Americans are unmistakable. We’re usually the fattest of the whole bunch and enjoy being loud enough so that in case you did not see our hefty guts, you will most certainly hear them. We generally make little effort to learn the language past the words “hola”, “gracias”, and “cerveza” and when do make the effort to put together phrases, they usually leak out of our mouths sounding butchered and maimed, like they’ve been passed through a hand-powered meat grinder. We bathe in the tubs of excess: our burgers stacked extra high, our digital binoculars donned with super zoom.

In El Cangrejo, hungry taxi drivers love to prey upon American-looking folks such as myself. Beyond just driving taxis, these entrepreneurs are also concierges of sorts: able to point you to the finest strip clubs and massage parlors the city has to offer. They’ll present me a smorgasbord delights as if my simple walk to the grocery store was a jaunt through Sin City. “Hey brother,” they always say. “You want to see some beautiful ladies fighting in oil right now?” As I graciously decline, commenting that it is only ten in the morning and I have some grocery shopping to do, they often go for a last ditch effort: “Brother, I can get you all the beer you ever wanted!” Things like ladies fighting in oil and all the beer I ever wanted, are all at the drop of a dime for a tourist like me, and for this luxury, I feel extremely fortunate.

To blend in a bit more, I made myself a list of things which, if avoided, can spare me some embarrassment and help assimilate quicker. First off, asking where another tourist is from is a no no. The second someone says to me “and where are you from” or “so how are you enjoying your vacation”, they have given themselves away. They refuse to acknowledge that not everyone, even if it may look that way a lot of the time, is down here on vacation. Wearing anything obnoxiously touristy, such as mola-stitched shirts or the all-too-original Panama hat is just asking for it as well. Oh, and if you’re from Europe, please don’t wear your Capri pants or racing style velcro shoes, because they’re just about as obvious as strapping a Guinness to your head and singing football chants.

Panama is also seeing a lot of Canadians, whose “ehs” are really getting under my skin. They take up all the space at the bars asking for Labatts and requesting that the bar back change the channel to some meaningless hockey bout. Busloads of Canadians come in everyday asking if it’s OK to eat the lettuce, a question I’ve now come to respond to with “actually no, it’s not OK to eat the lettuce here. It contains salmonella and will start humming away at your intestine if you ingest even a single leaf.”

Having been in Panama for some time now, most would think I’ve become a local. Most would think I’ve developed a taste for fried hotdogs for breakfast and pickled quail eggs at soccer matches. Most would think I would’ve made lots of Panamanian friends by now, my skin thought to resemble a light beige horse saddle. But none of that is true. I may be considered a Panamanian in some respects: but truly, I’m a tourist at heart.

About Author

Chris Palsho –
About the Author:

Chris Palsho is a self proclaimed jack of all trades, expert in none. He does lots of Panama travel as well as Panama real estate.

Creating free online photo stories that illustrate what is unique and good about you is a much better idea. You could post photos of yourself winning an award or playing in your favorite sport. You might also consider posting photo stories that feature you doing a service project for a local charity. Anything that makes you look like a responsible person that is looking to achieve great things in life will make you more desirable to potential college admissions officials. This makes a great compliment to your college application and the photo stories you post should reflect and support the information you give there. If you volunteered at the local animal shelter to gain experience for a future career in veterinary medicine, post a photo story of you working closely with the animals, for instance.

And you don’t have to wait and see whether the college admission reps are going to Google you or not, just include a link to the photo sharing site right in your college application letter. This will show great initiative on your part and let the college know that you are creative and comfortable with a computer as well as sending whatever message and image you have created with your free online photo sharing stories. Image is everything and while it won’t compensate for lousy grades or low SAT scores, it may just give you the edge you need to outshine the competition and make it into your college of choice.

You may not get a chance to meet with the college admissions board in person until after they have made their decision so the only chance you have to make a good impression is with your application and online photo story. Adding compelling pictures and stories to your site will help the board feel as though they know you and like you. You become a real person to them instead of just another paper application they have to choose from. It is much harder to say “no” to a real person than to a piece of paper.

You only have one chance to make a first impression and your free online photo sharing stories can make whatever impression you want to make. Let yours tell people that you are intelligent, honorable, active and a real go-getter. You never know what opportunities may lie ahead until you give it a chance. In today’s world it takes every possible advantage to succeed and your online photo stories are just one more way to create an advantage.

About Author

MJ Johnston –
About the Author:

MJ Johnston writes for a variety of websites, including Hoorray, a photo sharing site that offers the quickest and easiest way to build a free online photo album, as well as free online photo storage.

Stories are also important in describing how wonderful a wedding ceremony could look like. Without cameras, these will only be told by the word of mouth. Since our technology has been fast advancing, things that happened on your wedding day can be shared to your kids with the aid of videos. This time around, anyone who is interested to know about your love story will not have a problem visualizing what has transpired because it is better presented on videos. No one will miss the details of your wedding from the gown you wore till the tiniest expression that you had when you said “I do”. Thanks to wedding videography, wedding stories are better told.

Any couple whom are about to marry can have their video taken cinematically or journalistically. These are just two of the many styles that is typically offered by professionals. Of course, you can settle with the traditional way on which videos are captured as it is and chronologically whereas, these two styles add a dramatic twist to your wedding stories.

Cinematic is one style that makes your videos look like what you see in the movies. These are customized in a way that it can tell a story, reliving the days when you met each other until the special day. It can be romantic, action or even comedy depending on your preferred genre. A professional is fully equipped with high-end equipment that allows them to make your wishes come true. It is also better done when the professional uses a high-definition technology.

Journalistic is a different discipline or art that is used for this kind of activity. It is simply done by capturing images and edits them to make them more organized. Your wedding stories will be told in a way just like that of the documentary films: nothing too fancy nor would it be even fictional. This wedding videography is done spontaneously. Images are taken as it is and the editing just adds a little tweak to it by forms of captions or music.

Videographers commonly use these two styles for their wedding package. Either way, both styles can be used as a better way to convey a love story. Anyone who will watch this can be deeply touched and even you as the main actors of the story will never fail to appreciate the beauty of your wedding day that you surely have missed. Time can fly so fast and even though it has been years from the day that you were joined together, you can still re-live the day or even tell the story in the most concise way.

Summary
We all have our ways to convey our love stories to our kids and interested parties. Commonly we do it by word of mouth. However, if you want to make things more vivid for them, try telling it through videos. It has a better impact.

About Author

Juhlin Youlein –
About the Author:

Find out more about arizona wedding videos for your wedding day by visiting http://www.memoriesputtomusic.com

Another fascinating website that sheds a different light on the hidden meanings of the stories in the Bible is one where the author claims that none of the stories in the Bible are real or actually happened. Refer to my blog for a link to the website.

And by the way, it is not a sin to read these websites and then decide for yourself what you want to believe. God gave you a mind so that you can use it to decide what is good for you. Remember that what is good for you is not necessarily good for other people, and it is not for us to judge one another.

We all grew up with the tales of the brothers Grimm. Those tales are seen today as fairytales for children, but they were originally meant for adults because each one of them contain a lesson that is much deeper than what a child would hear. Each one of these tales is a metaphor that explains a facet of life.

And of course we are told stories every day on television. The soap operas are not real at all, but for some people they are a window into the lives of an imagined family. There are also various series that make characters familiar to us and we learn what to expect of the characters, like the heroes in science fiction or action movies. We all have our favourite actors and actresses, because they are masters at weaving a web that we want to believe. Sometimes these soap operas are used for edutainment (a combination of education and entertainment) to convey important information on health or civil issues, and this is more powerful than for example providing written material to people that have difficulty reading, or providing verbal warnings to people that did not have the good sense to heed such warnings.

Stories are part of many different traditions. The stories of the Grimm brothers and comic characters such as Asterix and Tintin originated in Europe.

There are also the tales of the Arabian nights that reflect ancient life in the Middle East. The Arabian Nights is a collection of Persian, Arab and Indian folk tales that were handed down through the centuries. Legend has it that a beautiful lady called Scheherazade had to tell a murderous prince a story each night to prevent the prince from killing her. The result is a beautiful collection of stories including the famous ones about Sinbad the sailor and Aladdin.

The Hassidic Jews have their own traditional stories. One of the disciples of the great Rabbi Baal Shem Tov was lame. One day, this disciple was asked to tell a story about his master. He began to tell how the Baal Shem Tov used to leap and dance when he prayed. The disciple became so engrossed in his story that he stood up, and began to leap and dance as his master used to. At that moment, he was cured of his lameness, and became completely healthy. There is a beautiful story called Let the story choose me that explains the healing value of stories. Refer to my blog for a link to the website.

On the African continent stories often feature talking animals that convey important lessons in life. Refer to my blog for a link to a website with examples of these tales.

Why are stories so important to us? We use stories to share experiences, understand each other and create a sense of community. Parents use stories to bond with their children. Sages use stories to convey important life lessons and explain customs and values. People express wisdom by means of a story. Stories are used to break down barriers within and between groups.

Most stories have some entertainment or educational value. The advent of the internet has brought us the genre of urban myths. People’s need to believe things is often proven by the circulation of the most absurd stories, such as the one about the rapist who got into the car of a lady who was putting petrol into her car, or the various versions of the very ill children whose parents need money for emergency treatment. A very useful website to get to the truth of these myths can be found on my blog. We would do each other a favour by first researching even the most heart rending story before we circulate them.

Stories enable us to look inward and understand story patterns and characters that intertwine with the hard-to perceive forces that shape our lives. The stories also enable us to look outward, because story-threads join us to a larger cultural fabric. The most important stories may be those we share with family and friends. All stories help preserve memory, explain our present, and imagine our future. Stories that evolve across time bind individuals to families and families to society, defining our collective values, beliefs and goals.

Stories also connect us to the eternal Source of creativity. Professional writers know that the muse is a combination of discipline and inspiration. That inspiration comes from tuning into another dimension that contains all the stories that we could possibly want ‘ from Tolstoy’s War and Peace to the Harry Potter saga to all the Bible stories.

Here are two lovely short stories that convey lessons to us in a thoughtful manner.

The first one is about the young boy that wanted to become the pupil of an old priest. The priest looked in the eyes of the boy and realised that the boy was not going to live long. He decided to send the boy back to his family to die, but told the boy to come back the next summer.

A year later the boy was back, lively and happy. The priest looked at the boy in astonishment and realised that the boy was not going to die for a very long time. Never questioning what he initially saw in the eyes of the boy, he asked the boy to explain to him in detail what had happened during the previous year.

The boy told the priest how, on his way home, he saw a colony of ants trapped on some high ground in the river. The boy found a long stick and held it over the river so that the ants could walk on the stick to dry land. His arms got very tired, but he held the stick in place until the very last ant had reached dry land. The boy then described the rest of the journey, but the priest was no longer listening. He had realised that that one single act had wiped out all the bad karma that the boy had accumulated in previous lives. That was why the boy was no longer going to die young.

The second story is about two priests that were travelling together on foot. They came to a river crossing where a woman was standing, looking frightened. Brother Benjamin asked her: “Why are you looking so frightened? Can we help you?”

“I need to get to the other side of the river”, she said, “but I can’t swim and am frightened that the water will take me.”

“I can help you,” said Brother Benjamin. The woman got onto his back and they waded to the other side. She thanked him and walked away.

The two priests walked in silence for the next two hours. Brother Benjamin eventually realised that Brother John was silent because he was angry.

“You are very quiet, Brother John? Is something bothering you?” Brother Benjamin asked.

“Is something bothering me! You swore a vow of chastity! You promised never to touch a woman! And there you did not just touch a woman! You carried her on your back in a most indecent manner! Shame on you. Shame on you!” Brother John said.

Brother Benjamin stopped walking and looked at Brother John.

“Brother John,” he said. “I put the woman down hours ago. Why are you still carrying her?”

About Author

Elsabe Smit –
About the Author:

Elsabe Smit hereby grants a NON-EXCLUSIVE license to any and all persons and entities to copy and reprint any article she posts as long as the article is left IN-TACT and UNALTERED and proper credit is given to her as Author.
Elsabe Smit is the author of A Tapestry of Life and of the blog http://www.mypurpleblog.com , Spiritual interpretations of everyday life.

We also have “default” stories … these are the ones that we tend to fall back on when we are sharing about ourselves or when something happens that is upsetting … we just write it into the book which holds all the “stories which prove that life is hard!” or “stories which prove that I am lazy!” If a loved one does something that upsets us, that goes into the book labeled “Proof that my fella is rotten!”

If we are really creative in our story telling we might create varying categories with story titles like: “Ways I fail in life!” “Abundance is for others, not me!” or the best seller “Unlovable Me!” These categories tend to be sort of vague, which allows us to put anything into them depending on our mood!!!

If something lovely happens, we store that information in the book which holds all of the “stories which prove that I am fabulous!” or “stories that prove that I am funny” or whatever. Interesting to note, that for many folks these books have more blank pages, then pages with words on them!

There seems to be a tendency to gather certain stories lines that “prove” what we believe to be true about ourselves, about someone else, about our culture, about another’s culture … proof that we are “right” about our stories.

Now, what I think is interesting about all of this is that our ego wants to be right no matter what! Even if it is a story about how “lazy” we are, or how someone else doesn’t “appreciate” us, or that we are “unlovable!” The ego says, “This is my story and I am sticking to it!”

What’s your point? You might be asking this by now! My point is this: These are just stories. Stories are created by the imagination. Stories are created by our perceived experiences and are passed on down the line, which leaves lots of room for even more distortion.

Ever play that game as a kid? It seems like this was usually around a campfire with marshmallows … where one kid whispers a short story to the kid next to them … that kid shares what she heard to the next kid … on and on until the last kid to hear the story, tells the group the story. The story tended to be hilarious because it was nothing like the original story! This is what can happen in our own stories. It starts with a experience … we have a reaction … positive or negative. We replay what happened in our mind. We tell someone else the story. Time passes. The story changes with time and mood.

If you are prone to embellishing things, you can bet that the stories have a flair for the dramatic! In any case, the story becomes distorted in some way: the memory get more intense, less intense, sounds change, colors change, what was said changes, your placement in the story may change. What you tell yourself it means about you may intensify. What you tell yourself it means about the other people in the experience may intensify. All sorts of things happen.

This conversation leads me to ways to shift the story line. How can we release the charge from the stories we tell ourselves? I use lots of tools to do this, my favorite is EFT. What I love about doing EFT with folks (including myself), is that when we clear the negative charge about an event, a new story line emerges. When the person describes the story again, it has a different focus and sometimes even a different outcome. Now that is cool!!!!!

When the disruption is cleared, the person is able to see the story from a different perceptual focus. So, we literally carry our stories, not only in our minds, but in our bodies … in our cells.

We also carry stories from our ancestors the same way … though these stories may not be in the conscious mind; they are in our cellular memories.

Can we change our stories without using tapping or other energy psychology modalities? I am not sure. I can change my own stories as long as there is not an emotional charge behind the story. If there is a charge, I need to move the charge out of my body before the story can change … meaning: Once the charge has been released I believe the new story.

What do you think about this whole topic? How do your stories about yourself and others affect your daily life? What are some of your “default” stories?

About Author

Lynne Morrell –
About the Author:

Lynne has spent years gathering tools to assist others to tap into their inner wisdom. Her work is about ways to accept, love, and honor Self, and to take the great leap of faith into being authentically you! Learn more at her website and her blog

Talhah ibn Ubaydullah

Returning to Makkah in haste after a trading trip to Syria, Talhah asked his family: “Did anything happen in Makkah since we left?” “Yes,” they replied. “Muhammad ibn Abdullah emerged alleging that he is a Prophet and Abu Quhafah (Abu Bakr) has followed him.” “I used to know Abu Bakr,” said Talhah. “He is an easy-going, amiable, gentle man. He was an honest and upright trader. We were quite fond of him and loved sitting in his company because of his knowledge of Quraysh history and genealogy.” Later, Talhah went to Abu Bakr and asked: “Is it true what they say, that Muhammad ibn Abdullah has appeared as a Prophet and that you follow him.” “Yes,” replied Abu Bakr and went on to tell Talhah about Muhammad and what a good thing it would be if he too followed him. Talhah in turn told Abu Bakr the story of his strange recent encounter with an ascetic in the market-place of Busra in Syria. The ascetic is said to have told Talhah that someone called “Ahmad” would appear in Makkah about that time and that he would be the last of the Prophets. He also told Talhah, so the story goes, that the Prophet would leave the sacred precincts of Makkah and migrate to a land of black soil, water and palm trees… Abu Bakr was astonished by the story and took Talhah to Muhammad.

The Prophet, peace be on him, explained Islam to Talhah and recited some portions of the Quran to him. Talhah was enthusiastic. He related to the Prophet his conversation with the ascetic of Busra. There and then, Talhah pronounced the Shahadah – that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. He was the fourth person who had been introduced to Islam by Abu Bakr. The Quraysh were astounded by the young Talhah’s acceptance of Islam. The one who was most dismayed and unhappy was his mother. She had hoped that he would one day be a leader in his community because of his noble character and his outstanding virtues. Some of the Quraysh, anxious and worried, went to Talhah as soon as they could to wean him away from his new religion but found him firm and unshakable as a rock. When they despaired of using gentle persuasion to achieve their aim, they resorted to persecution and violence.

The following story is related by Masud ibn Kharash: “While I was making saiy between as-Safa and al-Marwa, there appeared a crowd of people pushing a young man whose hands were tied behind his back. As they rushed behind him, they rained down blows on his head. In the crowd was an old woman who lashed him repeatedly and shouted abuses at him. I asked: ‘What’s the matter with this young man?’ ‘This is Talhah ibn Ubaydullah. He gave up his religion and now follows the Banu Hashim man.’ ‘And who is the woman behind him?’ I asked. ‘She is as-Sabah bint al-Hadrami, the young man’s mother,’ they said. The Quraysh did not stop there. Nawfal ibn Khuwaylid, nicknamed the ‘lion of the Quraysh” bound Talhah with a rope and with the same rope he tied up Abu Bakr and then handed them over to the mindless and violent mob of Makkah to be beaten and tortured. The shared experience no doubt drew Talhah and Abu Bakr closer together!

Years passed and events of great significance took place. Talhah grew in stature as he bore the pain and suffering of being tested in the path of God and His Prophet. He gained the unique reputation among Muslims of being called the “living martyr”. The Prophet, peace be on him, also called him “Talhah the Good” and “Talhah the Generous”. The name of the “living martyr” was earned during the Battle of Uhud. Talhah had missed the Battle of Badr. He and Said ibn Zayd had been sent outside Madinah on a mission by the Prophet and when they returned, the Prophet and his companions were already on the way back from Badr. They were both sad at having missed the opportunity of taking part in the first campaign with the Prophet but were tremendously pleased when he told them they would get the same reward as those who actually fought.

At the Battle of Uhud, when the Muslims fell into disarray at the beginning of hostilities the Prophet became dangerously exposed. There were about eleven men of the Ansar at his side and one Muhajir – Talhah ibn Ubaydullah. The Prophet clambered up the mountain hotly pursued by some mushrikin. The Prophet, peace be on him, shouted: “The one who repulses these people from us will be my companion in Paradise.” “I, O Messenger of god,” shouted Talhah. “No, stick to your position,” replied the Prophet. A man from the Ansar volunteered and the Prophet agreed. He fought until he was killed. The Prophet went further up the mountain with the mushrikin still in close pursuit. “Isn’t there someone to combat these?” Talhah again volunteered but the Prophet ordered him to maintain his position. Another person immediately came forward, fought and was killed. This happened until all who stood by the Prophet were martyred except Talhah. “Now, yes,” signalled the Prophet and Talhah went into battle. By this time, the Prophet’s teeth had been broken, his forehead had been slashed, his lips had been wounded and blood was streaming down his face. He was drained of energy. Talhah plunged into the enemy and pushed them away from the Prophet. He turned back to the Prophet and helped him a little further up the mountain and put him to lie on the ground. He then renewed his attack and successfully repulsed the enemy. About this occasion Abu Bakr said: “At that moment, Abu Ubayd ibn al-Jarrah and I were far from the Prophet. When we came close to him to render assistance to him, the Prophet said: ‘Leave me and go to your companion (meaning Talhah).” There was Talhah, bleeding profusely. He had numerous wounds, from sword, spear and arrow. His foot had been cut and he had fallen into a hollow where he lay unconscious.

Thereafter, the Prophet, peace be on him, said: “Whoever is pleased to see a man still walking on earth who had completed his span (of life), let him look at Talhah ibn Ubaydallah.” And, whenever Uhud was recalled, As-Siddiq, may God be pleased with him, would say: “That day, that entire day, belonged to Talhah.” That was the story of how Talhah became to be called the “living martyr”.

There were unnumerabIe incidents which led to him being called “Talhah the Good” and “Talhah the Generous”. Talhah was an astute and successful merchant who travelled widely to the north and south of the Arabian peninsula. It is said that after one of his trips to Hadramawt, he had profits amounting to some seven hundred thousand dirhams. His nights would be anxious and worried on account of this vast wealth. On one such night, his wife, Umm Kulthum the daughter of Abu Bakr, said to him: “What’s wrong with you, O father of Muhammad? Perhaps I have done something to hurt you.’?” “No ,” replied Talhah. “You are a wonderful wife for a Muslim man. But I have been thinking since last night: How can a man think of his Lord and Sustainer when he goes to sleep with this wealth in his house?” “Why should it bother you so much ,” remarked Umm Kulthum. “What about all the needy ones in your community and all your friends? When you get up in the morning share it out among them.” “God bless you. You are really marvellous, the daughter of a marvellous man,” said Talhah to his wife. In the morning, Talhah gathered up the money in bags and distributed it among the poor Muhajirin and Ansar. It is related that a man came up to Talhah requesting help and also mentioning some common family connection between them. “This family connection someone has mentioned to me before,” said Talhah who was in fact known for his generosity to all members of his clan. Talhah told the man that he had just sold a piece of land to Uthman ibn Affan for several thousand dirhams. The man could have the money or the land which could be re-purchased from Uthman. The man opted for the money and Talhah gave it all to him.

Talhah was well-known for helping persons who had debt problems, heads of families who experienced hardship, and widows. One of his friends, as-Saib ibn Zayd, said of him: “I accompanied Talhah ibn Ubaydallah on journeys and I stayed with him at home and I have not found anyone who was more generous with money, with clothes and with food than Talhah.” No wonder he was called “Talhah the Good” and “Talhah the Generous”. The name Talhah is also connected with the first fitnah or civil war among Muslims after the death of the prophet, peace be on him. The seeds of trouble were sown during the caliphate of Uthman ibn Affan. There were many complaints and accusations against him. Some mischief-makers were not content with accusations only but were determined to finish him off. In the year 35 AH (656 CE) a group of insurgents stormed Uthman’s house and murdered him while he was reading the Quran. It was one of the most shocking events in the early history of Islam. Ali was persuaded to accept the responsibility of the Caliphate and all Muslims swore allegiance to him, including Talhah and Zubayr ibn al-Awwam. Talhah and Zubayr were deeply shocked by the murder of Uthman. They were horrified and felt strongly that the murderers should be punished and that justice should be done. But the punishment of the murderers was not an easy task in as much as the crime was not just the work of a few individuals but involved a large number of persons. Talhah and Zubayr sought Ali’s permission to go to Makkah to perform Umrah. They met Aishah the wife of the Prophet. She was greatly shocked when she heard of the assassination of

Uthman. From Makkah, Talhah, Zubayr and Aishah set off for Basrah where large numbers were gathering to seek revenge for the death of Uthman. The forces gathered at Basrah seemed to present an open challenge to Ali. As the caliph of the Muslims and the head of the entire Muslim State, he could not tolerate any insurrection or armed revolt against the State. But what a difficult and awesome task he faced! To deal with the revolt, he had to confront his brothers, his companions and his friends-followers of the Prophet and his religion, those who often fought side by side with him against the forces of shirk, those whom he respected and loved. The forces clamoring for vengeance for Uthman and those supporting Ali met at a place called Kuraybah, near Basrah.

Ali desired to avoid war and settle matters by peaceful means. He used every means at his disposal to achieve peace. He clung to every hope of avoiding confrontation. But the dark forces at work against Islam and how numerous were these, were determined that matters should come to a terrible and bloody end. Ali wept. He wept bitterly when he saw Aishah, the “Mother of the Believers” in her hawdaj or palanquin astride a camel at the head of the army which now emerged to fight him. And when he saw Talhah and Zubayr, two close companions of the Prophet, in the midst of the army, he shouted to them to come out to him. They did and Ali said to Talhah: “O Talhah, have you come with the wife of the Messenger of Allah to fight along with her…?” And to Zubayr he said: “O Zubayr, I implore you, by God, do you remember the day when the Prophet. peace be on him, passed by you and we were in such and such a place and he asked you: ‘Do you love Ali?’ and you said: ‘Why shouldn’t I love my cousin and one who follows my religion…?’” Ali continued talking to them reminding them of the bonds of brotherhood and faith. In the end both Talhah and Zubayr withdrew from participation in this civil war. They withdrew immediately when they saw the situation in a different light. But they paid for that withdrawal with their lives. As they withdrew, a man named Amr ibn Jarmouz followed Zubayr and cowardly murdered him while he performed Salat. Talhah was killed by an arrow allegedly shot by Marwan – a cousin of Uthman who was too blinded by rage and the desire to seek revenge for his kinsman to respond to the possibility of avoiding war and bloodshed among Muslims. The murder of Uthman had become Talhah’s tryst with destiny. He did not participate in the fighting and killing that followed that came to be known in history as the “Battle of the Camel”. Indeed, if he had known that the fitnah would have degenerated into such insane hatred and bitterness and resulted in such a bloody outcome, he would have resisted it. He was not keen to fight Ali. He was simply appalled by the murder of Uthman and wanted to see justice done. Before the beginning of the battle he had said in a voice choked with emotion: “O Lord, for the sake of Uthman, take from me this day until You are pleased.” Then when Ali faced him and Zubayr, they saw the correctness of his position and withdrew from the field of battle. Yet, in these difficult circumstances, martyrdom was reserved for them.

The Battle of Camel came to an end. Aishah, the mother of the believers, realized that she had precipitated matters and left Basrah for the Sacred Mosque and then to Madinah distancing herself from the conflict. Ali provided well for her journey giving her all the comfort and honor due to her. When the numerous dead from the battle were brought together, Ali led the funeral prayer for them all, those who were with him and those who were against him. And when he had finished burying Talhah and Zubayr he bade farewell to them with a heavy heart, a heart filled with tenderness and love. “I really hope,” he said in simple and sublime words, “that

Talhah, az-Zubayr, Uthman and I will be among those of whom God has said: ‘And We shall remove from their hearts any lurking sense of injury and rancor; they will be brothers joyfully facing each other on thrones of dignity.’ “(The Quran, Surah al-Hijr, 15:47) Then he looked tenderly and sorrowfully on the graves of his brothers in faith and said: “I have heard with these two ears of mine the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, saying: “Talhah and az-Zubayr are my companions in Paradise!”

furniture stores

coffee tables

About Author

Adam Ellis –
About the Author:

Tala and the story of a witch

By Collins Nyadida

Tala lived in a small village called Kokwanyo with his parents but he stayed mostly with his ageing grandmother whose homestead was just a stone throw away from their home. He helped her with household chores and looked after her goats.

Tala had twin elder brothers who were in upper primary school. They were candidates, expected to sit for their final standard eight national examinations later in the year and they worked hard; waking up very early in the morning to go to school at six, before the villagers woke up to weed their crops.

Everyone in the village knew about the twin brothers and how they performed outstandingly at school. Their parents were very happy with their performance which left no doubt that they would pass their final examinations with flying colours and Tala was reminded every now and then to follow in their footsteps.

Tala did not go back to school in the afternoons because he was in class three and all lower classes did not have after lunch lessons, unlike their counterparts in upper levels. He therefore attended to his grandmother’s goats and collected firewood in the grazing fields.

Tala loved his grandmother very much compared to his own parents because the grandmother liked to rescue him whenever his mother threatened to beat him for minor mistakes which did not deserve any beatings. For that reason, Tala spent all his free time with her, assisting here and there with extra chores, like slashing the compound, hoeing and fetching water from his father’s well. That was very unlike his twin brothers who only came to their grandmother’s house to study and spend the night.

When nightfall came and crickets started chirping merrily, his grandmother would tell them sweet stories, as they watched stars from the sky and waited to retire to sleep.

There was that story of a wizard, which came to pervade Tala’s mind since his grandmother narrated it one evening. It was the story of an old woman witch who kidnapped and ate the tender meat of small boys who refused to listen and obey their parents.

That story made him afraid and his suspicion rose over the old woman neighbour who had all the mannerisms of a witch. The woman’s name was Herewe and if someone was headed to or coming from the grazing fields, one had to follow the pathway passing near her hut.

At school everyone confessed to Tala, that it was very true that the old woman was a witch. He wanted to ask his grandmother about it but the fear that the knowing eyes of Herewe would find out what he was up to discouraged him.

His mind could not stop thinking that the witch in her grandmother’s story was Herewe -the Old woman neighbour and he grew gloomy and loony.

Whenever he passed her hut on his way to the grazing fields, he found himself elating his nose this way and that way, trying to smell any strange stench which could come out from the small hut. There was nothing peculiar though, but he swore to his friends that he felt a strange smell of human flesh boiling under hot water drums.  So many stories with different versions about witches were told and retold among his peers and in the end it left very little doubt not to suspect Herewe of being one of the witches.

“She eats only naughty boys,” that was what her grandmother had said in about her in the story. From that day on, Tala tried to behave responsively when looking after his goats, he found himself fearing being perceived or thought of as naughty because in that he would be sought after by a witch who lived very close to them. The idea that he was being watched by Herewe could not get out of his thoughts and he walked suspiciously looking behind his shoulders for any queer creature who might be send to seize him.

When he took his goats to the grazing field he tried to be careful not let them invade someone’s crops. His grandmother called him a lousy herdsman and it felt on him like an abuse.

Once in the grazing fields, he played football with his friends until the goats went home on their own without someone to guide them off from branching into other people’s farms where they eat fleshy stalks of green maize and succulent leaves of cotton plants.

His grandmother was fed up with complaints brought to her about Tala’s carelessness with goats and she would caution him whenever he left home with goats.

“Tala, if you must play football, please, be alert to where the goats are grazing. I don’t like quarrelling with my neighbours,” said the grandmother almost pleadingly.

It was not fair to blame Tala entirely, he tried the best he could in taking care of the goats, but the goats were cheeky and stubborn too. They sneaked as soon as they realized that Tala buried his head into a game of football.  And Tala would run madly about to search for them in people’s farms.

His inability to control the cheeky goats made him fearsome of the prospect that one day a witch would come for his neck on that account.

He could not put the thought and the feeling away, and to him Herewe took every stock of his bad behaviors. If he met her by accident on his way he would hide quickly in the nearest bush not to be seen by her.

2.

Tala and some of his friends seemed to have plausible reasons, to believe that Herewe was a witch.  She lived by herself in a small hut surrounded by trees and fruits of all varieties .The fruits were always ripe and alluring, however no one could dare to come near the plants and eat them. Not even those mangoes whose branches over hanged outside the fence of her homestead. Most passers-by went on their way even without looking or admiring the golden yellow fruits.

However there was one and only one Juti, who had eaten Herewe’s fruits without anything happening to him. Juti was Tala’s best friend and on the said day, Tala and his other friends had waited in abated breath to see if Juti would wake up another day without being hospitalized – but nothing happened to him. In the end he was hailed as a great hero who had done the impossible.

Herewe’s homestead was fenced with dried branches of deadly thorns. It was impossible for anyone to break into it without using the gate.  The doors of her hut remained closed all day long. Beside her hut, there was a modern granary and the only one of its kind in the whole of Kokwanyo village. It had a raised wooden floor and could stalk over fifty sacs of dry grains.

It had seemed to Tala and his friends that there were so many secrets within Herewe’s homestead. Like all witches they had come across in fairy tales from their books, she had no husband or children anyone knew of.

She climbed on the roof of her small hut and thatched it by herself without getting someone to assist her and that was something very unlikely of women, especially as elderly as she was.

No one in the entire village of Kokwanyo had any idea, when she woke up in the morning. She was always found weeding her crops as early as six when Tala’s brothers would be going to school. She would remain working in her farm until dusk when mothers came back from the market.

Her farm was peculiar too; all types of crops could be found grown inside it, beginning with groundnuts, beans, potatoes, vegetables, sorghum and maize.

Unlike her neighbours, she kept no livestock. Instead there was a giant black cat with bluish eye balls. It was so large, in fact, twice as big as an average adult cat. Her meowing too was quite a scare. It was more of a baby crying than a cat meowing.

3.

Then, there came a day when Tala came face to face with Herewe.

It had all started from the football ground where Tala had been playing football with his buddies for hours and hours as usual. The ball was made from collected pieces of used plastic bags and artistically woven into round shape with sisal fibers. The game was at its climax when Tala discovered that his goats were missing. His team was leading by four goals to three and their opponent mounted a spirited pressure on them to concede an equalizer. That was the time Tala suddenly left his goal keeping position to check on his goats.

“Hey I am out… could someone come for goal keeping” Tala shouted at Juti, who captained their team and refereed the match at the same time.

“What is it now Tala?” said Juti angrily. Juti feared defeat and he would do anything within his means to make his team win. In fact, he had refused to concede a goal before then, claiming that it had been scored when the goal keeper was out to check on the goats. All in all, he was still considered fairer and that was why he would be chosen to referee over other contenders.

“My goats…I can’t see them anywhere,” Tala said frantically.

“You better hurry up and check the closest farm,” Juti advised.

Tala knew what Juti meant by that, he was teasing him, because like everyone else, he feared Herewe and did not wish to pick a quarrel with her over such grave issue as goats destroying her crops.

It was her farm which was the nearest to their playing ground and everyone with goats were keen not to let his goats wander away into it.

4.

When Tala arrived at Herewe’s shamba, he walked quietly and looked over the hedge if there were goats inside but no goat was within his sight. Instead he came face to face with Herewe. It was as if she had been waiting for his coming.

“Oh you scoundrel eh, your goats…?” the words could not come out clearly from her coarse voice and Tala took off before the last word dropped out.

He simply took off to his heels, like a herd of sheep which had seen a stray dog. He did not even look behind him to find out, if he was being pursued at all but ran as fast as if Herewe was just right behind him, instead.

Those who met him gave way quickly since he was like some wild bull running away from the herd. His manner of running was astounding to look at. He threw his hands in the air and shouted,” waai, waai” until he became deaf.

It was not until after he had gone a kilometre away that he decided to stop shouting and look behind him. There was no one coming, only rain clouds gathering in the blue sky beyond. The cumulus nimbus clouds covered the sun and darkness seemed to advance quicker as if it wanted to rain. That only served to increase his fears and he started running homewards again. He could not tell whether the goats had reached home or had been taken by Herewe.

When he reached home, there were no goats anywhere in the compound.

“Oh my god, what will I do,” he asked himself as he stood by the gate to decide his next course of action.

“What will I do, if she took them away to her home?” he asked himself several questions without any apparent answers coming to his mind and at last he decided to leave before it became very late or before his grandmother discovered what was happening.

“Tala, is that you, come back here?” shouted his grandmother.

“Yes grandma,” quickly answered Tala.

“Where are my goats?” she asked in astonishment. It was very unusual to see Tala without the goats and his grandmother knew that something was a miss already.

“Was just eh, just eh,” Tala struggled to explain,

“Eh, what? Have you lost my goats again you rascal?” she inquired angrily.

“I thought they had already arrived here, grandma,” Tala tried to sound calmed but his voice shook and trembled.

“Oh Tala my grandchild… When will you start thinking like a grown up?” asked the grandmother.

“But grandma…,” Tala tried to explain but he was harshly cut off.

“Off you go, you silly rascal, get back here before nightfall with my goats,” she shouted behind him as he ran off madly again. He couldn’t make his mind immediately and he felt tears streaming down his cheeks.

5.

He was sweating profusely and someone might have thought that he had been rained on severely for the past one hour. The thought of confronting Herewe nagged him to the bone marrow. “No way,” he mattered between boughs of coughs.

To ask Herewe about the whereabouts of his goats was something beyond his imagination.

“What if I am caught for an evening meal?” he asked himself quietly.

It was then the thought of his friend Juti. He was the only one who could help him out, the only one who was not terrified of witches. He remembered the incident when Juti ate those mangoes without winking his eyes or complaining over any bitter taste.

~

Tala wounded his pathway to Juti’ home eventually. It was not far-off from her grandmother’s home – a mere three kilometres away.

He knew that Juti had gone home, by the glance of the setting sun and he would be preparing to milk their cows. Juti was a bit older than Tala. Among boys in their class, he was the only one owning a simba (a small hut for boys), and above all he was well-informed about harvesting honey and universal things. He knew so many stuffs such as, how to avert teachers from whipping him by swallowing a tiny grain of stone after tying a knot to a growing strand of grass. It worked for him but not for others like Tala. He did that daily before he went to school in the morning and returned home at mid-day without being cane by any teacher. If he was cane then, it meant that he had not performed the ritual on the said day. But above all he knew how to keep off evil spirits especially from dreams, although he couldn’t be proved wrong or right.

There was that day he explained to everyone at school, how witches were fearful of pig’s bones. He had stashed such several pierces under his bed in the little hut to protect himself.

He had been meaning to give Tala a pierce from bones, but his grandmother warned him that God did not like such mind-set from His people.

However on that particular day, he felt like keeping one and he asked Juti about it on their way to Herewe’s homestead.

“Are you with those bones you told us about?”

“Yes, but just a pierce for me,” said Juti steadily.

“I would have loved to have a pierce, I feel awful,” said Tala.

“Don’t be worried, one bit is powerful enough for both of us, you shouldn’t be nervous,” Juti gave him a soothing pat as he explained so. “And be quiet now, we are almost there. “

Tala followed Juti from behind and tugged on his sleeves like a toddler who was seeing a naughty puppy for the first time in his life.

6.

“Is anybody home?” Juti called out as he plunged his right hand into the pocket of his pair of short trousers as if to assure Tala that everything was all right.

There was no answer and Tala’s eyes went roaming around the compound, searching for clues to where his goats could have been kept, but nothing suggestive was forthcoming.  Darkness had started setting in, and every tree in the homestead was a shadow of a human being, either standing up straight or squatting.

“Grandma, are you home yet,” Juti called out once again. Still no answer came except for the echoes of his voice, which bounced back with a fearsome reverberation which made Tala to writhe inside with dread.  The crying of birds welcoming dusk sounded too depressing to him, as if they were spelling some sort of looming disaster.  Tala’s heart beat went thumbing loudly between his ribs and the urge to wet his pants couldn’t be resisted and few drops tickled out involuntarily.

“We better go back Juti, before something bad happens.”

“No way, not until we are sure where the goats are,” Juti protested.

“I doubt, they don’t seem to be anywhere here, it is so silent,” Tala countered softly fearing even the sound of his voice. The look on him was terrible, like someone under a high fever. He touched his forehead and thick drops of perspirations streamed uncontrollably down his face.

Juti on the other hand was very much relaxed and plucked a fruit from a branch of a tree hanging overhead and ate while Tala hissed fearfully in protest.

“No please Juti, we better keep to what has brought us here.”

“You coward! I feel so hungry after that gruelling match we played today,” explained Juti.

The black huge cat ensued from nowhere and Tala saw it first and jumped onto Juti’s arm.

“Oh my God, look Juti,” he whispered.

“I think she is somewhere around here,” Juti said and waited for the next thing to happen again. The moments Tala had been avoiding ever since he confirmed that Herewe was a witch arrived without being wished.

It was said that Herewe and her cat were inseparable. Wherever she went, the cat would follow her steps and wherever the cat went, she would follow her steps.

“Is that you grandma?” Juti called out to the pitch darkness, for he could certainly see nobody in the vicinity.

7.

Hardly had the sentences dropped out of Juti’s mouth than Herewe came about.  It was meowing of the cat, “Eehaa, eehaa,” which jostled their attention at first and it followed with a huge form rolling about like a beetle with a heavy load of cow dung.

She was carrying a heavy bundle of firewood on her head. Tala could not see clearly, the difference between the bundle of firewood and the person carrying it. To him, it was like a whole mass of a body of some ogre and he clanged to Juti even more tightly. The urge to wet his pant came up once again and he released out more drops.

“What are you two rascals doing in my home at this time?” she inquired as she went to pile her load of firewood on top of other bundles already laid down neatly besides her sophisticated granary.

“Oh grandma, we came to see you,” Juti tried to sound pleasant and confident after hiding what he had been eating behind him.

“Oh… to see me, eh… or to eat my mangoes?” she taunted cleverly and Tala almost ran away. Anyone could tell that Juti had been munching something by just listening to how words pronounced out of his mouth.

But Tala could not see that and he wondered how Herewe had known that Juti had stolen her mangoes. That could not be possible if she wasn’t a witch.

His suspicions increased and he felt trapped in Herewe’s nets. He wanted to plead for forgiveness before it became late, but he lacked courage to speak straight to her.

“And who is your friend and  …Why is he hiding behind you?” Herewe inquired as her terrifying black cat wounded herself on her legs. Tala’s hair stood up as if they were combed from inside out. He waited for Juti to say something but Juti kept quiet until he felt his body tensing like a tightened wire of a guitar, ready to twang at any careless least of touch.

“Oh this is my friend Tala. We have come to find out, if you may have seen his goats,” Juti explained politely as he held onto Tala.

“Oh it is you again eh,” she recognises Tala and said, “Oh waai, waai.” Trying to mimick how Tala had cried when he had seen her in that evening and Juti chuckled lightly.

“I would have killed you today,” she finally commented.

The word kill made Tala to jerk off from Juti’s arm, but Juti held tightly to restrain him from running away.

“Relax Tala, there is nothing to be scared of,” coaxed Juti.

Herewe was struggling to open the door by that time and she did not realise the drama which went on behind her back quietly. But ultimately Tala broke out into wailing and all attention turned to him. He was crying frenziedly which made it difficult for Herewe to hear the words he was speaking out.

“Forgive me, I will never play again, I swear I will not, I promise you, I will never play when herding goats,” streams of tears welled down his cheeks and those words got muffled up in the commotion.

“Calm down, please calm down,” Juti pleaded and Herewe was taken by complete surprise to comprehend what was happening between the two boys.

“What is the matter, what has happened to him?” Herewe asked.

“He lost his goats,” responded Juti.

“But I just saw them this evening,” explained Herewe.” I had barred them from entering my shamba”

“Yes but, they are nowhere to be seen. Not even at their home,” Juti explained on his behalf and since he could not talk intelligibly.

“Better check at home again, they couldn’t go anywhere, it was late.”

She spoke so kindly and respectfully that Tala found himself buoyed off from his fears and he muttered “thank you grandma” without second thoughts.

“We are going back then grandma,” Juti informed as he resumed taking bites from his fruit ravenously and without fear.

“No yet, just a minute please,” Herewe countered quickly and fumbled with the lock to open the wooden door to her small hut. Tala almost stopped breathing if Juti did not rush to assure him that it was alright.

Herewe, lit a small tin lamp and a dim light flickered about the tiny hut with life. Tala wondered what Herewe was up to, by calling on them to wait.

“You better get in here where I can see your ugly faces.” she called out to them and brought out a bunch of ripe bananas from a basket hanged on the wall. She gave each a generous cluster with five pieces of plump fruits.

Tala could not believe his eyes and he took his share undecidedly.

“You can help yourself with these,” she offered.

“I will have to visit the market soon or else, my bananas will rot in here,” Herewe said almost to herself and sunk her heavy body into an easy chair placed on the opposite end of the house.

The small hut had taken Tala by surprise, he had expected to see water drums filled up with chunks of meats from human being but there was nothing of that sort anywhere.

When he realised that Juti was eating his banana he found a psyche and burrowed his teeth greedily on his share.

He had been stunned when he heard Herewe speaking very coolly without the husky voice he had come to identify with her. A new revelation was setting on him, that Herewe was just like any other granny he knew of in the village of Kokwanyo. All those stories he had heard about Herewe melted slowly as his eyes looked about the room taking account of every single detail therein.

There was a water pot for preserving drinking water at the end next to where her chair was. The floor was smeared with cow dung and decorated smartly just like the floor of his grandmother. Behind the door was her three cooking stones with stubs of firewood which had remained after previous cooking. Black soot hanged inside the roof like any other hut he had seen before.

8.

But of significance was the huge portrait in black and white colour, a portrait of an elderly man clad in military uniform, hanged on the wall besides the basket where Herewe had taken out the bananas. It was the only intriguing item in the small hut.

Tala wondered who the old man was. He wanted to ask Juti but his thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Herewe spoke. She was evidently exhausted from hard work and leaned on the chair as she spoke to Juti. Words came out of her mouth as if they dropped by themselves without her involvement.

“Hey Juti who is milking the cows today, if you are still here at this time?” she enquired.

“Oh am leaving right away grandma,” Juti realised suddenly, that a task of milking the cows was still waiting on him back at home.

“You better hurry up and get me my share, I would like to sleep early, I feel strangely exhausted today,” she said thoughtfully almost to herself, “and please do remind your mother about our tomorrow’s meeting.”

Tala could not follow the direction the conversation was taking as it finally occurred to him, that Juti and Herewe knew one another.

“And you young man, tell your grandmother that I will not break my back for the sake of her goats,” That was directed to Tala.

“Yes, yes grandmother,” he answered mechanically as if driven more by sheer fear than politeness.

When they had left Herewe’s compound, Tala insisted that Juti explain things to him at once.

“What is going on Juti?” he stirred the argument, “Why did you not tell me that you are related to her?”

“Of course we are related. She is my grandmother and the portrait you saw hanged on the wall belonged to my grandfather who died long time ago,” Juti explained.

“Have you got that bone for driving away bad spirits?” Tala asked and touched Juti’s pockets to feel any hard object.

“I never had any bone, to be honest Tala,” he replied. “I wanted to take you people for a ride when I realised how you mistook my grandmother for a witch.”

Tala could not believe him, he searched and emptied all the content of the three pockets to ascertain for himself but he found nothing like a bone.

He felt very sorry for all the things he had said about Herewe and the thought of apologising to Juti came to his mind.  Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to apologise since it was Juti who had himself to blame after all, for having fuelled a false belief about his grandmother to others – that she was a witch.

“I can’t believe you, why do you refer to your granny with her name? Tala enquired. “Is that not being disrespectful of you?”

“No it isn’t, she is the one who insists to be referred with that name. Herewe is the name of my grandfather whose picture you saw on the wall.” Juti explained.

~

Herewe was one unique grandmother in the village of Kokwanyo. She was a very hard working woman and very much reserved. She did not like to socialise with people quite often and instead spent her time working in the shamba to assist her son in bringing up his large family which she was proud of. That was mainly because he was way above his contemporaries by being a husband to three wives at a tender age. Juti was one of her many grandchildren.

Herewe was determined not to allow old age to weigh her down and besides, her only son had a larger family and she felt oblige to assist him occasionally whenever she could.

Whenever the crop yields turn out poorly she would share her grains with her daughters in law and that gave her all the reasons to toil in the shamba day after day for the betterment of her extended family. She was after all, a wife of a soldier who had fought in the Second World War and brought several medallions which spoke of his gallantry. Hard work was the only way to live according to the whim of her beloved husband who had died long time ago before children like Tala and Juti were born.

~

Tala and Juti came to where the pathway split and bid each other good night.

“Should you fail to find your goats at home, do let me know by tomorrow morning, remember it would be Saturday-no school for us!” Juti shouted happily.

9.

When Tala reached home, he found his grandmother waiting for him; she was very much worried about where he had been at such late hour of the evening.

“Where have you been grandson?” she was almost sorry for having sent him away harshly. “The goats arrived long time ago immediately you left and if you can see their distended stomachs! I will not be surprised if someone comes to report tomorrow that his crops had been destroyed.”

“No, they didn’t destroy someone’s shamba, grandma,” Tala defended.

“I have sung to you more than once, to be careful with goats nowadays, but you can’t heed even a good advice,” she said attentively.

~

The day had been long for Tala, but so many good things had eventually turned out in the end and he had every reason to smile and be jovial.

If it was not the joy of finding his goats safely at home then it was the consoling discovery that Harewe was not a witch after all – but a lovely and generous grandmother who had given him sweat bananas and above all she was the grandmother to his friend Juti.

He thought of recounting what had happened that day to his grandmother, but thought otherwise since she might have known about the outlawed football playing which went on in the fields when they went grazing.

When the story time came that night, they did not, as usual, sit around the fireside to watch the stars in the blue sky above but they bundled themselves inside the small hut, because it had drizzled outside. And they listened to grandmother’s stories. Once again the story of a witch who abducted stubborn boys and fed on their tender meat was retold and that time round the narrative was far much different and Tala realised that the witch in the story could not have been Herewe by all means.

About Author

COLLINS –
About the Author:

Quality management is certainly a key motivation in attracting a reporter’s attention. This helps persuade the reporter or a radio/TV producer that the proposed interview isn’t going to be with someone who has “nothing to say” or just rehashing a cliché or tired, old story. The higher the title and the better known a company, the greater the “impingement” a PR pitch (that’s what publicity people use to sell a reporter) impacts upon a member of the media. If someone from the publicity department at Microsoft calls Fortune magazine to ask about profiling Bill Gates, the pitch will have major impingement value. Few names have this kind of clout, either personally or corporately.

In any event, the senior editor of the major magazine will still inquire about the story angle. The editor will want to know, “What are we going to talk about?” Ultimately, it is the outstanding story that sells magazines or newspapers, not just the big name. Not all such stories involve a big name speaking or spouting his thoughts for the day. Often, better stories evolve when there is a strong newsworthy angle. Let’s look at two recent stories – one which involves a uranium company and another one about a coalbed methane (CBM) company, which we’ve covered in this column.

On Thursday, Pacific Asia China Energy (PACE) was featured in the Financing section of Canada’s Globe and Mail newspaper. Headlined “High-Energy Performer,” the opening sentences told us why the reporter was interested: “PACE holds contracts to help China explore for and develop its coalbed methane (CBM) resources – fuel China needs to help satisfy its energy demands.”

The big story, which drew the newspaper to Pacific Asia China Energy, was China. PACE piggybacked that story because the company may be helping to offer a legitimate solution to the country’s energy mix. Part of the big story is the possible size of the recoverable gas, estimated in a technical report by Sproule International to be as large as 11.2 trillion cubic feet of gas.

Those two items enhanced the reporter’s interest in PACE. China needs alternative energy sources, such as CBM, to improve their energy mix – from a near total dependence upon coal. And, PACE has a potentially huge resource, which could last a good number of years. Such a gas resource could be sufficiently large to make an impact on China. After all, China has proven reserves of a little more than 30 trillion cubic feet. Another 11 trillion cubic feet, should the potential be proven up, would represent a significant increase of available gas in a very large country. By itself, this could later develop into a major international energy story, reported upon by a great number of news media. Another impingement about the reporter is having the satisfaction of reporting upon a good story, well before others write the story.

Chatter in the newsroom: Editor Joe says, “Did you hear about PACE’s gas discovery in China, Bob?” Bob replies, “Oh that one. Yeah, I wrote about it eight months ago!”

Therefore, there are multiple impingement points in this story. Each “draw,” or a reason to attract eyeballs to the story, is another point the story must score, for the reporter and his editor, to overcome the hurdles of being featured in a major publication. China is a draw. The size of the PACE coalbed methane gas resource is a draw. The potential impact upon China’s energy mix is a draw. Writing about it before the rest of the pack jumps on the bandwagon? That’s a draw, too. In this case, four draws sufficiently attracted media coverage for this small CBM development company.

Sometimes, the timing is just perfect, and the overpowering “big story” accidentally introduces a lucky guy onto the world’s stage. On the same Thursday, the PACE story was carried in the Globe and Mail, the Chief Executive of a tiny Canadian uranium company impinged on a Russian news service reporter in Hong Kong. Such was the good fortune for Craig Lindsay, a Certified Financial Analyst, who has spent more than 16 years in corporate finance, investment banking and business development, according to the website of Magnum Uranium, for which he now serves as Chief Executive.

While Magnum has a market capitalization of about $15 million, and Lindsay is neither a geologist nor engineer, RIA Novosti news agency touted him as a “well-known energy expert.” Admittedly, Lindsay gave a great speech at the Hong Kong Club for foreign correspondents. Cleverly, he announced, “Uranium may be the next oil,” during his speech. As many other industry experts have predicted, Lindsay also forecast uranium “may hit $50/pound by the end of the year.” So many are now announcing this it is likely to become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

What elevated Lindsay’s publicity was not what he said in his speech. Most of his commentary has been already been reported in numerous publications, including in our columns. (What reporters really hate is rehashing old news to give someone publicity!) It was to whom Lindsay was speaking, and especially the “timing” as to when it was said. Here is how Craig Lindsay got his “15 minutes of fame.”

About six hours earlier, the very same Russian news agency reported that Russia and Kazakhstan had signed a uranium deal worth $1 billion. The photos of Russian President Vladimir Putin and Kazakh President Nursultan Nazarbayev appeared as the photo op which goes with such really big stories. This was a major event involving two very big names, and among the biggest names and countries in the uranium sector. This was also Russia’s first contract to import uranium; Kazakhstan is the world’s third largest uranium producer. All of this is “big news.”

The clever Russian freelance reporter, who attended the Lindsay speech in Hong Kong, probably text-messaged or emailed his editor by Blackberry, tried to piggyback the Russian-Kazak story with his own story. Yes, that is how timing works. As soon as a major event takes place, other journalists rush to piggyback the event with “their” story. The Russian reporter scored points with his editor and got his story filed (slang for published).

Two cunning gentlemen, the Russian stringer (slang for freelance reporter), and Craig Lindsay (whose name was spelled Kreig Lindsay in the article), both accomplished their purposes. Mr. Lindsay got his company into the world’s spotlight. The Russian stringer got a great story. The reporter threw up a softball question, for which Mr. Lindsay supplied the desired answer.

What was the question the reporter asked Lindsay? That’s pretty obvious from what the reporter published in his article. Here is a clip from the Moscow News article:

Foreign investors are ready to invest in Russia’s uranium industry, if Moscow wants this to happen and establishes a necessary legal base,” Lindsay said. “I believe that Russia is one of the most promising directions for this kind of investments, it is an undeveloped market, full of opportunities. My company will be the first to come to Russia, if the necessary conditions are created,” he added.

Nowhere in Lindsay’s speech did Magnum Uranium’s Chief Executive discuss investing in Russia. However, the reporter NEEDED a good quote. It had to tie-in with “investing in Russia for uranium development.” Lindsay accommodated. He didn’t commit to investing in Russia, but he kept the door open. Magnum Uranium recently announced the acquisition of a 1,080-acre land package in Converse County, Wyoming. The company is also exploring for uranium in both Wyoming and the Athabasca Basin. Its finances are probably already stretched from both exploration and acquisition activities. Magnum’s market capitalization would probably be insufficient to launch investments into Russia, at this time.

However, Lindsay did a great job getting his company this caliber of publicity. And he got the uranium sector excellent publicity. He capitalized upon an impinging story – a story that did show up on the world’s radar – by correctly supplying an answer the Russian journalist was trying to prod out of him.

This is the essence of how journalists and publicity-seekers work together. If the PR person gives the journalist the story angle he is looking for within the bigger story, chances are it will appear in print. Piggybacking a “main event” is the most common way to increase one’s impingement value to a reporter. And by being a cunning interviewee for his Russian reporter, Craig Lindsay just got Magnum Uranium into this column as well!

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James Finch –
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In fact, when you write your own story, you get to reflect on your own life as well. You get to appreciate all the good things that have come your way. You get to look at your life clearly and think about the worthwhile things that you have done, some things that you have failed to do, and the endeavors that you still want to accomplish. It will make you realize important events in life and enable you to make a correct assessment on how your life has come about.

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Try to recall significant events that happened to you before and start to write your own story online. What could be better than after having posted your own story on your site, and after a couple of days receiving an email from a person whom you don’t know, thanking you for the way that your story has touched his or her life?

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Lucy Stone –
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