Above is my final display for Festival of The Arts :) yea boi
Thursday 8 December 2016
Tuesday 22 November 2016
Friday 18 November 2016
Tuesday 15 November 2016
Wednesday 26 October 2016
Palm Oil Awareness Poster
I think I have reached L03 because I have explained actions people can do to help stop the deforestation caused by palm oil.
Tuesday 25 October 2016
Palm Oil Article Q&A
Questions and answers about palm oil.
Q1. What can we do to stop the production of palm oil?
A. Unfortunately putting a stop on palm oil production everywhere at once is virtually impossible. However, we can put pressure on the companies (including Starbucks, KFC, Pepsi and Pizza Hut) using palm oil in their products. Even Z’s “healthy” biodiesel contains palm oil. Nestle have changed their Kitkat from the original product so it does not contain any Palm Oil. Over thousands of people have contacted them in some way or spread the message. Nestle has sent a strong message supporting those who go against Palm Oil and plantations.
Q1. What can we do to stop the production of palm oil?
A. Unfortunately putting a stop on palm oil production everywhere at once is virtually impossible. However, we can put pressure on the companies (including Starbucks, KFC, Pepsi and Pizza Hut) using palm oil in their products. Even Z’s “healthy” biodiesel contains palm oil. Nestle have changed their Kitkat from the original product so it does not contain any Palm Oil. Over thousands of people have contacted them in some way or spread the message. Nestle has sent a strong message supporting those who go against Palm Oil and plantations.
Q2. Who is doing something about palm oil?
A. There are many people doing something about palm oil - Kids Cut Palm Oil, Say No To Palm Oil, Conflict Palm oil, and many others. GreenPeace is a group of people against Palm Oil and harming wildlife and are the very reason Nestle have changed Kit Kat.
Q3. Is there something we can use to replace Palm Oil?
A. Students at Bath University may have created an alternative. M Pulcherrimma has a similar lipid profile to palm oil. It can produce 20 grams per litre of oil, and doesn’t need sterile conditions to grow, so it can be grown on baths at the campus.
Q4. Why do we use palm oil in foods?
A. We use palm oil in foods because it is cheap, has a high melting point and is economically beneficial - but mostly because it is a high quality, cheap vegetable oil.
Q5. What damage is palm oil doing?A. To make room for palm oil plantations the suppliers are burning down forests and destroying the habitats of many animals including orangutans, rhinos and tigers, rapidly decreasing the population of those species. I think I have reached L02 for my Q&A because I given examples of how change affects a community of living things.
Q5. What damage is palm oil doing?A. To make room for palm oil plantations the suppliers are burning down forests and destroying the habitats of many animals including orangutans, rhinos and tigers, rapidly decreasing the population of those species. I think I have reached L02 for my Q&A because I given examples of how change affects a community of living things.
Palm Oil Article
http://www.saynotopalmoil.com/Whats_the_issue.php
http://palmoil.com
I think I have reached the L01 because I have explained the impact on living things when these resources are exhausted.
Friday 21 October 2016
Jaime's Narrative 21/10
Gazing up into the illuminating blue sky; the sky that had chosen to resemble the colour of day instead of the dark night. This eclipse was beautiful, gently illuminating it’s unique, twinkling colours across the land. I let out a loud, low howl that seemed to last for hours on end, swirls of white misty breath erupting into the sky all around me.
As the howl came to a slow end, I looked down to the rock below me, my paws gently resting on the stone, which strangely seemed almost shiny in the moonlight washing over it.
My milky, silver-white paws shivered as a cold breeze blew past, gently ruffling my coat. Gazing into the distance, I saw a dark, lonely tree with branches of bones, standing a few hundred metres away, dripping with silvery dewdrops, surrounded by an array of colours; once green and golden and beautiful, now pale grey, sharp and just slightly...Dead.
“Où va le monde?” I gently whispered into the wind-of course this meant what has this world come to?- in English, I had been speaking rough French-Canadian. I waited for a reply. Of course I didn’t receive one. The land all around me became totally silent. As if it was waiting for me to say something else.
“I dit, ce qui a ce monde venir!”
‘I said, what has this world come to!?’
No answer. The gods didn’t listen.
The land went back to normal, a gentle breeze whipping through the paddocks, the silvery-white grass and bronze statues of stone and marble.
“Yeah, of course, the world wouldn’t reply, would it? I’m just a wolf. A wolf howling at a blue moon, wondering why the hell this world change into some silver and grey paradise?”
I thought to myself, in plain English this time.
Glancing up to the blue moon, I shut my eyes.
“Goodbye.”
Tuesday 11 October 2016
Jaime's Narrative 11/9
The figure stood silently over the the slaughtered bodies, ears still ringing from the dozens of shots fired, the memories still fresh in his mind. He trembled as a single police siren wailed in the distance, breaking the silence, probably miles away. As the gun slipped out of his fingers and landed on the cement ground next to him, he couldn’t help but feel a small pang of guilt.
His heart was pounding.
He slowly looked down to the body to his left. It lay face-down on the ground, shiny crimson blood splurting from a deep gash on his head, just above the ear. And to the right, the most gruesome body. It lay totally expressionless on the cold, hard ground; bloodshot eyeballs, bruised neck, dry blue lips, broken fingers resting on his bloody grey overalls. This wound was more severe; a crack of the skull with the axe, still lodged in his head. A single trail of blood dripped onto the floor, making a tiny ‘tap.. tap.. tap’ noise, echoing throughout the dark, adding a petrifiying, sinister atmosphere to the dark room all around them.
“I’m sorry..”
The man finally managed to say, although it came out as more of a tiny, hushed, whisper.
His mouth was dry. He swallowed.
The room around them - wait, do dead bodies really count as people? - seemed to close in as the authorities neared. The dark cobwebs in the corners, shadows dancing across the walls, the familiar scent of corpses and mildew… it all came back to him..and he sprinted into the night of the dead.
Tuesday 20 September 2016
Jaime's Narrative 20/9
The storm was coming.
All around us was a dome of tall tree, flattened shrubs.. But most importantly, the brown murky water of the rainforest.
The floods had started about a week ago. I still remember when it all happened - my mother, Miki, rushing into our bedrooms where we were sleeping, to scoop me and all my brothers and sisters in her arms, only to drop us outside on the doormat and tell us to run for our lives, the water rapidly rising. So we all ran, from the dusty cream-coloured apartment on the riverside, our socks wet and dripping with water and blood.
Now, with three of my brothers missing, never to be seen again, we were slowly making our way to the crossing at Tamborghini River, days after we’d fled our home, lucky to escape with our lives.
At the front of the group was Rilous. She hadn’t come from our village and was technically illegal to be travelling with us, but she was kind and warm-hearted, and unless the Vanuatu Police was on patrol through rainforests with 24 inch floodwaters, we’d be fine.
Rilous had not been prepared for the floods either; wearing a long black skirt and a white flowing hijab over her head, as well as some sort of American branded black shoes (Vans, I think she said). Oh well, what can I say? I was wearing jeans and a sweater. Most of my brothers were wearing basketball shoes but my sisters were in dresses and tights. I prayed we’d find shelter tonight. But first there was a bridge we had to conquer.
It was right in front of us, through a clearing of trees and grub. I looked back. In the distance, although it was blurry and through the rainforest, I could see the floodwaters slowly catching up. Brown. The colour I now couldn’t bear to see.
There was nothing we could do but cross. If we climbed the trees, the water would surely knock them down… they were thin like flag poles with branches and leaves.
So, I took a deep breath as Rilous slowly stepped onto the bridge to cross. It was old and rackety, the wood looking like an ancient rocking chair, hidden away for years, now dusty and mouldy. In some places the planks were broken and dislodged, the ropes on the sides grey and fraying.
Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. As Rilous set her right foot onto the bridge, it jolted to one side. The bridge was no longer horizontal, it was vertical, with only the ropes to support our feet, and to hold on to. “We can’t cross this!” My little brother, Brendor, disclaimed in fluent Bislama. I looked back. The floodwaters were coming… and fast. They were about 400m away, faster than ever. “We have to!” I yelled, rushing them along. Rilous gripped the rope and shuffled across the bridge, followed by Rina, Pascaline, Agnes, Pisiv, Jean Regis, and finally, me. The bridge shook gently as I stepped on, and I clung to the ropes as I stood on it with both feet. The floodwaters were coming closer and closer; but as long as we were a good distance away from the sides, most of the floodwater would fall into the already polluted river. Rilous was a good 10m in front of me, safe from the flood.
All around us was a dome of tall tree, flattened shrubs.. But most importantly, the brown murky water of the rainforest.
The floods had started about a week ago. I still remember when it all happened - my mother, Miki, rushing into our bedrooms where we were sleeping, to scoop me and all my brothers and sisters in her arms, only to drop us outside on the doormat and tell us to run for our lives, the water rapidly rising. So we all ran, from the dusty cream-coloured apartment on the riverside, our socks wet and dripping with water and blood.
Now, with three of my brothers missing, never to be seen again, we were slowly making our way to the crossing at Tamborghini River, days after we’d fled our home, lucky to escape with our lives.
At the front of the group was Rilous. She hadn’t come from our village and was technically illegal to be travelling with us, but she was kind and warm-hearted, and unless the Vanuatu Police was on patrol through rainforests with 24 inch floodwaters, we’d be fine.
Rilous had not been prepared for the floods either; wearing a long black skirt and a white flowing hijab over her head, as well as some sort of American branded black shoes (Vans, I think she said). Oh well, what can I say? I was wearing jeans and a sweater. Most of my brothers were wearing basketball shoes but my sisters were in dresses and tights. I prayed we’d find shelter tonight. But first there was a bridge we had to conquer.
It was right in front of us, through a clearing of trees and grub. I looked back. In the distance, although it was blurry and through the rainforest, I could see the floodwaters slowly catching up. Brown. The colour I now couldn’t bear to see.
There was nothing we could do but cross. If we climbed the trees, the water would surely knock them down… they were thin like flag poles with branches and leaves.
So, I took a deep breath as Rilous slowly stepped onto the bridge to cross. It was old and rackety, the wood looking like an ancient rocking chair, hidden away for years, now dusty and mouldy. In some places the planks were broken and dislodged, the ropes on the sides grey and fraying.
Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. As Rilous set her right foot onto the bridge, it jolted to one side. The bridge was no longer horizontal, it was vertical, with only the ropes to support our feet, and to hold on to. “We can’t cross this!” My little brother, Brendor, disclaimed in fluent Bislama. I looked back. The floodwaters were coming… and fast. They were about 400m away, faster than ever. “We have to!” I yelled, rushing them along. Rilous gripped the rope and shuffled across the bridge, followed by Rina, Pascaline, Agnes, Pisiv, Jean Regis, and finally, me. The bridge shook gently as I stepped on, and I clung to the ropes as I stood on it with both feet. The floodwaters were coming closer and closer; but as long as we were a good distance away from the sides, most of the floodwater would fall into the already polluted river. Rilous was a good 10m in front of me, safe from the flood.
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