Sven Travis

It was 4:30 in the afternoon before I met Sven Travis. I sat in a small, grey waiting room next to the water cooler on the 5^th floor of the Parsons 66 5th Ave building.

I checked in with the baby faced secretary again around 4:15. After a brief phone conversation, a door opens and a large, tall man emerges to call my name.

This is the man I’ve heard compared to Moses in the world of academic administration. “If a building was falling down he’d know exactly what to do, and he’d be right,” said Charlie Pizzarello, Director of Operations for the School of Art, Media, and Technology. I believe Charlie. He has just the right amount of swagger, accentuated with two gold hoops through his ears.

I’m waved in and ushered into a room with large windows and numerous houseplants populating each table. He immediately excuses himself for a cup of a coffee and I am left alone counting the plants (there’s about ten).

Sven Travis is a busy man to catch. Last week he was in Asia, and although he is back he is never in one place for long. That is to be expected if you are a dean of a school like Parsons.

Travis founded the Design and Technology department in the late 90’s when he was only one of about twenty fulltime faculty members at Parsons. Occupying many positions throughout his 30 year tenure, today he is the dean of the School of Art Media and Technology.

“Perhaps, I was too outspoken about my ideas and they were just like here you do it! I never planned to be here for this long, that’s not how life works,” Travis said, ”It just happened.”

Currently Travis is working on implementing a global design program that would not be centered anywhere specifically but among ten or twelve locations. He is active in China (traveling there a couple times a year), a hopeful contender for the newly developing program. Travis counts, as if on his hand, the many moving parts that constitute his role, “I solve lots of problems, get along with people, I’m really good at initiating new projects, but my biggest job is to be a primary advocate, and be a visionary to a great extent.”

While meeting with NGOs, other universities, and big corporations like the Red Cross and the United Nations in an effort to spearhead the global design program, Travis still manages to find time to teach his classes despite which country he may happen to find himself in. “I was holding a Skype class in Seoul, Korea last week. I didn’t think about it until I realized ‘shit. I have to stay up all night.’ I would be teaching the class 3:30 AM my time.”

The time difference didn’t put a damper on his class as he proceeded to give them a tour of his presidential suite—“I mean what is a presidential suite?”—and tell a joke regarding the time he had been spending in Asia.

“Eyeglasses are cheap in China,” he said. “So I asked my class, ‘You may have been wondering what I have been doing in Asia?’ And then I put on my red [rimmed] glasses!”

Despite his frequent travels to Asia, Travis is still very much the family man. Married for 21 years and living in Brooklyn for 30, Travis is deeply rooted in his adopted home—almost 1000 miles away from his hometown of Madison, Wisconsin. Travis never expected to live in Williamsburg especially after being cautioned, “Don’t. Under any circumstances go to Brooklyn.”

Soon after this warning, Travis emerged from the subway station onto the corner of N 7^th and Bedford, only to immediately double back for the next train heading back to Manhattan.

“People [were] standing on corners of all backgrounds and races. A very typical Brooklyn street, not what it is now,” said Travis. “‘Oh my god! This is so horrible!’ I remembered [thinking].”

After another day of fruitless apartment hunting in Manhattan, Travis rode the subway again into Brooklyn, and walked the seven blocks to the loft that would become his residence for the next thirty years.

Travis pauses for a moment reflecting on his time Brooklyn and how it corresponds to his time spent working for Parsons. “You got to go with the flow. Got to have confidence in your beliefs. I could be second-guessing myself but I don’t,” he said. “I’m sure I’m wrong a lot, but I think that’s the point is to do what is weird—no, what the weirdest thing possible is—until someone says nu-uuuh.”

Travis hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee yet, it now only wafting faint steam. After a short pause he continues, “There’s a great Talking Heads song that goes ‘If your job isn’t what you love than something isn’t right.’”

Freddy Profile Take Two

Since a foreign country feels less foreign if you can order an item on the menu, then, perhaps, a foreign culture feels less foreign if you can recognize the taste of its food. And perhaps, like the old adage about the family dining together staying together, two cultures that appreciate each other’s flavors might assimilate well. So maybe, if all these things are true, then prejudice and hostility can be ended through the sharing of flavors around a dinner table – or on a street corner in your neighborhood.

“Taste my food, taste my country.” This is one of Freddy’s simple yet significant mantras that encourages the people of Queens to savor his flavors of Palestine. Fares Zeideia is a large guy, with broad shoulders and a chef’s belly. His friendly eyes shine and are slightly red, from long hours in the sun and high blood pressure, but he moves with tough guy confidence that he recommends not to cross. He is so light on his feet behind the hot steel grill, where at first glance, you’d think he was just a jolly man dancing, not a serious chef frying. He is frequently seen humming an Arabic son, and occasionally turns around to face his customers, twisting his hips with the music of his country, which is flowing faintly out from the speakers on top of his cart. Maybe away this corner Mr. Zeideia is a bit intimating, but here on 30th and Broadway it is almost as if there is a feel-good aura shining out in a five-foot radius of this Halal stand.

The King of Falafel and Schawarma, Freddy’s self proclaimed title, won this year’s Vendy Awards; an annual food tasting competition held by the Street Vendors Organization of New York City. Everyone passing by and in line congratulates him, telling him he should have won years ago. He appreciates this flattery, but he knows that an award is not what drives him or his business; he is even hesitant about too much positive press, concerned it may crowd his cart.

There are currently about seven people standing around, enjoying their lunch and chatting. He has even provided a few fold up chairs, allowing his customers to sit and relish the original flavors, hand crafted in his kitchen. He creates his own spices, made from scratch in Queens out of wholesale shipments that arrive every three months straight from his hometown in Palestine.

“Not all that shines is gold.” Is another one of Freddy’s mantras that he wisely implements in his daily life. He understands that it does not have to be gold to shine, and costumers are not drawn in because it is dull. It is his charismatic persona that keeps people returning to his cart; so regardless of how terrible his day is, he will always conjure up a smile and whistle at the old ladies walking by, just to hear them laugh along. Freddy learned to think on his feet quickly, because ever since he moved to America at the age of fifteen he has been fending for himself in the midst of the City. He has worked a variety of jobs, trying his hand at everything from door-to-door salesman to coffee shop owner. The only constant was his kitchen at home, where he was quietly maturing his chef skills, until 2001 when he finally auditioned them for the public. He had this street vendor idea since his wild cabbie days in the eighties, but it took him some time to prepare for the challenge. “I struggled at first, it wasn’t always this easy; I used to chase people down the street with a falafel in my hand, begging them to at least try it,” he humorously recalls.
Freddy is not the type to fool himself with a lack of regrets, as wishes he had started this Halal stand sooner, but has a tendency to procrastinate. He is a confident man but honest about his bad habits, which according to the rules of his Muslim religion judge him with a few more than most. Although, for Freddy, with age and experience comes balance and discretion. He understands that there is often a discrepancy between what he ought to do and what he wants to do. So he dances and flirts with attractive women, but does not even consider taking one home, since Freddy believes in the doctrine of his faith, but not at the complete sacrifice of enjoying his time.
His family members back home are devote Muslims, however he, for better or worse, picks and chooses which aspects fit for him. Twenty-four years ago he married his first cousin to appease his parents and abide by their tradition. A choice he would not have made for himself, but he adopts the ‘life goes on mentality’ and admittedly deals with her best he can, which happens to be while she’s thousands of miles away in Palestine. However Freddy will not tell you this is a loveless marriage, just a union of a less ideal sort.
After questioning each Arab man that walked away from a food cart why they return here so regularly – a notion implied since each one arrive and shared a man high-five/ half hug moment with Freddy. All twelve of them responded that this street corner offered them a lunch break to home. Asad Chema does not even live in this borough, but travels here at least twice a week, to taste the comfort of home. “I am from Israel, and most falafel in New York City does not taste like the real thing, but Freddy’s does,” Chema says with a satisfied smile.
Food brought Freddy happiness when he was longing for home; it cured his homesickness and eased his feeling of segregation. Freddy explains the larger motivation behind this Halal stand simply: “the flavor, this food, is a way to connect with another side of the world,” says Freddy. He wanted to bring that to this neighborhood, and expose the once foreign place to some new foreign food, as a way to build bridges between two distinct cultures and mend gaps between the lands.

Dara Douglas [EDIT]

Alex Goodman
Oct 25, 2010

When I first met Dara Douglas*, it was my first week on the job as a file clerk at a law firm in New York City’s financial district. She came up to me and introduced herself, and then peered down at my shoes. “Oh my god aren’t you hot in those? Those are winter shoes!” she exclaimed. Admittedly, I was hot. I was unaware of the summer dress code and was glad I had been provided with some lenience. Dara had no qualms about sharing her views, and was eager in helping me shape my own. As the days went on, Dara would place the arts section of The New York Times on my desk everyday before I got there, and then was sure to remind me that she did so. On my last day on Wall St, Dara bought me a veggie wrap, and sent me off, saying: “We’ll have to light one up soon.”

Two months later, Dara shuffled through the door of Veselka where she had arranged our meeting. She sat down immediately, and looked through only one page of the extensive menu. Dara did not skip a beat, as she ordered a cup of coffee and a veggie burger, and assured the waitress that the restaurant had fantastic food.

The redheaded 53-year-old legal secretary from Long Island had no problem reciting her views. She was untroubled by them⎯as if reciting them over lunch. We touched upon gay rights, outsourcing money, and the idea of true democracy. Dara’s political reservations were few and far between, especially when it came to the Republican Party. “There is no humanity out there, because you have morons like Christine O’Donnell from the Tea Bagger party.”

Her casually aggressive political opinions were interrupted by shockingly maternal ones, as she placed french fries on my plate, and repeated, “I’m so glad to see you eating” throughout the course of the meal.

Dara, who even in the middle of her life remains a size four, does not have a very decadent appetite herself. This choice has very much to do with becoming a vegetarian, and studying zoology in college. “Being a zoologist, eating meat is just hypocritical. She said “Plus, there are so many steroids in meat. Seeing a ten year old, look like an eighteen year old is disturbing. Roman Polanski might have not had so much trouble if the girl actually looked thirteen.”

I sought solace in Dara against the backdrop of a downtown law firm. She glided from cubicle to cubicle shedding her insights with expressive vulgarity. When the office had a bed bugs scare, she was the first to identify them, and the first to tell you how much Clorox bleach to use around the perimeter of your apartment. Dara never failed to comment on which snack I decided to get at the vending machine. She was partial to pretzels, as they are low in calories. Though her zoology background was underworked at the law firm, she assured me that she lived out her passions through her love of extreme sports, and her rescued beagle lab mix, Charlie and her Himalayan that recently passed away.

Dara responds to all of my political and environmental questions quickly, and with great ferocity. Tapping the pages of my journal, she suggests that I get a tape recorder: “If you think I’m chatty now just wait until I’m stoned.”

Upon first glance, one might not anticipate Dara’s advocacy of Marijuana. But she assures me that, “My most important subject is marijuana—I want that shit legalized.”

It was on August 10th, 41 years ago that Dara Doulgas inhaled her first breath of Marijuana and never looked back. Though Dara advocates marijuana’s legalization, she is strongly against the usage of other drugs. “The only thing we’ll have to worry about [post marijuana’s legalization] is cocaine and heroin, and if they want to do it⎯let them die!”

Nevertheless, Dara’s expressive nature is not exclusively for shock value. Dara cultivated her own political views by the time she was 18, became a self-proclaimed atheist at age 10 and was greatly involved in the no-nuke movement prior to her enrollment at Cornell. Despite her position as a legal secretary, Dara has procured degrees in both zoology and economics, and plans to relocate to California where she can inhale marijuana insouciantly. This wiry framed rebel is void of categorization, mostly because she is inherently herself. “Ask me anything,” she says while aggressively signaling for the check “I promise I’ll be honest.”

Profile re-write

Declan Schweitzer

Intro to Journalism

Heather Chaplin

10.24.10

Nora Pouillon

Nora Pouillon picks up the phone after the first ring. There is commotion behind her voice and you can tell she is probably at work in her restaurant. What would seem to be a disruptive environment for conversation is somehow not discouraging. Perhaps it is due to her warm voice or charming Viennese accent. Nora Poullion is the owner of the fist and one of only three certified organic restaurants in the entire country. She is not only the owner of the first organic restaurant but is the reason that such a certification even exists.

From outside her restaurant simply called “Nora,” you’ll catch a glimpse of their modest organic herb garden and brick building walls but you might not suspect the significance of this place. The restaurant’s interior on the other hand has the aesthetic atmosphere of any classy place that big time legislators and the president’s staff might go to dine. During Bill Clinton’s presidency Nora was a common destination for such a crowd. The menu is highly dynamic because of the commitment to organic sources. This fall you’ll find such delicacies as “Sustainable shrimp ceviche” or “Roasted fall squash soup.”

It would be inappropriate to say that Pouillon has a “history” with organic food; this would imply that her fascination began at some point during her life. Instead one might say that food is her history. Born in post-war Austria, Nora’s family had moved to the countryside during her mother’s pregnancy because fresh food was so difficult to find within the city. Nora spent the first three years of her life in a farming community that was entirely self-sufficient and for the most part, organic. Pouillon attributes much of her passion for healthy food and a wholesome lifestyle to this early stage of her life, which was characterized by the most basic element: food. She also considers her father to be particularly influential in developing her commitment to food.

“My father always said your health is the most important thing,” Nora tells me. “The easiest way keep your health is to eat good things your whole life.”

In the early 1960’s after completing a traditional French schooling, Nora made the journey across the Atlantic in hopes of starting her own restaurant. When she arrived she was devastated by the state of the food systems in America.

“When I got here it was crazy, literally like food wasteland,” she said. “I didn’t wake up one day and say ‘Hey I’m organic’, but when I saw these foods, I knew that I could not use them in a restaurant.”

Nora’s own restaurant, simply called “Nora” opened in 1979 after she had helped open another restaurant within the Tabard Inn a hotel in Washington DC. Since it’s opening “Nora” has grown from the wholesome but gourmet restaurant it was in the 1980’s to a beacon of the progressive food movement in the present day. Although she was discouraged when she first arrived in the U.S. by the state of the American food landscape, Pouillon immediately started searching out the farms that produced organically. Slowly the network of organic farmers grew and by the 1980’s she was able to supply her own restaurant with many organically grown goods. It is funny to hear her talk about the history of the restaurant. There is a sense that the excitement in her voice comes from a re-living of the challenges she faced when starting this project. She seems to remember all of the farmers that were part of what she calls “the old crew”—the first circle of farmers and progressive chefs that dedicated themselves to the organic ideal.

“I didn’t always know that my passion was for organic food,” she explains in her broken English. “slowly I built up a friend of farmers and they could give me the organic food I needed.”

In wasn’t until the 1990’s that Nora was actually certified as organic. Pouillon was the first to try and achieve this status in the restaurant world and therefore had to work together with the private organic certification company, “Tilth” to develop the actual standards that go into certification. In 1999 she was finally gratified with organic certification making her even more successful and widely acclaimed. Since then she has been a pioneer in the organic world and has consulted for such companies as Whole Foods as well as been an educator for programs through the Federal Agriculture Department.

Even now after more than 10 years of being organic and 31 years of success, Nora is still highly involved in her restaurant. Her commitment is slightly more demanding than a conventional chef for a number of reasons. Most importantly, her suppliers are never stable. She explained that her biggest challenge is keeping her ingredient lists stocked in the kitchen because there are so many growers that go from organic to conventional farming or visa versa.

“I have a man on my staff who is constantly dealing with finding the farmers and working out how to get the foods to the restaurant,” Pouillon tells me with a frantic and frustrated tone. “Some growers are only organic for one or two seasons before they quit.”

Nora Pouillon is modest about her influence on the organic world. Although she is considered an innovator in the progressive food community she doesn’t think that her project is anything to be surprised about. Instead she thinks of conventional farming, chemically modified vegetables and meat as obviously harmful and ignorant.

“When people say that organic food is too expensive I think they don’t understand. You have to know the real cost of eating these (non-organic) things,” she says. “You are paying with your health instead of you money.”

Profile Piece: Yenee Seble: EDITS

My aunt recently adopted a six-year-old boy, Workneh, from Ethiopia. His appetite for life and vibrant energy has brought light and joy to my family. He came to the United States knowing absolutely no English, and with no knowledge of American culture, but he was eager to learn. Subsequently, my aunt hired Yenee Sible, an Ethiopian immigrant, someone to care for him and speak in Amharic. For Workneh, she is more than that; she is a subtle reminder of home.

Two months had passed before I finally asked Yenee the events that brought her to Prospect Park on that particular October afternoon. With my cousin entertained on the swings within arms reach, what I had anticipated to be a traditional 20 questions transpired into a conversation that lasted the entire afternoon. I saw that her skin had loosened around her eyes, which gave the impression of expedited aging and tension. What I soon learned was that Yenee had come a long way from her greatest sufferings. I watched her push my cousin on the swings, occasionally patting him on the head as he went by, with the cotton from her dress flowing at her ankles as she stepped back and fourth.

“Ethiopian women, especially those in Addis, do not show skin. It is considered…” she paused, “immodest.”

However, not all of her attire was unembellished. She was wearing a colorful headdress of red and gold fabric; large golden earrings; multicolored bangles, and a crucifix around her neck; a precious gift from her mother.

Whether it was making injera in the kitchen (Ethiopian sourdough bread), attending secondary school with her sister, Kassa, or playing soccer with the town’s children, as a girl, Yenee would have never imagined living most of her adult life in New York City. Yet she has.

Yenee is the eldest of two children and was born on September 15, 1970, to a working class family in the outskirts of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Her family owned a woodworking business, co owned by her father and her uncle, who were both carpenters. Yenee lived in a small, two-bedroom house with her mother, father, sister, and her “set ayat”, her father’s mother. The house was modest, but “sufficient,” with an outhouse and a small garden in the back that grew barley.

Yenee describes her experiences in elementary school. She attended a small orthodox Christian school that housed about twenty students. In class, they learned arithmetic, and read passages from the bible.

“You had to keep your hands under the table” she said with a smile, “If you didn’t the nuns would make sure you walked out with your knuckles hurting.”

She continued.

“I was lucky to go to school. It is a rare thing back there.”

Unfortunately, Yenee is right. Ethiopia is one of the most impoverished countries on earth and is plagued with destitution, crime, and disease; specifically HIV and AIDS. According to statistic recorded by UNICEF, the literacy rate in Ethiopia is just under 36%.

When she was not in school, Yenee was with her younger sister and the other girls in town. They danced and sang together, and even convinced the boys in town to include them in the soccer games they held on the street. It was a uncommon occurrence that the kids had an soccer ball, and Yenee remembers kicking around a ball made from leather, string, and “whatever else we could find,” she said.

But Ethiopia was about to change, and Yenee’s life would follow suit. Since the mid seventies, the beginning of the Ethiopian Civil war, conflict had been brewing in rural Ethiopia. It wasn’t until the early eighties that the major conflict had reached the capital, Addis Abba, and its surrounding areas. Essentially the initial dispute was between the rebel communist militia and the age-old monarchy within the country. Led by Mengistu Haile Mariam, the rebels were able to overthrow the government and obtain full political control of Ethiopia for close to fifteen years. Under Mengistu’s regime, hundreds of thousands of people died from political terror, forced deportations, and hunger. The battles were not just between Ethiopians themselves but also surrounding groups within the horn of Africa. In the northern frontier, the Eritreans had waged war in a successful conquest that cut off the Ethiopia’s access to the Red Sea. In the country’s eastern borders, there were conflicts with the rebel Somali forces who wanted to annex the eastern half the Ethiopian state. Then, in 1984 and 1985, a series of famines broke out due to the record low rainfalls in the eastern and southern agricultural highlands. The whole nation was in shambles.

The time had come to move, Ethiopia was no longer safe for two young girls. And so, Yenee, Kassa, and there mother followed thousands of refugee Ethiopians and ventured to Israel .Her father, uncle, and grandmother stayed behind, and her father gave the rest of his savings to his wife and daughters to aid their journey. Unknowingly, they were saying farewell to their homeland and their family forever. The women lived in Netanya for a number of months, living in a one-room apartment outside the city.

“We never planned to stay in Israel for long” said Yenee “A Christian has no place there.”

Tens of thousands of Ethiopians fled to Israel during the revolution. The majority of these migrants settled in Netanya, Ashdod, and Rehovot. However, most of these Ethiopians are considered Beta Israelis, a term for Ethiopian Jews. Yenee and her family practiced Eastern Orthodox Christianity, so were never fully included in the Ethiopian minority community in Israel.

All three women worked together. Yenee and her mother received cleaning jobs at a local hotel while Kassa stayed home and kept the apartment in order. But Israel was merely an intermission; the family had their sights set on America. Obtaining the proper visas to travel to the United States was very difficult, but after years of trying they were able to acquire the proper government approval. Thus, commenced their journey.

Yenees mother had a distant relative living in Queens at the time. The women lived in the basement of his apartment for three months, enough time to get on their feet.

“Its funny,” Yenee said. “That apartment in Queens was the worst of all. No light, no space. It was horrible,” she paused “horrible.”

At the time, in was 1992 and Yenee was twenty-two years old. She spoke barely any English, and was minimally educated. In the beginning, she worked in the kitchen at a restaurant in the Flushing neighborhood of Queens. Meanwhile, her mother and sister had received childcare jobs in Manhattan paying about four dollars an hour. Yenee and her sister enrolled in accelerated English classes and began to save money for a different apartment.

One may find Yenee’s story unbearable. It is unfathomable that someone who has faced such adversity can prevail with such grace and humility.

“As the Ethiopians say, ‘you cannot build a house for last year’s summer’.” She said. “I choose not to look back. I am grateful for many things.”

Over fifteen years have passed and since then, and a lot has changed. Five years ago, Yenee was informed that her grandmother had died, and two years later, her father passed as well. Kassa has moved to Philadelphia for employment opportunities. Yenee shares an apartment with her mother in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn. She is a nanny to three children, my cousin included, and works six days a week. After nearly two decades in the states, Yenee occasionally thinks of the nostalgic hills of Ethiopia.

“I would love to go back.” She said “But the papers are too complicated.”

Workneh sat on my lap mid conversation and said something to Yenee in Amharic. It is interesting to juxtapose these two characters. So different in age and background, they share one quality in common; bravery. Like millions of other immigrants, they have had the courage to leave their native land and their loved ones, searching to find a new life in a foreign place. In my eyes, they are nothing short of a triumph.

“This one has sass,” she said. “He has a bright future here. In Ethiopia, the children have very little, not like America. He looks happy.”

Ghana's Deputy Commissioner: Anna Bossman (Edit)

After waiting in front of the computer for a few minutes, quickly jotting down a few more questions to ask, I click the video-call button on Skype and wait for Anna Bossman to pick up the call. I’m greeted with a warm hello as her bright, wide smile shines through the computer screen. It’s been about two months since I’ve last seen and spoken to her; the last time being an intimate dinner with her and her daughter, my good friend Maria Bossman-Damiba in a dim lit restaurant in the Financial District as we enjoy the last few weeks of summer vacation. This time around, her busy schedule did not permit us to personally meet. Virtually, she looks the same from the last time I saw her despite the images being pixilated every so often. Her beautiful dark skin shimmers on screen; it’s probably due to the light shining on her or the traditional Ghanian jewelry she is wearing makes her glow. But one thing I noticed that was different is her tired face. She is not one to hinder any commitments because she is merely tired so she tries her best to cover it up. This week is no vacation for her as she has returned to New York City to take part in a lecture and panel for Fordham University’s International Law Week.

Ms. Bossman serves as Ghana’s Deputy Commissioner of Legal and Investigative for the Commission of Human Rights and Administrative Justice (CHMAJ), but first and foremost she is a mother. Like all mothers she is concerned about my current state. We spend about five minutes playing catch-up, asking me questions similar to the last time I had seen her. Her gorgeous round face takes up about two-thirds of the video screen. “I’m still not used to these new technology stuff,” Ms. Bossman laughs. She moves from left to right trying to find the right position, not realizing that she’s probably sitting up too close to the computer. She motions her hand in a way to say “whatever,” opting out and giving up and calmly sits in the hotel room’s chair.

Ms. Bossman, 53, is a prominent human rights advocate. She has been serving as deputy commissioner for eight years now, the last five years as active chair commissioner (the current chair commissioner was away in Arusha on a committee dealing with national reconciliation and reparation for Rwanda). But before becoming deputy commissioner, Ms. Bossman spent some time in different occupations and fields.

Ms. Bossman began her career in the Ministry of Justice as a prosecutor for the state attorney, spent some time in corporate law firm as a lawyer, and then worked in Gabon for a small oil company. In 1997, she returned to Ghana and started her own consulting law firm, Bossman Consultancy Limited, BCL, taking on different types of clients from business companies, entrepreneurs, and solitary clients. Her consultancy would manage and represent their legal work through cases that concerned business frauds and embezzlements to human rights. With the work she was doing with her consultancy, she gained recognition from the government and was appointed by then-President John Agyekum Kuffuor as deputy commissioner (she chose to close her consultancy to focus on her newly appointed position).

Truthfully, Ms.Bossman never saw herself in law. Originally, Ms. Bossman wanted to focus on linguistics, wanting to learn more languages to add on to English, French, and the Ghanian dialect Ga. Careerwise, possibly becoming a linguist or translator. But due to the inability to combine foreign languages with political science, she dropped that plan. Ms. Bossman reveals that the reason she got in law was because of human rights. “Due to [Ghana]’s poverty, women’s rights and children’s rights are not being seen as issues and I wanted to create awareness within the public,” Ms. Bossman states.

As a result, Fordham University has invited her to International Law Week. An intensive two-day event, Ms. Bossman gave a lecture entitled “Protecting Human Rights through National Commission: The Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice of Ghana.” Ms. Bossman comments that she enjoys lecturing and traveling. “Taking part in lectures gives me the opportunity to speak about human rights and administrative justice with students and other professionals," Ms. Bossman states, "and the traveling gives me a slight break from the office.”

Most importantly, it gives her a chance to visit her daughter that she rarely sees. Her only daughter from her first marriage to Burkina Faso’s former prime minister candidate Pierre Claver Damiba, Maria Bossman-Damiba, 20, is currently a culture and media student at Eugene Lang College. During our conversation, Bossman-Damiba was sitting not to far from free and at some moments Ms. Bossman would break into her French, speaking directly to her daughter; she's just as concerned about her as she is about me.

Bossman-Damiba didn't really find any interest in her mother's work until she attended one of her lectures at the University of Ghana a few years ago. "I knew my mother was committed to her work as she spends so much time at the office but after seeing her on stage speaking about her concerns for human rights, it really comes through and I can't help to think how amazing of a woman she is," Bossman-Damiba said.

In the near future, Ms. Bossman is unsure where she’ll be. "I still see myself in human rights, possibly opening my consulting firm again in the future," Ms. Bossman said, “but I have a long way to go and there’s so many opportunities to try new things, I don’t know what I’ll do next.”

For now, Ms. Bossman will continue her advocacy for Ghana's human rights and administrative justice. Recently, she was invited by the governor of Ghana to take part in a panel about the development of oil and gas in the country. But with so much work to do and not enough hands to do it all, "you must have a passion and commitment for it," Ms. Bossman adds. And what Ms. Bossman talks about, she definitely has.

Take a Look at Jeff Meltz (EDIT)

Take a Look at Jeff Meltz

25 October 2010

By Lula Brown

Jeff Meltz is everywhere you want to be.

He’s the warm, outgoing quirky guy behind the flash at downtown New York and Brooklyn nightlife events, and the brain behind “THE CULTURE OF ME,” a music, art and nightlife photography website based in New York City. Essentially, Jeff is at every important event capturing images of everyone from DJ’s to bouncers to partygoers.

Hailing from Rockland County, just thirty minutes outside of New York City, Jeff grew up with an older brother two and a half years his senior, who is now a high school mathematics teacher. As Jeff puts its, “He’s more analytic, and I’m more artsy, even though I’m not artsy at all.”

Many have praised Jeff’s high-quality photography and keen editing skills, and his sharp sense for musical talent further proves his artistic ability. When you are with Jeff at an event, it is clear that he is really there to listen to and critique the music, in addition to his photographing and socializing.

After living at his parents house for one and a half years after graduating college with a TV/film major and a creative writing minor, he moved to the southernmost part of Brooklyn, New York in 2004. This was a change in lifestyle for Jeff, since he had been working retail for the past year and a half.

At this point, Jeff was 24 years old and attending a lot of music shows in Brooklyn and Manhattan. He began photographing on his own at these events, inspired by his favorite musicians and upcoming artists. Jeff’s favorite music group is Knapsack, a little known emo/rock/indie band that is working hard to secure their place on the scene. The photographer’s support for this little known band shows that he is definitely not afraid to step away from the mainstream.

In January 2006, after two years of photographing on his own, Jeff founded THE CULTURE OF ME website, giving his various work forms a domain to conglomerate and expand. At this point, Jeff was covering multiple downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn parties, and is presently photographing “RANDO” at Gallery Bar on Tuesdays and “Girls & Boys” on Fridays at Webster Hall, among many others. “RANDO” is a weekly party with three resident DJ’s, Dances with White Girls, Fulltime Fun, and ARQ, as well as special guests every week. “Girls & Boys” is a GBH run event that has two resident DJ’s, Alex English and rekLES, along with special performances each week by electro artists like Chromeo, Boys Noize and Nero.

Jeff’s favorite party is RANDO.

“It makes no sense. There’s no built in crowd and it’s always a mess. A good party is made by the energy.”

In the ever-raging battle between LA and New York nightlife, Jeff zeros in on one large difference.

“LA is the epitome of a scene where it’s much more about who you can get to attend your party. In NY, it’s less cutthroat because all you want is for your party to be successful, considering the [infinite number of] other parties happening that night.”

Since there are less parties happening in LA, people care more about who is in attendance, whereas in New York it is more about having a good time with people who are actually your friends.

Although there are often many nightlife photographers at the same event, Jeff does not play into competition with his peers. He’s aware of which photos are not liked, and admits that sometimes those photos are his. Jeff jokes that his favorite moment in nightlife is anytime someone asks him if he is NickyDigital, another very popular nightlife photographer. His response is usually “yes,” since he is not there for a popularity contest but rather to take quality photographs and critique the music.

As Mo Daly, nightlife regular and emerging DJ stated, “I think his pictures are some of the better ones out there. He has a way of making me take a picture when I try to dodge him, which is a skill in and of itself. He seems to genuinely listen to the music, and isn’t just there for the party. I’m a big fan.”

Along with attending weekly parties diligently and working on his videos during the day, Jeff is very active in social networking, primarily via Facebook and Twitter. These tools are necessary to get publicity these days, especially in the world of nightlife. Jeff’s tweets are a combination of the business and personal sides of his life from “on TCOM [THECULTUREOFME] News: Kid Karate are releasing their debut EP next month http://cultur.me/cn6N5I” to “mambo #5 is relegated to weddings and senior homes only, right?” and “need to be #highoncoffee.” If you are curious, his coffee is always hazelnut with half and half and one sugar.

Jeff has a girlfriend, “#thelovelygirlfriend” as referred to on twitter, who is studying to become a teacher at NYU. She is not involved in nightlife, as opposed to Jeff and his prominent position on the scene. However, when Jeff does not have to be out, he and his girlfriend like to do “actual cultural things, like museums and theater,” sans his omnipresent camera. The couple also loves a good taco night or chicken potpie dinner at home.

Regardless of his advanced photography skills, Jeff was never really interested in the formalities of photography such as darkroom techniques and theory. Jeff’s greater passion during his school years was for writing, juxtaposing his outgoing nightlife personality. His favorite authors include Don Delilo, Bukowski and Chabon, with “The Neverending Story” by Michael Ende being his favorite novel.

In terms of personal style, you can catch Jeff in quirky trendy getups from Uniqlo and Ben Sherman, paired with his classic round glasses and huge SLR camera. The effect is a unique cross between hipster and schoolboy from the 70’s, in the best way possible.

In the future, Jeff sees himself married with a child and a solid photography career including event and studio work. He would love to stay in New York forever but is not completely attached because he knows that wherever he goes will be “cool in some way.” This easy-going attitude shows that he could really thrive anywhere, but juicy New York is the best place for savvy creative types like himself.