Peace, Love, and Handball

Sunday consisted of exactly two things (not three as the title may suggest).

The Nobel Peace Prize museum, and a game of handball.

I set off for the museum, solo this time.  I had plans to visit some gardens and a cemetary that day as well.

Except I spent 3 hours at the Nobel museum.

The guided tour was only 35 minutes, but there was so much to see and read.  And of course, I had to read everything.  The ground floor consisted of two photo exhibitions, both of which were truly extraordinary.

The first, Veiled Rebellion was shot by Lynsey Addario and featured the women and girls of Afghanistan.  The following information is via the facts written in the museum, as well as our tour guide.

Afghanistan is considered the worst place in the world for women to live.  57% of all Afghan girls are married before they are 16.  The average life expectancy for a woman there is only 43 years.  Under Taliban rule, only 5000 girls attended school.  Now almost 500,000 attend school (I'm not 100% sure if the second part of the fact is accurate).  It is difficult to say if those figures the museum had were even accurate, as Afghanistan lacks basic infrastructure. 

The pictures showed a variety of things.  From women in full burkas to more progressive women wearing makeup with their faces, arms, and hair exposed.  From the scarred faces of women beaten and mutilated by their husbands to women graduating from university.  They showed some of the medical care that women have access to, as well as their social lives.

The whole thing made you feel both sorry and proud at the same time.  Sorry that many women have no opportunity to demand for better treatment, but proud of those that can.  The 2012 Olympics will feature the first Afghan women's boxing team.  The girls will wear hijabs under their head guards, but just the fact that their families have allowed them to participate is a huge step. 

The other photo exhibition, Infidel, was shot by the late Tim Hetherington.  Tim was killed in April of 2011 while covering the civil war in Misrata, Libya.  His exhibit was based on a group of American soldiers.  All I could gather was second platoon.  I'm assuming army based on the pictures.

Its main focus was the subculture that could only exist in all male groups such as the one it featured,  as well as the bonds that men in war had with each other.

"Only in war is it possible for men to demonstrate their love for one another.  It's the only place where society sanctions such behavior."

The photos showed the men in both leisure and duty.  Some of the rituals the group had adopted (which as a woman I couldn't possibly understand) included giving members a "pink belly" fo his birthday. Which meant each member slapped him in the stomach until you could see the blood rise beneath the skin.  Happy Birthday.  Another was called blooding.  A soldier going on, or returning from leave was wrestled and punched till he bled.  The one picture showed a member getting his blooding, as well as him smiling after it was administered, blood dripping from his nose.  Other photos showed the men in contact with the locals in peaceful settings.  Also shown were some of the entertainment consumed by the plattoon, namely magazines and posters featuring guns, tattoos, and porn. 

One member of the group had brought his tattoo gun with him.  The others allowed him to tattoo them (his artwork got progressively better I must say).  Some tattoos were obviously done on a whim, others had meanings. One soldeirs helmet had been struck by two bullets in previous combat.  He had two bullets with wings tattood on his chest.  Several soldiers had gotten large tattoos across their sternums that said "Infidel", saying that this is what the enemy called them on the radio, so why not adopt it as their name. 

This whole exhibit moved me almost as equally as the first.  Despite having dated someone in the military (although never while he was overseas), I had never thought of the military as a fraternal organization in its own right.  Nor had I ever thought of it as a good way to open or broaden one's mind.  I'm not saying that I've never respected those willing to join, more like I thought the only items of value one would get from it were adrenaline rushes, college funds, and the occasional career (and of course the whole dicipline and respect aspects). Despite knowing many in the armed forces (including friends and past boyfriends) I had never really heard that side of the story.  Not a typical everyday conversation.

I feel like that should be enough to chew on for quite awhile.

I returned back to Erkki's flat, and he made some awesome pasta (I swear they were trying to make me fat in Oslo), and then we left for Erkki's handball game.  He played in a local league that practiced twice a week and was basically for anyone that wanted to sign up and play. 

If you've never seen handball before, as I hadn't, its pretty intense.  Its like basketball meets soccer.  The ball was between a softball and a soccerball, and didn't bounce all that well.  You could take three steps with the ball without bouncing it (dribbling wasn't really possible).  Scoring meant throwing it into a soccer like goal (keeper and all) from a circular boundary.  You had to stand outside the line to score...

Unless you were in midair.

This meant that scoring players looked somewhat like they were "slam dunking" (do we really say that? I've never realized how dumb that sounds? Its even worse in text...slam dunking). Whatever. The point is, each score was a pretty epic event.

The whole game is an hour long, with two periods of a half an hour each, and extremely limited timeouts.  Which I think is a good way to play a sport, none of this stopping the clock BS.  Erkki's team ended up killing their opponents in the end.

We rode the subway (without tickets of course) back, along with a few of the teammates.  They asked a bit about the Presidential election.  Who I thought would win, did anyone besides Obama really have a chance, who did I like, etc.  They even knew enough about American politics to know that Ohio was an important electoral state that didn't necessarily always vote one way or the other.  Do you know how much I know about Norwegian politics? Nothing.  I'm pretty sure they have a prime minister, and I'm thinking he must be at least 6 ft 5 and have a red beard.  Embarrassing.

The next day I would leave Oslo for Gothenburg, Sweden.

Ha Det Bra Norway
Tegs