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There are some interesting developments going on in Brazil’s libraryland, but since the newspapers in Brazil write in Portuguese and First World countries don’t pay much attention to most Third World countries (let alone when it’s news about copyright laws regarding libraries, lol) non-Lusophone librarians and library lovers are missing out on the news.

So my hand slipped and I did a thing. ;)

What are the obstacles to the digitization of collections in Brazil

There are rare writings of Guimarães Rosa that can not appear in Brasiliana, the digital library of USP (University of São Paulo), for legal copyright issues. In the Brazilian Cinemateca*, the original of the film "The Hour and Turn of Augusto Matraga" (1965), with Leonardo Villar, deteriorates because the heirs of the filmmaker cannot reach an agreement on how much to charge to allow the digitization of the work.

They are just two examples of the obstacles faced by Brazilian memory institutions when trying to digitize their collections. The cases were cited in a 2010 report by the newspaper O Estado de S. Paulo and appear in the book "Digital Memories", launched in 2018 by FGV Publisher together with the CTS (Technology and Society Center) of FGV Direito Rio (Getúlio Vargas Foundation).

The book resulted from workshops held in 2014 by CTS with Brazilian and Latin American professionals in the area (some of which contribute articles). The collection of texts deals with aspects such as technology, legislation, institutional policies and financing.

In parallel, a research was carried out to try to quantify the state of digitalization of the Brazilian collections. Although the data are still being analyzed, the book's organizer and CTS researcher, Bruna Castanheira de Freitas, explained that museums are the institutions with the most incipient digitization.

On the other hand, the national collections, places such as the Historical Archive of the Army and the Archive Noronha Santos, both in Rio de Janeiro, are the category of institution with the most advanced digitization process. The National Archive itself inaugurated in September 2017 a new search tool for searching its collection.

Why Digitize

For Castanheira, the digitization serves two main objectives: the preservation of works, which in their original physical state are subject to the ravages of time, and the democratization of access to the collections, by making them available on the internet. 

The researcher points out that many Brazilians live far from museums or can not afford to buy a ticket. According to the CTS survey, most of the museums are located in the South and Southeast regions of the country. 

"Museums, libraries, and archives are required to join educational institutions in embracing [digitization]," Wayne Clough said in a 2013 interview when he was a secretary at the Smithsonian Institution in the United States, a government-run research entity and museum.

What Are the Judicial Obstacles

In Brazil, gaps in the Copyright Law of 1998, leave administrators of collections in a situation of legal uncertainty when the subject is scanning. According to current law, only creating a digital version of a work without the proper permission of the owner is prohibited. "It would be understood as piracy in the current law," Castanheira explained to Nexo.

In many cases, it is not possible to locate the copyright holder of an old book or photo, generating what is called an "orphan work". The book cites 2009 data that in the National History Museum in London alone, 20% of the nearly 1 million books and 25% of the approximately 500,000 items in the collection were of unknown property.

For the researcher, the law should determine procedures for practitioners of memory institutions in such cases, "to prove that they tried to find the owner but failed. Suppose there’s a book that is corroding with time in the library. The librarian is in tough spot, because her right to restore and copy that work is not legally certain.”

The legislation should be modified to contemplate the digitization "for conservation purposes", opening, in this case, an exception in copyright, according to Castanheira.

"It's a response against the hatred that masculine society, past and present, feels towards women.

It's an individual and group awareness.

It's the search for fraternity between women.

It's to know oneself, without competing against the male.

It's to denounce segregation.

It's the understanding that most of feminine disgraces are not ordained by God nor Nature, but by men for their comfort.

It's pretending to reign not over men, but over our own bodies and destiny.

It's to go against the images that society categorizes ourselves: whores or goddesses, martyrs or witches.

It's understanding that we live betrayed and deformed by a false education.

it's understanding that all revolutions that brought some partial progress didn't take into account half of humanity's specific issues.

It's looking for the freedom without thinking ad hominem, or to be pointed at by when, how and how much.

It's, once we're integrated into society, radically changing it, a society based in violence, exploitation, and repression.

It's pointing at and combatting misogyny, because what starts as a simple word, ends up in a witch hunt or concentration camps.

It's understanding that the exceptional women only prove the rule.

It's rejecting millenary labels.

It's comprehending that charity starts inside the home, but the home is the world.

It's to realize that exceptions don't count much because all women have the same problems."

- María Elena Walsh.

ava: All the beeest for your gig Saschi! 🔥

sascha: Danke Ava 🥺

ava: You’ll ROCK IT

While I’ll sit around at a family dinner 🙄

sascha: You’ll ROCK THAT

ava: 😣

We’ll see each other on NYE right? At the party?

sascha: I’m at my dad’s over NY :/

ava: Ah right

Children of divorce unite 🤝

sascha: Hahah it’s like that

Sending you lots of positive vibes for dinner ❤️

America, from a grain of maize you grew to crown with spacious lands the ocean foam. A grain of maize was your geography. From the grain a green lance rose, was covered with gold, to grace the heights of Peru with its yellow tassels.

But, poet, let history rest in its shroud; praise with your lyre the grain in its granaries: sing to the simple maize in the kitchen.

First, a fine bread fluttered in the field above the tender teeth of the young ear. Then the husks parted and fruitfulness burst its veil of pale papyrus that grains of laughter might fall upon the earth.

To the stone, in your journey, you returned. Not to the terrible stone, the bloody triangle of Mexican death, but to the grinding stone, sacred stone of our kitchens. There, milk and matter, strength-giving, nutritious cornmeal pulp, you were worked and patted by the wondrous hands of dark-skinned women.

Whenever you fall, maize, whether into the splendid pot of partridge, or among country beans, you light up the meal and lend it your virginal flavor.

Oh, to bite into the steaming ear beside the sea of distant song and deepest waltz. To boil you as your aroma spreads through blue sierras.

But is there no end to your treasure?

In chalky, barren lands bordered by the sea, along the rocky Chilean coast, at times only your radiance reaches the empty table of the miner.

Your light, your cornmeal, your hope pervades America’s solitudes, and to hunger your lances are enemy legions.

Within your husks, like gentle kernels, our sober provincial children’s hearts were nurtured, until life began to shuck us from the ear.

Por um Pé de Feijão

(Antônio Torres)

Nunca mais haverá no mundo um ano tão bom. Pode até haver anos melhores, mas jamais será a mesma coisa. Parecia que a terra (a nossa terra, feinha, cheia de altos e baixos, esconsos, areia, pedregulho e massapê) estava explodindo em beleza. E nós todos acordávamos cantando, muito antes do sol raiar, passávamos o dia trabalhando e cantando e logo depois do pôr-do-sol desmaiávamos em qualquer canto e adormecíamos, contentes da vida.

Até me esqueci da escola, a coisa que mais gostava. Todos se esqueceram de tudo. Agora dava gosto trabalhar.

Os pés de milho cresciam desembestados, lançavam pendões e espigas imensas. Os pés de feijão explodiam as vagens do nosso sustento, num abrir e fechar de olhos. Toda a plantação parecia nos compreender, parecia compartilhar de um destino comum, uma festa comum, feito gente. O mundo era verde. Que mais podíamos desejar?

E assim foi até a hora de arrancar o feijão e empilhá-lo numa seva tão grande que nós, os meninos, pensávamos que ia tocar nas nuvens. Nossos braços seriam bastantes para bater todo aquele feijão? Papai disse que só íamos ter trabalho daí a uma semana e aí é que ia ser o grande pagode. Era quando a gente ia bater o feijão e iria medi-lo, para saber o resultado exato de toda aquela bonança. Não faltou quem fizesse suas apostas: uns diziam que ia dar trinta sacos, outros achavam que era cinquenta, outros falavam em oitenta.

No dia seguinte voltei para a escola. Pelo caminho também fazia os meus cálculos. Para mim, todos estavam enganados. Ia ser cem sacos. Daí para mais. Era só o que eu pensava, enquanto explicava à professora por que havia faltado tanto tempo. Ela disse que assim eu ia perder o ano e eu lhe disse que foi assim que ganhei um ano. E quando deu meio-dia e a professora disse que podíamos ir, saí correndo. Corri até ficar com as tripas saindo pela boca, a língua parecendo que ia se arrastar pelo chão. Para quem vem da rua, há uma ladeira muito comprida e só no fim começa a cerca que separa o nosso pasto da estrada. E foi logo ali, bem no comecinho da cerca, que eu vi a maior desgraça do mundo: o feijão havia desaparecido. Em seu lugar, o que havia era uma nuvem preta, subindo do chão para o céu, como um arroto de Satanás na cara de Deus. Dentro da fumaça, uma língua de fogo devorava todo o nosso feijão.

Durante uma eternidade, só se falou nisso: que Deus põe e o diabo dispõe.

E eu vi os olhos da minha mãe ficarem muito esquisitos, vi minha mãe arrancando os cabelos com a mesma força com que antes havia arrancado os pés de feijão:

– Quem será que foi o desgraçado que fez uma coisa dessas? Que infeliz pode ter sido?

E vi os meninos conversarem só com os pensamentos e vi o sofrimento se enrugar na cara chamuscada do meu pai, ele que não dizia nada e de vez em quando levantava o chapéu e coçava a cabeça. E vi a cara de boi capado dos trabalhadores e minha mãe falando, falando, falando e eu achando que era melhor se ela calasse a boca.

À tardinha os meninos saíram para o terreiro e ficaram por ali mesmo, jogados, como uns pintos molhados. A voz da minha mãe continuava balançando as telhas do avarandado. Sentado em seu banco de sempre, meu pai era um mudo. Isso nos atormentava um bocado.

Fui o primeiro a ter coragem de ir até lá. Como a gente podia ver lá de cima, da porta da casa, não havia sobrado nada. Um vento leve soprava as cinzas e era tudo. Quando voltei, papai estava falando.

– Ainda temos um feijãozinho-de-corda no quintal das bananeiras, não temos? Ainda temos o quintal das bananeiras, não temos? Ainda temos o milho para quebrar, despalhar, bater e encher o paiol, não temos? Como se diz, Deus tira os anéis, mas deixa os dedos.

E disse mais:

– Agora não se pensa mais nisso, não se fala mais nisso. Acabou. Então eu pensei: O velho está certo.

Eu já sabia que quando as chuvas voltassem, lá estaria ele, plantando um novo pé de feijão.

Publicado originalmente em “Meninos, Eu Conto”, Editora Record – Rio/São Paulo, 1999, o texto acima foi selecionado por Ítalo Moriconi e consta do livro “Os Cem Melhores Contos Brasileiros do Século”, Editora Objetiva – Rio de Janeiro, 2000, pág. 586.

For a Beanstalk

(Antônio Torres)

Never again will there be such a good year in the world. There may be better years, but it will never be the same. It seemed like the ground (our land, ugly, full of ups and downs, hides, sand, gravel and clayey) was exploding in beauty. And we all used to wake up singing, long before the sun came up, we spent the day working and singing and soon after sundown we passed out in any corner and fell asleep on cloud nine.

I even forgot about school, the thing I liked the most. Everyone has forgotten about everything. Now it was a pleasure to work.

Cornstalks grew up like crazy, tossing banners and huge spikes. The beanstalk exploded the pods of our sustenance in the blink of an eye. The whole plantation seemed to understand us; it seemed to share a common destiny, a common feast, like people. The world was green. What else could we wish for?

And it was like that until it was time to harvest the beans and pile them up in a field so large that we boys thought we were going to touch the clouds. Would our arms be enough to pick up all those beans? Daddy said we were only going to have work in a week, and that's when the big party was going to be. That was when we would beat the beans and measure them, to know the exact result of all that bliss. There was no shortage of bets: some said that it was going to give thirty bags, others thought fifty, and others said eighty.

The next day I went back to school. I made my calculations on the way. To me, everyone was wrong. It was going to be one hundred bags. From there to more. It was all I thought about while explaining to the teacher why I had been away for so long. She said I was going to repeat a grade that way,  and I told her,  actually, I passed the grade that way. And when it was noon and the teacher said we could go, I ran. I ran until I had my heart in my mouth, my tongue seeming like it was going to crawl across the floor. For those who come from the street, there is a very long slope and only at the end begins the fence that separates our pasture from the road. And it was there, at the very beginning of the fence, that I saw the greatest misfortune in the world: the beans had disappeared. Instead, there was a black cloud rising from the ground to the sky like a burp of Satan in the face of God. Inside the smoke, a tongue of fire devoured all our beans.

For an eternity, that's all it was talked about: that God proposes and the Devil disposes.

And I saw my mother's eyes get very strange, I saw my mother pulling her hair out with the same force with which she had previously plucked the beanstalk.

"Who was the bastard who did such a thing? What unfortunate could have done it?"

And I saw the boys talk only with their thoughts and I saw the suffering crumple in my father's scorched face, he who never said anything and occasionally raised his hat and scratched his head. And I saw the long face of the workers and my mother talking, talking, talking and I thought it would be better if she shut up.

In the afternoon, the boys went out to the farmyard and stayed around, soaked to the skin. My mother's voice continued to rock the roof tiles of the porch. Sitting on his usual bench, my father was a mute. This tormented us a lot.

I was the first to have the guts to go there. As we could see from above, from the door of the house, there was nothing left. A light wind blew the ashes and that was all. When I got back, Daddy was talking.

"We still have some black-eyed peas in the backyard of the banana trees, don't we? We still have the backyard of the banana trees, don't we? We still have the corn to thrash, slash, beat, and fill the storehouse, don't we? As the saying goes, God takes off the rings, but leaves the fingers."

And he said more:

"Now we don't think about it anymore, we don't talk about it anymore. It's done," so I thought: The old man is right.

I already knew that when the rains returned, there he would be, planting a new beanstalk.

A busca do tesouro

A pequena princesa está há cinco dias de visita em casa do pequeno rei. Durante todo esse tempo não se aborreceram um único minuto, mas hoje estão sentados nas escadas no palácio e não parecem muito alegres. Já jogaram os jogos todos, visitaram as torres todas, comeram a reserva de doces que havia na despensa e a despedida aproxima-se.

— No meu último dia vamos ficar aqui sem fazer nada? — pergunta a pequena princesa impaciente.

— Bem… — diz o pequeno rei — acho que sei o que ainda podíamos fazer.

— Sim? Ora, diz lá! — pede-lhe a pequena princesa, curiosa.

— Pronto!

O pequeno rei vai ao quarto, tira da gaveta da secretária uma caixinha de ouro e abre-a.

— Eu tenho uma carta antiquíssima de um tesouro — sussurra misteriosamente, ao abri-la.

— Oh, ótimo! — a pequena princesa bate palmas, entusiasmada e depois começam a estudar o mapa em conjunto.

— Aqui é o castelo — diz o pequeno rei, apontando com o dedo para a parte de baixo do mapa.

— E daqui segue-se para esta árvore. Anda! — ordena a princesa.

Os dois correm para fora de casa.

— Oh, tantas árvores! Qual será a árvore certa?

— A que for parecida com uma ovelhinha.

— Está aqui!

As duas crianças reais correm para a árvore de copa um tanto singular.

— E a partir daqui?

— Está um olho marcado ao lado da árvore — murmura o pequeno rei.

A pequena princesa descobre um buraco num nó de um ramo e espreita por ele.

— Estou vendo um montículo.

O pequeno rei alegra-se.

— Oh! Isso também vem marcado no meu mapa!

Quanto mais a princesa e o pequeno rei se aproximam do objetivo, mais se entusiasmam.

— Primeiro precisamos de cinco sapatos — pondera o pequeno rei.

— Por que?

— É assim que está no meu mapa.

A pequena princesa já tem uma ideia: cinco sapatos são cinco passos para a esquerda.

— Ele tem de estar aqui! Viva! — os dois caçadores de tesouros dão as mãos e dançam em roda aos saltos.

— Temos um tesouro, temos um tesouro! — cantam alegremente. A pequena princesa senta-se sem fôlego no chão e diz:

— Vá, comece!

— O quê? — pergunta o pequeno rei.

— Então! A escavar!

O pequeno rei olha para a princesa, muito admirado.

— Aaah…não tenho pá nenhuma… e já descobri o mapa do tesouro. Tu é que tens de cavar.

— Uma princesa não pode andar por aí a cavar. Seja um cavalheiro e faz isso pela sua visita, está bem? — a pequena princesa pisca o olho ao pequeno rei e acrescenta: — Vai buscar uma pá?

— Não, tenho uma ideia muito melhor. Greta! Au-Au! Tigre! Venham todos aqui! Encontramos um tesouro. Venham todos ajudar!

Os amigos chegam a relinchar, a ladrar e a bufar. Mas Au-Au não precisa de ajuda e faz tudo sozinho e, além do mais, ainda se diverte. Cavou um buraco no chão arenoso e fofo à velocidade do vento. O pequeno rei, a pequena princesa, Greta e os outros estão um pouco afastados para não receberem com a terra. Agora já nem se vê Au-Au.

— O tesouro está muito fundo! — comenta a pequena princesa.

— É esquisito. Pare, Au-Au, há aqui qualquer coisa que não bate certo! — o pequeno rei olha pelo buraco e ajuda Au-Au a trepar para fora.

— Ora bem, não entendo. Por que é que não está cá nenhum tesouro, quando fui eu mesmo que fiz o mapa?

— Hiii! — Greta relincha um resmungo.

— Au, au, au! — ladra Au-Au indignado.

E a pequena princesa até dá um empurrão ao pequeno rei.

— Como? Uma carta do tesouro feita por ti? Então bem podemos procurar durante muito tempo! — ofendida, cruza os braços e vira a cara para o lado. O pequeno rei volta a estudar novamente o mapa.

— Vamos lá ver outra vez… Primeiro estivemos aqui e depois…oh, já sei! No monte seguimos na direção errada. Não é para a esquerda, mas para a direita. Venham, vamos tentar outra vez.

O pequeno rei vai correndo à frente e os outros seguem atrás devagar.

— Desta vez estamos bem. Venham! Onde é que estão? Venham me ajudar!

— Auuuuuu — uiva Au-Au. Ele já cavou. Greta faz de conta que está coxeando e a pequena princesa limita-se a dizer:

— Pff!

— Ajude-me, que eu lhes dou do meu tesouro!

— Não — diz a pequena princesa abanando a cabeça.

— Pronto, eu faço sozinho e fico com tudo para mim!

O pequeno príncipe começa a cavar e, passado um momento, exclama:

— Oh, está aqui alguma coisa dura!

Os amigos apuram o ouvido, mas não se aproximam. O pequeno rei continua a escavar.

— Está aqui uma caixa! Ahh, eu sabia! É o meu tesouro! Eba!

Com muito esforço, o pequeno rei retira a caixa da terra, mas mesmo assim, ninguém o ajuda, pois estão todos muito surpreendidos. O pequeno rei sacode a terra do velho baú e abre-o.

— Hiiii! — relincha Greta admirada. E a pequena princesa fica de boca aberta.

— Descobriu um tesouro verdadeiro? Não é possível! Isso nem era nenhum mapa sério! Ou seria?

Por cima da tampa do baú, o pequeno rei olha para os amigos, que ainda não deram uma olhadela para a sua caixa.

— Claro que era verdadeiro! Não estão pensando que eu ia fazer um mapa sem um tesouro verdadeiro, estão?

Os amigos olham de boca aberta.

— Claro que não esqueci o tesouro. Hmm! E que coisas deliciosas estão na caixa! Ossos tenros, boas cenouras, cerejas e bolos. Oh, e até uma bola para jogar! Que pena vocês não quererem nada disto…

À volta do pequeno rei, todos ficam embaraçados.

— Isto é alguma surpresa de despedida? — pergunta baixinho a pequena princesa.

— Bem, talvez — responde o pequeno rei. Todos se aproximam e espreitam, curiosos para dentro da caixa.

— Só mesmo você! Primeiro esquece-se da pá e agora faltam as facas e os garfos.

— Mas nunca me esqueci do mais importante. Do que se precisa numa busca ao tesouro? De um mapa e de um tesouro. E de que é que se precisa para comer um tesouro? De uma única coisa: de amigos que comam conosco, ah, ah, ah!

O pequeno rei também tem uma toalha de piquenique dentro da caixa. Foi, assim, um belo lanche de despedida para a pequena princesa. E ela já sabia o que iria lhe oferecer na próxima visita: uma pá.

 Hedwig Munck

Der kleine König sagt “Gute Nacht”

Plauen, Junge Welt, 2003 (adaptado)

  The Treasure Hunt

The little princess has been visiting the little king's house for five days. During all this time, they didn't get bored, not for a single second, but today they are sitting on the stairs at the palace and don't look very cheerful. They have played all the games, have visited all the towers and eaten all the candies there were in the pantry, and the farewell is approaching.

"On my last day, are we going to stay here doing nothing?", the little princess asks, impatiently.

"Well," says the little king, "I think I know what we could still do."

"Yeah? Well, say it!", asks the little princess, curious.

"There!" The little king goes to the room, pulls out a small gold box from the desk drawer and opens it.

"I have an old-fashioned treasure letter," he whispers mysteriously as he opens it.

"Oh, great!” the little princess claps excitedly, then they begin to study the map together.

"This is the castle," says the little king, pointing his finger to the bottom of the map.

"And from here, we follow this tree. Come on!", the princess ordered.

The two of them rush outside the house.

"Oh, so many trees! Which is the right one?"

"The one who looks like a little lamb."

"This one!"

The two royal kids run to the tree with the unique treetop.

"And from here?"

"There's an eye on the side of the tree," murmurs the little king.

The little princess discovers a hole in a gnarl of a branch and peeks through it.

"I can see a mound."

The little king rejoices.

“Oh! This is also marked on my map!”

The more the princess and the little king get closer to their goal, the more excited they get.

"First, we need five shoes," ponders the little king.

"Why?"

"That's how it is on my map."

The little princess already has a clue: five shoes are five steps to the left.

"It has to be here! Yay!", the two treasure hunters hold hands and dance around in jumps.

"We’ve got a treasure, we’ve got a treasure!", they sing happilly. The little princess sits breathless on the floor and says:

"Go, get started!"

"What?" the little king asks.

"To dig!"

The little king looks at the princess, very admired.

"Ahhh, I don't have a shovel... and I've already found the treasure's map. You are the one who has to dig."

"A princess can't go around digging. Be a gentleman and do it for your visitor, okay?," the little princess winks to the little king and adds, "Go get a shovel?"

"No, I have a better idea. Greta! Au-Au! Tiger! Come here! We found a treasure. Come help, everyone!"

Friends get to neigh, bark and buff. But Au-Au does not need any help and does it all alone and, moreover, still has fun. He dug a hole in the sandy, fluflly ground at wind speed. The little king, the little princess, Greta and the others are somewhat away to not get sandy. Now they can't even see Au-Au.

"The treasure is too deep!", comments the little princess.

"It's weird. Stop, Au-Au, there's something here that doesn't feel right!", the little king looks through the hole and helps Au-Au out.

"Well, I don't understand. Why there is no treasure here, when I made the map myself?"

"Neiiigh," Greta sniffles a growl.

"Woof, woof, woof!", barks, outraged.

And the little princess even pushes the little king.

"How come? A treasure letter made by you? Then we might as well look for it for a long time!", offended, she crosses her arms and turns her face to the side. The little king studies the map again.

"Let's check one more time... First we were here and then... Oh, I know! On the hill, we followed the wrong direction. It's not to the left, but to the right. Let's go, let's try again."

The little king runs ahead, and the others follow behind slowly.

"This time we're fine. Come on! Where are they? Come help me!"

"Woooooooooof," the dog howls. He already dug. Greta pretends to limp and the little princess confines herself to say, "Pff!".

"Help me, and I'll give you my treasure!"

"No," says the little princess, shaking her head.

"Okay, I'll do it alone and keep everything to myself!"

The little prince begins to dig and, after a moment, exclaims:

"Oh, something here is hard!"

His friends sharpen their ears, but they do not approach. The little king continues to dig.

"Here's a box! Oh, I knew it! It's my treasure! Yay!"

With much effort, the little king removes the box from the ground, but even so nobody helps him, because they are all very surprised. The little king shakes the sand from the old trunk and opens it.

"Ihhhhh," neighs Greta, admired. And the little princess got gobsmacked.

"You discovered a real treasure? It's not possible! That was not even a real map! Or was it?"

Over the trunk top, the little king looks at his friends, who have not yet glanced at his box.

"Of course, it was real! You're not thinking I was going to make a map without a real treasure, are you?"

His friends stare open-mouthed.

"Of course, I haven't forgotten the treasure. Hmmm! And how delicious the things in the box are! Tender bones, good carrots, cherries and cakes. Oh, and even a ball to play! Too bad you don't want any of this..."

Around the little king, everyone is embarrassed.

"Is this some goodbye surprise?" The little princess asks quietly.

"Well, perhaps," replies the little king. Everyone approaches and lurks curiously into the box.

"It's just like you! First you forget the shovel and now the knives and forks are missing."

"But I've never forgotten the most important thing. What do you need in a treasure hunt? A map and a treasure. And what do you need to eat a treasure? Only a single thing: friends who eat with us, ah, ah, ah!"

A Dog Bit Me: ARTICLE BY PROF. AZZA AHMED HEIKAL âœ’️

ðTRANSLATED TEXT

A Dog Bit Me

When a dog -especially stray ones- bites you, you are obliged to take 21 injections to avoid becoming infected with several incurable diseases, specially epilepsy. Furthermore, the injections will prevent you from transforming into a wild animal that preys on other creatures and emits its venom and saliva into their bloods. Since we are humans, some of us are