The best way to become pure and chast

Denis Mukwege, a man apart

Reporters - RDC : Denis Mukwege, le docteur qui... par france24

A man apart

A rare mention here of this gynecologist who risks his life to "repair" women raped, mutilated, Congo (Democratic Republic), a miracle he has escaped a bombing (his bodyguard was killed before him) but he returned anyway, knowing the risks involved "because he missed wounded women at one point he did not suspect." He is supported by his Protestant faith as he says (he is also pastor!) -. Well, if it comes from there, nothing to say. And some links about it in bulk..

http://solidairealia.blogspot.fr/2012/12/excision.html

http://femmesavenir.blogspot.fr/2012/06/viols-en-serie-au-congo-de-mineures.html

http://femmesavenir.blogspot.fr/2012/08/mutilation-forcee-excision.html

Chokri Belaid and Besma Khalfaoui

Besma Khalfaoui, wife -and now widow- of Chokri Belaid, tunisian activist against islamists who in a video, called openly to his death... murdered the day before yesterday (lien.)
 

He knew he was in great risk to be shot but continued to fight without weakness.. (no protected by the power who now cries crocodile tears over his death!)... and died.

Cévennes, the water of Cèze

Rien ne se crée, rien ne se perd par heleneLARRIVE

Une rivière qui coule dans la vallée... et de ça de là dans des villages, des égouts qui s'y jettent. 
A beautiful river flowing through a valley and from side to side, sewage (shit) which drains in it. 
J'avais l'habitude de m'y baigner tout le temps. 
I used bath here all the times.. 
L'eau semblait claire et pure. 

The water seemed clear and clean. And one day, I caught a staphylococcus (not too serious, I probably have lot of "antibodies" because I still bathed in it during all my infancy). So does my dog. (But it had to be operated.) 
Et un beau jour, j'ai attrapé un staphyllocoque. (Pas trop grave, j'ai sans doute des anticorps car je m'y suis baignée durant toute mon enfance.) Mon chien aussi. (Mais lui a dû être opéré.)
I understand now why. 
Je comprends maintenant pourquoi. Une femme d'un village, Michelle Ribot, (malade, sérieusement) a eu le courage de faire un référé contre sa mairie afin que les canalisations soient refaites.  
A woman of a village, Michelle Ribot, photo, ill (seriously) has had the courage to pursue her town hall so that the pipes should be repiping (remake). 
Merci à elle.
Thank's to her.

The rat, the most extraordinary animal for poor countries and everywhere !

 The rat, the most despised animal as was the cat in the Middle Ages, massacred, burned, tortured is also one of the most intelligent and resourceful... and affectionate. Africans have understood this and use it as a mine detector and diseases with greater success than lab technicians and their microscopes. It is also a way as said an "master rat" to restore this animal the most discriminated its rightful place in the minds of human and nature. Note that the poisons used to kill it everywhere are more dangerous than it is, they are the labs producing and selling these products who exagerate its supposed danger (more psychological than real, because it is a symbol of dirtyness even if it is very clean) in order to make money.
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Le rat, un aminal extraordinaire par helenelarrive

Malala, 2 monthes and 20 days after

A long operation... in order to reconstruct the skull exploded by gunshot to her head she has survived, a miracle. Watch the video (link in English) where the surgeon explains what he is going to do.But now, as Aliaa, as lot of women, she is "condemned" to live all her life under "high security"... what is necessary but awfull*, a virtual prison for life. For her, never more rides with friends or alone, never ballads in the countryside or by the sea, no more spontaneous decision to visit a place or a friend by a beautiful sunny afternoon, never a pot on a terrace to decompress after a hard day... NEVER more and forever, and she's only 16!

* For having lived with a body guard only 10 days, I can say that can make you crazy. No privacy, it's like being "married" [but with someone you did not choose] one feels like a child under the guidance of an hard mother, night and day, everywhere...  you have to request authorization and inform for all what you want to do.. It is almost natural that suddenly... you escape ! fake company to guard (!) just one hour, just to go for a coffee in a smoky tea room full of "normal" people (but after, you have an hard bust up on your ears! because he is not glad at all, normal!) Think that Malala will live like this all her life!

Proust in Cévennes

"The search of the lost time." (Proust, a french writer, who said that, eating a madeleine, a french cake -picture- with a cup of tea his mother gave him because he caught a cool, he suddenly remembered all his enfancy in Combray*). One has the "madeleines" that we can. Mine is coal mines in Cevennes, but I can't recognise anything.

 Mining villages in escheat. My memory 
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... and the reality now. Sad.
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*"The search of the lost time"
 -Marcel Proust- (abstract, the "madeleine")

Combray, the room of aunt Léonie

"There were already many years that of Combray, nothing existed for me when one day in winter, as I got home, my mother offered me to take a cup of tea. She sent for one of those squat, plump cakes called Madeleines and soon, overwhelmed by the dreary day, I raised to my lips a spoonful of tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. At the moment the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate, an exquisite pleasure invaded me, isolated, whose I did not know the cause. At once, it made me seem the vicissitudes of life indifferent, its disasters, innocuous, its brevity, illusory, similarly as love. I ceased to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could have come to me this powerful joy? It was connected with the taste of tea and cake but exceeded it infinitely. I put the cup and turned to my mind, overtaken by itself; to search? not only : create. My mind is in front of something that does not yet exist and that only it can bring into the light. An unknown state of felicity, clear, real. Something in me moves, rises, undocked of great depth, I do not know what it is, but that rises slowly, and suddenly the memory revealed me.. the taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray, when I went to say hello to her room, my aunt Léonie offered me after soaked it in her own cup of tea. The sight of the little madeleine had not reminded me anything before I tasted it... but when, from a distant past, nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things have disapeared, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste like souls remain unabated pasted with the vast structure of recollection..."