Here I take care of only men, with big bellies, in their cars, on the side of the road..........

This, dear readers, is what is happening right here, on the fringes of society. The Direct Provision Centres are a source of deep misery, where people are forced to live in very bad circumstances and trouble is brewing. If the government doesn't find an alternative solution to the treatment of asylum seekers, it will soon be faced with serious problems that have been brewing right under our noses and we have all chosen to neglect hem.
What do you think when you pass by the Direct Provision Centres? Do you even know what and where they are?
What do you think when you see a black man walking on his own late at night, looking drunk? Have you ever thought 'this guy is probably a highly qualified teacher, doctor or IT specialist who had to run away', or do you just think 'Another one of those so called asylum seekers'?

It is high time to investigate the provision centres and to act and give people the dignity they so deserve!

Expat Life is Good In Ireland

One of the best things I have done over the past few weeks is making the decision that life is what you make of it, and you can sit down and despair or you can go out and make things happen. I chose the latter.

I got in touch with Jeanett Taku, a mighty wonderful Nigerian woman who lives in Cork and who organised the very first Miss Bronze and Gold Ireland scholarship pageant, with the goal of empowering young women. The prize money for miss Bronze Ireland would be money to pay for college fees.
I like that idea, interviewed Jeanett about the event and then invited my friend, Ken Buckley, cultural ambassador of the Irish in Europe Association.
We both invited our own friends and were treated like royalty at the event.

The evening went well, and apart from the wonderful ladies who took part, I also got to meet a lot of new people. And as one thing lead to another, I met and interviewed Cordelia and Tony, who were organising a multi cultural evening with the noble goal to bring all the different nationalities in Cork together and party.
And there is no better way to enjoy yourself than at a party with African House music.
Myself and Ken went again, with friends. At our table were two South Africans, one Argentinian, One Irish man, one Polish lady and myself. We had a ball. And we made new friends again.
I am now working on an art project with Kasia, The Polish lady, and I found a very good friend in Julian from South Africa.
It took me 16 years to come to this stage, For too long I tried to be like the Irish, but I now realise it is a lot more fun to be just Belgian and enjoy myself the way I am.

I am meeting Cordelia and Tony again this week, because we want to work on the next cultural night and hopefully get enough attention for it, so Irish people will join in as well and get a taste of what their new neighbours are like, and maybe find new friendships.

Last week then, this blog helped Kinsale to stardom in Belgium. The crew of Vlaanderen Vakantieland, a programme on VRT, the Flemish National TV, came over to Ireland to film the Wild Atlantic Way, I met them at their last stage in Kinsale, we were wined and dined in the Fishy Fishy restaurant by Martin Shanahan and then I walked around with the celebrities, showing some of the lovely places Kinsale has on offer and talking very briefly about the historic background of Kinsale. It was pretty cool to walk around being filmed, my ten minutes of fame were great fun anyway. We ended the evening with a barbeque with the Flemish crew, it was great to feel home again for a couple of hours speaking and joking in Dutch.

So there you go. Let's all become a bit more cosmopolitan and show this country off at home, it can only be a win-win situation.

800 Babies

In Tuam, county Galway, werd onlangs een massagraf van tenminste 796 babies ontdekt. De babies werden in een lege sceptische tank begraven, lijk op lijk. het gaat om kinderen die stierven in de periode tussen 1925 en 1961. Ze stierven aan verwaarlozing, ondervoeding, ook TBC, mazelen en maag-, darmonsteking. De nonnen hadden genoeg geld om de kinderen te voeden, ze verkochten de gezonde kinderen aan families in de VS.
Dit schokkend nieuws kwam als een donderslag toe. We dachten dat we het intussen allemaal wisten, we dachten dat de schandalen nu wel allemaal blootgelegd werden.
Na een Twitter campagne pikte the Daily Mail het verhaal eindelijk op, en Vrijdagavond kwam het eindelijk in het nieuws op RTE.
Er zal nu een gedenksteen opgericht worden met de naam van elk kind dat daar begraven ligt. Maar is dat genoeg? Wordt het nu geen tijd om eindelijk toe te geven dat de Katholieke kerk hier in Ierland schuldig is aan serieuze misdaden tegen de mensheid? Moeten we weer tevreden zijn met de uitleg dat 'het vroeger anders was', dat niet alle nonnen en pastoors mededaders waren en dat er veel goed werk verricht werd? 'Wir haben es nicht gewusst?
Mijn mening daarover is dat als iemand lid is van een instelling die misdaden pleegt, en daar bewust van is en toch in die instelling blijft, dan is die persoon schuldig door associatie.
Hier is een excellente blogpost die een inzicht geeft in de Ierse 'familie -eer' die aanzet gaf ( en nog geeft) tot zulke misdaden.

Ierland, het mooie groene land, met zijn Guiness, Leprechauns en plezier, heeft donkere, donkere geheimen, en het wordt tijd dat de schuldige instelling ook schuld bekent.

Hier is de RTE nieuws uitzending.

Some advice before you head off on the Wild Atlantic Way

Many a tourist will be visiting the West this year, at least that's what we all hope with the Wild Atlantic way being advertised everywhere. There are a few things you need to be aware of when you come to the West, and who beter to tell you than someone like me, a true foreigner who's been living in the (South) West for the past 16 years.

Here are a few things you need to know when traveling the Wild Atlantic Way.

1. Language
According to the 2011 census 82.600 people speak Irish every day outside of work/school in Ireland. The areas where Irish is the first langugae are known as the Gaeltacht.
if you see this sign , you're in an area where Irish is the predominant language. You will not understand a word of what is being said, but do not panic, everyone in these areas is bilingual and if you ask kindly, they will help you in English.
You will be popular if you try and say a few words like 'conas atá tú'
( how are you), or if someone says that to you, you could answer'Tá me go maith',

( I'm fine).
Caution! You might think people are speaking Irish sometimes, when, infact, they speak English. Like these Cork/Kerry farmers


2. Greetings.
You will notice while driving that everyone greets you. I was told this is not out of kindness, but just to make sure not to miss anyone known to the driver, as to ignore someone could be taken very badly. It is therefore better to greet everyone you pass. The way to do this is by sticking up your index or briefly hold up your hand. Don't wave at people, that is just too silly.

If you pass someone you talked to the day before and that person says 'how are ya', please don't make a fool of yourself by stopping and explaining you have a bit of a sore head that morning because you're not used to drinking Guiness, don't stop at all, just keep walking and mumble 'grand, and yourself?' You should never say 'very well', that's just not done, in order to make the other person feel OK about himself you just say 'not too bad', while walking on, of course!

If you do want to start a conversation, talk about the weather. People will stop and take their time to talk about the weather. Now bear in mind that ' a lovely day' in Ireland can vary from a very grey dull day with no wind and no rain to blue sky and sunshine. Irish people are always very optimistic when it doesn't rain. I needed a few years before I could say 'isn't it a gorgeous day', while looking at a grey sky. But here any day without rain and heavy winds is a gorgeous day.

Don't be shocked if a man winks at you while turning his head slightly. It is not an indecent proposal ( as it would be where I come from), it is just his way of saying hi. I've never seen a woman do it, so ladies, don't try. Come to think, men don't try either, there is a special technique to it, which only Irish men from the West seem to master.
No, Irish people don't say 'top of the morning to you' , I've only heard it said once in my whole 16 years here.


3. The Ocean
The Atlantic ocean is wild! Be careful. Learn about rip tides, try and bath at beaches with life guards, stay close to your children and don't take risks. Tides come in very fast in some places.
The ocean is cold. Think about wearing a wet suit. This is not the mediteranean, although last year you could have mistaken the coast for it, that was exceptional. You normally freeze in the water. No topless beaches here!
The ocean is fun. Go surfing, kayaking, kite surfing, wind surfing, sailing. Anything is possible. Just leave the jet skis behind. We can do without the noise.

4.Food
Eat fish. There are some great fish restaurants around.
Enjoy Irish breakfast. You won't need lunch and you can save some money that way. Make sure you know the difference between an English breakfast and an Irish one, and when you do, come and explain the difference to me, I still haven't quite figured it out.
If you eat out, always check if a restaurant takes cards. Some don't and you don't want to end a great night out with washing dishes.

5.Night Life Well, that can be great fun of course. Try and seek out the traditional bars, the most fun you can have is when people burst out in song spontaneously, although, beware, they might put you on the spot and demand a song from you. So, to make sure, rehearse a few 'party pieces' at home, don't end up singing a nursery rhyme in a panic.
Enjoy the wealth of musical talent in Ireland, you can never be disappointed.
Be aware of extreme drunks,.
If you happen to pass by a teenage disco, where teenagers are locked up in a hall with music from 9 pm till midnight. You are not prepared for the revealing clothes, at least not if you're not British, or Irish. You will be shocked by the make up and the mile-high heels the 14 to 16 year old girls wear. Your mouth will fall open and that looks silly. Mine did, the first time I went and picked my eldest son up from such a disco, and again another time ( around Halloween) when I saw one of the girls dressed in an Ann Summers red latex nursing outfit . No, this is not meant for untrained eyes.
You do get used to it, but not during the course of a holiday break.

Most of all, enjoy the beauty, the sound and the fun of this wonderful part of the country. Send me some pictures!

A cry for help in Ireland. What to do?

On Saturday I went to the Ballydehob jazz festival with my friend Lucy, a Moorish looking woman from the West. Lucy married a Corkonian with an Italian father. I always thought she was the Italian of the two, but I was wrong.
We thoroughly enjoyed our evening, although we barely heard any jazz. The town was buzzing, the charming little pubs that probably never changed over the last 100 years were full,everyone looked happy.

We went in to the Levis' bar and settled in the tiny living room in the back, which felt like a museum with the old stove and the towels drying above it, the lovely old photographs, and posters with bed time prayers on the walls,the kitchen cabinets with porcelain, the sacred heart on the wall, it felt as if grandma Levis had only just gone out the door to get some peat.
A few people sat down at a table next to our seats and we started talking. They were from Edingburgh, visiting their friend who lives in Schull but was from, and here you have it, Sligo.
'Oh dear' I thought, 'here we go, we'll never get away now'. Because, you see, my friend is from Sligo as well, and when two Sligo people meet they have to compare notes on who they know, pass on the gossip and especially show how happy they are to meet another Sligo person.
And I was right .
Lucy 's cousin had been to the same school as the other Sligo lady whose name I can't remember, they told each other where they lived, what they thought of the movie 'The Calvary', which was filmed in Sligo, and used the local butcher's as one of the locations.
Oh and how was the local butcher now? Gossip, gossip, gossip. When I thought everything had been said, the other Sligo lady exclaimed 'wait, there is a Sligo man standing at the bar, he's a musician who lives in Cork, but he's a Sligo man'. It didn't take long before mr Sligo came in, all excited about meeting his town compatriots. Of course he knew such and such and so and so and on and on it went.

It made me think. When I meet another Belgian, we mostly exchange a few words, and then never see each other again, unless it's accidentally. If anyone tells me they know another Belgian, I just say 'Oh Really?' but that's about it. So it is nice to see that over here even being from the same county is special.
What would Lucy do if someone from Sligo became ill, depressed, or needed any other help? I think she'd step in and do all she could to help out.
So, when I got a text message from a fellow Belgian last night saying 'please help' I decided to go and find him.
I don't really know the man. Someone brought me in contact with him a few months ago when he was destitute, thrown out by his wife, unemployed. with no social welfare. I helped him by pointing him to Focus Ireland, invited him over for dinner a few times and went out for a drink and a chat with him as often as I could, but as I was going through a separation myself, he was dragging me down, so I told him , once he had sorted his social security out and found a room, I wouldn't see him anymore. I didn't hear from him again, until last night.
Until that message.
I drove over to where he was at the coast.We talked and talked, I tried to convince him to seek medical help, which he refused. It is not easy to convince an ex- university lecturer, but at least I think I did manage to stop him from doing something stupid, just for the next 24 hours anyway. He went back to his room. I sent him a text this morning, which he answered saying he still felt like it makes no sense to go on living. And this afternoon I got no more replies. And here I am now, worrying about this fellow Belgian, who is somehere in Cork, I have no address, only a mobile number.
I sent him another text asking him to contact The Samaritans, with their free call number. No reply.
What should I do?