Author Archives: An Activist Abroad

I have an issue with Tinder

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Mais Amor Por Favor: Santa Teresa, Rio.

Mais Amor Por Favor: Santa Teresa, Rio.

To be fair, the title is a little misleading, as perhaps it should read something more like, I have an issue with men. Anyway, that was a negative start to a little rant I’d like to share, which, non-surprisingly centres on technology. If you have had the chance to read the first two posts in this series, then you will recall that my first issue was with selfies, and the next with smartphones. I think we could safely say there is a running theme going on here. I digress, so now let’s explore my issue with Tinder.

I have been single for an extremely long time. I have friends who have been single for longer, but I would say half a decade is a fairly substantial amount of time. Continue reading →

The Seven Wonders of Colombia

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Colombia is one of the most outstanding places on earth. Its people are kind, generous, warm, and friendly and being that it is the second most biodiverse country in the world, it is geographically awesome. For me, Colombia is fighting hard with India for first place as the most phenomenal country ever.

Let’s take a quick trip together to seven of Colombia’s best spots.

1. Bogotá: Cundinamarca

Bogota is a thriving city, filled to the brim with fascinating places to explore. Take a cable car up Mount Monserrate and if your vision isn’t obfuscated by clouds (mine was), absorb the dramatic landscape that cushions Colombia’s capital.

A Room With a View
Street art in Bogota
La Plaza Bolívar

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The Seven Wonders of Mexico

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After finishing my master’s at the ripe old age of never-you-mind, I set off to check out the Americas. Here are some pictures, taken on a Nikon D300, of seven of the best experiences in Mexico.

1. Mazunte: Oaxaca

Mazunte is a small village with one of the best beaches in the world, in my humble opinion. The waves are gargantuan and dangerous, the food is incredible and the people are relaxed.

A room with a view: where I started my blog.
Young surfers play on my favourite beach.
Powerful waves beat against multi-cloured sands in Mazunte

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On Death

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Beautiful TrishLittle did I know what I decided to next share with you would be about death. I guess that’s where the word tragedy really starts to make sense, as it imbues the depth of sudden loss. It also suggests the devastation and confusion that follows, as we try to fathom why our lives have suddenly been reminded of their fragility and impermanence, and forever marked by a loved one’s passing.

Trish was one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. We hung out together for the six months that I was in northern California, and although I didn’t know her well, she left an indelible impression on me. She filled every room, every space, with a brightness, which was both infectious and inspiring. She emanated love, compassion, understanding, patience and made you feel like the world was and could be harmonious and peaceful. She was sexy, sassy, naughty, cheeky and fun. She was a creator, a doer, and gave heartfelt hugs. We shared the same birthday, and joked about the trials and tribulations of being a Virgo. The last time I saw her, we hugged goodbye and she told me she loved me. I replied, “I love you too. See you soon.”

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You’re so thin. You look great!

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Like many women who can afford one, I’ve had an issue with eating since I was a kid. In the past, I used food as a weapon against my mum. She made some choices in life that I didn’t understand, so I protested them through food. We were raised vegetarians, and I hated vegetables. I was always the last one sat at the table, pushing sprouts around the plate, after having covertly yet forcefully given most of it to my siblings.

This was all during the 80s, when famine was rife in Ethiopia, and my mum was a fervent political activist. She would say to me, “Layla, think of the starving kids in Africa.” To be fair, at the time, saying stuff like that meant nothing to me. I’d spent time in Africa as a young child, hence my name, but I couldn’t relate to not having food. I couldn’t understand the meaning behind starving. Growing up in rural Dorset, I also didn’t know many Africans either.

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A state of unknowing

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A juncture is a space of unkowing laden with opportunity.

A juncture is a space of unkowing laden with opportunity.

So, what do you do then?

This is a question that often crops up in those perfunctory small-talk conversations that you are either forced or cajoled into by societal norms. Right now, I am struggling with my response, and London is not the kind of place where people want to hear that you simply don’t know.

Before I went travelling in the Americas, I had a strong sense of identity. I was studying a master’s in Human Rights at a prestigious university; I was heavily involved in political activism, and was respected for my contribution to the international solidarity movement’s efforts to delegitimise the racist state of Israel. I had purpose, I had direction and I had passion for a cause. I had a home, a fat cat that snored at the end of my bed, a wardrobe, a personal trainer and the semblance of a fairly stable life in London.

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Let’s talk about sex

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Provecho!

Provecho!

I have been thinking about this post for a while. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it since I embarked on my trip to the Americas over a year ago. I am now back in England for a stint – blimey, it sounds like I am in prison – and so will spill my thoughts on sex in the heart of a country that swings from one extreme to the other when it comes to matters of the bedroom.

Continue reading →

I have an issue with smartphones

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I have an issue with smartphones

I have an issue with smartphones

This is the second in a series of posts in which I express my latest gripe. The debut complaint was about my disdain for selfies. As the title of this post suggests, yet again, modern technology and people’s misuse of smartphones play a central role in my lament. I will keep it short, won’t provide an array of scenic photographs but will hopefully feel a sense of relief after the cathartic exercise of sharing my thoughts with the willing.

Now, I am aware that the smartphone is an essential piece of kit for many people, especially those working fervently, on the move. It eases people’s lives through assisting in swift communication, the sharing of files, documents and all those sensible things that the employed regularly do. However, there are many of you, and I say you, as I don’t own a smartphone, that seem to have completely forgotten the art of communication. Worse than that, simply being polite whilst in a social situation.

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What came first, the beggar or the thief?

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Downtown Rio de Janeiro

Downtown Rio de Janeiro

It has taken me a while to come to terms with being robbed. I can’t yet say I have forgiven those that stole most of my material possessions. I also can’t say that I have entirely forgotten about what was taken. In fact, last night I was thinking of my diary and if the pink marbled book filled with my deeply personal thoughts and feelings, was stained and stinking in a rubbish dump somewhere in San Francisco. However, rather than this post being some lament over all things lost, it concerns poverty, begging and crime as symptomatic of the international economic system.

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I have an issue with selfies

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New York Selfie

New York Selfie

Up until recently, I didn’t even know what a selfie was. It isn’t a stroke of genius in its explanation: a self-portrait photograph, usually taken on a smart phone or small digital camera. Even the word ‘selfie’ makes my skin crawl, almost as badly as the abbreviation of laptop, which is commonly known in Bristol as a lappy. I want to express today how selfies have made me feel over these last few months, travelling around the Americas.

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