The Botox view is a show that features four Botox women discussing the current events of today’s pop culture and related news. All of the topics are SUPER SERIOUS SERIOUS and the classy ladies are nothing but professional…… Sometimes.Reblogged 7 hours ago from www.youtube.com
Breathalyzers (to my knowledge) don’t make melodious horn Muzak. Do not test this by having to blow into one. Do everyone you know a favor this holiday season and don’t let them drink and drive.
NEW YORK — Fatou Camara thought she was safe. The mother of two had built a successful career on Gambian television and had the president’s ear. Then, on September 15, she was suddenly detained and thrown into a roach infested prison cell and held there for 25 days. The Gambian authorities accused her of sedition for allegedly smearing the president in statements to an opposition website, and eventually set her free on bail. She immediately fled the country, first for Senegal and then settled to the U.S. Camara denies the allegations, and calls the charges a political set up.
“I know some people are tortured, but I was not,” Camara told BuzzFeed by phone from Georgia. “For this to happen to someone like me is what scares people. People were not expecting this. I worked for the president, and we’ve been very close.”
The west African nation of the Gambia, home to just 1.8 million people, is mainly known for its beautiful beaches — but it is also home to one of the world’s most ruthless, and eccentric, dictators, Yahye Jammeh. Opposition activists say Jammeh rules the Gambia with an iron fist. Political opponents are frequently harassed, arrested, tortured, and put through sham trials, while Gambians are kept in a constant state of paranoia through tight media control, according to human rights groups. Jammeh bans most foreign journalists and human rights organizations from operating in the country. He has also claimed he can cure AIDS, and has outlawed homosexuality.
“The world is looking at the Gambia as not very important, but the Gambian people need help,” Camara said. “You cannot speak out in the Gambia. You can be killed. You can be arrested. You can be kept in prison for a long time. You can disappear. Nobody will help. Everybody is too scared.”
Lisa Nikolaus, Amnesty International’s Gambia expert, says that several recent developments indicate an increase in government repression. In June, the government increased its hold on the media by raising the penalty for derogatory statements against the government to 15 years in prison. The summer before, on Aug 23, Jammeh ordered the secret execution of nine death row inmates, reportedly by firing squad. It was the Gambia’s first executions in nearly 30 years. An estimated 38 more prisoners remain on death row, several of whom are reportedly Senegalese nationals. A prominent Gambian Muslim cleric, Imam Baba Leigh, spoke out against the executions in December, calling them “un-Islamic.” He promptly disappeared for five months, and refused to discuss his circumstances upon reappearing.
Reports by political opponents outside of Gambia also describe an increasingly erratic leader. Jammeh has ruled the country since 1994, when he seized power in a military coup, and has since been reelected in four elections, widely criticized by the international community. Jammeh is said to act outlandishly, making statements comparing himself to God. He is also notorious for hiring and firing ministers, and reportedly imprisoning people for the slightest personal offense. In Oct 22, he reportedly ordered three political prisoners to confess to sedition on national TV.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they find he’s had a serious mental problem, but as a leader he’s been able to get away with it,” said Amadou Scattered Janneh, a former information minister who now heads the Coalition for Change-Gambia (CCG) from exile in Georgia. He has been in the U.S. since September 2012.
Gambian police arrested Janneh in June 2011 for distributing T-shirts that read, “End to Dictatorship Now.” At the time, Janneh was an organizer with the CCG in collaboration with Gambians abroad. Janneh told BuzzFeed he was held in the Gambia’s notorious Mile 2 Central prison along with the nine prisoners later executed. He has published an e-book, Standing Up Against Injustice, recounting the horrific atrocities he witnessed during 15 months in prison. Janneh is a U.S. citizen, and his arrest raised international outage. Amnesty International and the Reverend Jesse Jackson ultimately led a successful campaign for his release.
Amnesty International and Gambian diaspora civil society groups, like CCG, have called on the European Union to adopt tougher measures, like targeted sanctions and travel bans, against the Gambian regime and to ensure international access to Gambian prisons. So far, however, the responses have been tepid, with no official announcements on a larger strategy.
“It’s not hard to make a case against the regime,” Janneh said. “But when it comes to action, that’s where we’ve been missing.”
Amnesty International has not been able to work inside Gambia since 2008, according to Nikolaus. Instead, the human rights organization conducts research from Senegal and abroad, where they can work more freely. But Gambians can also face trouble in the Casamance region of Senegal, which lies along the Gambian border and is ripe with anti-Senegalese government rebels, several of whom are supported by Jammeh, according to activists.
Nana Ndow, a 28-year-old Gambian consultant living in Brazil, has started an online campaign for the release of her father, Saul Ndow, who went missing in Senegal last April, along with a Gambian opposition leader, Mahawa Cham. Ndow told BuzzFeed by telephone from Rio de Janeiro that she suspects that agents working for Jammeh in Senegal abducted her father while he was on business in the country and smuggled him through Casamence back into the Gambia. The president, she said, “has always said that he wanted my father dead or alive.” Nana and her family have contacted the Senegalese government regarding her father’s whereabouts. They have so far received no response. Her family now fears he is dead.
Amnesty International has investigated the case, but cannot confirm Ndow’s allegations, Nikolaus said, since collecting and verifying information in the Gambia is a near-impossible task.
“It’s really sad that families feel like they have to go public like this because they are not getting support from the Senegalese and Gambian governments,” Nikolaus said by phone from Senegal regarding Ndow’s case. “The UN and regional African countries need to provide support for getting them information on their loved ones.”
Camara told BuzzFeed she will not go back home as long as Janneh remains in power.
“You cannot have a country where all the people are running away,” Camara said. “There are a lot of Gambians who want to go home.”
Trigger warning: This article or pages it links to contains information about sexual assault and/or violence, which may be triggering to survivors.
I dry my tears so that I can see what I’m writing. I can’t stop the deep rage that has ignited within me after reading the soul-shaking letter of the woman (who chooses to remain unnamed) whom Brock Turner, a freshman Stanford University swimmer, violently assaulted and raped last year.
He took the case to trial and was found guilty, but was only given a sentence of six months in prison. This was a sentence shorter than the standard minimum because prison would have a severe impact on him.” The woman’s letter response explains how the rape had a severe impact on her.
I try to organize my thoughts in reaction to what I’ve just read, but I can’t. Ever since I was sexually assaulted by a family member a few months ago, I’ve lost all ability to ground my emotions. It took me seven months to ground myself.I spent weeks feeling nothing, detached from my body, from people, from the pain. I took myself to a counselor in a clinic for women like me,” aka victims of rape and sexual abuse.
Isthat who I amnow? Isthat me?
I was shaking in fear. I had a rash on my chest, and my stomach was empty as I tried in vain to look for the secret door in the hospital that promised me safety. I found a smile and a nice woman who was proud of me for writing him an email after it happened.
She told me to continue my daily yoga practice and to keep writing. I did those things, and they didn’t help. So, I took myself to a private therapist who specialized in cases like mine, but when I went to the wrong address and called her to explain, her stern, frustrated voice explaining her cancellation fees sent me in dizzy spirals of loneliness, helplessness and mistrust.
I sobbed the whole way home before I called to cancel indefinitely. How could I divulge such personal pain to a woman who was counting minutes and percentages? I took myself to another therapist who kept trying to refer me, hesitant to handle such a sensitive case. Thousands of dollars and a few weeks later, I was able to look my assaulter straight in the eyes and take every inch of power he had stolen from my spirit and my body.
But, the hole is still there. The hole doesn’t go away.
I’m doing much better. I had never been more sick in my entire life. Flu after infection after virus, my immune system collapsed from all the hurt my heart carried. My relationships with my family are much stronger. The strain of tiptoeing around explanations of bad moods, bad dreams and bad memories are now over.
I couldn’t stay with this family member. I couldn’t go to that dinner. I couldn’t say anything to anyone because I didn’t want to compromise my assaulter knowing the way his wife, his children and my family would look at him. I was making excuses for a man whohad drilled a hole in thesafety that was the trust I felt in my family.
Just like Turner’s victim, I still cry all the time. I cry for no reason. I no longer take the back alley I was so used to walking every morning to my yoga shala. Instead, I prefer the busier main street these days, just in case. My boyfriend can’t touch me when he says something I don’t like. No one can.
My body now rejects anything that carries the slightest wind of danger. I break down in gasps of air and tears if a woman gets hurt in a movie, if I read about her pain in a book, if I hear of men going to strip clubs for a bachelor party so they can stare at women on a stage.
I don’t follow the news, but I feel that deep rage again. The rageI feel now is the same rage I feltwhen a 16-year-old was rapedby 33 different men in Brazil, her bloody legs blasted all over social media. It’s the same rage I feel when a rapist receives six months in prison because jail would be too scary for a man with a swimming record like his. It’s the same rage I feel when I write my story and hear my friends’ stories.
Just because we have vaginas doesn’t mean history can continue to fuck us. Just because we can receive doesn’t mean we want all the crap the world wants to dump inside us, leaving it there for us to carry.
Rape is a war tactic for a reason. It breaks you. Your body can be in a million pieces, but that doesn’t hurt like the guilt, the shame and the feeling that there is nowhere to go in this world that is safe not even your own body.
The woman Turner raped was forced to relive, recount and return to her trauma multiple times in public and in front of a jury, as if what happened to her was a bedtime story so easy for her to tell. She was sent back to experience her assault every single time she was forced to defend herself to the judge.
The moments after my assaulter stuck his hands between my legs, I started shaking. My teeth started chattering, tears dropped into the tea I had been making for both of us. My mind shut down, telling me I had made everything up. I must have imagined it. I could have only hallucinated something so awful.
I was out of the country and staying in the home of his family. Everyone else was gone that day except for me and him. I had no internet, no phone and nowhere to go. His family came back that night, but I feared going in the shower, changing my clothes and going to sleep. It was days before I could tell someone. And when I did, it was a friend thousands of miles away who knew no one in my family. I sent every detail in a text message, not trusting my memory to remember in the future.
To travel into what I experienced that afternoon still shatters me, so I don’t. I focus on the strength I’ve stolen back from it, the voice I’ve made stronger. Turner’s victim never had that option. The dirt and abrasions in her vagina are nothing compared to how many times she had to reopen her wounds to have a court believe her.
At the end of her response, she states she is with girls everywhere, that she is with me. But, I am writing this to tell her we’re with her, too.
Reading what she addressed to Turner and the court, I cried because I recognized myself in everything she wrote. Her depression, isolation, her anger I was there too. And slowly very slowly I’m getting out of it.
The day I met my boyfriend was the day I decided to tell my father about what had happened. I wanted the chance to heal, to open and to love. I didn’t deserve for that to be taken away from me. No one does. They have both patiently watched me heal and grow from this suffering that never should have been mine to handle, and they have helped me feel safe again in my own body and out in the world.
Telling my story has been a channel for my healing because I saw how many of us have lived and felt what Turner’s victim have felt. It hurts my stomach still to use that word: “victim.”
I don’t want to be a victim. That’s not who I am. I experienced victimization, but what I am is a strong woman. I have a voice and a body, and I will use both to be heard, to listen to the stories of others and to protect myself. Turner’s victim, to me, isn’t a victim anymore. She’s using her voice and her body the way I now use mine.
A rapist’s swimming times should have nothing to do with his sentence. You can use your voice to let the case’s judge know how you feel and make sure he doesn’t get reelected again.
If you’ve been victimized, don’t stay a victim. There is help, and there is so much hope. Life is so beautiful, even with all the pain. If you’ve experienced anything like what so many women have, don’t just know, feel that you are not alone. Find what type of therapy works for you. Most cities will have free clinics a quick Google search can direct you to. Send me an email. Reach out.
You are not alone.We tell our stories so that we can hold you, too.
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