Editorial

I am back in Spain, but not for long now as I have to get to London to finalise the appeal against the eviction from my flat I have endured whilst away in Africa. I am used to stress, I quite like it. It brings out a creativity. This was no more obvious than in Africa where I had returned for a second time to instate various permaculture projects. For the record these included a 1000ltr worm bin with a rabbit cage over the top, a dry-composting toilet with a palm surround, various beekeeping practices including collecting swarms, setting up an irrigation system for the whole farm, and designing and teaching permaculture under a new plot. All this information can be found at my Facebook page DestinationAfrica as well as in my journals and newsletters available through subscription on my Market page under 'Educations-publications'. Part of the ongoing development between SLP and MyFarm, a charity sponsored by a Norwegian NGO, includes setting up a volunteer exchange system. If you go to the News page there is a poster there with more information. Once you provide a CV you can look forward to an information pack, and on completion of your stay you may even get a certificate like this one. Likewise you will need to become a member.

The courtcase in London regards my groundfloor flat where the original Solteriologic Garden germinated. It is a wonderful garden still. I only hope that the appeal will grant me access. A copy of the Defense is available here, as I believe this is my page and prerogative where I can illustrate this without too much detriment to SLP. A full report will follow and a vision for London too, as now that a Possession Order had been put through I am effectively out on a limb with my garden business suffering for lack of habitation. Anyone so kind as to grant me a room please email me at eight.merlyn@virgin.net

  • White Man in The Gambia
    My journey starts from the womb of my mother
    Her mountains gave leg to me in their rising
    As an heir to her throne I strode upon her lofty peaks
    And looked out over her wondrous body unique
    There my people raised a flag in her honour
    And carried it like a loin clothe to her rivers
    But they felled the sacred woods to build the first forts
    And lost in time the origins of their birthing ports

    Now they stride against all nations in vain hope
    That a war will recuperate what has been lost
    But those bridges have been burned from their lack of faith
    To believe that only time will relieve them of their wrath
    For this the land must again provide for their economy
    So that every individual is set on a level footing together
    And then when everyone will see that they are all equal
    And nature will have restored them to a life in meek denial

    Gone will be those material excesses that blind a man to his role
    When he can look a donkey in the eye and raise his brow
    And take a bow in the manner that it serves his purpose
    And kiss it with an ardour and kinship familarness
    And so The Gambia calls me to loosen her boot laces
    To free up her toes and dry her sweating woes
    Like a breath of fresh air I breathe a new lease into her soil
    And bind her with sandals again to relinquish her toil
    Here we don't look to the north anymore like in the days of old
    We do not ask for those gifts that clothe its greed in treats
    We dig our own earth and drink our own waters
    No more imports for a nation that has enough for each beast and person
    The Gambia is a river of fish for fishermen to catch in their zeal
    With drifting sands that cover our prints after a hard day's toil
    Toing and froing in the ebbing of its gracious tides
    In the nets of abundance where all species mingle and confide

    Markets bustle with the hawking of its vendors
    Lessened by the sound of the Koran singing from its tors
    The unsuspecting are taken into its urgent pride and hospitality
    And whisked into a service unasked for yet polite
    That is the nature of the poor rather than beg with foul tongues
    It straightens their necks so that children can hold your hands
    Toubob is the label they stick on your breastplate
    To soften your armour and reveal you to your spirit
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