Two steps back gives you a clear view of where you were

Poem in Jamaican Creole

2010-07-28T11:44:00.000-07:00

The Song of the Yaad Man

Jus a while ago mi neva know Jamaica,
but now unu know sey a desso mi wan fi de ya
mi look pon di gullyside an di garrison,
mi reason wit di country man an di kingstonian
mi no blind to di sufferation
across the nation,
no job no deh, politician say wha dem say,
some fraid fi lef dem yaad, some say time get to hard
but
fi mi people dem, we live like one
Inna one likle district in St. Ann,
500 a
FI MI…
bredas and sistas, mada and fadas.

Dem show mi how fi dig hole fi mi yam,
So likle more wi can nyaam.
Broaden mi ches wit dasheen,
“Yu Juk one two mango from di tree?”
Mi raasklaat…How yu mean?!
mi naa to tell no lie, mi buk up inna di bad mind dem,
but wi no wan none a dem, wit fi dem gun, knife and ‘lass
some jankro dem no born, dem hatch

but who mek fi dem ya time inna Jamaica?
Gunmen? Bruce? JPS? Mi raaaa…..
Sum people dem love fi point finga and blame,
But wi mus look inside a each one a wi,
Raise up Jamaica and take way di shame,

Mi dun know but mi learn some ting
And mi no response fi dem people deh,
A fi mi life mi can lead, make dem stay
Empower di yute dem, gi education to who lack,
One love, live good, rispek

Mi kom from foreign but mi is a yaad man now, mi no business if yu no overstand,
Jus don’t bother tell me:
“Jamaica? That is NOT!”
me no business ka,
rock stone a riva bottom dun know how sun hot

World Cup

2010-06-26T08:04:00.000-07:00

World Cup fever has hit! And we've got an enticing matchup with USA vs. Ghana in the first round of the knockout stage. I've always enjoyed watching the World Cup but it took on new meaning to me when I was living in Ghana.

Worked in Ghana in '05 and was there when they qualified for the first time. One of my good friends was a former player heavily involved with football development in the country. "Coach Malik" had played for Ghana in the Olympics a few times and was the only well-traveled Ghanaian I had met.

Everywhere we went young men greeted him as "Coach Malik" and he asked about their latest performance and talked random football. It seemed to happen EVERYWHERE. We went to several games around Kumasi and we always got VIP seating. VIP seating meant you got to sit and get shade, completely invaluable in the hot equatorial sun.

I was doing research for an ethnomusicology program and was out in rural Ashanti Region attending a religious ceremony. This was some deep bush. Mud-hut, water on head from local river, witch doctor kind of bush. This place had electricity for about 2 hours every evening and even this wasn't consistent.

I'll never forget watching this religious ceremony. People were so serious about it and it had your typical serene religious ceremony vibe. All of the sudden some barefoot kid runs into the area screaming a dialect I didn't understand. Suddenly everyone puts down their drums, the head stops chanting and people jump up and down in jubilation.

I cheered hard for Ghana in the last cup as a result. Coach Malik even gave me a call and said the largest manufacturing plants and mines would shut down for the days of Ghana's games to ensure everyone had electricity to watch or listen to the games. Absolutely psyched they got through.

This year...the matchup I didnt want! I'm so happy for US football and bummed that Ghana doesn't have Essien. I'll have to wave my US flag but I wouldn't be disappointed if Ghana gets through.

Parade Market: Kingston

2009-08-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

As we say in Jamaica; a real thing.

Laos

2009-05-19T09:13:00.000-07:00

Luang Namtha, Laos: January 2007

“Just make sure you don’t get hurt, the nearest adequate medical facilities are in Thailand and an airlift is quite expensive”. Tom's advice seemed almost parental.
I smiled wryly.
“I’m not joking, most of the medical facilities up here barely have soap.”
I knew Tom wasn’t kidding. He had provided nothing but good advice to me here. Tom was a native Laotian but spent most of his life in the US. I had met him by chance in the small city of Luang Namtha. He was spending his annual vacation with his family in the capital Vientiane. He explained that he often needed a vacation within a vacation; the life in Vientiane was vastly different than the countryside he grew in. He told me he enjoyed the simplicity of northern countryside as well as the reminder of how far Laos needed to come. From Vientiane Laos seemed to be growing like many other developing nations. But in the north the needs of Laos were greatly defined: unpaved roads unusable during the rainy season, children in rice fields rather than schools and live mine remnants of the Vietnamese war.

Tom worked in education and much of his time outside the US involved improving the Laos school system. Over the last few days he had narrated Laos at great lengths, from the birth of civilization on the Mekong to the current administrations grapples with corruption and incompetence. I was happy to meet him early in my trip as I’d underestimated the knowledge of English in Laos. I had entered Laos through southwest China and had found enough Mandarin speaking immigrants and tradesmen to reach easily. However, I did not look forward to education on Laos through the Mandarin language and Tom seemed the perfect guide.
I had rented a motorbike and intended to do a three day swing through the northeast corner of Laos. I had heard of a few noteworthy cities and decided to take my time reaching them, enjoying the freedom of a motorbike. While Tom and I explored the vicinity of Luang Namtha, Tom taught me a few key phrases in Laos but acted mostly as a lingual crutch.

I set off on my bike early in the morning. The road was decently paved and nearly deserted. In my first two hours I passed exactly one truck, it’s bed overloaded with people. The road carved through lush mountains, peaks rising at a sharp angle. Scattered settlements sat along the road, most of them having extended agricultural fields adjacent to them. About a half hour from reaching the nearest town I spotted a man and a women fussing with a motorcycle. Although I have very minimal knowledge of motorycycles, I stopped to see if they needed a hand. The man spoke in a thick Russian accent,
“We have run out of gas.”
We spoke for a while. He periodically stopped and translated in Thai to his wife. He explained he had been living in Thailand for the last 10 year and he and his wife were on holiday. They had rented the motorcycle in Thailand and were on their way back. He said their lack of Laos had made their experience frustrating and preferred their future holidays in Thailand.
“It just really limits our activities. And like now. How am I supposed to convince someone here to help a white man and a Thai women!”
He explained that Laotians weren’t particularly fond of Thais though could be sympathetic to Russians in light of their Cold War support(Laos today remains communist). I offered to siphon some gas into his tank. He seemed delighted but our joy was stopped short by our lack of siphoning tube. We searched through our bags and found nothing. After much discussion we decided only one logical solution: go the nearest home and ask for a tube.

His wife stayed with the bike and our things and we set out to the nearest home. I had just passed some homes a few miles back so I backtracked in that direction. We reached a very modest house with a thatched roof. The man started negotiations in Thai. This reached nowhere. He threw up his hands,
“the languages have some similarities giving you the impression you can use parts interchangeably, but as you see, you can’t."
We then spent the next 10 minutes miming the act of siphoning. Her yard was littered with various piles of trash. Some piles were plastics, wrappers and other highway litter. Other piles were organic and looked something like compost piles. We soon found a straw on the ground and indicated that we sought something like that, only longer. The womens face suddenly beamed; she understood exactly what we needed. She went in her house and returned with a hose perfectly suited for the job. We thanked her profusely(That is one Laos phrase I had mastered). The Russian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife. He motioned for her to take it and now it was her turn to unleash thank you’s. As we headed back to the bike the Russian must have sensed my curiousity,
“In my years I have found that an exchange is much more beneficial and kind than monetary donations…Look how far away this place is. She could really benefit from that knife. If someone gives her money, what is she going to buy? Next time she goes into town she’ll buy some new gadget she’s never seen? And plus, if I give her money she will just go on expecting money everytime.”
I thought, “Well now she’s going to expect quality Russian knife all the time.” I declined to comment as we hopped on the bike. He sounded awfully presumptuous and supposing though I could see his points. If anything I gave him credit for thinking so deeply about it although it looked like he had gotten himself into similar situations as this one before.

Chinese Cartoons

2009-03-02T10:11:00.000-08:00

Chinese Cartoons
I have recently begun to create some Chinese cartoons. Although Chinese characters have roots in "pictograms"(pictures), most characters are phono-semantic compounds. This means one element suggests the meaning, the other pronunciation.

Chinese often view characters as just that, characters. They hold little artistic merit aside from the Roman equivalent of penmanship. However, I am not a Chinese, rather I use it as a second language. So I have created a series of cartoons using Chinese characters, I hope you enjoy them.

This first cartoon is the Chinese character 胆子, the pronunciation is dan zi. This character means roughly "strength" or "bravery". This year will mark the 20th anniversary of June 4th 1989, when the streets of Tiananmen Square ran red...

Cartoon II:
This is the Chinese character "gai" which mean "to change" or "reform". In this cartoon, "改 gai" is rewriting the rules "Hu kou zhi du", which refers to the Maoist system of organizing households as either rural or urban. This can be somewhat analogous to an apartheid systems. This system has negative side effects, especially due to the large numbers of countryside people who move to urban areas, yet have lower quality education, housing and health opportunities.

MUSIC

2009-02-19T11:04:00.000-08:00

I love music. It could possibly be my favorite form of art. The self expression with music can be fused with the group dynamic of several musicians. In the ideal circumstances music can be a seamless expression of several individuals art. Music also has the potential to be combined with poetry. This both combines the power of the words chosen with the instrument of the human voice. I have chosen some songs that I believe to represent the power of music.

1. Espresso- Taraf de Metropulitana
Music of the Balkan Gypsies, this track explodes with the meanest accordian solo I've ever heard. Fast chord and tempo changes along with flawless playing makes this piece a powerful one.
2. Hong Kong Mambo- Tito Puente and His Orchestra
Afro-Latin sound. Heavy rhythms with beautiful melodies played with instruments possessing unique and pleasing timbre.
3. Paradiso- Konono Nr. 1
Rhythm! Straight from the heart of Africa, this piece has spectacular improvisation and enormous energy.
4. Congo Man - Ernest Ranglin
Blending jazz and reggae. This guy is a must hear!
5. The Gumbo Variations- Frank Zappa
Groove based improvisation. Changes in tempo add a lot of energy. Great instrumentation for a unique sound.
6. Cars Trucks and Buses- Phish
This jazz tune has always been one of my favorites. Tight playing combined with tension and release energy carries this song.
7. I Wanna ride you- Medeski Martin and Wood
Bass and drums with some smooth organ playing.
8. Backdrifts- Radiohead
Electronic music showcasing complex sound layers and digital sound.
9. Chamelon- Herbie Hancock
This has one of my all time favorite basslines. Keyboard layers from Herbie Hancock show an innovative range for the time of recording.
10. Taka Sarava-Silvia Torres
She has a beautiful voice that carries this Latin tune. Brazilian Bahia style.

You can download these as a .zip file here...

Sichuan, China: Part I

2009-02-09T11:55:00.000-08:00

成都- Chengdu, China: September 2006

I had been stuck for two months in one of the poorest and polluted provinces in China. I sorely needed a vacation. The air in my residence of Yuncheng was sour with coal. Mass amounts were collected and burned from nearby factories. The air remained a stale yellow tint and obstructed all the nightly stars. A thin layer of black film was present on everything. People didn’t dare sit on any benches without a piece of cardboard between them. After I played basketball my hands would look as if I had finished working in the mines myself. I had attained a bicycle and subsequently stopped riding because the air was hard to breath and irritated my throat. I constantly swept my floor, collecting little piles of black dust, even though I never had my windows open and my house seemed reasonably sealed. I had never seen any wild life except two different species of birds, and even they were rare.

You know those masks you see depicting air pollution in China? They are seriously worn, though not to such an exaggerated way as you might imagine. Students would wear removable sleeves to wrap their forearms. This would prevent the coal dust from the desk from staining their clothes. When I hung my clothes to dry, they frequently needed to be batted off to remove the excess dust. I despised the coal. I tried to think it was various other factors that were making the air quality so bad. It had to be some other air pollutant combined with it…but is that any better? Either way, I decided I needed to get out.

I traveled down to Sichuan, a province renowned for its cultural flavor and spicy food. Geographically it lay on the edge of the Tibetan plateau and I had heard from several friends it had some amazing landscapes. I took the 16.5 hour train ride to the capital of Chengdu. Chengdu was a larger, better organized and cleaner city than Yuncheng. The peoples skin looked darker and they spoke with a different accent, making it near impossible for me to understand. It was still a big city, judged clean only in comparison to Yuncheng and hardly the scenic undisturbed area I was seeking. However, I’d have to stop over here to coordinate transportation to the more remote areas.

I spent the night seeking out some of the world famous Sichuan cuisine. I figured this was the place to get it. I spent a few hours roaming around various cook shops. It was still difficult for me to read any of the menus; my knowledge of Chinese characters was minimal. I didn’t want a huge restaurant; rather I wanted a hole in the wall kind of place. I came upon a restaurant that was sparsely decorated but very clean. It was packed full of Chinese. I figured a small place at capacity had to be a good sign. I took a seat across from a man much older than I and took the menu. The waitress came over and I asked her what the best thing was.

Basically what next happened was a mess of confusion and hilarity that became typical until my knowledge of Chinese improved. When I soon realized I couldn’t understand them I told them my usual “I am not Chinese, I’m American. I only speak a little Chinese” line and they laughed in disbelief. As usual, the laughing turned serious when they realized I wasn’t joking, I actually couldn’t understand what they were saying. They couldn’t grasp that I was not actually Chinese. I mean, I looked Chinese. I spoke some Chinese. But here I was with a plea for help on my face saying “ting bu dong”(I don’t understand) to just about every question coming my way.

However, hand gestures are a very useful tool and I soon agreed on some type of food. I sat there and joked with the man across the table from me who mostly just stared at me, asked me an impossible question, then laughed repeatedly. I ended up getting a mushroom soup that was very spicy and contained an impossible variety of mushrooms. Thin ones, fat ones, brown ones, white ones, far exceeding the variety of mushrooms I previously had thought possible. I was hungry though and it was satisfying. And this was certainly not the only time I sat down to eat in China and the food was bizarre. I mean, how often do you sit down and you’re eating frogs, snakes, dog or pig penis?

I finished up at the restaurant and walked the streets of Chengdu. My hotel was close to the Nan River. There wasn’t exactly a river walk, nor was the water in pristine conditions, but it provided a venue for people to hang out. I saw couples hugging on the railings, mahjong boards busy with gambling, young families walking and old men smoking cigarettes.

Suddenly I began to feel very strange. The night lights seemed to be pulsating and wavering. The rivers flow became increasingly fluid. The feeling of a new, strange place swept over me. This was not the China I had begun to adapt to. This was a bigger city, with different people speaking a different language. For that matter, this was a far cry from my home of America. This city was foreign to me, but the country felt increasingly comfortable. But it all felt a little strange compared to America. So where was I now? And what the hell was I doing?

I wandered around the streets of Chengdu that night. I enjoyed the smells of outdoor cooking markets, the sounds of horns busy in the streets and the faces of the people that passed me by. I thought about my experience here in China. I never thought of being in such a foreign place and being racially disguised so well. Unlike African countries where I was instantly greeted with locked, gazing eyes, here my presence went unnoticed. Yet my eyes were also locked and gazing at the people and the fact its presence went unnoticed felt strange.

Yet I enjoyed it. Cultural standards that Chinese would let pass with a noticeable foreigner I was held accountable for. It helped me learn what Chinese really expect in behavior and manners. Once people know you are a foreigner you are treated differently. Not even necessarily negative, but you have a different standard. So I enjoyed passing under the radar, especially that night in Chengdu.

Sichuan Part II

2009-02-09T11:41:00.000-08:00

Part II
九寨沟- Jiuzhaigou, China: September 2006

I decided to go to a place called Jiuzhaigou. It was high in the mountains in the north of Sichuan. It would require a long buss ride, an estimated 12 hours through winding mountain passes. I figured that was a good sign. I took the first bus out the next morning, leaving at 7am.
The bus was a typical bus and I sat in the very front seat on the passenger side. I sat by the window next to a very old man. He was eating sunflower seeds loudly and reeked of cigarette smoke. The ride was unspectacular in the beginning. We were making good time and I enjoyed looking out at the developing areas bordering the highway. There was a distinct bridge over a river where the scenery went from interesting to spectacular.
The bus was forced to move at a slow pace. Rising switchbacks eventually made me a bit carsick. Deep valleys dropped off to one side. Buddhist shrines lined the roads and Tibetan prayer flags hung high on the mountainsides. We passed through a few villages and children on horses clogged the road. What a traffic jam! Passengers continually got off the bus and I realized the last stop for this bus was the city closest to Jiuzhaigou but most of the people used it to reach their homes en route. Unfortunately this was not the case for my neighbor. He snored loudly, used his sharp elbows and routinely attempted to smoke cigarettes, sometimes successfully. He did not seem interested in my small talk and carried with him a clothe sack that reeked of fish.
The ride continued into the mountains until darkness came. Now I could see only small patches of coniferous trees and dense growth. Our bus finally pulled into Jiuzhaigou at 10pm, 15 hours after leaving Chengdu.
Jiuzhaigou National Park has an interesting layout. It encompasses an area of 72,000 hectares and elevations ranging between 1,990m (6,529 feet) to 4,764m (15,630 feet). It has two main sections and you can take a bus that stops at the different attractions. The bus runs like a shuttle and arrives/leaves the attractions every 20 minutes or so. There are also nine Tibetan communities nestled throughout the land, some of them developed for tourism and others in relative isolation.
When I ventured into the park area I realized that nearly all the visitors were Chinese. Many people told me this park is very famous in China and due to the remoteness it possesses a romantic spirit(Chinese are suckers for that kind of thing). I noticed that people almost exclusively used the bus system. The park contained wooden walkways throughout the whole park and you could essentially walk the whole thing. I was in no hurry at all and figured as long as it took me so long to reach here, I might as well stretch it out for all its worth.
I enjoyed the boardwalks. Due to the fact that most tourists took the bus system, I was virtually alone. The landscape was amazing, unlike anything I’d ever seen before. There was evidence of logging on some of the hillsides but most of it remained undisturbed. I strolled into one of the Tibetan settlements in relative isolation. The area was sparsely populated with a seemingly “public” and “private” area. The public area had several people in traditional wear and many had stands with various crafts. The private area behind them was a collection of decent housing containing nothing out of the ordinary. People wore simple clothes and sewed crafts and prepared food. One women approached me and asked me if I was interested in a tour or crafts. I told her no thanks but she continued to ask me questions. Her Chinese had a thick accent, different from the Sichuan dialect and the dialect I had become accustomed to. I finally told her I’m not Chinese but I’m American and I was interested in the differences between Han Chinese and Tibetan Chinese life. She immediately gave me a suspicious look and said the Han had meddled in this area for a long time. The women looked older than 50 and she said when she was younger she rarely remembered any incidences with foreigners. She said when the Chinese came they logged much of the area they considered sacred. She told me the land had powerful religious beliefs but since tourisms arrival the children seem less interested in their history and more interested in making money.
Our conversation soon drew some bystanders. An old man joined us and offered his take on things. I explained to them that I wasn’t Chinese and I had never known much about China. I told them many people in America think China and Tibet are different so I wanted to know what they thought. They man and women were carefully selective in their responses but the overall feeling was “Everything was fine until the Chinese came, and now things are changing”. The conversation was drawn out due to translation issues but they admitted the positive changes of Chinese interaction: more education and opportunities, better connectivity to the interior for trading, and protection against illegal logging(ironically the Chinese government were the “illegal loggers” they remembered). Although our conversation was interesting, I still felt I was missing something. Perhaps because of translation, perhaps their reluctance to open up to a stranger, perhaps my overly inquisitive attitude…either way, I felt like they wanted to say more.
I thanked them for talking with me and I also told them it was the most beautiful place I had ever been(true). I told them that I looked forward to going to their homeland of Tibet and learning more about their culture.

Chilean Adventures

2009-01-20T11:46:00.000-08:00

Icalma, Chile: December 2007

While in my first year in graduate school, I was fortunate enough to receive a grant to research in Chile. I had made a link with a Chilean working on ecotourism in the south of Chile and he requested assistance in proper sustainable development. I was excited to work directly with a community though I knew very little Spanish and even less about Chile.

I arrived in the small village of Icalma at the onset of spring. It was a sharp contrast to the modernity I had seen on my voyage through the rest of Chile. The village of Icalma was a semi-autonomous Mapuche area in Region IX. The Mapuche are the largest indigenous group in South America. The village sat high in the Andes, so high in fact that travel was impossible during the winter months. The boarder of Argentina lay 2km away and the nearest modern grocery store was two hours west. I only saw two cars the entire time I was there: the car that picked me up and a large flatbed truck used to transport fertilizer. Donkeys and bicycles were sparsely scattered throughout the dirt roads.

I enjoyed my research in Icalma. I was the first “white” person the majority of these people had met. Icalma only contained about 50 households so it was possible to interview everyone. The people enjoyed having their opinion sought and stated it was the first time anyone had ever asked them about the development in the area. The hospitality was amazing, with people offering what little they had to their strange guests. Freshly baked bread and mate accompanied almost every interview. I had a horse as my primary transportation as the houses were spaced quite far apart. One house in particular fascinated and humbled me.

Far on the outskirts of the village there was a single home surrounded by vast unkempt farmland. Myself, my translator, and my translator’s translator (for Mapudungun language) approached the house. Two women met as at the door and seemed skeptical of our presence. We explained what we were doing and immediately their hesitancy disappeared and was replaced with welcoming smiles.

We were invited in and took seats on their makeshift furniture of tree stumps, dilapidated plastic chairs and wooden benches. Two small children greeted us with shyness characteristic of all children their age. Our translator spoke to the women exclusively in Mapudungun. I stared around the room at the coal stove, aged furniture and other items in their house. It did not have electricity nor did it have running water. After a few minutes our translator told us that they spoke very little Spanish. We in turn apologized for not speaking Mapudungun (as we did at almost every household).

I was excited that I could be more involved in the interview as it was easier to speak to a non native Spanish speaker. I asked them several icebreaker questions about their life. They said they had lived there as long as they could remember. They were caring for their grandchildren while their children sought money and success in Chile’s cities. Their tone of speech was absent of resentment, one thing I found disturbing through many of my previous interviews. They spoke of an early simple life of farming and subsistence living. They enjoyed sewing and other textile work. They had grown old now(they couldn’t remember exactly how old they were) and their many physical ailments prevented them from doing much work. They received a stipend from the government that they felt was too small. They told me that they had to travel to Icalama to get it, something that was becoming more and more difficult. Aside form this they said their life was fine and they neither were encouraging or discouraging about tourism. “Mas o menos”(more or less) dominated their responses when I asked them questions to gauge their attitude.

This household was by far the least influenced by western values and development. They were very little use to my actual academic study but provided a look into humility and modesty unparalleled. Physically, mentally and financially suffering, they used the opportunity of talking with a western development worker by simply saying “todo bien”(everythings good).

I snapped a picture of us and sent a copy back to them. I'm not sure if it ever reached. I like that this picture captures their height(I'm 5'7''), their mismatching shoes and my dirty pants from the horse ! The women also declined to have their pictures taken but with encouragement agreed. They retreated to their rooms to dress and comb their hair.

Picture of Picture

2009-01-07T09:45:00.000-08:00

My friend sent me a few pictures of myself taking pictures. Although I usually don't find much interest in these pictures, I decided to look and see if i could locate the picture of the picture. So here they are. The one on the top is in West Lake, Hangzhou, China and the one on the bottom is of nearby Longjing Tea Garden in China.

Cooking with Wood

2008-10-27T12:57:00.000-07:00

Ampento, Ghana: October 2005
Ghana really opened my eyes to a lot of things. It was my first time being out of the country by myself for a significant amount of time. At one point I was living in the tiny village of Ampemento(I'd guess 200 people max).

I was living with a host family in a very modest home. We rarely had electricity and only a few months ago was a pump installed in the community. Before this people told me they would have to walk from the river with their water(at least 5km away). Walking from the pump to my house proved to be a difficult task for me, even though it was a modest 400m away.

I was constantly humbled by the community. The house I stayed in had about 7 people from the ages of 3 to 70+. The house was made of cement and had two rooms. During the time I was there I stayed in one of them. I ensured them that it would be alright if someone stayed with me and I felt extremely guilty taking up so much space. My invitation was politely declined by them numerous times.

We had a small building outside of the house used for slaughtering animals and cooking. The building was poorly ventilated and smoke billowed out with the constant activity of cooking. Whenever I entered the room I always felt my throat and lungs assaulted with smoke. A close look at the walls show what kind of effect this smoke can have. The floor was dirt and chickens would come look for food whenever it was empty of people. The World Health Organization estimates that the indoor air pollution of smoky huts exceeds by a factor of sixty the European Unions standard maximum for outdoor air pollution! It was difficult for me to comprehend the consequences from this. Acute respiratory infection is not something developing countries deal with. Could I really imagine my lungs filling with pus, followed by infection and probable death? How do we combat this? Certainly it is unrealistic for these people to buy a stove, the gas for the stove, etc. Farming with firewood is the only life these people have ever known.

Sometimes I felt like I never thanked these people enough for hosting me and taking care of me. But I know that they were just living their lives as they always had and never had to do anything special to accommodate me. I thought about their comments regarding the pump. They said it was brought in recently by a German aid organization and this simple installment had changed the lives of the entire village. People said they could now spend less time gathering water and more time developing their trade. My neck constantly ached from bringing water back for me to bathe with and I could not imagine having to walk from the river with it.

Diamonds are Forever

2008-10-16T12:31:00.000-07:00

Cambodia February 2006

I had recently arrived in the small town Ban Lung. I had heard some things about a nearby national park and the western part of Cambodia felt exciting and authentic. Roads were unpaved, potholed and dissected farming communities and deforested areas.

I had spoken with a Cambodian at my hotel about various nearby attractions. He was young and had been trained in British English. This would not be entirely uncommon except he spoke with a near impeccable British accent. He had directed me the day before to a small lake, Yak Lom, created by a meteor blast. It was a beautiful lake almost perfectly circle in size and only locals eating, swimming and generally relaxing.

When I was chatting with him over morning tea I remembered hearing something of diamond mines in this area. I asked him about this and he immediately got a little uncomfortable. He said he had heard of somewhere but it was far away and probably not worth going to. I prodded him some more but it was obvious he didn't want to disclose this information to me. I decided to ask other people in the area, hoping someone could point me in the right direction. I began to think that I would even be willing to pay someone to take me there. Why had my friend been so uncomfortable with this destination? He insisted it was just because there were so many other interesting things to do in the area.

I eventually found someone at the market who drew me a rough map to my destination. It was certainly far from here and although I don't speak much Khmer, it looked as if the person was a little worried about me finding the place. The map was very well drawn with various landmarks to help me from getting lost. I packed a day pack, filled up a bottle with gasoline(just in case) and headed out on my motorbike.

The roads were basic dirt roads and the landscape was unspectacular. The bush was deep and I only saw one truck in the time I had been riding. About an hour into the ride the landscape started to change. There were more plantation like farms and the land was organized and managed in a way I had not seen since leaving Phnom Penh(the capital). I stopped in the middle of a rubber plantation and looked around. The rubber trees obscured the sunlight and stretched on as far as I could see. The air had gotten cooler and the silhouettes of the trees made me feel a bit uneasy. I snapped a photo and continued.

I'm not sure how much time passed before I reached a small clearing giving way to the diamond mines. I was excited to arrive but immediately depressed. Although Cambodia had some of the worst poverty I had seen, these mines looked miserable. All of the people seemed to be older and frail looking. I saw about 40 people sifting through the water with very dodgey looking screens. As soon as I came over the clearing a man came over to me yelling in Khmer. I explained that I wasn't Cambodian nor could I really speak Khmer. He told me in English "You should leave here, this is a private mine. There are mines for tourists but not here". I debated arguing with him but I decided rural Cambodia was not the best place to get in an argument. By now some of the workers had dropped their pans and were staring at us. He turned around and shouted something in Khmer and turned back to me. "You should leave". And I did.

I will probably think twice about buying diamonds in the future.

The Fruit that Grows

2008-10-07T12:23:00.001-07:00

Something unique for me here in Jamaica is the abundance of wild grown fruit and vegetables. I would say that wild fruits and vegetables are about 25% of my food consumption and will only rise as I become more knowledgeable in locations of trees, preparation of food, etc.

One of my absolute favorites is breadfruit. It is an awesome tree; one of the highest yielding fruit trees in the world. It was originally imported from the Philippines and used for food on the plantations. The tree grow very tall and are constantly fruiting. I'm still learning about how to prepare breadfruit but I mainly pick it when it looks like the picture above. It gets slightly brown but is still hard. The brown comes from fluid that is discharged from the stem and subsequently gathers dirt. Jamaicans call this "fit" breadfruit. Now everyone has their different way to prepare it so I'll just share mine.

I will cut off the stem and leave it out overnight to "drain". This will give the breadfruit a fuller flavor. You can also let the breadfruit get "sweet" by waiting until it "turns"(ripens). You have to be very careful or else the breadfruit will be overripe as it tends to turn quickly. If you fry it at this stage the breadfruit will be a bit sweeter.

The next day I will prepare a fire, slice an X on the bottom of the breadfruit and literally put the breadfruit in the fire. No need fro any racks or grills. The breadfruit will roast for about 20 minutes, having to be turned periodically. You can tell its ready to eat when it is a little soft. When it is done roasting you let it cool and then peel off the skin. You can then remove the seed in the center and enjoy!

But my favorite way to eat breadfruit is frying it. After roasting let it sit in the fridge for a day. I'm not sure why but people claim that if you roast it and then fry it immediately, its not as good. So you let it sit in there for a day and then you fry it up in a pan of oil. Lightly salt...yes sir! Very good with ackee and saltfish or guacomole.

Olympic Faith

2008-09-01T09:55:00.000-07:00

Beijing, China: May 2008

I knew the Olympics were not all good. I had lived in China and educated myself decently on Chinese developments. Although my friends in China know I am harsh, they also know the frustrations do not grow unwarranted. They too have experienced the consequences of political misjudgments, though they have been raised to obey the orders of the Peoples National Party and never stray too far from the status quo. For that I can not blame them, as the propaganda is efficient and abundant. The power of nationalism should never be underestimated(for my country the blindness of 9/11).

As the Olympics geared up, I left China. I suddenly got to watch the developments through the eyes of the western media. The media frequently cited China’s development problems but then backlash that the media was “beating up” on China would result in more positive themed news. I began to see AP news reports that cited “Xinhua News”(official government press agency) and I knew these reports were skewed. Statistics are always manipulated and the deaths are not always reported.

When I went to visit my American friend and his Chinese wife in Yuncheng, I talked with them about the recent Sichuan earthquake. They had felt the damage and their new apartment complex had cracks in it. They all said they felt the sway and some buildings were seriously damaged. While alone my friend Andrew and I talked seriously about the earthquake, the Olympics and politics. He said they were watching a program days before the quake about a massive amount of frogs that were running loose in Sichuan province. They were interviewing poor farmers about the phenomena. They asked them if this could be predicting a bizarre weather pattern or any other superstitions. The farmer looked at the camera and exclaimed that the frogs were running toward Beijing for the Olympics!, smiling with their five tooth grin after.

Life Philosophy

2008-09-01T08:07:00.001-07:00

I often find myself thinking of the incredibly dynamic human mind. The ultimate potential has always intrigued me and I struggle to define “transcendence”. I believe this term is interpreted in infinite ways depending on what medium you analyze it with. Some people believe in the traditional monotheistic image of transcendence, in which the commands of God are to guide our behavior. I however, reject all forms of institutionalized methods because I believe transcendence is intangible. It is impossible to define yet different people and cultures have carved their own definitions. I also believe that transcendence is impossible to achieve yet we strive for it. I believe that people struggle to even define what it is they are looking for; it is essentially uncertain in context yet demanded. Rejecting institutional methods does not discredit them, rather strict and narrow minded approaches are.

Breadfruit Man

2008-08-17T11:40:00.000-07:00

Kingston, Jamaica: August 2008

Jamaica celebrates Independence Day on August 6th. This years celebration was especially exciting due to the renewed Grand Gala at the National Stadium in Kingston. Apparently this event had gone on in the past but in recent years had not been running.

As we arrived at the stadium we were all a little hungry and thirsty. There were various vendors outside and we were told that we could not buystuff inside(at least not freshly cooked jerk chicken and red stripe). I also wanted to separate myself a little bit from our massive group. We had 50 people there and as I'm sure you can imagine, we stuck out just a little bit. Somehow I ended up with my friends Dave and Molly as the start time was approaching. We found the gate of the stadium and joined the unorganized line of about 50 people. We were somewhere near the back and the heat was stifling. After about 10 minutes the gate finally opened. We did our best to push our way to the front but within minutes the gate was closing again! A boyish looking security guard attempted to close off the gate as people climbed the fence nearby. I was a little confused so I asked the people around me what was going on. They said that everyone here had tickets but the stadium was at full capacity!

So my friends and I backed out of the line and regrouped. We thought that the lines would ease up and not require us to act so fanatical in hopes of gaining entry. We easily decided on another round of beers while we checked some other gates as well. Of course, the other gates were just as bad if not worse. We walked around a little more and ran into two more of our friends. They were tired and rejected as well. Now it got easier to agree on another round, watching it from the TV's outside and soaking up the atmosphere.

It was a nice event and had a real family feel. Jamaicans are extremely proud of their country and this is especially evident on Independence Day. I kicked around a little bit and eventually found a hat on the ground. Now, normally(though some would argue) I don't pick up things I've found on the ground and put them on my head. But, this hat was a little special. It was designed like a visor but had the headpiece of a breadfruit. Now, a breadfruit is a starchy food that falls from a tree and is one of my favorites. The combination of my favorite new food, bizarre style of the hat and beers in my stomach made me grab the hat immediately.

The night continued in a normal fashion. We had to wait a few hours for our friends to get out of the show and in the mean time we chatted with some people, mostly all from Kingston. People laughed at my hat, especially when I told them I preferred it "day after" fried with ackee and saltfish(standard Jamaican food). I would conclude from my loose research that most Jamaicans do indeed love breadfruit, though a small portion highly dislike it.

The next day I had to return to Ocho Rios. I was sitting in the back on the wheel well, one of my least favorite spots. I also had unknowingly dropped my backpack in gum and had since gotten it all over my shirt and pants. There were 4 doctors in training behind me from Peru, Colombia and Mexico. They were all coming to a seminar in Ocho Rios. A women beside me had bought out two extra seats to hold her produce that she planned to sell in Ocho Rios market. A chinese shop keeper, Liu, came in late and squeezed in.

As extremely uncomfortable as I was, I really wanted to read a newspaper. I am still trying to become familiar with the Jamaican journalism. I had a window seat and I popped my head out asking anyone if they had the Gleaner. A man selling dough nuts came up to me and he said "hey mon, i know you"
"really? you sure"
"yes i recognize you from last night...breadfruit man"