The halls of the United Nations are alive with the sound of ancient rhythms and awash with the hues of the rainbow. As far as the eye can see, there is a kaleidoscope of color. Peoples of different lands, adorned in tribal costumes of deep ochre, splendid greens and lively blues, stride the halls.
It is the time when the indigenous peoples from around the world descend on the United Nations, to remind us of our origins, our customs and traditions, and hopefully our humanity. In other words, it is the time when the indigenous peoples attend a meeting called the Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. This is a forum, which was established by the UN in July 2000 to discuss indigenous issues relating to economic and social development, culture, the environment, education, health and human rights.
As the old world clashes with the new, the atmosphere is filled excitement and anticipation. This is a welcomed aversion from the hushed norm at the United Nations, home to the diplomat, a mysterious creature, always clad in a dark suit, briefcase in hand, exuding an air of importance.
Making my way through the UN's Vienna Cafe, I relished the annual frenzy of Chippewa chiefs from Canada exchanging information on knowledge systems with the Sami people of Finland; the Bora tribes of Peru sharing life experiences with the Vedda people of Sri-Lanka; the Yugakhir people of Siberia telling tales of their medicine men to the Masai of Kenya.
In all this activity, I was seeking out the indigenous peoples of Southern Africa. They are the San or Bushmen, a hunter-gatherer people thought to be the first people from whom all the rest of us came. Most people may know of them from the movie The Gods must be crazy. It tells the story of what happens when a coke bottle falls from the sky and lands in the midst of a San tribe living out in the Kalahari, an arid desert area bordering the countries of South Africa, Botswana and Namibia.
Although it was a widely acclaimed movie, it depicted the life of the San in a farcical manner and from a stereotypical view. I wanted to know some of the truths of their lives. I was curious as to how these communities function in the modern world. Have they embraced the opportunities presented by a globalised world or have their traditions been tarnished and challenged?
Over a lingering lunch with two lively representatives of the Khomani and Kwattu tribes of the San people from the Kalahari, I was given a glimpse into their lives and an inkling of the vast wisdom of their traditions. This was accompanied with a dose of reality regarding the social ills that their communities face.
The stories they told were fascinating, such as the time when a visit by Dutch tourists turned into a medical frenzy. One of the tourists insisted on climbing a gigantic tree found in the Kalahari called the Shepard tree (white bark, small dark green leaves, special beauty and luxurious shade) and of course the tourist fell and broke his leg. Being miles away from civilisation and modern medical facilities, the ancient tradition of medicine kicked in. The elders of the tribe dug a hole in the ground, the length and width of his leg and placed his leg in the hole. They covered it with heaps of sand so that the leg could not move. In this way the earth itself became the natural leg cast. This protected the leg from infection and kept the broken bones intact. By the time the ambulance arrived, which was almost three hours later, the dutch tourist was comfortable and the healing process had begun.
Another interesting cure from the Kalahari is when you are stung by a deadly scorpion called the Parabuthus radus (about 16mm long, found on logs, shrubs and rocks,) you will most certainly die, save for one antidote. The very scorpion must be hunted down, splayed open and placed on the sting so that its blood sucks out the poisonous venom. And what if you don't find the scorpion? The answer given was, "No scorpion has got away so far."
There were many more stories, like the one where the World Bank official kept everyone awake all night, prancing around with sticks of fire to ward off the Kalahari lions (something he saw done in a movie.)
But the stories that drew me in were the ones of poverty, alcoholism, discrimination, and violence against women. These social ills had become all too common.
Issues such as gender imbalance never existed in the traditional hunter- gatherer communities such as the San. Women played a significant role in educating the children about the balance of nature, medicinal plants, as well as values and customs. But with colonialism, dispossession of their natural resources and globalisation, everything changed. The rapid decline of natural resources also forced the San men to seek work on farmlands and in mines, thus gradually leading to the erosion of their societies and family structures.
For these and many other reasons, there is a need to work towards an improvement in the lives of indigenous communities around the world.
The holding of the annual UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues and the implementation of its outcomes, serve to remind us of our responsibility towards the indigenous peoples and towards ourselves because, after all, what are we if not a kaleidoscope?
Ever wonder why in some cultures (mostly Western), when a woman gets older, her hair gets shorter, meaning a cut? And in others (mostly Eastern), when a woman gets older, her hair gets longer, meaning unchecked growth?
As an "Eastern woman," who has mostly lived in Western countries (England, Switzerland, USA), I can't help but notice what I call the "hair to age ratio" amongst Western women of 50 years and older, compared to their counterparts in the Eastern world.
So, on a hot Manhattan afternoon, I set out to find some answers to the puzzle. And who better to ask than a hair consultant, and where better to find one than at Bumble and Bumble, located in New York's glitzy meat-packing district. It is no ordinary hair salon. It is a self-sufficient, self-intact, hair emporium. There are 8 floors and each floor specializes in something or other related to hair, from product development and public relations to classes on hair technique and hair care. There are coffee shops and even preps for fashion shows. It's like walking into a haven for hair.
Sitting on the 7th floor, sipping my San Pellegrino, I entered into a little chit-chat with my well- moussed hairdresser, who calls himself a "queen without country." According to him, the simple answer is: Western women of 50 years and older tend to keep shorter hair because it's easier to manage. With shorter hair, less effort is required and the arms, neck and shoulders feel no strain because there is no pulling, curling or tonging. But, the "real" answer is, and this is the ringer, shorter hair on an older woman is like an instant facelift. You look younger and slimmer because the focus is above your shoulders.
Could the answer really be as simple as age old vanity? And is vanity the motivation behind the long hair of the older Eastern women?
I had to do a little bit more probing before I came to the realization that in the Eastern world, hair is a women's crowning glory, especially if it is long, thick and lustrous. An older woman from an Eastern culture would therefore be very reluctant to loose her locks. But even with long hair, just like her Western sister, she too knows the secret behind an instant facelift. And it's not the scissors. It's hairpins. Yes, the elegant chignon, bun or hair twist, commonly worn amongst Asian moms and grandmas, has the same slimming effect on the body and the same youthful rejuvenation to the face as a short cut.
But what of those cultures where women don't reveal their hair, such as in the Arab or African cultures. For these women, covering the hair is often a sign of modesty and respect, especially amongst the older generation. So, does the covering of the hair ever prevent these women from expressing their femininity? Nope, because these women know how to accessorise to the hilt. African women are often adorned with elaborate, colourful headdresses and scarves, again drawing the eyes to the face and above. And with Arab women, even if not a single strand of hair is revealed, these women are often bedecked with sparkling jewels and glamorous makeup, keeping the eye above the neck.
Regardless of the trend or the hairdos around the world, the motivation is always the same.
Vanity thy name is woman!
I may not be America's next Iron Chef, but I have been known to throw together a smoking lamb curry (according to my boyfriend's Texan family), the best pizza in the world (according to my brother's football buddies), a deliciously cheesy pasta (according to my mom on a break from another diet) and a briyani fit for a Rajah (according to hungry friends).
So, while I may not be too shabby with Indian and Italian cooking, its pretty much hit and miss with the rest of the world's cuisines. To fill in the gaps, I have taken up cooking classes.
The Miette Culinary Studio is the perfect place to learn about the cuisines of the world. Chef Paul, the owner of the Studio specializes in French cuisine. But in addition to teaching you how to make the perfect souffle, he also teaches you how to cook everyday American dishes and some Italian classics too. He uses a number of teachers (chefs) from different geographical backgrounds to teach about the authentic flavors of their regions such as in the Chinese and Indian cooking classes. There are also classes related to special occasions or special diets and these range from preparing dim sum brunches to vegetarian meals, and even some outdoorsy cooking such as barbecue.
In Miette, you get a little bit of everything and lately I noticed that even the everything has become a mishmash of something. Or has the evolution of cooking always been a little bit of this and a little bit of that? Dare I say that the world's different cuisines are more alike than we care to acknowledge.
In a recent cooking class, we did a French take on the famous Indian samoosa.
The samoosa is a triangular shaped pastry made of flour, salt, water and loads of ghee (clarified butter), stuffed with a savory filling of meat or veggies. Our French version was a kinda lopsided phyllo pastry stuffed with the same spicy, curried filling. This "slight" variation begged the question, is a samoosa, a samoosa because of its shape? And would it still be a samoosa if it were not a perfect triangle?
The answer is yes.
Our lopsided pastry tasted just like a samoosa although it looked more like a Moroccan pastilla. Now a Moroccan pastilla is a meat pie (traditionally with a pigeon filling, yup the bird) made of phyllo pastry, with a sprinkle of confectionery sugar on the top. It has a subtle combination of savory spices and sweet flavors and it tastes and looks similar to the Greek pies called bourekia, save the sugar. And it is no surprise that the Greek bourekia is a replica of Turkish borek. You guessed it, the Greeks acquired the term bourekia from the Turkish, as they did many of their other culinary delights. Now a borek or bourekia is a "meaty-bread" and if we translate that to mean meat pies, then we really cannot leave the English out of the equation. After all, the English meat pie, from steak and kidney to Cornish hen, is one of England's better contributions to the world's cuisines.
 See what I mean? We began our samoosa journey in India, crossed the Mediterranean twice, took a detour into Turkey and ended up in England, and all the while using the same basic ingredients.
But the journey of the Indian samoosa is not a unique one. If you dust off the flour, remove the peels and clear away some of the dish pans, you will see similarities in the foods of different cultures, regions and even countries.
A case in point is my favorite desert, baklava, which tickled my taste buds from the first taste in a tiny bakery off the beaten path in Sultanhamet, Istanbul. The Greeks claim this delectable delight as theirs, the Turks claim the same, the Armenians have a stake, but I have been told that its origin is Middle Eastern, dating back to the Assyrians of the 8th century BC (today around the Syria, Iraq, Lebanon area). For a traditional baklava, some of these cultures use walnuts, others pistachio nuts. Some drench the pastry in honey, others prefer a sugary syrup, but whatever is used, baklava is baklava is baklava; a sweet nutty pastry.
So, what's in a name then?
My everyday household salad consists of finely chopped cucumbers, red onions and tomatoes, dressed with olive oil and sprinkled with lots of coriander (cilantro). In my home this salad is called an Indian salad. But when I prepared it for an American Jewish family, I was informed that the very salad is typically called an Israeli salad. And according to my Israeli friend, in the kibbutz where she grew up, the same salad is called an Arab salad.
For food lovers, it's not the name of the dish that is important, it's the unexpected burst of flavors in every mouthful. It's the satisfaction of knowing that you have eaten well and its the anticipation of the next course.
Similarly, for an aspiring "good enough to eat" cook like myself, where a recipe originates from, does not interest me as much as the exciting fusion of the many ingredients. All I need is to create something delicious, and thanks to Miette I can now do so with a full appreciation of what I am cooking, albeit a mishmash of deliciousness!
So there I was at my first "Gamelan" performance. I had no idea what it was or what I got myself into when I agreed to traipse along to the Indonesian Consulate to watch my boyfriend's mate get his "culture on."
I anticipated the worst (monotones, falling asleep, slitting my wrists). And what did I get? I got the best and much more. The New York based Balinese music/dance group Gamelan Dharma Swara did not disappoint. The performance was like a breath of fresh air blowing through the halls of the Consulate on a humid night.
The music is a melodic interlocking of gongs, bamboo flutes and tuned keys played on handcrafted instruments. If you close your eyes, it kinda sounds psychedelic, like trance dance music. But believe me, there is no need to reach for the aspirin bottle.
My favorite was the Topang (traditional mask) dance. The mask, a white canvas with a finely painted mustache, exaggerated makeup and elaborate headdress seemed alive. But it was the delicate movements and stances of the dancer that captivated. What was obviously physically demanding seemed completely effortless.
The thing that really blew my top though, was the number of white faces amidst the Indonesian faces that made up this traditional orchestra of about 20 players. And it was not just the faces, it was the expressions of belonging that they wore and the relish with which they played the instruments. This was the true delight of the evening.
Gamelan, with its roots mainly on the Islands of Bali and Java, is traditional Indonesian music accompanied by shadow theatre and dance. The theatre and dance draw inspiration from Hindu-Buddhist cultural influences and are often enactments of Hindu historical epics and mythology. It began to be studied in North America during the late 1950s and today there are approximately 200 ensembles in both Canada and the USA. So by now, its cross cultural nature should not be surprising. But, surprising it is and unusual too.
While it is common in modern dance and in contemporary music (pop, jazz and rock bands) to have different races jamming together, the same cannot be said for traditional or indigenous music such as Gamelan, where the music and dance is indigenous to a particular land, ethnic group or tribe. When last have you seen a pale face performing the Native American rain dance or an African singing the folk songs of the traditional reindeer herding Sami people or what about a Chinese person performing the Myan Yucatan dance? And even if you have, you cannot tell me that you were not taken aback, albeit for a second.
In this way, I was reminded of South Africa's very own "White Zulu" as he is affectionately called. Johnny Clegg was 16yrs old when he began a "tribal journey" immersing himself in the language, music and dance of the Zulu nation; a people, native to the Kwazulu Natal Province of South Africa and recognized by history as proud and mighty warriors. By dancing the dance of the great Zulu warriors, Johnny Clegg became a music activist, breaking through the barriers of racial segregation in his own country. The laws of the land back then did not allow for the formation or performance of racially mixed bands. So Clegg and his Zulu band Juluka (meaning sweat in Zulu) were often threatened and censored by the State. As a result, Juluka mostly performed at universities, church halls, migrant labour hostels and community centres. His stage became a platform for anti-apartheid activism as he sang and danced his way into the hearts of all freedom loving South Africans, regardless of color or creed. He embraced the Zulu culture, cow-tails and all, and its people embraced him right back.
Sitting at the Indonesian Consulate that night, looking at the Gamelan ensemble, I realized that it's quite something to see faces who don't obviously belong........belong.
Mother's Day always turned into some kind of "Women's Day” in my family out there on the Highveld in South Africa. You know the sort of event where the women (aunts, daughters, cousins, nieces) gather at grandma's, weighted down with gifts and food showing off their culinary skills. No males allowed. We celebrate ourselves and each other as mothers and future mothers. This is where secrets are shared, ties are strengthened and the kinks of life get passed on from generation to generation.
Now, I have always thought this unique of my own family until a little chit-chat in the United Nations Vienna Cafe set me straight. Bent over cups of bitter coffee and hazy pockets of cigarette smoke, my friends revealed their own particular branding of Mother's Day.
It seems that in some Moroccan homes, two in this case, the celebration of mother’s day is very much a "ladies only" affair. Celebrated on the last Sunday of May, the females gather, bearing gifts and platters of couscous, save one difference. The difference is that these women celebrate motherhood with traditional dance and music. Each female gets a turn to bust a rhyme and show off her moves. This is followed by the traditional Berber calling, which is a rapid succession of the clapping of the tip of the tongue against the roof of the palate creating a sound akin to a shrill of some sort. Believe it or not, this is the sound that Berbers most identify with celebration and joy.
Even where males are welcomed, there still remains some traditions only shared amongst the females. Such is the case in one particular French family where on Mother’s Day the women buy each other small bouquets of stylized Lilies. The Lily is the French national flower and on the last Sunday of May it symbolizes the purity of the female and the gentle strength of the mother.
Now mothers have sons too and if you from an "Indian Family" like mine, sons tend to be kings in the eyes of the Indian mother. So what does the King do to please his mom on her special day? My brother plants a kiss on her cheek and enquires what she has prepared for lunch. Still the King of his Kraal.
But according to my friend from Hyderabad, Mother's Day is the day when Kings literally become servants in India. Although the concept of Mother's Day is new to India and has mainly taken off in the big cities, the mother, always a goddess in India is honored with flowers, gifts, and prayers too. There the "walahs" get the day off and the Kings wait on their mothers and wives, hand to foot. In his family, this particular King cooks his mom a somewhat traditional Indian breakfast of Gobhi Parathas (stuffed cauliflower bread) and Paneer sandwiches (its like grilled cheese but with an accompaniment of green chilies and a toss of red chili powder). This is washed down with masala chai (a milky tea jazzed up with aromatic spices of cardamom, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg).
Indeed, there is nothing typical to celebrating Mother’s Day. It is celebrated around the world by the different cultures in various different ways and on many different days. The most common day being the second Sunday in May and the most common way being to treat mom with breakfast in bed and shower her with cards and gifts. Sometimes special lunches are cooked for her, spa days are booked or her daily chores are performed by the more conscientious of kids.
The Jordanians, like most Middle Eastern Countries, celebrate Mother’s Day on March 21st and like my Jordanian friend says' "It don’t matter how or when you celebrate it, it just matters that you do."
So how do you?
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