The Redemption of General Butt Naked

“General Butt Naked, is that his real name?” I think as I sit in the theatre waiting for the film to start. Sure enough, it is. The name is feared in Liberia, and during the civil war, only ten years or so ago, if you heard “General Butt Naked is coming!” you ran like hell. Butt Naked and his troop of young boys raped, looted and ruthlessly murdered every man, woman and child that go in their way.  How did he get the name? Simple, that’s exactly how he fought, butt naked.

Butt Naked, who now goes by his real name Joshua Blahyi, preaches to a congregation as sweat rolls down his face and massive arms.  He screams “Praise Jesus!” to a group inside a makeshift chapel.  He is in a refugee camp in Ghana, fleeing for his life after admitting guilt to “no less than 20,000” casualties during the war. But it isn't the government who is after him, it’s the other men put on trial for war crimes who aren’t ready to face up to their hellish deeds.  Joshua had just asked for forgiveness the day before from three of his victims who were in the refugee camp and now in the congregation: a woman, who’s husband he shot; her child, who he blinded in one eye with the butt of his gun; and a man, who’s entire family he killed.  They all forgave him, but the woman tells the camera that “it’s hard to forget.”  She says that she sees the same strength in him as he preaches that she saw in him that day he came into her village as Butt Naked.

I was shocked to hear how freely Butt Naked confessed to all his past deeds, and I often questioned the genuineness of his apologies.  The film will both anger and confuse you leaving you with a pile of mixed emotions that makes you throw up your hands and say “oh well.”  The filmmakers did such an impressive job that the film almost felt staged. It gave me a much better sense of how emotionally and mentally dysfunctional Africa has been left by its former mother countries.  The exploitation of Africa’s people and natural resources has left the continent in a state of civil unrest.  It’s like a child, that we have spoiled and abused at the same time, leaving the people just as lost as you will be at the end of this film.

Panorama

Just past the city center, up a steep hill lies this view of Cork.

A view from Lady's View in Killarney National Park.  When the Queen of England visited Ireland with her 100 person posy, this is the spot where her lady's enjoyed the best view.  Notice the storm on the left side.

Outside of Dingle down a small side road lies this view of the Atlantic.  Farm land posses the left side while a trailer park sits on the right.

This is the view we worked so hard to see.  At Sleigh Head after a long bike ride the waves crash against the beach below.  Behind me is a large hill filled with sheep and an upright stone at the top, the tip of Sleigh Head.

On our way back from Sleigh Head we cut through the mountain so we could get to Dingle faster.  This is a view from the top.

On our way from Doolin to Galway we stopped to help a lady retrieve her camera that she dropped in a crevasse.   Rocky landscape littered the terrain.

Organic

Open                                     and                                       willing

The                                   cycle                                       which

runs                                   through                                    me

runs                                   through                                    us

all                                    Taken                                       by

 the                                   beauty                                     of

  life                                    We                                      are

    of                                    one                               thought

 moving                         forward                              in

      one                            instance                            But

        close                         your                             walls

   and                           you                           are

           cut                         off                          Unable

             to                       feel                     anything

  but                   the                void

that         consumes    you

Unable    to       see

anything but the
box you have

 trapped

  yourself

   in

 Take

   a second

     to see yourself

     from the outside

     You will find that you

    are    not     alone   as   you

    think    It         only     takes      a

        second     to         doubt      yourself     but

       it            takes          forever            to          find

              your           way             back                Open           your

            mind               and             your             body                will

             follow              Like                  a                        river                we

      individually                   flow                at                          a                different

     pace                               and                   in                 different                  currents

   but                        together                      we                       flow                           as

        one              

Galway

Canals cut through the streets flowing into the large river that breaks the city in two.  Swans collect in packs in the harbor and boats sit in mud when the tide is low.  Young people with piercings and skateboards roam the streets, among hippies with dread locks and baggy colorful clothing.  The usual Irish men with their traditional wool caps drink a Guinness in the pub.  The pedestrian road, Merchant Street, is lined with shops and constantly busy with people.  Wonderwall being played by a busker fades away as the drumming from another musician starts to be heard. The open-air market sits outside of the church in the main part of town where merchants sell handmade wool sweaters, woodcarvings, jewelry, hippie clothing, paintings, and fresh produce.  Indian food can be smelled from food trucks as one walks through the market.  A food truck reads “Food for Peace” in which an Irish man serves only vegetarian food among his Hindu decorations. Wooden barrels full of olives and cheese sit next to a sign reading “the only bison in Ireland” at one stand.  When night falls Merchant Street surprisingly gets even busier as what is probably mostly out-of-towners flock to the pubs.  A fire dancer waves her fire around to the beat of a drummer that sits behind her.  You cannot walk three feet without being stamped for free entrance and a drink to some nightclub. It’s mad, but the city is beautiful; we are in Galway.

People of Cork

Inside Currach Boatbuilders two builders stop to talk while
cleaning up for the day.  The man on the left told
me they build mostly for individuals.

Three of the builders talk next to finished vessels after a days work.

The English Market is an upscale permanent food market.
Among butchers, bakers, and cheese makers sits this fish stall.

The front man at Bresnans Victuallers, a family butcher in the
English Market, walks over to help interested customers who
stand out of frame.

I noticed this man a few days before I took this picture.  He
stands on a small street using nothing but his powerful voice
singing Irish songs to attract the attention of passerby's.

This nun waits by a bus stop.  "I hope I didn't break your
camera," she adds after I take the picture.

City Living

Cars whiz by, buildings outnumber trees, and concrete replaces grass.  People barely acknowledge you as you walk by and giving a friendly greeting is usually ignored.  The more I live in the city here in Ireland I find myself become more irritable and more easy to be caught up in drama.  Trivial things become necessary to keep my attention and it takes a conscious effort to remember that its all about having fun.

At home I surround myself with people who are caring and thoughtful.  I can walk outside and immediately be in the grass, and trees tower over the streets.  I am easily at peace, centered in my own mind and spirit.  It becomes more and more clear to me that we are affected by our surroundings.  The fast pace life of city living, where the exchange of currency takes precedence over almost everything reinforces a nature within us that is obsessed with possessions and puts more value on things than relationships.  Buying clothing becomes our new meditation. 

When I leave the city and visit small towns like Dingle or Cobh where the blue skies with white puffy clouds create a backdrop for mountains full of green grass I feel at peace.  I am reminded of the grander scale of life and it humbles me.  Simple things like exploring the town or finding a good place to eat become more meaningful as I can once again enjoy the finer things in life.  A plastic, hollow world evokes hollow emotions.  But a world with weight that is connected on every possible scale evokes a fulfillment in the mind and body.  

Journey to Dingle

The mountains are growing higher on either side of us.  Cows and sheep litter the side of the mountains and the valley.  We are on the bus on the way to Dingle and I couldn’t be more excited.  We know very little about it and crossing our fingers that the hostel we found on the internet still has vacancies, if we can find it.  But right now, as I see in the distance a big poofy white cloud hovering over water through a crack in the mountains, I don’t care. 

The road is tiny and as I look out the front window I’m surprised the bus can even fit in the lane.  I see a sign for Dingle aquarium; we must be getting closer.

We stand outside our hostel, a yellow modest looking house down a small street next to the shore.  A young girl answers the door. Confused, we ask if this is the hostel.  “Yes,” she says.  The owner comes up from behind us and greats us kindly in her Irish accent.  She shows us our room and around the house.  We already have one bunkmate, a mid-30s man from Australia who is here to surf.  He says he just got finished working in London for four years as an engineer and plans to travel for six months or so.  Jealousy runs through me.  Our room has three bunks and a sink, fairly simple.

We go for a walk outside to explore. Dingle is basically one main road, the majority of which is filled with pubs.  Like most Ireland towns the buildings are colorful and historic looking.  Murphy’s and O’Donnells are common names on storefronts.  Murals line a wall depicting men fishing and views of the harbor.  The sky is beautifully blue with big white clouds and the ocean is a dark blue.

We decide to find a small bite to eat and are excited as we see signs for live music at almost every pub.  The restaurant is full, but we find a small table at the back next to the kitchen next to old posters of fishermen with piles of caught fish reading, “Now I deserve that Guinness.”  Kelly and I split a plate of mussels while Heidi and Jessica split a seafood bake.  The steaming plate of mussels was covered in a white garlicky smelling sauce and tasted like salty fish heaven. 

After dinner we went next door to listen to traditional Irish music accompanied by a frothy Guinness.  Two men were playing a guitar and an accordion.  The guitarist later revealed a traditional Celtic drum called a bodhran drum.  It looked like a large tambourine but was played with a stick.  His hand moved up and down the back to create different pitches.  I sat there staring at him, amazed by the sound he was producing.

The next morning we woke up early, and, at the suggestion of our host, went to rent bikes to bike the Sleigh Head loop around the peninsula. “It’s about 22 miles, so it should take two or three hours depending on how many stops you take.”  Not thinking about how long 22 miles for the average biker was we all nodded and said it would be fine. 

We set off, confused as to where we were going but enjoying the country air and the green fields ahead of us.  A couple of hours in we started to become curious as to where we were headed and how much longer it would take.  We stopped in a shop where we were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by ancient Celtic artifacts, some for sale. I bought a “handloomed woolen sweater” and a clay pipe found in Amsterdam from the 1680s, well worth the stop. The shop was owned by an archeologist who had his personal collection on display.  The lady working told us it was only a few more miles to the head, so we continued.

We began to climb higher and higher and the water became further beneath us until we were eventually riding on a one-lane road on a cliff.  Too excited to be scared we continued to the head of the peninsula.  Hungry and thirsty we pushed ourselves through the cold and wind.  Ahead of us we could see the massive hill, upon which stood an upright stone, that was Sleigh Head.

When we reached the head Heidi and I quickly ran to the top of the hill after taking pictures of the view.  Grazing sheep were around us on the grassy hillside and rocks emerged from the ground.  The rolling hill quickly dropped off into a cliff at the edge and a few islands lay out in front of us.  Looking back toward the mainland large waves crashed against a sandy beach at the bottom of a cliff.  Above the cliff lay a mountain covered with pastures fenced off with stonewalls in which sheep and cows grazed on a constant slope.  A cloud skimmed the top of the treeless mountain and small houses, cafes, and old stone ruins lay on the mountainside.

We left and finally made our way to a café.  My seafood chowder and biscuit was mouth-wateringly delicious after biking the distance we just had.  We had to catch the bus back to Cork at four and it was already one, so we asked the women working for a shortcut.  She told us a way that led us over the mountain, a two mile road that was way to steep to bike up, so we walked it.  On the top was an amazing view of the ocean on either side and the bike ride down was much easier.

We made it back to Dingle with 45 minutes to spare, just enough time to reward ourselves with a Guinness as the posters had suggested to us the night before.  Exhausted and feeling dirty, we felt satisfied with our adventure and agreed it was well worth it.