So people are taking in line and this guy says he was there when the polling station opened up at 7:00 and the line was just as long. A girl countered that she moved her car this morning at 6:15 a.m. and the line *then* was just as long. Yikes.
The guy responded "I guess we got George Bush to thank for that". The girl asked how he was doing otherwise. He responded "good, except for the economy".
Wow, this election has gotten Americans talking about politics. Kind of exciting.
At least I can see the station now.
November 04, 2008
Vote!
I had a late night yesterday because I went to Manassas, Virginia to watch the Obama rally.
Of course, he was electrifying, though his grandmother had passed away the night before, and the crowd was 50,000 to 100,000 people strong. There was this mass energy like I've never felt before, except for a crazy rock concert. I've honestly never seen so many people before. It felt almost a little cultish.
We triple parked, just to find a parking spot. Our car battery died, and so we had to leave the car behind and bum a ride with a friend (thanks Eric). It takes a special person to make me excited after 3 hours of driving in traffic, a ride that should have taken us 1 hour.
Anyways, having gone to bed a wee bit late (2:30 a.m.), I was not as early to the polls as I would have wished. Now, I'm standing at the corner of 14th and Irving, in a queue that is 3-blocks long at 8:30 a.m. Le sigh. But I'm so glad to vote!
October 28, 2008
The Obama-McCain Dance-Off!
Alright, OK, so you think you are intellectual and ready to vote because you've watched all three presidential and vice-presidential debates. Well I bet you didn't tune in when Obama and McCain had their Dance-Off.
Before you go to the polls on November 4, 2008, I would highly recommend you check this out to make a clear and informed decision.
Before you go to the polls on November 4, 2008, I would highly recommend you check this out to make a clear and informed decision.
October 24, 2008
My CraigsList Roomate
My friend produced a great short movie about his experiences with finding a roommate off of Craig's List. Check it out! By the way, he's the one with the knife...
October 21, 2008
Psycho Ex-Girlfriend
This is the latest email exchange between my sister and me:
From: 007's sister
To: 007 in Africa
Subject: This is unbelievably hilarious:
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/848306070.html
From: 007 in Africa
To: 007's sister
Re: This is unbelievably hilarious:
Oh. My. God. That is really frightening. I think I've actually done some of these things (like panicking when someone's cell phone battery goes dead).
Please, please, please let me not be that psycho ex-girlfriend. Let me be able to walk away with dignity when I need to.
Can I post this on my blog?
*****************************************************************
Why I'll be the Best 'Psycho' Ex-Girlfriend You've Ever Had!
Source: Best of Craig's List -->Washington D.C.-->Dupont Circle
Date: 2008-09-20, 12:46PM EDT
I know that all your ex-girlfriends are 'psychos.' I've heard all about them since hardly a day goes by that you don't make some eye-rolling reference to 'that crazy bitch' who practically ruined your life and then went off and married some successful 'douchebag' leaving you to troll local college bars in search of no-strings-attached ass while she enjoys quiet weekends at home with her new in-laws in Connecticut. That selfish, cunt.
I know that you don't think I could ever be as good of a 'psycho ex' as she was. But, I assure you. I can. I'll be such a raving lunatic nutcase - you won't even remember her when I'm through with you. Try me.
For starters - I am great in bed. Isn't that how all the 'crazy' ones start out? You'll meet me at some party through some friend of a friend of a friend who knows I have 'whacko' potential but will fail to mention this to the chain of people through whom we are introduced because...quite frankly, our friends don't really care enough about either of us to keep our best interests in mind. Alternatively, they *do* have our best interests in mind but know that our dramatic personalities and overwhelming egos are forces too powerful for even the most friendly, logical advice. Thus, they abort all attempts to keep us apart and allow us to get drunk and grope each other publicly, shaking their heads all the while because..this shit is gonna' blow up big time.
Meantime, we'll already be upstairs, half undressed where you'll be too drunk to censor yourself so you'll make overly generous blubbering commentary about how 'sexy' I am (as I knock into a table lamp with swanlike grace). You'll also rave on and on about how I have the greatest tits you've ever seen and am 'fucking amazing' on all other fronts (as if I didn't know). Compared to the four other chicks you've banged, this will be the best sex of your life. And as soon as we're done, you'll start forming a mental list of which buddies you are going to text message first about this while at the same time wondering if you could possibly spend the rest of your life with me.
In the sobering light of morning, you'll forget that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and instead opt for a "two-night stand" but you'll quickly realize that I am having none of that and somehow weasle my way into staying over, cooking breakfast and reading your newspaper. I will also have conveniently brought my toothbrush and some sanitary products which I quickly store in your bathroom cabinets since 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time at your place.' Your Maxim magazines will go from the top of the toilet to the bottom of the wastebasket because I find them 'offensive' and 'immature.'
Later that day, you'll log onto Facebook and find out that I'm 'in a relationship'...with you. Yay! At first, you'll think it's creepy but then (due to your inferiority complex) you'll take it as a compliment and change your relationship status too.
Within an hour, you'll receive 57 new notifications which indicate that I've commented on every photo in your album in which you appear with an unidentified female. Your relationships with these family members, college friends and co-workers will quickly disintegrate as you mistake my obsession for passion and declare your undying commitment to me and stop returning other people's calls.
Friends will caution you but you'll be too blinded by my mind-blowing felatio technique to notice anything. Besides, I've explained that they're just jealous of our love. Together, our poor self images will have us each convinced that the other is cheating. We'll fight about it all the time. Non-stop.
On our 'good days' we'll shower each other with undeserved gifts and sexual favors and the accusatory banter will be minimal - though still prevalent.
Things will be going 'pretty well' for a while until one night your phone battery dies and you fall asleep early - forcing me into an incoherent panic. Six unreturned voicemails and text messages will lead me to believe only the worst - you ARE cheating on me! To confirm my suspicions, I will immediately log into all your personal accounts - since you are so technologically oblivious you left your passwords saved on my computer - and find a message to be mad about. It will likely be a harmless flirtation from a platonic friend who lives six states away that pushes me over the edge.
Unable to reach her or you - I will scramble into my car and drive barefoot to your apartment where I will ride up on the curb knocking over an unsuspecting potted plant. The commotion outside will rouse you from your slumber and you'll stumble bleary- eyed to the window just in time to see me throw the car in reverse and plow into your beloved Huyndai Elantra.
In short order, the police will come, I will cry, you will shout, your landlord will evict you and your insurance company will drop you. On the bright side, our names will be forever emblazoned together onto a county police report.
Despite all this, it will take another several months for you to come to your senses and break-up with me. Knowing that I am a ticking bomb, you will execute this in the kindest, most reasonable way possible. You will make every effort to lift my spirits by explaning that "It's not you, it's me." and that "I deserve someone better."
All this, to no avail. The only way you can truly be rid of me is to change your phone number and move across the country where you'll make new friends and find a new insecure girlfriend to emotionally abuse for months until she finally reaches her psychological breaking point and throws a wine glass at you and storms out of a restaurant.
Everyone will be looking at you, dripping in Pinot Noir with an astonished look on your face. In your head you'll be thinking, "Ha. That was nothing. You should see my Huyndai Elantra." And, that, is why I'll be the best psycho ex-girlfriend you've ever had.
From: 007's sister
To: 007 in Africa
Subject: This is unbelievably hilarious:
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/848306070.html
From: 007 in Africa
To: 007's sister
Re: This is unbelievably hilarious:
Oh. My. God. That is really frightening. I think I've actually done some of these things (like panicking when someone's cell phone battery goes dead).
Please, please, please let me not be that psycho ex-girlfriend. Let me be able to walk away with dignity when I need to.
Can I post this on my blog?
*****************************************************************
Why I'll be the Best 'Psycho' Ex-Girlfriend You've Ever Had!
Source: Best of Craig's List -->Washington D.C.-->Dupont Circle
Date: 2008-09-20, 12:46PM EDT
I know that all your ex-girlfriends are 'psychos.' I've heard all about them since hardly a day goes by that you don't make some eye-rolling reference to 'that crazy bitch' who practically ruined your life and then went off and married some successful 'douchebag' leaving you to troll local college bars in search of no-strings-attached ass while she enjoys quiet weekends at home with her new in-laws in Connecticut. That selfish, cunt.
I know that you don't think I could ever be as good of a 'psycho ex' as she was. But, I assure you. I can. I'll be such a raving lunatic nutcase - you won't even remember her when I'm through with you. Try me.
For starters - I am great in bed. Isn't that how all the 'crazy' ones start out? You'll meet me at some party through some friend of a friend of a friend who knows I have 'whacko' potential but will fail to mention this to the chain of people through whom we are introduced because...quite frankly, our friends don't really care enough about either of us to keep our best interests in mind. Alternatively, they *do* have our best interests in mind but know that our dramatic personalities and overwhelming egos are forces too powerful for even the most friendly, logical advice. Thus, they abort all attempts to keep us apart and allow us to get drunk and grope each other publicly, shaking their heads all the while because..this shit is gonna' blow up big time.
Meantime, we'll already be upstairs, half undressed where you'll be too drunk to censor yourself so you'll make overly generous blubbering commentary about how 'sexy' I am (as I knock into a table lamp with swanlike grace). You'll also rave on and on about how I have the greatest tits you've ever seen and am 'fucking amazing' on all other fronts (as if I didn't know). Compared to the four other chicks you've banged, this will be the best sex of your life. And as soon as we're done, you'll start forming a mental list of which buddies you are going to text message first about this while at the same time wondering if you could possibly spend the rest of your life with me.
In the sobering light of morning, you'll forget that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and instead opt for a "two-night stand" but you'll quickly realize that I am having none of that and somehow weasle my way into staying over, cooking breakfast and reading your newspaper. I will also have conveniently brought my toothbrush and some sanitary products which I quickly store in your bathroom cabinets since 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time at your place.' Your Maxim magazines will go from the top of the toilet to the bottom of the wastebasket because I find them 'offensive' and 'immature.'
Later that day, you'll log onto Facebook and find out that I'm 'in a relationship'...with you. Yay! At first, you'll think it's creepy but then (due to your inferiority complex) you'll take it as a compliment and change your relationship status too.
Within an hour, you'll receive 57 new notifications which indicate that I've commented on every photo in your album in which you appear with an unidentified female. Your relationships with these family members, college friends and co-workers will quickly disintegrate as you mistake my obsession for passion and declare your undying commitment to me and stop returning other people's calls.
Friends will caution you but you'll be too blinded by my mind-blowing felatio technique to notice anything. Besides, I've explained that they're just jealous of our love. Together, our poor self images will have us each convinced that the other is cheating. We'll fight about it all the time. Non-stop.
On our 'good days' we'll shower each other with undeserved gifts and sexual favors and the accusatory banter will be minimal - though still prevalent.
Things will be going 'pretty well' for a while until one night your phone battery dies and you fall asleep early - forcing me into an incoherent panic. Six unreturned voicemails and text messages will lead me to believe only the worst - you ARE cheating on me! To confirm my suspicions, I will immediately log into all your personal accounts - since you are so technologically oblivious you left your passwords saved on my computer - and find a message to be mad about. It will likely be a harmless flirtation from a platonic friend who lives six states away that pushes me over the edge.
Unable to reach her or you - I will scramble into my car and drive barefoot to your apartment where I will ride up on the curb knocking over an unsuspecting potted plant. The commotion outside will rouse you from your slumber and you'll stumble bleary- eyed to the window just in time to see me throw the car in reverse and plow into your beloved Huyndai Elantra.
In short order, the police will come, I will cry, you will shout, your landlord will evict you and your insurance company will drop you. On the bright side, our names will be forever emblazoned together onto a county police report.
Despite all this, it will take another several months for you to come to your senses and break-up with me. Knowing that I am a ticking bomb, you will execute this in the kindest, most reasonable way possible. You will make every effort to lift my spirits by explaning that "It's not you, it's me." and that "I deserve someone better."
All this, to no avail. The only way you can truly be rid of me is to change your phone number and move across the country where you'll make new friends and find a new insecure girlfriend to emotionally abuse for months until she finally reaches her psychological breaking point and throws a wine glass at you and storms out of a restaurant.
Everyone will be looking at you, dripping in Pinot Noir with an astonished look on your face. In your head you'll be thinking, "Ha. That was nothing. You should see my Huyndai Elantra." And, that, is why I'll be the best psycho ex-girlfriend you've ever had.
October 16, 2008
I got quoted in a news article!
Yesterday, we went to a restaurant in Virginia called Summers Grill and Sports Bar to watch the last of the presidential debates between Mr. Obama and Mr. McCain.
It was kind of cool because one half of the restaurant was reserved for Republican, and the other for Democrats. Independent voters were scattered here and there but mainly over the bar on the Republican side, drinking their sorrows away.
My side was watching CNN, while the Republican side was glued to Fox News. Anyways, it was an interesting experience. But instead of retelling the tale, I will post an article, as written in Spanish, by a friend of mine.
He even quoted me!
As anticipated, at the end of the party, the fans did not agree in the winner. "McCain and Joe the Plumber are winners" , it affirms Michael Calsetta, a retired private consultant in a leather jacket in which reads “Another for Democrat McCain". [007 in Africa], a thirty year old young adult who works for the Ministry of Health, differs: "Obama has won. He was more eloquent, and specific". However, they both agree on something: it is not over. " In spite of the polls, I am not confident [he will win], because this country has a history of making blunders " , Dorothee confesses.
*******************************************************************
A day later... Here is the full article:
Un derby electoral en Arlington Ricard González
Washington.-Joe Javidara, el propietario del bar de deportes Summers Grill, decidió que su establecimiento cambiara de eje temático ayer por la noche. En lugar de ofrecer el Argentina-Chile, como habría hecho habitualmente, prefirió que la veintena de televisores de su bar sintonizaran el debate presidencial. De hecho, el espectáculo no fue tan diferente, pues tanto las rencillas entre demócratas y republicanos, como entre chilenos y argentinos son históricas.
Según los camareros del bar, Joe no se equivocó, y se llenó la caja. Ahora bien, no tanto como en el debate de los vicepresidentes, cuando el bar estuvo a rebosar.
Como en los grandes derbys, se habilitó una de las dos grandes salas para los seguidores cada equipo. Ambas salas son simétricas, pero había una importante diferencia ayer. La republicana siguió el debate por la cadena de televisión Fox News, y la demócrata por la CNN. Y es que nada fastidia tanto como seguir un derby con un locutor con comentarios sesgados a favor del equipo rival.
En teoría, en el Summers Grill debería predominar la hinchada demócrata, pues está situada en Arlington, un suburbio de Washington DC en el que los demócratas necesitan vapulear a McCain para imponerse en Virginia. No obstante, sorprendentemente, en los cristales del bar sólo hay carteles de "McCain-Palin 2008". Encima, la sala republicana parece estar más concurrida que la demócrata. Mal augurio para Obama.
Más allá de algunas camisetas y pins, no existían grandes diferencias en las apariencias de ambas hinchadas. Predominan los jóvenes entre 20 y 30 años, con atuendo informal. Sin embargo, mientras hay un silencio sepulcral entre los republicanos, en la sala hay un ambiente más festivo. Se jalea a Obama cuando hace alguna internada por la banda izquierda, y se silban los disparos de McCain.
Quizás el contraste se debe a la moral de unos y otros. O al hecho de que muchos demócratas están sentados en mesas de unas diez personas, mientras los republicanos miran el partido solos, o en parejas. Será un reflejo de los instintos individualistas, o bien colectivistas de cada grupo?
Como era de esperar, al final del partido, las hinchadas no coincidieron en el ganador. "McCain y Joe el lampista son los ganadores", afirma Michael Calsetta, un consultor privado ya jubilado enfundado en una chaqueta de cuero en la que se lee "Another Democrat for McCain". [007 in Africa], una joven de treinta años que trabaja para el Ministerio de Salud, discrepa: "Obama ha ganado. Ha sido más elocuente, y espcífico". En cambio, ambos sí coinciden en algo: aún falta mucha liga. "A pesar de las encuestas, no estoy tranquila, porque este país tiene un historial rciente de de errores garrafales", confiesa [007].
El bar se vacía rápidamente tras la contienda. Massa, una periodista china está decepcionada. No ha encontrado ningún republicano de corazón. Parece que la sala republicana estaba llena de independientes que acabarán votando Obama. Así pues, el demócrata también ganó la batalla del Summers Grill.
It was kind of cool because one half of the restaurant was reserved for Republican, and the other for Democrats. Independent voters were scattered here and there but mainly over the bar on the Republican side, drinking their sorrows away.
My side was watching CNN, while the Republican side was glued to Fox News. Anyways, it was an interesting experience. But instead of retelling the tale, I will post an article, as written in Spanish, by a friend of mine.
He even quoted me!
As anticipated, at the end of the party, the fans did not agree in the winner. "McCain and Joe the Plumber are winners" , it affirms Michael Calsetta, a retired private consultant in a leather jacket in which reads “Another for Democrat McCain". [007 in Africa], a thirty year old young adult who works for the Ministry of Health, differs: "Obama has won. He was more eloquent, and specific". However, they both agree on something: it is not over. " In spite of the polls, I am not confident [he will win], because this country has a history of making blunders " , Dorothee confesses.
*******************************************************************
A day later... Here is the full article:
Un derby electoral en Arlington Ricard González
Washington.-Joe Javidara, el propietario del bar de deportes Summers Grill, decidió que su establecimiento cambiara de eje temático ayer por la noche. En lugar de ofrecer el Argentina-Chile, como habría hecho habitualmente, prefirió que la veintena de televisores de su bar sintonizaran el debate presidencial. De hecho, el espectáculo no fue tan diferente, pues tanto las rencillas entre demócratas y republicanos, como entre chilenos y argentinos son históricas.
Según los camareros del bar, Joe no se equivocó, y se llenó la caja. Ahora bien, no tanto como en el debate de los vicepresidentes, cuando el bar estuvo a rebosar.
Como en los grandes derbys, se habilitó una de las dos grandes salas para los seguidores cada equipo. Ambas salas son simétricas, pero había una importante diferencia ayer. La republicana siguió el debate por la cadena de televisión Fox News, y la demócrata por la CNN. Y es que nada fastidia tanto como seguir un derby con un locutor con comentarios sesgados a favor del equipo rival.
En teoría, en el Summers Grill debería predominar la hinchada demócrata, pues está situada en Arlington, un suburbio de Washington DC en el que los demócratas necesitan vapulear a McCain para imponerse en Virginia. No obstante, sorprendentemente, en los cristales del bar sólo hay carteles de "McCain-Palin 2008". Encima, la sala republicana parece estar más concurrida que la demócrata. Mal augurio para Obama.
Más allá de algunas camisetas y pins, no existían grandes diferencias en las apariencias de ambas hinchadas. Predominan los jóvenes entre 20 y 30 años, con atuendo informal. Sin embargo, mientras hay un silencio sepulcral entre los republicanos, en la sala hay un ambiente más festivo. Se jalea a Obama cuando hace alguna internada por la banda izquierda, y se silban los disparos de McCain.
Quizás el contraste se debe a la moral de unos y otros. O al hecho de que muchos demócratas están sentados en mesas de unas diez personas, mientras los republicanos miran el partido solos, o en parejas. Será un reflejo de los instintos individualistas, o bien colectivistas de cada grupo?
Como era de esperar, al final del partido, las hinchadas no coincidieron en el ganador. "McCain y Joe el lampista son los ganadores", afirma Michael Calsetta, un consultor privado ya jubilado enfundado en una chaqueta de cuero en la que se lee "Another Democrat for McCain". [007 in Africa], una joven de treinta años que trabaja para el Ministerio de Salud, discrepa: "Obama ha ganado. Ha sido más elocuente, y espcífico". En cambio, ambos sí coinciden en algo: aún falta mucha liga. "A pesar de las encuestas, no estoy tranquila, porque este país tiene un historial rciente de de errores garrafales", confiesa [007].
El bar se vacía rápidamente tras la contienda. Massa, una periodista china está decepcionada. No ha encontrado ningún republicano de corazón. Parece que la sala republicana estaba llena de independientes que acabarán votando Obama. Así pues, el demócrata también ganó la batalla del Summers Grill.
I mean really, how can you not know who to choose? Just look at them!
October 01, 2008
Something Artistic
I am itching to do something more artistic in my life. I am a big fan of graphic novels and wish I could draw so I could write a novel of my experiences abroad. It's a little narcissistic I know, but it would be fun nonetheless.
One of my favorite novels is Fun Home a graphic novel by Alison Bechdel. In it, she recalls her childhood in a large, Victorian house, with a father that, in hindsight, was probably trying hard to deny his homosexuality. It's a really great story, with a lot of interesting and insightful references to literature. I highly recommend it.
One of my favorite novels is Fun Home a graphic novel by Alison Bechdel. In it, she recalls her childhood in a large, Victorian house, with a father that, in hindsight, was probably trying hard to deny his homosexuality. It's a really great story, with a lot of interesting and insightful references to literature. I highly recommend it.
Enjoy in a book store near you...
PS: If you're looking for good stories for your graphic novel, write me!
September 24, 2008
Barong Tagalog
My barong kind of looks like this but more feminineI found a great website on the Barong. Here is more information on the national dress of the Philippines.
There’s really something about the Barong Tagalog that appeals to unassuming, low-key personalities with a penchant for subtle elegance. [...]
HOW PINA FABRIC IS MADE
Ever wondered what makes the pina fabric so expensive? Here’s an eye-opener on how much tedious work comes with every meter of this elegant craft.
-The Spanish Red or Native Philippine Red, the kind that has leaves spanning an average of 2 meters in length, takes about one and a half years to mature. As soon as the fruit is just about ripe, the leaves are likewise ready for harvesting.
-The leaves are snapped off the plant with a sharp tug on the tip and the thorny edges are pulled off.
-During extraction, which could be as long as three days, the workers squat on a long board where the leaves are placed. The leaves are then scraped using a broken china plate. (Some suggest the use of antique porcelain to be the best). This is done by folding over a few inches of the leaf base and striking it with the heel of the hands to reveal the first set of fibres called bastos or coarse fibres. These are extracted and set aside.
-The leaf is then scraped once more with a coconut shell to bring out a finer fibre called the linawan. This, too, is extracted and set aside.
-An average pineapple leaf could produce 75% of the coarse or Bastos fibre and 25% of the finer linawan fibre.
[...]
-When the extractors come to scrape a quantity of about 1,000 leaves, the bundles of fibres are washed, usually at a nearby stream. It is scraped again gently with the use of a seashell to remove remaining unwanted impurities making the strands whiter in appearance.
-The strands are then partially sun-dried on the grass and beaten with a bamboo stick to separate the fibres.
-It is then hung on a line to dry, combed and tied upside-down to a slim bamboo pole for knotting.
-The ends are cut off with a sharp piece of bamboo and the threads are coiled around a clay pot. The pot is placed with sand to prevent tangles. The fibres are then taken to traders for weighing.
-A loom made of coco lumber with bamboo foot treadles are used to weave the fabric. The thread is coiled on cylindrical frames and the thread for weft is wound on bobbins made out of small pieces of bamboo.
-The average production of a weaver is about half a meter/day. The process is painstakingly slow and broken threads need constant knotting.
-After weaving, the off-white colored cloth with a rather smoky smell is washed with rice water or citrus juice.
-The cloth is then sent out for embroidery.
To sum up, the whole process from leaf plucking to the finished woven cloth, would take about four months of continuous work to produce only about 20 meters of the precious fabric. That’s why several attempts have been made to develop a machine that would do the work but the thread being so fine and prone to breaking made this impossible.
STEPS IN BARONG TAGALOG EMBROIDERY
Much as the pina fabric is tediously woven for that elegant texture, the embroidery is done with an equally delicate and painstaking process. The old-world craft has been handed down from generation to generation and have evolved to adapt to the times. However, the innate skill remains intact and the subtle elegance is preserved.
-First, embroidery pattern is chalked on the cloth
-The cloth is stretched using a round or rectangular frame called bastador.
-With the cloth ready for embroidery, they proceed with using a variety of thread from white or colored, cotton, silk, or pina.
-After embroidery is done, they are lightly stretched between two rectangular frames and cleaned from the underside using a washcloth and detergent.
-After drying, the cloth is ironed before delivery to contractors.
Wow, it does sound like a painstaking process! There is one pararagraph that distress me to no end though:
Barong Tagalog Care Tips:
-Do not dry clean it. It contains chemicals that may make the Barong Tagalog brittle and therefore shorten its life span.
-Using washing machine for Barong Tagalog is a crime.
Hand washing is still the best way to clean the barong. When washing Barong Tagalog made of Jusi or Pina, one mixes a calculated amount of detergent with water and mixes it thoroughly until the detergent is completely dissolved in the basin. Then soak the Barong Tagalog on one whole day or do it overnight. After this step, use a soft brittle toothbrush with a tiny amount of detergent to brush off the stubborn dirt on the Barong Tagalog especially on collar, underneath the cuffs, arm holes, etc. and then rinses it with an upward and downward motion on water. However, hand-embroidered Barong Tagalog should not be scrubbed. A cardinal rule when one rinses the Barong Tagalog, one does not squeeze nor twist the fabric. Drip it dry by laying it flat so it will not create too much crease. The less sunlight for the Barong Tagalog , the better to avoid discoloration. One must iron the Barong Tagalog while it is still damp in a moderate heat to retain its original shape.
You have to be kidding right? This is wrong piece of clothing to give to someone who throw in her darks and her lights in a hot washing machine, and stuffs dry-clean only item in there as an after-thought.
I am in the Philippines
I am probably the world's worst blogger with the best adventures to talk about. My job has me pretty beat so I'm not really good about updating this blog. Though it causes me a large amount of anxiety to talk about my travels out of order (after all, I still haven't finished my blog on Timbuktu, or started the one on the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands), I will have to give you some information on the country I am in now.
I am in the Philippines, and came here via Detroit and Tokyo. Having just come back from a 25-hour flight from the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (or CNMI in short-form) via Detroit, Hawaii and Guam, I was told by the office to turn right back around the attend an important meeting in Manila, Philippines. I'm all for frequent flying miles, but having to sit on another 20-some hours of airplane rides is plain ridiculous. And I hate turbulence.
Manila is pretty cool: it's a city full of little streets, loud beeping cars, odd-looking metal buses, bike-taxis, SUV, sea and palms lining the boulevards, dirty water trailing along the side walks, and Japanese, Italian, French, and Chinese restaurants everywhere. People crowd the parking lots and small parks that offer a little bit of space to play badmington on weekends. It's a cross between the busy-ness of Japan, and the grittiness of Bamako. A sort of dirty blade runner.
I am attending meeting attended by a number of countries from Asia and the Pacific, such as Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, Japan, but also small islands like Tuvalu, Nauru and a bunch of others you've never heard about (no offense, but my French school never taught me about the difference between American Samoa and Samoa).
Meeting organizers gave us gifts of barong tagalog (pronounced BAH-rong tah-GAH-lawg), a traditional, embroidered, transparent outer shirt. It has collars, mid-length sleeves and mid-thigh horizontal hemline with side slits. It is made from pina (pineapple fibers), jusi (raw silk) or ramie (grass fibers). Very awesome. I can't wait to wear it, no matter that it's unsuited for the dark suits and conservative suits of Washington D.C.
I am in the Philippines, and came here via Detroit and Tokyo. Having just come back from a 25-hour flight from the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (or CNMI in short-form) via Detroit, Hawaii and Guam, I was told by the office to turn right back around the attend an important meeting in Manila, Philippines. I'm all for frequent flying miles, but having to sit on another 20-some hours of airplane rides is plain ridiculous. And I hate turbulence.
Manila is pretty cool: it's a city full of little streets, loud beeping cars, odd-looking metal buses, bike-taxis, SUV, sea and palms lining the boulevards, dirty water trailing along the side walks, and Japanese, Italian, French, and Chinese restaurants everywhere. People crowd the parking lots and small parks that offer a little bit of space to play badmington on weekends. It's a cross between the busy-ness of Japan, and the grittiness of Bamako. A sort of dirty blade runner.
I am attending meeting attended by a number of countries from Asia and the Pacific, such as Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, Japan, but also small islands like Tuvalu, Nauru and a bunch of others you've never heard about (no offense, but my French school never taught me about the difference between American Samoa and Samoa).
Meeting organizers gave us gifts of barong tagalog (pronounced BAH-rong tah-GAH-lawg), a traditional, embroidered, transparent outer shirt. It has collars, mid-length sleeves and mid-thigh horizontal hemline with side slits. It is made from pina (pineapple fibers), jusi (raw silk) or ramie (grass fibers). Very awesome. I can't wait to wear it, no matter that it's unsuited for the dark suits and conservative suits of Washington D.C.
September 02, 2008
Getting there is half the work - Saipan
I am going to Saipan to lead a Summit on Diabetes for 120 Pacific and federal participants. While it's going to be a lot of work, I feel like the trip there and back is half the battle:
Washington DC - Houston - 3 hours, 10 minutes
Houston - Honolulu - 8 hours, 10 minutes
Honolulu - Guam - 7 hours, 40 minutes
Guam - Saipan (in the Northern Mariana Islands) - 50 minutes.
I thought I was finally getting over my fear of flights (I only pray 3 or 4 times in an 8 hours flight instead of 20 times), but I feel asleep and dreamt we were crashing into the beautiful Hawaii ocean. We were crashing at low speed and really close to the coast so I was hoping that there would be a lot of survivors, me amongst them...I also just checked my email, and a friend from Congo wrote a quick mass email to reassure us that he was not part of the flight full of people going to Bukavu that just crashed. Yikes!
Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI)
The Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (or CNMI for short) is a small island nation in the South Pacific. It consists of 14 islands, three of which are the main inhabited ones: Saipan, Tinian, and Rota. It is a U.S. territory, and as such, benefits from a number of U.S. services, much like a State would.
You may not know it, but it was an important area during the second World War. From the U.S. Department of the Interior, here is a little bit more on its history:
The first people to come to the Marianas arrived over 3500 years ago, probably from Southeast Asia through the Philippines. The ancient people evolved into Chamorro people. The first European to arrive in these islands was the Portuguese navigator, Ferdinand Magellan, who came to Guam and Rota in 1521 during his circumnavigation of the world in an attempt to find a route across the Pacific. Spain took possession of the archipelago in 1565 and ruled it for more than 300 years. The first permanent Spanish colony was established in 1668. Spain ceded Guam to the United States following the Spanish-American War, then sold the Northern Mariana Islands to Germany in 1899. Germany acquired these islands primarily to increase their international prestige. German economic development was based on the copra industry. Japan took control of the Northern Mariana Islands in 1914, the first year of World War I. By ratification of the League of Nations in 1920, Japan received a mandate over the islands. This mandate lasted until 1945 with 30,000 Japanese nationals residing on Saipan. The Japanese developed the island largely for sugar production and processing. World War II came to the Marianas in 1941. Major American battles occurred in the Northern Marianas in 1944, including the pivotal Marianas campaign which signaled the end of the War in the Pacific. The Emperor of Japan surrendered to the Allied Forces on August 15, 1945, ending World War II, and a U.S. military government was instituted in the Northern Mariana Islands.
Saipan’s main attractions are snorkeling, and various sites of war. When the Japanese knew the American would come to the Island and win the war for example, a lot of them jumped off the highest cliff in Saipan, now renamed “suicide cliff”. It now harbors a number of bats that hang in its carved out caves. Snorkeling is great too since they are old sunken ships and tanks surrounded by plant life and fish.
View from Manahaga Island, a small piece of land off the coast of Saipan
A sunken Japanese Ship of the coast of Manahaga Island
View of the Ship from Afar - a rusted hull pokes out from the light green water
There are island cats everwhere. A little undernourished but cute nonetheless.
A downed tank along the shore
Amazing grotto with shallow diving and plant roots hanging from its ceiling
Typical palm tree. Just to make you jealous.
Saipan is also a great lover of Betelnut. While in Saipan, I was perplexed to see tons of signs about Betelnut saying "absolutely no betelnut spitting" or "betelenuts and cell phones no allowed beyond this point". So of course, I had to find me some betelnut, from the corner store.
From my trusty old wikipedia friend, this is what I know about the betelnut:
The Areca nut is the seed of the Areca palm, a straight and graceful palm tree growing in most tropical countries. […] It is commercially available in dried, cured and fresh forms. While fresh, the husk is green and the nut inside is so soft that it can easily be cut with an average knife. In the ripe fruit the husk becomes yellow or orange and, as it dries, the fruit inside hardens to a wood-like consistency. […] Usually a few slices of the nut are wrapped in a Betel leaf along with lime and may include clove, cardamom, catechu (kattha), etc. for extra flavouring. Betel leaf has a fresh, peppery taste, but it can be bitter depending on the variety.
Areca nuts are chewed with betel leaf for their effects as a mild stimulant, causing a hot sensation in the body, heightened alertness and sweating, although the effects vary from person to person. The areca nut contains tannin, gallic acid, a fixed oil gum, a little terpineol, lignin, various saline substances and three main alkaloids, which have vasocontricting properties. Many chewers also add small pieces of tobacco leaf to the mixture, thereby adding the effect of the nicotine, which causes greater addiction than the drugs contained in the nut and the betel. The effect of chewing betel nut is relatively mild and could be compared to drinking a strong cup of coffee.
Areca nuts are chewed with betel leaf for their effects as a mild stimulant, causing a hot sensation in the body, heightened alertness and sweating, although the effects vary from person to person. The areca nut contains tannin, gallic acid, a fixed oil gum, a little terpineol, lignin, various saline substances and three main alkaloids, which have vasocontricting properties. Many chewers also add small pieces of tobacco leaf to the mixture, thereby adding the effect of the nicotine, which causes greater addiction than the drugs contained in the nut and the betel. The effect of chewing betel nut is relatively mild and could be compared to drinking a strong cup of coffee.
Steps to Enjoying Betelnuts:
1-Gather all the equipment
This is: a ripe betelnut, a leaf, and some lye.
This is: a ripe betelnut, a leaf, and some lye.
2-Chew the betelnut in two to expose it's soft, pink interior
3-Use a toothpick to spread a little bit of lye on the interior (warning: lye is a corrosive substance, often used in biodiesel preparation or as an oven cleaner or drain opener)
4-Wrap the whole thing up in the leaf
5-Chew, and spit profusely. Ensure that your red saliva stains the walls and floors of major public places. As in my case, you can follow up with feeling nauseous, and almost throwing up.
3-Use a toothpick to spread a little bit of lye on the interior (warning: lye is a corrosive substance, often used in biodiesel preparation or as an oven cleaner or drain opener)
4-Wrap the whole thing up in the leaf
5-Chew, and spit profusely. Ensure that your red saliva stains the walls and floors of major public places. As in my case, you can follow up with feeling nauseous, and almost throwing up.
August 05, 2008
This is very exciting news about the Congo...for once!
More than 100,000 rare gorillas found in Congo
Source
An estimated 125,000 Western lowland gorillas are living in a swamp in equatorial
'It
The last census on the species, carried out during the 1980s, estimated that there were only 100,000 of the gorillas left worldwide. Since then, the researchers estimated, the numbers had been cut in half.
WCS survey teams conducted the research in 2006 and 2007, traveling to the remote Lac Tele Community Reserve in northern
Acting on a tip from hunters who indicated the presence of gorillas, Rainey said that the researchers trekked on foot through mud for three days to the outskirts of Lac Tele, about 80 kilometers (50 miles) from the nearest road.
'When we went there, we found an astonishing amount of gorillas,' said Rainey, speaking from the International Primatological Society Congress in
Though researchers did spot some gorillas, they based their estimate on the number of gorilla nests found at the site, Rainey said. Each gorilla makes a nest to sleep in at night.
'This is the highest-known density of gorillas that
Western lowland gorillas are listed as critically endangered, the highest threat category for a species. Their populations are declining rapidly because of hunting and diseases like Ebola hemorrhagic fever, whose symptoms include diarrhea, vomiting and internal and external bleeding.
While the discovery in northern
'We know very little about Ebola and how it spreads,' he said. 'We don
The goal now, Rainey said, is to work with the Congolese government and donors to protect the areas in which the gorillas are known to be living.
[…]
July 23, 2008
Timbuktu
I bet you thought Timbuktu was an imaginary city. I bet your mom used to say that she would banish you to Timbuktu if you didn't finish your plate of broccoli (in my case, my plate of endives).
Well I think I would rather eat a mixed plate of endives and broccoli, than to be banished to Timbuktu.The view from the airplane is uniform: there is sand as far as your eye can see, speckled with scrawny, misshapen, greyish green trees. I catch a glimpse of a skinny road that just goes and goes and goes.Timbuktu is probably the hottest place on earth to which you'll ever go (unless you choose to live in a volcano, and I wouldn't recommend that either).
I walked off the plane in mid day, after a difficult landing, straight into the Timbuktu sun. It is as if I had opened an oven door and walk straight in. I'm not sure how hot it really is, but inside our hotel, it's exactly 100 degrees. The atmosphere is dry though, so as soon as I take cover in the shade, the heat is bearable. February and March are the hottest months here, and a colleague says that that's when the heat becomes unbearable. I just cannot imagine how it can get hotter than this.
The dwellings are made from mud briks, and look like squarish replicas of mosques. The construction material dispenses the heat a lot better than cement or iron. The poorest people live under straw tents that are about waist-high, and rounded off like overturned cereal bowls. I see a pack of 3 of the skinniest cows I hope to ever see again. They look miniatured, and are leather and hair stretched over jutting skeletons. It's a wonder their scrawny necks can support their heads.
As we go from site to site for work, I conserve my energy by walking slowly, and making few movements. I walk in the sandy stretches from the car to the shade with a light cotton Ethiopian scarf, which has the advantage of shielding my neck and chest, and covering my head from the heat. It also gives me an air of extra piety, which helps as I walk through this predominently Muslim city.
We see a famous mosque there, made of sand and mud, and protuding pieces of wood from its main minaret, like some elaborate African hairstyle. The interior is dark and cool, with a chalk board announcing the next prayer time... (to be continued)
Note: though I never did finish this post, here are some additional photos taken by a fellow traveler...
Beautiful, intrincate, carved doors in the old city.
Tight living quarters as we get to the Ammam's place
A craftman shows me how he pounds metallic designs in hard wood.
Mali
We get to Mali and now I know that we truly, truly are in West Africa this time.
I love the mobs of motorcycles, the long flowing boubous, the miles of hand-made shoddy furniture, the overflowing buses, the mosques, and mosque-like structures. I even like the chaotic traffic here. The soil is incredibly red in Bamako (I am told it's laterite). I see an elegant woman, with a brown boubou and assorted hat scarf, with glittering gold earring, and a baby casual perched on her hip, walking in the red dust. It's a sort of disorganized beauty, reflected by the trimmed bushes along the fence of a nice house, overlooking decaying sidewalks. Bamako is a lot greener than Dakar, but this season is usually rainy.
What I learned about in Bamako:
-Our driver is Toumani Diabate's brother, the famous Malian Kora player which I saw play in Washington DC in April 2008
I love the mobs of motorcycles, the long flowing boubous, the miles of hand-made shoddy furniture, the overflowing buses, the mosques, and mosque-like structures. I even like the chaotic traffic here. The soil is incredibly red in Bamako (I am told it's laterite). I see an elegant woman, with a brown boubou and assorted hat scarf, with glittering gold earring, and a baby casual perched on her hip, walking in the red dust. It's a sort of disorganized beauty, reflected by the trimmed bushes along the fence of a nice house, overlooking decaying sidewalks. Bamako is a lot greener than Dakar, but this season is usually rainy.
What I learned about in Bamako:
-Our driver is Toumani Diabate's brother, the famous Malian Kora player which I saw play in Washington DC in April 2008
Bouake
On the way to Bouake, we drive through a town called Yamassoukro. It's a bit odd because after miles of fields and forests, the road is suddenly quite wide, and there are huge sidewalks on either sides of it. Apparently, the current president (check) wants to move the capital from Bamako to Yamassoukro (coincidentally it also happens to be his home town), and there are impressive, half-built Government buildings begging to be finished and filled with bureaucrats.
We also catch a glimpse of the Basilica of Yamassoukro - a monstrously oversized basilica that seems completely incongruous in its bare setting. I see electricity poles along the way and apparently remote cities in Cote d'Ivoire receive mail. Bouake springs out of the grassy expanse and cement shacks, and proves to be a booming little town with impressive large apartment buildings, shopping arcades, water towers, proper residences and hotels, mixed in with bare roads and shanty houses of a typical village setting. Apparently, there was quite a large population of French people there, and only two stayed behind after the crisis. This definitely comes to our advantage since one of them is the owner of a simple, little hotel that serves great food.
On the way back we drive slowly to observe men using rough, wooden looms, making thick, cotton “pagne traditional”. I buy one that has been dyed indigo blue, with tie-dyed spot of bright orange. It stains my feet blue as I pull it over me as protection against the chilly air conditioning in the car.
We also catch a glimpse of the Basilica of Yamassoukro - a monstrously oversized basilica that seems completely incongruous in its bare setting. I see electricity poles along the way and apparently remote cities in Cote d'Ivoire receive mail. Bouake springs out of the grassy expanse and cement shacks, and proves to be a booming little town with impressive large apartment buildings, shopping arcades, water towers, proper residences and hotels, mixed in with bare roads and shanty houses of a typical village setting. Apparently, there was quite a large population of French people there, and only two stayed behind after the crisis. This definitely comes to our advantage since one of them is the owner of a simple, little hotel that serves great food.
On the way back we drive slowly to observe men using rough, wooden looms, making thick, cotton “pagne traditional”. I buy one that has been dyed indigo blue, with tie-dyed spot of bright orange. It stains my feet blue as I pull it over me as protection against the chilly air conditioning in the car.
In Abidjan
Abidjan is actually quite nice. Perhaps I compensate slightly in my mind, having braced myself to deal with complete disorder and dilapidation. The airport is calm, and it is smooth sailing on the road of the large capital. There are palm trees, a wide expanse of water, and slightly dirty and sandy roads. I see ad-hoc flower nurseries in the green spaces next to the roads, tended by poor gardeners. I feel like I'm in West Africa again. There are not as many goats as in Ethiopia, but a few cows, and a number of horses with sharp, jutting ribcages. I don't recall seeing horses in Senegal, and I can only guess that they are remnants of the French's passion for horse-back riding.
That day, we make the 4-hour drive to Bouake, passing by Yamassoukro.
That day, we make the 4-hour drive to Bouake, passing by Yamassoukro.
Arrival into Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire
At this point on the trip, I am completely exhausted. I don't remember much in Cote d'Ivoire which is a big shame because recent events make it significant to the French (I am half French, half American). TheU.S. Department of State summarizes it this way:
1999 Coup and Aftermath
In a region where many political systems are unstable, Cote d'Ivoire showed remarkable political stability from its independence from France in 1960 until late 1999. [...]Government corruption and mismanagement led to steep reductions in foreign aid in 1998 and 1999, and eventually to the country's first coup on December 24, 1999. […]
Elections were scheduled for fall 2000, but when the general Guei's handpicked Supreme Court disqualified all of the candidates from the two major parties Western election support and monitors were withdrawn. […] When early polling results showed Gbagbo in the lead, Guei stopped the process--claiming polling fraud--disbanded the election commission, and declared himself the winner. Within hours Gbagbo supporters took to the streets of Abidjan. A bloody fight followed as crowds attacked the guards protecting the presidential palace. Many gendarmes and soldiers joined the fight against the junta government, forcing Guei to flee. Having gained the most votes, Gbagbo was declared President. […]
2001 Attempted Coup
On January 7, 2001, another coup attempt shattered the temporary calm. However, some weeks later, in the spring, local municipal elections were conducted without violence and with the full participation of all political parties. […] Some economic aid from the European Union began to return by the summer of 2001, and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) re-engaged the government. Questions surrounding severe human rights abuses by the government during the presidential and legislative elections of 2000 remain unresolved (e.g., the mass grave at Yopougon), but day-to-day life began to return to normal. […]
2002 Country Divides
On September 19, 2002, rebellious exiled military personnel and co-conspirators in Abidjan simultaneously attacked government ministers and government and military/security facilities in Abidjan, Bouake, and Korhogo. In Abidjan, government forces stopped the coup attempt within hours, but the attacks resulted in the deaths of Minister of Interior Emile Boga Doudou and several high-ranking military officers. General Guei was killed under still-unclear circumstances. Almost immediately after the coup attempt, the government launched an aggressive security operation in Abidjan, whereby shantytowns--occupied by thousands of immigrants and Ivoirians--were searched for weapons and rebels. Government security forces burned down or demolished a number of these shantytowns, which displaced over 12,000 people.
The failed coup attempt quickly evolved into a rebellion, splitting the country in two and escalating into the country's worst crisis since independence in 1960. […] In January 2003, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) placed approximately 1,500 peacekeeping troops from five countries--Senegal (commander), Ghana, Benin, Togo, and Niger--on the ground beside the 4,000 French peacekeepers. […]
Reunification Attempts
In late January 2003, the country's major political parties and the New Forces signed the French-brokered Linas-Marcoussis Accord (LMA), agreeing to a power-sharing national reconciliation government to include rebel New Forces representatives. The parties agreed to work together on modifying national identity, eligibility for citizenship, and land tenure laws which many observers see as among the root causes of the conflict. […]
2004 saw serious challenges to the Linas-Marcoussis Accord. Violent flare-ups and political deadlock in the spring and summer led to the Accra III talks in Ghana. Signed on July 30, 2004, the Accra III Agreement reaffirmed the goals of the LMA with specific deadlines and benchmarks for progress. Unfortunately, those deadlines--late September for legislative reform and October 15 for rebel disarmament--were not met by the parties. The ensuing political and military deadlock was not broken until November 4, when government forces initiated a bombing campaign of rebel targets in the north. On November 6, a government aircraft bombed a French military installation in Bouake, killing nine French soldiers and one American civilian. Claiming that the attack was deliberate (the Ivoirian Government claimed it was a mistake), French forces retaliated by destroying most of the small Ivoirian air force. Mayhem ensued for several days as anti-French mobs rioted in Abidjan and violence flared elsewhere. […]
On March 4, 2007, after weeks of closed-door negotiations led by Burkinabe President Compaore in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, President Gbagbo and New Forces leader Guillaume Soro announced they had agreed to a peace agreement aimed at reunifying the country and holding new elections. The Ouagadougou Accord foresaw a new transitional government and the re-launch of the stalled voter registration and identification process to enable elections to be held within 10 months.[…]
Government ministries (particularly Health, Education, Finance, and Interior) and officials are returning to their posts in the northern part of the country, as are important economic actors, such as banks and utilities.
Following anti-French sentiment and violence, almost all of the 20,000 French people left Cote d'Ivoire, never to come back again.
I remember reading Paris Match (the French equivalent to People's magazine, with more pictures than text, and star gossip) with pages and pages of pictures of haggard-looking French people and their battered, hastily packed suitcases, young French girls in braids and with their dolls in tow, and a general look of panic in these French "Africans" eyes, as they prepared to board their flight to leave their only known homeland, towards France, a land many of them were only connected to, many generations ago. I remember the mayhem of the situation on the news.
1999 Coup and Aftermath
In a region where many political systems are unstable, Cote d'Ivoire showed remarkable political stability from its independence from France in 1960 until late 1999. [...]Government corruption and mismanagement led to steep reductions in foreign aid in 1998 and 1999, and eventually to the country's first coup on December 24, 1999. […]
Elections were scheduled for fall 2000, but when the general Guei's handpicked Supreme Court disqualified all of the candidates from the two major parties Western election support and monitors were withdrawn. […] When early polling results showed Gbagbo in the lead, Guei stopped the process--claiming polling fraud--disbanded the election commission, and declared himself the winner. Within hours Gbagbo supporters took to the streets of Abidjan. A bloody fight followed as crowds attacked the guards protecting the presidential palace. Many gendarmes and soldiers joined the fight against the junta government, forcing Guei to flee. Having gained the most votes, Gbagbo was declared President. […]
2001 Attempted Coup
On January 7, 2001, another coup attempt shattered the temporary calm. However, some weeks later, in the spring, local municipal elections were conducted without violence and with the full participation of all political parties. […] Some economic aid from the European Union began to return by the summer of 2001, and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) re-engaged the government. Questions surrounding severe human rights abuses by the government during the presidential and legislative elections of 2000 remain unresolved (e.g., the mass grave at Yopougon), but day-to-day life began to return to normal. […]
2002 Country Divides
On September 19, 2002, rebellious exiled military personnel and co-conspirators in Abidjan simultaneously attacked government ministers and government and military/security facilities in Abidjan, Bouake, and Korhogo. In Abidjan, government forces stopped the coup attempt within hours, but the attacks resulted in the deaths of Minister of Interior Emile Boga Doudou and several high-ranking military officers. General Guei was killed under still-unclear circumstances. Almost immediately after the coup attempt, the government launched an aggressive security operation in Abidjan, whereby shantytowns--occupied by thousands of immigrants and Ivoirians--were searched for weapons and rebels. Government security forces burned down or demolished a number of these shantytowns, which displaced over 12,000 people.
The failed coup attempt quickly evolved into a rebellion, splitting the country in two and escalating into the country's worst crisis since independence in 1960. […] In January 2003, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) placed approximately 1,500 peacekeeping troops from five countries--Senegal (commander), Ghana, Benin, Togo, and Niger--on the ground beside the 4,000 French peacekeepers. […]
Reunification Attempts
In late January 2003, the country's major political parties and the New Forces signed the French-brokered Linas-Marcoussis Accord (LMA), agreeing to a power-sharing national reconciliation government to include rebel New Forces representatives. The parties agreed to work together on modifying national identity, eligibility for citizenship, and land tenure laws which many observers see as among the root causes of the conflict. […]
2004 saw serious challenges to the Linas-Marcoussis Accord. Violent flare-ups and political deadlock in the spring and summer led to the Accra III talks in Ghana. Signed on July 30, 2004, the Accra III Agreement reaffirmed the goals of the LMA with specific deadlines and benchmarks for progress. Unfortunately, those deadlines--late September for legislative reform and October 15 for rebel disarmament--were not met by the parties. The ensuing political and military deadlock was not broken until November 4, when government forces initiated a bombing campaign of rebel targets in the north. On November 6, a government aircraft bombed a French military installation in Bouake, killing nine French soldiers and one American civilian. Claiming that the attack was deliberate (the Ivoirian Government claimed it was a mistake), French forces retaliated by destroying most of the small Ivoirian air force. Mayhem ensued for several days as anti-French mobs rioted in Abidjan and violence flared elsewhere. […]
On March 4, 2007, after weeks of closed-door negotiations led by Burkinabe President Compaore in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, President Gbagbo and New Forces leader Guillaume Soro announced they had agreed to a peace agreement aimed at reunifying the country and holding new elections. The Ouagadougou Accord foresaw a new transitional government and the re-launch of the stalled voter registration and identification process to enable elections to be held within 10 months.[…]
Government ministries (particularly Health, Education, Finance, and Interior) and officials are returning to their posts in the northern part of the country, as are important economic actors, such as banks and utilities.
Following anti-French sentiment and violence, almost all of the 20,000 French people left Cote d'Ivoire, never to come back again.
I remember reading Paris Match (the French equivalent to People's magazine, with more pictures than text, and star gossip) with pages and pages of pictures of haggard-looking French people and their battered, hastily packed suitcases, young French girls in braids and with their dolls in tow, and a general look of panic in these French "Africans" eyes, as they prepared to board their flight to leave their only known homeland, towards France, a land many of them were only connected to, many generations ago. I remember the mayhem of the situation on the news.
July 18, 2008
Departure from Ethiopia
I may make it sounds like all work and no play, but the truth is that we work very hard and have taken a daily flight everyday of the trip so far. I am pretty tired and have no time to myself to really decompress and put my feet up. It feels like my every waking hour is used working, travelling, eating and sleeping.
That day, we encounter a violent hailstorm that threatens to leave the windshield of our car pock-marked. As we gear up to leave Addis on an overnight flight, we notice that our ticket says "SBY". It also seems like a crowd of Nigerians, a Zambian football team, and a number of other passengers are also on standby, and the Nigerian passengers quickly start crowding the counter and complaining loudly. I plant myself in front of the counter, in the mob of angry Africans, adopting my preferred position (as practiced many times in Congo) and trying to stare the attendant into submission. My technique doesn't seem to work, and soon enough, the Nigerians are shoving one of the attendants, preventing him from accessing his computer, demanding boarding passes, answers or any kind of reaction from the stone-faced attendants. Tempers rise and I pray I don't get caught in a cloud of flying fists. It turns out we all get seated on the plane anyhow.
But there is another hour of delay as a mechanic replaces some mystery part inside the airplane. This gets the Nigerian passengers all rilled up again, and they challenge a poor steward to guarantee their safety while on the flight. One passenger even demands to get off the plane this very minute. We finally take off and encounter terrible turbulance (I admit I actually cried, a bit traumatized from flying after Congo). I can finally snooze for 30 mins after we land in Lagos, and shake the scary, angry passengers.
That day, we encounter a violent hailstorm that threatens to leave the windshield of our car pock-marked. As we gear up to leave Addis on an overnight flight, we notice that our ticket says "SBY". It also seems like a crowd of Nigerians, a Zambian football team, and a number of other passengers are also on standby, and the Nigerian passengers quickly start crowding the counter and complaining loudly. I plant myself in front of the counter, in the mob of angry Africans, adopting my preferred position (as practiced many times in Congo) and trying to stare the attendant into submission. My technique doesn't seem to work, and soon enough, the Nigerians are shoving one of the attendants, preventing him from accessing his computer, demanding boarding passes, answers or any kind of reaction from the stone-faced attendants. Tempers rise and I pray I don't get caught in a cloud of flying fists. It turns out we all get seated on the plane anyhow.
But there is another hour of delay as a mechanic replaces some mystery part inside the airplane. This gets the Nigerian passengers all rilled up again, and they challenge a poor steward to guarantee their safety while on the flight. One passenger even demands to get off the plane this very minute. We finally take off and encounter terrible turbulance (I admit I actually cried, a bit traumatized from flying after Congo). I can finally snooze for 30 mins after we land in Lagos, and shake the scary, angry passengers.
Axum, Ethiopia
Axum is much more of a small city than Lalibela, with proper store fronts and bustling commuters. The mountains here are a lot smaller, and peppered with dark, green trees.
This is a major military base, so soldiers live in and around the airport, sleeping in barracks (essentially tiny, corrugated-iron structures, no taller than me). The fields here are 2 to 5 times larger than in Lalibela, and the majority of houses are made from neatly stacked, roughly cut stones.
We visit a museum, that is built next to the long forgotten ruins of the earliest church in Africa. It is overgrown by tall sweet grass, though stone foundations peak from underneath it. Overlooking the ruins is the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion that, our guide reverently tells us, holds the Ark of the Covenant. An American woman scoffs at the comment, stating the most people believe the Ark to be complete fiction. According to our guide, the uppermost floor of the mosque is off-limits to everyone, save for a priest that guards the Ark day and night. The priest will stay there for the rest of his natural life, and will be replaced by another priest at the time of his death. The current guardian of the covenant has been there for 15 years. We also see a bible that is more than 1,000 years old, written on animal skin and containing bright, full-page illustration. People finger it, to feel its age, and I wince as they contribute to the decaying of these museum pieces.
A few things I learn about Axum:
-The Ark of the Covenant has an interesting, complex story. From Wikipedia:
The Ark of the Covenant is described in the Bible as a sacred container, wherein rested the Tablets of stone containing the Ten Commandments. According to the Biblical account, the Ark was built at the command of God, in accord with Moses' prophetic vision on Mount Sinai. The Bible describes the Ark as made of shittah-tree wood (acacia), known to the Egyptians as the Tree of Life and an important plant in traditional medicine. It was a cubit and a half broad and high, and two and a half cubits long. The Ark was covered all over with the purest gold.
Guesses of the ultimate fate of the Ark include the intentional concealing of the Ark under the Temple Mount; the removal of the Ark from Jerusalem in advance of the Babylonians (this variant usually ends up with the Ark in Ethiopia); the removal of the Ark by the Ethiopian prince Menelik I; removal by Jewish priests during the reign of Manasseh of Judah, possibly taken to the Jewish Temple at Elephantine in Egypt; the miraculous removal of the Ark by divine intervention; and even the destruction of the original ornate Ark under King Josiah's reforms and replacement with a simple wooden box, easily lost when the Temple fell.
-There are three famous obelisks in Axium, that are about 1700 years old. When the Italian invaded the country, they decided to claim one of the three obelisk as their own in 1937, and shipped in back to Italy, to be erected in the middle of Rome. Following years of intense public pressure, Italy returned the Obelisk in 1997, in three parts to accommodate for its shipment back to Axum. The city has now built scaffolding to re-erect the structure. It’s a very weird story, with a happy ending… When we went to see if, there was some crazy scaffolding, but then project of putting them back together again had not started.
That night, we eat in an authentic Ethiopian restaurant (finally!). The local staff seems to think that I would rather eat European food, so I always have to insist on going to eat local food at least once on every trip. We have fasting and non-fasting foods, and stuff ourselves silly. After dinner, we take part in a beautiful coffee ceremony.
This is a major military base, so soldiers live in and around the airport, sleeping in barracks (essentially tiny, corrugated-iron structures, no taller than me). The fields here are 2 to 5 times larger than in Lalibela, and the majority of houses are made from neatly stacked, roughly cut stones.
We visit a museum, that is built next to the long forgotten ruins of the earliest church in Africa. It is overgrown by tall sweet grass, though stone foundations peak from underneath it. Overlooking the ruins is the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion that, our guide reverently tells us, holds the Ark of the Covenant. An American woman scoffs at the comment, stating the most people believe the Ark to be complete fiction. According to our guide, the uppermost floor of the mosque is off-limits to everyone, save for a priest that guards the Ark day and night. The priest will stay there for the rest of his natural life, and will be replaced by another priest at the time of his death. The current guardian of the covenant has been there for 15 years. We also see a bible that is more than 1,000 years old, written on animal skin and containing bright, full-page illustration. People finger it, to feel its age, and I wince as they contribute to the decaying of these museum pieces.
A few things I learn about Axum:
-The Ark of the Covenant has an interesting, complex story. From Wikipedia:
The Ark of the Covenant is described in the Bible as a sacred container, wherein rested the Tablets of stone containing the Ten Commandments. According to the Biblical account, the Ark was built at the command of God, in accord with Moses' prophetic vision on Mount Sinai. The Bible describes the Ark as made of shittah-tree wood (acacia), known to the Egyptians as the Tree of Life and an important plant in traditional medicine. It was a cubit and a half broad and high, and two and a half cubits long. The Ark was covered all over with the purest gold.
Guesses of the ultimate fate of the Ark include the intentional concealing of the Ark under the Temple Mount; the removal of the Ark from Jerusalem in advance of the Babylonians (this variant usually ends up with the Ark in Ethiopia); the removal of the Ark by the Ethiopian prince Menelik I; removal by Jewish priests during the reign of Manasseh of Judah, possibly taken to the Jewish Temple at Elephantine in Egypt; the miraculous removal of the Ark by divine intervention; and even the destruction of the original ornate Ark under King Josiah's reforms and replacement with a simple wooden box, easily lost when the Temple fell.
-There are three famous obelisks in Axium, that are about 1700 years old. When the Italian invaded the country, they decided to claim one of the three obelisk as their own in 1937, and shipped in back to Italy, to be erected in the middle of Rome. Following years of intense public pressure, Italy returned the Obelisk in 1997, in three parts to accommodate for its shipment back to Axum. The city has now built scaffolding to re-erect the structure. It’s a very weird story, with a happy ending… When we went to see if, there was some crazy scaffolding, but then project of putting them back together again had not started.
That night, we eat in an authentic Ethiopian restaurant (finally!). The local staff seems to think that I would rather eat European food, so I always have to insist on going to eat local food at least once on every trip. We have fasting and non-fasting foods, and stuff ourselves silly. After dinner, we take part in a beautiful coffee ceremony.
Lalibela, Ethiopia
We fly to Lalibela in the late morning. The terrain is mountainous with planting fields built in small terraces along the sides of the sloping hills. The locals use rocks to built the terraces' short walls and it looks a little like I would imagine Europe in the middle ages.
This is really donkey capital - I see donkeys walking with heaps of wood talker than they are, with metal scraps and improvised harnesses, with ropes tied to their necks and then to their legs to prevent them from running, or simply with nothing at all, walking slowly but surely up and down the roads.
Everyone here plows their field with three coarse pieces of wood tied to two humped cows, with a dangling machete in between them, working the earth and creating sowing ditches. Again, the roads are impressive in this town, some are even built to last with stone-paving.
We go visit the famous rock-hewn churches of Lalibela. After initially balking at the 20 dollars entrance fee, I quickly come to eat my words. This site is protected by UNESCO, and for a good reason.
There are 11 ancient churches in the close vicinity, 10 of which are completely carved out of a single block of rock. They are all adorned with paintings dating back to the 1600, and painted, carved protusions on the walls. The floors are completely covered in hand-made Ethiopian rugs. The small windows provide fluorescent patches of light that seems to jump from the thick rock walls but don't even pierce the dark, cool insides.
We take our shoes off at the entrance of each church, and enter fumbling around until our sight starts to adjust, and catch a glimpse of a white scarf or a wooden bench. We try not to trip on the layers of rugs beneath our feet, covering the uneven ground. Our guide uses finger-thin, home-made candles to show us complex symbols on the ceilings. There is a priest guarding each church, adorned with a heavily embroidered garb (they look like the paintings of the old bishops of France, but with dark skin, and white, cotton hat-scarves).
In each cavern, people approach the priests and kiss their elaborate cross three times (mouth, forhead, mouth again). The churches are connected by a labyrintian set of hallways. As we weave in and out of hallways and grottos, we strain to stay upright in the heavy rain and quickly forming clay mud.
Legend has it that it that King Lalibela, who was a king and a priest, carved the churches in the daylight from 1166 to 1189 (a duration of 23 years), and two angels continued his work, at twice the rate, during the night. These are churches built from angels and a king. It is also said that, before King Lalibela could even suckle from his mother's breast for the first time, white bees delivered honey ("lal") to his mouth, thus causing the local population to rename him Lalibela.
The last church, set apart from the others and carved in a separate piece of rock, is called St. George's. It is built in the shape of an even-armed cross, so well proportioned that when one looks down on it from a small hill, it looks like a one dimensional carving, and doesn't betray its three stories.
Even in the rain, cold and dark, and even when straining to hear the guide, I am awed by the sheer maginificence of the churches, and the people who were inspired to build them. At this point, my camera completely craps out, and I later realize that have forgotten the charger in D.C., which nearly gives me a heart-attack for the rest of the trip.
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
I "wake" up tired after a sleepness night caused by the high altitude in Addis Ababa.
Even with a foggy mind, I see that it is a pleasant city - it's a typical African town with a plethora of small businesses flourishing around the main roads, housed in iron shack boutiques, painted with vibrant colors. There are piles of clothes, as well as thousands of shoes, neon-colored flip flops, and umbrellas, ready to be purchased by the next judicious bargainer.
The roads are admirably hole-less, and well-paved, flanked on either sides with treacherous, steep, side roads leading to compact neighborhoods of cement, corruguated and iron dwellings. I tense every time we pass security check points, guards or policemen, but we never get asked for a bribe. Addis strikes me as the kind of place where a "muzungu" like me could walk around comfortably during the day. A majority of women are dressed from head to toe in delicate, pleated, white cotton, preferring to layer the many scarves to brave the cold of the rainy season. I honestly didn't think it could get this cold in Africa.
The cars are all relatively nice, a far cry from the banged up vehicles of Kinshasa. There is a profusion of public buses and taxis.
A few things I find out about Ethiopia:
1-It is the birthplace of the Rastafari Movement. From wikipedia:
The Rastafari movement (also known as Rastafari, or simply Rasta) is a new religious movement that accepts Haile Selassie I, the former Emperor of Ethiopia, as God incarnate. Rastas may regard themselves as conforming to certain visions of how Africans should live, reclaiming what they see as a culture stolen from them when their ancestors were brought on slave ships to Jamaica, the movement's birthplace. Another important Afrocentric identification is with the colours red, gold, and green, of the Ethiopian flag. One belief that unites many Rastafari is that Ras Tafari Makonnen, who was crowned Haile Selassie I, Emperor of Ethiopia on November 2, 1930, is the living God incarnate, called Jah, who is the black Messiah who will lead all those of righteous livity into a promised land of full emancipation and divine justice called Zion. All mankind is of African origin, as the Garden of Eden was in the fertile land of Ethiopia.
2-Injera, the bitter pancake one eats with Ethiopian dishes, is in fact fermented tiff flour
3-Ethiopia operates on a different calendar, called the Ge'ez calendar. The country is gearing up to celebrate its year 2001, and a celebration will be observed at 12 midnight on September 12, 2008, for the new year.
-The coffee ceremony is a really big deal here. Being invited to a coffee ceremony is a sign of friendship and respect, and often, communities members gather around the preparer, and sip and gossip for hours. Some elders prefer their coffee with salt or butter, but most people take it with a lot of sugar. It is performed in three steps, each cup weaker than the last. Often, you are served snacks such as popcorn or peanuts to accompany it.
July 06, 2008
Arrival in Addis
We arrive in
We stop in
I sit next to an Ethiopian woman who has lived in
Addis' aiport is nice - what a difference with
In the evening, I order room service: Yebeg Wot Alicha (lamb marinated with tumeric accompanied by traditional injera bread) and Gouder (Ethiopian wine). The food is really bland, and I wonder if it is made bland for me, or if the dish is just meant to taste that way. The wine is quite nice, it almost tastes like it has honey in it. The waiter approves of my choice of food (it's all Ethiopian) and tells me how many more job opportunities there are in South Africa, having traveled to Pretoria, Durban and Johannesburg himself. He says that since
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