VOLUME 2 ISSUE 3

2012 Edition

January 2012

FEATURES: Women, Art and Sex 75 Words From A Woman Being A Woman Story Anthology

Women Against The World

DeltaWomen

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CONTENT
Editors Note Article of The Month: Katherine Vasquez Tarazona 75 Words From A Woman: Fatemeh Mohseni Hungry: Kirthi Jayakumar Song of The Year: Elaheh Zohrevandi Womens Wardrobe: Elaheh Zohrevandi Being A Woman: Elaheh Zohrevandi 75 Words From A Woman: Lylin Aguas Arts And Recreation: Kirthi Jayakumar Lonely Seats : Effat Allahyari Me Against The World : Elaheh Zohrevandi In Retrospective: Katherine Vasquez Tarazona Albums Of 2011 Review : Willow Hewitt 75 Words From A Woman: Kirthi Jayakumar 75 Words From A Man: Hadi Barazandeh She Carries A Past Deserving Respect - Story Anthology Climate Change and Women: Paola Brigneti

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This issue is not a feministic look over the world women live in. Women Against The World is an approach to the idea of woman AND the world. Why do we say The Mother Earth when we are the mothers of this earth? I cant recall the day I turned 6 but I can remember every day of my life. I dont remeber a single moment that I was not battling the world. I had to survive. I didnt want to be alive, I wanted to live a dazzling life. It has been me against the world. Im a woman.

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SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
DeltaWomen Magazine is looking for submissions from all over the world. Submission is open to all forms of art, in any creative field and any individual or group of any gender, religion or nationality. Send your submissions to : ela_bayernmunchen@yahoo.com

On the cover: Women Against The World, courtesy of deltawomen.org Editor: Elaheh Zohrevandi Production Coordinator: Elsie Reed Designer: Elaheh Zohrevandi Photographer: Effat Allahyari Information is correct at press time. Check http://deltawomen.blogspot.com/ for updates. DesignFreebies (ISSN-1234-5678-9087) is published monthly by the DeltaWomen (NGO) at 2nd Floor 145-157 St John Street, EC1V 4PW London, United Kingdom. Signed articles do not necessarily reflect the official company policy. 2012 DeltaWomen. All rights reserved. Reproduction in part or whole without permission is prohibited. 2 Subscription price: $0.00 per year. Send all remittances and correspondences about subscriptions and address changes to:

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Article of The Month

Women, art, and sex

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Sex remains a taboo, even in the so called open societies. In a larger or smaller scale, society is not ready (yet?) to openly discuss it or to fully accept it. The media is a bit more provocative, trying to find which political actor is open to debate on same-sex marriage, abortion, rape, social harassment and so on. Not to worry, these lines will not persuade you into a particular belief. Sex is a subject that should be discuss and discovered at ones own pace. Nonetheless, it is now clear that women address it in their own way. Excuse my generalization, this might be due to a gender perspective, cultural imposition, or just a mystification; sex is viewed and interpreted somehow different, and that is a fact. Recently, I read that most male authors have trouble expressing the arts of the erotic. Rowan Pelling says that when she worked at Erotic Review [men] often trembled at the thought of

applying themselves with that degree of naked sincerity. This kept me thinking. To what degree could this be possible? How many authors have I read that have introduced sexuality in a natural manner? Of them, how many were men? Did their female counterparts do a remarkable better job? In the world of words, I do not have any mania against authors; I welcome them in any form, genre, or rhythm. Similar, if not identical, reaction appears on my world of music, photography, painting, sculpture and so on. I like to consider that arts use people to talk to me; may it be a story to tell, a memory to share, and/or an emotion to transmit. Not to fool

me, I also have regarded it vice versa: people using the arts. Since I spent my early years contemplating art as a pure element, before I learned about any agendas or convictions, I cannot accept the latter proposition. Art is an old crush that will never faint away. Yet, I have to admit that the arts are a powerful tool of communication and, therefore, learning. And whatever your relationship to them is, one should be open to listen their message. One day, one may find us before an astonishing surprise. Women and the arts Women have been kept far from many spots; professionally, we are still falling behind on salaries and positions; politically,
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Article of The Month

together and after that. Their findings are rather provocative but worth the debates; they say that Rodins muse was Camille and probably she finished many details for him and that part of his art was never the same after they broke apart. To them, Camille was shadowed by Rodins name and her figure as his lover. Mary Wollstonecraft should be a name to remember. She made a career for herself as both writer and philosopher in times where this was not common. Mary wrote A vindication of rights of women in 1972, in which she argues that women are not inferior to men and it only appears to be due to education problems. (And modernity is still struggling to understand that.) Frida Kahlo seats on my top-5 list. She would probably be one of my favorites even if she had not painted. I strongly recommend reading her biography. In spite of that, I think her art (aka: the subject on her paintings, her choice of colors, her nationalism and her freedom of speech) gave the world a whole new meaning. Fertility and damage were her main themes. I think she painted humanity in its unspoken features. Women are mainstreaming the world of arts. There is no doubt about that. Their importance to it, if I may propose, could come from their sensibility to the routine, their reaction to injustice, but most importantly, from their voice. Art is a reflection of humanity, I believe Wilde said once. As such, women play as a relevant role as men. Women and sex Like water for chocolate was one of my favorite books of my young adulthood. The movie ruined it a bit for me; however, the book stays still on my bookshelf. I read the original edition, which was written in Spanish, and for sure I felt in love. I am not going to write a book review, neither going to tell you that it is the best piece ever written. It is a regular story about a woman who felt in love of a boy who was also in love with her but could not get together. As far as it concerns me, there were two main characters: food and sensuality. The writer, Laura Esquivel, attacked several issues with her

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women are rising on social movements but layback on political meaningful positions; finally, on their families, despite the greater role assigned to them, most societies remain patriarchal, [women] remaining accessory to men. Nonetheless, women have found their place in arts. This was neither easy nor simple. History gives away remarkable efforts on their side to get published and acknowledged. Many great female thinkers created a male identity (George Sand, for example), or wrote for
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their husbands and let them take the credit (Maria Lejarraga in Spain), or even modified their looks, transforming themselves into men (Isabelle Eberhardts life is just fascinating). Camille Claudel was incredibly talented but never rewarded. She was a sculptor and Rodins lover for many years. Some critics said that she copied his style and could not create anything on her own. Others, especially in modern times, have revised her few remaining pieces alongside Rodins accordantly to their time

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75 Words From A Woman

story (the old tradition about the youngest daughter to stay unmarried to be able to take care of her mother until her death; self growth; and violence). Sensuality and lust melt in the story. It came up as a taboo in the way that other characters read it but not in the way it was expressed. This was perhaps, my first encounter with women and sex. It was beautiful and powerful rather than sexist or something ought to parental control. Earlier, when I mentioned the article comparing men and women on writing about sex, I shared my questions about the way that women expressed it through arts. I am not a big fan of gender mystification. Yet, I do believe that women approach sex in a different way that most men. They are intimate and little afraid of exposing themselves as loving carnal creatures, both feminine and passionate. Is this exclusive to them? No, not at all, but they certainly know how to do it, breaking taboos and helping to understand the world of the unknown. Fatemeh Mohseni Who knows about it? Who wants to know? Let the sky rain, It rains on you Let your clothes get cool by it, Thats enough. You are not MY PARTNER, You are A PART OF ME. And so Sometimes i couldn't see you well. Is there in your night Just a piece of moonlight? Its from my heart, Just hold it tight. Mystery of the memories Fatemeh Mohseni Bilions of people saw my song, Just one man heard it.
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I heard milions of Footsteps coming to me, But i saw just two of them.

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FAVORITE STORY
HUNGRY
held it up to the little It was two days since Mawuli left home. His sister boys mouth. The little could barely understand what hed said when he boy looked at the spoon decided to go in search for food. Hunger gnawed at before him, and looked his insides and he was wrapped in rags. His skin was up his mother. In a trice, dry, his collar bones stuck out, as though the skin his hand had stretched was merely but a lifeless sheet of paper clinging to forwards, pushing the his form in a bid to sheath the tiny body. He was spoon away. A whole probably eight, ten, twelve. But he looked five. His morsel sprung into eyes looked fifty. They scanned the restaurant on the air, and landed on the other side of the thick glass. His breath fogged the floor. The spoon the glass, he struggled to wise the cloudy patches clattered on the plate. with his tiny hands. The sound deafened Mawuli watched as men and women in white Mawuli, it was as though clothes with chequered waistcoats running around it took a whole hour, the with trays filled with food, and laying them before whole event. His ears men and women sitting at tables. He looked on as buzzed, his eyes saw a little boy on a high chair wrinkled his nose at his stars. plate. The lady beside him, his mother, perhaps, seemed to be shouting at the little boy. The He felt pain somewhere in his body. Everything little boy looked back at her scornfully. She took up a spoon and shovelled some of the was so distant, he didnt know where anything started, where it all ended. If only he had that one morsel. If only he could have had just one piece of bread. Something, anything. Mawuli knelt down and sat down on his haunches. He looked at his fingers. There wasnt much left of his nails to chew upon. He looked around, desperate, until he finally found a bush. Dragging himself with the frugal remnants of strength residing in his sinews, he grabbed a handful of leaves and thrust it in his mouth. At least he could chew, seemed to be shouting scornfully. She took up and let the saliva quell at the little boy. The little a spoon and shovelled his hunger for the time boy looked back at her some of the food and being.
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Through the rest of the evening, Mawuli drifted in and out of hunger induced concussions, each inch of him crippled by want, hunger, thirst. His bones poked out from under the miserable sack cloth he had on, wrapping him. People walked past. Tourists marvelled at how sorrowful the plight of world hunger was, using the child as a sample in a statistical analysis. For the everyday wayfarer this was but a daily routine, and this was but another supplicant. For everyone else, he was just another element in the background. *** Hope was hungry. She had stayed long after everyone else had left for the day, charting out plans for setting up a school in the folds of the fabric that Ghanas villages were. Such bright colours she saw everywhere, the tribals were always quick to greet her and her comrades, with a song, a dance, a stentorian cornucopia of beats. But there was always that throbbing vein underneath all of that, as the devils of hunger, disease and poverty threatened to wipe

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spoke in broken Ga. Hungry, she asked. The child stared back, not comprehending. She repeated herself in Nzema, and then Twi. Finally, the child responded in Twi, Yes. I am hungry. Hope helped him to his feet and ushered him into the restaurant. He stumbled a little, held on tight to hope. The concierge looked at her strangely. Hope knew the look. Dare to bring a tatterdemalion into an arena of sophistry, he questioned,Lets see you try. Hope answered his pugnacity with temerity. Try stopping me, her look returned. The concierge stepped forward and followed the course of action his looks portended.He cannot enter, maam, he is not eligible for fine dining. Hope fumbled in her purse and held out her UN id. The concierge swallowed, and showed her the way. She sat the boy down at the table. He was swaying from dizziness, he didnt have the vitality to feel out of place. Hope ordered a large meal, and ordered the hostile staff about, pressing on them the need to bring in everything fast. The teenager waiting on her table was easily one of the aristocratic families offspring, perhaps doing the job to make a case of being independent. He set the plates on the table, employing a demeanour that was nothing short of plain rude. Hope wasted no time in returning his coldness with hers, replete with a steely armour of unmasked rancour. She was shocked by the cataleptic reception the restaurant had, towards reality. Perhaps this was what made bigotry what it was. The little boy, meanwhile, began gobbling morsels with such candour, that her heart felt heavy at the thought of how many more such children there were, waiting for one little morsel. Suddenly, the little any began putting bits of the food in a part of the rags covering him, which, Hope noticed, was actually a bag. It was made of the same rags he was covered in, that it didnt look any different from the rest of the muslin. Forget education. These children hadnt even the means to help them get past mealtimes without feeling deprived. Hunger thrived in their blood- hunger was their life, poverty their religion. Hope stopped him. We will get more, she said, Eat now, we will buy more for later. Through morsels, the little boy spoke. I need some for my sister, he said. Panic spoke between his words. Yes, Hope said, We will get her plenty, too, now eat.

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them out. Death danced with them, taking one person away at a time. Disease sang with them, infectiously inducting new ones to its entourage. Squalor was seductive, sinking families by the dozen with its debauchery. The restaurants working hours drew to a close. The last customers were wrapping up their meal. Hope hurried forward, hunger blinding her. Just as she reached the door, her attention flickered over to the bony bundle heaving with each breath, moaning so silently, that you had to strain to hear it. Hope bent over and touched the bundle. The little child stirred, his eyes flitted from side to side, not focussing on anything. She let him settle before she

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FAVORITE STORY
begged. We will, soon, sooner than you can reach her walking, she promised. Rushing back into the restaurant, she ordered them to pack the unfinished meal, along with some more, breads and the like, that would last with the children for a few days at least. Tugging the precious treasure, she paid the bill, and didnt so much as heed the fact that it dented her meagre salary. Settling the little boy into the car, she took the reins and followed every direction the little boy pointed to. He spoke little, but kept throwing furtive glances at the packed food, as though he was afraid to believe that it was truethat it had food in it. Hope drove on, she had been driving for nearly six hours now, perambulating large
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In a trice, the little boy finished only one tenth of the entire meal. His stomach had shrunk so much, that a normal meal was out of the range of ingestion. Carrying how much ever he could, in those little hands of his, he got up, and tore out of the restaurant. Hope ran after him, and caught hold of him. She explained she would take him wherever he needed. She had a car. He looked at her, unsure. I need to get to my sister, he

stretches of dry land, and the boy was still pointing directions. He was sharp, and definitely brave. She wondered with pain squeezing her heart, how the child managed to brave the distance and make it into Accra. He truly was the warrior king that Ghana meant, she thought to herself. Finally, a whole three hours later, he told her to stop. It was arid land, and it was nearing six in the morning. Hope got off the car and let the little boy out. He jumped out and turned back, nervously looking as Hope brought out the parcels of food. She wondered if it was any good, her misgivings arising from the anxiety for not having refrigerated the food. At least the air conditioner was on, she comforted herself. The little boy broke into a half-run, and Hope ran in tow. He stopped outside a thatched hut and bent over a heap of dirty clothes. He tapped the heap. It stirred and moved slightly. The little boy supported the form, it was a dishevelled little girl, disoriented and deep in a hunger induced stupor. He

reached over and grabbed one food packet and tore it open. Bit by bit, he fed the form. The sun rose, lighting up the scene. Hope watched, tears clouding her eyes, with pity at the intractable condition the children were in. Med ase, the two children said, Thank you. least the air conditioner was on, she comforted herself. The little boy broke into a half-run, and Hope ran in tow. He stopped outside a thatched hut and bent over a heap of dirty clothes. He tapped the heap. It stirred and moved slightly. The little boy supported the form, it was a dishevelled little girl, disoriented and deep in a hunger induced stupor. He reached over and grabbed one food packet and tore it open. Bit by bit, he fed the form. The sun rose, lighting up the scene. Hope watched, tears clouding her eyes, with pity at the intractable condition the children were in. Med ase, the two children said, Thank you.

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SONG OF THE YEAR

Christina Perris Girl Power Anthem It has been hard to avoid Christina Perris Jar of Hearts listening to radio stations this summer, although the track has been around for a year. The songs recently been deservedly picking up more airplay after featuring in So You Think You Can Dance in the States and also in Glee; although whether that is a good thing is arguable. I have grown too strong, to ever fall back in your arms Perri sings in a well-written tale of the exboyfriend wanting another shot with his former lover. Jar of Hearts has a superb woman scorned feel, with strings and piano underneath a rousing vocal from Perri. While her voice is distinct, she does

WOMENS WARDROBE
A Review on Love, Loss and What I Wore Women spend their lives preoccupied with their wardrobes, their primary concern bring the daily conviction that I have nothing to wear, obsessed with their weight and living in a narrow world of gender clichs. This intimate collection of stories written by Delia and Nora Ephron, address the lifedefining tyranny of dressing rooms, purses and the dismal plight of the larger woman. What Love, Loss and What I Wore offers is a portrait of women defined not by what they do but what they wear. The content of the scenes featured a wide range of items donned by women - the bra, the prom dress, the shirt, the shoes, the boots, and the infamous purse - to personalize stories of rape, body consciousness, cancer, marriage and divorce, and mother/daughter relationships. What is neat about the play is the variety tall and short women, thin and fat women, white and black each with her own plusses and minuses, yet all sharing recognized moments and concerns. Love, Loss and What I Wore is a refreshing reminder of the connection and shared experiences of women, regardless of ethnic background, religion, income or education. For ninety-five uninterrupted minutes, an audience of mostly women laughed, cried, clapped and cheered our experience of womanhood through monologues derived from life-long memories of a womans clothing. I believe every woman, in her own way, has a myriad of scintillating and heartrending tales to share with others in her life; or can choose to carry them to the grave with an internal smile that denotes, That was a wild ride!

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have the same traits as many modern American female singers, where they can sound slightly pained and forced. Like Adele, Perri seems inspired by anger at breakup. Jar Of Hearts by Christina Perri is a passion and poetic anthem that boldly asks the tough questionssometimes a woman has to do that.

Being a Woman
Its not easy, being a woman I mean. Its even more difficult to keep being a woman in this
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persistent, and fear of being watched and judged by others and of doing things that will embarrass them. They can worry for days or. This fear may become so severe that it interferes with work, school, and other ordinary activities, and can make it hard to make and keep friends. The signs of anxietys prevalence among women are everywhere: Ads for anti-anxiety drugs run frequently on TV shows often aimed at women; young female stars, like the actress Amanda Seyfried, confide their own experiences in the press. And though no national data of rates in women exist, many experts believe the surge is not just media hypeits real. Part of the problem is that a woman with anxiety may fail to

seek help quickly, even if shes seriously on edge. To her, that is normal. If youre a healthy woman and you come down with the flu, you know youre sick. You know what its like to feel good, and you know you feel worse now. But if you have this sickness thats been hanging on since you were 5, thats your baseline. You believe its normal, and that everyone else must feel this way too. There is a sense that the world is not as safe as it used to be, and that creates a lot of anxiety, says Naeemeh. In any given day, she argues, women worry about environmental hazards, their job security and the odds of their boyfriend cheating. Im not worried about anything anymore. Im a chick, Im proud of it.

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As a small girl, I remember I was told to be careful about everything. It was like me, myself and I. And then, there was the world. Naeemeh, 25, says. I move closer to her so that our friendly conversation wouldnt look like an interview. I was afraid of going out of my house because I was simply uncomfortable with the reality of the world. In extreme cases, there are people with highly developed forms of social anxiety disorder. Social phobia can be limited to one situation or may be so broad that the person experiences anxiety around almost anyone other than the family. Social phobia, social anxiety disorder, is diagnosed when people become overwhelmingly anxious and excessively selfconscious in everyday social situations. People with social phobia have an intense,
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Lylin Aguas

75 WORDS FROM A WOMAN

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The rescue from her husband and female in-laws who tortured and locked her up for refusing to be a prostitute was a heart wrenching experience for a 16-year old child bride like Sahar Gul. But no injustice can remain unpunished if people persevere and do something about it. Her shattered dignity beams with a ray of hope that she will one day live a normal life again and take her place in society as a strong citizen who can fight for the right of women and child brides like Sahar.

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Art and Recreation

Lonely Seats
Here the benches see no lovers no more Its been a long time Im passing them by Feel the urge to sit on one but they dont let me no more They dont feel like listening to the silence of my loneliness no more The memories of listening to lovely whispers lets them down I love them though I capture a glimpse of them To picture the bitterness of their loneliness May lovers whisper their lovely words in their ears while sitting on these seats that are thirsty for some love

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I WILL RISE ABOVE VIOLENCE by Kirthi Jayakumar PLEASE DONT kILL ME by Kirthi Jayakumar

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Me Against The World

You and I Weve been fighting for long Still theres a war going on You and I Weve been walking on by Still feel lonely inside The world is against us Or were against the world Lifes betrayed us Or us against the whole Once I wanted to be the greatest I stepped up, rose against the best Once I decided to be the only one Id howl at him every single dawn Never really cared if it could be wrong If what I was singing was really my song I said things To myself Things no one wants to say And at the end of the day It was me against the world Not the world against my way Love was always on the side Like there was only me, my ego and my pride Love was the subtitle of my lifes film An image in my eyeballs totally dim It was for me but was never mine A song sang by me but with no rhyme Now Im sitting here with the porch light on Somewhere I dont even know whats wrong with being gone Love, if you ever know where I am Where I was Try me this time This time, There will be the world and us
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I WILL DARE TO DREAM by Kirthi Jayakumar

THE RAPE OF CONGO by Kirthi Jayakumar

In Retrospective
She woke up and couldnt understand the veil of darkness in her surroundings. Humid dirt came across her tongue and a salty element was seating on her eyes. It took her few seconds to discover that her movements were limited. Trapped, thats how she felt. too much blood and was about to explode. Funny, all her senses seemed to have been awakened. May be the silence, she thought. Not even the warms hunting on her legs made any noise, not quite a bit.

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Forced silence interrupted by a panicking idea: she A horrifying idea wont see anyone else crossed her mind. A again. The possibility of wild horse dominated being kissed again was her chest, kicking hard, taken away from her, playing its own battle and the felling of human on her ground, but tender love lost in a hug. how? Nothing made Life was leaving her on equally uninformed any sense. Memory was a blink. about the change that trigging slices of images: was ought to happen a cold table, bright She had time to hold in her body. She was lights before her darkest onto courage and pissed at whoever black hole. accept her death, and chose to cage her in a She was dead. even deal with it. She wooden cell when she knew that she couldnt had preferred ashes. All Yet, she felt as she was communicate with the those thoughts were just set on fire. Never world out there; that vain considering that felt more childish than she hadnt the keys her river had come to an then, wanting to have of the time machine early stop. Though, they a magicians powers to that would bring back made her feel alive. bring fresh air to her everything to order. shore; to transform She regretted not being Finally, she thought those nails onto cloves; around her friends to of her last loving to untangle everything. help them out to move word spoken and her She knew that given a on, to cry her less. last smile given. She chance, she would call remembered having her her mom and explained She laughed at the last moms charm between whatever there was thing she told to her her hands before to explain; let her boss and, suddenly, entering the O.R., and boyfriend know that she a breeze of freedom for an instant, she could wouldnt be ready for comfort her. She wasnt felt its texture on her dinner that day nor any aware of how many fingertips. other day. If possible, hours have passed. A watery emotion her head was bombing She wished to remain flooded but it could not

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wet her cheeks. She thought of the lack of oxygen and the incredible excess of rationality. She celebrated her last kiss and danced with her first love for one last time. She experienced, once more, the first time that her skin came close to another one; she felt the warm touch and tasted its flavor. She let the time to pass so she could remember everything on her lap. It was so intense and pure. Her hair was standing on end and her breast hardened. It wasnt planed like this but on a climax, she let go. She was everything but trapped, wouldnt be it anymore.
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Albums of 2011 Review

Strong Women Singing Against the World
updating of Feeling Good, which sounds different enough to Nina Simones well-known version to be enjoyed on its own merit. a tune you just have to dance to, this song is one to blast loud and blow away all your problems with. Florence Welch not only has a great voice, and a beautifully theatrical sensibility, she also has enough skill to write lyrics that are more like poetry than almost anything else you can find in the charts these days. Anyone with a sense of adventure will enjoy the journey this album can take you on. Losing yourself to this music is the grown up version of being able to walk through a door in the back of your wardrobe. While Florences voice echoes in your ears, it feels like almost anything is possible.

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Jennifer Hudson I Remember Me Most of the singers that come out of the reality TV brand of music shows (the X-factor and Americal Idol types) are forgotten about by the time that the show comes back for its next series. But the same cant be said for Jennifer Hudson, in fact she has the sort of voice that you cant believe would need a talent show to find it. I Remember Me is her second album, and while her voice is as impressive as ever, theres none of the emotion that she captured in her 2007 performance in the movie Dreamgirls. However, in amongst the usual pop-soul love ballads that are enjoyable for Hudsons voice alone, there are a couple of songs that really stand out as ones to listen to when you want to feel a little more powerful: her cover of Brooks & Dunns Believe, and best of all I Got This. Theres also a treat in the form of a nice
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Florence + the Machine Ceremonials The second song of this album alone, Shake it Out, is enough to love Florence + the Machine for. With its empowering lyrics and

S In

75 WORDS FROM A WOMAN

Kirthi Jayakumar I want to be free. I want to be me. Why should I pay a price, for someone Elses vice? It is the time to fight back, To equip myself with what I lack. Turn the hatred and the pain, the untold misery and disdain, into your source of strength and power. End my fear, I will not cower, For its one thing that money cant buy, the courage to look adversity in the eye.

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Words From A Man

Its Not Easy Being You Dont have the slightest clue about happiness My heart is soaked in my pens darkness Where do I begin, how do I say it right The weight of Gods sins doesnt have a place in our heart 7-year-old cries for a playmate to be Cuz she has no idea about HIV Cries and tears her heartache away Darkens my heart and makes it gray Why everyone keeps saying Ive got a disease? You never shake a leg and help me be at ease you keep injecting me with stuff and say Im filled with HIV No one comes close anymore, theres no playmate for me Gosh! Thousands of roars are trapped inside this heart This aint a life no more when Ive got vengeance in mind Your lust in this world tore this kid apart Keep this world for yourself, theres nothing but pain in my heart We bowed to this world and its nastiness Its dirt and pettiness A 7-year-old, you cant look her in the eyes and fake smiles You have to watch her naked in the lab with naked tiles The doctor looks between her thighs like shes got a disease or more She gets this world through the filters of her innocent soul Damn this life and its foolish insanity In this place, a girls life depends on her virginity They dont give her a place to live as she deserves in this city For a stupid law they scratch her souls virginity And she has to go back to that place where theres violence Cuz youre sick you cant be among your own friends Im nothing but lies Lies And lies Its not easy being someone like you and swallow those cries 15
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Stevie Nicks In Your Dreams This is the first studio album from Nicks in 10 years, and it feels like she was waiting until she had something worth saying. Every song here is a delightful self-contained nugget of a story. Nicks does a lot of work with wounded soldiers, and the song Soldiers Angel really brings a sense of that connection. Other highlights are hard to pull out, as the album is so full of songs that could all easily be a favourite, but For What Its Worth is one that feels like it could keep you company for years on end.

kate Bush 50 Words for Snow With a blanket of stillness out of which shapes of music gently emerge and recede, this album perfectly captures the feeling of a dark snowy night. The tracks are long and luxurious, with just 7 of them to this 65 minute album. Its flowing, liquid stories are perfect for those times when you need to recoup and reconnect with something quiet and calm. It contains a ghost story, a love affair with a snowman, and a track where Stephen Fry describes snow in 50 different ways. The final track, Among Angels, is a perfect lullaby, which is a whiteout to wipe away the entire stress of the day.

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DeltaWomen Story Anthology

She Carries A Past Deserving Respect (Part 1)
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There are days I find myself wrapped around by my past. Its haunting when you have to run away from what you have done to yourself just to take shelter in a deserted place, a place where the dead live; the cemetery. I was running out of gas so I pulled over and turned off the radio. I was listening to a Sherlock Holmes radio show on BBC. In my country, BBC and many other radio channels are filtered by the government. Thats why I use online radio applications on my iPod to listen to the latest news but trust me; nothing is really faker than news. Its all lies, lies, lies. February had always been the worst month of the year for me. All of my dark days in hospitals at the psych ward were spent in February. Its cold and dull and you never see people wearing colorful clothes. Thats why I was surprised when I saw a man in a shiny patterned suite in the cemetery that day. He
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was giving people bowls of soup for free and I was curious why. I left my car and headed straight to his direction. When I got there, there wasnt any left. Wait here please, Ill go get you a bowl. he said politely and joined a lady in black who was also giving soup to the people in the citys cemetery. Its not that difficult, making friends with strangers. Thats what I learned that winter afternoon. Delicious and warm, I said, holding the bowl in my hands. I love vegetable soup. Teens like veggies, said the lady in black. Thats why they are all skinny. She was a little chubby I got to say but still in good shape. Im not a teenager. I said. People often make mistake when it comes to guessing my age. Im sorry, honey. Did I upset you? she said smiling at me. I didnt get to answer her because the buff guy called her. She stood up and shook hands with me and I noticed her big, expensive golden rings. She had hands of a real woman; Delicate yet strong. Sorry again.

She glanced at the grave and left with a bitter smile. I stayed. Delshad is the name carved on the grave stone. The stone is expensive granite with Dolce & Gabbana design. Her past deserves her respect is what you see at first glance. The old font of the line is so glamorous that makes you want to live here under this ground. World, here lies a world lies a sky under this soil Somebody must have loved this lady I think. Feels like a princess is here, watching over everyone who visits her grave. Whos really lying here? I look at her birthday and her last day on earth. Wow! I freak out. Four kings have come and gone and this princess has ruled her world. Has she had

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any kids? Why isnt the poem about her being a mother then? Why there is more on her past? Delshad Porgou is the name. I search it on my iPhone. Delshad means A Merry Soul, a totally Persian name. Has she been happy just like her name says? Porgou, means talkative and extrovert; qualities of a real princess! I went home and started playing with my Zippo. Thats a real bad habit I got. The thought of her wouldnt let go of me. I had to go back. The next day, it was only me and her, and a bunch of dried out flowers. It reminded me of the song Desert Rose by Sting; A princess in a deserted place. The day after, there was only me and Delshad and the flowers. Who is bringing flowers? Who is this princess?

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DeltaWomen Story Anthology

Climate Change and Women: Victims or Activists? It is Up to Us Its mainly us women who suffer the most when the river is full. We get wet, even when we are ill, we must cross the river because we dont have a bridge. We also run the risk of drowning Woman describing her daily activities after a storm hit the Caribbean region. Climate change is a sustainable development challenge, with broad impacts not only on the environment but also on economic and social development. It is widely recognized that climate change does not affect people equally. The worlds poorest people will be the most affected by climate change. In fact, despite the fact that the carbon footprint of the poorest people is about three percent of the worlds total, the loss of life as a result of climate change is expected to be 500 times greater in Africa than in the developed world. Women form a disproportionate share of the worlds poor, and are the most likely to be affected by the effects of climate change. This is especially true for women living in rural areas in developing countries around the world, as they tend to rely more on local natural resources and natural balance for their livelihood. As our natural environment is affected by climate change in the form of droughts, uncertain rainfall and deforestation, women are faced with challenges to fulfilling their roles and responsibilities. In rural areas around the world, women are in charge of securing water, food and energy for cooking and heating. The effects of climate change make it harder for women to secure these resources. As a result, womens health, food security and safety are threatened. In different regions of the world, women are responsible for providing up to 80 percent of agricultural labor and producing 45 to 90 percent of domestically consumed food. Erratic rainfall and unseasonal temperatures will therefore have a stronger impact on women as they are in charge of crops. For example, an expected 73 percent of women in the Congo and about 48 percent of women in Burkina Faso will be affected by such changes. Moreover, when facing these problems, women have limited access to resources and credit that would help them cope with the changes in their environment. In addition to sharing more than their fair share in agriculture, women also bear heavier household burdens.In developing countries, women and children are usually the ones in charge of gathering and transporting water. An estimated 1.2 billion people in the world lack access to safe water. In fact, less than half of sub-Saharan Africans live within 30 minutes walking-distance of safe water. As climate change continues, more regions are expected to experience water shortages. As a result, gathering water and fuel becomes more time consuming, reducing the available time for other important activities like education, and economic and political engagement. This increase in time demand is a contributing factor to the reality that the majority of children worldwide who do not attend school are girls. Having to walk longer distances to gather water and fuel also puts women and girls at higher risk for violence. This is especially true in conflict zones, which have the added impact of often degrading local natural resources. In West and South Darfur, 82 percent of almost 500 women treated for rape were attacked while doing their daily chores, such as gathering water, firewood or thatch. In recent years, extreme and unusually frequent natural disasters have been attributed to climate change. Between 2004 and 2006, 70 percent of the worlds natural disasters occurred in areas where the most vulnerable populations reside: Asia, the Pacific region, Africa and the Middle East. During extreme climate events such as drought and floods, women face additional risks due mostly to gender inequalities that result in women bearing a
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DeltaWomen Story Anthology

disproportionate brunt of disaster impacts. In some cases, women are discouraged from learning coping strategies and lifesaving skills such as climbing. In other cases, women are not permitted to evacuate their homes without first receiving consent from their husbands or elder men in their families or communities. In addition, gendered cultural codes of dress restrain mobility during crises, resulting in higher mortality of women during many disasters. To make matters worse, climateinduced disasters also put women and girls at higher risk for organized trafficking, as they are left unprotected and vulnerable. Even though women are the most likely to suffer from climate change, they are also the most capable of creating change and adaptation within their communities. Women are essential in determining the neutrality of their households contribution to climate change and can lead the way in low-emission living. Evidence has shown that women in
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developed countries are more likely than men to choose greener options. Moreover, women are key players in developing sustainable adaptation options due to their knowledge, multiple and simultaneous responsibilities, and roles in productive areas like agriculture. Despite the challenges women face, evidence has shown that they are the greatest hope for the future of our environment. Therefore, it is imperative that we empower women if we want to make a difference in the area of climate change. disproportionate brunt of disaster impacts. In some cases, women are discouraged from learning coping strategies and lifesaving skills such as climbing. In other cases, women are not permitted to evacuate their homes without first receiving consent from their husbands or elder men in their families or communities. In addition, gendered cultural codes of dress restrain mobility during crises, resulting in higher mortality of women during many disasters. To make matters worse, climate-

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induced disasters also put women and girls at higher risk for organized trafficking, as they are left unprotected and vulnerable. Even though women are the most likely to suffer from climate change, they are also the most capable of creating change and adaptation within their communities. Women are essential in determining the neutrality of their households contribution to climate change and can lead the way in low-emission living. Evidence has shown that women in

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developed countries are more likely than men to choose greener options. Moreover, women are key players in developing sustainable adaptation options due to their knowledge, multiple and simultaneous responsibilities, and roles in productive areas like agriculture. Despite the challenges women face, evidence has shown that they are the greatest hope for the future of our environment. Therefore, it is imperative that we empower women if we want to make a difference in the area of climate change.

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WHO ARE WE?

W W W . D E S I G N F R E E B I E S . O R G

SEE YOUR TRUE BEAUTY AND POWER.

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Deltawomen is a non-profit (NGO) organization, dedicated to impacting the lives of the Delta state women worldwide. Deltawomen is committed to empowering women, strengthening families and transforming their communities in the process.

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+4420 3286 6258 ereed@deltawomen.org http://www.deltawomen.org/

CONTENT
2 3 5 6 9 9 10 10 11 11 12 13 14 14 15 16 17 Editors Note Article of The Month: Katherine Vasquez Tarazona 75 Words From A Woman: Fatemeh Mohseni

EDITORS NOTE

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Hungry: Kirthi Jayakumar Song of The Year: Elaheh Zohrevandi Womens Wardrobe: Elaheh Zohrevandi Being A Woman: Elaheh Zohrevandi 75 Words From A Woman: Lylin Aguas Arts And Recreation: Kirthi Jayakumar Lonely Seats : Effat Allahyari Me Against The World : Elaheh Zohrevandi In Retrospective: Katherine Vasquez Tarazona Albums Of 2011 Review : Willow Hewitt 75 Words From A Woman: Kirthi Jayakumar 75 Words From A Man: Hadi Barazandeh She Carries A Past Deserving Respect - Story Anthology Climate Change and Women: Paola Brigneti This issue is not a feministic look over the world women live in. Women Against The World is an approach to the idea of woman AND the world. Why do we say The Mother Earth when we are the mothers of this earth? I cant recall the day I turned 6 but I can remember every day of my life. I dont remeber a single moment that I was not battling the world. I had to survive. I didnt want to be alive, I wanted to live a dazzling life. It has been me against the world. Im a woman.

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SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
DeltaWomen Magazine is looking for submissions from all over the world. Submission is open to all forms of art, in any creative field and any individual or group of any gender, religion or nationality. Send your submissions to : ela_bayernmunchen@yahoo.com

On the cover: Women Against The World, courtesy of deltawomen.org Editor: Elaheh Zohrevandi Production Coordinator: Elsie Reed Designer: Elaheh Zohrevandi Photographer: Effat Allahyari Information is correct at press time. Check http://deltawomen.blogspot.com/ for updates. DesignFreebies (ISSN-1234-5678-9087) is published monthly by the DeltaWomen (NGO) at 2nd Floor 145-157 St John Street, EC1V 4PW London, United Kingdom. Signed articles do not necessarily reflect the official company policy. 2012 DeltaWomen. All rights reserved. Reproduction in part or whole without permission is prohibited. Subscription price: $0.00 per year. Send all remittances and correspondences about subscriptions and address changes to: ela_bayernmunchen@yahoo.com

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ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHS
Effat Allahyari Effat Has taken photos from Afghani Women and Children who live in other contries as refugees. Most of them dont even have an ID or Passport to feel like they are SOMEONE on this planet.

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ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHS
Effat Allahyari Refugees from Afghanistan are not the only women who work literary as slaves.
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ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHS
Effat Allahyari It has always been, A Woman and her Beauty. A scar cant make me feel Im not a glamorous woman. Elham Says.

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Effat Allahyari

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- The Police Car - A Labour Child - Her Mother

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C S a o w S is se

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Effat Allahyari Coming back from the United States, He now works and lives and sleeps on the streets of one of the biggest cities in the world. Selling flowers in a fancy way is his way of expressing his sentimentalism.

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Be a Woman, Be Proud.

Effat Allahyari

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