romance in kuwait
I was originally scheduled to leave to Delhi today, but being that my cousin Shalu, Kukku's older sister who is studying in Bangalore, will be arriving in Kuwait on the 9th of April, I felt it would be worthwhile to extend my stay till the 15th of April. The only thing exciting about Kuwait is family. I did get to go out and see much of Kuwait in the past two weeks.
I visited the Sultan Center which is located in the Sharq Seafront Market. It's an entire mall, built on an artificial island. There is a marina in front of the mall; behind it is the Arabian Gulf. Aside from the setting, it's a regular Western style mall. Close to the Sultan Center is the Sharq Fish Market. It's a large warehouse sort of space with many small stalls, and vendors sell fish of all sizes. The entire Seafront Market is a pretty sight at night. Since most of my visits are in the evenings, I only have night shots of all the sights. They're not bad actually.
On another balmy night, we went out to Green Island. It's an artificial island with an amphitheater, a few restaurants, towers from which to view the island, and Kuwait City. Aside from the views of the city, and the somewhat serene atmosphere, there is not much else to do here. There's plenty of grass, topiary, artificial lakes, beaches, etc.
It was a Thursday afternoon when we visited Messila Beach and Salmiyah before we headed to church in the evening. Messila beach is located on the Eastern coastline of Kuwait, the shores of the Arabian Gulf. Again, nothing seems natural out here. There were plenty of rocks, stones, concrete, bricks, pieces of concrete slabs, etc on the shore. On a Thursday afternoon, there were few locals on the beach. Some were barbequing, while the children played in the water; some wandered around aimlessly, and some lay asleep on a mat in the shade.
Many in India would give anything to come and work in Kuwait. It's understandable, but I wonder if they really know the situation out here. Though expatriates make up the majority of the population, they have no political input. They cannot own lands or build homes. Almost all expatriates live in apartment buildings. Most Kuwaitis have no respect for the foreigners, and foreigners are spoken down to. Kuwaiti children walk into foreign owned grocery stores, pick up snacks and leave without paying for it. The foreign owners cannot say or do anything about this. In order to remain in the country, you need a sponsorship that needs to be renewed by the company that is sponsoring your stay, for a maximum of five years. A male expatriate may sponsor his wife and children to live in Kuwait, but a female expatriate may not sponser her husband or male children aged 21 or over. If a male expatriate sponsors his wife, she cannot work for three years. In order to work, she will have to find a sponsor first. There is just so much of bureaucracy and red tape in every procedure. Not too many foreigners living here are happy about life here - especially if they have family back home. When folks working in the Gulf countries head back home to India to visit family, the general mass seems to think that these vacationers are mining gold in the Gulf. It is not at all so. If anything, life in India is so much more peaceful and rewarding - even if you are not earning as much. I have come across several expatriates who feel it was a mistake to come work in the Gulf. Of course for all the heartbreak, though you have nothing to hold on to in the Gulf, if you can manage to save up enough money, you can build a home in India, make sure your children are settled, and enjoy retirement in India. Saving is not so easy if only one member of the family is employed.
Oh, there are just too many injustices to talk about. I've been told that many of the skyscrapers dotting the city have only come up in the past two years - after Saddam Hussein was captured by the U.S. They call us the Liberators. They've put up monuments to remember the liberation. Inside monuments, there are pictures depicting the destruction that the invasion had caused. The captions under these pictures describe the Iraqis as savage invaders. I remember the invasion, and how Kuwait was humbled by the Iraqi Scud Missiles. But for American intervention, there might not be a Kuwait today. I understand that before Kuwait was invaded foreign women were afraid to walk out in the streets alone to get to work, as Kuwaiti men would drive by and assault the women, sometimes kidnapping them. The same atrocities were done to the Kuwaiti women during the invasion. This also was an humbling experience. All the lessons have soon been forgotten. Some of the foreigners who were around during the invasion, and who have gone through the hardships, now say that it was just what was needed for Kuwait. There is a word in Malayalam that describes the attitude of Kuwaitis (of course not all of them are this way, but the general attitude), and I have heard this often since I arrived; the word is Ahangari. In English, it is translated as utter pride and contempt. Several times, while walking along the street, young Kuwaiti boys walked by, mocking me with contorted faces. I am sure if I pulled out the passport, their faces wouldn't be as contorted. But I've got nothing to prove. Even with an American passport, I am Indian nonetheless.
I am also told that it is only because of the appeals of the senior Bush that there are churches still in Kuwait. I was handed a paper clipping of an article in one of Kuwait's newspapers. The article published on Thursday, March 23rd announces "No More Churches Allowed in Kuwait." "MP Fahad Al-Khannah said it is not allowed to construct temples and churches in Kuwait because the Prophet (PBUH) said, "No two religions will meet in the Arab Peninsula." "MP Badir Sheikhan Al-Farisi said "we must respect all religions and beliefs, adding that we are demanding that the West allow Muslims build mosques and temples so we must treat them alike." Such is the case with dialog in this country - as I described in the incident in my last update. This contradiction stems from something deeper. In the same article: "The presence of churches and temples in Kuwait...is in violation of Allah's book and the Sunna of His Prophet (PBUH)." ... "The scholar Yousuf Al-Sana said: 'They should be granted their rights as ordered by Islam, but with conditions.'" One thing comes to mind: "Let my people go!" "...I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." (Mat. 16:18). Wouldn't it be grand?
Speaking of religion and politics, I hear that Charles Taylor has been surrendered. That bit of news caught my interest. I'd like to see what happens next.
Today, I played parent and visited my cousins school to pick up her grades and new books for the next year. She's got 5th rank in her class. That blows me out of the water as I've never had any rank in any of my academic years; yet somehow, 5th rank doesn't seem satisfactory to me. I must be getting old. Soon I will be asking where the other three points went. "Why do you only have a 97 and not a 100?" She's a brilliant girl and I am sure she'll do better next year. I was about her age when I immigrated to the U.S. She has just completed her first year in Kuwait. I had to cover all of her textbooks for her with laminated brown paper. I remembered I used to do that when studying in Bangalore. In Kuwait, I've traveled back quite a bit; speaking exclusively in Malayalam, listening to Tamil and Hindi translations in church, singing Malayalam, Tamil, and Hindi songs, and reminiscing with the family about life in Bangalore and Kerala. It's all been good. It should be exciting to see Shalu once again.
Let me end this sad epic with some humor about Kuwait. I picked up the December 2005 issue of Bazaar magazine, a Kuwaiti magazine, while waiting at my uncle's workplace. I read through some of the articles and came across one titled "Celibacy In The City" written by a Mimi Ali. Of all the rants of the women, this one was a bit funny. Here's an excerpt:
"Men in Kuwait have realized that there is one critical impediment to dating - they have no way of meeting women. After all, schools are segregated, the university is segregated, weddings, parties, and all other social events are segregated. And if you walk up to a woman in a bookstore and try to chat, you will probably end up in jail. So they have adopted a two pronged technique to deal with this issue. During traffic jams, they abandon the driver's seat in favour of strolling among the cars and chatting with women sitting alone. They often hand out little cards embossed with their phone numbers and charming entreaties like, 'call me, sweet honey.' An added bonus to the titillating pleasure of these window conversations is watching them scramble back hastily when the light turns green.
"Men have also started painting their email addresses on the back of their sports cars in bright letters. You like the looks of the tall dark man in the red Mercedes coupe? Well, just send an email to 'Mr_Virgin@hotmail.com' (That is a genuine email address by the way, feel free to use it). I guess it is not a bad idea though; in other countries, you have to pay to meet your match on-line..."
There you go; now you know how romance works in Kuwait.
P.S. I promise I will put up the pictures of Kuwait as soon as I complete my stay in Kuwait. The Africa pictures are a bit more complicated. I am sure you will understand - especially after all what went down before my departure. I will sort those pictures out as soon as I get a chance.
rules? in the desert?
It's been a little over two weeks since I arrived in Kuwait, and Iam still trying to get used to the Arabic week where my Thursdays become Saturdays and my Fridays become Sundays. Aside from the treacherous dust storms (I missed the Harmattan in Sierra Leone, but caught the storms in Kuwait), there's really not much going on out here. I drove around Kuwait City and took in some of the Arabic architecture, I have been to the Kuwait Towers, and had Caesers Pizza (not the Little Caesers "Pizza, Pizza"). I was told their pizza was worth trying. It's not bad for little bite-sized pizzas, but nothing spectacular. Aside from that, I've been in church at least four times a week. Going to church in a Middle Eastern country is quite interesting. Of all the Middle Eastern countries, Kuwait is considered rather liberal when it comes to tolerance towards other religions. However, the tolerance comes with segregation. There are about five churches in Kuwait (by church in this instance, I mean, built structures). There is the St. Paul's Anglican Church, the Catholic Church of Kuwait, right next to which is the Vatican embassy, the Orthodox Church, a Coptic church, and the National Evangelical Church in Kuwait (NECK). The Anglican and Catholic churches from what I understand, are for Kuwaiti nationals only and not for expatriates. All expats and some nationals attend church either at the Orthodox church building, or at the NECK facilities. There are about 37 different churches meeting at the NECK. The campus consists of several small halls each given a different name ("Hall of Joy", "Hall or Peace", etc). Each hall has to be reserved in advance for a church to be able to meet there. Services are scheduled throughout the week, and at different times each day to be able to accommodate all the churches. Someone who is not a "member" of any church can choose to attend an English service with the Pilipino population, an English service with Malayalam, Tamil, and Hindi interpretations with the Indian population, or any of the various expat congregations. The halls are usually tightly packed, and in the New Testament Church in Kuwait, we always sit on the floor. I can't help but think of Indian Reservations when I attend church at the NECK. It's not so with the expats in Kuwait; they are grateful that they are allowed to gather together.
There are separate public schools for Kuwaiti nationals, and separate private schools for expats. The public schools all have an Arabic curriculum while the private schools use the curriculum from their local countries (Indian, Iranian, Pakistani, American, British, and Australian). Private schools are open to anyone, and students are admitted in through an interview process and the results of a written test. Both public and private schools are regulated by the government. The government supervises the schools, and regulates the fees. Arabic public school education is offered free of charge to Kuwaiti nationals, and only Kuwaiti nationals and the children of teachers in those schools are allowed admission. All foreign students must attend private schools. These private schools are obligated to incorporate Arabic culture and the Arabic language into their curriculums. Private Arabic schools receive government support in the form of free textbooks, or land to build the school upon. All other private schools receive little or no support from the government.
At workplaces, Kuwaiti nationals, and Americans are paid significantly higher than any of the other foreigners - even if the job is same or much easier. Foreigners take up jobs in every area - from cleaning streets, being maids to the Kuwaitis, to becoming managers, but they never really have authority over a Kuwaiti national. All foreign residents are required to carry their "Civil ID" cards, and all visitors are required to carry their passports and visa with them where ever they go. If caught without such identification, you could be questioned and detained. There are regular checks, and you could be approached for a check while waiting for a haircut, or sitting in your car.
From reading the Kuwait Pocket Guide (www.kuwaitpocketguide.com), one can ascertain the various laws and rules that govern Kuwaiti nationals, residents, and visitors. Though it may not be an entirely accurate picture, images of America in the 1800's come to mind; along with George Orwell's 1984. It's a weird mixture of the past and the future.
I have often been told it's not good to go into something having expectations beforehand; be it relationships, going into a new job, exploring a new country, etc. Just dive in, go with the flow, and enjoy the ride. Here in Kuwait, diving in was not a problem; it's the enjoy the ride part that's a bit hard to do. The drivers on Kuwait's roads are maniacal!! While London was just plain confusion, Kuwait is a bit more of an organized confusion. I am sorry, but when you see beautiful roads, clear road markings, and damn good cars, you would expect people to drive a bit more civilized - this is coming from a New Yorker with road rage, so I hope you can feel the gravity of the matter.
There are long enough lanes designed to allow a driver to merge smoothly into the highways, but merging is a concept that just doesn't work well out here. No one bothers to yield while merging, and it's literally an inch by inch battle to the end of the lane; and then you close your eyes and dive into free flowing traffic. That's just what goes on. The lane at the extreme left is the fast lane; the speed limit on that lane is 120km/h. All other lanes move at 80+km/h. The exits are on the extreme right. I have seen cars fly in from the extreme left all the way out to the exit, past three lanes, without signaling, while on their mobile phones.
If you're driving above 120km/h - on any lane - and there are people who do this even on the right lane, and someone else behind you wants to drive faster, they either tailgate you, flash their headlights, and honk, or they cut into the next lane even if there is another car just slightly behind on that lane. If you're a foreigner driving at a decent speed, and a Kuwaiti national wants to get past you, you get all of the above, and once they get to your side, they'll gesture as if to spit at you. Intersections are a whole other story. I barely see motorbikes on the roads. Bikes are for rebels and misfits. Besides, why would you need a bike when you can drive a car just like you would drive a bike? Somehow, none of this comes across as road rage. It's just their way of life.
The other day, my uncle and I walked out to the car and found a grocery delivery truck parked perpendicularly just behind our car. He had his trailer door swung open and had slightly nicked the paint off the "dikki" (that's trunk for Indians. Called "boot" in England) of our car. My uncle yelled at him in English and the driver of the truck yelled back in Arabic. Neither of them understood each other and both knew that to go on would be futile. The day went on as usual - with slight agitation of course. It doesn't really matter if the foreigner knows Arabic or not. The result is the same. You always think the other person is alien.
Kuwait depends on foreigners to fulfill their human resources needs, and foreigners come to Kuwait only because they get paid relatively better than they would in their own countries. The foreigners in essence, take home peanuts compared to what their Kuwaiti coworkers take home. Somehow, both sides seem happy. But when you speak to the Indians, they just want to save up enough money to build a nice home back in India, get their daughters married off, and then jump off the wheel and retire back home. It's quite a life to look forward to.
off to a developed desert
I have left the Third World. My continued journey has led me to Kuwait, a country with one of the highest GDP's in the world. To put that in perspective, an haircut costs KD1, massage included. That's just 1 Kuwaiti Dinar. They don't do the tapering up job too well, but it works for now. A haircut in London cost me £10. Upon landing, everything looked familiar; the roads, the road signs, the cars. It's America with a better economy. They drive on the right side of the road, and the driver sits on the left side of the car, and that's a breath of fresh air compared to the confusion in Britain. Since I only arrived last night at 7PM, there's not much I can say just yet except that this place is an extension of India with the Infrastructure of America. Outside, every where I've turned, I've seen Indians speaking in their native languages. I see posters and flyers in Malayalam, Tamil, and Hindi. In the airport, a gentleman had a one way conversation with me in Urdu. I understood only a few words (because of the similarity to Hindi), and I told him so, but he kept on anyway.
My uncle lives in an apartment with his family. It's a modest little place, and the toilet reminds me of India. It's a small stand up shower stall with no covering to contain the water. So the entire bathroom is wet when you have a shower. The commode, sink, and washing machine take up the rest of the space in the toilet. Yet, they have faucets that dispense a controllable mixture of hot and cold water which is a deviation from the Third World standards of some of Britain's W.C.'s (I think it stands for Washing Closets or Water Closets). Let me explain as I failed to do so while I was in Britain.
I recall just two years ago, when I was in Lancashire, England on a business trip. I stayed at the Preston Marriott - a very high class hotel. I think it used to be a royal manor before it was converted into a hotel. At such a posh place, I came across sleek brass faucets on either side of the sink; one to dispense hot water, and one to dispense cold. I am supposed to plug the drain, and fill up the sink with warm water so I can wash my face. That's the British way. I chalked it off to Lancashire being the country side, but I forgot that at my aunts place in London, England, it's not much different. Sure, they've sorted it down to a single faucet dispensing a mixture of hot and cold water, but this is done by splitting up the single faucet into two halves. So if I were to cup my palms together under the faucet, one palm would be scalding while the other would be frozen. That's just a single example of why I feel Britain is so Third World. I have come across many Brits who feel the same way. "I just live here" exclaims one cousin, while the other is very upset with me because I "take the piss" out of her country. I used to involve myself in such debates and conversations with Brits who could handle the criticism; namely, my work mates at The Vine Project, and several random new friends I made while I was there. It's all in good, clean fun.
In England, I came across more drop-outs and delinquents than I ever have in all my life in The Bronx. Many young people are just not interested in, and cannot handle school. The classic BBC style, refined, clean, and noble English seems to be a thing of the past. If you attempt to understand what a group of kids on the street are speaking about, you're in for a surprise. (Now I understand that there are many different dialects of English in many parts of the world, and I appreciate language, but the British dialects along with the Australian, are a bit tough to understand.) Aside from all of the swearing, you'd wonder if it was English they were really speaking. It's a land full of Eliza Doolittles with just a dwindling population of Higgins and Pickerings. (Say it with me: "The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain".) Most of the refined are hired by the BBC ;). (This reminds me of the song I discussed on BlueRadius titled, "Why can't a woman be more like a man." I won't go any further. I'll safely leave that discussion alone. ;)) You get the sense that future generations in Britain will end up being degenerates and social misfits.
I did not travel around much in England though I had planned to. The volunteering kept me busy, and the weather was just too depressing. Towards the end of my stay, I wandered around a bit - mostly on my own. I dragged my cousin along to climb the 311 steps of the Monument built to commemorate the Great Fire of London. It's the tallest free standing Doric column in the world and stands at 160ft. We wandered along the South Bank and the London Eye. Never rode on the thing. I wandered alone into the Museum of Natural History, the Victoria and Albert Museum, and through Hyde Park. I was impressed with the architecture on the Natural Museum, and the Ironworks displays in V&A. I picked up a list of all the free museums in London, but never got to visit all of them. I did visit a public toilet in Hyde Park and was amused by tiles printed with a message providing information about Venereal Diseases. That was my last solo tour of London.
Aside from attending services in the Brixton church, I had the opportunity to visit the churches in Edgeware and Liverpool. I also attended the All Nations Revival Church with my cousin. They were a really wonderful group of people. A few of them took me out for bowling. My stay in London wasn't as exciting as I expected. A lot has changed since I last visited. Since this was my longest visit, I mostly felt I had overstayed my welcome. The Vine Project was my saving grace. I thoroughly enjoyed working with the folks there. I felt a sense of accomplishment after each day. Even on days I was sick and just could not wake up in the morning, and though all of my joints were in pain, I happily went into work. I will remember Keith, Graham, Alex, Suzanne, Jennie, Anna, Wendy, and many others who went out of their way to make me feel welcome.
I don't think I'll be volunteering here in Kuwait. I will remain here for a month, then travel to Delhi for two months. I hope to find some place to volunteer while in Delhi. From Delhi, I will return finally to U.S. soil. I will be in Dallas for a month before I return to the good old Bronx. Please do keep me in your prayers through all of my travels.
To my darling friends who wrote saying, "Dude, you must update your blog!": I hope to be inspired while in Kuwait and Delhi. I'll stay in touch.
To any of you know anyone in these places, or know any place that could use me while I am there, or know people who could show me around: Introductions please!
my exodus...still abiding in the vine?
I have gone from lifting sand and stone to lifting furniture. I've begun volunteering at a charitable organization called
The Vine Project. It's an organization that picks up used furniture, crockery, and children's clothes and furniture, and sells them at a minimum donation of fewer than £15 to low income, displaced, or refugee families. I am what they call a "Van Volunteer." I travel around with one of two drivers, and help pick up and deliver furniture to and from homes. It's great to see how happy people get when they have just almost completely furnished their home in under £40. I will continue on this project for about two months. I hope to then travel to Kuwait for another month; then off to Dallas to watch Dora the Explorer and Sesame Street with my niece.
I have heard back from many of you and it's been reassuring. Thank you for remembering me in your prayers. The next two years of my life will be crucial so I ask that you continue to remember me in your prayers. Cheers! (That's Thank you in the Queens language).
leaving the jungle...with one final monkey business
Jumping into the dead of winter without a Fall transition period is a bit rough. It was blistering on the day I left Sierra Leone. My flight was to take off at 22:30 on the 23rd of December from Lungi International Airport. I'd have to be at the heliport by 17:00 to check in; boarding begins at 18:00. It costs Le24000 for a one way flight from Aberdeen to Lungi. The Russian made Mi-8T helicopters used by Paramount Airlines provide for a smooth and quick trip to Lungi (as opposed to the ferry). The entire ride (directly into Lungi Airport) takes about 15 minutes. This leg of the journey was completely hassle free. Once in Lungi, if you're not careful or firm, a porter will come pick up your luggage and take it to the airport check-in area - even if you're standing right in front of your luggage. He will then expect you to give him a tip. I had a few Leones left in my pocket so I allowed it. Surprisingly enough, being that it was the 23rd of December, the airport was not as disorderly and cramped as it was when we took David to the airport. Once my baggage was checked in and on the conveyer belt, it was held up by some of the security officers. They held up all the baggage and required that they speak to the owners of each of the baggage. Not because this was a security measure, but it gave them an opportunity to ask the owners for some money. Two of the security officers held up my baggage, asked me about what I had packed, and proceeded to ask me for a Christmas gift. I refused and held firm for about five minutes before he left my baggage through. At the Immigration gate, I was held up again because the officer felt that my working papers were not legit. He threatened to send me back home but asked if I could come to a "mutual understanding". I asked him what that might be and he rubbed his fingers together. I refused; he walked out of the booth and returned in three minutes and cleared me for exit.
Just three days before my departure, I thought I'd make a slamming exit and take a chance on monkey meat. Unless you go out into the provinces, it is not easy to find monkey meat; but as luck would have it, Bro. Paul managed to find a young lad walking around with a basket full of dried monkeys. If a picture is worth a thousand words, here's one.
I will admit, the meat is "sweet" as they describe certain meat to be. Apparently cat meat is sweeter. Monkey meat is soft, and goes well mixed in with the plasas. Thankfully, a week later, I can say that the toilet seat has not been slamming.
During my stay in Waterloo, I occasionally would visit Aunty Bernadette and her children. Aunty Bernadette is a teacher and a staunch Catholic. They're a beautiful family; very hospitable, and friendly. Just two days before my departure, I went to visit them, and spend time with them. I took Bro. Sahr along with me to introduce him to the family. I explained to them that I will be leaving in two days, and the mood changed. They were a bit saddened. I stayed longer than usual. The next day, her youngest daughter, also named Bernadette, and one of her brothers came by to visit me and give me a card signed by the family.
Just on my way out of Waterloo, I stopped into Frank and Michael's house to say goodbye. The entire family gathered around to wish me farewell. Frank, Michael, and Eku cried. I had to make that a short visit. I will definitely miss all of them.
I arrived in London with two pants, two shirts, a sweater, and a light raincoat. All the barrel contents were left behind. I left before the second barrel could arrive. I've had to go out and buy three more pants (trousers as they are called here. Pants are what we call underwear - I've got a lot more to say about good old Britain), three shirts, and a sweater (jumper in the Queens language). That will be my wardrobe for the next three months.
I will stay in touch though I am sure London can't be as eventful.
departures and appearances
I have some interesting and sad developments to share. Last Sunday, I was again ushering; Bismale came to church early but stayed outside till the service began. She looked downcast and unhappy. I asked her if everything was alright and noticed she had tears in her eyes. "I am not coming back to this church again" she said. Stunned, I asked her what had happened. "Well I was getting used to the other sisters, and I liked them, but they have gone, and I don't like these new sisters. This one, what is her name, asked me a hundred questions that even my mother never asks me. I am very ashamed. I didn't come to church last night, and I came today to let you now that I will not be coming back." I calmed her down and explained that this is how things are, and transfers usually happen just so you don't get used to just one or two people and that you can be exposed to different people and learn something new from each one. If there is one she doesn't like, she can be assured that just like the ones she liked just left, the ones she does not like will leave sometime. Do not look at people; just come to church to learn the Word of God, and to get your life right with God. I reminded her of how much God has helped her since she started going to church, and I begged her to continue to go to church. She did not say much after that, and after service, I did not have the heart to face her.
For the rest of the week, I went through a silent lament. I read the book of Lamentations to find out what Jeremiah was lamenting about. Everything I had seen since I arrived here in Sierra Leone made perfect sense after the reading. I was also assured from verses 26 to 30 of chapter 3. Also verses 35 to 37 of the same chapter were of particular comfort considering the circumstances here.
Fearing her departure, this Saturday, I prayed that God would bring her back, and something special would happen. I am not surprised that this prayer was answered like many others. She was the first to arrive, and I was encouraged to pray for her throughout the entire service. I noticed that she herself was praying like never before. I then said a simple prayer asking for delivery on the promise of the Spirit. The answer came in just ten minutes. Just several weeks before, she sat next to another girl who had proof of the Spirit, and just laughed. This weekend, I caught her laughing at herself. Though I was happy for her, I said nothing to her because my day of departure is looming over my head.
I am not in Bo this week. I am still in Waterloo, and will only remain for a very short time. I Will be traveling, but I'll be leaving Africa.
Last Monday, when I had gone into town as I usually do on Mondays, after visiting the Internet cafe, I went to Congo Cross to visit friends I normally visit. There is a young man named Philip who I normally visit. That day however, Philip had not arrived home from school. I sat down and spoke to his father for quite some time. He is from Bo and was telling me about the place. After the conversation, I stopped to say hello to the neighbours who greet me every time I go around. There is a young 16 year old girl that David and I met the first time we had gone to visit Philip. She lives right next door to Philip. Usually, after visiting with Philip, he usually walks me out to Mommy Dupigney's house which is just across the main street. The girl, Tigi, joins him as well. (It is common here in Salone for hosts, out of courtesy, to walk you down to the main street after you visit with them. This has happened on many occasions when Bro. Samuel and I had visited homes.) This time, as usual, Tigi walked me out to Mommy Dupigney's house though Philip wasn't around. Someone who saw us reported to the elders that they saw me with a young unsaved woman who was dressed very immodestly. When the news got to me, they had already stripped the girl of what she was wearing. (She was wearing pants and a tee-shirt. I am told she was wearing a mini-skirt). In a country where you don't have to turn your neck to see naked flesh, I feel that pants and a tee-shirt can be considered modest. So I am judged now on the "appearance of evil" - accepting the courtesy of a 16 year old, unsaved girl. I am guilty. I am not supposed to fellowship with un-believers I am told.
Of all the questions I need answers to, I now have another question that needs an answer when I get to my "home up yonder": Why did Jesus speak alone to a Samaritan woman who was living in open sin - while his disciples were away? "...For Jews have no dealing with Samaritans" (John 4:9).
I am reminded of the liberty that Christians have - not a liberty to do anything we feel like doing, but the liberty to judge for ourselves what is right. This liberty is spoken of in Romans 14. We do not live by law, but by grace. We grow in grace; it is not a massive barrel dropped upon us. God knows what we need, and He deals with us as sons, not as bastards. "Let us not therefore judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumbling block or an occasion to fall in his brothers way. I know, and I am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean... (Romans 14:13,14)
This incident has been just another brick in the huge wall that I had been in front of since my arrival here. It is apparent that I am not the only one standing before this wall. Rather than continue to kick at it, I have decided to voluntarily retire from this mission in Africa. Last week, I found myself filling out applications to volunteer with NGOs here in Sierra Leone, but I never turned the applications in. I feel it's time for me to leave. "For all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this, that the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are all in the hand of God: no man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before them..." (Ecclesiastes 9:1). With that chapter as a confirmation, I will soon bid goodbye to Africa.
I will remember and continue to pray for Bismalie, Thomas and Nancy, Frank, and everyone else who I had come across.
Thankfully, all last week I had been up at the site working hard. This kept my mind away from all of this. The work is progressing very well and I was happy to go up and help carry head-pans of dirt, stone, and help keep two 2000 gallon tanks filled with water. I now feel I have spent blood, sweat, and tears in Salone; the last being the hardest for me.
Pink Floyd - Another Brick In The Wall
Happy Birthday Chris M!
going on
After almost a week of eating very little to nothing, and surviving on home made Oral Rehydration Salts (a cup of warm water with salt and sugar), I am back in good health thanks to divine intervention. Thanks also to "Healthy Travel - Africa", the Lonely Planet Guide that was presented to me for my birthday before I left for Africa, I was able to diagnose myself as having Giardiasis. It is not a pretty sickness! I am grateful it wasn't anything worse.
Today, I was able to eat well, do a weeks worth of laundry by hand, and avoid the throne. Amen.
On Tuesday, the 29th, there had been a regime change here in Waterloo. The two sisters were replaced by two others. Today, Brother Samuel will be transferred to Bo as well. I will be heading to Bo sometime next week. I could use the change.
When I mentioned to Shevo (Frank), the twelve year old neighbour who always "likes to keep my company", that Bro. Samuel and I will be leaving him, he began to cry. As Bro. Samuel was being driven away to Freetown, Frank who was behind his house ran up to the front chasing after the truck. He laid down right there on the street and began wailing. I just didn't know what to tell him. I resorted to giving him a bag of biscuits to appease him. Both he and Michael, another young boy who lives in the same house, ask me not to leave. "You know we like to keep your company" they say, "Why do you want to go? Who will play Hangman with us now?" A week before, when I taught them the game, Michael wanted to skip school for the day and play the game with me. Naturally, his father did not approve of the idea.
I will miss many of the folks I have befriended here in Waterloo. Many times when I walk down the streets, I am greeted by people I don't even recognize. They know me by name, and ask how I am doing, how my health is, and how am I enjoying Waterloo.
I am told that I will be taking public transportation to Bo, and so I will once again have to consolidate my luggage. I have resorted to giving away some of my clothes - though I only came with a handful. I will have to distribute what I have left among Bo, and Shenge - if I get to visit Shenge.
I am awaiting the status of another barrel that is on its way. My parents were allotted just a little bit of room in a barrel that another brother was sending. My mother says she has packed some home made Indian snacks, and some more pickles. This should be good. Makes me even more grateful that I am free of the Giardia Lamblia parasite. I have lot a bit of weight as a result of the sickness. I am sure I'll regain it - if not here, at Bangkok House in Times Square.
all forms of cleansing
Being the first Saturday of the month, a three day fast had been called by the church before the Saturday communion. This Saturday will be only the second time that communion will be served in Waterloo. There are only about 6 of us here who qualify to receive communion. Because most other members in the church are new, they were encouraged to fast if possible, and this was the first time that some of them fasted as members of the New Testament Church in Waterloo.
Since the day she began attending church, Bismalie, with the fervor of a new soul, and "first zeal", has been steadily proving God. She has been attending all the services faithfully, and has even, of late, asked her brother to accompany her. To appreciate the extend of her dedication, you have to understand the life she's led thus far. Since her accident, and her decision to abandon church, she had been one of those girls who stood at the corners and junctions of the streets of Waterloo. Like many of the women here in Sierra Leone, she has had kids at a young age, and before marriage. She lives in a home with her grandmother, brother, and several others who I have not yet met. She does not work; her grandmother cannot move much, is very old, and sits on the chair in the corner for most of the day. Her youngest child Samuel is only 10 months old (he's quite a big child for his age), and needs constant attention. Being mobile is difficult when you have had a truck run over your foot. Occasionally, she has to go to Freetown to get her foot dressed, or for a surgery appointment. At times, she's in town to visit her dad so I assume her parents are separated (as are many parents in Sierra Leone). Having been a Christian at one point in life, the guilt of the life she's led since she left church is at times very unbearable. Her friends mock her now because of her decision to turn her life around. Her dad has been threatening, and forcing her to marry a Muslim guy, but she wants to find a Christian man to marry. She almost gave in, but decided that she would prove God in this matter.
Bismalie arrived on time for the Thursday evening service (evening services start at 7 PM and end at 8:30 PM). At about 7:30 PM, she looked at me and gestured that she was starving and wanted to go home and eat. I gestured back and asked her to wait just a short time more. At 8: 20 when the service ended, she was the first one to jump up, strap on Samuel to her back and head out the door. She did not leave however, and stayed to greet everyone. When I met her, she said that she cannot do this anymore and that she will go home and eat and not come back to service on Friday. I just smiled in return. What could I say? She tried.
On Friday, as I was cleaning the toilet, she came to mind and in the back of my mind, I prayed that God would change her mind and bring her to church. That day, she showed up at 5:30 PM - before any of us even thought of preparing for the service. She still had not broken her fast, and she had given her food away to her sister. I was impressed, but I told her that it is useless to fast if she doesn't pray. She smiled and said she would try. That night, she did indeed try. When occasion was given to those in the audience to announce whatever pray requests they had, Bismalie was the first to put up her hand and request that God would give her a "mind to pray." After service, I gave her some Kin Dravya and asked her to break her fast.
I myself fasted all Thursday and Friday, and had a small meal Friday night. It was very unusual that I felt no hunger at all for the two days. Every Saturday, we all fast all day and break the fast at night, but again, I felt no hunger all Saturday. Saturday, evening however, I was hit with a passing infirmity. I say that because I want it to pass, but that's just what it's doing to me. Sunday morning, in the span of two hours, I had to visit the throne about six times. All Sunday and today, it's the same story. I haven't had anything significant to eat since Saturday night and I feel no hunger. Finally at about 3:30 PM today, I had to force myself to eat a little, but I can't keep anything in. Nothing remains solid. I suspect it's some sort of food poisoning.
I have been notified that sometime this week, my tenure here in Waterloo will come to an end. I will be heading to Bo from here. Continue to remember Bismalie, and the work in Waterloo in your prayers.
hidden truths
Well Christmas is around the corner, and I have been hearing about it for two months now. Seems everyone here is waiting for Christmas. It doesn't matter if you're Christian, Muslim, Spiritist, or if you even know who Christ is; this is your time of the year! The old, wrinkled, hunched over lady across from us, who drinks heavily, and causes trouble with her neighbours, is walking around singing "Gloria." Just two days ago, she falsely accused her tenant in public, shouting out in the open, that he wanted to sleep with her. This woman is over 70 years old, and the man is in his late 30's and has a wife and kids. All the neighbours ganged up on her this time around, saying this incident has gone "pasmak" (unbearable, over the limit - past the mark). She continued to ala-ala (quarrel loudly - holler-holler), claiming that she is going to the police. She claims to be a Christian and even attends our church when she feels like it.
The neighbours who are Muslim are all excited about Christmas as well. You can hear them singing carols and having a jolly ol' time. I haven't seen much of the traditional Christmas decorations as of yet.
Several of my friends back home emailed me wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. Thank you for remembering me while you stuffed yourselves with Turkey. At least two of them said that they would save some of the Turkey for me till I return - mould and all. Sweet friends! Although I am not too fond of Turkey, I did however miss the stuffing. I missed the Yonkers tradition of piling on Turkey, stuffing, Cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, Biryani (traditional Indian spiced rice), Mutton curry, Vegetable curry, Parata (Indian flat bread), and Indian pickle all on the same plate. Yes, we're an interesting bunch.
Thanksgiving however is not celebrated here, and many of you asked if it was. These folks have no reason to celebrate the holiday. After all, this whole deal happened between the Pilgrims and the Indians. None of them here care much about Pilgrims or Indians. They do however celebrate something called Tanksgivin, but it is not celebrated nationally on the same day. Different churches have a day that they call Tanksgivin. On this day, the particular church gathers its members, has a service, and then serves a meal to the congregation. The children form a choir and sing songs, there is dancing and celebration. Some of the churches even serve beer and wine, and the members stand out and smoke - notably the Anglican church. Many of the members who don't regularly attend service, make sure they attend the Tanksgivin service.
Last Saturday, the 26th of November, I decided to walk down the street to get three packets of biscuits as I just wanted to have some at midday. No sooner did I turn the corner, I heard a group of people chanting and making noise. All the members of the group wore all white garments, and many had walking sticks painted in black and white horizontal stripes. There was one man dressed in a bright red robe. His face and head was covered with the same red covering. The portion of the face covering was cut out in an oval, and was filled in with a white mesh like cloth. His walking stick was more ornate and had strings and fibers tied to it. As soon as they saw me, one of them recognized me and said out loud "born again." The leader of the group, a man also fitted in white, stretched out his stick toward me, and very harshly barked "Yu, oba yanda!" ("You, over there!") I obeyed and walked over to the side where a group of young kids stood watching the troop. All the while, the rest of them continued to chant. "Yu na strenja, eh?" ("You're a visitor here, are you not?"), he addressed me publicly. "Yes, Sir!" I responded. He then stretched out his stick and harshly commanded me saying, "Pas, go. Pas!" ("Pass, go. Pass!"). I calmly walked past them while I heard some of the spectators exclaim "E!" By the time I purchased the biscuits, turned around and crossed the street, the troop was on the same end of the street as I was. I continued to walk towards them to get past them, and some of the spectators pulled me aside, scolded me and warned me to wait. Then when it was "safe" one of them escorted me past them.
When I returned home, I asked Bro. Samuel what all the spectacle was about. He explained to me that they were the members of the local Oje secret society, and that it was their day to "play" today. He explained that there is one member in the group who is appointed by the underwater devil to come meet with him. If the society wants to come out to play, they cannot arbitrarily choose a day. The group as a whole will take this man on whom the lot has fallen on, to the sea. The leader of the group, the man endowed with mystical powers, will then spread some form of liquid over this mans face which enables him to see the underwater spirit. The spirit comes out of the sea with something in his hands. This man will have to then run towards the spirit, grab what is in his hands, and immediately turn around and run back. The rest of the members position themselves strategically in order to grab the man when he runs back towards them. Since he is now possessed, and is in the spirit world, he runs with superhuman strength and speed. If the man is unable to grab what is in the hands of the spirit, and does not return with it, the rest of the members will beat him to death. The thing that the man brings back from the spirit contains the date for the play. Only on this day can they go out and play.
If you get in their way, harm them, abuse them, or get into trouble with them, they have the power to "ale" (pronounced aleh) you. Ale is a powdered herb that irritates the skin causing you to scratch. Boils form on the skin, and the skin is disfigured. You will eventually die from its effects. The other definition for ale is: to cause to vanish. This was why I was chided and warned by the spectators, and why they exclaimed "E!" when surprisingly, the leader allowed me to pass. This does not normally happen. The man in the red, called agbado, is the "devil" of the society. Each society has its own devil.
Just yesterday, members of the ontin (hunting) society were out dancing and chanting. I didn't get a good look at them, but the "devil" of the group was taller than the rest, and had on brown garb. Some of the members, in groups of two, carried a pole on their shoulders with leaves hanging from the pole - sort of like carrying a dead animal on a pole. The ontin society was imported into Sierra Leone by the Yoruba settlers from Nigeria. This society's primary activity is hunting in the bush. Like most societies, their activities are shrouded in mystery.
Sometimes, all the references to "hidden manna", "hidden ministry", "hidden truths", etc. make me feel like I belong to one of these secret societies.
rules of engagement
So the eleventh was the last time I had been up at the site. How can I go unless I am sent? So things have just been routine out here and nothing interesting has been going on. At times I wonder why I was sent here of all places. I am sure something should come out of it. I have a few things in mind and will have to explore my options and see what comes of it.
I've been keeping myself entertained with books, music, conversation, billiards on my laptop, and watching neighbours fight. Our neighbours all around are very volatile. Just now, they're like family; they laugh, talk, share food and tools with each other, the next minute, they're ready to throw stones. Let me attempt to describe to you the dynamics of a quarrel. In simple terms, when young people quarrel, say when one strikes the other, this can be a likely exchange of words:
Defense: "Yu si, yu si?" (You see? You see?) [Bringing attention and focus to the offence]
At this point, the one who committed the offence can either feel sorry and sympathize - after explaining why he was offended;
Offense: "E! Yu no si u don mas mi fut! Yu get fo tek tem!" (You stepped on my foot! You have to be more careful!)
Offense: Oshya! (I am sorry)
At this point, the quarrel is done. If the offender however chooses not to sympathize, he can rudely say:
Offense: "A mis!" (I miss)
Defense: "Yu mis eh? A go ton mi on." (Really? I will return the offense.)
It just goes on from here until one party relents. Adults fight the same basic fight, but for even sillier reasons I feel. The last major battle broke out because a member of one household accidentally broke the roba (rubber - Any plastic or rubber container - water bottles, buckets, basins used to launder in, etc) that belonged to their neighbour. The offender in this case remained silent and did not confess to the accident. The man who found the broken roba went into a frenzy thinking it was his grandson that did it. The grandson was afraid and locked himself in a room. The man kicked the door down. The poor kid was beaten badly and there was no way he could excuse himself from this punishment.
Later that night, the man found out (I am not sure how) that it was his neighbour, a woman, that did the damage. He went ballistic. The battle now initially started as I described it earlier. It then blew up into digging up of graves, making reference to dead parents, cursing dead and living family members, and nearly putting up fists. All this unfolded around the glow of candles. It was 11:30 PM. The argument ended with the man saying, "Kom tek am from mi baksay" (Come take it out my ass), and slamming his door shut. The woman continued sreaming for another twenty minutes before she slammed her door shut, and then continued to scream some more while indoors.
Last month, Bro. Paul and I went out in search of a mechanic to come fix our generator. We inquired on the street for a mechanic, and were directed to the house of one. While sitting outside waiting for the mechanic to arrive, at the bar [usually a bafa (tent) made with tik (sticks)] next door, we met a man who was piss drunk. He was drunk before we arrived. After we arrived, he had himself another four glasses of hard rum. He then went on to smoke two cigarettes, and then light a marijuana joint. Bro. Paul called him over and attempted to speak to him about God, Salvation, and Redemption of sin. The man could not sit still, and he preached in return. He used to attend church and had given up. Bro. Paul finally decided to wrap it up and just give him the address to the church. He then prayed for the man. The man, Bash is his name, asked for us to come back and remind him on Sunday to attend church. That next Sunday, I went over to remind him. He still had a hangover and said that he did not have money to attend church. (He lives not three minutes away from the church). We did not hear from him or see him since then.
This past Sunday, I was ushering in church, and was surprised to see a sober Bash arrive dressed up and looking sharp (in a gold chain and imitation Ray Ban sunglasses). He seemed like he enjoyed the service for I saw him quite animated during the worship. Keep him in your prayers.
I am off to munch on some Kin Drayva (Keen Driver) - a local home made biscuit made with flour, oil, butter, and sugar. It is a popular snack often purchased by the poda-poda drivers. The taste is similar to the paalpodi (milk powder in Malayalam) I used to buy from the street vendors outside Cluny Convent.
using my head (finally), reading for change
"Dis man sabi fo wok Oh! I de try." They must think Americans are not able to work hard. And so, yielding edpans (head pans) of sand and stone, making several trips up the hill, taking rides to the nearby brook to fetch barrels of soap water (from people bathing in the brook), the foundation work for the project has begun. Today, the men working up the hill poured in concrete to commence this massive project that will upon completion, yield the largest church building, convention grounds, and compound in all of Sierra Leone (for now anyway). It is definitely not easy work carrying those edpans up the hill. I now know what these women go through when I see them carrying massive loads on their head. I have just begun to cultivate the skill and so I have to hold on to the pan while others can have their hands free.
I began reading "From Beirut to Jerusalem" by Thomas Friedman, but I had to put it down for another treasure chest I came across - "Why Revival Tarries" by Leonard Ravenhill. Though it was written in 1939, it seems to have been written for our churches as they are now. I couldn't help but see my own church in the same light. I fear for those men behind pulpits. Two other books I intend to read are:
"Desire of the Ages" by Ellen G White, and
"Imitation of Christ" by Thomas A Kempis. Click on the links to download PDF versions of these books.
An interesting thing happened in the world this week. Liberia, Sierra Leone's neighbour, has elected its (and Africa's) first ever female President,
Ms. Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. She is Harvard educated, and has been involved in politics for many years now. She was, before this post, an International banker. Her opponent was the International Football star, with very little education,
Mr. George Weah. Mr. Weah alleges that there was vote rigging involved, but the majority of the votes counted are in favor of Ms. Sirleaf. If she is indeed confirmed as President, it should be an interesting 6 years. She seems like a worthy candidate (yes, I said it), though she has Feminism painted all over her. I hope she can set a good example for Africa and the world.
I am doing well, staying sane, and keeping in good health. I notice tiny clusters of bumps here and there on my hands (not past my wrists), and I have no idea what it is. Other than that, all is well and I am trying very hard to stay out of trouble - and for THAT, I need prayers.
Happy Birthday Jess, Selina.
great developments over a Fanta...or not
Well honestly, not much has been going on. The building project is at a temporary stand-still until all parties involved come to a common consensus: Seems like everyone else involved has their own plans and ideas while the architect has already established the plans. I made the singular mistake of suggesting that the plans drawn out by the architect should indeed be followed, and I was ostracized for it. I have not been up at the site for nearly three weeks now. It's a waiting game.
In other news, we went to visit Chief Sourie again today. We did not want to go empty handed so we brought half a crate of bottled soft drinks. I did not realize that I had to leave a deposit of Le12500 for the crate and the bottles. I was assured that the deposit will be returned when the bottles and the crate will be returned. I was also charged extra because I asked for the drinks to be cold. When we arrived, we found him to be in good health and able to walk about. He began quoting scriptures, and thanking God for healing him. "By their fruits, you will know them" he said, speaking of his children who have all come to know God and are serving God in some capacity. Then there, over an ice cold bottle of Pineapple Fanta, among other requests to God, he prayed that God would allow a church to be opened up in Kono. It looked a bit silly - him sitting with a bottle opener over the cap of the Fanta, blessing the drink and making such serious requests. He had the heart of a child, bless him.
So aside from interacting with folks, reading, cleaning, and observing exotic species of birds and insects, not much else is happening. I am often reminded by everyone that this is Africa.
There are a few things that I overlooked and failed to make accounts of: Of them, the water here at Waterloo. We have to bring our drinking water from the taps at Freetown as the water that comes out the taps here in Waterloo cannot be used for drinking. It really cannot even be used for bathing but we manage. In the kitchen, in order to strain the water, we wrap a piece of cloth folded four times over the faucet. Still, the water is brown in colour. Every day, we have to clean the piece of cloth, and when unwrapped, there is a thick coating of dark brown clay to be washed off.
The people here in Sierra Leone just do not like to answer questions. They would much rather reply with another question, or take the opportunity to make themselves feel smarter. Everyone's smarter than the next person at any random time. Here are a few examples:
"Matthew, kam na ya" ("Matthew, come here").
"Le a kam?" ("Let me come?")
"Yes, kam wantem" ("Yes, come at once")
I was in the process of brushing (clearing the weeds, thickets, and bushes), and had already brushed about 14 feet or so all around me. Lahai approaches me,
"Yu no sabi fo brosh eh?" ("You don't know how to brush, do you?")
I stood by watching the band of men trying to capture the snake last week. I didn't know any of them. I recognized some as neighbours. I had not said a word to anyone, yet one of the young men came up to me and said:
"[sucking teeth], yu no sabi natin" ("You don't know anything")
I wonder what gave that away. I thought I was pretty good at hiding the fact that I am a dumbass. Nothing gets by these people!
"Lahai, what does kongosa mean?"
"[sucking teeth], yu dont no?"
Nope, not a thing. I know nothing. I cannot convince "men of God" that littering is not a good habit. Just about any place outside of their house is a litter bin. Those at the top set the example for others. Of course there is no such thing as street cleaning or garbage pickup; so all the trash that is left on the street, stays on the street. At homes, those who can and have the land to do so, will dig a wide hole in the back of the house and deposit their trash there. When the hole gets filled, the trash is burned. Those who can't do this, collect their trash in bins, and carry it to a common location - usually on the side of a main street, and dump all their trash there. This trash collects, rots, and reeks, and once in two months or so, someone who had seen enough of the trash, will set fire to the trash. It is not uncommon to see entire streets strewn with trash - especially in Freetown - the capital city.
I have tried on many occasions to gently remind people I am with, to hold on to their trash and deposit it at least in a common place and not on every street, but on each of those occasions, it is I who is chided in return by the words: "Dis na Africa, Oh!"
This is indeed Africa. God bless this land.
the primitive hunt
"The people which sat in darkness..." This has been the third day of darkness. The generator has been giving us problems and we've had no power for three days. The battery on my phone has died. One laptop battery died, and I am using the second one. Hopefully, tonight we can get it to work. We found a guy to come over, take a look at it and service it. Dry season is not here yet and it is already terribly hot. At night, the darkness makes it all the more agitating.
Yesterday afternoon, my reading was interrupted by loud noise and stone throwing by some of the neighbours. I thought it had been another neighbourly scrimmage. I had witnessed two of these in the past two days. One of them involved some flying fists among women. The other, between and woman and a man was handled a bit more decently. The woman screamed and cursed the mans mother and family while the man kept his cool and retorted in a low voice. I rushed to the back to see what was going on and saw a crowd gathering around a tree, looking up screaming and yelling. Amid the barrage of stones raining down, I quickly walked over and asked what was going on. "Snake Sah!" one woman screamed out as she ran away from the site. There was a man atop the tree chopping down branches, and setting fire to some. The crowd gathered around yielding sticks and stones. Some called out to him to chop off this branch, another group asked to chop the other branch. One young practical joker yelled that the snake had jumped over to the adjacent coconut tree. The others rebuked him and a fight almost broke out. The man nearly felled the whole tree branch by branch and was getting to some of the last thick branches when a few members of the crowd sighted the snake once again on that thick branch. The man atop was encouraged to chop that branch while the men below stood ready and determined to kill this snake. He had to step on the burning branch in order to get to this thick branch. Soon enough the branch was chopped and hung from the tree, but there was no movement in the leaves. The man came down slowly and began chopping the surrounding branches that held up the thick hanging branch. The branch soon fell to the ground and the cluster of man ran towards the branch, just a few feet away from me, and began violently beating the snake which nearly escaped. It was what the locals called a Kare; a yellow-green venomous snake that springs from tree to tree. This particular one was about 3ft long and was according the man who finally claimed the carcass, 44 years of age. He calculated this by counting the rings along the body of the snake. After the men had beaten the snake to death, one of them ran with it hanging off the end off his stick, waving the carcass in the air, as if in some sort of ritual. He then ran back with it and flung it over my shoulder towards the group of women who stood behind me watching. They all ran screaming. One slender, young woman began to cry and scream. They then placed the neck of the snake against the root of another tree and beat the neck still it fell off. He then ran with it and placed it straight on the floor. As I got ready to take a picture, he grabbed it and began to head off with it but the crowd stopped him and asked him to pose the snake for me to snap a picture of it. After about two pictures, the man who climbed the tree came by and grabbed the snake. He stretched the snake out along his outstretched arms and posed for me to take a picture. He then went off happy for his dinner that night.
It has been a long time since I listened to BBC. Here in the house, I cannot pick up any radio stations on my cd player, and I get no reception on my mobile either. I invested in a small radio that can tune into Short Wave frequencies. It cost Le15000. I can pick up BBC on it.
of comfort and mango pickles
I took the poda-poda into town, alone for the first time. Thankfully, this time around, I was not mashed next to a fish woman. It was a comfortable ride in both directions and cost Le1300 in each direction.
At Choithrams supermarket, I was able to purchase a bottle of mango pickle for Le5000. It's not quite as good as the Grandmas brand of pickles you can purchase in the Indian stores in New York, but it's enough to add an Indian flavor to the food here. This Choithram character has established himself pretty well out here. He owns several supermarkets, hardware stores, and many other businesses, all named after him.
Digging work has begun at the site, and so far, I am not involved in much out there. I've been reading, brooking (laundering - probably because laundry was done at a brook?), and cleaning.
