Infidel by Kenechi Uzor

Infidel by Kenechi Uzor

I moved to Lagos for the infidel girls, the Christian girls Idris said abounded in that city. I moved for new life, and to find my cousin, Idris. Allah would help me with a job as a Motorcyclist or Shoe-shiner or Mai guard. But the girls I would get for myself. It was thoughts of the Christian girls that made my nights in Tofa so long, thoughts that blew on the flames that burned my heart for Lagos. No longer could I bear the Muslim girls of Tofa, with their hijabs and scents of fura and dawa.

I told Baba that Idris had found a Job for me in Lagos, and Allah be praised.

To convince my father on anything, you had to speak of Allah’s will and stare off to a distance with eyes narrowed and shoulders resigned to Allah’s supremacy. Baba would nod. Baba would agree. Baba would narrow his eyes too in obeisance to the Almighty.

Allah willed a lot of things in my lifetime, most of which the Almighty had not even known about.

Last I heard from Idris was three years earlier, when he came home without money but with stories of money and the great city of Lagos with the longest bridge in Africa, with stories of infidel girls with their long eyelashes, longer legs and easier ways.

Though Baba nodded to Allah’s will, I knew he did not see anything wrong with my life in Tofa. He would prefer I moved to Kano city, an hour away by car and half a day by donkey.

In Tofa, time had no potency and life slumbered. Without heart, nights came after the days and the rains came after the harmattan, without fail. I grew up with the silent sounds of the long nights and in days that stretched and merged till they ceased to be differentiated by names. My feet knew Tofa’s depths and bush paths, and once, as a boy, I had navigated the village blindfolded, imitating blind Aliyu.

The morning I left Tofa, we stood outside my father’s compound with its low fence of dry reeds and millet stalks. Baba gave me a hundred naira and a reminder to spend it here and there and not at one sitting. He told me to stay close to our people and be wary of the infidels.

“Do not talk back at them,” he said. “Unbelievers will hate you. They will try to cheat you and treat you like a cow. Be a cow to them— you will be safer that way. Allah guide you.”

A cow mooed from the pen behind the compound and my mother left hold of the fence and came to cry over me. My little brother watched, finger in nostril, large eyes blinking, morose.

I took a train from Kano and the train broke down in the bushes nowhere and took three days to fix. All that time, I shared a coach with a herd of cattle and Fulani herdsman on their way to Lagos abattoirs. I survived on the cow milk and wara the herdsmen graciously shared with me. When we arrived finally at the Iddo terminus, the cattle and I had gotten well acquainted, unified in appearance and smell.

The Iddo terminus looked like a huge market without stalls. It was bordered on one side by dead trains and trucks, and on the other side, fat, dirty buildings tried to touch the sky. The air shouted with voices and honks, and an underlying ear-filling rumble, much like the roar of River Hadejia, made you want to swallow air to free your ears. Lagos was the colour of mud and charcoal—the way we got after our tumbles in the first rains of Tofa.

There were too many animals in Lagos— driving, walking, all in great haste. I couldn’t tell what danger was behind the rush or what direction it came from. There were no spaces, even in my head, no space to think. The air was heavy, angry, and hard to breathe in. My eyes hurt from glimpses too fast, too much. I saw everything and everyone, but nothing looked back, no one saw me. I was shooed and shoved, pulled and pushed in every direction until I was smeared on the sidewall of an alley. There I hunkered with my face between my knees, trembling, sweating and heaving.

A muezzin’s call braved through the din; a familiar note amidst alien babble. A smile threatened my misery. As the call carried through, I detected its strange and nasal quality and knew the muezzin was a mere convert. True Muslims had Muslim ancestry and called for prayers with no modifications. But I craved respite, and with hope that a mosque would be a mosque anywhere, I entered again into the commotion and willed my eyes to spot the minaret.

In vain I searched, and with no luck with even a mosque, I began to despair and lose hope of finding Idris or any of the other goals I had set for Lagos.

It was only at dusk that I saw an uplifting sight. Leaning beside one of the fat buildings was a tea stall, complete with its table stack of noodles, tins of milk and sardine. This I knew to be a common trade of my people. My feet grew lighter as I drew closer; my chest expanded as I saw men in danshiki and heard words in Hausa. I saw other trademarks of my people: motorcycles, water carts, shoe shiner boxes, and trays filled with Kolanuts and root herbs. A man stood to the side roasting beef and chicken suya over a charcoal grill.

A tea stall was never just that. Like our mosques, a tea stall was our community centre in foreign land. There were many of these centres flung over Lagos. They thrived from dusk to midnight, and for those hours, you could forget you were not home in distant Hausa land. Our women clustered there too, with wares down before them, frying kwosei and yams, and loitering, selling hot corn pap and themselves. This was where talk and events from home were shared to the background drone of the BBC Hausa Radio Service.

As I waited for the Mai shayi to serve me, I picked up the conversation swirling around the stall. The police had raided the transport park again and made away with motorcycles. A lanky youth addressed as Jihad was one of the victims, and his tall frame shook as he shared his frustration. It had taken him a full year to finish the payments on that motorcycle and only two weeks later for Lagos State government to ban the use of motorcycles for commercial transport. Today they had seized the motorcycle.

My joy and relief at finding my people was not reciprocated. The evening was far from happy for the motorcyclists congregated in the stall. Most of them, like Jihad, were young men from Michika, Adamawa State, encouraged to come south in droves when their townsman, Colonel Buba Marwa, was military administrator of Lagos. There were a few old people my father’s age, like the man they called Alhaji Chinaka, who sold dollars and wasn’t as big as his oversized caftans made him look. He sat closest to me on the bench this evening, brooding, dipping large chunks of bread into his bowl of hot corn pap.

“They are the ones who claim to know better,” he said, commenting on the police raid. “But if the government decides to put young men out of honest livelihood, then they are calling trouble.”

“Wallahi,” said Jihad, slapping the table for emphasis, “Trouble is what they will get. They will get it, by Allah. Their plan is to chase us back to the north. That is all they want. As if we don’t have rights to stay anywhere in our own country.”

“Easy, Jihad,” said Mai Shayi, eyeing the stacks of noodles and milk cans on Jihad’s table. “Wasn’t everyone affected by the ban? It wasn’t just our people.”

“Maybe we should go back north. Maybe our people should stop rushing over here the way they do,” said Alhaji Chinaka. “Times have changed, and I think it is obvious now in this country that people are safer in their homelands.”

“Our people are still coming over, Alhaji, every day. Like this young man sitting beside you.” The Mai Shayi smiled as he served me a plate of noodles. “I can always tell the newcomers. They smell the same.”

Alhaji Chinaka gave me a handshake. The others looked up, and gestured their welcomes. And the advice began to fly: there was a mosque not far from here and used mostly by our people; I was not to go near any church for my own safety, not to go near their children, male or female; wear my dagger always, and never look the police in the eye. If I needed a woman, I should look to the ones here or follow them for their sisters in any of the angwa where our people lived.

When the Mai Shayi came for his money, I asked him if he knew my cousin, Idris.

“Idris? Which Idris?”

“Idris Musa, a dan Kano from Tofa, tall like full-grown millet and as thin.”

“Ah, many people bear Idris Musa in Lagos, Mai Shayi said, looking around. “That one over there, sitting on the motorcycle is Idris Musa. One Idris Musa died last month—fell off a moving truck… I think there was another Idris Musa— Allah forgive him— he married an infidel and hasn’t been seen in these parts since.” Mai Shayi raised his voice and asked the other men if they knew my cousin. I described him again, but no one was sure if they knew him.

Trade dwindled as night gained. A late train thundered by, whistling confidently to itself. I realized that I had not left the vicinity of the Iddo terminus, having merely wandered in circles during the afternoon. At night, the terminus was an abandoned battlefield. Things lay as if destroyed, and bundles littered the ground like dead bodies. Flickers and flashes came from inside the dead trains and trucks. Beyond the lights was danger.

The Mai Shayi took off his skullcap and began to turn the benches over for the night. “Listen,” he said to me. “I am sure in Tofa everybody knows every other, but this place is even bigger than Kano; it may take you years to find your cousin, if he is alive. It will be easier to find a place to sleep near our people, and tomorrow, Insha’Allah, you will find something to do if you want to work.”

I bade him good night, and staying in the light, I walked in the direction most leaving the stall had gone. I soon found the mosque; it looked like any old hall, even a church. I had not seen it during the day because it had no minaret. I slept on a prayer mat that first night in Lagos, chilled by the wind blowing through the mosque’s windows.

#

There were many jobs in Lagos for a man without pride or fear for diseases. Humility was a virtue held strongly by my family, and as for diseases, one would get only what Allah wished him to have. My first job in Lagos was as one of the dustbin boys that filled the government’s garbage trucks as they rumbled around the city dumps. I got fifty naira for a day’s worth of work and stench.

In the evenings, I went back to the Mai Shayi’s stall to eat and be among our people. The arguments were always the same: our people and their people, and the treatment between our peoples. And Boko Haram.

“In Yola, Adamawa,” said BBC Hausa Service, “seven children were killed and fifteen others injured in an attack on a school by armed men suspected to be of the Boko Haram sect.”

“Wai Allah!” exclaimed Mai Shayi as he added cubes of sugar to a customer’s cup of tea. “Why kill innocent children? Why? Our people never do things right!”

A piece of fried yam on its way to Jihad’s mouth stopped abruptly and began to tremble. “Our people? Mai Shayi, did you just say our people? How can you say they are our people? Do you know anyone who is a member of Boko Haram?”

“That is a good question, Jihad,” said Mai Nama, the butcher whose breaths came in wheezes and snorts.

“If they are not our people, who are they, then?” asked Mai Shayi.

“Well, they are not our people, is all I know,” said Jihad, chomping heavily on the piece of yam. “Our people are the ones dying—”

“It doesn’t matter who they are, really,” interrupted Alhaji Chinaka. “They could be from Mali, Niger or Chad… anywhere. What matters is that they stop the killing—”

“Or at least they should take the fight to the right people.”

“Do not say things like that, Jihad. Who are these right people that deserve to be butchered? Who?”

“I don’t know, Alhaji? But I remember we didn’t feel too bad when all these started and only policemen and churches were being attacked—”

“The way you talk, Jihad!” said Mai Shayi. “Speak for yourself, please. The infidels, police, government, we all are Allah’s creation and one in his sight.”

Jihad stood. “Mai Shayi, I will stop coming to your stall! How dare you equate me, us, with infidels? How do you imagine that Allah sees us as equal? Allah cares only for his servants, the believers; the rest are children of Shaitan.”

“Both of you are missing the point,” said Mai Nama, snorting calmly. “All of these are happening simply because we are no longer in power. What do you expect when infidels are in government?”

Sometimes new voices would join the popular four, but most times, many of us used only our necks, ears and eyes to participate in the conversation.

#

I had spent two years in Lagos before I found my cousin, Idris. In that time I had gone from dustbin boy to Kolanut hawker, and then back to dustbin boy. Then I became a water seller. In that time, I had been beaten up twice. The first time was when I called a non-northerner my aboki. I learnt that day, painfully, that the same word that meant friend in Hausa meant stupid to the non-northerner and was reserved for use by them when addressing northerners. Allah gave me strength to act like I had no feeling. But I swear, many times, only cowardice kept me from using my dagger. In that time, too, I had been with women: Hajara, who wore nothing under her hijab, and Laraba, whose cries of pleasure almost got us discovered that first time under Mai Nama’s shop awning. I had not yet found an infidel woman.

One afternoon, late, as I pushed my water cart in some different part of Lagos, I heard my name called. I heard it twice, and my whole life truly flashed before me. My feet curled in my slippers, my head loomed and expanded like I had seen a djini. I trembled, for that name had been dead to me these two years. Our people here called me Dan Tofa, and the others called me aboki.

“Shettima.” It came again, strange and as far off as my homeland. I saw this homeland then, serene and otherworldly. I smelled the Hadejiya and the harmattan and bush fires. I felt the dignity of arewa, the sheer space and the calm; I saw Baba, my mother, my brother.

“Shettima!”

I turned towards the voice and saw it came from a shop where a man stood amidst display cases of gold jewellery and wristwatches. I did not recognize the face or the voice, but the owner was smiling, squinting, and picking his way quickly towards me.

I returned his embrace because it felt right.

“It is you, Shettima,” he said as if to convince me. “You are a man now, but Allah, it is you. Haba, dan uwa, don’t you recognize me?”

My hands crept to my head. “Idris!”

I flung myself at him. We hugged and clapped each other on the back and for the last time became boys back in Tofa. Tears that had loomed over the past two years began to leak out my eyelids.

Older by a few years, we had been close. I had looked to him and ran in his footsteps back home. As I looked at him now, I could barely see that childhood hero of mine. It darted into my mind how one could be the same person and yet changed. Idris wore jeans and a T-shirt, and looked much fatter than a full-grown millet. We laughed. I cried. We tried to talk about everything at once.

His home was not in any of the angwan Hausa. He lived in a gated compound in that part of Lagos, and he lived like them, like a proper Lagosian. Idris spoke English well and even Yoruba. His living room had plastic chairs and a centre table, and a small television sat on a low stool by the window. He even had a wooden bed in an inside room. From this room a young woman emerged and greeted us in English, and something about her presence challenged the great happiness of our reunion.

Idris stood a while, looking from her to me, and then he took a deep breath. “Jumoke, this is Shettima, my brother, and Shettima, this is —” He spread his hands in her direction, like a show master introducing a new act to an uncertain audience. He had a tentative smile on his face and his eyes were fixed on mine. It was an unsure look, hopeful, at once a plea, and again resigned. My smile wavered as I reached for the hand she offered and said a word or two in my little English. A toddler came out from the room, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at me and wrapped himself around the woman’s legs. I looked from the child to Idris’ face and it all became clear.

My cousin, Idris was that Idris Musa. Allah be merciful.

I turned and walked out of the room.

“Shettima.”

I wanted to keep walking, to dissociate myself completely from Idris and his abomination, but it was still something to hear my name in these parts.

“Shettima.”

He caught up with me outside the compound and we stood there, him searching my eyes and me looking somewhere beside his face. I followed him back to sit on a mat outside his living room. It had gotten dark and other occupants of the compound threw greetings as they came home. Clothes on a line waved gently as a breeze laden with the aroma of cooking passed through. Close by, a food grinder roared to life.

An infidel wife, an infidel son too. What could be worse? We had not spoken a meaningful word since the introduction. Idris seemed perturbed. I wasn’t sure if he was troubled by thoughts he should have had before his atrocity, or if my presence had refreshed old thoughts he’d suppressed over time.

“Idris, why?”

I understood the craving for strange women. I too, and many of our men, secretly longed for infidel women, but it was understood as a mere conquest, some kind of statement. No one went this far.

“Idris, why?”

“Shetimma, I don’t know. I don’t know, but I will do it all over again.” His eyes burned into mine, and it seemed they explained things even he couldn’t put in words, things my innermost being seemed to understand.

Still damp with our thoughts, we went in to eat. As I ate with Idris, an almanac flapped on the wall and I made out the words: Our Lady of Fatima Catholic Church. Idris followed my eyes and nodded solemnly at me.

“Oh Allah.” The laughter spurted from a distance inside me, and as it tumbled out, everything seemed pointless and absurd: the unwritten laws, taboos, infidels, humans, life.

My cousin looked at me a while, and then in jerks, he too began to laugh. It wasn’t clear if we were laughing for the same reasons. It didn’t seem to matter. The woman put her head through the curtain, smiled at our laughter and then brought us water. I loved her like an in-law at that moment.

Let a thing matter when it would, if it must, but for that moment, I laughed with my cousin Idris in the house he shared with his wife and child.

We talked far into the night. Idris did not explain his marriage or talk about the fears I knew he must have. He told me he had worked as a shoe shiner, as a motorcyclist, and then later apprenticed with an Alhaji who owned several jewellery shops, who eventually helped him start his own. He shocked me when he said he would soon be graduating with a diploma.

“You are an infidel now, Idris Musa,” I said ruefully. My cousin looked off into nothing and after a while, I saw his lips part in a smile. “Walahi, Shettima, I think I am. And I don’t know why.”

We laughed, gently at first, and then hard and long, the mirth salving our fears and uncertainty.

#

It was soon after I met Idris that I found Titi. Before I started sleeping with Titi, I was supplying water to her hair salon twice a day. After a week, I stopped accepting payment, content to see her tiny teeth when she smiled gratitude.

On the evening of that year’s Sallah, I took a bath, wore jeans and a T- shirt, and presented her with fried ram meat wrapped in paper. She laughed when she finally recognized me. I stayed a while, and we managed small talk. She kept looking at me and shaking her head with a smile. Every evening after that, I would wash myself, wear jeans, and sit in her shop to watch the small TV while she finished with late customers.

Alone together one evening, she put on a movie and a while into the film the people in the movie got naked and started climbing on each other. Titi took one look at me and began to laugh, then she turned the TV off and I left. The next evening she played the movie again and when I got up to leave, she blocked me off and locked the salon door.

That was the first time I slept with an infidel.

I started sleeping in Titi’s shop. She slept there too because the salon was also her home. At night she’d lock us in and would cradle me like my mother used to. She would ask me if I knew I was a fine man. She told me that I had a woman’s eyes, that I reminded her of pictures of men from Dubai and that if I grew my hair she could style it so I would look like a true Arab. I told her I was not an Arab, but I wished I was rich like them so I could take her to Mecca and Medina and Dubai. She liked to play with my thing and said it was very long and curvy. She said she loved my name, that it was the name of a boy in a book she had read in primary school. I told her the name was Kanuri, from my mother’s people. I liked her name too; I told her Titi in Hausa meant a wide, express road. She giggled and said she would open her road for me anytime I liked.

With my improving English and the little Hausa she said she learnt when she lived with an aunt in Kaduna, we got on well together. We got on well too on the thin mattress she unfurled at night in the middle of her salon. Many times when she moaned my name, I thought I was in paradise, in the arms of the Hur-al-ain virgins.

The first time I took her to visit Idris and Jumoke, Idris had laughed long, and when Titi frowned, he’d apologized and said that I would understand. She went into the room with Jumoke and they had a long talk together. That night Titi told me she wanted us to be like them.

I came back one evening and found a small kiosk had been built in front of the hair salon. Titi said it was my new shop and I would sell provisions because she didn’t want me hauling water like a common aboki. I told her that I liked being a common aboki. She said if I wanted to be near her, that I would try to be more like my brother, get some education and a better life. I got angry, we traded insults, and because it was all too much for me I left her alone for two weeks.

The night I went back to her salon she looked at me, cried, gave me a hug, and sent me to take a bath. Later that night, on the mattress, she took me on her wide, express road, and I agreed to everything she wanted, even the education. That was the first night I began to think about marriage and what it would be like if I had a life like Idris’.

#

The day it happened I was headed to Mai Shayi’s stall. I hadn’t been there in a long while, and as I walked again in the commotion of Iddo terminus I reflected on how little had changed, except that I now rushed too like the rest of the animals and shoved back when shoved.

I heard this great blast and felt the world move under my feet. There fell over Lagos a silence I never thought possible, a sort of underwater silence, silence far louder than the blast that had come before it. It lasted for some seconds and then it was like hell and its inhabitants were set loose. Chaos triumphed. It wasn’t yet clear what had made that boom, but it didn’t matter. The world was ending and nobody wanted to be in it. I ran with the world to nowhere. In the midst of the confusion, it filtered out that the Third Mainland Bridge had been blown apart and hundreds of cars had fallen into the lagoon. Boko Haram was suspected. As the news penetrated panicked minds, the unity in the chaos began to separate into identical groups. Our people began to run together and dusk lowered to night.

The attack on the mosque confirmed it: we were the enemies. Everyone from the north was Boko Haram. A yelling mass of people bearing weapons had run upon the mosque where we had gathered to catch our breath and consider. We scattered. Pain filled the air. I saw blood. I felt blows. I gave blows. I ran. I saw Mai Nama’s butcher knife strike once, twice. I saw him fall. Jihad flew past me, stained red. I ran, dodged, ran. I ran for most of the night.

It was when I saw the compound that I realized where my heart had been herding my feet. Idris’s compound was not burning well, more smoke than fire came from the buildings. I crouched by the gate and listened, my heart thumping. I heard no screams, no human sounds. I hoped. The fire picked up, crackling and whistling, and from its light I saw bodies lying still on the ground. I made my way to Idris’s door and saw I didn’t need to enter. Idris was beside Jumoke, both of them bloody and battered, lying in that unmistakable twist of death. I knew what the dark wetness under my feet was. I remembered the child only when I saw his body split on the threshold. Across the compound, the fire found something that made it boom.

I left my heart down there with my cousin Idris.

The kiosk and salon were on fire when I approached just before dawn, and I knew then just how the cow must feel when the butcher’s knife makes the first throat slash. I was too late. They had gone there for me quicker. All around, screams thrust the air and fires raged. I had no heart left in me to grief, yet I wailed for my Titi. What had they done to her? What had I brought on her? I could feel my blood draining as my eyes glazed over. Coward that I was, I let the blood drain, I let the eyes glaze.

“Shettima!”

Things the sound of a name on the right lips could do. My blood gushed, my eyes flashed and beamed. She had seen me. It was her voice. My Titi was about. I drew my dagger. I had yet my body, and for her I would lay it down.

“Shettima!”

I saw her then, my darling Titi, running through the crowd and fire, and waving, waving me away.

“Run, Shettima, run!”

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  23. I do believe all of the concepts you’ve offered in your post. They’re very convincing and will definitely work. Nonetheless, the posts are very short for beginners. Could you please prolong them a bit from next time? Thank you for the post.

  24. More recently, research has demonstrated a similar phenomenon in terms of how people perceive emotions of BIPOC employees in the workplace, compared to their white counterparts. Even when workers adhere to ‘standard’ feeling rules, evidence suggests BIPOC workers – particularly, black employees – must also manage the emotions they produce in others or risk negative consequences.

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  25. This kind of ‘ableist’ language is omnipresent in conversation: making a “dumb” choice, turning a “blind eye” to a problem, acting “crazy”, calling a boss “psychopathic”, having a “bipolar” day. And, for the most part, people who utter these phrases aren’t intending to hurt anyone – more commonly, they don’t have any idea they’re engaging in anything hurtful at all.

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  26. The penthouse had been refurbished by luxury property developers Candy & Candy after a fire that broke out while it was the London home of the singer, Duffy. The estate agent was Knight Frank. But quite who had bought the flat remained unclear to the outside world, thanks to British tax haven secrecy.

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  27. I simply desired to thank you very much once more. I am not sure what I might have worked on without these techniques shown by you over my area. This has been an absolute frightening issue in my opinion, nevertheless considering your expert avenue you resolved it made me to jump for contentment. I will be grateful for this work and thus sincerely hope you are aware of a powerful job you happen to be carrying out training some other people all through your webpage. Probably you’ve never encountered any of us.

  28. Through Liban Trek and the LMT, Moufarege is working to create a new national hiking culture that aims to teach Lebanese and international hikers about the country’s diverse landscapes – from the wild oak and pine forests of the northern Akkar District to the lakes and vineyards of the Beqaa basin to the monasteries and chapels set into the mountainsides of the Qadisha Valley – while also to teaching Lebanon’s often-fragmented sects more about each other.

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  29. “The smallpox epidemic of 1862 to ’63 was conducted along the same trade routes that had provided Indigenous people with wealth and commodities,” she said. The epidemic killed an estimated 60-90% of a population that was conservatively estimated at 200,000, and according to Canadian magazine Maclean’s, it resulted in “a crisis that left mass graves, deserted villages, traumatized survivors and societal collapse and, in a real way, created the conditions for modern-day British Columbia”.

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  30. But research offers a different take on the imperatives driving this phenomenon, for both mothers and fathers. Competitive parenting may in fact be a coping mechanism for individuals responding to feelings of vulnerability or inadequacy in another area of their lives. For instance, when we feel threatened in one arena, such as our professional roles, we seek to restore our standing via another arena, such as parenting.

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  31. Her women-led business showcases local ingredients grown on-site and by local farms. “Eighty five percent of all of our food is imported, and I have committed my life to change this reality,” said Diaz. “I want people to experience our real Puerto Rico, with what we grow and how we live, and change Puerto Rico’s food system to be more sustainable, nutritious and fair.” As part of that, the farm offers regular pop-ups showcasing ingredients like locally caught lobster and locally grown yucca, pumpkin and breadfruit.

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  32. Using scans of five small 1840s canoes in the museum’s collection, they puzzled together the methods for building a canoe using bark from the native stringybark tree. Their 5.35m-long canoe remains on display in TMAG, and Thomas has gone on to build canoes for the likes of the Maritime Museum of Tasmania, the biannual Wooden Boat Festival and a national-park installation in remote Southwest National Park. He’s currently making a canoe for the Australian National Maritime Museum in Sydney.

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  33. To shift course and truly tackle deforestation, Brazil must start channeling resources into its federal enforcement agencies again, putting more agents on the ground and punishing illegal incursions into the forest, says Andreia Bonzo Araujo Azevedo, co-leader of public policy at the Brazilian Coalition on Climate, Forests and Agriculture. The aim should be to send a clear message that illegal deforestation won’t be tolerated.

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  34. But implementation of these schemes has lagged, limiting their impact. Astrini estimates the ABC Plan has only been rolled out across 1% of agricultural production so far. Similarly, innovations – like productivity gains or “Carbon Neutral Beef” – that could help the cattle industry reduce its carbon footprint have failed to gain traction without a push from the government, he notes.

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  35. It would also have made it hard for Kenya to meet its commitment to reduce its CO2 emissions 30% below business-as-usual levels by 2030. The plant was expected to release nearly nine million tonnes of CO2 per year, doubling the emissions of Kenya’s energy sector and increasing national emissions by up to 10%, according to DeCOALonize. The Kenyan government pulled the plug on the project in November 2020 after the country’s National Environment Tribunal ruled against it on the grounds that the authorities had failed to do a thorough environmental assessment.

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  36. who have been eligible to get the vaccine since summer 2021), according to the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control (ECDC). This make them two of the only places likely to avoid a winter resurgence says the ECDC director, and among the safest places to travel in 2021. Visitors to Malta must be vaccinated themselves if they want to skip a 14-day quarantine.

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  37. Visitors definitely need to be prepared for Denver’s high altitude, famously known as the “Mile-High City” for being 5,280ft above sea level. “Drink plenty of water before and during your trip, and talk to strangers as much as you’re comfortable,” advises resident Kara Patterson, founder of travel blog Destination: Live Life. “We are all pretty helpful around here!”

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  38. As more than 71% of LA locals are fully vaccinated and 79% have one shot, a sense of normalcy has finally returned to the City of Angels, say residents. That said, many events and restaurants here require proof of vaccination and matching photo ID for indoor entry, so visitors should always have those on hand. But outdoor dining and activities still reign supreme here, thanks to Southern California’s year-round sunny skies and warm weather.

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  39. Eight years after launching Liban Trek, Moufarege played a key role in the creation of the Lebanon Mountain Trail (LMT), a 470-km path spanning the country from north to south and connecting more than 75 ethnically diverse towns and villages. Inspired by the US’ Appalachian Trail, the route “showcases the natural beauty and cultural wealth of Lebanon’s mountains”, and has helped to put the small Mediterranean country on the international hiking map.

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  40. Although the couple had a background in the cheese industry (Katherine had worked as a continental cheese importer and John in supermarket supply), this was a new direction. With three experienced cheesemakers working for them, they began researching local and historical cheese recipes. Over a six-year period, they perfected their brand of cheddar, eventually persuading local landowner Lord Bath to allow them to store some of their cheese in the same caves that gave the original cheddar its unique taste centuries earlier.

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  41. But while cheddar was being recreated around the globe, it remained quintessentially British. In 1840 Queen Victoria received a massive cheddar “drum” weighing 558kg as a wedding gift. And Royal Navy officer Robert Falcon Scott took nearly 1,600kg of the stuff with him on board The Discovery during his famous 1901 expedition of Antarctica.

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  42. Catherine shares this routine with 175 million Nigerians – more than the number of people living in the UK, France, Portugal and Belgium combined – who rely on wood, charcoal and other polluting varieties of biomass for fuel. Overall, nine in every 10 Nigerians lack access to clean cooking. On a global scale, the country comes only behind China and India in terms of the numbers of people living without access to clean cooking.

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  43. I’m impressed, I must say. Actually rarely do I encounter a weblog that’s both educative and entertaining, and let me let you know, you could have hit the nail on the head. Your thought is excellent; the problem is one thing that not sufficient people are speaking intelligently about. I’m very joyful that I stumbled across this in my search for one thing regarding this.

  44. The World Canine Organisation officially recognises around 370 different breeds, including the fashion-victim Chinese Crested, with its nude, greyish body accessorised with tufts of long blonde fur; the Puli – essentially a living mop, with its full coat of long dreadlocks – and the aspiring lion, the Tibetan Mastiff, famous for its massive size and long golden mane.

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  45. One dog that personifies this trend is the Newfoundland, which originally hails from the eastern Canadian province of the same name – a frigid, coastal region where parts have a polar or subantarctic climate. With their fluffy, bear-like appearance, the type became a popular pet in 18th Century Britain, particularly among the upper classes.

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  46. active autonomic nervous system Inhibitory enzymes and ethanol to improve symptoms of cancer such as leukemia surgical treatment Non-invasive primary carcinoid excision is the most suitable surgical method and radical treatment can be performed at an early stage. For younger patients who want to be treated functioning of the reproductive system A unilateral pituitary gland surgery can be performed. For older women who do not need to maintain reproductive function. Bilateral organs and uterus are possible. supplemented with chemotherapy

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  47. Away from the vents though, it’s a different matter entirely. Sea anemones, snails, molluscs and a rainbow of corals flourish in the vicinity. And outside the Milky Sea zone, the waters around Turtle Island are some of Taiwan’s richest fishing grounds, teeming with marine life carried by the warm Kuroshio Current that flows northwards to Japan. Testament to this bounty is the prevalence of top predators – schools of dolphins. They are the main attraction of trips to the island, and indeed as my tour left the Milky Sea and coasted east, an enormous pod of spinner dolphins appeared; their grey-streaked bodies twisting, torpedoing and somersaulting around the bow.

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  48. When I got my first glimpse of the head-end of Schiehallion from the northern shores of Loch Rannoch, I realised that it could almost pass for a volcano, with its steep sides tapering upwards to a sharp point. This was exactly the kind of mountain requested by Maskelyne in 1772 when setting fellow astronomer Charles Mason about the task of finding something of suitable bulk to survey.

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  49. Maskelyne requested that observation stations be built on Schiehallion’s steep north and south slopes, at points closest to the mountain’s centre of mass. From here, a pendulum was hung, pulled towards the centre of the Earth by our planet’s own, superior gravitational force. Crucially, Maskelyne needed to prove that Schiehallion’s gravity was drawing the bob of the pendulum away from its vertical position.

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  50. Scientific discovery is not unlike hiking up a cold, damp, cloudy mountainside. But this 18th-Century feat cleared a great deal of mist for future astronomers and physicists, not to mention the many hikers who attempt to reach the peak of Schiehallion every day in homage to this geological marvel’s contribution to our understanding of the cosmos. And thanks to those experiments, those ingenious contour lines will always give us a sense of a mountain’s shape, even when our eyes cannot.

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  51. “We need to safeguard these ancient professions. It’s also part of passing them down generation to generation, from master to pupil,” said Pardoën. “If this disappears, the chain breaks and it could take us 20 to 30 years to rediscover the gestures of a traditional craftsman back in the day. And understanding the past’s sounds helps us understand history and the present even better.”

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  52. Today, Trypillia’s legacy is being revived through fashion. Ukrainian designer Svitlana Bevza has found inspiration in the female-centred art of the ancient civilisation and uses her line of Trypillia-influenced clothing and jewellery as a way of celebrating the culture, its reverence toward women and its connection to nature. She said it’s unjust that “this great culture is not that well-known in the world – as Egyptian, for instance. There was no voice to the world who could talk about this culture”.

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  53. “These pieces are sacred,” he said. “The burial items carry the spirits of our ancestors with them.” The exhibit just finished its run at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum, and moves to the Birmingham Museum of Art in Alabama in October 2021, before making its final stop the following March at the Dallas Museum of Art in Texas.

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  54. Matthew Weiner, who was a writer and producer on later seasons of The Sopranos, would go on to create Mad Men (number 2 in the poll), which centred on mesmerising ad man Don Draper; like Tony, he was another chronic compartmentaliser who used sex in the same evasive, isolating way that his predecessor used violence. Terence Winter, another key architect of The Sopranos’ later seasons, created Boardwalk Empire and the crooked politico Nucky Thompson, cut from this same cloth. (The odd anti-heroine also popped up here and there, like Edie Falco’s miscreant Nurse Jackie and Mary-Louise Parker’s suburban drug dealer on Weeds, though both of those shows somewhat lightened themselves with comedy.)

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  55. But if newly minted antiheroes aren’t exactly fashionable anymore, audiences are still enamoured by the golden oldies: the followings for the ’00s heavyweights only continue to grow, with the international lockdowns generating many reports on how and why The Sopranos has become a favoured binge-watch. All the while, antihero shows have kept getting the green light, albeit to more unabashedly populist ends.

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  56. BoJack Horseman started off, quite deceptively, like just another animated show for adults. It’s about a man (a horse, actually) who’s stuck in the past, reliving his glory days as a sitcom star on a banal ’80s show called Horsin’ Around. BoJack is an addict, has lots of ill-advised sex, and seems depressed – classic signs of edgy 21st-Century adult animation, in line with classics of the genre like The Simpsons and Family Guy.

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  57. All of the dark-tinged comedies cited in the BBC Culture top 100 are in English, and only one non-English comedy made the list at all: France’s Call My Agent! Meanwhile, several global dramas were ranked – The Bridge, Borgen, Money Heist, and others – suggesting that comedy is more difficult to translate in general, and dark comedy, with its subtleties, even more so.

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  58. To reduce Morocco’s emissions, “quick and radical” transformation of industries, urban planning and Morocco’s infrastructure must be put in place immediately, says Fatima Driouech, associate professor of meteorology at Mohammed VI Polytechnic University and a vice chair at the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change.

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  59. There isn’t much research looking at the mechanisms behind diet quality and sleep, but it could be down to tryptophan, a nutrient involved in synthesising the hormone melatonin in our bodies, which is released at night and involved in sleep. It’s found in protein-rich foods including cheese, as well as meat – especially turkey – as well as fish, buckwheat, oats and tofu.

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  63. In the wake of Floyd’s death, police sitcom Brooklyn Nine-Nine ditched its first four episodes of season eight, with the writers returning to the drawing board to configure plotlines reflecting a post-Floyd world. In an interview with Access Daily, actor Terry Crews said: “We have an opportunity and we plan to use it in the best way possible… they had four episodes all ready to go and they just threw them in the trash. We have to start over.” The opening five minutes of season eight’s first episode contain several references to Floyd and police brutality, and a key plotline involves a black woman reporting the inappropriate behaviour of police officers whose body cam footage was “mysteriously corrupted”. This season turned out to be the show’s last. Similarly, episodes in season seven of NCIS: New Orleans also incorporated contemporary references, including a plotline involving a Black Lives Matter activist.

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  64. They’re the figure we find cathartic yeTasker says this kind of portrayal will always be appealing because it “exposes and expresses a frustration with systems of criminal justice”. The maverick investigator who bypasses rules is “presented as an agent of justice, in ways that function only from the basis of a fundamental belief in that character’s integrity”.t inspirational as they can stick it to the man in ways we wouldn’t dare to, in our mundane existence of meeting KPIs and filling out spreadsheets for our superiors. We can also relate to them in terms of just how hectic and stressful modern life can be.”

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  65. which still needs to be completed also came out of suspicion procrastination caused by a lack of priorities Postponement of the first important task Not because we’re stupid But because we want to see a new movie or go see a show or even just sitting in front of the computer by imitating that action

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  66. Perched on steep, verdant terrain, 10th-Century Rijal Almaa is a cluster of some 60 stone fortresses rising approximately 20m in height. Once a commercial trade centre between Yemen and Hejaz (and connected to the Levant by the Red Sea), the former hanging village is now a tourist attraction and a popular summer destination for locals when temperatures across the rest of Saudi Arabia run as high as 40C. During high season, visitors can enjoy traditional dance performances, a lightshow on the history of the region and local handicraft markets.

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  67. Painter Lubaina Himid says her work is not about making something pretty. “I don’t expect you to attend a show of mine and go: ‘It’s very beautiful’. That’s not what it is,” she tells BBC Culture over a video call. Instead, her paintings are designed to make people think about their relationship to history, and what gets left out of textbooks.

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  68. One of the pivotal pieces of work Himid produced in the 1980s was the installation A Fashionable Marriage (1984-6), titled after Hogarth’s Marriage A-la-Mode: 4, The Toilette, (1743). Hogarth’s painting mocked the cultural practices of the 18th-Century elite. Similarly, Himid’s Marriage, which features 11 life-size cutouts, remarks on racism and sexism in the art world and also the relationship between the UK and the US at the time. In Himid’s work, Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan take the place of the lovers in Hogarth’s original painting and the two black figures, almost insignificant in the 18th-Century artwork, have become key characters in Himid’s piece.

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  69. The largest of Kokoschka’s three panels originally hung on the ceiling of a London townhouse. An Anglo-Austrian count and art collector named Antoine Seilern commissioned the triptych in 1950, and is thought to have hung the other two canvases on the walls beneath. Startling as it must have been to stroll into Seilern’s hall on Princes Gate, Knightsbridge, and gaze up at the apocalypse unravelling above, the three paintings are really intended to be viewed together on the same plane. “Considerations of conservation mean we can’t put the paintings on the ceiling, but we are hanging them high on the walls and tilted forward at a dramatic angle, so it’s very immersive,” says Dr Barnaby Wright, deputy head of the Courtauld Gallery. “We removed them from their frames so there is less distance between the canvases. They are designed to be seen in continuum.”

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  70. Earlier this summer, a collection of Sylvia Plath’s personal items went up for sale at Sotheby’s. It included intimate love letters, recipe cards, a rolling pin, family photo albums and her and Ted Hughes’s gold wedding bands. The rings sold for a respectable $38,000 (£28,000) – but this was mere pocket change compared to the most sought after item in the lot: Plath’s personal tarot deck. Originally expected to fetch between $6,000 (£4,351) and $9,000 (£6,527), it eventually went for $206,886 (£150,037).

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  71. Experts say that this hidden work comes in three overlapping categories. There’s cognitive labour – which is thinking about all the practical elements of household responsibilities, including organising playdates, shopping and planning activities. Then there’s emotional labour, which is maintaining the family’s emotions; calming things down if the kids are acting up or worrying about how they are managing at school. Third, the mental load is the intersection of the two: preparing, organising and anticipating everything, emotional and practical, that needs to get done to make life flow.

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  72. Mothers are more stressed, tired and less happy than fathers, who are happier during childcare, research shows, in part because they tend to do the fun, recreational activities more often. One Swedish study showed that when women thought the distribution of the more obvious housework was unfair and perceptions of each partner’s contribution differed, it led to marriage problems and increased the likelihood of a split. The risk is also exhaustion for the mothers, who might initially ask for help, which can come across as nagging if it has to be repeated again and again. “And then that wears on relationships,” says sociologist Daniel Carlson of the University of Utah, who found that unequal distribution of caring responsibilities in couples can also lead to less sex.

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  73. In this part of Russia, oil is an important source of not only money, but pride. Since the 1960s, oil workers and engineers have been praised and featured as heroes in novels and movies. The local Museum of Geology, Oil and Gas is a major architectural landmark of the city. In the city’s airport, one can see photographs of oil workers and engineers from various decades through the 20th Century, including of Russia’s first president, Boris Yeltzin, meeting workers on an oil field.

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  74. Nevertheless, traditional industries will have to undergo “a serious transformation” in order to meet the goals of the Paris Agreement, Miroshnichenko adds. Together with the Ministry of Economic Development, the VEB created Russia’s first system of green finance in September, which aims to help financiers decide which projects are sustainable.

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  75. in profoundly premature babies The fontanel and sutures of the skull were all opened. Ears are relatively soft and easily bend. The nail bed is not completely covered with nails. poorly pigmented nipples and is almost invisible on the baby’s body There may be an underdeveloped external genitalia. As a rule, in newborns of the first degree and two of miscarriage Clinical symptoms are not so pronounced.

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  76. Flat White is a menu that has a good mix of coffee and a good amount of fresh milk. Therefore, the taste and aroma of coffee in small quantities. Suitable for new coffee lovers who are starting to drink coffee. Because it will have a taste that is not very strong or suitable for coffee lovers who do not like the intensity of coffee, but only like the smell.

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  77. Yet despite her efforts, Valland could not save them all, alas. A black and white photo of the room, probably from 1942, shows paintings by André Derain and Claude Monet, among others, that did not turn up post-war and most likely were destroyed. It’s impossible not to turn from this photo with a sense of gratitude for the presence of the glorious works on display here by Paul Cézanne, Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse, and Marc Chagall, among others.

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  78. Named after the industrialist and collector Samuel Courtauld, whose artworks formed the basis of the collection, the Courtauld Gallery is most renowned for its Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings – including those of Monet, Manet, Cézanne and Renoir – as well as its artworks by Rubens and earlier medieval and Renaissance works. Following the gallery refit, however, many less familiar works, especially those dating to the 20th Century, are being given a new lease of life. Kokoschka’s are some of the most arresting among them.

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  79. While Preikestolen is all about the rock platform views, Norway’s other stairways to heaven offer an array of secluded lookouts, coastal seascapes and city-wide panoramas. In Midsund, outside of Molde, the stone stairway is a procession of 2,200 steps up to Rørsethornet peak from where you’ll get a carousel view of ocean,

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  80. Like Colquhoun (who passed away in 2013) and her pouched pets, I, too, have a particular fondness for Loch Lomond and have spent countless days exploring it by foot and boat over the years. The largest lake in Scotland, Lomond is laced with 22 islands and 27 islets, mostly covered in dense woodland. It’s those islands, and specifically Inchconnachan, that had long piqued my interest. I was always keen to find out what – or who – was hopping around on these far-flung arboreous isles.

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  82. In fact, there’s mounting evidence that insects can experience a remarkable range of feelings. They can be literally buzzing with delight at pleasant surprises, or sink into depression when bad things happen that are out of their control. They can be optimistic, cynical, or frightened, and respond to pain just like any mammal would. And though no one has yet identified a nostalgic mosquito, mortified ant, or sardonic cockroach, the apparent complexity of their feelings is growing every year.

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  83. Geraldine Wright, a professor of entomology at the University of Oxford, gives the example of hunger, which is a state of mind that helps you to alter your decision-making in a way that’s appropriate, such as prioritising food-seeking behaviours. Other emotions can be equally motivating – rumblings of anger can focus our efforts on rectifying injustices, and constantly chasing happiness and contentment nudges us towards achievements that keep us alive.

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  84. First, the researchers trained a troupe of bees to associate one kind of smell with a sugary reward, and another with an unpleasant liquid spiked with quinine, the chemical that gives tonic water its bitter taste. Then the scientists divided their bee participants into two groups. One was vigorously shaken – a sensation bees hate, though it’s not actually harmful – to simulate an attack by a predator. The other bee crowd was just left to enjoy their sugary drink.

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  85. Heya this is kinda of off topic but I was wanting to know if blogs use WYSIWYG editors or if you have to manually code with HTML. I’m starting a blog soon but have no coding knowledge so I wanted to get advice from someone with experience. Any help would be greatly appreciated!

  86. Also, you can’t get your ears pierced while your child is sick. In principle, the ear piercing procedure is not difficult. But you should pay attention to when the child’s ears are pierced. This procedure has no serious side effects. But there are some restrictions. most of which are temporary as we understand You can’t pierce your ears when your child is sick. or have serious abnormalities in the body

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  87. There’s an urgency to hiring, for both parties involved. Once they apply, workers want to get into new jobs quickly, to start earning their salaries and snap into the rhythm of a novel position. Speedy hiring is also important for employers, since vacant roles cost companies both lost productivity and inefficient distribution of resources to compensate for empty seats.

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  88. which is suitable for gloss and lipstick with pearl shell. and highlights only Living Barbie dolls Dakota Rose, Venus Palermo and Valeria Lukyanova are the names of the girls whose Barbie dolls turn from toys to idols. And they do everything they can. And it is impossible to become like a famous doll. How To Become A Barbie Venus Palermo is a living doll from Great Britain.

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  89. Chudley believes that Morris’s respect for nature and his opposition to industrialisation also plays into his appeal. “We are seeing a huge love for craft and a handmade, carefully designed quality with our clients. I think a big part of this is a reaction to the digital surface world. Just as the Romantics retreated from overpowering industrialisation, people now are attracted to the sensory real-life experiences that seem to be choked out by social media.”

  90. “We are all longing for a ‘third place’ (somewhere that’s neither our workplace nor home) which allows us to be a different person,” says Robert Klanten, publisher and CEO of Gestalten, citing the kaffeehaus – or coffee shop – in the 1920s; the local bar in the 1960s; the club in the 1980s and 1990s. Today, he believes, the third place is a cabin. “We may unwind and recharge and eventually become a different person for a while or for good.”

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  91. Jayavarman II’s spiritual blessing marked the start of the Angkor Empire’s close relationship with water. However, it wasn’t until the capital shifted south to Rolous and then to its final resting place for more than five centuries – Angkor – that master engineers were able to use their skills to create the intricate water system that fed the empire’s rise and demise.

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  92. It is believed that the Hani arrived in the Ailao mountains, close to Yunnan’s modern border with Vietnam, around the 3rd Century, having migrated south from the harsh, barren and unforgiving Qinghai-Tibetan plateau. They were so enamoured by what they found there – fertile land, mild climate, plentiful rainfall – they chose to put down roots.

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  93. In 1965, 95% of the town’s residents voted against a road that would connect them with the valley below. But they weren’t insisting on isolation. Instead, the people of Chamois requested the construction of a cableway to replace the vertiginous old mule track that had long been the primary way up and down the mountainside. With a link to the nearest village of Buisson in the valley, Chamois would have its first easy connection to the growing web of roads uniting Italy – all without a town full of cars.

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  94. tumor level Tumors may be graded by tumor grade. In other words, grade 1 tumors are less aggressive and grade 3 tumors are the most severe for lung cancer. Your report might turn into a well-distinguished word. Slightly different? Different tumors tend to grow slowly. while undifferentiated tumors tend to grow faster. In addition to the general characteristics of cancer cells

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  95. I have not checked in here for some time because I thought it was getting boring, but the last several posts are good quality so I guess I’ll add you back to my daily bloglist. You deserve it my friend 🙂

  96. from Jan Asselijn’s terrifying painting The Breach of the Saint Anthony’s Dike near Amsterdam (which reconstructs the catastrophic tide that struck the Dutch coast in the wee hours of 5 March 1651) to German digital artist Kota Ezawa’s 2011 computer-generated work The Flood, inspired by media images of high water sinking neighbourhoods in the deep south of America.

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  98. Research suggests we’re more likely to engage with photos of fast food, says Ethan Pancer, professor of marketing at Saint Mary’s University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. This is particularly true of saturated fat, because it makes us feel good by releasing dopamine and stimulating pleasure centres in the brain. Humans are biologically primed to seek out calorie-dense food – an ability that helped our ancestors survive when they foraged for food.

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  99. He believes that while it’s “crucial that business leaders recognise why they need to invest in equipping their managers with the skills to manage people”, they also need to “take a step back and think, ‘OK, can we do things in a slightly different way’” for individuals who are valuable but happy where they are.

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  100. Still, the changing way we build our careers combined with the unprecedented impact of the pandemic have brought more flexibility. While employers might well still prefer a more traditional CV, experts suggest that a short stint or two in previous roles shouldn’t necessarily be a deal-breaker, as long as you can provide a good explanation for moving.

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  101. when it was adapted for the big screen under the new name Blade Runner in 1982, the film became one of cyberpunk’s most immortal works. Other formative cyberpunk creations include the Japanese manga series Akira (1982) and anime film of the same name (1988), William Gibson’s novel Neuromancer (1984) and Mike Pondsmith’s role-playing board game Cyberpunk 2020 (1988).

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  102. It may now be decades old, but cyberpunk is booming. /r/cyberpunk, a Subreddit dedicated to the genre, has over 620,000 subscribers and counting. Inspired by Pondsmith’s tabletop role-playing game, Cyberpunk 2077 – where players roam a lawless city 50 years in the future – is among the most popular video games of recent years, selling more than 10 million copies within a month of its launch in December 2020.

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  103. get together with friends and family, work, learn, play, shop, create,” added Zuckerberg, declaring that the metaverse would be Facebook’s – sorry, Meta’s – top priority henceforth. Facebook’s metaverse announcement has been followed by similar statements of intent from Disney and Microsoft, while more niche metaverses like virtual-reality platform Decentraland are already popular among dedicated online communities.

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  104. But in the years since, the Schaeffers have watched as climate change has put pressure on the species well-known to them, such as ringed seals. The winter of 2018 to 2019 was poor, particularly in terms of the amount of sea ice in an area the seals used for breeding, recalls Bobby. This meant the animals had less ice within which to dig their lairs.

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  105. Today, Chou is affectionately known as the “Old Mountain Monkey” among Taiwanese hikers, and he has hiked Taiwan’s 100 3,000m-plus peaks a record 16 times each. He also holds the record for traversing those 100 peaks in the fastest time. But personal feats aside, by spreading his love of hiking and educating countless others about Taiwan’s natural beauty, Chou has single-handedly changed the island’s hiking culture.

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  106. “We only had four people [and] 20-30kg packs,” Chou recalled. “No matter if there was rain, typhoon or earthquake, we had to go.” In the end, Chou and three others who made the attempt were able to ascend the 100 peaks in just 87 days, obliterating the previous record. The accomplishment itself isn’t what Chou recalls most fondly, but what they were able to do for others along the way.

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