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Malindi NOT ONLY VIP concert of solidarity 'AN EVENING WITH Paola Turci


The duet between Paola Turci and Eric Wainaina, who sang with the Bob Marley classic" Redemption Song ", was spectacular and sent raptures in the crowd that attended the festival in Malindi.
The stage set up at the old hotel into disuse, Sinbad Hotel, near the casino, which is teeming with tourists carefree and happy on Saturday night took turns in the best artists Kenyan Eric Wainaina is one of them but also Nyota Ndogo, AMREF Juakali drummers Mr. Bado and mAdc, and Italy's Paola Turci. The performance of music, performed by non-governmental CISP, International Committee for the Development of Peoples, and above all its vibrant here in Malindi, Tania Miorin not intended mainly to entertain the audience, but rather to bring to ' attention to the right to education of African children in general and those of Malindi, where the CISP has worked for years in particular.
tests in the morning have seriously damaged the two musicians came from Italy with Paola Turci, one of which, bassist Roman Pierpaolo Ranieri, was browned by the sun good for tropical hard hit. It has not lost his nerve and although painful in the evening was fantastic. The second, Massimo Cusato, Calabria, a talented drummer, he is "saved" through thick hair.
"Music - Paola Turci said in an interview with Corriere - can be the glue that makes the ideas off the ground. The African children need help, bring people in square to listen and dance with us, you need to raise public awareness to a participation needs. The kids, but also their parents, they must understand that the school and education are important to ensure a better future. Often, however, are poor and can not afford school fees or need to send their children to work. So we need to find donors. Even through music and concerts like this. "
Paola last week was in place along with women from all over Italy. "You can not just criticize action is also necessary. So I gave my contribution to the cause. I do not like the stereotype of a woman who wants to go. " From the stage
unleashed a presenter, Freddie of Curatolo, a former journalist of the Province of Como hours transplanted in Malindi, shouting with great confidence and emphasis: "Education is your right. Education is your future ", that education is your right, education is your future. He hoped in his heart that the multitude of kids and parents who attended the concert would understand the importance of the message. "I have to convince them," murmured the morning during the tests.
The event had several sponsors, among others, the regional airline Air Kenya, whose manager is the Italian pilot and co-owner Dino Bisleti, hotels of the group key, where guests are seated, the restaurant on the beach Pope Remo Watamu, a small seaside resort south of Malindi, (the beautiful location in one of the few points on the Kenyan coast delicious) and the Italian Cooperation, "For some time now - said Marina Rini who has represented a quest for Malindi ' event - we are committed to improving the health of the population in the district of Malindi and Tana River Delta in the city is part ".
"Now we are making a major initiative for a value of 240 million shillings (2 million and one hundred and sixty thousand euro), which concerns not only the health sector but also that of education with the construction or renovation of 11 primary schools, and fourteen facilities outpatients in a plane which serves 317 000 people. "
Marina Rini brought a message of Martin Mello, the head of the Italian Cooperation in Kenya: "Our involvement today - Melli wrote - can make a difference to the future of this country depends on the citizens and workers of tomorrow" .
The festival organized by the CISP was started in the morning with recreational and educational activities for children and young people: performance of acrobats and folk dancers, poetry readings, puppet shows and short plays.
"In the district of Malindi the enrollment rate in primary education is compulsory by law - explains Sandro De Luca, area manager for Africa of the CISP, and Marcella Ferraccioli, representative for Kenya in the same organization - is 84 percent for males and 67 for females. Against a national average of 95 and 90 respectively. For the secondary these percentages fall terribly: 14, 7 for males and 1.7 percent for females. Despite the development of the tourism industry, these data help to make the district of Malindi one of the poorest in all of Kenya. According to government figures, 66 percent of the country lives below the poverty line. "" The festival therefore serves to this - Tania Miorin concludes, 'heart' and 'soul' of the event -. If the tourism industry devolvesse one euro for every Italian who is here on vacation we could collect some 'of funds to be donated to aid education, which could ensure that children and young people in Malindi a better future "
Massimo Alberizzi" Il Corriere della Sera

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THAT' life (not yours)


"Life is the art of meeting", he said that the Brazilian poet, who was walking on a beach more crowded than those in Africa. I look back on the trail left by my pessimism west, parallel to that of the last jumbo that led me to the land of jambo, breathing calmly and the paradox that I would like a showman (much) and culture (Too little) but I do live where it's hard to do. So the field of a thousand other wonderful things, of nice meetings and that bit 'of Europe ed'Africa good passing from here. The Malindi
Music Festival for Children, a creature of another beautiful person who lives here, Tania Miorin, "pasionaria rational" who works for an "en-gi-o", this year for its second edition, I did enjoy. Meanwhile, the link between music and solidarity more than ever is that of children, which are now also "my" kids. Their faces painted during the games of the morning were the same as those of small players who I raise, their big eyes and shelled them attend every day and my daughter Zena Agata you come across with their same smile and enthusiasm. Then there is the strong link with the Malindi District Cultural Association, and Vice President Joseph Mwarandu Baya, who gave me a few weeks ago the honor of Giriama, baptizing Mbogo Kimera. They are the first to take to the stage of the Festival, I'm lucky to be able to present. Underneath that colorful stage, thousands of people and even many European residents. Giriama traditional songs and modern with a hint of bass, guitar and drums that you could hardly see Kakoneni, Marikebuni Kayafungo or where the electricity the night and make the fireflies light artificial breathing is something that is bad, because it comes from kerosene lamps. The solemn voice of Mzee Mboka, reminiscent of a Louisiana bluesman early twentieth century, the hoarse Mzee Tension and sermons blaring of Baya, in their colorful kanga and kikoi, leans into the wind as if they were of the same material. So what if young people understand and appreciate more the rapper Mr.Bado, which incites the crowd, or sgallettata Nyota Ndogo (Stella) that appears even obscene, in a festival devoted to children. Notice the false moralism, the kids here live on their skin every day worse things, to limit teaching that sex is a moment of joy and pleasure, not violence or exchange of favors, it is already something realistically. Here comes the highlight of the show that I am presenting in broken English. The percussionists street slums of Nairobi have brought with them new leverage, small hopping musicians who have more than fourteen years. The ringleader speaks the language of the rods that vibrate on every subject of recycling: cans, water pipes, valves, tanks. And it could not speak otherwise, having a joke of teeth in the mouth. My language struggled against his language toothless. Sounds, colors and joy of who you should shake with as much force and noise as possible off the misery. Arriva Eric Wainaina, the Kenyan singer-songwriter has always been appreciated for its social commitment, his intelligent lyrics trying to stir the consciences of those who still in his head absurd tribal issues. "The ethnic crap should not enter into our social life - he says from the stage - where the politician is elected to serve the citizen, we must judge his actions, not vote for him because he belongs to our own ethnic group. If you need a plumber because the tap loses home, you rely more good plumber and best price or will it only affects your own tribe? ". Wise words and sacrosanct. A realistic speech even if it were true that politicians are the people's interests. But Eric writes, "Love and protest", has two wonderful children that does not cut eyes off him even while doing the sound check and a wife, Sheba, devotedly following her performance. It 'an artist, a man of the new Kenya. It tells us that there is hope for this country. And there it sings. "Sawa Sawa".
Di Paola Turci, I wish I could talk to a music critic, but I can not. And 'friend already, and knew immediately Africa, Kenya, Malindi. Helped by her husband Andrew, who has a nice cheerful nostalgia for Africa under the bark Milanese doc "tired of Milan," she immersed herself in local culture, thrilling visibly when the mAdc sang his "children" in Swahili mixed the dialect Local. Together on stage, sang "Watoto", and was one of the deepest and most significant festival. Emotionally touching its peak with "Redemption Song", a duet with Wainaina, but Paul is driving with his songs. The Kenyans clap their hands, seem to understand. So what if the microphones jump one by one as awestruck by the unusual timing of notes ever heard in the Indian ocean, if you end up in twenty on stage playing percussion colored Juakali the past the only gelatone was like a wand magic to come up with verses of songs, slogans for children and education, harmonies and tongue-twisting rap, in an endless jam session. Education is your right, education is your future.
The secret of life, for me, is contained in the evenings such as this. E 'share a beautiful experience, and awards, and do good, you feel this good bones and blood. How many more people with the same feeling you, you'll have to close.

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Rossoblu AN UNFORGETTABLE WEEK IN AFRICA (Edward and Beccioni)


If you like shaved, maybe Africa is not for her beauty te.La is lush but buried under mountains of crap.
The crap is everywhere, and almost all imported.
Arrivals in Africa and you understand immediately that this is hell. But the discovery more terrible is the next: African hell this is infinitely more livable and attractive aseptic hell of your own home. If we then add a Freddie Beccioni almost teetotal regime in pre-derby and the children of the Soccer School in Malindi, the confusion is total.
However, in light of the equator, the red and blue become even more resplendent, fascinate you, you take your breath away.
Ok, maybe Malindi is not Africa, or Africa in a somewhat 'special. Like when you dig a hole you pour in the polenta and the spices, porcini mushrooms. Africa, the polenta, it's all around, but if you fall right in the middle of the spices, you can also get the impression of enjoying a holiday on the Italian cinepanettoni.
However, the Gryphon can not find some valuable in the folds of the tricolor of Malindi decorated with bows. The Griffon is not, of course, branded with the dudes on the coast, immersed in their villas and their ports round the shadow of cocktails in glasses from the stems immense. No. Cut to a dirt road that branches off from the center. From the center of Malindi African, the real one. At the edge of the road, bouncing, see poor stands with any merchandise, precarious shacks inhabited by hungry lives of grace, precarious mountain of waste (we do not know for what mysterious reason the poverty generated so much waste). Down the street, shortly after a landfill, a huge baobab introduces you to the camp of the children of Genoa.
They are there, eager to wear the glorious coat. Their smiles and their curious eyes are worth a goal of Palacio, in the derby, in 94mo. They play against a team in an orphanage. The opponents wear beautiful sponsored links, but reveal unfamiliarity with the tactics. We would like to Gasperini. Perhaps you could also do Pato. The children of the Genoa (many of them barefoot) apply the patterns in memory of their coach and they seem to Barcelona. At the end you do not count the goals: 8 or 9 to zero. All I know is that we start doing all the cheering for the opponents. Because a true Genoa player, even when he has to win, always ends up with losers share the defeat.
mainly because of Mystic and Stanley, two boys are very good and very in need of sponsors. Have serious family problems, but they play happily communicating joy. Mystic is a midfielder from the feet and brain superfine. I do not know whether it is better to Milanetto, but it is very beautiful to behold. Stanley played on the wing, with the right energy and well-balanced placement. I like it a lot. Then there's Joseph, the sweet Cirino. E 'injured, but comes with a t-shirt Griffin and cheering from the sidelines. And certainly not gliel'hanno suggested shoes or Jane Doe.
The next week I see our team against a mangy: bright kids, and some experts' louts, without a uniform. There is the one who plays shirtless, one with his shirt torn, that in Bermuda. But they are strong. Went ahead on a fast break (offside not seen) and then defend it as if we train them Novellino. Grifoncino I can draw at half time. Even if the opponents clog the spaces did not relinquish their elegant triangular plots and in the second half, marking the 2-1 and then 3-1, with great action.
But the result is a relative factor. You see them take the field, with red and blue glow, and you understand that, whatever happens, have already won. They and all those who love him.
Genoa true, what about? It seems absurd that the African entity in a position to quibble, born artistic Beccioni call. After the litany of Bari, I have to share the Derby with that crazy. After searching for a tv in the direct relatives of Mozambique Eduardo, crafted a daring crock skype, dreamed of a bouncy song, there remains only the voice of Brenzini. The Bill is imbufalito, except for a bottle of "Libertas," a South African cabernet sauvignon that has tracked mud in the basement of a sorcerer Bantu. The avalanche of goals wrong predisposes us to be the nemesis. Tusker beers also leave. We look depressed, so confident that the worst, Rafinha's goal, jumped up cheering evil, conditioned by the fear that, ultimately, victory escapes us because we are in Africa. We win, however, but it's all unreal. You see a little 'you: a man who, in my eyes does not shine for intelligence, told me, from inside a box, while I'm at the equator, the Genoa is winning the Derby. Clear that I do not trust. It all seems a contrived affair: Africa, wine, warm beer, the girl from the escort of the beak that is waiting for me at the hotel. I go to her, I put the scarf rossoblù and run through the streets to show off. Beccioni honks for a city that does not know why, for a nation and a continent that does not know why and perhaps wonder what ever will be addressed in the country with the flag rossoblù. Let's do some 'casino, but the television talking about something else. In bars, in the streets, no sign. I wake up at night, with the equatorial sky looming, the girl who hugs me tenderly, scarf rossoblù again at the foot of the bed and say to myself: "It can not be true. It's a trick of that devil of a beak. Do not fall for it, boy. " Just wake up the phone and, stupidly, anxiously, I implore: "They said on TV? It says in the papers? Tell me that is true. " He tells me that there is evidence and so I go to the beach, facing the ocean, alone. And only then, like a fool, I let myself go to true joy and overwhelming, with 14-hour delay.
The following Sunday is that of Genoa-Roma, but also that it is preparing my last night in Africa. The beak picks me up at the hotel to suffer together in front of some other household appliance end. It's a bit 'late, after the revelry of a mega concert the previous night and an afternoon at sea. As soon as I opened the car door that says to me, with a heavy heart: "We just caught goals. We are raising the Rometta. He invites me to his house, fumbling a bit 'with TV and the Internet and here is the second pear. Shit. There is a very sad RAI transmission. They show the AC Milan game and connect with other fields for each goal scored. You hear the blare of a trumpet out of tune and is again Marassi: 3-0. Fuck. We pull down the equatorial virgins, turn off the heats and begin to talk business and various hobbies. From time to spend six months a year here, and will place via email to Mystic Ligorna and Stanley to Sestri Levante. My last Sunday promises to be black. Black as Africa, and perhaps even more. In the study of the Romans RAI gloating. Begin the second time and rings the trumpet. The golletto Palacio us afresh. Come on, guys! After the second goal rossoblù we are sure you will not end like this: they do or the fourth or draw. Trombetta. Beers. Pictures of Griffin embracing. We jump up like crazy, scream, wake the whole neighborhood. I look at my watch, I watch your mouth and proclaim: "Now I want to win." What happened the winning goal I'll leave to your imagination. A historic comeback, a pleasure. I go to the hotel to pick up my friend, we dress up and go to rossoblù to celebrate a wonderful restaurant recommended by the beak: "The Old Man and the Sea". As Hemingway would have done, but also PAP, we strabuffiamo fish and crustaceans, decked with the colors of the Griffon. Around us there is a Muslim family, who does not understand but adjusts.
Then the evening slips into night, which is the long night of farewells. The joy is diluted in nostalgia, the tusker no longer enough to curb the sadness and the eyes of my fellow African-genoani uncontrollable tears run down. I figure it's better to cut your head the bull, before the situation deteriorates. We gather with all the tenderness and can slip in the last two beer Rohypnol. The feelings fade. The 4-3 pm hour seems far away. And even more distant, the last derby win by default. But that's okay. Also to bear the happiness you have to be trained.
From kids to the first team: a Gryphon unforgettable apotheosis.
If so give me time, I subscribe to stay here. Other than
Pizzighettone!

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No man is an island. Martina Colombari

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, part of the whole Earth, and if one plate is taken away by the wave of the sea, Europe is lacking something, as if a promontory were in place, or the house of a man, a friend or your own home. Each man's death diminishes me because I am living part of the human race. So never send to ask for whom the bell tolls: it tolls for thee. (John Donne )

This deep and apparently a bit 'grim reflection of John Donne, rather than talk about the death of interdependence.
Interdependence is a concept now completely alien to our everyday lives. The test you every day seeing more and more convinced they are an island people behave as if they were the only ones on earth, moving and acting oblivious to the fact that their life depends on others. You do not need so much injustice, enough small daily actions carried out by ignoring the existence of a world of people around us to slowly erode a "turf."

From stealing car park outside the lines to the other, and sometimes in the "loser" of others could be you, being a bit 'asshole at the counter of the Registry, either as an employee as a user, because some times the affected the stronzaggine you be you. These behaviors are often guided more by ignorance than from malice, but difficult to generate chains of interruptible resentments and irritations, as find the car parked without regard to the other nicely striped.

Unfortunately, if we fail to understand that we are not an island in the little things of everyday life difficult to understand in the face of major events and the biggest of us who are people of a continent, a part of humanity.

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GRANDFATHER Kazungu DOGS AND IN AFRICA

"Grandpa, why the dog barks acacia?"
"Often, his nephew, when you have nothing to say, you can tell just screaming"