Peripatetic Life

Leaving Luanda

2009-09-27T20:15:00.003+01:00

Somehow, 15 months has passed since I arrived in Angola, and just like that the MBA Enterprise Corps assignment is over. There were several going away parties the final week in Luanda, but the most touching was our team lunch held at Jango Valero on the Ilha. I knew something was up when Wilson, an Angolan colleague, brought a guitar case to the outing. The mystery was solved before long, when he broke out with his special song. I didn't know what to expect, but luckily the cameras were rolling.

The meal was great (lobster on the buffet line is never a bad thing) but I was caught off-guard when it became clear I was expected to make a speech. I had been so focused mentally on trying to finish work projects and figure out my packing strategy (it's not easy to pack after living somewhere for 15 months when you're constrained by airline baggage policies to get all your stuff home!) that it never dawned on me that I should prepare some remarks. Of course Burch - the MBAEC volunteer that I arrived with 15 months ago - spoke well and from the heart, which made my speech seem all the more inadequate. I stumbled through it somehow and nobody threw any food at me so I'm taking that as a sign that my comments were acceptable. I was honored to have the experience and look forward to keeping in touch with the team.

Wilson's going-away tribute:

Malanje

2009-09-19T23:55:00.005+01:00

I may have saved the best weekend trip for last. I have been impressed with the potential for tourism in Angola, and a quick trip to Malanje last weekend only reinforced that opinion. The ride from Luanda involves a gentle climb through a large imbondeiro (baobab) forest to the town of Dondo, at which point we continued in the direction of Malanje only to find that a bridge was under construction about 20 minutes down the road. There were cars waiting, so we thought it might be a temporary close. Rolling down the window to ask for an estimate, we were told that the bridge should be open by Monday (it was Saturday morning). We found an alternate (unpaved) route and amazingly didn’t end up losing much time.

The Kalandula Falls (known as the Duque de Bragança Falls during colonial times) were impressive. The remarkable part about it for me was that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from walking right up to the edge, and falling over should you be so unlucky. The large sandstones in the river bed atop the falls are full of carved graffiti from colonial times and make for some interesting reading. During the visit I kept thinking how waterfalls are a curious attraction. I think they are beautiful, but what exactly are you supposed to do there? I find myself staring at the falls in sections, fixing my gaze on one section of water’s journey downward and then picking a new section when the water I was previously watching is down. Then I focus back to take in the overall scene. I mean, what else could you possibly do? It sounds so boring when you’re writing about it, but people travel hundreds of miles and sometimes base their entire vacations around doing nothing but what I just described. Maybe it’s inspiring. In any event, I spent some time scrambling on the river rocks taking care never to get too close to the edge. And then it was time to go, which was fine by me.

After a quiet Saturday night in town we got up early and drove to the Pedras Negras area, which was another surprise. The road leading into the main area isn’t marked, but we were able to confirm the route by stopping to ask one of the locals in a nearby village. At this point I got out of the truck and rode standing up in the truck bed as we drove down the dirt road through the massive rock formations. We came to another village (Pundo Andongo), this one with paved roads and electricity – a definite leftover from Portuguese times. On the other side of the village was an area with footprints in the smooth rock with a barrier. It turned out we were visiting at the same time as the delegation from the “Miss Malanje” pageant that was due to be held the following weekend. The contestants were taking cheesy photos with the rocks in the background and it was awesome. We asked someone what the footprints meant and got the reply that it was the “footprint of the queen.” Highly doubtful, but we didn’t press for more details. After exploring a bit more and summiting one of the rocks for an impressive view it was time to start the long drive back to Luanda. We took a different route that was in even worse shape than the previous one, and after three hours of shock therapy it was a relief to find the asphalt again. The highlight of the return trip was the need to ford a river with a steep incline on the opposite side (the adjacent bridge was not yet open). We watched a semi full of Coke bottles take two tries to make it up, but luckily we fared better.

Throughout the weekend drive we passed many villages made of mud dwellings with straw roofs. It seemed to be the season to put on a new layer of straw, which makes sense since the rainy season is just around the corner. We’d pass women beating cassava into paste to make funge with the large wooden utensils I had only previously seen in the anthropology museum in Luanda. There were pigs, goats, and chickens roaming around the villages and kids playing soccer. None of these villages had power or running water from what I could tell. It was a glimpse into a life from another century…

Road hog:

Driving through the Baobab Forest:

"The Queen's Footprint":

If at first you don't succeed:

Approaching the Pedras Negras:

Looking down to Pungo Andongo:

Last look at the Pedras Negras:

Soyo

2009-09-17T16:29:00.004+01:00

July was a month for unexpected events. In the same day, I received news that the father of one of my colleagues had passed away and that another colleague had to be medically evacuated to South Africa. That was a pretty big blow to CAE’s operational capacity, and as a result of the former event I found myself on a flight from Luanda to Soyo bright and early at 6am on a Sunday morning (following the night of my birthday party...I was not exactly chipper).

The NGO I work for has been contracted to lead a series of business training classes for potential suppliers to Angola LNG, which is the company constructing the country’s first liquid natural gas processing plant. A separate huge project involves building a deepwater port so tankers can export the processed LNG. It’s a big deal, and Soyo is a small town so the impact is visible everywhere. I got to meet the small business owners participating in the training (the week I happened to be there the subject was health and safety standards at work), and noticed a notable drop in the level of sophistication compared to some of the companies we work with in Luanda. Most of them were thrilled to have access to the training courses though, and the level of participation in the courses was high.

Geographically speaking, Soyo is an interesting place. It sits at the point where the Congo River (the world’s 2nd largest in terms of volume) empties into the Atlantic. Across the river, barely visible on the horizon, is the Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly known as Zaire). The roads in town are mostly fine, sandy dirt that make travel in a 4x4 not just handy but a requirement in some neighborhoods. I have no idea how people get around during the rainy season – some potholes on the unpaved neighborhood roads would be enough to drown my car from back home. On the main road in town ladies hold up large lobsters as long as it takes to sell them. The main type of fish is different here too – large freshwater river fish that you just don’t see in the Luanda markets.

On the other hand, anyone that thinks life in Luanda or Benguela is hard should spend a few days here before complaining. For one thing, the phone and internet connections are horrible. It’s not that the connections are bad, it’s that you can’t make connections in the first place. It took me 20 minutes of continuous attempts to reach my driver to let him know I was done with dinner. The dinner on that occasion was another thing altogether – I waited 90 minutes for my meal to arrive. I hadn’t expected the wait and wasn’t prepared with anything to occupy my time. I tried sending amusing text messages to friends back in Luanda, but the network kept telling me it wasn’t possible. I entertained myself by counting the rats running around the trash heap at the house under construction across the street, and wondering how many of those rats made the trip across the street to visit the kitchen of the restaurant I was frequenting (which I had picked, incidentally, because someone told me it was the best place to eat in Soyo). I discovered a very crude graphics game called “Snakes” on my cell phone and resigned myself to playing it instead. My order arrived eventually and it was actually very good (the bill for my grilled side of chicken and French fries plus a small bottled water came to $25).

The living conditions here are another story altogether. I’ve never seen anthills being formed inside a house before, but the house in Soyo proved there’s a first time for everything. Running water in the house relies on turning on a pump, which frequently breaks (or won’t work when the power is out, which fortunately is not very often). Forget about hot water. It’s quiet though, which is a welcome relief on the weekends compared to Luanda, where lately it seems impossible to escape party noise until after 5am. At least there was that…

It was an interesting day at the market:

The giant baobab is helpful for giving directions:

The aftermath of a day at the market:

Leftovers from the war slowly washing away:

Luanda International Fair (FILDA)

2009-09-05T16:53:00.004+01:00

By far the biggest networking event of the year for CAE, FILDA (Feira Internacional de Luanda, or Luanda International Fair) was held at an event center just off the road to Viana. Traveling to get to the event is like driving through some kind of post-apocalyptic traffic nightmare, but once you arrive it’s pretty much like most conventions I’ve ever been to. There are several pavilions, and anyone interested in doing business in Angola has a presence. Some pavilions are sponsored by countries (Portugal, Brazil, and Spain were the most prominent) and others by companies (dominated by banks, oil companies, and Chinese manufacturers).

We were there to register new clients and to make our presence known to the oil companies, who are our major partners (my NGO helps small Angolan-owned companies win contracts with the oil multinationals operating in the country). The highlight of the fair was the visit by the Angola Minister of Petroleum, who turns out to look a lot like Teddy Roosevelt. He spent a solid 5 minutes at our booth, which is more time than he spent talking to Exxon, who were our neighbors across the hall (a fact the Exxon representative commented on afterwards).

It’s no question that Angola’s economy is growing rapidly, and it was exciting to see the interest in the country at the fair. If only participants didn’t risk dislocating vertebrae on the road to get there…

Brazil one of the major countries participating:

But wait! There's more!

Earth-moving equipment a popular item:

Sweet, I was needing a snag. I wonder if I can tek it away?:

Ministry of Petroleum is Angolan Teddy Roosevelt:

Ghana: Signs

2009-08-20T18:21:00.007+01:00

These signs pretty much speak for themselves. I'll just add that this phenomenon was probably the best unexpected feature of my trip to Ghana - it may have been unbearably sweaty, humid, and hot at times, but these signs never failed to put a smile on my face.

Vote for your favorite!

2-Pac. Jesus. Car decorations. More in common than you might think:

No laughing matter:

Bordering on creepy:

Late realization that it's better to sell more than one phone:

Advertising lesser-known skills of the almighty:

I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you brought her too:

Pretty high service promise:

If you haven't seen enough:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=131004&id=718810927&l=b922e19f74

Ghana: Top Ten

2009-08-18T20:22:00.012+01:00

It might sound strange, but my fascination with Ghana started with a 5th grade Cub Scout project. My den (Indian Nations Council) introduced us to a pen pal organization and we were assigned addresses to write to. The project turned into a kind of competition to see who could get the most number of people to write back, and at one point I was writing to 25 pen pals from all over the world. My first one, however, was from Sunyani, Ghana. That pen pal relationship lasted for over a decade, and as a kid I remember getting cuts of kente cloth, leather goods, and cedi bank notes in the mail. Ghana always seemed like an impossible place to get to, and even from within Africa it took a fair bit of planning. But it was worth it.

Without any more babble, my top ten from Ghana:

1. CAPE COAST CASTLE
Built by the Swedes (who knew the Swedes were building castles in Africa???) and later occupied by the British, the castle’s started as a post in the gold trade but became a symbol of the slave trade. The dungeons where slaves were kept prior to leaving the “door of no return” left me speechless. President Obama visited here last month – many of the slaves that came through this castle went to the United States.

2. ELMINA - CASTLE AND POSUBAN SHRINES
The castle in Elmina (20km down the road) is the oldest European-built structure in sub-Saharan Africa still standing. Started by the Portuguese and then occupied by the Dutch I thought it was even more interesting than Cape Coast Castle. The Posuban Shrines (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/09/travel/09ghana.html?_r=1) and the Dutch cemetery were also worth visits. Don’t believe the neighborhood kids when they try to charge you to take pictures!

Not your everyday shrine:

3. TRO-TROS
This is definitely not the most comfortable way to get around, but absolutely the cheapest. I went 40km for about 75 cents. You have to wait for the vans to fill up before they leave, but depending on the route this usually doesn’t take long. The commercial activity surrounding the vans while you wait is excellent entertainment anyway. Tro-tros have their own slogans too – the best I saw was “If you don’t get into heaven, don’t blame Jesus.”

Pick your seat strategically:

Yogurt vendor while waiting for a ride to Kumasi:

4. KUMASI BUS STATION
I arrived at the chaotic scene at dusk and a Ghanaian woman that had been on my tro-tro from Cape Coast for the previous 4 hours took me by the hand and led me through the maze. She said that people related to the chiefs would try to steal me. I later realized she probably meant steal “from me”, but I couldn’t get the thought of being kidnapped out of my mind. I wasn’t scared but took her advice and followed her to a safer place to get a taxi to my hotel. Only to find out that we had basically walked right past it and that I didn’t need a taxi anyway…

Please don't steal me:

5. KUMASI MARKET FIRE
The 10-acre market in Kumasi is theoretically west-Africa’s largest. I had reserved an entire morning to explore it, only to have selected the day that a big chunk of it burned down. Instead of browsing I started taking pictures of the aftermath. What struck me was how nonchalant most people were about the tragedy. Many people had come to see what happened and carried on laughing and joking like they were going to see a soccer game or something, others were going about their business trying to sell whatever they could in the streets in the true market spirit…

6. SUNYANI SNAILS
The lady at the market stall in Sunyani was laughing at me, but I just couldn’t believe the size of the snails she was selling. They were literally the size of my hand. She offered to cook one for me if I bought it, but somehow the thought of a snail that size just wasn’t appetizing. Cute little escargot in garlic butter is one thing, but that satisfying squishy sensation didn’t seem so appetizing writ large. They were fun to look at though…

You'd need a special escargot pan to cook these suckers:

7. PROJECT "AFRICAN SHIRT"
I decided I was going to buy fabric and have a local tailor make some African shirts for me. The trip to the market was fun in itself, and I picked out three patterns (I can’t trust my taste so I was trying to hedge my bets). I had asked a local what the price for fabric was so I knew if I was getting ripped off, and remarkably nobody tried to. The price to sew a shirt was cheap enough, so instead of picking one piece of fabric I had the tailor make shirts with all three designs I had bought. The grand total for the fabric and tailoring for all three shirts: $18. I was kicking myself afterwards that I didn’t buy some plain blue cloth to make more shirts – the style is very comfortable in the humid climate. Something to keep in mind for the next visit.

8. NOVELTY COFFINS
This is sort of in the “you have to see it to believe it” file, but I really liked the spirit of the novelty coffin shops. Film projectors, Mercedes-Benzes, airplanes, chili peppers, elephants, crabs, soda cans, wrenches – you name it. I left thinking that being buried in a novelty coffin is sort of like getting in one last laugh at death, and I have to say I like the idea. I’m not sure it will convince me to change my preference for cremation, but it definitely had me thinking. It’s about $700 for each hand-carved and painted coffin, but you have to figure out the shipping. Apparently that doesn’t stop some people - the shop owner I talked to said he gets orders from the US all the time.

9. KAKUM NATIONAL PARK
I was expecting this to be kind of gimmicky, but actually it was pretty cool. I was stuck between a couple from Holland and an evangelical family from the US that had moved to Ghana. The patriarch from the latter group tried to chat me up and I ran away as quickly and tactfully as possible. My escape allowed me to focus on the perspective the canopy walk offers. It was obvious a lot of the surrounding forest had been cut down, but what was left was still impressive.

Hang on!

10. SIGNS
One thing that struck me the most about Ghana was its entrepreneurial spirit. There are lots of small shops each with their own personality that speaks to a savvy marketing sense. Religious themes were the most common, often with humorous results. I'll post separately, because there are just too many to choose from and this is already a long post...

Click here for more photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=142489&id=718810927&l=43f1f3b170

Ghana: Getting There

2009-08-16T14:34:00.003+01:00

One of the best parts about the trip to Ghana this past May was just getting there. I was flying on points, and was required to have a nearly 24 hour layover in Johannesburg. For those of you looking at a map, you’ve realized this makes no sense. It’s like flying from Dallas to Miami to get to Seattle. But that’s how the African infrastructure works – there aren’t any direct flights between Angola and Ghana, and it makes more sense to connect in Johannesburg than, say, London, which would have been the other option (and with only two flights a week to most European capitals, not a very convenient one).

It turns out the adventure started as soon as I got to the Luanda airport, when I had one of three possible departing times to consider for my flight. My printed reservation had one time, the public information system at the airport had another, and my printed boarding pass had a third, representing a possible departing time spread of 3 hours. On a previous trip to Johannesburg the original reservation document was correct and the other two were wrong (including the boarding pass). This time it turned out the boarding pass was correct. I try to get to the airport ridiculously early (I recommend 5 hours ahead of time, because of this and other unpredictable nonsense), so I was never really worried, but anyone uncomfortable with uncertainty would probably have had a heart attack. After I sweated my way through the immigration line (they really need to think about getting some AC in that hall) and passing through the Kwanza shakedown (you have to open your wallet and show the police you’re not taking any Angolan currency out of the country, which is illegal), I was on my way at last.

I landed in Johannesburg after the 3+ hour flight on a Friday evening in time to have dinner at a Thai restaurant with some friends in the Melville neighborhood, enjoyed a night out, slept in, did some shopping, and got back on the plane the next evening for the flight to Accra. Once there, I was pleasantly surprised to discover my hotel had fast wireless internet and I promptly set about downloading podcasts and episodes of Saturday Night Live to watch back in Angola when the power goes out. I was loving Ghana already.

It's a bay! It's a toilet! It's the Luanda Marginal...

2009-08-08T11:12:00.003+01:00

Like many things in Angola, the Baía de Luanda has enormous potential. Unfortunately, it’s currently running for the title of world’s largest toilet.

I’ve been lucky enough to get a six-week house sitting gig at an apartment located on the Marginal, the main thoroughfare in Luanda that happens to border the bay. My duties include walking my friend’s Rhodesian Ridgeback twice a day along the wide Marginal sidewalk. I’m also able to walk along the same sidewalk to work, which has been a welcome respite from Luanda’s traffic. Normally the flat 20-minute walk would be a great way to get to work. It’s winter now afterall, so the temperatures in the morning and evening are comfortable low-mid 60’s and perfect for a stroll.

Despite the potential, my experiences on the Marginal have been less than savory. Not a day goes by where I don’t see someone walk right up to the edge of the Marginal in broad daylight, unzip, and relieve themselves right into the bay. Public urination is a competitive sport here, so that’s nothing all that unusual. I’ve also seen kids crawl down to “go potty” directly into the bay, and then proceed to wipe their bare bottoms by dragging them on the concrete edge of the sidewalk that drops down into the bay afterwards. All in broad daylight.

As if that’s not enough, the city’s sewers dump directly into the bay and anyone walking along the Marginal sidewalk doesn’t have to guess too hard about where the exit points are. The smell has been particularly ripe lately, to the point where I’ve caught myself gasping in disbelief as if I were trapped in an elevator next to someone with a horrible gas problem. The water usually has a slightly glowing greenish hue along with the permanent mess of floating refuse, which on several occasions has included dumped refrigerators and other large appliances. I’ve also witnessed people on at least two occasions walk up the edge and dump garbage bags right into the bay. Rats and cockroaches rule the sidewalk at night, a fact the dog reminds me of when she decides it’s time to give chase to either.

The bold disrespect for what should be a point of civic pride is depressing. Someone pointed out to be earlier in my stay here that “African priorities aren’t always the same as Western priorities.” Perhaps, but one would think that the government would feel a little more responsible for doing something to clean things up. Apparently people just don’t care (at least not the ones dumping their human and household waste in broad daylight).

And yet, it’s hard not to imagine a clean Marginal with parks and water taxis taking passengers to and from the clubs and beaches on the Ilha on the opposite side. It could be charming, and there are redevelopment plans posted on billboards along the sidewalk. Nothing has happened in the year that I’ve been here, and these are the kinds of experiences that make people cynical about the future while they book the first possible flight out of here after their contract duties have been fulfilled. Weak civil service organizations, a totally unfree press, and a lack of political will make it too easy to maintain the status quo. Unfortunately none of these factors seem to be changing anytime soon, so I’ll keep holding my breath on my walk to work…

Tomorrow: Plans for a greener, cleaner Marginal:

Today: Not so clean, not so green:

The Age of Jesus

2009-08-05T11:13:00.006+01:00

I turned 34 recently, and for once I was looking forward to turning older. Until this month, whenever someone in Angola would ask my age, the unanimous remark was that I was “the age of Jesus.” This always led to an awkward moment – what do you say when someone has just compared you to someone who was crucified at your exact age? Turning 34 was a relief in that sense – turns out I’m not the savior of mankind either (its own separate relief). On the other hand, my country’s constitution still considers me too young to be president, so I figure I have at least another year to consider myself too young for serious responsibility. After that it’s pretty much downhill until the AARP benefits kick in, so I hope to enjoy it while I can.

I’ve never been one to make a fuss over my birthday – being a summer day I never celebrated it in grade school and my family always seemed to be on vacation when I was a kid. I never got in the habit of having parties, and even a short blog entry seems a bit indulgent. In any event, it was nice surprise when a group of friends invited me out to dinner and drinks this year. The pepper steak at Fortaleza Restaurant was tasty and the house party afterwards festive. Too bad I had to get up for a 6a.m. flight to Soyo the next day. More on that later - for now a big thank you to my Luanda friends for making

It's not a party until you rearrange the refrigerator magnets:

A promising sign for the evening:

Thank you!

Luanda League Futebol

2009-07-28T21:23:00.006+01:00

One of the newly arrived MBAs and I have taken an interest in the local soccer league, and have managed to see a couple of games so far. There’s a stadium two blocks from our office, so on several lunchtime outings we passed by to ask the security guards hanging out at the stadium what time the next game would be. The answers varied, but after three such trips we ended up with 2 votes for 4pm and 1 vote for 3pm. We tried to look in the newspaper to verify the time, but that effort (and a related attempt to find start times on the internet) didn’t prove fruitful. We put our faith in our research and planned for the 4pm start, only to arrive halfway through the first period (the game actually started at 3:30pm).

Ticket prices varied widely – from 500 Akz to 4000 Akz (the latter with access to a buffet lunch). Jeff and I opted for the 500 Akz seats, and found ourselves sitting next to a rag-tag band featuring trumpets, trombones, drums, and the plastic blowhorns that are the scourge of African soccer games (get ready to hear about this during next year’s World Cup). The stadium seemed to be designed to hold as few spectators as possible and featured no concessions the day we were there. Although the stands were hardly full, there were enough fans to teach me some new choice curse words. Turns out the team owned by the president’s son defeated the team owned by the president (2-1). Judging by the small crowd at the game, most people in Luanda could have cared less. There are other much more popular teams though, and we’re hoping to catch one of them next time…

Estádio dos Coqueiros - somebody stole the seats:

Police-to-fan ratio approaches 1:1

Just happened to catch the aftermath of the game's first goal:

Gasosa!

2009-07-27T21:00:00.005+01:00

It finally happened. Taking the photo to the left landed me in my first incident with the Angolan police, and my first out-and-out request for a bribe (or gasosa in the local Portuguese slang, which is also the word for a soda). I’m proud to say I managed to maintain my dignity. I was snapping away from the car as we drove by the airport to drop off a colleague, and my decision to take a photo of the airport sign turned out to be controversial. Maybe they were embarrassed that the word “internacional” was missing the final L? There were three uniformed police officers standing nearby, and one motioned for us to pull over. The same officer then started questioning me regarding the photo, asking me if I had a tourist visa. I said that I actually did have a tourist visa, which is true, but I didn’t have my passport with me at the time to prove it. He asked to see the photo, taking my camera and showing it to the other officers. One went so far as to say “that is proof” in a tone that indicated he thought he was pretty clever. I got a chuckle out of that comment – there were general mumblings of my crime and that I would need to pay a fine, etc. I was taught in grad school to call the bluff in this situation and demand the officer write a ticket, which is what I did. I was curious to see what the suggested remedies to this situation might be however.

Throughout the whole ordeal I was polite, saying I was sorry but reiterating the fact that I did have a tourist visa (apparently this gives you the right – or privilege - to take photos of airport signs in Angola) and I also pointed out politely that there was no sign stating that photography was not permitted in the area. By this time I was out of the car (I don’t take well to strangers handling my camera), and an Angolan colleague that was in the car with us had also gotten out to try to help me. First they wanted three phone credit (which is sold via a system of prepaid cards with scratch-off codes), then cash, and after refusing and reclaiming my camera we just walked away. It was kind of weird how they just let me go, but I think they knew I wasn’t going to be worth their time. Wasn’t there an airport to protect anyway? Keep up the good work fellas…

Subas: the original hangmen?

2009-07-12T13:21:00.002+01:00

I'll get off the macabre topics eventually, but after confirming a peculiar cultural practice related to death at the Anthropology Museum recently I thought this one was worth sharing.

A "suba" (I'm probably not spelling this correctly) is a village elder that is respected and relied on for advice when important decisions are being made. This person wears a special hat that signals his significance. So far, so good. The odd part comes after this person dies, at which point the dead body is hung in a public place by a noose around the neck. The body hangs there as long as it takes for the head to detach itself from the body, at which point the head is preserved in a special hut where the heads of previous subas are kept (I have no idea what happens to the body). The hut then serves as a sort of inspiration center for future generations of community leaders when seeking guidance.

I first heard about this practice from an Angolan colleague in Benguela, but the practice was confirmed this past week by the curator of the Anthropology Museum in Luanda. The curator noted this kind of thing doesn't really happen much anymore, but that doesn't take away the fascination value for me.

I remember seeing the nooses used to hang famous outlaws that are part of the exhibit at the gun museum in my hometown (J.M. Davis Arms and Historical Museum :: www.thegunmuseum.com), but using something similar to hang someone as a sign of utmost respect is a visual that just doesn't go away easily.

Bye Bye, Benguela

2009-06-27T14:45:00.002+01:00

My last few days in Benguela were quiet and spent mostly by myself. I’ll miss the privacy and the wireless internet, but mostly I’ll miss the relaxing weekend days I’ve become accustomed to. On what was my next-to-last Saturday in Benguela I took advantage of the fact that the weather is finally cooling off to going for a walk around town, which is pretty much my only entertainment since I don’t have transportation. The goal was to check out a recommendation for ice cream at a place called “Sete” or “seven” in Portuguese. Seven flavors? Seven hundred kwanzas per scoop? These were things I was thinking about as I made my way through town. I arrived and ordered the baunilha and maracujá, otherwise known as vanilla and passion fruit. As advertised it was good ice cream, and I struck up a conversation with the friendly scoop ladies while enjoying it. I asked which flavor was most popular, and they proceeded to give me their entire inventory list (so much for my attempt to conduct flavor research). I left and promised to return the following day, when they said they would have pistachio. That’s a flavor worth returning for, after all…

I continued my walk by the Kalunga, the outdoor cinema that’s across the street from the Chinese restaurant, and shuffled on towards the Praia Morena beach. I sat on the beach wall reading for a bit, enjoying the breeze until I realized my legs had fallen asleep and I would be better off on a park bench instead. I stumbled my way to the park as my leg muscles woke up and finished the book there (“Mother Tongue” by Bill Bryson…an entertaining history of the English language for anyone that’s interested in that sort of thing). Afterwards I just continued home, content with my day’s activity and relegating myself to an evening of watching the rest of the episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race that I had downloaded onto my iTunes in Germany.

Just as I entered the house I got a call from my friend MCM, who has a weekly hip hop radio show in Benguela. He wanted to know if I wanted to come do the show with him and before I could respond with my standard “is a fat baby heavy?” reply he was outside my door to pick me up. I had no clue what to expect, but it turned out to be a blast. I was laughing in the studio when he introduced me as a “cool brother” and the show’s guest for the evening and was impressed with the smooth way he handled the portion of the show when he takes calls from listeners. The upside is that I got introduced to some great lusophone hip hop music.

Afterwards I spent some time driving around town with MCM, and after telling him about my ice cream adventure earlier in the day he insisted we try a different place. I was scolded when I reached in my pocket to pay for my cone – in Angola whoever comes up with an idea like this also expects to pay – and I enjoyed helping #2 as we discussed politics on the dirt sidewalk near the ice cream stand. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was lactose intolerant and hadn’t planned ahead to bring enough lactaid pills with me, but I decided to accept the kind gesture and brace myself for the consequences later. It was worth it in the end – not such a bad way to wrap up my time in Benguela…

War Stories

2009-05-19T02:45:00.000+01:00

Early in my time here I took a trip to Huambo. It was my first visit to a part of the country that witnessed much of the fighting during the country’s 27 year-long civil war. It was also my first introduction to the kind of war stories that many people in Angola carry with them. The story of Africa has proven that natural resources are as much a curse as they are a blessing, and Angola was cursed twice, with wealth in both oil and diamonds. Angola’s civil war lasted so long in part because one rival faction (the MPLA) controlled the oil wealth while another (UNITA) controlled the diamond wealth, the fortunes of each side roughly following the relative value of oil versus diamonds. As the buffer zone between the diamond area and the oil area, the central provinces (like Huambo and Bié) suffered.

The story was emphasized recently when a driver working for my NGO was recounting his life story. Wilson was from Huambo, and was a young boy when the fighting broke out anew in 1992 after UNITA disputed results of an election that handed victory to the MPLA. His parents were active politically, and he recalls being forced to watch as his grandmother was handcuffed and forced to jump off of a dam to her death. He told me how after that incident he fled with his mom and siblings on foot towards the relative safety of Benguela. “On foot” in his case meant barefoot, and he told me the trip took two weeks. He was young and his family didn’t have many ways to support themselves, and tears came to his eyes as he talked about working as a car wash boy before earning enough money to get a driver’s license. Car wash boys are everywhere, and washing cars is one of the principal ways unskilled young men can make some money. Shining shoes is another way (the dusty environment make this a necessary service – the same could be said for washing cars), followed by selling snacks on the side of the road as people sit in traffic. Wilson must have been a great car washer, and a diligent saver, because those kids don’t make much. He worked his way up to become a driver (a good one, at that), and has dreams of returning to Huambo someday. He’s married, has a child, and loves music. He’s 26 years old. I didn’t know what to do when he started crying in the car while recounting this story, but I offered what seemed like an insufficient “I’m sorry” and didn’t say anything else.

After a moment Wilson continued by recalling memories of semi-trailers full of mangled bodies being driven around town – who can say whether to intimidate people or to simply dispose of victims of the violence. Wilson was of the opinion that Savimbi (the UNITA leader) was so ruthless because he felt it that dos Santos (the leader of the MPLA to this day) was a kind of imposter. As I understood his reasoning, the controversy was due to the claim that dos Santos wasn’t Angolan, with the rumor being that his family was from São Tomé. Since he wasn’t Angolan, so went the argument, he shouldn’t be president. Hardly a reason to murder of course, but so goes the logic. In many people’s minds there is still a dos Santos credibility question – perhaps most telling in the mind of the president himself, since he has still not set a date yet for a presidential election (the first since 1992) due this year. That is not exactly the action of a man confident of his legitimacy, but what do I know…

Rest in Peace

2009-05-16T12:52:00.006+01:00

This year, the estimated life expectancy rate in Angola is 38 years (37 for men, 39 for women). In other words, a baby being born in Angola today can expect to live, on average, to age 38. In fact, of 191 countries in the world, Angola ranks 190th in terms of life expectancy – only tiny Swaziland is worse (due to the country’s AIDS crisis). To give you some perspective the US ranks 30th in the world with an average life expectancy of 78 years (75 for men and 81 for women).

When I read that statistic before coming to Angola I thought surely it was a relic of the war years, and that the data needed to be updated to reflect the reality of peace that arrived in 2002. After ten months here, I’m no longer surprised. Death is all around, and not a week goes by without news of someone’s cousin or aunt or parent or child passing away. The war may be over, but the battle to survive still isn’t easy. There are car and motorcycle crashes too numerous to mention. Colleagues forward gruesome photos of crash victims by email and somehow manage to look at them without wincing (I couldn’t). Every week someone is coming down with malaria (called paludismo here) and there are plenty of other illnesses to worry about. A rabies outbreak in Luanda killed something like 80 people one weekend earlier this year. This is especially worrying since there is a worldwide shortage of the rabies vaccine and I was told I couldn’t get one before coming here. I was told I had to contract the disease first, and then I could be treated, which isn’t the most comforting thought. It’s also not comforting to know that the streets of Benguela are full of stray dogs – some aggressive – and since I don’t have any transportation here I’m walking amongst them daily. I have to check my usual appreciation for my canine friends and usually cross the street to walk on the other side if I see suspicious-looking animals. I’m digressing, but you get the idea.

At least several times a week when making client visits or bumming rides with friends on the weekend, we will pass a funeral procession. This usually involves a lead truck with the grieving parent or partner or next of kin surrounded by dozens of others in the truck bed with the coffin, followed by a trail of cars and motorcycles, and sometimes other trucks full of friends and extended family of the deceased, all heading to the cemetery. After someone dies, the funeral is usually held the following day, although it could be delayed by a few days to give relatives in other parts of the country time to travel.

Following the funeral, there is a period known as the “óbito” or what westerners might consider a wake, except that it happens after the deceased has been interred. The period for the óbito varies depending on the age of the deceased and ranges from a few days to up to a week according to my colleague who explained all this to me. During this time friends and relatives visit the family of the deceased and offer condolences and specially-prepared food. In the event of a woman who has lost her husband, traditional cermonies are sometimes performed to make her “marriable” again. A month after the death occurred, another event is held, this time usually more of a party or picnic to commemorate the deceased. Yet another event is held a year following the death. Understanding these traditions helped make sense of the frequent absences from work with “óbito” as the stated reason.

It’s a sobering fact of life here, but as someone that’s no stranger to death (there are no living relatives on the matrilineal side of my family) I thought the traditions were interesting.

Rest In Peace:

A common sight - black cross on door means closed for funeral/óbito:

Berlin

2009-05-14T21:48:00.006+01:00

Truth be told this wasn’t the first time I’d been in Berlin. But the previous time involved a midnight stop at the train station when I was traveling with my friend Slacky from Sweden to Prague during college, and I just don’t think that counts. Within thirty minutes of landing at Tegel airport I had taken a bus and a subway and checked into the hotel near the Gedächtniskirche – German efficiency was a welcome change.

After sorting out room keys and hotel policies my first order of business was to scope out the local Thai food options – I left the reception desk with addresses for the three nearest choices and it wasn’t another half an hour before I was sitting down trying to savor (instead of inhale, which is what I really wanted to do) my curry lunch special. I was in heaven.

I met my Tbird friend later that afternoon and for the next five days managed to keep a pace that I never would have thought possible. We made good use of the train system getting around – Berlin covers a huge expanse – and I felt we did a fair job mixing tourist duties, nightlife, and oddball stuff. There were a few sleeping hours in there somewhere, but not many.

Here’s a countdown of nine things I’ll remember:

(9) BURRITOS
There’s a place that makes them fairly true to the form I was used to in San Francisco. It was unexpected but welcome – next to Thai food probably the cuisine I miss the most from home.

Missing The Mission:

(8) THAI FOOD
I promise I’ll move away from food-related highlights soon, but I had a total of 5 meals at Thai restaurants over the course of a five day visit. Mmmmmmm.

(7) BAUHAUS
Good design puts me in a good mood – the Bauhaus exhibit was small but well organized and the guy at the front desk that took my money was really friendly (probably from being surrounded by inspiring design).

(6) UNPLANNED DAYTIME ADULT BOUNCY-CASTLE FUN
Or Jupiter Jump, or whatever you want to call it. It was inside the exhibit hall that the United States donated to West Berlin in the 1950’s. Hassan and I first thought the building was closed but then walked around to discover that it was in fact open, and that there was an industrial strength bouncy castle just waiting for us to enjoy (the exhibit security people encouraged us). It was cool for about 5 minutes, until we realized that we were actually exercising, at which point we promptly stopped.

(5) CITY BOAT TOURS INVOLVING FLAGRANT BEER CONSUMPTION
I don’t think I really need to elaborate on this one, but the warm sunny spring weather made this kind of outing somewhat obligatory.

(4) THAI FOOD
Okay, I lied. But this will be the last time I mention food. Promise. Man I miss Thai food…

(3) CLIMBING REICHSTAG DOME AT NIGHT
Two earlier attempts to climb had been thwarted by the long line permanently stretching into the lawn area in front of the building. Being the long Easter holiday weekend I think many out-of-towners had the same idea we did. We finally suceeded one night, and the experience was worth the wait. The design idea is that the public can access the dome for free – once in the dome there are mirrors that reflect downward into the floor of the legislature, so that the elected officials can look up at any time for a reminder of who put them there. Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea…

(2) MEMORIAL FOR MURDERED GAYS
The holocaust is well known – and rightly so – for the murder of Jews. Six million of them. What is lesser known is that the Nazis targeted other groups, including homosexuals and Roma (Gypsies). Across the street from the Memorial for Murdered Jews is a Memorial for Murdered Homosexuals. I did not expect to see this. Inside the memorial is a video showing two men caressing and kissing. Again, something I didn’t expect. After so long in homophobic Angola (where being gay is against the law) it was refreshing to see a monument denouncing the very intolerance I’ve felt the pressure of since moving to Africa.

A few weeks later, a colleague sharing a ride with me home from the Luanda office asked to see my photos from the Berlin trip. Seeing as how we were in a 4-hour traffic jam (to go all of 3 miles, but that’s another story), I didn’t think anything of the request, until she got stuck on the photos from the Memorial for Murdered Homosexuals. She asked about it, and I explained everything in a somewhat clinical (but honest) fashion, and did so while being careful not to come out. It was uncomfortable. I have no idea what must have been going through her head then, or even now. I’ll pretend she’s gay herself until further notice. It helps me sleep better…

Explain This To Your Angolan Colleagues:

(1) BEATING DRAG QUEENS AT PING PONG
We set out to find a dingy warehouse-y bar called Dr. Pong, where communal ping pong is played. The idea is that everyone brings their bats (I didn’t know this was the techincal term for a ping pong paddle until this trip) and forms a big circle – everyone gets one volley and keeps moving around in a circle. When someone misses a return that person sits out, reducing the size of the circle. Eventually two players are left, who then play an actual game. When the game is over everyone is back in the circle and the cycle starts over. We found Dr. Pong. But then we found something way, way better.

It turns out there was a gay version of communal ping pong happening at another bar in the same neighborhood, so after a group conference lasting about a picosecond we were on our way to venue #2. Hassan and I were kindly given bats and we didn’t waste much time jumping into the circle. Now, to be fair, not everyone in the circle was a drag queen. Some people were just drunk, and others clearly had no business playing ping pong. These factors go a long way towards explaining how I was able to win a round. It was random. It was exhilarating. It was my favorite moment of the trip.

Berlin - Just in the Nick of Time

2009-05-10T20:31:00.006+01:00

When I first got to Angola, one of the volunteers I was replacing had some parting advice: plan trips at least every three months, because after that amount of time this place will drive you crazy. I heeded that advice, and so far time has proven the sagacity of those words.

The week before I went to Berlin was easily the lowpoint of my time in Angola, and I’m not sure it was a coincidence that the magic three months had passed since I had last been out of the country. No electricity and a busted generator meant no relief from the 90+ degree weather (I had to flee to a local guesthouse to get any work done). Hot, humid nights had me trading sweating for sleeping. We didn’t have any running water for 4 days, and when it came back it was so full of filth it was unusable for another whole day.

Hmmmm, suddenly I don't feel that dirty:

I had planned to spend the weekend in Luanda before flying out to Berlin on the weekly Monday night flight (Lufthansa flies to Angola a grand total of once per week). I was happy to escape the horrible conditions in Benguela but the feeling of relief ended rudely when I arrived in Luanda to a car service that had decided to flaunt its incompetence in grand fashion. Instead of being picked up at the airport when I arrived (and after arguing for an hour on the phone with a dispatch guy just as flummoxed as I was about why there was no car at the airport to pick me up), I decided to make the 30 minute walk with my luggage, carrying my suitcase on my head because the road was too muddy to roll it.

Try rolling your bag through this (the intersection nearest the Luanda apt):

All of our Angola training suggested this was a horrible idea – that I basically made myself a walking target. Unfortunately my temper had reached a boiling point and I must have really looked crazy, because everyone I passed quickly got out of my way. I arrived to the Luanda apartment setting a new personal sweat record, but was grateful that at least there was power and I could take a quick shower before going to a pub quiz being hosted by the British Embassy (I was running late, which was the motivation for my defiant walk). Little did I know at the time, that would be the last of the power in Luanda before my trip 3 days later. Another three days of bucket showers and uncomfortable nights (not only does the AC make it possible to sleep, it keeps the mosquitos under control) awaited me. You would think our organization could organize a working generator given the frequency of power outages, but you would be wrong.

I did receive some good news the Monday I was to leave though – I had scheduled a consultation with a recommended local dentist to see about a couple of fillings my dentist back home said I needed. After pulling new x-rays the local dentist didn’t see anything wrong (and was more than happy to let me see for myself), so I left relieved not to have to worry about getting dental work done in Angola (especially since one of those fillings had previously been determined to be a possible root canal). More good news game when I made it to the airport to check in. I was given a pass to the VIP lounge without asking (I hadn’t shaved in almost a week by this point due to the lack of water…I must have looked like I needed a break), and I quickly established myself next to a large air conditioning unit blasting 17 degrees C. Relief at last. I was finally smiling.

I entertained myself by downing the slightly-stale white bread sandwiches filled with questionable meat-like product, washing them down with a tonic water. I asked to take a look at the suggestion book I had noticed when I had entered, and was rewarded with entry after side-splitting entry. My favorites were an entry that included a drawing of a crying traveler (apparently the conditions of the lounge weren’t always as adequate as the day I was there) and another entry by a man claiming to have broken a bottle of Johnny Walker (and offering to replace it by leaving his number in a script that suggested he had enjoyed most of its contents anyway).

There, there...at least you were on your way out:

Are you this honest when you're sober?

I was in a better mood already, and slept like a baby on the redeye to Germany...

Lubango & Namib

2009-05-01T11:54:00.006+01:00

The one thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to stay in Benguela for the long weekend. I had heard a lot about Lubango, which is the major Angolan city in the south of the country, about 7 hours by car south from Benguela. Earlier efforts to find a place to stay there didn’t work out (Angola is a bit short on lodging options and even the simplest accommodations are rediculously expensive), and the morning of the day I was to travel I still had no idea where I would sleep. In a last-ditch move I called a friend from the gym who had friends in Lubango and asked for help. In twenty minutes I had an invitation to stay with a friend of his, and two hours later I was on the road, catching a ride with some coworkers that were heading there to visit family.

As is the case for any roadtrip, the journey really is half the story. The road to Lubango is about 340km or so. It rises from sea level at Benguela to about 5,500 feet at Lubango, and about half of the total distance is paved. That means the half that’s not paved takes the most time, or about 5 hours of the total 7 it takes to make the trip. Cows and goats have free reign in the countryside, and the rainy weather sometimes makes for trouble on the dirt tracks. There are only a few towns along the way and very few options for roadside snacks or gas (and you don’t know where some of those homemade snacks have been, as a week-long sickness reminded me on an earlier roadtrip to Huambo), so pre-trip planning is definitely more important than it would be back home. The road inclines through baobab forests and keeps climbing through rich farmland until reaching Lubango, which is like a breath of fresh air.

Lubango is green, organized, and did not suffer as much as other towns during the war. I not only had the best pizza I’ve ever had in Africa there, but the best toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich too (imagine!) To top things off the local beer – N’Gola – is by far the best I’ve had in Angola. I don’t know if it’s the cooler climate (I found myself wishing I had brought my jacket even though it was the height of summer), the green surroundings, or the good cheap beer, but Lubango won me over in an instant.

I met the stranger that would play host to me upon arrival - Tony invited me into his tin-roof one-room abode and quickly made me feel welcome. The next-door bathroom was interesting and involved a spigot coming out of the wall about four feet up from the floor, so I got through the weekend washing my face but never endeavored to take a shower (cold water showers in the hot Benguela climate are one thing…but cold water bucket showers in a cold climate required a level of filth that I did not manage to achieve during my stay). I met his friends and we watched some cheesy Brazilian soap opera called “Negócio da China” before heading to the “mall” for dinner at an Italian restaurant. The mall was a scaled-way-down replica of the Shops at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, complete with a crude and ultimately unconvincing attempt to paint clouds on a blue ceiling.

The highlights of Lubango included the following:

Serra da Leba (pictured above)
A series of switchbacks signals the transition from the high plateau to the plain below that leads to the coast some 140km to the west. The scene is depicted on the 5 Kwanza note (with a value of about 7 cents it’s the bill everyone hates to accumulate).

Cristo Rei
There’s no danger of confusing this replica for the one on Corcovado, but it does occupy a commanding position overlooking the city. It’s worth a trip for the views, and to see the cows grazing on the steep cliffs.

Tundavala
You could be forgiving for thinking you were in Switzerland, at least if the fog lifts long enough to see the green valley what must be several thousand feet below the rocky outcropping you’re standing on. I had to catch my breath when the fog lifted – partly because it was so beautiful but mostly because I was trying to calm my fear of heights. The fog closed as quickly as it opened and I ran back from the edge.

Planalto Café
The best coffee shop I’ve been to in Angola and home to the aforementioned toasted ham and cheese, of which I think I ate 3 during the weekend. The quindim was delicious too.

Huila Café
Home of the best pizza just about anywhere!

On Saturday I convinced Tony to drive to Namib on the coast, and against all protocol I took the reigns of the rental car and enjoyed the leisurely two-hour drive to the coast immensely. The terrain changed from verdant to desert in that span and it was fun to watch the transition. It just so happened that we arrived at the same time as some of Tony’s friends from Lubango and our united group took advantage of the “Festival of the Sea” which involved live music on the beachfront promenade. There may have been a beer or two invovled, and our planned return to Lubango was pushed back by several hours on account of us having crap-tons of fun. The redbull at the brand-spanking-new 24h service station on the way out of town was a lifesaver, and we arrived back in Lubango without any trouble.

Namib Beach Promenade:

No, I don't want to date your cousin:

Making friends quickly in Namib:

I wasn’t able to join my colleagues for the ride back to Benguela, so I bought a bus ticket for the journey instead. It was pretty uneventful, although we did have to take a detour around a muddy section of the highway where some semis had gotten stuck. I remember some sections being pretty dusty, but didn’t account for how this would affect the luggage I had stored in the back until I got to Benguela and my black bag had turned brown. I discovered that whacking the hell out of the bag with a broom and using compressed air in the crevices will clean things up in a jiffy. Add that to the list of things that Angola has taught me…

The local 7-11 comes to you:

A sticky situation (this is the main national north-south highway):

Palm Tree Hurdling: A Cape Town New Year's Tradition

2009-04-25T14:16:00.002+01:00

This entry is long overdue - internet access robust enough to load the video simply doesn't exist in Angola, so I had to wait until a recent trip to Germany to load it. Let's take a trip back in time...
***********************************************
Cape Town is a city you come back to. Like Rio de Janeiro or San Francisco, the geography commands your attention and won’t let go. I was there first with my dad and then with a friend from Seattle stopping through in the middle of his grand African adventure. In ten days we (respectively) covered a lot of touristy stuff, and that was all great. On a personal sidenote, I particularly appreciated the showers that involved the luxurious notions of pressure and hot water.

The one event that stood out this time was one I enjoyed alone, however. My visiting friend decided to stay at the hotel and prepare for his flight later that evening and I ventured out with the goal of discovering the Minstrel Parade, a local new year tradition in a similar vein to Philadelphia’s Mummers. Or something like that. My travel literature mentioned how the surrounding communities form “minstrel” groups, make their own costumes, and practice dance moves to the year’s theme song, and then parade through downtown Cape Town singing and dancing to welcome in the new year (now it was starting to sound more like Carnaval in Rio, so my curiosity only grew). If my literature is correct, the tradition dates back to the abolition of slavery and was a way for the colored and black population to celebrate their freedom. I also read something about the groups being encouraged by American sailors that had been in town during some long-ago new year, which is why some of the groups are still named after American battleships (I saw the Pennsylvanians, but apparently the Alabamians are in there too somewhere).

Who wouldn’t want to check this out? Apparently nobody I was talking to. The receptionist at the hotel desk rolled his eyes when I asked where the parade route was, and my Capetownian friend had no interest in joining me (and my traveling companion was busy folding clothes). So off alone I went.

Things didn’t start well. I found the end of the parade route in a neighborhood called Bo-Kaap and watched one marching group finish up and load into the buses that were waiting to take them back to the townships. Some drunk dude asked me to take his photo, which I did, and then when I showed him he tried to steal my camera. I was sort of expecting this and was holding firmly, then yelling at him to take his hands off. His nearby friends pryed him off of me and told him to cut it out, then apologized to me. I shrugged the incident off and decided to get some breakfast. I was also starting to understand why some locals didn’t get excited about the prospect of attending this event.

After some coffee and eggs benedict (hold the hollandaise) I was ready to try again. My waiter was enthusiastic about my attempt to watch the festivities (finally somebody with a pulse) and directed me to a better vantage point. That’s how I found the main avenue for the parade route – a wide street with proper crowd control procedures and police supervision. So I found an opening next to the fence blocking access to the street and waited. People around me had tents propped up so they could take naps between performances, others were smoking hookahs. After awhile I realized that I wasn’t hearing much English – Afrikaans was ruling the day on this parade route, the language of most of the coloured population that had come to watch the festivities.

*******************************************
Sidenote #1:
Race-related vocabulary in South Africa is a specialized field – somebody please correct me but my understanding is that “coloured” in SA primarily refers to descendants of East Indian slaves brought by the Dutch in the 17th and 18th centuries. I think it can also mean people of mixed race. By that definition our new president would be “coloured” by SA terms.
More details on racial vocabulary: http://www.southafrica.info/about/people/population.htm

Sidenote #2
While English is the lingua franca in South Africa and a compulsory subject in school, it is the mother tongue for less than 10% of the country’s population, ranking 6th after Zulu, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Sepedi, and Setswana. Thus, conversations with strangers can be a little more labored than you’d expect and I kept having to strip idiomatic expressions from my dialogue to be well understood. That said, the English accent from SA is one of the best in my book.
Awesome website with more detail on the linguistic fabric of the nation: http://www.southafrica.info/about/people/language.htm

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The video below pretty much says it all – I was about to stop recording when the palm-tree jumper showed up. You have to admire his confidence in thinking he could clear the second tree, and his recovery from the failed attempt could be described as, well, “festive”.

The parade lasted all day. And all night, until about 11pm. Traffic was a mess and getting across town was impossible. I experienced the latter trying to get to the trailhead to Lion’s Head so I could summit in time to watch the sunset (now I really understood why some didn’t want anything to do with this parade). I made it in the nick of time (both to the trailhead and to catch the sunset), and on the way up the trail (and on the way down), the music from the streets made for a nice backdrop. Happy New Year, Cape Town!

Making friends along the parade route:

The Shoprite "Pennsylvanians" Rock the Parade:

This lil' guy looks like he needs a break:

Mr. Benguela 2009

2009-03-21T18:28:00.004+01:00

Angolans seem to love beauty pageants, and unlike Americans they have no problem parading around attractive young people without regard to gender. An Angolan friend of mine was organizing the “Mr. Benguela” event and was surprised by my enthusiastic response when he asked if I would be interested in attending. The fact that I could channel my enthusiasm through a female date visiting from Luanda was all the better.

The excitement we both had leading up to the night was tempered immediately when the sponser for the event abused us with a 47-minute power point presentation about globalization that appeared to be a summary of Thomas Friedman’s “The World is Flat.” While entertaining ourselves by swapping text messages with notes like “he is sucking my will to live” and “OMG, is he still talking?”, he rambled on and on, apparently unaware that he was standing between both the evening’s entertainment and, perhaps more importantly, the promised post-event dinner. The crazy part was that this presentation was apparently part of his sales pitch to get us to visit his table full of jewelry and shoes. Poor guy. Poor, clueless, sponsor guy.

The pace and audience interest picked up considerably once he finally shut up and the 22 candidates for Mr. Benguela entered the performance area and began a choreographed hiphop dance intro. The rest of the program invovled novel talent competition ideas, mostly centered around the theme of “Drugs Aren’t Cool.” There was a skit involving soccer players shunning a friend that was trying to convince the others to try pot. A surprisingly similar skit appeared later titled “Basketball” with pretty much the same plot. There was traditional dancing and some pretty bad singing, but my favorite event was something called “Locutor” on the program. This involved one candidate acting like a radio reporter, interviewing other candidates on the social ills of youth drug usage. Tragically, there was no swimsuit competition.

The "Locutor" in action:

The unofficial "look good in a wife-beater" competition:

Scene from "Basketball"...or was it "Soccer"?

The night ended without a winner being named – apparently this was only the first phase “introduction” of the candidates, and a second phase selection process happens later. Way to keep us in suspense, Mr. Benguela 2009 organizers! We enjoyed the aforementioned dinner with some quality champagne-like product that proudly advertised itself as “naturally lively white” and called it a night shortly thereafter. All in all not bad for a random Thursday night’s entertainment…

An "essence of champagne" beverage thoughtfully provided by the event sponsors:

Spin the Wheel o' Holidays

2009-03-14T14:54:00.010+01:00

I think I’m getting a taste of what it might be like to be a federal employee back home. Since New Year’s Day we’ve had four public holidays here, with four more on the calendar before the end of May. That definitely beats the New Year’s – to Memorial Day holiday drought that I’m used to.

A brief summary of the Angolan holiday calendar to date:

5 JANUARY: MARTYR’S DAY
I have no idea what martyr-related event this is supposed to comemorate, but I appreciated the chance it offered to rest after a stressful trip back to the country after spending New Year’s in Cape Town (blog post about that pending, but I haven’t had a connection strong enough to post the accompanying video).

4 FEBRUARY: START OF THE ARMED STRUGGLE DAY
Somebody needs to come up with a shorter name for this holiday, which comemorates the start of the Angolan independence movement in 1967. Or something like that. The holiday seemed to parallel the American 4th of July, which brought back some hazy memory of my social studies teacher saying that revolutions usually starting in the summer (don’t tell the Bolsheviks).

Anyway, it was one of those random middle-of-the-week Wednesday holidays that seem sort of clunky. In a way it forces you just to relax though, and I took an invitation to spend the day at the beach with some new friends from the gym. The day was relaxing, even though the refreshments my friends brought left something to be desired (canned processed meat was a little too abundant).

Making new friends at the beach:

Here's to the end of the armed struggle:

24 FEBRUARY: CARNAVAL
After reading a description in the Lonely Planet guide about Angolans parading around with semi-dead cats to celebrate Carnaval I had some pretty high expectations for this holiday. To my surprise it turned out to be not much of a big deal, especially in Benguela, which swaps holding a parade with its sister city Lobito, 30 km to the north. This was Lobito’s year, so when I left the house with camera in hand all I found were some kids from Benguela boarding a bus heading north. I spent the day reading in the park instead, enjoying the shade and cool sea breeze while trying to avoid getting pecked by a persistent rooster. All things considered not a bad way to spend a holiday, if a little less festive than one might expect for a day associated with revelry. In fact things got even better when I met up with a friend to share a carbonated malt beverage and a huge plate of freshly prepared french fries while watching the parade in Luanda on television at an outdoor bar.

Who could resist reading and/or playing with chickens in a park like this:

Watching the events in Luanda in comfort and style:

The real highlight was a 2-stage beach party held the previous night (the first stage was the prior Saturday night) in Baia Azul, about 30 minutes south of Benguela. It was a pay-one-price-all-you-can-eat-and-drink affair, and I made sure I got my fill of grilled chicken and red bull in between attempts at dancing. The locals took the costume aspect of the party to heart, with results ranging from entertaining (sexy nuns seemed to be a popular choice) to disturbing (adult diapers entered the picture at one point). It was the best party I had been to in a very long time.

PS: Don’t believe the Lonely Planet comment about Angolans parading semi-dead cats around Luanda. An Angolan friend debunked that story, so there you have it.

8 MARCH: INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY
This was observed here this past Monday, which made for a 3-day weekend and a perfect excuse to take a trip somewhere. I hitched a ride with some coworkers to Lubango, about a 7-hour trip south of Benguela in a region much cooler and more lush than anything I have yet experienced in Angola. It was nothing short of friggin’ awesome and deserves it’s own blog entry, so stay tuned for more details. For now I’ll just say I’m glad the regional bus lines offer separate compartments for humans and live fowl.

Dia dos Namorados

2009-02-28T16:25:00.008+01:00

I had a feeling it was going to be a good night when I was sitting at the beachfront bar watching Fedde Le Grand videos projected on the big screen (“Put Your Hands Up For Detroit” had taken on a new meaning recently after I discovered a South African brand of refreshing vodka beverage called “Detroit Dash” at a local bar, but I digress already). It was Valentine’s Day, after all, and to my surprise it is celebrated seriously in Angola, where it is known as “Dia dos Namorados.” Streetside vendors were hawking stuffed animals and flowers everywhere, and I had tickets to a play at the same cinema where I had been the solo customer to see a movie a few weeks prior. This time I knew I wouldn’t be alone though – I had a date with an American friend in town from Luanda and was excited to share the wonders of Benguela’s cultural offerings.

The theatre was decorated with roses fastened to the seats lining the aisles, and rose petals littered the seating area floor. Chalk outlines of hearts and other symbols of the day added to the décor. After taking bets with my date about when the show would actually start (only about 50 minutes after the posted start time), we were startled by a ruckus at the back of the theatre – apparently this troupe liked dramatic entrances. It took all of about two minutes for the first character to die from a stray bullet, but the character did live long enough to grace the audience with an incomprehensible soliloquy before expiring, which was sort of a classy way to go.

The rest of the play featured poor lighting and bad sound projection, to the point that the Angolan audience was shouting “speak up” and “turn on the lights” periodically. While there were some technical problems, there were also some pretty awesome moments, like when one of the main characters became possessed by a witch doctor in a dramatic scene involving red floor lights and dry ice smoke. Even more dramatic was a subsequent scene when the same character was exorcised by a charismatic preacher and turned into a chicken. A live chicken. Looking back, the preacher waving around the chicken as proof as God’s glory was probably the highlight and worth the price of admission alone (for those keeping track of the Angolan live entertainment industry said price of admission was Akz 1,500 or $20).

It was the best Valentine’s Day I can remember.

Pre-Light Dimming Look at Stage:

The crowd at the posted starting time (it filled up much more eventually):

Gene Kelly greets you on the way out (have you seen Xanadu? Run, don't walk):

Angolan Cuisine: A Primer

2009-02-21T13:27:00.018+01:00

A lot of people have been asking about the food here. The short answer might be a little disappointing, because grilled chicken with rice and french fries is a pretty staple lunch here, and that’s just not very exotic now, is it? There’s also no exotic game meat compared to what you might see on the menu in other southern African countries (sorry, kudu lovers). Steak and fish round out the main protein sources, as well as canned beans, corn, and peas imported from either Portugal or South Africa.

Typical self-prepared meal (rice, canned beans and corn, and ground beef, with mangoes for dessert and "30 Rock" DVD for entertainment):

Like anywhere though, there are a few local specialties that might raise an eyebrow, so I’ll summarize these along with a few notes on how food is different here, after all.

SUMMARY OF SOME ANGOLAN FOODS

FUNGE
Made with either corn flour or manioc flour, this is the most common Angolan comfort food. It’s basically a white-ish pasty substance, at times gelatinous, and nearly always flavorless (at least when I’ve tried it). Some Angolan friends insist it does have a flavor, but I think that’s pride talking. Think of mashed potatoes meets homemade glue, minus the potato flavor. Hungry yet?

Manioc (cassava) flour drying:

The final product (www.pbase.com/arodri3/ image/59692522):

KISANGUA
Fermented corn beverage, low alcohol content. Thirsty yet?

BAOBAB POD SOUP
I haven’t tried this, but hear it’s done. Even my Angolan colleague admits it's not her favorite food…

The trees:

The pods:

BEANS IN PALM OIL
Heavy texture, also found in cuisine of the Brazilian Northeast (it's called dindê oil there).

DRIED, SALTY FISH
Grouper (garopa) is the ubiquitous main catch, and cod (bacalhau) is popular too. You see the salty stuff in roadside stalls and in the supermarkets. I’ve yet to try it but will give it a shot one of these days.

Take your pick!

SWEET STUFF: SUGARCANE, PINEAPPLE, AND MANGO
The cane is my least favorite of the three - it's a lot of work per calorie and although it was sweet it left my throat feeling a little scratchy. The local pineapple crop was a pleasant surprise though. I never liked pineapple back home but here it seems juicier and sweeter. As for the mangoes, they are fresh off the tree and so juicy it ought to be a crime. A clear highlight of the local culinary options. It would be my favorite if it weren’t for…

Not so sure about the sugarcane:

The pineapple comes to you:

GINDUNGO
The best aspect of Angolan cuisine, bar none. It’s the local hot sauce, usualy homemade, that gets better over time and can really pack a punch. With this stuff even funge might be palatable. Maybe.

Bonus Photo: TAP Air Portugal meal on the flight from Lisbon prompting my traveling colleague to comment "that looks like something I would actually make":

An evening at the, um, "movies"

2009-01-31T16:55:00.005+01:00

I was excited. This was my second weekend in Benguela and since the first consisted largely of seeking refuge from the afternoon heat in the house, I was determined to be more social. I don’t know many people here yet, so I spend a lot of time alone on the weekends. I also don’t have transportation, so my travels are limited to where my feet feel like taking me. In order to break the ennui, I decided on Saturday that my feet would take me to the beachside bar where I could read and enjoy a caipiroska (or two) while watching the sunset. It wasn’t a bad plan, and I had fun.

On the way there I stopped by the Cinema building to see what might be on offer, in hopes that I could extend my evening via some kind of passive entertainment. I knew that sometimes they held live plays there and about once a month they even showed movies. This was my weekend, it seemed, because they were advertising a movie that very night and the following Sunday. It was an Angolan-produced film, which only served to increase my curiosity.

After the sunset I raced home to change clothes and head back out to the theatre. I was a little worried about showing up 10 minutes late, but when I got there it turns out they decided not to show the film that night. “Tomorrow” was the answer I got from the only two people I could find near the entrance to the theatre. So much for my Saturday night at the movies…

Sunday was a new day and I was not about to give up on my quest to see this month’s movie event. I showed up at about 10 minutes before the advertised time of 6:40pm and was told they weren’t selling tickets yet, so I just sat on the steps and waited. Around 6:45pm they let me buy a ticket (1000 AKz, or $13.33) and I stepped inside the cavernous two-level 2,000 seat theatre. I should have known I was in for something outside the normal movie-going experience when I asked to use the bathroom before the show and was led to a side room with a quarter inch of standing water. I tiptoed into a stall and raised the toilet seat, at which time the compartment above the toilet that holds the water fell off the wall. There wasn’t any water in it thankfully (apparently it had found its way to the floor already), and I race tip-toed outta there as quickly as possible.

Back in the cavern I picked a seat about 4 rows back from the front and sat down in anticipation of the show. Some disco music was playing in the side speakers lending a festive atmosphere, but I looked around and noticed that I was completely alone, surrounded by 1,999 empty seats. Around 7:15pm the show finally started, apparently just for me. And the army of mosquitos surrounding me. I took to slapping them as best I could but it was a fool’s effort, and lucky for me the mosquito parade lasted the entire show. Did I mention there was no air conditioning and the temperature in the theatre was a balmy few degrees hotter than it was outside? Good times for all.

The film (oh, right! I came to see a movie!) was called “Dimo and the Home for Boys” and I braced myself for some serious content when the film was dedicated to abused children during the opening credits. The movie opened with the story of a young boy that preferred art to fishing, which apparently was problem enough for his father to try to kill him first by drowning him and then by chasing him out of town with a machete.

At this point in the plot the power cut out, and I was sitting alone in the cave unable to see anything. The lights came back on after a minute, but the outage required the viewing audience (i.e. me) to re-watch the first 20 minutes of the horribly depressing plot (apparently advancing the DVD to the place where we left off was too difficult).

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse the two technical employees that had previously been running the show from the balcony decided to sit and watch the movie from below. Proving Murphy’s Law infallable, they chose to sit directly across the aisle from me, and proceeded to talk through the entire movie. I got up and moved to the front row to focus on the show.

The rest of the plot involved Dimo (the kid with the infanticidal father) getting picked up by a truck driver who takes him to Luanda. While there, Dimo lives at a home for abandoned kids and eventually his talent as an artist is discovered. His father chases him to Luanda and, upon realizing how others appreciate his son’s talent, asks forgiveness and reconciles with the young boy. At least it had a happy ending. I walked home.

Can't wait for next month's show!

Proof of Purchase:

Cockroach Comeuppance

2009-01-23T22:30:00.000+01:00

Benguela is a tropical climate and it’s not a huge surprise that when the lights go out a secret kingdom of giant cockroaches emerges in the kitchen at the house here. There is no plumbing under the kitchen sink so water and food particles just fall to the concrete floor below (seriously) which leaves a nice smorgasboard for the critters (in addition to creating a nice rain-like sound effect). I’ve tried to inspire a conversation about serious fumigation efforts, but since that involves buying something and since my organization doesn’t have any money I’m resolved to just live with the critters for now. I’ve gotten pretty good at stomping on them (after the initial shock of their sheer size wore off), which isn’t easy as they can sense the arrival of the bottom of my shoe and scurry around in erratic patterns to make it difficult. That just makes it all the more satisfying when I do nab one, and I’ve started to keep a tally just for kicks. I’m up to 8 so far this week.

More impressive are the cockroach population control tactics of a certain species of lizard that also inhabits the kitchen. The Portuguese name for this animal is the “jacaré da parede”, or, literally, “crocodile of the wall”. They are gecko-ish white animals that blend in to the wall and move suddenly, which usually makes your heart stop for second before you realize what’s happening. I was hoping these animals had an appetite for cockroach, and one Sunday afternoon I came home to proof that my wishes had been granted. I have no idea how this particular gecko managed to catch this particular cockroach, but I arrived in time to watch the feast. I have a feeling Mr. Gecko didn’t need to eat for awhile after digesting this meal, but I hope he’s hungry again soon and brings his hungry gecko family with him. It was a cheap thrill but hey…you take your entertainment however you can get it here. Enjoy!

Back in Luanda: What? You Wanted Water?

2009-01-21T13:42:00.005+01:00

After more than two weeks in South Africa enjoying afforable meals and hot showers, I was dragging my feet a little on the return trip to Angola. It’s only a three hour flight from Johannesburg to Luanda, but it takes some mental work to prepare for the change in lifestyle that awaits.

Like the calm before the storm, the first couple of days back were surprisingly comfortable. The power was on, the water was flowing, and I had the apartment to myself since I was the first one to return. That situation lasted about two days, and as Murphy’s Law would have it the power went out the day another colleague arrived. Not having power woudn’t be so bad if it didn't also translate into us not having any running water. This occurs because our water tank is underground and we need power to pump it up into our second-floor apartment. You might be wondering why we don’t have a water tank on the roof so we could just let gravity do the work, but then you’d be applying logic, and such activity will quickly lead to insanity in Angola (so it’s best avoided).

Knowing this, we have large plastic trash cans that we fill with water on days when we have power so that we can continue to bathe (using buckets), wash the dishes, and flush the toilets on the days when we don’t have power/water.

Diversion #1
Did you know you can flush a toilet just by pouring water into the basin? I had no idea this was possible but it makes perfect sense – that’s all that’s happening anyway when you flush. Living in Angola is definitely good for learning how things work – because often they don’t and the backup plan requires this knowledge. It’s sort of like learning how to do long division by hand after getting used to calculators. It’s possible, but you just didn’t have to think about it before.

Anyway the power came back on after 10 hot hours and just in time for me to log into the internet and follow the Oklahoma/Florida football game.

Diversion #2
For once I wish the power had stayed off and allowed me to avoid the agony of watching another chance at a national title go down the drain. Seriously, what’s up with OU losing so many title games recently…get it together already!! Boomer Sooner.

We enjoyed power and water for the weekend, but the situation reached absurd levels the first full week of work. Although we had some power, the fuse that controls the water pump (and all of the outlets except for one, which meant we had to take turns charging our computers and phones) went out and replacing it took four days (apparently the part was hard to locate). Our reserve water was gone after a day (there were three of us in the apartment by this point, with three people’s dishes to wash, and three people’s business to manually flush) and by day 2 we were all pretty much miserable.

Our office’s solution was to bring extra drinking water tanks (we have a water cooler in the apartment) so that we could bathe in the drinking water. Although we used this water to flush toilets and wash our hands, etc., using it to bathe seemed like such a waste that we opted to use the showers at the gym in the morning instead. Our stubborn driver didn’t like this plan since it involved him spending an extra 30 minutes waiting on us, so this solution required some negotiation. It’s possible that our collective body odor won that argument...

The power eventually returned the day I traveled to Benguela (after a week’s delay processing some work documents that I needed for domestic travel, but that’s another story altogether) and I was able to take a cold shower. Relief at last!

Meanwhile the conversation about getting a new generator continues, and it’s the same conversation we’ve been having since we arrived in September. As it turns out acquiring the generator is only half the battle – the door to the shack where the generator goes has been ripped off and there’s a family living in the vacant space. Now we have to evict the squatters, weld a new door in place, install four locks (this was the office’s idea), and hire a guard to watch it 24 hours a day. The same guard needs to watch the access to our underground tank – before the holidays someone broke the lock to that and started bathing in our water, but that’s another story yet again. Nothing is easy here…

The front entrance to our palace in Luanda (the Range Rover, sadly, is not ours):

So What Exactly Do You Do Again?

2008-12-14T15:43:00.005+01:00

I christen new tractors with champagne. Well, not personally, but my team does.

I work for an NGO called Centro de Apoio Epresarial, known in the marketplace locally as CAE. In short we’re a business support center trying to help small and medium sized Angolan companies get plugged into the supply chain infrastructure of the petroleum industry. The basic philosophy is that small business is really what drives new job growth in any economy, and with 70% of the country living below the poverty line, more jobs are definitely needed.

For those that aren’t aware, Angola is either the #1 or #2 oil producer in Africa and its potential is not yet fully explored. In a way the country is still getting back on its feet after a 27-year-long civil war ended only in 2002. The pace of infrastructure construction is brisk, with new highways, airports, bridges, ports, railroads, soccer stadiums, hotels, condos, etc. going up like a real-life version of the computer game Sim City. This situation not only describes Luanda, the capital, but many regional cities as well.

But enough about that – back to what I’m doing here. Our sponsors are a consortium of oil companies (BP, Esso, Chevron, Total, and the national oil company, Sonangol). We work with them on one side to understand their procurement processes and to identify opportunities to increase local content. Not only is it much cheaper to source locally (Angola’s ports are clogged and many supplies are sent via plane, which only adds to the cost), but it’s just good business to support the local community. The challenge is finding local suppliers that meet international safety and qualiity standards, and that’s where CAE comes in.

We work with Angolan SMEs (small and medium enterprises) to professionalize their operations. Our certification process verifies that these companies have transparent accounting procedures, effective human resources practices, consistent financial reporting, and meet high health and safety requirements. All of our work is pro bono and takes the form of consulting engagements, technical assistance, and training events.

At the moment I’m working in a regional office in Benguela, which is one of the main agricultural areas of the country (an hour’s flight south of the capital). The main crops grown locally are bananas, corn, tomatoes, tobacco, and coffee. I could go on about the agricultural value chain and how we try to link these agribusinesses into the supply chain of the local petroleum industry, but I think you get the point.

That brings me to the tractor. One of our agribiz clients called on a Friday afternoon to say he was having a dedication ceremony for a new machine. He was a banana farmer, but the tractor will allow him to plant more diversified crops and increase his productivity. We piled into one 4x4 and headed out to the field to take part in the festivities. I was personally more excited about the large mango tree filled with ripe fruit, but I wasn’t complaining about the unexpected champagne toast either. So ended another day in Angola…

Fit-mess

2008-12-01T14:28:00.004+01:00

There are two options for gyms in Benguela. Both cost about the same and offer roughly the same type of equipment. Only one, however, has disturbing images of multi-armed blue monster people painted on the walls, so I'll give you one guess where my $100 per month membership fee is going. Imagining this creature questioning me about the intensity of my workout is a surprisingly effective motivator...

Pepino Birthday Party & Tree o' Crustaceans

2008-11-27T16:57:00.005+01:00

One weekend I was invited to a birthday party for something of a local legend. Pepino was turning 86 and is probably Angola’s most famous cyclist. He’s cycled from Benguela to Luanda and back more than once and his latest project is to get a group of world-wide "Pepino’s" to come to Angola and do the ride with him. He’s a communist (huge paintings of Marx and Lenin adorn his bike shop) and has his coffin already made and waiting for him in the attic (confirmed by trustworthy inside sources).

While most people came to celebrate another year in the life of this amazing man, I was personally more fascinated by the tree-o-shellfish. I’ve never seen anything like it – there’s an aluminum foil tree laden with lobster, shrimp, and crab and you just reach in an grab what you want off the tree. I took a lobster tail. For as rediculously expensive as food is in Angola, lobster is surprisingly affordable so I didn’t feel too guilty doing this (the fact that I didn’t even know Pepino didn't bother me somehow…)

I wish Pepino well. And if they’re going to have that shellfish tree again at next year’s party I hope I’m invited…

Benguela Street Party Series: Dancin'

2008-11-26T18:01:00.009+01:00

The fashion show was definitely entertaining, but the dancing was probably better. Don't take my word for it:

Freestyle Dance-Off (don't try this at home)

Butt Dance
It's obvious the poor girl has been training for this dance for weeks, only to be upstaged by the girl in the audience.

Kizomba Time
Something of a national pasttime, this slow dance requires one to first locate and then deftly employ the hips

Spectators Not to be Left Out
I had this guy as separate post before, but thought he made a nice cap to the dance series also. If they ever decide to do a worldwide search for a human gumby they should start in Benguela.

Benguela Street Party Series: Struttin'

2008-11-22T15:08:00.010+01:00

It was a Friday afternoon and I was trying to explain how to work with formulas in Excel to our office administrative assistant when it all came down. The street in front of our office had been closed and the huge speakers blasting hip hop could only signal one thing: A STREET PARTY EMERGENCY WAS NOW IN EFFECT.

The following videos attempt to capture the fun. The runway show was a subplot through the entire afternoon, with at least five or six installments filling the intervals between lip syncers, dancers, skit performers, and poetry readings.

Sure, the red carpet might be held down with rocks in the middle of the street, but the attitude was first class (some of the end-of-runway turns needed a little work though).

Rolling the highlight reel:

Purse Drop

Sunglass Swoon

Sock-boy lingers

Crazy lady accosts contestants

BONUS VIDEO: The World's Worst Rap Lip Sync Artist

Get out of town!

2008-11-17T20:28:00.011+01:00

So I was complaining earlier about having trouble with getting my work visa processed. To no one’s surprise, it didn’t happen before my regular visa expired, and it came time to leave the country or face a daily fine and a nasty little black mark against my passport. A last-minute messy travel planning session ensued and involved brief consideration of options as diverse as flying to Ethiopia or taking a local flight to a southern Angolan town and taking a bush taxi to the Namibian border from there. In the end the only available option was flying to Johannesburg, South Africa. We booked the day before we flew, and spent 4 welcome days in the developed world.

Top ten highlights of the trip:
1. Apartheid Museum
Fairly recently opened, the museum traces the history of South Africa’s settlement and frames the dark chapter of apartheid effectively. Visitors are handed passes randomly – depending on which pass you receive you are forced to enter the museum through the door for whites only or blacks only. Groups are thus forced to experiece the first part of the museum separately, only meeting outside for the walk up to the second (and much more substantial) part of the museum.

The "pillars" of the South African Constitution:

Museum Entrance:

2. Wildlife in Pilanesburg National Park
About a two-hour drive from Johannesburg, this national park is full of wild animals. The lions remained elusive, but the elephants put on a nice show. Zebras, hippos, and giraffes were also in abundance. It was the rhinos that caught my attention mostly though – it was was the first time I’d seen them in the wild. They don’t do much, but they’re so improbable it’s hard to stop watching them. Especially the baby ones…

3. Jacaranda blooming season
These trees are stunning in bloom, and we visited in peak season. I was hoping to visit Pretoria, which apparently is covered in the bright purple blossoms in October, but had to settle for the street we were staying on.

4. Thai food
I just so happened to pick a lodge located in an area of great restaurants, and one of them was Thai. There is no Thai food in Angola. Thai food is my favorite cuisine of all time. I ate there twice (and would eaten there more often if I didn’t capitulate Burch’s pleas for a more diverse dining experience during our visit…wuss).

5. Roller coasters
Unexpectedly, there was an amusement park next to the Apartheid Museum. It did seem like an odd combination at first thought, but on second thought roller coasters are fun. We got to the park just in time to ride the “Anaconda” twice. The second time was in the middle of thunderstorm and they shut the park down afterwards. Friggin’ lightning…

6. Top of Africa
I love views – and this is the best one in Joburg. It also takes you downtown, which is a bit shady. Atop the tower is a large observation area offering unobstructed views in all directions. The remnants of the thunderstorms passing through the area made for a nice backdrop, and I was lucky enough to snap a photo of lightning. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t do that again if I tried.

7. Hot water showers
It’s the little things sometimes. We sort of a have hot water at the apartment Luanda, but it only works by heating water as it passes the showerhead. You can only use it for 10 minutes at a time without shorting the fuse and even when it’s working it’s sort of random. But I digress…hot showers rock.

8. Working internet
Even though we had to pay separately, the internet actually worked in South Africa. The Angolan pasttime of hitting “page reload” five times before reading your email was not missed.

9. Favorable exchange rates
We happened to visit during one of the more active of global financial meltdown weeks, and the dollar kept strengthening to the rand by the minute. We arrived at 9-to-1 and left at close to 11-to-1. In other words, everything was cheap. As an American tourist abroad, this was a relatively new feeling…

10. Beat
Pronounced Bay-aht, this was the name of the friendly Afrikaaner that ran the lodge where we stayed. He was more than willing to discuss just about anything and reminded me what good customer service was all about. I never did work up the courage to ask him about his name…

BONUS PHOTO!

Benguela Dance-Off

2008-11-09T15:04:00.003+01:00

A few weeks ago the high school next door to our office in Benguela had an end-of-year street party complete with lip syncing contests, plays, poetry readings, a fashion show, and a dance competition.

The videos in this series try to capture the spirit of the event; this first video shows how the spirit captured one of the spectators. I had no idea it was possible to move like that until I saw this guy get "inspired."

Solving the washing puzzlement: Part III

2008-11-03T08:05:00.001+01:00

So after tying a neon green rope between two air conditioner brackets on the balcony of the room adjacent to mine I hung my clothes out to dry. I left to go have some dinner at a little snack bar not too far of a walk from the house and when I got home I was so tired I didn’t notice anything strange.

Around 3a.m. I thought I heard something, and rose to look out my second floor window to catch a glimpse of what seemed like someone scurrying away from the house below. That was strange, but startling enough that I grabbed the flashlight (the power had gone out per usual) and headed out to check out the rest of the house.

That’s when I noticed the door to the room adjacent to mine open. This was the room that had the balcony where my clothes were drying, and upon closer inspection the sliding door that leads to the balcony was also open. My heart was racing by this point, and I went to check out the balcony and noticed that one of my shirts was missing. It was in a position that made it impossible for a random gust of wind to have taken it, and it was the first thing anyone approaching from inside the house would have been able to take. The funny thing was that it was my least favorite polo shirt and had a stain that I couldn’t get out. If someone came to my house and forced me to give away an article of clothing, I would have handed over that shirt without thinking twice. So at least there’s that.

I was, however, struggling to figure out how this happened. Did someone enter while I was sleeping and I didn’t notice? Had someone come in while I was out? Why would they have only taken one shirt? If they really were a burglar, why would they pass up all the electronics we have on the first floor? I know I locked the door when I left - could it have been someone with a key to the house? I pondered these questions the rest of the night and jumped at every noise. I asked my team to solve the riddle the next morning but they didn’t have any suggestions either.

Who knew the washing puzzlement would have such a literal ending? We’re looking into hiring a security guard…

Solving the washing puzzlement: Part II

2008-11-01T08:29:00.000+01:00

I solved my washing puzzlement the next day with the help of a colleague, although the process involved manually draining water from the machine into a large tub, over and over. I probably also shouldn't have the machine in the bathroom but it’s the only place in the entire house where an outlet and a water source are located anywhere near each other. I put the power strip in a plastic bag and put a towel over it to protect it from any errant dripping water, but the whole scene was a little shady if I’m honest.

Safety concerns aside I have to say the partly manual, partly mechanized process of washing clothes was enlightening. It was amazing to see how much dirt was in the wash when I was emptying the water from the basin via a flimsy plastic drain tube into a plastic tub, the contents of which then got dumpted into the bathtub.

There was a separate spin dry compartment that sort of sucked excess water away, although I could only manage to put about 3 items in there or else the whole machine shook so violently and loudly that I was afraid I was going to anger the cockroaches en masse (definitely something I wanted to avoid).
It may have taken a few hours longer than I would have liked, but I managed to have some clean clothes after all. After going through all that I'm gonna try a little harder to keep 'em clean...

Solving the washing puzzlement: Part I

2008-10-31T06:53:00.008+01:00

Although living in Benguela has its perks over Luanda (no traffic, quiet neighborhood favorable to sleeping, and a picturesque beach in walking distance), some aspects of life aren’t so easy.

Take washing clothes for instance. In Luanda the housekeeper washes and irons at least once a week. I tried to negotiate the same deal with the current housekeeper here in Benguela but to no avail. Her price was too steep and while my management was busy figuring out what to do I was down to my last pair of clean socks.

There was a new washing machine in my bathroom after all, and the marketing on the side of the box was irresitible. Not only did it have the “super fashionable” design, but it also came with “the satellite pulsators.” I don’t know what could be more exciting, and I don’t know how I contained my curiosity for as long as I did.

I had a colleague help me with the box, and within a matter of minutes it was clear I had no clue how this machine worked. I made the mistake of reading the instruction manual, which was tragically yet comically written in perfect Engrish. Reading the manual didn’t help me get my clothes any cleaner, but it did lift my spirits.

Here are just a few of the gems:

“Surper quiet design: it adopts the low nose drive system with balanced running”

“It has the nice shape, beautiful and attractive and it takes the fancy of the consumer”

“There are small pulsators add to the big pulsator, image the hand washing”

“It may effectively get rid of fine hair scraps in washing course”

And, my favorite:
Large capacity design that “may solve the whole family washing puzzlement”

I like the fact that the authors left room for the possibility that the family washing puzzlement may just not be solve-able. But if it can be done, rest assured this is the machine to take you and your family to that happy place!

Sour Patch Post Office

2008-10-26T18:11:00.006+01:00

In something of a test of the capabilities of the American and Angolan postal authorities, a friend of mine sent me a care package from Seattle at the beginning of September. My friend and I were joking that he hoped the package would arrive in time for Christmas, but by some miracle of international commerce during the first week of October I got a notice in the office that a package had arrived. However, instead of actually delivering the package to the office, I had to take a type of claim slip to the main post office to pick it up.

I was expecting a quick exchange, but I should have known better. I sensed trouble as soon as I saw that one of two possible windows had a sign stating “Alfândega” above it, which means “Customs” in Portuguese. Hoping to avoid ending up at this window I started at the adjacent one, and kindly handed my claim slip to a confused-looking postal employee. I think her job was to take the slip and go find my package and bring it to the customs folks. Somehow this act invovled first shuffling through a book of papers about 100 pages thick presumably full of notices for other arrived packages. Of course my matching claim slip was near the bottom and only after rifling through the huge stack twice did she manage to find it. Then she went to look for my package with tortoise-like speed. This part of the process invovled the biggest leap of faith – not only did I not yet have my package, I also did not have my claim slip. Fingers crossed and breath held, I waited.

After twenty minutes my package arrived at – of course – the customs window. I was nervous; during the time it took for my package to arrive I witnessed the process I was about to be subjected to. Wielding a large, opens-any-kind-of-box knife, the customs lady (picture a sassy Marla Gibbs* and you’re pretty close) tore into packages with a little too much gusto for comfort. When it got to my turn her disgruntled customs employee expression changed with the crack of a grin. She rifled through my beef jerky and skittles without much interest, but the big bright bag of Sour Patch Kids caught her eye. She asked what it was, and wielded her knife once more to slash open the bag of what is perhaps the most perfect candy ever known to man**. She must have been relishing the look of terror on my face as her greedy little fingers reached into the bag and plucked an orange one (my favorite flavor!!) and poped it into her mouth right in front of me. The nerve...

Exhibit 1: Customs lady adulterated bag:

It turns out I got off easy. She only ate one and while completing yet some other paper-intensive process muttered the Portuguese word for “yummy” under her breath. I wasn’t quite done yet unfortunately. I had to go back to the window where I started originally and pay 172 Kwanzas (about $2) as a “customs fee” before I could pick up my package. Not only do they steal your goods they make you pay for the experience! Of course they didn’t have change for me and tried to make me pay too much, but I wasn’t going to fall for that and told the original lady I dealt with that I would wait. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t have change, it was that she somehow lost her key to the change drawer and couldn’t open it. I asked the driver (by now he had come to check on my progress anyway) to make change and before long (but after forty minutes of this madness) I was on my way, finally, with my cherished box o’ processed sugar. I’ll never see a bag of Sour Patch Kids the same way...

*remember the maid from The Jeffersons?
**based on a scientific candy poll conducted by yours truly

Visa Woes? Visa Woes!

2008-09-24T10:06:00.003+01:00

So I'm having trouble processing my work visa here in Angola. Aside from a Portuguese copy of my diploma, a police report from my hometown, my resume, and a to-date grand total of 12 passport-sized photos, the authorities require a letter from a physician stating I'm in good health. I arranged all of these documents and turned them in well ahead of time.

Just last week, 2 months after submitting my documents to be processed, I got a note saying my physician's letter was rejected. I asked why, since the letter stated, "the patient is in excellent health and should have no limitations to his travel plans or locales." It was rejected, I am told, because it didn't specifically say "fit to work in Angola." Good lord.

While trying to sort out this mess, I wanted to know if a letter from an Angolan doctor would suffice (since getting a new letter from home was going to be difficult). With this thought in mind, I wrote the following email to the person assigned to work on my case (names have been changed to protect the unhelpful):
_____________________________________

Hi Mr. Blobby,

Can you please confirm that a doctor's letter from within Angola will satisfy the requirements for the work visa process?

Based on the prior experience of some of our colleagues XXXX and I are under the impression that the doctor's letter may need to come from a doctor located outside of Angola. Obviously this would negate our need to see a doctor locally.

I'm hoping you can help us clear up this confusion prior to moving forward with our appointments as scheduled for tomorrow.

Thanks,
Jeremy
_____________________________

The oh-so-clear response:

Hi Jeremy,

requirements says it must be from a doctor abroad, but as you have already one and in spite of not have the required information, I intent to use it as a tentative, the currenty one that you bring from abroad along the one you will apply for. It has result in some few cases before so I intend to try it again.
In the meantime, when you go abroad please apply for another one that can be used in case this one to be denied by the authorities,

please contact me for further clarification in case you have any other question upon this issue,
Mr. Blobby
_____________________________

I went ahead and asked my dad to run around town and procure a new letter. The physician that originally gave me the physical back in June had since retired, but he was willing to come into the office and sign an updated letter with the magic words included. I found out later the office printed the letter with the wrong date of birth. Luckily my dad noticed the error and took the letter back to the doctor's office. Since they didn't want to disturb the doctor's retirement a second time, the office clerk corrected and initialed the changes. This adulterated letter is now costing a fortune to overnight to DC to the organization sponsoring my employment here, and the DC folks in turn are sending a $120 DHL to get it here next week. All this and I'm giving the authorities a 49% chance of accepting it since it involves hand-written updates.

Oh, and the visa people want 4 more passport photos...

I have a headache.

Kizomba Dance Break

2008-09-23T20:27:00.004+01:00

This video belongs with the Huambo road trip entries - I think it sums up the type of road trip we had pretty well (quality internet connectivity made uploading possible only now).

Kizomba is something of a national pastime in Angola and involves a kind of close dancing that I haven't managed to learn yet. Featured dancers are Nancy (the American expat who runs the language school in Benguela) and Chinho (whose family we were traveling to visit in Huambo).

Yes, this is the main highway between two of the largest cities in the country. And yes, that really is a woman carrying a log on her head.

Feel free to dance along if the mood strikes...

Palin vs. Clinton SNL

2008-09-21T15:48:00.002+01:00

One worth keeping...

First Week at Work

2008-09-14T13:38:00.003+01:00

The irony of officially starting my job here in Angola on what was Labor Day in the US wasn’t lost on me, but we ended up having two holidays here during the same week so I can’t complain. Friday was always planned to be a holiday to allow people to vote, but Wednesday ended up being a holiday too. It was an impromptu one, declared on the radio Tuesday night. To top things off Thursday was a half-day that involved a long team lunch.

I did manage to actually get some work done, though, and went on my first company visit by the second day of work. I’ll get into the nature of my job here later, but for now I’ll say it involves playing a consulting role to small and medium sized Angolan businesses. The company I visited was a small IT consulting company that also offered computer training courses. It also manufactured ice. That's right. Ice. If I hadn’t seen this establishment with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it, but I can verify that this improbable combination of enterprises does in fact exist under the same roof. In one room there is space to conduct training classes and in the next there are about 8 deep freezers full of plastic buckets of ice. It may seem random, but Angolans can be very practical – the ice is for cash flow while the other part of the business establishes itself (or so I hypothesized).

I don’t know what other interesting combinations lie ahead, but after the visit to the consulting/ice plant I’m definitely curious to find out.

Hamburger à la Angola

2008-09-10T21:02:00.007+01:00

Sometimes after a day of work and dealing with Luanda traffic on the way home the last thing you want to do is cook a meal. There aren’t that many quick meal places in our neighborhood, but the one we do have sort of makes up for the lack of options. I’m talking about the burger stand right across the street that has become something of a household addiction, and for good reason. It’s time, dear blog readers, to tell the story of the Angolan hamburger.

For starters, there is actually a layer of “ham” on the hamburger. Right on top of the familiar ground beef patty. What could be more logical? Or endearing? Or tasty!

And that’s not all!

On top of the ham layer comes a fried egg, because you really want to get as much protein as you can in one bite. The egg is topped with whatever condiments you want, but if you want to impress the locals you need to ask for “gindungu” which is a type of spicy diced pepper topping. Otherwise ketchup will do (or mayo or cheese).

But wait, there’s more!

The over-the-top secret ingredient to the local version of the American classic is a layer of crumbled up potato chips underneath the ground beef patty. Whoa.

Did I mention the hamburger patty is cooked with beer? And you thought the story couldn’t get any better. Salvador cooked up a mean version tonight; at 350 kwanzas a pop ($4.67) I’m sure we’ll be back for many more…

Salvador in the process of creating a masterpiece:

Would you like finger grease with your popcorn?

2008-09-08T23:49:00.001+01:00

So the other day our crew decided to go to the movies. Lucky for us there’s a new mall on the south side of town with a modern 8-screen movie theatre complete with stadium seating. The movies are pretty modern and subtitled (we saw the latest Indiana Jones movie), so I imagine we’ll be making frequent visits.

The “Angola Moment” came when I decided to treat myself to a bag of popcorn. The concession vendor dutifully filled my bag per usual protocol, but before handing the bag over to me he took a big handfull of popcorn from the top of the bag and chowed down. I asked if anybody else had seen what had happened, but the vendor gave himself away by masticating the evidence with gusto as he took my money. I just laughed and went on my way. What else are you gonna do?

Driving in Angola

2008-09-08T12:49:00.003+01:00

Angola, like many developing countries, has its own special protocols when it comes to the rules of the road. The main protocol is that there doesn’t seem to be many rules. The other protocol is that it’s impossible for anything bad to happen to you should you be riding unprotected on a motorcycle. That seems to be what is going through most cyclists heads, anyway. On a trip on the road from Benguela to Lobito, for example, we were overtaken by at least 4 motorcycles exceeding 100km per hour where the driver’s legs were extended parallel to the road. In other words, their bodies were flying behind them, superman-style.

In gridlocked Luanda, part of the problem (aside from too many cars on the road) is a lack of traffic lights. What’s more, when there are traffic lights they either aren’t working or are working in areas that could get by fine without them (like traffic circles). Much of the gridlock could be helped by relying more on basic traffic flow technology and less on the perpetual game of chicken that determines when you get to make a left turn. The most persistent driver usually prevails, but the game of chicken is conducted respectfully, so at least there’s that. That said I’ve also seen people attempt unannounced right hand turns from the left lane among other incredibly daring motoristic feats. Did I mention how glad I am not to have to drive here? Is motoristic a word?

Tango Delta

2008-09-08T12:40:00.001+01:00

So we’re not allowed to drive in Luanda (or all of Angola, technically), and for the most part we’re discouraged even from walking around on our own. We get around thanks to “Tango Delta” – otherwise known as the BP car service. People’s houses have code names (Beta Charlie 55, for example) and when you call for a car an English-speaking dispatcher sends a car to pick you up. Once the car is dispatched they send a text message with the type of car and license number, and they call again when the car arrives. To say traffic in Luanda is bad would be an understatement, so sometimes it can take awhile for the ride to arrive. When it does it’s usually a clean 4x4 with the air conditioner blasting (which is completely unnecessary this time of year). Talking up the drivers is good Portuguese practice, and through interacting with them I’ve managed to become known as “Mr. Geremy.” At least that’s the name they use when sending the confirmation texts. With a little more conversation I might even get a J in there somewhere. I'll take it - at least it's better than being called macaco...

Election Day

2008-09-06T10:07:00.012+01:00

The national elections held yesterday represented the first since 1992. The civil war reignited after those elections, so hopefully things to go more smoothly this time around. I’m told there are 10 political parties and 4 coalitions of parties on the ballot, and when Angolan citizens go to the polls the only decision they have to make is which party they support. It’s up to the parties, then, to designate who will represent them based the proportion of votes the party receives. I don’t understand this process fully, but with a little more research I bet it’s easier than explaining the electoral college system in Portuguese. I’ve tried to do this a few times when the subject of how American presidents are election and realize now that this is a fool’s errand. I just say “it’s not a direct vote and it’s complicated” and leave it at that. But I digress.

A lot of the political parties have posted their party platforms around town, and among the more interesting ones promise things like “treating the 7th Day Adventists as equals to the Catholic Church.” Some of the party symbols are interesting also – my favorite features a writing pen with a big star on one end.

In a way I feel like I’m in some kind of bizarro civics class. I have no idea what the level of political discourse is like among the average citizen, but to the uneducated eye there seem to be open displays of support for a diverse number of parties. Are some of these people paid walking advertisements? Maybe, but it’s an exciting atmosphere nonetheless.

The MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) and UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) are the two strongest parties, the former being the party in power and the latter being the main resistance party during the civil war. It’s widely expected the MPLA will win based on their record of managing rapid economic development in recent years. If that doesn’t work, the freebies (bikes, TVs, beer) that the MPLA is apparently handing out at rallies might do the trick. Groups like Human Rights Watch have cited trouble in some rural areas and claim that the MPLA is trying to intimidate opposition parties, but I have to say my own uneducated eye sees pretty visible support for a variety of parties, UNITA included. Unlike in Zimbabwe, representatives from both the EU and the US were invited to Angola to observe the elections as well, which should help lend credibility to the results. Time will tell.

"Vote MPLA" banner outside our apartment:

UNITA and MPLA flags in Luanda (and an idea of what traffic is like):

Not sure how effective the giant beach ball was for the PRS:

"Bread, Peace, Liberty" with non-waterproof party platform posters:

"We are all part of this flag" general election poster encouraging voter registration:

MPLA outdoing UNITA in the flag size competition:

"MPLA: The right path for a better Angola"

Benguela Party HQ for the FNLA Party "Land and Liberty":

The t-shirts in Angola

2008-09-05T12:05:00.003+01:00

There is definitely no shortage of style in Angola. One unexpected fashion-related feature of this country is that the most random t-shirts find their way here. Apparently that load of clothes you took to Goodwill that didn’t get bought locally winds up on a container to Africa, where they have another chance at life. The fact that many locals here don’t read English leads to some comical results. Unfortunately getting photos of these t-shirts is kind of hard, since they’re usually spotted while driving quickly through town. I promise to try harder.

I imagine this to be an ongoing theme during my time here, but here are my top 3 so far:

#3: Red and white jacket with “ZEBRAS” printed on it
I went to a high school where the mascot was a zebra, and our team colors were red and white (a topic for another blog entry). What’s more, the font and style of the jacket look exactly like ones I used to see all the time growing up. What are the chances some other school in some parallel universe is represented by a red-and-white zebra? Pretty slim, so the fan base for Claremore High School is a little bigger than may have been previously thought.

#2 “West Salem Cheerleading”
At first glance this isn’t so weird, except that the decidedly girly pattern on the back was worn by a tough-looking young man on a motorcycle. If he only knew…

#1 “My Other Ride Is Your Mom”
This one was spotted on a 9 year-old boy (I’m guessing the age) at a gas station in Huambo – the one across the street from a tall green buildling in the central part of the city that has yet to be renovated. I give the details in case anyone happens to run across this one again because unfortunately my attempts to take photos failed. The slogan was in big black letters on the back of a bright red t-shirt. Reward offered for anyone who can track this shirt down.

Fun With Foreign Language Textbook Cartoons

2008-08-22T09:04:00.005+01:00

I may be going out on a limb here, but I think the foreign-language-textbook-cartoon is one of the most underrated art forms. Just look at the examples below – the options for what these people could be saying are just endless.

Each vingnette featuring some aspect of the lives of these fictional foreign-language speakers is just begging for some obnoxious caption or subtitle. Knock yourself out and see how much fun you can have.

On the other hand, some images are just scary. Who wants to learn the words for body parts from a demonic baby? Run away!

Living in "Sim City"

2008-08-22T08:25:00.010+01:00

One thing I forgot to mention in the last entry is that I left for the weekend living on a dirt road and returned Sunday night to a paved one. The upside is that I’m no longer greeted by huge street-level dust clouds when I leave the house to walk to school, and this is a very good thing. New paved roads are coming online so fast I feel like I’m living in a real-life version of Sim City…

Apparently this love affair with asphalt is related to the upcoming elections on September 5. Most expats I know are mysteriously planning trips to be out of the country that day, except for yours truly and my colleagues at CAE. Most of the Angolans I have spoken to don’t expect trouble, however. I’ve managed to see campaign posters for at least 3 different political parties, but the MPLA (the party in power) is clearly the most organized. Some people think the spending on infrastructure development will subside after the MPLA (most likely) wins the elections, hence the rush to pave everything in sight leading up to September 5. We’ll see.

The odd thing is that even though the roads are being paved in most areas the sidewalks are still uneven mounds of fine dirt. In residential areas most people walk on the streets now, myself included. And another thing - there is no drainage! The paving company paves right over the previous drains and apparently a separate company has to come in and re-open the drains. Good thing it doesn't rain much here. Imperfections in the system aside, for now I’ll enjoy the smooth and newly dust-free walk to school…

Before:

After:

Road to school in process:

August Weekend #2 (The Midadventures of Burch)

2008-08-20T11:33:00.010+01:00

Our day of sightseeing took us to a lake on the outskirts of town. The area included hills sprinkled with giant boulders that were just waiting to be climbed, and it wasn’t long before Burch and I were leading an expedition to the top of the most prominent one. At some point along the way I lost burch, cut myself, started bleeding, and decided it was best to forgo my illusions of grandeur and stay below to await the more successful climbers in our group. At about the time I found my way back to a shady place to rest Burch was yelling from the top of the highest boulder and asked me to take a picture, a request which I dutifully obliged.

Burch, triumphant:

It turns out after about another half hour of rest word came that Burch could not get down. To make matters more interesting a wildfire that we noticed in the distance before had suddenly started to approach with discomforting speed. My attempts to help weren’t very fruitful – by the time I got to the base of the boulder where Burch was stuck (after falling twice myself) two others of our group had already arrived and were helping him down. This freed me to take some photos, which I did with gusto. Luckily the fire waited long enough for us to evacuate in the car, although we did find out it was indeed wild after the park guards asked us if we had any information about who set it. So much for a nice hike in the park…

Burch, the comeuppance:

The intrepid hiking gang:

August Weekend #2: Huambo (The War)

2008-08-17T17:20:00.015+01:00

Reminders of the civil war were everywhere in Huambo, which happened to be a major center of control for the opposition party, UNITA. Bombed-out buildings were common, and even park statues did not escape becoming targets. That said, there is a lot of fast-pased reconstruction going on in the city, and it’s interesting how easy it was to tour the bombed-out former house of the opposition leader (Savimbi) formerly known as the “White House.” There is absolutely nothing stopping anyone from walking right into the ruins and even walking up the exposed concrete stairwell. So we did, of course.

View from the second floor of Savimbi's house:

Front view of Savimbi´s house, with UNITA flags:

Building apparently used for target practice:

Hint of happier times at the New York Social Club:

Bombed-out high rise:

While waiting to see if Burch could figure out how to get down from the rock he had so victoriously climbed, Emilio, Chinho, Rebecca found a shady place to rest. Emilio started telling a story about what life was like during the war in very graphic detail (I have to warn the rest of this entry is pretty macabre…proceed at your own risk).

He told stories of soldiers killing babies and, when their parents were found, they would chop up the body parts and make a stew which the soldiers would then force the parents to eat. “Isto aconteceu aqui em Huambo” he kept repeating…”This happened here in Huambo.” This kind of story might seem familiar to someone who has ready about intimidation tactics in other wars throughout history, but the chilling part is that this kind of stuff was going on only six years ago. In other words, while I was running financial models in my company’s grand effort to sell more jeans in San Francisco, parents in Angola were being forced to eat their offspring. More chilling still is the fact that this kind of stuff is probably happening as we speak in Darfur. It’s not fun to think about.

August Weekend #2: Huambo (The Journey)

2008-08-17T15:36:00.009+01:00

Our first chance for a weekend roadtrip came with an offer to visit Angola’s second-largest city, Huambo. In theory it is a 6 hour drive into the interior and involves a decent elevation change. In reality our fearless leader “forgot” that there were two routes to reach Huambo from Benguela, and we chose the path less traveled. That normally wouldn’t be a problem, except that the reason it was less traveled is that the road is potholed so badly (or simply not paved) that we averaged about 20km per hour and the journey ended up taking 10 hours instead of 6. The scenery was gorgeous though, passing through baobab forests, mountains, and hot springs before continuing the bumpy journey at night (with varying musical accompaniment ranging from Rhiannon to the Backstreet Boys). A particular highlight was a stop at sunset where some of our traveling companions enjoyed a brief kizumba dance break in the middle of the road.

Kizumba Dance Break:

Still Some Work Left on the Regional Highway System:

Sunset on the return to Benguela:

Volcanic Remnants:

As a fan of roadtrips in the states the following 3 things stood out the most:

1. There are no animals and hence no roadkill. Apparently all the animals (even the small ones) were killed and eaten during the war. I hear there's a repopulation effort going on in some areas, but since the war only ended in 2002, populations haven’t had time to recover yet.

2. There are no roadside services. If you run out of gas or need a place to sleep, you are out of luck. The few towns you pass through are just not set up to accommodate leisure road traffic. The only food we found were some roadside vendors – our favoriate vendor turned out to be the lady selling chicken pieces on the bone for 50 kwanzas each (about 80 cents).

Angola Fast Food:

3. Most of the towns we passed through consisted of mud-brick buildings with thatched roofs that did not have electricity. Plenty of families were eating dinner by candlelight, as we did on Saturday night once we got to Huambo.

Rural Villages Along the Way:

August Weekend #1: What did you just say?

2008-08-16T16:06:00.006+01:00

The first weekend in August was an entertaining one. It started by meeting a cheery local named Pashú at the gym on Friday night – he jumped in on a leg workout with Burch and I and after changing numbers I felt like I was getting somewhere with forming something of a local group of friends. Friday night was mostly spent in Lolita’s car while we toured the city for no apparent reason, except that Lolita had put in a dance music CD and she wanted to listen to it, entirely, before stopping. Thus we passed the better part of an hour circling the same part of town. She made an excuse that she wanted to show us exactly where a concert for which we had tickets was going to be held the following night. We got it after the first time, but by drive-by number four I think we finally convinced her we could find it on our own. (Nevermind the fact that Benguela is nearly a perfect grid and everything is walking distance anyway.)

After a leisurely morning (is there a better kind?) the next day we joined Nancy (the American expat who runs our language school) and two others for a tour of the area in her Ford truck. I was riding in the middle in the back for a few uncomforable hours, but we did get to explore some of the area, which is what central Nevada would look like if it had a coast.

Coastal Shots South of Benguela:

At one point the lady accompanying our group and sitting to my right decided it would be a good idea to pull my armhair suddenly and without warning. I gave her a dirty look and pulled away. She managed to call me a “macaco” after that, giving me yet new reasons not to like her. These feelings changed after she told me that she was part man and part woman. I thought maybe this statement had some kind of figurative meaning in Portuguese until she proceeded to lower her shirt to expose a hairy chest between her breasts. I don’t mean a little bit hairy either – she could have given me a run for the money. I was dumbstruck. What on earth do you say in that situation? I responded with what I hoped was a respectful silence and erased my previous negative thoughts about this woman. You can’t make this stuff up.

We said goodbye to the two ladies back in Benguela and headed north to the cities of Catumbela and Lobito. Catumbela I had visited before with my host sister the previous weekend, but this time we stopped for ice cream at a popular café (the peanut flavor was the best). You get a sense of the agricultural potential of the country in this area, which has been replanted with all sorts of crops mostly along the river bed.

View of Catumbela River:

Lobito is just a few miles farther north and was my favorite, mostly because we stopped for a pizza dinner at a quiet oceanside restaurant at sunset. After nonstop rice and beans it’s amazing how exotic pizza can seem. I actually don’t mind the rice and beans, but it’s nice to be reminded that other food forms exist.

California Dreamin' in Lobito:

Back in Benguela that night Burch and I went to a concert – Paulo Flores was the featured artist and he turned out to be a great performer. At one point I ended up dancing with a drunken male patron sitting behind me (at his request, incidentally). This turned out to be the only dancing going on for either Burch or I that night – our foray to the disco afterwards was a bust when they kept playing the local “kizumba” music. Nothing is wrong with the music, but it’s sort of for couples. More importantly it’s sort of for people who know how to do the dance. Which we don't. Thus, at the early-by-Benguela-standards hour of 3am we walked home. I wasn’t complaining…

Crazy Rock-Throwing Man

2008-08-16T15:59:00.001+01:00

Imagine you’re cruising down the highway at 65 miles per hour and suddenly a man jumps into the middle of the road directly in your path. The man has a crazed, possessed look in his eyes and he is wielding a large stone. He is yelling uncontrollably at you and staring at you with an intense fury. You swerve to avoid hitting him, but as you pass he hurls the stone into your windshield.

This happened yesterday on the road between Benguela and Lobito. Fortunately the crazy man wasn’t such a great aim, and the stone mostly hit the sidebar on the passenger side and leaving only a minor series of windshield cracks. I didn’t get a good look at what happened to the guy after we passed, but he could have easily been killed by a less attentive driver. I have to give Nancy (whose truck we were in) credit for her cool navigation through that situation, but I think all of our hearts were beating a little faster for the rest of the night.

Forget the potholes, add angry rock-wielding crazy people to the list of roadside hazards in Angola…

Smile!

2008-08-15T08:39:00.007+01:00

Kids love having their picture taken here, and I'm all to eager to oblige.

These are the kids in the neighborhood:

#1: The "fun with tin cans" gang in Benguela

#2: Group photo frenzy in Baia Azul

#3: Getting pensive at sunset in Lobito

#4: You go girl

Benguela Photos

2008-07-31T12:11:00.005+01:00

I finally figured out how to shrink photos so that the slow internet connection here can load them! I was proud of myself for figuring out how to do this simple task; I'm not the most technologically gifted person as many of you already know. Three cheers for baby steps.

Benguela Photo #1
The street I live on. I live in an apartment on the left side of the road from this view, right above a bakery (basically right where the blue truck is in this photo). The only thing that keeps me from spending all my money at the bakery is the constant line out the door and the fact that you have to elbow your way to the counter or you'll just never get served. I'm going to have to develop that skill later - for now I just rely on the vittles my keepers provide (no complaints there though).

Benguela Photo #2
"Downtown" Benguela, featuring one of the newer paved roads. If you look closely the billboard says "With peace, we're reconstructing the country":

Benguela Photo #3
The beach at sunset is a favorite for the Chinese workers living in this town. They're here rebuilding the main railroad which goes to the Zambian border and terminates in Benguela and the port at Lobito, just to the north of here. I haven't tried the Chinese restaurant here yet, but I hear it's pretty good. More to come on that...

Nice to meet you, Milk

2008-07-29T12:25:00.001+01:00

It’s hard to imagine that yesterday marked only the first week since Burch and I arrived in Luanda.

Five things I miss so far:
1. Skittles
2. Water Pressure
3. Chewy Sprees
4. The ability to completely comprehend dinner table gossip
5. Sour Patch Kids

All in all, not so bad (and my dentist should be dancing a jig somewhere). The no-running-water-in-the-morning thing is a drag though. I’ve taken to setting aside a kettle of water at night to boil in the morning so I can shave. The morning cold water sponge baths don’t seem so unusual anymore, but shave with cold water I will not.

In other news I joined a gym yesterday. I think the name of it was Acadamia Corpo Total, and one of its best features is…a working shower! I think it’s probably worth the $100 a month to join just for that. About halfway through my first real workout in months a local gym rat asked to cut in on the machine I was using. When I asked his name he responded “Leite” which is the Portuguese word for milk. Now, this guy was really buff and I didn’t want to inquire further, but this seemed a bit sketchy. After asking around it turns out most Angolans have a real name and a nickname that they use more commonly. Just ask Rabbit (one of the language teachers whose real name is Pablito) or Kiss Me (an Angolan man I met in Lisbon a few weeks ago whose real name escapes me). I swear I’m not making this up. I do wonder how people get these names though. Does Leite just really like milk? Does Rabbit…have rabbit-like qualities, whatever those might be? I need to get to the bottom of this.

Benguela is for Boozers

2008-07-28T14:33:00.007+01:00

After the first weekend in Benguela it’s apparent that I live in a house full of crazy women. Friday night Lolita (my host mom) had me out until 4:30am at a bar called Trilhos. I thought it was a bit odd they kept playing silent George Michael videos on the wall (mostly from the Wham! era) while the DJ kept switching between Buena Vista Social Club and UB40 music. In other developments my question about the Portuguese word for “seed” started a 30 minute discussion; apparently this was not an easy question to answer (the candidates were “semente” and “caroço” – asking the same question later at the language school I’m attending sparked a similar debate the next day). I had asked because I kept drinking the seeds of the caipirinha I had ordered and I was just curious; I had no idea the chaos that would ensue.

Anyway, Saturday was a lazy day involving a tour of the beach with Burch that included dead fish, dead mice, and some washed up electronic equipment. Later on, after some long gossip sessions at the house that involved making a case of Carlsberg beer disappear it was time to check out “Tchirinawa” or the local disco. You pay 2,000 kwanzas ($27) up front and get a card that becomes a sort of credit card for drinks; the cost of each drink being deducted electronically until you spend the prepaid amount and have to pay the balance in cash. The good news is that 2,000 kwanzas buys a lot of drinks, so this moment usually doesn't arrive. Around 5am Burch and I had had enough (he was trying to pick up some local girls but his efforts, in spite of some promising dancefloor antics, proved unfruitful) and decided to walk home along one of the few lit roads. Lolita and Chris called to check on me and when they heard we were walking they came to pick us up in the car (apparently we weren’t supposed to be walking at that hour). After dropping Burch at home I thought we were headed home also. Instead we made an unannounced stop at a bar in the center of town. My faint protests ignored, Lolita and company continued drinking in the parking lot with some friends that had magically appeared. I recognized a few people from the disco, including a candidate for a mythical group I like to call GOB (gays of Benguela). At some point there were hamburgers involved, but details are fuzzy since I decided to make my mental state known by falling asleep in the backseat of the parked car. The sun was up around 6am when we finally made it home, and I slept well into the afternoon on Sunday.

After my routine breakfast (lunch, in this case) of corn flakes and strong coffee I went with my host sister Erica (who works as a quality control expert at the local Coca-Cola bottling plant) to pick up a family friend at the airport. His flight was late so we ended up taking a Sunday drive around a nearby town that featured such exciting attractions as a jacaré (crocodile) in a pretty sad looking pond. It was a great day actually, with a nice ocean breeze and about 70 degrees. Our conversation turned philosophical when Erica started talking about the human condition and how life is short, nothing is guaranteed, and how we should endeavor to enjoy each moment as it comes. I wanted to tell her this was exactly the message from Ecclesiastes, my favorite book of the Bible, but I didn’t want her to think I was religious because I’m not (and I wanted to avoid the kind of questions such a statement might inspire). Anyway we talked about relationships and the balance between the desire to share your life with someone special and the stress associated with the process (dealing with jealousy, insecurities, narcissism, etc.) It felt weird to be having a conversation like this in Portuguese and I'm not sure all my points came across clearly, but it was fun to try. I wanted to come out to her, but decided to focus on building our friendship first before going there. The sooner the better though, because she keeps asking what I think about the local girls. Oy.

Angola Contact Info

2008-07-25T11:11:00.005+01:00

I finally have a phone; feel free to call any time.

Angola is effectively 5 hours ahead of the Eastern Time Zone in the US, but since Angola doesn't observe daylight savings this will change to 6 hours ahead of Eastern Time when the clocks change in the US in the fall. Think of it as the same time as London for now, and the same time as central Europe in the winter.

Number: +244 912 641 341

The first three numbers are the country code for Angola, so before that I think you have to dial 011 if calling from the states. Most of you know this already, but just in case...

Bom Dia from Benguela

2008-07-25T10:56:00.003+01:00

Twenty-four hours in Benguela and what a change of pace from Luanda. There are no traffic jams, no constant threat of being mugged, and the air doesn't smell as funny. I'm here for five weeks to learn Portuguese, both to reprogram the Brazilian version that I learned previously and to learn how to use the language in a more professional work environment. I'm living with a local family in a household run by Lolita and sharing the house with two of her daughters (Erica and Chris...pronounced Chrish, both somewhat close to my age) and her son Nandu, who turns 14 next month.

There is a ton of road construction going on here, mostly as result of the ruling party's attempt to do well in the upcoming legislative elections in September. After 27 years of civil war you can imagine there is a lot of work to do. Some new roads are already opened, but most of town is still covered by the most potholed roads I've ever seen. You really need a 4x4 just to drive through town, although some intrepid motorists try with whatever vehicle they have available. The dirt road in front of the house I'm staying in has a huge trench in the middle where they are laying new water pipes, and I found out this morning that we don't have running water in the mornings as a result. I took a cursory sponge bath with some bucket water they drew the previous night (we have running water at night, which is apparently when I should be taking showers now). The power also went out last night (the first time that's happened here) but everywhere I've been has generator backup so it wasn't a big deal. I'll try to upload some photos soon...words alone can't really give an accurate description of this place. Until next time...

Welcome to Luanda

2008-07-21T18:18:00.004+01:00

I arrived in Luanda today around 7am after a fairly uneventful 2-day trip from DC. Flights ran as scheduled (a rarity lately) but one of my bags did not make the trip. I wasn't alone, and after wading my way through the long line of other bag-less travelers to file my claim we were met by one of the current MBA volunteers to escort us to the apartment where we may or may not be living permanently (more than a few details are still up in the air). We were also met by Fernando, a representative from BP who escorted us through customs and arranged our transportation. Evidently he's also the lucky guy in charge of checking on my bag, which may or may not arrive on tomorrow's flight from Lisbon. I'm learning to temper my expectations regarding airline competency lately; the good news is that I'm in possession of all my clothes and short-term toiletries (including anti-malarials), so things could be worse.

Burch (a major Clemson fan and a colleague traveling with me) and I cleaned up at the apartment, which I was pleasantly surprised to find out had hot water, cable TV, air conditioning, a modern kitchen, and mosquito nets over the beds. Our only venture out today involved a tour of the local outdoor market where we picked up some vegetables, followed by a visit to the local "supermarket" for bottled water and really bad instant coffee.

It was evident from this brief exposure that life here is tough. And expensive. In fact, some sources claim Luanda is the most expensive city in the world, with "modern" apartments in downtown going for upwards of $8,000 per month. I'm sure the facts will change daily but so far it's clear that watching pennies (or kwanzas, as the local currency is called) will be required.

Although the apartment isn't in a great part of town (there really isn't anything to do nearby) it's close to the airport which could come in handy on travel days given that traffic in Luanda is also notoriously horrible. We have access to a car service which theoretically takes us wherever we want to go for free, but I'm waiting until tomorrow to give that a shot.

There have been a few "what the hell am I doing here" and "why on earth did I want to do this?" moments, but I think that's normal. We're here for two more days before heading to another coastal town (Benguela) for a month or so of language training and living with a local family. Fingers crossed the missing bag shows up before it's time to travel again...

Peru: Days 5 & 6

2008-07-19T22:15:00.015+01:00

We had to get up at 4:30am to get on the road by 5:15 on our last full day in Peru, and it quickly became evident why. Our driver had to dodge boulders, tree stumps, huge agave plants, and many other kinds of debris that the strikers placed in the road the day before. The photo shows just an example - we dodged conditions like this for a full 90 minutes before arriving at the train station just in time to board the train to Macchu Picchu.

Along the way the vegetation changed from "high desert dry" to "rainforesty." It was another 30 minute bus ride up perfect switchbacks before we got to the site, and it was a "take your breath away moment."

We toured the site and marveled at the sophistication of the engineering that made it possible. Hikes to see the Inca Drawbridge and the Sun Gate featured natural begonias and bromeliads along with great views of both the site and the surrounding mountain scenery.

That night I had a quiet dinner with my dad at the Monasterio hotel in Cusco (the hotel was actually a former monastery complete with its own chapel, which is now adjacent to the business center) and sampled my last serving of ceviche. Although it was good, the stuff at Sol y Luna in the Sacred Valley won the trip prize for all-time best.

Our last day included a day tour of Lima and what I remember most is the fact that it doesn't rain there. Apparently ever. I also finally learned some new features on my camera that allowed me to take better photos in dark situations. It's the little things, sometimes...

The trip home was uneventful and included flights that took off and arrived on time. It was a mere 24 hours at home to do last minute shopping and packing for the Angola adventure, which began the following day with travel to DC for a week of training.

Peru: Days 3 & 4

2008-07-10T01:00:00.006+01:00

I should have known it was too good to be true. Not long after that last entry our guide Wilfredo informed us that a 2-day strike was going to shut down the rail service to Machu Piccu. Short of hiking 42 kilometers through the mountains, we weren't going to make it as planned (I would have considered it, but traveling with my 67 year-old dad made this option out of the question).

The worst part of the news was that we had to get up at 5am the next day to get to Cusco before the strikers blocked the roads. Even at 6am there were some boulders and debris in the road, but we made it to Cusco without any problem. My foul mood was lifted temporarily by the site of the "Chuckie" internet cafe, complete with photo images of the psychopath horror movie doll. Then we stopped at a roadside "cuyeria" and ate a little guinea pig. I was given the prized neck portion but I had trouble finding the meat. Apparently you're supposed to eat the skin also, but I demurred.

That was yesterday. Today we slept in and walked around the sites near our hotel (itself a former monastery, complete with a chapel with motion-sensor lights that illuminate the golden altar so brightly it sort of creeps you out). The main attraction was the strikers parading around the main square though. By afternoon all was quiet.

We're trying again tomorrow to see Machu Piccu. Fingers crossed...

Peru: Day 2

2008-07-08T00:01:00.011+01:00

Peru is enchanting. I can tell based on the number of photos I've taken, and the numbers of photos I haven't taken but regretted. Today was another tour of sites in the "sacred valley." The skeptic in me originally thought the "sacred" part was just a marketing ploy to make the area sound more impressive. After today's adventures I changed my mind. It's an understatement.

We started after a breakfast of quinoa and yogurt touring the ruins and town of Ollantaytambo, which would turn even the most boring person into a fan of Inca stonemasonry. The best part about visiting this site was that it represented one of the few places where the Incas whooped up on the Spanish. Sort of an Inca Little Bighorn, I guess.

In the afternoon we drove around a lot of dusty roads at high altitude, and that's where things got interesting. A whole new layer of mountains appeared, some approaching 20,000 feet. I forgot how impressive the Andes were.

Aside from the majestic mountain scenery, another highlight was visiting a salt mine, where water from a natural salty spring is channeled into small pools where the water evaporates leaving the salt behind. Evidently this activity has been going on since before Incan times, and the end result is stunning.

I don't know what this country can do for an encore, but I'm looking forward to finding out. Did I mention that Inca Kola is really, really tasty?

Peru: Day 1

2008-07-07T03:07:00.010+01:00

Five things I didn't know about Peru until today:

1. People eat guinea pigs to celebrate festivals and special occasions.

BEFORE:

AFTER (the facial expression doesn't inspire much confidence that the "roasting" was humane):

2. There are something like 300 types of potatoes in the area around Cuzco. Not sure how many this lady sold while napping.

3. The Inca flag is a rainbow-esque flag, but not the same as the gay pride flag. But it's still fun to pretend (the last time I saw a rainbow flag that big I was standing at 18th & Castro trying to decide if I should succumb to the hot cookie taunting me from the window).

4. The Southern Cross is easily found next to the bright stars representing the eyes of the "llama constellation." Somehow missed that one in astronomy class...

5. Vicuñas are related to camels, have the softest wool of the Andean animals, were never domesticated, and refuse to have their picture taken directly in the face (trust me, I tried).

Gummy Bear Therapy?

2008-05-01T23:15:00.002+01:00

I just had two fillings and a temporary replacement crown put in at the dentist's this week, followed by the admonition that I am supposed to avoid chewy things until the permanent crown comes in next month. Don't they know that chewy sweet things compose my favorite food group?

A friend sent this gummy bear clip; my plan is to channel the pain displayed within in an effort to recalibrate my pleasure association with candy. It is not going to work, but at least it's a funny clip.

Tutti Frutti Summer Love?

2008-04-23T06:15:00.004+01:00

Holy bouncing melonas! Such esoteric fruit-based symbolism makes it hard to grasp the artist's true intentions. Tell me, o mysterious multi-colored-lei-clad man, what is your story?

Charlie the Unicorn II: Banana King

2008-04-19T17:12:00.001+01:00

Charlie's back. With bananas.

Fun with Condoms

2008-04-19T16:49:00.002+01:00

The things you learn in development class...

Charlie the Unicorn I: Candy Mountain

2008-04-18T20:46:00.004+01:00

Candy Mountain: The land of sweets and joy. And joyness.

Virgin Ad

2008-04-17T16:42:00.002+01:00

Poor Oklahoma...

2008-04-16T14:38:00.007+01:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/16/us/16foster.html?ex=1366084800&en=ce93eb9a4af3418b&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

It's not often your local district judge is quoted in the New York Times, but as usual, the news story isn't flattering. Apparently Oklahoma has the worst foster care system in the country. This just proves my theory that the state only makes the news for two things:

1. tragedies
2. football

Lately, the latter has been a subcategory of the former since the Sooners can't seem to win a BCS bowl game to save their lives (they've lost four in a row, not that anyone is counting). It's almost the 13th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing. The anniversary of when over 90 tornadoes touched down on the same day in 1999 is coming up too. (Did I mention a tornado ruined my high school prom? It was a very bloody night, but that's another post.) Then there were the wildfires that covered the state a few years ago.

Oh, Oklahoma. What are we gonna do. At least the BBQ is good. And the pickle bar at Goldie's is charming in a way. On the bright side the state did win two Supreme Court cases against Texas, and ranks pretty highly on the number of Miss America winners too. I guess there's that. Maybe there is more to offer than tragedy and free pickles after all.

"Mr. Brasil" Pageant

2008-04-14T15:30:00.002+01:00

http://www.missbrasilmundo.com.br/mister_candidatos.html

So I was trying to translate something last week into Portuguese and was using some online dictionary from Brazil, which was part of a general media portal website. One of the sidebar news stories was on the "Mr. Brazil" competition, which I dutifully checked to confirm included a swimsuit competition. The results surprised me.

Now, I have been to a few beaches in Brazil, and I know that if any one country can claim to have the most attractive swimsuits (and the people wearing them), it would have to be Brazil. So where in the hell did these guys come from?? Sure, there are a few hunks. But Piauí? I'm just scared of you.

While it's true the hottie quotient in Brazil is high, it's good to remind each other that average (ugly, even) people exist too. Duh. I get that, but wonder if the Brazilian pageant process places more emphasis on other aspects of the competition. If that's the case, Mr. Piauí must have proposed detailed, actionable steps to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict. I'm just saying. I'll stop being so bitchy now. I'm sure he's a nice guy...

Googlegängers

2008-04-13T19:23:00.008+01:00

Get up. Make the coffee. Scan the NYT headlines. See if Gail Collins wrote anything today. That's my usual morning routine.

One day last week though I came across an article that referenced "googlegängers", which, as a word, apparently won the American Dialect Society's "most creative" new word in 2007. The existence of such an organization, and their evident authority to decide which new words are the coolest every year is fascinating in its own right, but I'll have to pick up that thought another time.

The definition for 2007's "most creative" word is pretty self-explanatory, but it refers to people that show up when you google yourself. It's a great word. I couldn't resist.

TOP RESULTS FOR "JEREMY HASTINGS"
1. The first result is for a googlegänger that leads birdwatching tours on the island of Islay, in Scotland's Inner Hebrides. Aside from a healthy interest in birds, this guy seems to have his act together. Nice work, JH. Keep it up. http://www.islaybirding.co.uk/

2. MBA 2008 at the Tepper School of Business (Carnegie Mellon). Apparently JH #2 got an internship at Bain & Co. This one is just eerily close to home. Get a life, JH, and stay out of my arena!! I sort of want to apply for a job there just to confuse people.

2.5: A fake news story from the "Onion." The article intro refers to "Jason Hastings" but the body of the article changes the name to "Jeremy Hastings." I'm an "Onion" fan, so this was sort of special. I already wrote about it...

3. A Level I rugby referee in Australia. I don't know much about rugby, aside from the fact that Thunderbird must spend a fortune keeping its rugby pitch impossibly green. I'm not sure JH #3 would care about that.

----------

There are others, including somebody's high school profile on "classmates.com" in Michigan, and somebody else with a court date in Ohio.

I finally show up on results page 2, with references to my LinkedIn and Friendster profiles. There's a Facebook link too, but it turns out it's for a Facebook googlegänger. Naturally this led to another search, which turned up 14 JH's on Facebook. The clones never end!

Results page two also features a JH that wrote some article in the "Journal of the Chemical Society" and a squash player. Moving through the pages there are references to a lot of people named Jeremy at Hastings High School in Nebraska, which marks the line where the gängers stop.

The takeaway here is that my life has not amounted to enough to bump me to page 1 result status, which gives me a new goal. Evidently my participation in the world's largest marshmallow fight in Skokie, IL wasn't enough. My entry in the 2006 World CowChip Throwing Championships didn't work either. I guess the google folks aren't interested in my attempts to toss bovine fecal matter (who could blame them, really).

TOP RESULTS FOR "JEREMY PAUL HASTINGS"

I felt a little un-special after that last search, so I added my middle name and tried again. This strategy worked - there are no Google results with all three names, only a bunch of references to "Paul Hastings." Apparently people with this name are drawn to the legal profession.

Link to word nominations for 2007: http://www.americandialect.org/2007.WOTY.nominations.pdf

Fortune Cookie Thoughts

2008-04-12T01:34:00.017+01:00

I wonder what people think about fortune cookies. They're purely American (I didn't see a single one during a ten day trip to China earlier this year, and that included going to more than a few Chinese restaurants), and I think most people dismiss them as a marketing gimmick. I also think there's something lurking just beneath the surface that's worth a closer look, and I'm trying to figure it out.

There were two (!) Chinese restaurants in the town where I grew up (that's a lot for the speck-on-the-map I used to call home as a kid). One was on Route 66 and the other was by the Indian Hospital. We stopped going to the latter when a controversy erupted over a boil-order, which left the one on Route 66 for my family's dining pleasure. That one was located in a former used car dealership in the shape of a barn, but I'm getting off topic here...

One time my grandmother was visiting us and I distinctly remember her laughter when my dad opened his fortune cookie and said “You are like a catfish, all mouth and no brain.” Grammy (we called my mom’s mom grammy) thought for a minute, and then let out a roar of laughter. You would have thought she had just heard the funniest joke ever told. Of course, dad had played that line on my sister and me so many times by then that it had long since lost its lustre, but it was fun to watch someone else react for the first time. It’s a simple memory, but one I’ve cherished and may have something to do with developing my interest in the topic.

Personally, I like “Help! I’m trapped inside a fortune cookie factory” but I tend to save that for special times. Like when someone’s grandmother is at the table. Often there are general maxims that could safely apply to anyone’s life, but some of these fortune cookie writers are getting more sophisticated and I’m just here to say I appreciate their work. So I’m hoping to keep a list of the ones that somehow resonated with me…just for kicks, really. That's the point of the sidebar "Fortune Cookie Garden." I don’t do it because I believe in any kind of predictive power, but for their ability to encourage you to think about what’s going on in your life. We could all use little reminders to do that from time to time, couldn’t we? You go, Fortune Cookie.

So I finally made "The Onion"

2008-03-17T23:19:00.006+01:00

Important news out of Elko, Nevada. The authors shaved a few years off my age, which I appreciate.

Ironically I had the pleasure of spending the 4th of July in 2003 in Elko camping with my friend Aconcagua Summiter. It was a lovely place, and the Basque Festival was an added bonus.

Now, on to the story...

Queer Eye Team Denounces Recent Wave Of Vigilante Homosexual Makeover Groups

NEW YORK-The Fab Five spoke out against the abduction of fashion hostage Jeremy Hastings and the tragic remodeling of his living room.

Grand Central Freeze

2008-03-16T21:53:00.005+01:00

A friend sent me a link to this video. I was just in Central Station a few weeks ago and really wished I had caught this...the project sort of has a Christo/Jeanne-Claude quality to it. I like how the dispersion was carried out especially.

http://www.maniacworld.com/frozen-in-grand-central-station.html

One Semester Spanish Love Song

2008-03-16T02:09:00.002+01:00

Sin Comentarios

A geography lover weeps

2008-03-16T02:04:00.001+01:00

It's a bit old by now, but worth remembering. I'm starting a drive to airdrop millions of atlases into the Palmetto State.

Crazy Phone

2008-03-05T18:51:00.004+01:00

I expect to encounter good design when visiting New York, and a recent trip was no exception. Witness the amazing features of my host Globetrotter's (renamed to protect the innocent) phone. Not exactly an "early adopter" myself, I was fascinated by this gadget. I sort of want to go back to NYC just to call it again and watch the action...

My Celebrity Soulmate

2008-02-14T07:23:00.003+01:00

Will and I go way back. I don't know why I bother to take these stupid quizes.

Take the Quiz

Peking Opera vs. Monty Python

2008-01-31T16:57:00.000+01:00

So our intrepid group of four had been warned that the art form known as the Peking* Opera might involve an acquired taste. We expected screechy sounds and general cacophony. But what we got was something close to wonderful. The costumes were elaborate and colorful, the stories relatively easy to follow, and the singing, well, it was different. I'm not sure I could have handled a full three hours, but I can honestly say our ninety minute exposure was enjoyable. I would go again if given the chance.

An added bonus is that I finally understand where the "Knights Who Say Ni" skit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail comes from. I don't know if that movie still influences the youth of today as much as it did my formative years (I was not alone in my ability to recite the entire movie in junior high school), but I did used to ponder where in the hell they came up with some of the skit ideas. After our night at the opera, there can be no more doubt. Now excuse me while I go cut down the mightiest tree in the forest with a herring.

*Pedantic Information Section
Although most anglophone people refer to the Chinese capital as Beijing, some institutions retain the name "Peking." The difference is one of dialect. Beijing is the name of the city in Mandarin, and Peking is the same name in Cantonese. Most foreigners were exposed to the Cantonese-speaking south originally (think Hong Kong or Macão), and when the foreigners asked "where is your capital" the locals replied in their dialect: "Peking." Now you know the rest of the story...

Would you like scorpion with that?

2008-01-29T05:21:00.001+01:00

Some of the food people eat in China is weird. A walk through the grocery section of the Beijing SuperWalMart proves this, although to be honest it's not that much different from other developing country grocery stores I've been to. What WAS different was the live turtle tank accompanied by the live turtle slaughter station, where the cute lil' guys get their insides turned upside down and wrapped in plastic before the bar code gets unceremoniously slapped on.

But I'm not here to talk about that. The video on this entry was taken at a restaurant in Beijing that served scorpions (apparently boiled) along with a duck entree. There really wasn't much flavor except for a pasty feeling towards the end. All night long I kept thinking about the recently downed arachnid coming back to life and crawling around my stomach, which was a mildly upsetting thought. Anyway, I'm posting this video as proof that I actually did eat one of these lil' guys. Appropriate crowd reaction ensues...

Completing the Brenda Dickson Trifecta

2008-01-27T04:17:00.000+01:00

"Aunt Barbara" jumps into the Brenda Dickson fray in this inspiring piece. It doesn't quite reach levels of hilarity (a word?) as the previous parody, but it definitely deserves some kind of honorable mention. Besides, no thorough coverage of the Brenda Dickson phenomenon would be complete without it. Enjoy...

Strike that...

2008-01-25T01:52:00.000+01:00

If you watched the regular Brenda Dickson video and can make it through the first 30 seconds of this response without laughing uncontrollably, you are likely just not human. I was catching up on my YouTube fix during a 10-hour layover at Washington Dulles and laughing disgracefully in the red carpet lounge as business people making presumably important calls around me turned to offer concerned looks. I had to stop and wait until I got home to fully appreciate the magic of this clip...

The most important video ever made

2008-01-23T20:21:00.000+01:00

Well, hello! Style is as important in your life as your look. Profound words indeed, but there's so much more...

Feliz Ano Novo do Rio

2008-01-02T16:33:00.000+01:00

Not much time to write from Rio...in between beach duties and playing tourist, there's hardly any time to sleep. I'm at Washington Dulles trying to catch up with my life while in transit between Rio and Beijing though, and wanted to remember the enthusiastic applause that accompanies sunsets in Rio. It's a nice tradition, really. Yay for our spinning planet.

Ruby loves Flight of the Conchords

2007-12-25T06:01:00.000+01:00

Introducing baby Ruby Feliz to the Flight of the Conchords on this Christmas Eve. More on the baby to come.

Vai Tomar No Cu

2007-12-10T06:40:00.000+01:00

I love this wig. This song cracks me up too, and the lyrics couldn't be more appropriate for finals week...

Europe vs. The F Word

2007-12-08T19:38:00.000+01:00

This commercial reminds me of my only visit to "McQuick" - the French attempt to copy McDonald's (there is a rich topic for inquiry in its own right, but we'll save that for another time). Aside from putting corn on their burgers, they also offered a free CD with a purchase of a kids meal. Being the silly college kids we were, of course we saw no other option but to buy the kids meal. One of the tracks on the CD (did I mention this was offered as a supplement to a kids meal?) was entitled "Sex Siren" and featured siren sounds followed by a sultry woman's voice. The lyrics were simple, and direct: "I wanna swallow your cock. Ohhh, fuck me." Over. And over. And over. I still listen to it for giggles sometimes. Crazy French.

Target Corp. Chronicles

2007-12-07T04:09:00.000+01:00

My brother's wife (Hallie...of fried cranberry sauce fame) has sent me on a series of misadventures to Target stores throughout the greater Phoenix area in search of a glow-in-the-dark-sings-songs-when-you-touch-it form of Pooh Bear. Okay, so I went to two different Targets, but neither of them had it. I thought I was being efficient with my website print-out, but the whole effort turned out to be a waste of time. I settled for some kind of piggy bank that keeps track of how much money is in there so you don't have to count it. But that's not really the point of this story.

The point of this story is that all this Target exposure brought back memories of my favorite Target - the one in San Bruno, CA with the escalator thingys for your carts. I'm about to admit something slightly (possibly very) embarrassing, but often I would sneak away from my desk at the nearby Gap HQ building and have lunch at the Target food section. Mostly Taco Bell. Actually, it was always Taco Bell. There were several benefits to these outings:

1. They charged less and gave you more meat per taco than the Taco Bell that was right across the street from work.
2. There was almost no chance that I would run into someone from work (we introverts need our mental processing time).
3. There was always a group of elderly Italian men talking smack to each other sitting in the corner.

The last reason was the real attraction. I started going because of the aforementioned taco value proposition, but made a habit of this excursion when I was studying for the GMAT and needed a place I knew I wouldn't be disturbed in order to squeeze in some math problems during my lunch break. I kept coming back just to see if the group of old guys was still there, and it always was. From what I remember they talked about horse racing a lot, and I admired their camaraderie as much as their raunchy jokes (they also drank a lot of coffee, which I appreciated too). I'll be lucky to have friends like that to joke around with at the Target food court when I'm their age...if they were on Facebook they'd be trout-slapping themselves silly. They're sort of heroes to me.

Pumps and a Bump!

2007-12-04T06:13:00.001+01:00

MC Hammer should not have touched this speedo...

A Very Redneck Thanksgiving: Part II

2007-11-25T17:33:00.000+01:00

I woke up to gun shots the morning after Thanksgiving, but I thought it was probably just the neighbors shooting at cans or something. I promptly went back to sleep, until the sound of helicopters overhead aroused my curiosity. I braved entering the public area of the house (for fear of attack by my neices and nephews) to the news that there had been a shootout between one of the neighbors and a team of federal marshalls that had come to serve a search warrant for what appeared to be drug-related activity. Evidently when the marshalls arrived at the door the occupant of the house shot at them through the glass above the front door, prompting the marshalls to return fire. It wasn’t long before the news crews were on the scene (hence the helicopters).

I shot a video of the news coverage, but apparently the file is too large to post and I don't have the required software to edit it - yet. This blog adventure is helping me upgrade technology, which I'm slothful at doing, so I guess in a way this shooting thing has a silver lining (if upgrading technology for me qualifies...) Anyway, I liked the video because they keep showing my brother’s house in the background. Classy.

Is there any irony in the fact that later that afternoon my brother and my cousins went to the range to fire off their pistols? They took my 12-year old niece with them for her first target practice. I declined the offer to join them and went with my dad and Nancy (his girlfriend) to the casinos along the river in Tunica. I won $20, I guess it was worth it. Next time I might try the range, if only for a sense that I might need to protect myself during my next trip to Mississippi...

A Very Redneck Thanksgiving: Part I

2007-11-25T15:57:00.002+01:00

"This is the South, we can fry anything" was Hallie's (my brother's wife) proud boast when I got to their house in northern Mississippi for Thanksgiving this year. Actually, it seemed more like a challenge.

The first manifestation of this "challenge" was my brother's declaration that we would be deep-frying the turkey this year. The whole thing. I was fascinated by this concept and eagerly manned the deep fryer outside with its two tons of peanut oil and pleasing gurgling sound. After about an hour the bird was declared done and lifted out to share its golden brown glory. And it was mmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmm good. (BTW Bobby, nice Crocs.)

The frying olympics didn't stop there, and I don't think there was any way to prepare me for what came next. Not to be outdone, Hallie decided to attempt the penultimate frying feat: frying the cranberry sauce. At first I thought this was the most daft thing I had ever heard. Who the hell fries cranberry sauce, and how does that happen anyway? My doubts were not appreciated. Evidently cranberry sauce is fryable after all:

Of course I had to try it, and as you might have predicted it was kinda gross. And yes, I drank my wine from a red plastic cup with my name on it. That's just how we roll...

Hot Towels!

2007-11-20T02:33:00.000+01:00

A treat for those facing this week's travel madness. If only today's airlines had a similar service attitude...

Thank You For Being A Friend

2007-11-19T00:18:00.000+01:00

I wasn't looking forward to this happy hour invitation at first, but upon arriving at the 16,000 sf mansion built into the side of Camelback Mountain, my attitude swiftly improved. Relations with my dad's girlfriend are strained at times, or at least the times when I'm not actively avoiding her. So when she called me out of the blue saying that she was in town traveling with 3 of her girlfriends from Texas I was accepting the invitation sort of under the premise of maintaining family harmony.

As it turned out, these ladies were a riot.

In the photo left to right there's Patricia, Queenie (the fact that one was named Queenie was enough to win me over for the evening), Peggy, and Nancy (the girlfriend). You wouldn't guess it, but Peggy was 80 years old. We talked about her frequent trips to see her daughter in Fairbanks, Alaska, which is a trip she continues to make every year. Then there was Queenie, who's son is an Iron Chef, and Patricia, who's grand-daughter married well (ahem...really well) and lives in the mansion we had the pleasure to visit. The "help", also known as Karen, grilled us filet mignons on the huge outdoor grill on the patio overlooking the Valley of the Sun while we watched the sun set, the desert sky colors enhanced by the copious white wine. We talked about practical jokes, football, traveling, relationships, and the aurora borealis, and I was sad to have to leave. I got an offer to be adopted by several of the ladies...depending on how this grad school experiement turns out I might just take them up on the offer...

Comparisons Obligatoires:
Sophia: Peggy
Rose: Queenie
Dorothy: Patricia
Blanche: Nancy

Tenho saudade pra este lugar...

2007-11-16T02:47:00.001+01:00

This video just makes me happy. Who wants to join me in Salvador January 15 - 22? Vem pra Bahia!! I'll wear a Baiana dress if you do.

Burrito Watch 2007!

2007-11-15T05:53:00.000+01:00

Something strange is afoot at the Trader Joe's in Glendale, Arizona. The 98% Fat Free Chicken Burritos have gone completely MIA!! This is sort of a personal crisis, since approximately (ironically?) 98% of my weekly caloric intake relies on these burritos (and the liter of TJ's salsa authentica that usually accompanies this meal). I've asked store personel what's up, I've called the store and done internet research, but the burritos have gone missing for over a month now.

I know TJ's swaps out items frequently, and it appears this gem might have gone to the chopping block. RIP lil' frozen buddy...it was nice knowin' ya.

The upside is that the Chile Verde burritos are great too, although a little heavier. I bought the entire stock last night in fear that these guys might go next (they were also conspicuously missing for awhile).

If only I were this concerned about my schoolwork...

Senegal Fast Food

2007-11-14T14:55:00.000+01:00

An acquaintance that used to work at the US Embassy in Dakar sent this to me...I had a chance to visit her in summer 2006 and this video brought back some great memories of that trip.

The group (Amadou and Mariam...actually their Malian and both blind) is one of my favorites and played in Stern Grove Park in San Francisco in June 2006. It was a great concert, although the champagne may have influenced my impressions just a little. Good times!

Indian Pizza!

2007-11-14T05:05:00.000+01:00

Who knew there was such a thing as Indian Pizza?? I was lured into trying some that past weekend on a last-minute trip to San Francisco.

Sensing an opportunity to escape the monotony of the desert (one can only take so many consecutive days of shorts and flip-flops), a fare sale sent me packing to the west coast. It was a great weekend, but the food consumption part got off to a rocky start. Here's some advice should you decide to place a delivery order for Indian Pizza:

1. Confirm your order frequently. Like every 5 minutes or so. Don't wait for an hour to call them and then listen for the rustling noises in the background suggesting the start of a long overdue order fulfillment process.
2. If you are serious about asking for extra sauce, best to confirm that this request is not interpreted as "we don't want any sauce at all."
3. You might consider reminding the restaurant that evenly-spaced toppings usually go over well. Throwing all the tandoori chicken on one side just isn't fair!

It turned out to be okay, but I have a feeling what eventually showed up at the door wasn't a fair representation of this culinary genre. Better luck next time...