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Life After Race

2009-09-09T06:41:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: Just wanted to say thanks to my sister for reminding me that I need to continue to express myself. Hopefully this will spark a few more blog postings, and maybe I will get the bug again.

Imagine a world where you are not judged by the color of your skin; a world where you do not perceive the world through your cultures tumultuous history; a world where your interactions are free of the skepticism and paranoia that accompanies discrimination, whether overt or subtle.

I am not speaking of the future, or of a Utopia, but of place here and now in this crazy world. It was not until my sister came over to visit, from America, that I realized how much I have drifted in an area that used to be very central to my existence, race relations. Not long after getting off the plane, my sister was inquiring about the number of blacks in the country, or on the “black” behavior of young girls in the mall. Over the next few days, other racially tinted issues were raised, such as “did he treat me like that because I am black?” or “I wonder if anyone out here can do my hair?” All of this led me to an undeniable conclusion; we were living in two very different places in the world. My sister was coming the UNITED States of America, where racial tensions are an every day occurrence, and I was coming from a newly acquired mindset of living in Qatar, a very literal melting pot of cultures.

I can very confidently say that Qatar is not a racist place. Come to think about it, I have not really given much thought at all to my race since being here. The one exception to this was with my relationship with Inna. As a Russian-born, Canadian-raised women who would be considered “white” in most circles (and virtually all circles of America), my relationship to her did bring to mind some of those very-American concerns related to inter-racial dating. But beyond that, I can firmly say that for the past year, I have not lived life as a black man. I have simply lived life as a man. Most understand the difference, but just to make it clear: in the USA, everything from your diet, friends, religion, love life, education and culture has a direct tie to your racial background (not always, but most times. Because of this, outsiders and insiders tend to stereotype about racial groups, and the inevitable clustering of like-minded people begins. This all leads to the segregated nature of even modern America. Thus, minorities tend to define themselves by their culture/race just as often (or more frequently) as they judge themselves by sex or profession. So in America, I saw myself as a black man, and in Qatar that title no longer applies. I do hope your instinct is to applaud this shift, because it is a truly wonderful transformation.

So what it is it about Qatar that promotes such racial ambiguity? It could be the wealth that promotes equality. After all there is generally enough money that everyone here tends to be making a better living than they could elsewhere. It could be the history, or rather lack thereof. Not only does Qatar have a relatively simple history, but its history is riddled with international collaboration rather than exploitation. It could be the culture, which is dominated by the religion of Islam. It can’t be denied that the true teachings is Islam mandates acceptance and respect of all people. And if could be the demographics. There is no real majority/minority here when you consider the population and the dependency of each group (age, race, nationality, wealth, etc.) to another. It is probably a mix of all these things and more, but the result is a world where race has yet to come up as an issue. (NOTE: I would like to point out that my or anyone else’s race is only commented on in a negative way from my fellow Americans. The worse part is that there often seems to be a sense of pride in the practice).

Before you all pack up your bags and move to Qatar, I will tell you that human nature is a very creative force. Qatar may not be full of racist, but it is full of other things. You see, Qatar probably gets away with not judging people on race because the pigeonhole them by any number of other ways. In Qatar you are most likely to be judged first by your nationality (distinct from race): says a lot about why you are in the country, what you earn, what you can get away with and what you are interested in; then your religion: no one will come out and ask you what you are, but there is no denying that Muslims tend to live a different lifestyle in this Muslim country than those of different faiths; next would be income: in this materialistic and money drenched country, your purchasing power is usually advertised to the world by the sound of your exhaust pipe or the sparkly things adorning your body; and I mention this one last, but it might not be least, your sex: the Middle East and its Islamic persuasion is notorious for its controversial differences between women and men. I for one can say that Qatar appears to be a bright example for the rest of the Gulf and region concerning the treatment of women and the opportunities provided to them. It is certainly not perfect, but I want to give the country its due credit for its progressive policies.

So in the end, is it really that different than what I am used to? After all, I just gave a slew of things that are stereotyped in Qatar. Is it much better to just parcel out race as one? I emphatically say yes. I cannot speak to other countries or for other individuals, but the contrast between America and the Middle East (as a whole) has been wonderfully refreshing in the context of race relations. Maybe in time, I will grow just as offended at being boxed in as “American” as I once was at being “Black,” but so far I have been much more welcoming of my supposed love of fireworks, freedom and guns than I have been of my assumed love of basketball, watermelon and well… guns. We shall see.

One things for certain, my expectations have been raised and its going to be hard to settle for less.

Bye Bye Dubai

2009-05-31T01:55:00.000-07:00

Living in Qatar certainly has some drawbacks, but one plus that greatly outweighs the negatives is the easy access to travel destinations. Inna and I recently returned from a very relaxing and enjoyable weekend trip to Dubai. The purpose of the trip was partially to go somewhere new, but mostly to just get away and shake things up a bit. Dubai seemed like a perfect choice, especially considering the fact that a Qatari friend of ours (who knows Dubai fairly well) offered to be a tour guide.

We met new people, went out on the town, relaxed by the beach, skied indoors and had some decent meals… all of which contributing to the contentment of the vacation. It was not until the last day that I realized that I did not like Dubai. I am a firm believer in having fun wherever you are and that fact sometimes dulls your ability to really see a place for what it is. This feeling happened last with Las Vegas, and now again with Dubai; I was having too much fun with the people and the idea of ‘vacation’ to realize that the setting was offensive.

It hit me as we were walking through the Mall of the Emirates. It began as a very small feeling of revulsion and worked its way to the verbal conclusion that “I find it offensive that so much space is dedicated to retail”. It was not until later that I realized that the ‘space’ I was referring to was not just the mall, but the entire city. The theme of the entire city seemed to be excess: If you have more money than you know what to do with, come to Dubai… we can help. I don’t expect many people to find that offensive, but I do, and it all boils down to my personal beliefs. I likened it in my mind to a devout Christian visiting Saudi Arabia. There is nothing inherently offensive about Saudi Arabia, but due to the Christians belief system, he or she may find the place offensive.

I feel very strongly against excess, greed, and materialism. These things simply rub me the wrong way. In normal life, and in normal places, I don’t take much notice of it because it is a part of a normal spectrum. In Dubai, it is the norm, it is everywhere, and it eventually overwhelmed me like a rising tide.

I don’t particularly blame Dubai for its character, as Inna pointed out, it’s their way of surviving, but I do find that it goes against what I have come to believe as ‘right’. This was more of a personal revelation than any condemnation of Dubai. Where some people stay away from countries with rampant poverty, because they find the sights unsettling/disturbing/offensive, I should stay away from locations of extravagance and excess.

PS… My dislike of excess and extravagance comes from the simple fact that we have too few resources to waste it on “the world’s tallest building” or (in the states) the five pound burger. My frugality reflects this viewpoint, although many aspects of my life probably conflict with the idea… after all, who defines excess.

Man vs. Wild… Wild Wins

2009-05-21T01:02:00.000-07:00

It seems every time I leave the comforts of metropolitan Doha for the wilderness of the Qatari desert, something memorable inevitably occurs. These situations tend not to be pleasurable, in the true sense of the word, but they certainly build character. This past weekend was no exception.

Prior to the heat becoming unbearable, a group of friends and I decided to make one more foray into the desert. It was to be a relatively small group, nine people in three cars, and all spirits were high. Outside of Inna’s friend Mia that decided to come (on her first camping trip in life), everybody knew each other and almost all were looking forward to some fun in the sun.

The trip to the desert had its share of events (failed dune crossings, failing 4WD, aimless searching for the “perfect” camping spot) but was overall fairly routine. Driving for miles in the desert is bound to have some incidents mostly centered on being lost. One highlight of note involved Ben (driving a Jeep like mine… except with power windows) and a river crossing. Let’s just say that you can’t judge the depth of water very well until you are in it. Luckily for all, he got to the other side without flooding his engine. In short though, the trip there was pleasant. Once there we did what desert campers do, set up tents, played in the water, drank beers, cooked BBQ and played around the campfire. All in all a good time. That was all to change by morning.

Besides having some personal problems in the night, leaving me and my missus with some animosity, the physical conditions had deteriorated quite rapidly. On the way to the Inland Sea (the camping site) the worst thing we had to deal with was 46C/114F degree heat but it seemed on the way back we would have to survive a sand storm. I slept in my car and I could feel the wind shaking the car just standing still, attempting to crest dunes in those winds was going to take some marbles.

Unfortunately we were going to postpone those worries for a while. One of the cars, a Mitsubishi Pajero, was having some difficulties in the dunes on the way here and today was no different. As we were situated in a valley, we had to drive up a dune just to get out of our camping site. These dunes were not very steep, but for some reason this car was having no luck on its several efforts to climb the hill. It was not long before someone came up with the brilliant idea of trying to tow the Pajero up the dune. Hint: Towing is usually done with stationary (i.e. stuck) vehicles. So they attach the tow rope and the Jeep and the lagging Pajero speed up the dune face. It seemed that this was the one time that the Pajero decided to sprint because it ended up coming even with the Jeep running over the tow rope in the process. When a rope comes in contact with a spinning object, bad things usually happen. In this case, the tow rope wrapped around the axle of the Pajero and drew taught, springing the two cars together like it was a rubber band between them. Luckily there was no collision, but the Pajero now had a whole set of new problems… like the thick rope now coiled around its axle.

I am observing all of this from the bottom of the dune, and it plays out predictably. When the rope catches the axle it is more unfortunate than surprising. I continue to sit back in the car while they spend the next twenty minutes unraveling the rope. Luckily there appeared to be no damage to the axle/struts/suspension and the Pajero was free. Its next job was to back down the dune and try to crest the hill again. The Pajero backs down the dune alright… right into the ocean. This all happens slowly and painfully as well, here I am in the Jeep watching as our friend helplessly slides towards the water. In a matter of seconds his previously dry Pajero is now two wheels underwater. The car was somehow still on (as was evident by the bubbling exhaust, but the car was still sinking deeper into the water. Thus prompting the use of the just freed tow rope, yet again. Soon the Jeep is at work again towing the Pajero, but this time with much success. Danny (the Pajero driver) opens his car door to release the flood of sea water and mutters several phrases that captures our perils thus far. The good news is that his engine did not flood, the bad news was that his electrical system got pretty screwed up leaving his horn constantly blaring (which was fixed with a yank of the fuse).

The Pajero finally crosses the dune and we are on our way… except no one can tell which way that is. Visibility in the sand storm was terrible and we were leaving a different way than we came in. Regardless, we keep moving and eventually come across what was unmistakably a trail. We follow this trail and all of a sudden things start to look really familiar. Soon we are faced with a terrifying sight, the dune bowl that we got stuck in for HOURS on our very first camping trip. Sufficiently scared, we turn back around and abandon the path. We decide that we should take a road on the other side of the dune that appears to bypass our problems. **This was about the time we put on the Gospel music in the car in hopes that God will save us.** So we head to this new road and continue heading North, or what we guess to be north. It was not long before we were more like the Israelites in the Desert than a caravan headed home. Lost and hopeless we began to look for signs of other people. Eventually we see a couple of guys fishing and we ask for help. Evidently they did not speak English, but they could draw a map in the sand with no-problems. Following that map was another deal.

Whether the map was wrong or we got lost, we were soon in places that we clearly did not want to be. We all found ourselves in what can best be described as stinky quicksand. This whole time we had been driving through sand and mud and everything in-between, but this stuff was different. It smelled like Sulfur-laced-poo and had a sandy surface that yielded to a muck-like dark soil the color of petroleum. My Qatari friend later told me that it indeed does yield oil and that you don’t want to drive in it. He also explained why it was that we all got stuck (yes all three of us got stuck) the way we did. He said you never follow each other if you find yourself in that stuff because one car will destroy the soil’s rigidity making it harder for the driver behind to follow. This would explain why the first car (Ben’s Jeep) got stuck towards the end of this field, the Pajero got stuck in the middle of the field, and I, who happened to be eating a Banana at the time, got stuck in the beginning.

There seems to be two types of stuck in the desert. One is when the car’s wheels are spinning but the surface is so loose that you don’t move. Typically this results in huge amount of sand getting kicked into the air by the spinning wheels… which leads to the second kind of stuck. The second comes when the wheels are so buried in the frictionless material that the wheels no longer have the ability to spin. This is the worst place to be. That was my situation. By the time I gave up and got out of the car, the bottom of the Jeep was sitting on the mud with the wheels buried nearly up to the hub. Walking to the Pajero revealed that he was in a similar situation but his muck was much dirtier and slimy than the stuff I was stuck in. Ben, the first car, had already freed himself but was not going to risk coming back into this trap. For the next twenty minutes or so, we pushed, pulled, and rocked the Pajero until we were satisfied that the task was pointless. I asked for Danny’s portable shovel and headed back to my vehicle to dig my car out of its mess. About the time that I had exhausted myself, the other folks came and took over the digging effort. Between Inna digging with her hands and everyone else alternating with the shovel, we had Jerry the Jeep fairly excavated.

I hopped in the Jeep and floored it, to no avail. The tires were spinning but we were still going nowhere. But with everyone pushing, me flooring the gas, and with the technique of violently turning the wheels back and forth, the Jeep jumped out of the rut and I was able to guide it onto more solid earth. While all this was happening we had our real miracle. The girls spotted a Qatari guy in the distance and were able to signal for him to help us. He left briefly to get some extra supplies but came back and set to work freeing our last vehicle. To do so, he wanted to use my recently freed truck, to which the girls gladly agreed. I find out about this as he is walking to my truck clearly intending to drive it back into this muck. I should note that this guy was driving a huge Chevy Silverado with duelies (four rear wheels instead of two) which would easily tow all three of us out of our current mess… but I understand not wanting to risk getting your truck stuck for some strangers. Anyways, so we get to the truck about the same time, and I basically try and test the idea of me driving and him directing me. He quickly shot that idea down (in broken English) by saying that he had been doing this his whole life and that we clearly had no idea what we were doing. So, convinced, I give him the keys and he starts making his way through the muck. It was a good thing he took the keys because I would have either tipped my truck, gotten stuck or just been too afraid to attempt the stuff he did in getting to Danny’s Pajero. Eventually we get there, narrowly drive around Danny’s car, and park close enough to attach the tow ropes.

Up to this point he has been telling me how crappy my Jeep is and that it has no muscles. Once we attach the tow rope and give a pull on Danny’s car his insults became more severe. Our initial efforts to tow the Pajero left his car unmoved and my wheels spinning. Time for plan B. This involved backing up and essentially “jerking” the Pajero out of the mud. So he backs up close to the Pajero, gains speed and eventually the tow rope becomes taught. This violently shakes both cars (feel sorry for whoever buys my Jeep) but it does the job. The Pajero is free and we made it out of our predicament.

We were still far from home and the sand storm was still in full force. This trip would be far from over if it was not for the continued generosity of this Qatari. He volunteered to drive us all the way to Sealine (where the road to civilization begins again) and we gladly accepted. I can confidently say that it would have taken us all day to get out of there without him, but he got us back in about 30-45 min. We barely got his business card before he sped off, leaving as if he did this kind of thing for a living.

Tired and exhausted, we re-inflated our tires (you let the mostly out in the dunes) and drove back to Doha. The road was long and my car had developed the violent shakes from all the crapt stuck to the tire and underbody, but we made it home. We survived after all.

Still want to go camping?

Our Idiocracy

2009-04-21T05:15:00.000-07:00

I am only half-way through reading the article on the Somali pirate that was recently brought to the US, but I have heard enough. All I can do is laugh at this unintentional joke, because to take it seriously is just impossible. I don’t even know where to begin… oh let me count the ways:

1) You can’t charge a pirate with treason: Similar to the Europeans who charged the pirates off their coast with Treason, the charges her are equally preposterous. A pirate has no loyalty, and no law… that’s why they call themselves pirates. So charging them with Treason is a farce, but that is not the point of the charge now is it. The point of the charge is to have an excuse to get rid of one more pirate.

2) Is your goal to reduce the number of pirates?: Assuming that the intent is to lessen the number of pirates, you have to ask if this is effective. Pirates most likely arise from desperation and a lack of oversight of a host nation. Occasionally there might be some pirates who just want to be pirates for the sake of being a badass. Whether its desperation or bloodlust, death or being flown to the US is not exactly a deterrent. In my books death by starvation is worse than death on the high seas in search of riches.

3) Isn’t he supposed to be punished? This kid (and we will get to his kid/adult status next) has just been flown to the US. I am sorry but this is a little bit like Elian Gonzales barrel ride to the US from Cuba. They both are here through a tragedy and they both find themselves in a situation much better than they left. The Somali kid is probably confused but also just as excited at this celebrity treatment he is receiving. I bet those prison overalls are a lot more comfy than his pirates outfit. Who knows, maybe if we tell every pirate in Somalia that “You had better stop misbehaving or we will fly you to the US and feed you three times a day!” we will have a lot less pirates, but I have my doubts.

4) What the hell are we going to do with him? So they already have this kids mother screaming to have him returned (understandably) because according to her he is just a sixteen year old who got wrapped up in the wrong crowd. Sixteen? I thought the news said he was “at least 18”, surely they must know right? Of course, the kid always travels with his birth certificate… of course they have no idea how old he is but they need him to be “at least 18” so they can legally fry (I mean try) his black a**. So we will bring this 16 year old kid (forgive me for believing the mother on this one) who speaks no English and has no legal representation to the US and we will make a show out of him for all of the Americans demanding revenge for this injustice in some part of the world they can’t even point out on a map.

I find this whole incident to be so upsetting. Is pirating wrong, yea. But I also think shooting three people who are drifting in the open sea with no food or water is also wrong. True these pirates had a hostage and guns, but they were on the verge of realizing their situation was hopeless. But they did not shoot these guys because it was right, they shot them because it was convenient… because they did not want to have to do what they have done now… bring a random Somali kid to the US for a farce trial. So Anthony, in all your wisdom, what should we have done? Well if you insist on doing something, reprimand him to his own Government. Wait, Somalia has no government? True but not true, they have no national government but there is local government and there are also neighbor states (Ethiopia, Eritrea) who could be coerced *cough* Cash *cough* into handling the case on behalf of the US since both of these governments have served as interim governments for Somalia. All I know is that I would have let the kid go before I stretch the law to extradite the guy. You must remember that we intervened in order to save an American life not punish or exterminate the life of the offenders.

Words of Wisdom: Pirates in Somalia will persist as long as it is beneficial for them to do so. Shooting them seems to be a reasonable deterrent, shipping them to the US, not so much. The real answer though is promoting a government in the country and alleviating some of the poverty that drives this desperation. If it was me, I would gladly hijack the oil tanker cruising off the coast of my country if the alternative was worrying about how I was going to eat for the rest of my life, and I think that until you change the options you are going to get people acting in the same way.

Somebody Help Me Out Here

2009-04-13T05:43:00.001-07:00

“I do not ask for this support lightly. These are challenging times, and resources are stretched. But the American people must understand that this is a down payment on our own future.” - President Obama

When I first read this quote, I thought it a poignant reference to the bailout funds or to our investments in the stimulus packages, but I was surprised to learn the quote referred to President Obama’s decision to deploy 4,000 additional troops (and more money) into the war in Afghanistan. I must be missing something.

I have been iffy about some of our new-presidents policy but I really need some explanation about this. What exactly are we doing in Afghanistan? It took me a while to remember how all this started; 9/11 led to bombs in Afghanistan (because that’s where the terrorist were right?), then we moved on to Iraq (because that’s where the oil was… I mean money for the terrorist + WMD’s were right?). Pretty quickly the world realized that Iraq was, at best, based on false assumptions and, at worst, an elaborate grab for oil but no one really recanted on Afghanistan.

Have any of you been to Afghanistan? Well neither have I, but I have seen pictures… and movies… and let me tell you, it’s nothing worth fighting over. It is virtually a wasteland full of rock and opium, but its most abundant resource seems to be the pride in its fighting people. Since 1970 superpower’s have been treating them like punching bags. First Britain, then the Soviet Union and now the noble US have bombed and shot the living daylight out of these guys… and they don’t seem to give up. Reading the news the other day got me thinking about all this again. I had forgotten, and most of you have probably forgetten as well, that 13 of the 19 terrorists involved in the Twin Towers attack were residents of Saudi Arabia. It is obvious why we would not go bombing Saudi, but we should offer at least a similar hesitancy to the Afghans.

So Al-Qaeda trains in its mountains, are we willing to tear up the floorboards to find the mouse? Like Iraq, the number of civilian and previously un-involved (meaning non-terrorists prior to the invasion) citizen casualties vastly outnumber the number of ‘terrorist’ deaths. This whole thing is like the broomstick in Fantasia, while trying to destroy one deviant we spawn a million others. Focusing our efforts on destroying the group that we think wronged us (despite the fact that this group is much more complicated and diverse than we initially imagined) is simply making other groups pop up in response to our own ‘terror’-like behaviors.

I guess I am just a little flabbergasted that with all the other problems going on in the world we are still committing resources to a war that I have yet to see a point in. I really am hoping someone can explain this one to me, because I must have forgotten a long time ago why it is we went into that place.

Oh wait, now I remember, after an attack on American soil we could not just sit around twiddling our trigger fingers. We had to bomb SOMEONE, why not the Afghans.

To Cream or Not To Cream

2009-04-04T23:02:00.000-07:00

Well I am officially diseased. Technically it may not be a disease, but its something with a name and I’ve got (because a doctor told me so). I’ve got Vitiligo. Some of you have known that for years, but this was the first time it has been told to me by a professional. Here is some background for the rest of you.

Ever since I can remember, I have had a migrating white spot. The first place I remember seeing it was my palm. Since then it has moved from there to the back of my hand, to a spot on my jawline, to my nostril, to under my chin, then it disappeared, and then reappeared on my other nostril. There may have been some that I missed, but typically I have had a spot and it stays put for a year or two. At times there have been no spots, and at others there have been two spots, all the while I had been mildly comfortable with it. Then recently the spot formed a new place on my neck (joining the one that was already on my nostril). This one worried me a bit, both because it was bigger than the previous spots and because I was sort of hoping that the spots were finally going away. Then I was feeling a bit panicky when a THIRD spot showed up on my jawline. One spot, ok, two spots, so be it, but three spots… something’s up. Around this time I saw my parents and after their many questions, I told them I would finally go see a dermatologist.

So in Houston, I look up a dermatologist and I go see the guy. As I sat in the waiting room, it became obvious that dermatology is 90% cosmetics (i.e. botox, collagen injections, wrinkle removal) and 10% medicinal where you actually cure somebody for something. Nevertheless, I walk into the office and talk to the doctor. The conversation goes something like:

Me: I’ve got spots and they move.
Doc: Interesting
Me: See here are the ones that are here now.
Doc: Oh yes, I see.
Me: I have been paranoid and done some research on my own. I think its Vitiligo.
Doc: [Shines a light on my face] Yep, that’s exactly what you’ve got. A mild form of it.
Me: Alrighty.

So he prescribes me some creams and sends me on my way. He basically reaffirms what my research had already told me, that doctors have no idea why Vitiligo happens and that there is really no effective cure. The creams rarely help but they are worth a shot.

As I leave the office with my prescription and samples, I began to realize that I am unsure if I want to use the creams or not. Which brings us to the question: to cream or not to cream? Let’s begin.

To Cream:

This is the easy argument to make. People typically want their bodies to work normally, and having spots of depigmentation is just not the way the body is supposed to work. Although there are no health issues with pigmentation loss, there are certainly cosmetic issues. White spots on a black person is not exactly flattering. My spots now are small and mostly out of the way, but there is no telling whether they would stay that way. Basically, if I want to get rid of these spots (and look completely normal) I should try the cream.

Not to Cream:

Maybe I don’t want to get rid of the spots. Don’t get me wrong, the spots make me very self-conscious (seeing someone and waiting for the inevitable, “what happened to your neck”) and I particularly worry about the unpredictability of them (what if I turn into MJ who claims vitiligo turned him white? Or worse, what if I end up half and half?). But is being a little scared or self-conscious a bad thing? It could very well be an opportunity, both to become more at peace with who I am and to deal with adversity. To be honest, I have never really used my good looks to their full advantage (I never was much of a player and I usually dress so poorly that no one quite looks long enough to tell if I am attractive), so losing them would not be so bad. More importantly is the fact that the people that matter to me in life would not really care. My family, my good friends and potentially a wife (depending on why she is with me) would love me for me and not because I am of one solid color, so there would be no loss there. But so far, I have only described reasons why I would not be losing anything, now let me tell you what it is to gain. I would learn how to conquer a fear. I would learn to see the world in a different way, both by the new way I would be treated and in the way I would see imperfections in others. I would be forced to get over my vanity, because although I may not use my good looks I do take pride in them. Lastly, I would feel like I am not fighting fate. I was given this condition for a reason, so should I try and fight it? Though this argument falters when you remember that if it is meant to be, it will be (i.e. if I am supposed to have spots the cream will just not work). It boils down to this, can you go through life chasing perfection or an image of yourself that is only superficial? Does that not degrade the value of who you are on the inside, the part that really matters? I feel like a guy who is slowly going bald, or a girl who sees she is losing the battle against controlling her weight. At some point you have to accept that you are who you are, and you are beautiful despite whatever “condition” you are afflicted with. Learning to do that will let that balding man, or the fat girl, or the spotted man walk into any situation (high school reunions, beach parties, first dates) and feel good about themselves. Maybe this wishful thinking, but it’s definitely an experiment I would be willing to take.

Conclusion:

I am actually writing this in retrospect. I had all the thoughts a week or two ago, and I am trying to recount them now. In that week or two I decided I would use the stupid medicine, and actually got myself to start it this morning. So now that I have creamed, do I think I am giving in to vanity or fear. Yes and no. In those weeks I definitely realized that I will be okay with whatever happens but that it was silly to try and remove that fear of uncertainty. I just have to work with the fear, accept it, and move on (see Dune’s Litany Against Fear). While I will be ok with whatever happens, I do have the selfish desire to remain the pretty person that I am.

When I looked in the mirror the other day, and fretted over these inconvenient spots, I had a small daydream. Some guardian angel appeared with a big red button in his hand. He says “Push this button, and I will cure you of these spots forever” and immediately my hand goes for the button. But at the last minute I pause, and that’s where the story ends.

PS: I only will accept positive comments as I am still sensitive about the subject. That includes not saying things like “bummer” (Chisom!).

Trauma In the Sauna

2009-03-29T05:19:00.000-07:00

On my recent trip to Houston, I had a very interesting encounter. It went something like this:

Setting: After a long day at work, I decided that I wanted to check out the sauna in the fitness center. In Qatar, I have started going to the sauna fairly regularly and find it to be a very pleasant experience, plus its conveniently located in my apartment tower. All this gave me a good bit of anticipation about going to the sauna in the hotel. So I enter the gym and walk straight to the sauna and discover that it is not on. Its warm in there, hot maybe, but not sauna hot. So I turn the knobs to full blast and walk around the gym for a while. After ten minutes or so, I return and find the sauna to only be marginally warmer. But since it was getting late, I just decided to go ahead and wait inside while it warmed up. So I strip down, wrap myself in a towel and plop down on one of the wooden benches. A few minutes pass, and then I am interrupted…

[John Doe opens door] John: Is the sauna working?
Me: I think so, but it is taking forever to warm up.John: Hmmm, yea, it does not feel too warm in here, but maybe it will warm up.
Me: Yea, I am hoping so [secretly wishing this guy would close the door and stop letting in what little heat is already inside].
John: Hey, where did you find the towels?
Me: [thinking “what an idiot” he just passed the towels, and he is STILL letting out the heat] The towels are right there on your left.
John: Thanks [disappears]
Me: [yelling to catch his attention] Could you close the door better? The heat is getting out with it cracked like that. [thinking ‘douchbag’]

So as John leaves, I continue semi-relaxing in the tepid heat. I give up on thinking it will get much hotter, but its still nice being in the warmth. I was quite content by myself when John came back in.

[John enters and stands up against the wall opposite to where I am laying down]
John: Not too hot in here is it?
Me: No not really. Pretty sure its busted.
John: So you stay here?
Me: Yep. [What kind of question is this? It’s a hotel gym… of course I stay here]
John: Yea me too… here on a business trip. I hate all this traveling.
Me: I’m here on business too and I agree, traveling can be a pain.
John: They did put me up in this killer suite though. The place is huge, its basically an apartment.
Me: Not bad, how did you get hooked up with that? What floor is it on?
John: It’s the top floor, and I have no idea how I got it. Guess I just lucked out.

[Silence for a while. Decide John is just weird but a nice guy]

John: So how was your workout?
Me: I did not work out, just decided to come to the sauna.
John: Oh, it looks like you work out though. You look like you’re in good shape.
Me: Thanks. [I think]

[More silence]

John: Man, this place would be awesome if it had massages.
Me: Yea, that would be great. I just had a massage the other day though, my mother recently opened a massage spa.
John: Cool. [Pause] I give killer massages.

[Now I am officially thinking this dude is a bit weird. That was a pretty gay thing to say, but he has no signs of stereotypical gayness. Just seems like a 40 something white guy]

John: I can’t wait to get back home.
Me: Oh yea, being away from the family [hint, hint] just sucks.
John: No, I never worry about that.
Me: Oh. Well when are you leaving?
John: Tomorrow, last night in town.
[Pause]

John: You really do look like you’re in great shape.
Me: [Thinking, ‘damn, this dude really is gay’] Not really man, looks can be deceiving.
John: No I don’t think so.

So at this point, I realize this dude is eyeing my no-fly zone, but at the same time, I want to enjoy my sauna. So I am sitting there trying to figure out if I am going to have to leave, yell at him, or wait for him to give up. But also, I am a little curious about what he is going to say next, after all this is the first time I think I have been officially hit on by a dude.

John: You up for a massage?
Me: No thanks.

[Silence, for the first time I start to mentally verify that I can kick this guys ass]

John: Are you sure you don’t want a massage? I’ll give you a massage.
Me: [chuckling] No man, I don’t think I want a massage from you.
John: Well if you change your mind, just come up to 2312.

[John exits sauna]

I sit in the sauna for a few minutes because I am afraid of running into the guy again, and eventually another dude comes in to the sauna. He sees it’s not that warm and starts to leave. Seeing my safety net, I jump out of the sauna and follow that guy to the locker room. Sure enough, old weirdo John was in the locker room very slowly putting his clothes on. Eventually he leaves, but not without giving me another look-over. Yuck.
*As a caveat to any gay/lesbian friends out there. Although slightly disturbed by the idea of man-lovin, I mostly found it disgusting that this random dude tried to pick me up in a sauna (like a prostitute), and not that a gay man hit on me. PS, I don’t think he was ‘true-gay’ either, I think he was one of those DL guys who probably has a wife and kids at home. Sad.*

Men are from Mars… Women are from Venus?

2009-03-10T13:13:00.000-07:00

I just had a conversation that has left my girlfriend very upset. It made me a little upset but largely it has left me confused. I have come across one of those areas in life in which men and women appear to be on two sides of a wide chasm.

We were having a conversation about cheating and what is meant by it, and we had delved into the area of non-physical cheating. Things like lying, misleading, giving your attention to someone else, or taking advantage of your loved one. Those are all examples of cheating, but not the easily defined physical ones. It was these areas that I claimed were what worried me. I don’t think I am the cheating (physical) kind, but I could see myself falling into some of those grey areas. Likewise, I assume that the people I choose to be involved with have the same viewpoint. Physical cheating should almost be “below” any girl I am dating or me, so our resources/time should not be focused on worrying about that. Instead we needed to be more vocal when and if we feel those gray areas are intruding into the relationship. For example, if I were at a party and ignored Inna and spent all my time with a random hottie, she should call me out. That would be an example of me cheating her of what she deserved, my attention.

The conversation did not go as well as planned largely because Inna felt I was disregarding the importance of not physically cheating. But the conversation took a plunge when I tried to give a recent example: When visiting home (in Virginia) this time around, I chose not to get in contact with my friend Tiffani. The reason, we are both in relationships and I think us meeting up could undermine those. Tiffani and I have had an interesting history that has gone from friendship to relationship to friendship. I believe that we work best as friends, and that there really is no future to a relationship with her, but given our history I chose to leave it alone. I did not tell all this to Inna, it went something like “I chose not to see a friend of mine because we had dated in the past and things were not completely in the past. So even though the visit would have been almost certainly platonic and friendly it was not worth the risk of any it turning awkward from old feelings flaring up.” This was the wrong story to tell. It turned into, “Well why don’t you figure out you and Tiffani’s feelings on your own time” kind of things. And that is where the difference lies.

Men do not see the need to slam doors closed, and women do. To me, and I think to most men, relationships are doors without locks. They may always be open, but you simply have no need (or desire) to go through them anymore. To put in real terms, my feelings for past girlfriends are largely still intact. What changed is that I did not think that a relationship was appropriate any longer. There were problems that could not be overcome to allow for a successful relationship. Women seem to slam doors closed and duct tape them while grabbing for the nails and hammer. They seem to insist that things are ‘OVER!!!’ and that they would never open their hearts to feeling anything for their ex’s. In practice this proves false sense most women tend to revert back to their old feelings with only the slightest provocation. Hence why this defense mechanism, if you declare that its over, you may stand a chance of convincing yourself of it.

I think men are right about the nature of relationships, but women are noble in their ambition. A woman, if treated right will love one man and one man only forever. She will be devoted and unwavering in her support of that relationship (assuming it’s the right one). But the man in that ‘perfect’ relationship will always spread his feelings. I think it is honestly in our DNA to seek attention and affection from multiple sources. Hence why men tend to cheat more than women. We (in the male collective sense) may be perfectly happy in our perfect relationship but we will still seek to be liked by our coworkers and our friends and other females. No matter how fulfilled we are in one relationship we still seek others. In contrast, women seem to be completely fulfilled by their romantic relationships. Girls drop their friends, ignore their families, and pour all those freed resources into the relationship they are in. Women have to remind themselves to not ignore others and men have to remind themselves to pay more attention to their relationship. This all ties to our definition of relationships as open or closed doors. Women (speaking generically) simply cannot function with two or more doors open, it is insufficient. Men simply cannot function with all but one door being closed so we don’t bother to close the ones we are no longer using.

How does this apply to my situation? Inna sees herself as being, at best, shared, and at worst not special. If he still has some feelings for other girls, how can he think I am special or think that I am worth being with. He could just as easily switch to them. But that is not how it works, feelings may exist but the experiment has been played out. Like any experiment, you begin with a ‘hunch’ and you try it out to see if you are proved correct. The relationship is the experiment, and one in which all but one (and maybe even not one) fail. But even after a relationship has failed, the hunch may still stick around even though the results are known. That might not make too much sense.

Anyways, what Inna wants to hear is that I don’t see any other women but her and that she is the only person on the field. My reality is that life is a stage and that she is the star of my show. The spotlight is on her but she is far from being the only person on the stage. They are simply in the background. They have had their chances at dancing in the spotlight and they have been found lacking. Nothing wrong with them, but they simply did not have the qualities I was looking for in the star of my show. So there she is on the stage, trying out, and feeling that those in the background are detracting my attention from her. She is right in that my attention is divided, but she does not see that the things lacking in the background performers are what remind me why she appears so great for the part.

Life is tough :).

This was probably garbled a bit, I apologize. I am in class right now and trying to divide my attention… very fitting.

Stagflation

2009-03-04T00:45:00.001-08:00

My friend Jonathan got me thinking about building a solid financial foundation and made me concerned about those trying to do that in these times. Here is one worry.

Stagnant economy + high inflation = Stagflation… and you don’t want that. Let’s start with inflation first. Inflation basically means that one dollar today will get you less than that dollar got you yesterday. Sum it up as your grandpa saying “when I was your age a piece of candy cost a penny.” Well you can’t get that piece of candy for a penny now, today it will cost you 50 cents. That’s largely due to inflation, prices rise over time, and it’s due to a number of factors. A stagnant economy is one that does not grow, or that grows very slowly. We are currently in something worse than stagnation; we are in a contraction (i.e. negative growth) that has been escalated into a recession (defined as three consecutive quarters of contraction *I think*). But for the purposes of this discussion, we will assume that the economy will eventually stop contracting.

Let me tell you why stagflation is awful. Your money is constantly being devaluated and your resource pool is not growing. You are paid the same amount of money but everything you buy and live on gets more expensive. Which is no good.

Stagflation is very possible in our current situation. It will be awesome for the economic recovery to be quick and substantial but likely it will be slow and painful. These missteps and restarts will define how long our economy will remain stagnant. If Obama’s plan of developing American Infrastructure and creating a Green Energy economy work out, then the economy will have an engine for growth. If those plans meet political or economic hurdles and fail then we will likely be stuck in a stagnant economy for a while.

What is more likely than stagnation is inflation. These billions and trillions of dollars that you hear everyday on the news, these ‘bailouts’, are essentially the government printing money. Economic institutions, with banks in particular, are in a liquidity crisis… which means they have no cash. Think of a business as a person, who borrows money and makes something more valuable with that cash. The business pays back the lender and keeps some cash for itself and invests the remainder in ways of making more money. Well in this financial crisis, all the lenders have run out of cash. Now the businesses that were living paycheck-to-paycheck are SOL because they have no money saved up to continue doing whatever it was that made them money. Hence the credit-freeze, no money is flowing through the system. That is why the government is essentially printing more cash, someone has got to do it. The problem with printing cash is that it devalues the cash that’s already out there. If I give you a diamond, you feel special and think that its valuable. But if I pull out five more diamonds, all of a sudden it feels less special and its less valuable. That’s what happens with money too. It has a certain value when there is X amount of it. When there is X + Y of it, it is worth less per unit. And that is where you get inflation.

Currently things are fine, but what you all need to worry about is what may be coming. Right now inflation is not a big deal because the world is in this recession together and other countries are either doing the same thing (printing money) or are suffering from investor’s lack of confidence in their market potential. What will cause inflation is if America is in this deeper than anyone else (which makes intuitive sense to me). It will then cost us more than most of others. So while other people’s economies are growing, ours will still be stuck in the blocks.

What am I trying to say? Save up and put your money in something that ‘floats’ independently from cash. Consider diversifying your cash into something not directly tied to the dollar. Warren Buffet makes the case that stocks (equities) are a better place to put your money to shield yourself from an inflation hit. Others may say gold, real estate, or a global mutual fund. Who knows, but may be a good idea to look into it. Just try and put your money in something that beats the inflation rate which may be 5% in the future.

Creationism and Evolution

2009-03-04T00:43:00.000-08:00

I am reading this book called “Living Biblically: One Man’s Quest to Follow the Rules of the Bible”. It is tough for me to get into it, because I am constantly thinking he is putting on a farce for his own amusement. So far it feels like he is almost mocking the very thing he is pretending to revere. He is an atheist Jew who is trying to understand the Bible, so he grows a beard and proceeds to take literally all the wacky rules in the Bible. It is funny that this guy thinks he is being unique, but actually he is doing what hundreds of millions of Christians and Jews strive to do everyday. The only difference is that they approach the task with sincerity and our author seeks amusement and attention that might be complimented by some sort of revelation. I digress from the point of this writing.

In the book, the author goes to a Creationist Museum and proceeds to rail on these guys for obviously being stuck in the Stone Age. He compares Creationist to those that think the earth is flat or that everything is made up of the four elements (air, water, fire, earth). Personally, I do not agree with the idea that the earth is only 6000 years old but I do not take the combative standpoint that the Creationist idea is incompatible with the Theory of Evolution. Allow me to explain.

It all comes down to two big ideas. One, that if you are a religious person, you most likely believe that God can do all things… i.e. no task is impossible. (Insert paradox: Can God create a stone so heavy that he cannot lift it?) The second big idea is that of the biblical miracles. God allowed men in the Bible to do some amazing miracles, but none of them were spectacular. They always left room for skepticism. The rising of the dead (one of the more impressive feats) could be seen by skeptics as a conman trick… the person was never dead, or better yet, they were heavily sedated. Or take the feeding of the multitude, something truly miraculous, but one that was only evident to those that sent the basket out in the first place. The members of the multitude would hardly notice that one basket fed everyone… they would only notice that there was some food for them in there or assume that several other baskets were being passed around simultaneously. The point I am trying to make with this is that miracles were not necessarily supposed to prove something to people. It was a demonstration for those that already wanted to believe. If you did not want to believe, there was room for denial. If God wanted to make it obvious that Jesus was his son, or that he himself was all powerful he could do something undeniably amazing like turn a mountain upside down or take everyone into space for a few minutes and return them back with a handwritten note saying “See what I made. – God”. The combination of these ideas is how I picture the Creationist/Evolution debate.

If God truly made the world in seven days over 6000 years ago and left proof of it everywhere, where is the room for faith in that? It would be science, a fact, indisputable. We would dig up fossils of humans riding Velociraptors or find a pristine Noah’s Ark somewhere on a mountain top and we would say to ourselves “I guess this whole Bible thing was right after all.” Faith would be proven by fact.

Instead we live in a world in which all evidence states that the universe is billions of years old and that humans have evolved over millions of years. We have carbon-dating, radio telescopes, fossils, DNA mapping and everyday physical evidence (like your average rock that is hundred of thousands of years old) that tell us that this world is very very very old.

Isn’t it possible that an all powerful God that wants people to choose him through faith would create some ambiguity in his ultimate miracle? The miracle of life. If there is a being of all powerful abilities, I think it would be a pretty easy task to create a world in seven days 6000 years ago and make it appear that it took much longer. Why would God do that? Maybe for the same reason that he did not create us to be sin-free or to automatically have faith, because God wants us to choose to believe. So in my head, I see that the two ideas do not have to butt heads necessarily. It is like when I go through the markets here in Qatar, you will see some stores selling antiques. Upon closer inspection you will see that these ‘antiques’ are simply modern things made to look old by sprinkling dust, or applying a flame or maybe by leaving it out in the sun too long. The point is that things are not always what they seem and that we are dealing with a being with the potential to create a perfect forgery.

Disclaimer: This seems very pro-religious, and it is. I think that Creationist have been given a hard time and that they need an argument in their favor every once in a while. My personal belief is that the world is very old and that humans have evolved for quite a while, but I do consider the literal Bible creation story to be possible.

Aside: What I do not like is the idea of Creationist having their cake and eating it too. The idea that dinosaurs were in the Ark rubs me wrong for instance.

Here is the Creationist logic. Obviously there were dinosaurs (there are fossils), since they were part of the ‘animals’ that God created they cohabitated with humans, since all animals were put in the ark they were in there too, and sometime in the last couple thousand years they all disappeared.

If you are a Creationist, I don’t want to hear ‘secular’ logic from you. I want you to say something like: the Bible does not mention dinosaurs so for all I know they did not exist (the bones could be for earthly decoration). Essentially, if you believe in an all-powerful God that shaped the universe in seven days, you don’t have to fit his plan into science. You fit science into his plan.

Attention Deficit Disorder

2009-02-18T01:00:00.000-08:00

My parents are in town this week, and it is the first time they are meeting Inna. To my surprise, they seemed to get along well enough fairly effortlessly. They weren’t best friends or anything, but they were cordial and conversational and generally seemed to appreciate the company. So in my book that’s a success.

Well yesterday Inna calls me and asks if she would be up for her cooking a meal for the parentals. I tell her that’s an awesome idea and we work out a way for it to be a surprise for them. So I keep them out late, get them good and hungry (to the point of complaining) and then take them home for them to realize that dinner is already cooked and ready, all courtesy of awesome Inna. Dinner is a success and everyone is happy.

After dinner, Inna planned to head home, but we ended up starting to watch a movie instead, The Constant Gardener. I have been trying to get Inna to stay with (like usual) since the night before, but she has felt uncomfortable because of my parents also being there. Understandable, but it was also my parent’s idea that she can stay. Regardless of actually being welcome, she felt unwelcome so she intended to leave at some point.

The Constant Gardener is a good movie, and like a good movie (especially a thriller) it draws you in and holds your attention. So I was hooked. Inna actually spent most of the beginning of the movie on the phone with her mother in the back room, so when she got off the phone, she came back and told me that she would have to be leaving soon. i.e. Walk me to the door and show me out… and yes I know you are really into the movie. She even did not rush me to leave right away, she let me wait till there was a less intense moment to walk her out.

It was honestly my initial intent to walk her to the door and to get back to the movie, but she made it clear that she wanted me to walk her to the CAR which was a much longer trip. But despite the movie moving at full swing, I wanted to do it. Plus I knew I would be yelled at if I did not. So I put on my shoes, tell my mom to remember everything that happens in the movie, and Inna and I head to the elevators. We are having little smooches and small talk all the way to the car, and all is well. Once at the car we hug and kiss, and the conversation we were having switches to another topic. But before she finishes the sentence, I tell her something like “can we please not start another conversation, I REALLY want to see the end of this movie.” I know she knows that I was really into the movie, so I thought that was a reasonable request.

Evidently it was not. She gets upset. Pushes me away. Tells me things like, you should not have even walked me down in the first place… yada yada yada, and I end up scrambling trying to figure out what went wrong. We end up talking for another five minutes (a lot longer than we probably would have if I had not said anything) about why she was upset and me trying to make her feel better. She tells me that she should be more important than a movie and that I should want to spend time with her especially since we are not getting to stay the night. I tell her I want you to spend the night and that I think that coming down here in the first place was showing you that you were more important than the movie.

I assume you all can see both sides of this story. Like most conflicts, I feel each side has a point, but that often one point is a little more reasonable than the other. It’s rare, but I do feel that my side is sometimes unreasonable. This is not one of them. Why was the walk down not enough? Is it unreasonable to want to get back to the movie? If not, how does one go about asking that in a different way?

I am actually opening myself up to the idea that relationships can be work, and these questions are proof. Before my philosophy was more like… if she can’t understand me then we should not be together. That might be a valid stance, but I am willing to give this other side a chance and that involves questioning myself and learning and changing and growing. I know no one is a relationship expert, but give me your two cents…

New Approach

2009-02-18T00:34:00.000-08:00

It has been bothering me lately that I have not been blogging as of late. But to be honest, my life has become a lot more full since I got into this new relationship, and I just have not really had the need to share things as much. But last night I realized that there is a way to enjoy my relationship and blog at the same time.

It occurred to me that I am often making Inna mad about something. Whether its something I am doing, or saying, or thinking… she gets upset and stomps off or closes up or something. Some of this is her being silly, or wanting attention, but probably most of it is me being the bad boyfriend that I usually am.

So I am going to start documenting the incidents (as long as they are not too personal) and analyze what it is that I am doing wrong and what I can do to fix it. Sort of like relationship self-counseling, but I also want any readers to give their two cents as well. Unless I somehow find a way to be a better boyfriend, this idea will give me endless material :)

So here goes.

Drowning While Breathing

2009-01-22T00:40:00.000-08:00

This is a rather morbid post, but I recently was alerted to a fatality that occurred at one of our contractor’s fabrication yard, and it proves to be a most peculiar way to die.

A man went into a narrow shaft to inspect a pipe fitting, and he never returned. When he was noticed missing, he was found dead from asphyxiation. Death by asphyxiation (lack of oxygen to the bloodstream) is usually associated with drowning, strangling, or suffocation… but it can also occur to a person who is standing, walking and breathing.

All it takes is for the oxygen in the air to be displaced. In the case of this guy, he went down to check a pipe, but the chamber that he was in was being prepped for welding. Before welding a line or pipe, it is often purged with an inert gas (Argon in this case) to insure that all flammable products are cleared from the line. The worker had no idea that the chamber was filled with Argon. Argon is non-toxic, so when he descended down the ladder to the chamber he would not have noticed anything was awry. But since Argon is denser than air, the body was being deprived of oxygen. So in this case, and in many others, the worker goes about his work unaware that anything is awry. By the time you realize that something is wrong, it is too late. You collapse and drown in Argon.

Now that I think about it, a similar thing happens in the ‘natural world’. Dead zones are growing in certain parts of our oceans, and one of the largest is in the Gulf of Mexico. The gulf which is a relatively warm and salty is the depository for one of the US’s largest rivers, the Mississippi. An interesting thing happens when Mississippi freshwater meets the salt water of the Gulf. The fertilizers used in farming along the Mississippi are carried along the river and into the sea, where the chemicals in the freshwater soak up all the oxygen and nutrients in the sea water. Because freshwater is denser than saltwater, it sits on top and acts like a ceiling to the fish and organisms that may try and escape it. So they end up ‘drowning’ underwater. It is actually a fairly large problem, but it is the consequence of our dependence on fertilizers.

Interesting world we live in. Sorry for such a random return to blogging, but it was on my mind.

What would you do?

2009-01-06T04:12:00.000-08:00

The hypothetical is one of the greatest tools humanity has at its disposal. The great ‘what ifs’ in life let us ponder and learn things outside of the limitation of reality. When I was younger, my mind would wander to these philosophical manifestations by instinct and really formed the basis for my knack for questioning things. What I want to talk about today is one of my favorite old ‘what ifs’.

Here is the situation.

On an average high school day, you find yourself in a very scary predicament. Armed robbers have taken over your school. Teachers, students, staff all are gathered into the auditorium, and they have an announcement to make. They declare that they do mean to harm people, and that there is no way they are going to change their minds. They explain that money, fame, or bloodlust is of no consequence to them, they simply want to perform an experiment. They will need one volunteer. No one raises a hand. So instead, the lead gunman walks up to the bleachers and selects the first person that caught his fancy. He selects you.

He escorts you to the auditorium floor and sits you in a chair, where he begins to explain the experiment. You are to choose a path that will affect everyone in this room. You are to survive the experiment, but you must make a choice. The gunman explains:

“One of two things will happen over the next hour. Everyone in this room will die (excluding you), or one person in this room will die. The catch being, you would have to commit the single murder.”

That is the premise of the ‘what if’ and it usually takes a few more statements before the person is ready to answer the question. Can you kill yourself? No. Can you succeed in killing the gunmen? No. Can you try? No. What happens if you don’t believe them? They demonstrate their resolve. Who would I have to kill? A randomly selected person. Ad nausea.

A morbid mind I have, I know, but that’s the situation, and I liked to put certain people under the hot seat with it. The results are what surprised me. The most upsetting answer was the non-answer. This being “It’s a hypothetical so no matter what I would say is moot because you never know what you are going to do until you are actually in the situation.” True you don’t know what you would do, but I am asking what you think you would do. And that would give some indication as to what you are likely to actually do in the situation. Besides, to avoid the hypothetical because they have yet to materialize is akin to leaving an umbrella at home despite the weatherman’s prediction of rain. You can plan for the future before it becomes the present.

The second answer, the one I assumed 90% of people would choose, was that you shoot the person. That was the answer that I always thought made sense, and had always held that as my personal choice. Unfortunately, very few seemed to share this viewpoint.

But the surprise came in the third, and most popular, answer. You let the men kill everyone. The reason being, you do not commit a sin to prevent a ‘greater’ sin. The blood would be on the hand of the gunmen if everyone were to die, and while you may feel guilty, you did not commit any acts of violence.

This thought experiment hints that there are two types of people, those that are practical and those that are idealistic. The practical person tends to believe the end justifies the means, and the idealist that immoral means will corrupt any end. I know longer have the same conviction that I would pull the trigger as when I originally dreamt up this situation, but I still believe that is the answer.

The reason this ‘hypothetical’ has floated back in to mind, is tied to the Israel/Gaza conflict and the fact that hard decisions are made every day. When you consider a President ordering an air strike against a town, a city, a group of terrorists, they are making that choice in the auditorium. They are committing acts of violence to prevent greater acts of violence, and those initial acts of aggression are not always against the ‘bad guy’. The ‘moral corruption’ has made me wary of most of the professions that I feel most talented to do. My potential talent as a lawyer was pushed aside because I did not want to decide the judgment of my fellow man. I squirmed at the idea of pursuing public policy or politics because eventually I would have to make decisions that make a direct impact on others, good and bad.

But I am now entering a phase where I define morality as more than what was taught to us in Bible school or social interactions. Morality now seems more complicated than, though shall not kill or treat others as you wish to be treated, and it makes the world a much scarier place.

Camping and Such

2008-12-21T04:24:00.000-08:00

I really have to start posting more than once a week. Here are some of the things that have been floating around in the old noggin as of late.

This week has been fairly eventful. I have become somewhat of an item with the girl, Inna, I have been interested in here. We started hanging out pretty consistently a week or two ago and I like her. She is smart, cute, independent and outspoken.

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This weekend was another camping trip, and it was organized by one of our Finnish friends. She, Eeva, had two of her Finnish friends coming into town so she wanted to show them a good time. Camping in the Inland Sea is arguably the coolest thing to do while in Qatar because getting there is an adventure, the scenery is gorgeous, and alcohol is usually plentiful on such a trip. The problem with this time was that it’s now cold in Qatar. Yes it can get cold here. I was inclined not to go, but having one of the few vehicles capable of making the trip, I was persuaded to come along. Besides last time it was a good time, up until the end (see Proper Smashed post).

So Friday comes along and we load up the cars and head out into the desert. Before all of this we had made it very clear that we wanted to take the easy way to the inland sea. Because last time the hard way added a couple of hours and gray hairs to the trip, quite unnecessarily. Despite this, we ended up taking the hard way. Why? Because the guy with the GPS system led us that way, and no one new any better to know he was leading us astray. So the trip became quite the adventure. Complete with ravine crossings, near head on collisions, sand traps, and one instance of a car almost flipping over into the sea. But we eventually got there, more or less in one piece. The visiting Finns in my car handled the ride impressively well; they were even polite enough to ask “Is it OK if we scream?” It was OK and they did. I give 60% of our relative ease in the journey to my awesome 4x4 ‘Jerry the Jeep’ (credit Inna for the name), and 40% to my awesome driving abilities.

After searching for a campsite, we settle down and get unpacked. The second the tents were unpacked the drinks were flowing. To be honest, I suspect most were drinking to stay warm just as much as they were intending to get drink. By sunset (which was beautiful) the crew was feeling good and a fire was started. Let me vent my anger at some of the stupidity that was part of this trip: you don’t burn half your wood before the sun goes down; you don’t cook all your food in tin foil bags when you have no way to know if its done; and you don’t put the group in unnecessary danger because you want to have fun. Ok, now that I am done with that, I can get back to the story.

We cook, rather unsuccessfully, and not long afterwards it starts to get cold. To me, it was cold when the sun was up, but with the sun good and set, it was downright frigid. From a combination of Inna drinking a little too much and me being cold, we decided to call it a night long before anyone else. We had set up a tent, but Inna insisted on sleeping in the Jeep. That was the smartest idea ever. Compared to the tents, the Jeep was a sauna. With the blankets, it was actually warm. We were fairly well rested when we got up in the morning, and that’s when we were told all about the madness of the other night.

Before I went to sleep the group had met some Qatari’s who were also out camping and had invited them for a few drinks and food. Despite the law and culture, in the desert, anything seems to go. So around the time I retired, two or three of them were just getting comfortable. Evidently after Inna and I left, another group of Qatari’s showed up and joined the party. They drank, they smoked (evidently they somehow had pot), and they proceeded to hit on all the women, particularly the Finnish girls. It turns out they thought all the women with in group were prostitutes, and that all the guys had rented them for the camping trip. You would think this is an easily clarified point but it turned into a two hour ordeal. The Qatari’s told one of our girls that ‘here in Qatar, we F*** for free’, which of course was doubly insulting having not even offered to pay her imaginary prostitute fee. Soon the guys decided to put an end to this, half intent on beating ass while the other half for peace talks, and the girls went to the tents to sleep/hide. Supposedly for the next 30 to 60 minutes the guys protected the tents while the Qataris tried to force their way into them. There was some shoving, some words, and much confusion. Meanwhile I am nicely sleep in my Jeep. Eventually they went home, but not before asking some of the guys ‘did they want to kiss’.

Not a very good showing for the Qatari’s, but they did have one good Samaritan. Someone managed to get enough phone signal to call a Qatari friend, and he drove all the way to our campsite to help us deal with the situation. It was late and it was not an easy drive, so that was very nice of him.

We insisted on taking the easy way home this time, and that worked out nicely. I got back to my place in the afternoon and pretty much slept the rest of the day.

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In other news… I leave for Ethiopia on Monday. I am looking forward to that. I am meeting up with my mom and we are going to travel all around the country. I will surely have a lot to write about on my return.

Big Idea

2008-12-15T05:26:00.001-08:00

I have a great idea. So in my ideologue, I keep a number of ideas (obviously). One of which has been titled “Jon and his new world”. Now I have batted this idea around for a long time, whether in the form of a book, a blog, or a thought exercise between friends. But it all centers around the formation of a society. Jon, or in some other versions, Ender, is given the ability to shape the world to his liking. Almost like a science experiment. He can try new ideas, see what works, rewind when things fail, create fictional characters etc. etc. This thought exercise would stretch the mind into thinking of things a different way, or into asking the question ‘how can we best govern the world?’ To all you people who think this is playing God, or being egotistical, I argue that it is no more playing God than going to the polls or running for your PTA board. We all have a right to voice our opinion of how society should be run, and I constantly look for an outlet to voice my opinion. Today I have reached a new evolution of this idea.

What I imagine is a tree. Like a tree, it will have a starting point and it will branch. Except instead of wood splitting, an idea will split. Instead of leaves, a microcosm of likeminded individuals would form. How would this work. Let me explain.

We start with a premise, for example: Jon is a thoughtful fellow who is discontent with the world. God, feeling merciful, decides to ease Jon’s maladies by giving him the power to change things. Jon is given a ‘blank template’ of a small town and is asked to rule them as he sees fit.

Now the premise is important, and will have to be given much thought, because all further choices are based on the conditions and rules of the premise.

Well from time zero (T0), Jon can make a decision. Should the people have a government or should they be allowed to reign free. A branch in the tree is born. One branch is government, the other is free reign. Because Jon likes government he continues down that branch. Should the government be centralized, localized, a hybrid, capitalism, socialism, communism, a mix. Branches, branches, branches.

This is about the time where I give up on this idea because the branches are infinite and the level of detail is inexhaustible, and well I have better things to do with my time than just write out the extrapolations and consequences of each decision.

That is until today when I have had my new idea. Why not use the web as a tool to spread this task amongst humanity, guaranteeing exposure to all variations of humanity and bias. So beginning with the premise, people will submit their ideas creating branches. To keep the branches from fragmenting too quickly the ideas will be pruned, just like a live tree or bush. Ideas that have been exhausted or proven unsustainable will be dropped to the background. Likewise, similar ideas will be bound together to ensure that the ideas are focused.

What is needed to make this idea work? Logistically you need a domain, a programmer, and an administrator. The logistics would be the easy part, creating the fertile ground for this tree is the tough part. How do you create the conditions for the tree to prosper? As stated before, the premise must be carefully chosen. If you start off with a small population how do you simulate population growth? How do you replicate competition amongst communities? Largely the answer to these questions will be self-regulation (like wikipedia) and popular-by-logic tactics. What I mean by the latter term: if someone comes up with an idea like ‘there should be no such things as guns’, someone would create a branch saying ‘then whoever makes/finds a gun will dominate’. The latter idea making more sense (my opinion) would be voted for most often and would become less likely to be pruned.

The fun part about this would be the versatility of the application. One could go as deep into their own viewpoints as they want. Lets say I want to go through the tree trunk of tribalism, to the branch of elder-rule, to the twig of male-female equality, to the leaf which could be a story telling of every day life in the tribal-elder ruled-sex equal world of Makmanuland.

The strong branches will most likely mimic examples of the real world, but maybe that will only last at first. The wild-branches will be where the fun is. Thinking of new ways that people can live. If you can think it, you can do it. That’s the spirit.

Handwriting

2008-12-15T05:24:00.000-08:00

As I wrote my To Do List for the day, I noticed yet again something interesting about my handwriting. The older I get, the more my handwriting resembles that of my fathers. I find this to be most fascinating. As a kid, my handwriting did not resemble much of anything, let alone letters or numbers, but the years have improved my scripts appearance. But why does it mimic my father’s? I can see how mannerisms are copied from parents to children. The child is constantly exposed to the personality and character traits of the parent, and is bound to be influenced by that. Also, physiologically, we might be predisposed to certain behaviors (aka It’s in the blood). But handwriting, what can account for that. Unlike the conscious exposure to personality, my father’s handwriting was neither important nor frequently exposed to me as a child. My mother’s handwriting was far more prevalent in the household but still in the background.

I have concluded that this phenomena is caused by some subconscious will or, more exciting, that my body is tuned to produce handwriting of a certain type. Maybe no one else finds this cool, but it is my thought for the day.

First Vacation

2008-12-14T03:54:00.000-08:00

Sorry folks for not updating my blog as often as I should, but I will try and fix that in the New Year. As a matter of fact, you fellow bloggers are being awfully silent these days as well, what’s your excuse? Maybe we can all stand to push out a little more content.

I have been sick lately. The cold that has been going around Qatar with the change in weather landed in my lap, and I decided it could stay for a while. I think it is going through its death throes though, because my nose is leaking like a faucet (and sneezing makes it more like a water gun). My logic says a runny nose means the germs are leaving your body. Other than that, I went on a boring vacation to Oman. The place was beautiful and has potential, we just did not maximize it. Oman is best experienced when the weather is warm and you can head into the desert and mountains, and live off the land for a few days. It has amazing geology, mountains, gorges, underground caves and springs, all of which could keep a group occupied for many days. If your not the adventurous type, try checking into the Shan-gri La Hotel and Resort and enjoy your own private cove. The resort has services from scuba diving to dolphin watching to private tennis lessons. With the right group or with a special someone, it could make for a wonderful vacation. How not to spend a vacation in Muscat is as follows:

- Do NOT allow three days to tour a city that takes at most one day to see.
- Do NOT only stay in that one city when you can explore the surrounding area fairly easily.
- Do NOT visit a Muslim country during Eid. It is like their Christmas, so shops, museums, restaurants are all going to be closed.
- Do NOT go with your friend and his parents, because although they are wonderful people, parents and kids are usually just into different things,

Now don’t get me wrong, I am glad I went on the trip. After all, I was able to get out of Doha, meet some new people, and learned some things about a new culture. But that does not change the fact that the trip was boring and that it could have been done better. It was the place though that sunk the trip, not the people.

Hacedray Cmon pt. 2

2008-12-07T00:30:00.001-08:00

I don't know if any of you remember the blog I wrote about the stalker lady codenamed Hacedray. But I just received another email from her...

Hello Anthony, how are you and how is living in Texas. I always pray that
you're doing great and successful.
Anthony could you please give me a call? My best friend company relocated
her to Texas approximately 2 weeks ago, as you can imagine I'm sick about
it. She's more like my little sister and she's much to far away from her
family. She's in a beautiful neighborhood with a beautiful home. I was
hoping you can let her know there's a fellow Michiganian near.
Hey did you get engaged yet or even married :-)? Please call I would love
to hear from you. My cell is 313.207.6997.
Keith an I are doing well. He's no longer with the State but is
president/ceo of Detroit based company Next Energy in the Wayne State
University area. I will be joining him as his energy liaison in a couple of
weeks.
Take care, my friend.

I plan on writing her back telling her I am in Doha. Maybe that will end this very odd string of correspondence.

Weekend Update

2008-12-07T00:19:00.000-08:00

Another day another dollar. Back at work and not quite sure why. Christmas season is approaching and this is a holy holiday week on the Muslim calendar (Eid El Adha: The celebration after the Mecca journey I think) so it is like me and two other guys in the office. I thought I was unproductive at times before, well this is twice as bad.

More time to write I guess. This weekend was another good one. I went to a Chingy concert which was, as you would expect, pretty terrible. I did have a good time, but I recognize that the only reason I would ever pay to see Chingy is if I am stuck in a place where a hip-hop concert comes along once in blue moon. It WAS advertised in the monthly Qatar Happenings magazine that Sean Paul was coming to town, so I was getting super excited about that. So I called the number the magazine listed in order to get more details, and the guy who picked up told me that he was throwing a Sean Paul party, but that Sean Paul was not going to be there. He went on to explain that he was bringing Sean Paul’s DJ to town, not Sean Paul himself. After asking why it was advertised in the magazine (and this is the official “whats going on in Qatar this month” magazine) as a Sean Paul performance, he claimed that they made that up on their own without consulting with him. Just because its in writing, does not mean its true. So Chingy was the winner by default. While I was not that excited for Chingy, they did have a pretty good DJ at the party, and some of the supporting acts were entertaining. Plus the whole event took place outside on a beach, so that was cool. Not so cool for the people not out partying, evidently the concert was so loud that it kept up everyone with a house close to the water.

The rest of the weekend was pretty relaxing. I was treated to dinner by a nice lady, and celebrated the closing of one of the favorite bars in Doha, Rydges. The hotel that the bar is in is being destroyed, despite being only five years old. The reason? From the top of the hotel, you can see into the Emir’s palace compound. So it’s both an invasion of his privacy and a security threat. Now the palace is not new, so I am not entirely sure why they did not think about this before letting the owners build the hotel. Well lets hope the owners were compensated for this loss of property.

Well I am out of here, since I just got an email saying we can leave at noon today. Don’t have to tell me twice. I will be heading to Muscat, Oman for the next three days, so I am looking forward to that. Will post pics on the Facebook when I return. Later.

Almost forgot, I am now the proud owner of a new car! My 2008 Jeep Wrangler (4-door) is in my possession and I am ready to tackle the desert.

A Tale of Two Anthony’s

2008-12-01T04:59:00.000-08:00

Qatar is a study of contrasts. This was brought to my attention most recently by an acquaintance I work with.

Not too long ago, all of ExxonMobil in Qatar consolidated their satellite offices into one location. This new building is a marked improvement from most everyone’s previous location, but moving is never without its hiccups and irritations. In this case, we were plagued by constant construction, maze-like entrances, haphazard parking, and long elevator waits, but the thing that seemed to rattle people the most were the security checks. These were not turnstiles or card readers, but actual people whose sole responsibility was to ensure that you had the right kind of badge.

One such badge reader would have been sufficient, but not for ExxonMobil. We decided it necessary to have card readers hiding behind doorways, waiting for you when you come out of elevators, cutting you off before you even enter the building. It almost seemed that there were more card readers than employees. This constant harassment for badge verification caused migraines to all, but it did produce some good in my case.

After a long day of dealing with these badgers, I found myself standing in the elevator lobby waiting to go home. “Can I see your badge,” I hear almost as background noise, and I turn my badge in that direction. To my surprise, the badger was not asking for reasons of security, but because of curiosity. His name was Anthony as well. The badgers are 99% from India, Nepal, or Sri Lanka, and typically do not have Western names, so to have a common name was a commonality enough to break the ice that had unknowingly formed between us. I discovered that Anthony was from Sri Lanka, that he worked in Saudi Arabia, then at a US base in Bahrain, before settling here in Qatar. We talked about my life in the States, and how, despite appearances I have never called Africa my home. Over the next couple of weeks we would catch up whenever his rotation caused us to cross paths.

Last night was a bit different than usual however. As I was leaving the building, I caught his eye and he seemed a little more excited than usual to see me. After our small talk, he asked me what time I was coming to work tomorrow morning. A little suspect of the question, I asked him why he wanted to know. He said that he wanted me to talk with his sister, in person or on the phone I could not tell, but strange nonetheless. When I asked him why he wanted me to talk with his family, his faced turned very solemn and he proceeded to tell me a story. He told me about his mom who has turned very ill and who is in intensive care, and how his sisters are so busy looking after her and the children that things have gotten pretty bad at home. I listened, but with an increasing sense of dread. As the story went on, I could take the suspense no longer, and I interrupted him with the question that danced unsaid between his lips “how much?” After explaining his situation one or two more times without answering my question, I asked him again. This time he paused and said 1000 Riyals.

Seeing my hesitancy, he went on to explain that he does not want me to give him the money, he wants me to loan him the money. It would take him two months time to pay me back he went on, but the money now would allow him to pay his mothers hospital bills. He assured me this would be a one time thing, because sadly, his mother was ill to the point that she will not be able to stay alive much longer even with the hospital’s help. I told him that I would think about it overnight, and that 1000 Riyals was no small sum. He made me promise that we keep this secret, and we parted.

As I walked away, I thought that he knows that fact more than I do. I make more than what he requested in a day, whereas it would take him a month to do the same. More than sympathy I felt irritation, because he had just taken our pseudo friendship and turned it on its head. As much as I would like to compare it to the Seinfeld where Jerry is asked by a recent acquaintance to help him move… the move is territory of good friends and families, an acquaintance can’t break protocol; this was clearly different. This was more than just an outsized request from someone I barely know, it was an exposure of the lines that separated my world from his. I, and westerners like me, have the power to drastically affect the lives of people like him. Whether he used that money to help his mother or spent it on booze and prostitutes, what is ‘small change’ to me can change his lifestyle.

In the few seconds it took for my irritation to come and go, I had come to my answer. I would not give him the 1000 Riyals, or even a 100 Riyals for that matter. Giving money would set precedence… I could use the cash myself… I did not particularly believe his story… nor did I believe I would ever see that money again… all these were reasons, but none were the deciding factor. I simply did not feel it was my responsibility. For every emotional pull saying “its not that much money” or “you could possibly bring a family happiness” there was a rational cynicism saying “he thinks he’s got you hustled” or “this is going to happen once a week so you better get used to it”. But like I said, I did not feel it was my responsibility to change this man’s life.

The next morning I nervously approached the building, fearing the awkward encounter. But he was nowhere to be seen. I thought I was clear, but not long after getting settled in my office, Anthony showed up at my doorway. It was surprisingly easy for me to tell him no, not nearly the anxiety or guilt I expected. I simply shook my head while telling him I was not going to be able to help. He smiled and nodded, and backed out of the office as silently as he had come. I am not even sure that he got to hear my closing argument of “we could both get in a lot of trouble if someone found out.” Which, although true, was an irrelevant factor in my decision. Once alone again, I thought of the words that he did hear, and pained slightly from their inaccuracy. “I am not going to be able to help.” Making it sound like it was beyond my control, when it was my decision and I could have helped if I wanted. But in my moment of discontent, I thought of the absurd but accurate statement that could have taken its place, “I do not want to help you.” Sometimes there is no place for the truth.

….

The funny thing is that I DO want to change the world (more than anything else in life), but never by that one person at a time method. I am sure you have heard this story of the girl and the starfish. A girl and her father walk along a beach not long after a big storm. Much to the child’s anguish, the storm had washed up countless starfish upon the beach. Her father expressed his sympathy and kept walking, but soon he noticed the girl had not followed. Turning back he sees her carrying starfish back to the ocean, one at a time. The father tries to dissuade her by telling her, “there is no way you can save all of these starfish, there is just not enough light in the day”. The girl agrees, but continues her effort saying, “I might not be able to save them all, but I can save THIS one and THAT one and the next one after that.”

I commend the girl with the starfish, I think she is sweet, but I am more like the father. Where I differ is in what I would do next. If I wanted to help the starfish, I would tell the girl that we can better use our time organizing the other people along the boardwalk. With her cute face and my knack for persuasion, we can get a hundred people out here scooping up starfish in no time at all. Then random passerbyers will see our efforts and want to join in as well. Before we know it, we will have them all cleaned up. That’s what I would do… if I cared about the starfish.

So I tell myself that I am a big picture world saver, and that I cannot get caught up in the individual. The problem with this viewpoint is that the world is made up of individuals, and to get the world moving you have to begin with somebody or someone. There must be a balance in all things. I hope my decision to reject Anthony’s request was not a rejection of my own wants in life as well.

Investing 102

2008-11-30T04:23:00.000-08:00

I am in need of some discipline. It is not often that I get to say this to myself, but when it comes to investing it seems to be the truth. I meant to write this piece a week ago when my portfolio was down something like 10% because I would have written with much more conviction then. You see right now, I am up 12%, and frankly I don’t feel as foolish as I did then. Regardless of whether I am up or down, there are some things that I can learn from my first approach to investing.

First let me describe to you my investment strategy. Me and my friend Jon sat around one day and listed all the stocks that we had any interest in. I believe that list was around 50 stocks. We then looked at what the 52 week spread (lowest price in a year to the highest price in a year) of that particular stock, and chose a price suitably lower than the 52-week low.

For example: Bank of America… that company is good, and look how low the stock price is. I think I will buy it if it hits 18 bucks, seeing as how the lowest price in a year has been 22.

So the stock hits 18 bucks, and I buy that stock. Buy is a little of an understatement, ‘pounce’ is a better word. This price is soooo cheap, I better get it now. I chose BAC as an example, because it taught my first lesson in how not to invest. Never ‘pounce’ on a stock. Right now BAC is second to last in returns in my portfolio with a loss of 15%. I similarly pounced on Citigroup, which was un-godly low in price at like 4.50. I watched that stock lose about 40% of its value from the time I bought it, but it is now leading my portfolio in returns with a 76% return on investment (ROI). So here are two examples of pounces, one unsuccessful, one wildly successful, but both completely unexpected. You see, pouncing introduces unnecessary risk because you do not take the time to look at the reason that a stock is behaving the way it does. If I would have taken the time to do my research into why BAC and C stock dropped so dramatically, I would have noticed the little news report that stated that Paulson (our Treasury Secretary) decided to renege on his promise to use the $700B bailout money to buy toxic assets (all those bad mortgages and credit default swaps that started this whole mess). So if the government was not buying them, the banks would have to swallow them and that equals lots of losses for the banks. Hence the drop in price across the financial sector. Hypothetically, knowing this, I would have said… ‘let’s wait until this news is accepted by the market, and the prices of these companies bottom out’. If that would have happened, I would have bought the BAC stock at 10 bucks instead of the 18 I bought it at, or C at 3 instead of 4.50. This would account for a 50% and +100% respectively on each stock by now, and it all it would have cost is patience. So lesson number one. Be patient when buying, and learn the reason for the drop.

My second lesson is in volume. In a market as tumultuous as this one, it is tempting to take advantage of many of the genuine discounts that pop up every day. But falling into a buying frenzy may leave your budget expended before the real steals come along. On my spending forecast, I am way ahead of plan. Don’t get me wrong, I have bought some bargains, but I have bought too many too fast that I now have to be stingy when it comes to any future purchases. This would be okay if purchasing were free, but brokerage fees of up to 10 bucks a trade will automatically eat into any gains from a stock price increase. Like in life, bulk is cheaper, and having invested heavily in the front-end, I decrease my ability to buy in bulk on the back end. Having said this, it is best to make sure you don’t try and time the market for a bottom, because markets roar back to life usually as quickly as they dropped. Which in this markets case, could mean a gain of 40% in a few days or weeks. Lesson number two: set up a timetable for fund expenditure, and stick to it. This recession is probably not going to end for a bit so there was really no need to rush in so quickly.

Lesson number three, diversify and spread your risk. While they say that high risk pays over time, you should still balance your high risk bets with some stable ones. They classify stocks into generally three categories, growth, value, and income. Growth is risky but has the potential to well, grow. Value are stocks that are priced well now and expected to moderately appreciate in value over time. Income stocks have high dividends, where you might not get a large growth in stock price, but you will get quarterly dividends for every share of stock you own. I have no interest in income stocks because those are for old people who need money to live on in retirement, so I am exclusively in growth and value stocks. What I would like to do is balance my somewhat risky stock profile with some less risky funds. Most people know about mutual funds, but it may pay to do some research on Exchange Traded Funds (ETFs). All funds are supposed to track a sector, the difference is that mutual funds are actively managed and ETF’s are passively managed. Basically, a mutual fund will have higher management fees because there is a person actively picking stocks and selling stock to maximize the returns of a specific sector. So if you were investing in commodities, a mutual fund would have a person buying and selling commodity stocks to give you the best returns available in that sector. A ETF is passive, which in short means a computer model buys and sells shares in lieu of an actual person. The two benefit that an ETF offer are lower management fees (which seriously boost your balance sheet in the long run) and you can trade ETFs on the market just like stock (a mutual fund can only be traded at the close of the market, ETFs can be sold anytime). ETFs are not new, but they have become extremely popular lately because they seem to do just as well or better at tracking a sector without charging an arm and a leg just to get in the door with them. A benefit I left out, MFs often have high minimum balances (ex. 10K) but ETFs can be bought by the share if you so desired. I have gotten long winded with this one, but the lesson is to diversify the risk of your portfolio, and I intend to do that through ETF investing. Likely with ETFs that match Small Cap stocks (VB), Financials (VFH), and publicly traded Chinese companies (FXI). I have not made the mistake of being non-diversified yet, but if there is one thing I have learned from friends and colleagues, is that betting heavily in one or two stocks can have disastrous results.

As of now I own the following stocks: BAC, BHP, C, CCJ, CWCO, GE, GM, GOOG, GS, MON, NUE, PBR, POT, STP, and XOM. My return is at 12.4%.

I have to say this yet again. It is very EASY to make money in this market because everything is so cheap. I am making money despite my ignorance of investing because the market conditions are in the investors favor. I hope you all can take advantage of the times.

I am holding off on investing until this current market rally subsides (maybe a week, maybe a month), but then I plan to dive into the following areas:

Buying more of the stock that I own already. Particularly if they offer a good bargain.

Buying the ETFs that I listed before as appropriate. Hopefully Financials first, then China stocks, then Small Caps.

Investing in electrical infrastructure and utilities. If Obama’s plans to increase our energy efficiency are enacted, the electric grid is going to be one of the first things that need an overhaul. With his plans to build roads and such, commodities and construction equipment companies should be a good bet as well.

*Disclaimer: I have given up on studying the ‘fundamentals’ of a company. I.E. studying the balance sheet and their corporate earning reports. I simply ask myself if the business that this company is in will do well in the immediate and long term future, and if its price represents a good value on its past price and performance. The last part is supposedly bad practice since a stocks price is a stochastic process meaning its future is independent of its past… but I have not been convinced of that yet.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-29T22:27:00.000-08:00

The weekend is over, and another week of early rising and office-squatting has begun. Strangely, I am happy that the work week is here. Not because I intend to work (as in the work they pay me to do), but because this is another week that I have eight hours of potential me-time. I can write, read news articles, or research some financial opportunities, all while collecting a decent paycheck. Now of course there will be times that I actually have to work, and work hard probably, but this end of the year timeframe is about as lax as it can get. This is good for the blog, because it gives me some time to catch everyone up.

It was another good weekend in Doha. My shipment arrived yesterday which was pretty much the last box to check in my official move. Also, Thanksgiving was pretty great as well, and I was fortunate enough to have had three days of celebrating the event. Seeing as how I have no real food in my apartment, I am very happy to have a fridge full of leftovers.

The first Thanksgiving Dinner I attended was pretty much the black folks of Doha, and needless to say, that food was by far the best of all the meals. They had fried turkey, candy yams, stuffing, PORK, and all kinds of other goodness. It was about twenty folks, including some loud arse children, and there was no shortage of anything. I was having a good time chatting it up with the older and increasingly drunker black folks of Qatar, but I had some partying to do with the young crowd. That night, they had a ‘famous’ DJ named Benny Benasi come into town and that was the place to be in Doha. It was much more fun than I thought it was going to be, the DJ played some pretty good house and electronica music that made me realize how dance deprived I have been lately. We had a good group of people and all was well, for a while. To protect the innocent, I will leave out details, but the night ended with me having to convince a heavily inebriated woman that I would not take her home with me. This involved a test “If you can stand up straight, I will consider it”… fail; and eventually only succeeded by me passing her off to some lady friends that would take better care of her. Surprisingly, being the good guy was very difficult in this case. The girl is smart, attractive, and unique, which in a place like Doha is a one in a million opportunity. But I passed, and I beat my head against the elevator door until I reached my floor, alone. Who knows what will become of the situation now. You would think I would get some points for such integrity, but drunk people forget things and the whole chivalry is likely only remembered in my mind now.

The next day I went to a Thanksgiving dinner that was organized by the folks from the ‘camel-sandwich’ dinner. It was put on by the entire villa complex and it was a pretty good time. The guy who invited me was super-hung over from some ridiculous partying the night before, so he pretty much was absent from his own event 90% of the time. It has dawned on me that Westerners drink entirely too much in this country, but now that I think about it, Westerners drink entirely too much in any country. Here they have the rare combination of bigger salaries and less things to do, solution, drink. The food was so so, but it was plentiful. The biggest plus was meeting some new people. The highlight being a guy who does car customizations here in Doha. He had just finished putting 26”s on a Rolls Royce Phantom, and had changed out the exhaust on a Lamborghini Murcielago before that. Not only am I excited to have found someone to put a sound system in the Jeep I am going to get, but I intend to hopefully get invited to his shop when awesome cars come in. It is for opportunities like this that I recommend being an event whore whenever you go to a new place. Do everything that you can and meet as many people as possible, and then you can whittle down from the masses the people that actually suit your interests and needs. I also met another young black guy who is pretty cool, but who might be gay… not that there is anything wrong with that. Out of two younger African American guys I have met here (from outside the company), one was flaming, and the other is suspect. Either I am paranoid about homosexuals (which I am), or we have an increasingly high population of black men who are on the other side of the fence. Surprisingly, I hear that this is not a bad part of the world to be in if you are homosexual. Openly it is both condemned and punishable, but behind closed doors it is rumored to be a thriving community. I have come to terms with the fact that I am uncomfortable around gay men, but that will be an entry for another time. That night, I ended up watching Body of Lies (Grade: B), and taking it easy.

Saturday came around and yet another thanksgiving dinner was in order. This time it was with the old guard, hosted by my friend Cory, and turned out to be a very good time. The food was good, and since we all were fairly familiar with each other, it made the day feel as much like a family event as Thanksgiving in Doha could. It was long though and by the end of the day I was ready to crash.

Well I ought to do some real ‘work’ so I will continue my ramblings later.

More Doha Happenings

2008-11-26T09:51:00.000-08:00

I am loving the life over here so far. My place is feeling more and more like home, I am getting lots of exercise, meeting new people, and generally dictating my own schedule at work. Yesterday I went out to dinner with a few people and it was a really good time. The thing about working here in Doha, is that everyone is here for a unique reason. Going around the table, we had a mother who is a physician who is specializing in internal disorders; her daughter who is a hippy doing a bit of everything; a teacher from LA who has taught in Venezuela, Japan, and now Doha; me who works for the devil; a very self centered young biologist who teaches nursing on the side…

Time out: The thing about self centered people (and I fall prey to this too) is that they enjoy talking about themselves more than they enjoy listening or hearing about anyone else. The reason these people succeed in living this lifestyle without becoming social outcasts is because these people are usually very interesting. They do interesting things, they follow their own path, and this gives them more to talk about which makes them seem more interesting, which makes them want to do even mooore interesting things, and the cycle continues. Basically, egocentric people are pretty annoying but you still cant hate them completely because they usually lead extremely interesting lives. In the case of this young biologist, he studies sea snakes and especially the ones that get caught in the giant seawater intake pipes up at the gas tanks. He milks, tags and releases these highly deadly (their sting will kill you) critters back into the wild. Pretty cool, but that’s not it, he is also a backpacker who has traveled to a whole bunch of awesome places. I know this much, because in the 30-second introduction that we all did, he took up about five minutes. Back to the story.

…; a visiting friend who was either high, slow or jetlagged; a Japanese-american professor who teaches at Qatar Academy…

Time out: This guy was cool too. He was relatively quite, but when it came to his introduction, it was as if a light switch was turned on. He was far more interesting than the egotistical teacher (and he knew it) but let us draw it out of him rather than forcing it on us. The bait he provided were his research topics: something boring, the evolution of lions (he used some technical terms) throughout some time long ago (some other technical term for one age or another), and the behavioral abnormalities in the reproduction of mammals (or something like that). He refused to talk about his sex research, claiming it to sensitive for the conservative Moroccan restaurant we were eating at, but gave us plenty of anecdotes related to his research on tigers. This guy was also fond of memorable statements like: you have very polish morphology (translation: you look polish) and to live in japan you must be a self inflicting masochist (is there any other kind of masochist I asked). He also told us why professors are so boring and hard to understand. It is intentional he explained. Most professors only care about the research, so lecturing is just an exercise of confusing as many people as possible by talking in circular and elaborate English in a monotonous tone. Back to the program.

…; a kid who got out of school and had the choice of working in the oil industry in Canada or going to Qatar with his parents…

Time out: He was cool too. He decided to try out Qatar and so he arrived and started looking for a job. He had no experience and no one would hire him except for some school that needed a professor for one of their oil classes. This is the same school that the egotistical biologist works at, and evidently they take anyone. Probing him about what that means for the school, having a professor who clearly does not know anything (I asked him in a nice way). He explained that his job was not really to teach but to pass everyone that came in the course. His students, Qataris, take a test at the end of the year, and if they pass they go and get a job in the government and if they fail they take the test over and over again until they pass. It was also interesting to hear that when surveying his class, only 50% of the young men in his class ever intended to have a career. Women responded at around 25%. Most would evidently prefer to work more as a hobby and to live off of the assistance provided by the government. I take these statements with a grain of salt, but that is an interesting claim. Returning.

…; an emergency health service guru; and a random guy and his wife that came late and did not speak much. We had a wonderful dinner at a Moroccan restaurant, where I had a camel sandwich and some wonderful Arabic tea, and then parted ways.

I realize I spent a ridiculous amount of time talking about last night, so let me breeze through the rest of the weeks highlights. I went to a high end auto show at Qatar’s man-made island called the Pearl (still under construction), where I saw some Rolls Royce’s. Bentleys, Lambo’s, Ferrari’s, etc. The thing about seeing these things here is that you are probably just as likely to see them driving around town, so that made it slightly less exciting than normal. They had a bugatti veyron that they did not even uncover, and I was not interesting in waiting for the unveiling, because I will probably see one of those driving around town one day. The highlight of the show for med was the Konesseg (sp?) CCX. This car was priced at well over a million bucks and is one of the fastest cars in the world. I will post pics on Facebook. The best thing was that they turned it on and revved the engine for everyone. It was like a rapid fire machine gun with rabies, loud and uncontrollable.

We had a big party at work because we unveiled our new building (the one I work in), and it was pretty boring. They said there were going to be refreshments so everyone took that to mean drinks and ate lunch before hand. Turns out there was like a million pounds of food and desert at this thing, the vast majority of which will go to waste.

That’s about it so far. Later.

God's Law

2008-11-22T10:58:00.000-08:00

I am quite tired right now, and sleeping is the most desirable thing I could do right now, but I am trying to get disciplined about this whole writing thing. I forgot to mention a few other interesting things about that culture class that I took, and it had to do with the unique properties of the church state.

As a Muslim country, Qatar laws are dictated by the Sharia’a which are the rules spelled out in the Holy Koran. In the states the Supreme Court is the highest authority for settling matters of law but in Qatar the highest authority is that of the religious leader (an Iman I think) who interprets the holy law. This was particularly important to me because I had a specific question on the matter: “Are there any laws here that I would be unused to in my home country, such as the law of zero tolerance for drinking and driving?” Basically I wanted to know how to keep myself out of jail. The teacher, knowing that I am young and single, decided to explain the laws of female and male interaction. Basically it is illegal for a man and a woman to be in private together if they are not married. It is illegal for them to be provocative in public even if they are married. Lastly, although it might not be illegal, I am not to approach a Qatari woman under any circumstances with the intent to court her. He did go on to say that although it is illegal, these laws (except the last) are largely for those of the Muslim faith and that us expats generally can do what we please as long as it is in a non-offensive manner. I was glad to hear his advice, but I was still looking for more than just the rules on interacting with woman. That I could have guessed on my own, but after asking again for any reference to laws I should know but probably don’t, I realized he would not go any further. You see the laws and the rulings of the court are not published, leading to a situation where the laws and their punishments are variable.

In the states, stealing is against the law and you will be convicted if found guilty. Your guilt is independent of your motive, whether it be greed or to provide for your family. Your sentence may be lighter for one motive or another, but you are guilty either way. In the case of Sharia’a it would seem that your guilt is dependent on the infraction and the motive. Stealing for greed would be punishable whereas stealing to provide for your family could possible be deemed acceptable. Lawyers speak of ‘intent’ when it comes to laws. As in, this laws intent was to do this and that, but often the wording and precedents associated with said law make ruling based on the intent difficult. This system of variability in judgment in a Muslim nation fixes that problem. A judge can rule based on the intent of the law being ‘broken’. In the case of stealing, the intent is to define the rights of personal property, not necessarily to punish those that have no alternative that can ensure the survival of themselves and their families. This benefit in determining intent or reasonableness of a crime comes at the price of fairness. Favoritism and the differing opinions of judges can create wildly different results from similar circumstances. This does not seem to bother anyone because of their views of fate and faith. If they get a bad judge who gives an unnecessarily long sentence, it is simply the will of God.

The moderator of the event gave one interesting example. Expats are allowed to own a liquor license that grants them the right to have alcoholic beverages in their homes. Most Expats seem to have them and the state makes a pretty penny off the highly inflated beverage prices. Well one Expat bought a bunch of liquor, took it home, and then went out of town on a business trip. While he was gone, his maid decided to sell some of his liquor, and she was caught in the process. Selling alcohol is illegal, so she was arrested. Once the man got back in to town, the cops were waiting at the airport, and he was arrested as well. In court, the man tried to explain that he was given the liquor permit by the state and that his maid was the sole violator of the countries policy on alcohol. The judge did not agree with the mans logic, and offered these words. “Who is more important, the state, or God?” Clearly the answer was God, because the man was found guilty of violating the countries alcohol policy, was given lashes and sent home. No one in the court argued that he tried to sell the alcohol, but he was in violation of God’s will by even having alcohol in the first place which is in violation of Sharia’a. Despite being legal under the states law, he was guilty of God’s law and was punished accordingly.

Settled in Doha

2008-11-20T12:11:00.000-08:00

My day just got umpteen million times better. I found my top-secret essential-to-my-survival notebook. I lose it about once a month and I despair unnecessarily until it shows up in an unexpected but perfectly logical place. This time it was in one of my suitcases that I threw stuff in as I moved into my apartment. Hooray or was it Gossam? I can’t believe I forgot the superior Hooray synonym already.

Well to the point. I am in Doha, set up and ready to go. I am extremely relieved to be here, well anywhere really, that I can safely call my home for the foreseeable future. For most of the last nine or ten months I have been bouncing between Houston, Doha, and Lagos, and that was getting a little stressful. So how is it? Awesome.

I arrived on Monday night and pretty much threw my stuff down in my temporary apartment and tried to stay awake long enough to get a decent nights rest. My permanent apartment on the 19th floor of the cool tower was not supposed to be ready for a few weeks, but they had both an unexpected vacancy on the 9th floor of the other tower, so I ended up moving into my permanent place the next day. This place is huge… I am not good with square feet, but I would guess it is about 1500 square feet at least. It is fully furnished (and stocked with food) which is good because my stuff would have fit in maybe one room and would have made it look crappy in the process. If anyone comes to visit Doha, you will have plenty of room.

So Wednesday was the Qatar Culture Awareness, which was actually very informative despite my four months of exposure to this country. We learned that politics is still very tribal and that the Emir is chosen partly on ability and partly on political appeasement. The current Emir had an interesting history with his half-brother because everyone figured the brother was the most qualified and the obvious choice. But I guess the powers that be wanted a more neutral candidate. The Emir is married to two cousins and a non-relative, the latter has borne the Heir Apparent (the successor). We were given all kinds of other tidbits of info, and frankly, a lot of it ground against our socialization as Westerners. In the discussion on labor rights, our presenter simply said: “Here we do not believe in unions, or the rights of workers. Or for their ability to make demands or strike or force higher wages, it is just taboo.” On citizenship: “I have lived here my entire life, but because my parents were not born in Qatar and of Qatari heritage, I cannot be a citizen. I have to renew my work permit just like anyone of you.” On rules: “There are the rules but there are also exceptions. You know its who you know, so yes, mentioning a name or making a few phone calls can get you around many things here. Its not that the rules are broken, we just understand different circumstances.” And on women rights: “It’s really just a pride thing, nothing against the women. Men here just want to feel like they are the head of the household and that they make the decisions.” On this last one, I would like to point out that Qatar is making huge leaps in the area of women rights. One example is in the Sheikha Mozha who is a spokesperson for the country around the world, but another is in their version of a parliament or congress. He told the story of four years ago, women were allowed to run for the first time. Three chose to do so. By the day of the election, two succumbed to the pressure, and pulled their name from the ballot. The third stuck in, and received one vote, her own. Fast forward four years to the latest election, and not only did more women run, but three won. This is even more astounding when you consider that it’s a 40 person cabinet. I know it’s not perfect, but I think they are on the right path. It is interesting though that Qatari men are given very valuable parcels of land and a salary from the state (assuming they are from a recognized family) and a women has to either marry (which is typically arranged) or she has to petition the state for funds if she remains single, which the state is happy to oblige.

Other interesting stuff is that they are completely tax free in this country, loans are extremely cheap (4.25 percent no matter who you are and credit cards are like 8 percent), and the population has doubled over the last couple of years. Also, the PGA tour golf course that they have uses 10% of the countries water supply. Talk about a status symbol.

After the class, I went car shopping, and have pretty much settled on a new 4-Door Jeep Wrangler. Gas is like 30 cents, you need a SUV to go in the desert or to get through some of the more dodgy streets, and the to survive the driving here you need something to intimidate others with.

Today I took a tour of Doha for half the day, but declined the full thing because my boss was asking me if I ever planned on coming in to work. I did get driven around the golf course, and it is was no surprise that this thing consumes as much water as it does. It was by far the nicest golf course I have ever been on and it had better be if its on the PGA tour. My only beef with it was how unnatural the whole thing was. The landscape was at war with this monstrosity, and nature was losing. The desert wins at the fringes, but this country is so rich that it can afford the million dollar a month (guess) water bill that is required to keep it going. On a side note, the head groundskeeper is a black man which was neat.

My group had a honorary lunch for one of our employees at the Four Seasons hotel, and afterwards I did my first bit of work since I got in town. After work I was able to go out with a young Qatari guy that joined the team. He invited me out to a football game with some other guys and I showed that Americans know how to play. I don’t mean to brag, but I was pretty awesome out there scoring like 6 or seven goals, and this was in tennis shoes. Unfortunately, next time I play, they will be expecting the same performance. That brings me to tonight, and I am simply going to clean up my place and hit the sack to sleep off the last of this jetlag. I plan on writing again now that I am settled, so look out for more.

P.S. Today on the way to the soccer game I drove behind a Rolls Royce Phantom ($400K+), an Aston Martin DB9 ($150K+), and a Lamborghini Gallardo ($150K+). In another display of Qatari wealth. The same guy I played soccer with took me to lunch with his friend one day. This kid had a Cartier wrist watch, a pen with diamonds running down the clip, and drove us in a Porsche Cayenne Turbo. I say kid because he was like 22 and had been out of university for maybe three months. He did explain that it was his uncles Porsche, and that he was borrowing it until his car gets in. I asked him what kind, and he said, “oh another Porsche Cayenne”. Seeing my incredulous look, he explained “Its not the Turbo version, just the GTS.” Money like Arabs.

Welfare... brought to you by ExxonMobil

2008-10-30T06:19:00.000-07:00

Please send me your addresses, bank account and routing numbers, and I will transfer $10,000 USD into your account on behalf of ExxonMobil Corp.

This is not charity. It is a Congressional mandate that our record profits be distributed to you saps who have to buy our gas.

Jokes aside, ExxonMobil just reported the largest quarterly profit in history. Breaking its own record. Come back in three months when we will break the record for annual profit as well.

Hate on me hater, now or later...

Go head and hate on me, hater...

What I got, I paid for...

You can hate on me...

Thomas Friedman: The World Is Backwards

2008-10-30T05:05:00.000-07:00

“Second, Washington could impose a national requirement that every state move its utilities to a system of ''decoupling-plus.'' This is the technical term for changing the way utilities make money -- shifting them from getting paid for how much electricity or gas they get you to consume to getting paid for how much electricity or gas they get you to save. Several states have already moved down this path.”

This is a quote out a New York Times article on the economy and its impact on the green-revolution. The article addresses an important point. When the economy crashes, and oil and gas prices drop, green initiatives become very unprofitable and are threatened with extinction. What was not a good point is Thomas Friedman’s (famed author of The World Is Flat) quoted text.

Is it just me or did he say, utility companies should not be paid for what they sale, but instead for what they do not sell? The idiocy and the implications of this quote cannot be ignored, especially because it is a tenant of much of the ‘green revolution’.

Let’s take a normal commodity like food. Friedman’s philosophy would suggest that instead of getting paid for how many meals I sell, I should get paid for how many meals I keep people from eating. Preposterous to think food is in the same boat as energy. If such a terrible policy is applied to utility companies (ExxonMobil would not fall in to this category) then what’s to stop a similar theory to being applied to McDonalds. Because your food is unhealthy we are going to stop letting you make money from what you sell and instead pay you for how many people you can keep out of your stores. The end game is you are most profitable when you have no customers, hooray you have profited yourself into nothingness.

I always wanted to read Friedman’s new book, but if it is filled with drivel like this... how can I. What he is proposing is destroying the idea of a capitalist enterprise and replaces it with a government controlled socialist entity. Because if you are getting paid from what you do not sell, your salary will ultimately be from a source other than your customers, in this case the government.

Some of you may be nodding your head with agreement, but we walk the line on other issues. Forcing oil companies to invest certain percentages of their earnings in renewable energy or forcing American automakers to meet certain CAFÉ mandated fuel efficiency ratings are also steps in which government plays a role in business. I do not see these acts as necessarily bad but they must be watched carefully. Forcing a company to make money in different areas and forcing a company to become unnecessary are two different things, but looking from where we are now to where we are headed, these two are along the same path. Hopefully we can exercise balance in this issue and decide what is acceptable and what is not.

Jonathan would say you can’t walk the line, but I hope we can. Because I don’t think I can sit idly by if nonsense like that is being accepted as gospel.

Not done yet…

“Third, an idea offered by Andy Karsner, former assistant secretary of energy, would be to modify the tax code so that any company that invests in new domestic manufacturing capacity for clean energy technology -- or procures any clean energy system or energy savings device that is made by an American manufacturer -- can write down the entire cost of the investment via a tax credit and/or accelerated depreciation in the first year.”

I had not made it to his third idea yet. No matter how unprofitable or exorbitantly expensive your design or process is, its cost-free to you as long as it is clean. People, I get the intention. We want to create incentives for technological development in clean technology. But offering to reimburse entire investment costs (regardless of effectiveness) is a terrible idea that will be wasteful at best and subject to manipulation at worse.

That’s it for now, I am going to go build myself an eco-mansion using an American construction company and write it off on my taxes as a energy saving device made by an American manufacturer. Come visit me anytime.

Proper Smashed

2008-10-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

The sun woke me up this morning. This is normally a good thing, except when you realize you are on a sand dune in the desert with nothing recognizable in sight. Confusion turns to panic and back to confusion. The nausea that accompanied my awakening made me realize one fact, I brought myself out here, and its going to be one heck of an adventure getting myself back.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me describe this amazingly eventful weekend in Qatar. It started off like any weekend anywhere, a night out on the town on Thursday (our equivalent of Friday) with drinking, dancing, and a pretty good DJ. I even got invited to go on a yacht the following day, but I already had plans. That Friday, I was off to an overnight camping trip to the Inland Sea. The Inland Sea is a large inlet of water from the Persian Gulf that has snaked its way into the desert. It separate Saudi Arabia and Qatar’s border and provides wonderful contrasts of towering sand dunes and sparkling blue waters. It is a beautiful place.

Getting there is a much uglier ordeal. It is more like a safari than a road trip, and it best done in groups. Luckily all the logistics were planned out for me. I was to join my friend Cory and a bunch of Brits (plus a Finn and South African family) in their caravan. We woke up early, bought tents and food, and drove the hour south to rendezvous point. There we ditched Cory’s car (which got stuck in the sand immediately after leaving the road) and climbed into the much more robust SUV’s. Our four deep caravan managed to make it about ten minutes into the desert before our first problem struck. Danny’s (one of our drivers) car simply stopped moving. The wheels would not spin, the gears would not engage, he was a sitting duck. We were not yet in the dunes, and gratefully so, when we had this first lesson in hydraulic pressure. See a four wheel drive system has to build up pressure in the hydraulics in order to keep those four wheels spinning. If the pressure is not built you just sit there and wait until it does. Luckily our South African friend was pretty much an expert in all things off-roading. He identified the problem and had us moving in no time. From there we took the popular and relatively defined path to the inland see. Every time someone went rogue or we had to cut over a dune, the tow rope had to come out to rescue the stranded vehicle. When there are four cars, there is always someone to help you out.

The journey took a little longer than expected, and it was about two thirty in the afternoon by the time we picked a camping spot and put up our tents. By three the drinking and barbequing were well on their way. I had this silly idea that I was not going to do much drinking, so I mostly swam in the water (which had the strongest current I had ever encountered) and enjoyed my beautiful surroundings. The Finn, Eeva, even brought out a snowboard and let us all give a shot at sand boarding. Although fun, it turns out I am about as bad at sand boarding as I am at snow boarding.

It was a little after our boarding adventures that I gave up on soberness. Despite the Saudi patrol car on the other side of the water observing our debauchery, everyone was in quite the jovial mood by the time the sun was setting. We would have loved to catch the sunset from the top of a dune, but we ended up running into some stranded Frenchmen and their family on the way. So we spent the sunset pushing and pulling on a Range Rover that was completely unwilling to get unstuck. Eventually they were freed, and we exchanged numbers in the likely event that they got stuck again despite the unlikely chances of us ever finding them. Luckily they did not call.

As the sun set, we gathered round the hookah pipe and enjoyed those old campout feelings of our childhood. The South African family and a British couple both headed out after dinner, and they took restraint and moderation with them. Darkness settled in, the lamps were lit, and I learned why Brits (especially Scots) are so famous for drinking. Many bottles of liquor, packs of beers, and boxes of wine later I found myself having quite the wonderful time with my new comrades. Evidently there were Smores, sand burials, and shooting stars, but my memories were only fully brought back when the pictures surfaced.

What I do remember is being taken by the stars. I am going to confess that when I get really drunk, I tend to do very stupid things. This is probably why I don’t let it happen often. But of the times I can remember I have tried to climb a cathedral wall in a Spanish Square, gotten my leg caught on a fence I was trying to hop over (subsequently landing on my chin), and recently, I intended to walk into the desert and climb a tall dune to be one with the stars. Stupid idea, yes, but you did not see these stars. They were bright, alive, and innumerable, you almost just wanted to stay up all night and watch them. You forget what the sky is really like when you are constantly surrounded by the clutter of humanity.

So I walked, with my mp3 player as the soundtrack, deep into the desert. I remember the walk, I remember the dune, and I remember the stars, but mostly I remember waking up to the sun beating down on me.

It had to have been about five or six in the morning, and it was warm but not yet hot. I felt bad, in the stomach not the head, but was more concerned about my whereabouts than anything else. I scanned the horizon, and had to fight a bout of panic when I could not see any water. Then I realized my mp3 player was gone. I searched the sand in vain, but realized my energy and my time would probably be better spent finding my way home. So I picked myself up and started walking. Walking away from the dune was the easy part, but soon I had to choose a direction. I knew I was not far enough away from the water to never be found, so picking the right choice was just a matter of avoiding the miserable task of being lost for hours. Surprisingly, my instincts told me where to go and I merely listened. It was not the exact path I took to get there, but it was pretty darn close. In half an hour, I could see the tents and my salvation again. It was not until I passed out I reached my tent that I realized that I was still very drunk and that I was exhausted. Everyone was still sleep, so I drank some water and passed out.

When I woke up people acknowledged that I looked like death but had no idea that I had gone anywhere the night before. Evidently I stayed up later than everyone and was in my tent when they awoke. After more rest and food, I was well enough to join the group again. I requested a drive back to the dune so that I could look for my mp3 player, and Chris and Cory volunteered to take me. Once again I found the dune without much difficulty and proceeded to scan the bottom of the dune for any noticeable impurity. I was about to give up when Cory pointed to the top of the dune and said “I think that’s it”. Having bad eyes and not believing I had climbed that high, I disagreed. But Chris confirmed that there was a box and headphones close to the top of the dune. Climbing that dune drunk must have been bad, but climbing it hung-over in the 150 degree sand was just unbearable. I recovered it, but I still wonder if it was worth the pain of the climb and that searing sand.

We drove back (about two kilometers if I had to guess) and started to pack things up. The ride back was just hell. I think it took us three hours, and there were one or two times in which we thought we were going to be stuck out there all night or until a patrol could help. We dug, towed and pushed our way out of some very serious sand pits. Vomiting at some point during that day would have been merciful. Eventually we made it back to the original rendezvous point, but I was so tired that I barely noticed the goodbyes.

All in all it was a great trip, but it has caused me to give up drinking for at least a few days.

P.S. There are some serious critters in the desert. I woke up with literally hundreds of bug bites (54 on just my left arm) all over my body; I itch uncontrollably as I type this.

I Passed

2008-10-22T01:13:00.000-07:00

God Anthony, why do you have to be so HIV negative all the time?

That was taken from South Park and tweaked, but it applies since I passed my test. Hooray. Now I can take some more tests to see if I can get into the country.

What's the Result?

2008-10-21T05:24:00.000-07:00

Today I took an HIV test. Not because I wanted to make sure I was STD free, but because the country of Qatar made me. In order to move here, I have to get a chest X-ray to prove I have somewhat healthy, get my blood group recorded, and get an HIV/AIDS test to make sure I don’t contaminate this country with the heretic’s virus.

Aside from thinking that it is kind of a smart thing to do, and realizing that it never hurts to get tested, it crossed my mind that it would really suck to fail this test. I mean it would suck failing a HIV/AIDS test anywhere at anytime, and I am 99.9% sure I will pass (knock on latex), but failing here, now, would be super-terrible. Because not only would I have HIV, everyone would find out (because that would be the only logical reason I would be denied a resident permit), and I would have to leave the country and probably lose my job. That’s like a triple whammy.

Not sure if there is a lesson or point to this… oh yea, here’s one, stay abstinent. Now I remember. Assuming I do get to stay in this country, I figure the only thing to worry about while screwing around here is getting someone pregnant (and herpes, Chlamydia, gonorrhea, etc.), which is at least 100 times less bad than getting the virus. I’m screwing everything in sight (joke).

*Actually, I looked up HIV/AIDS statistics in Qatar, and evidently there are 78 people with the virus in this country (as of 2007). Don’t know where they got that number from, but evidently its not all fun in the sun here in Doha.

Thoughts Worth Sharing

2008-10-21T05:02:00.000-07:00

Thought One:
After sending out a note to some friends for dinner, I get a response from one guy saying something like “I will try and make it, but don’t hold me to it because you know I am flaky”.

This caused me to realize that self-deprecation or being open with your flaws is usually a win-win. If he does not show up, I can’t be too mad at him because he told me he might not. Its not really nice to be mad at him for being flaky either, because, well, we all have our flaws. So in essence he has exonerated himself of responsibility on the issue. He can gain points by showing up, and that ‘flaky excuse’ prevents him from losing any if he does not show. Smart play.

The one catch to this. The personal flaw card only works if people feel you are working to fix what is accepted as a flaw. Otherwise you just come off as a flaky guy who is also a loser for not trying to be less flaky.

Thought Two:
So I was on the toilet the other day, cleaning myself up, when it occurred to me that I have never used the bidet that sits next to my toilet. I quickly dismissed the idea but was reminded of a conversation that exposed the nonsense in my objections to the bidet. In the US I was telling a friend how I thought bidets were nasty and weird and how I did not want my butt getting sprayed with water. After my rant, he agreed that he was not particularly inclined to use them either, but he ruined his collaboration with the following observation. If you get mud on your arm and you try and wipe it off with paper, you end up smearing it all around and making a mess. Now if you wet your arm and a cloth and THEN wipe that same spot, you end up cleaning the mud off with no mess or smearage.

Now when ever I use my trusty old toilet paper I think of wiping mud off my arm. That bastard.

Corporate Fat Cat

2008-10-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

As I left my personally climate controlled office and drove home in my rental car, I began to fret about the unnfortunate task ahead of me. I was about to have to change rooms in my hotel, what an inconvenience!

So what they are upgrading me to a suite with a wrap-around balcony, two bedrooms, and two forty inch LCD tv's, and three telephones (sometimes you just HAVE to make a call on the crapper)... they actually made me pack my own stuff up, the nerve! And this Lobster Rock Thermidore I ordered through room service is only average at best. Don't get me started onn the lentil soup, I can tell bottom of the cauldron dregs always. The only thing that brought a reasonable amount of comfort is the move in the stock market which has raised my return on investment to 15%.

Oh this life is hard. Big Oil really needs to do better by their employees, or else we might have to go to a profession that really knows how to treat its people.

Training Wheels

2008-10-20T07:03:00.001-07:00

These are exciting times we live in, particularly in the midst of the elections and the market fluctuations. Having talked about the elections enough, I want to shed some light on the other interesting phenomena of the year: the market collapse.

Since around this time last year, the Dow Jones has dropped from 14K points to a low of 8K with it now trading around 9K points, a drop of about 40%. The cause of this precipitous drop (3000 points in about a month) was the freezing of the credit markets. In a nutshell, bad loans were given (mostly originating from the housing market) and then were hedged through insurance on these loans, which were then bundled and traded as commodities on the market. It was not until recently that it became very obvious that there was no money behind any of this. Foreclosures and debt growth amongst the average loan recipient killed the momentum necessary to keep these lenders afloat. Liquidity has become a scarce thing in corporate America these days. Just like a person with too much debt, banks and other companies are now in a bind. One consequence is the selling of assets at ‘fire sale’ prices so that companies can gain liquidity, and on the other side, lenders are refusing to loan out money because they either do not have it or have no faith the money will ever come back to them. The government is attempting to fix this by opening up its wallet and providing the much needed cash and in return will own a stake of these corporations.

The point of this entry is to convince all three of my readers that we have an awesome opportunity on our hands. Each one of you should be using these next six to twelve months to save up for your first (or at least your biggest) entry into the stock markets. Not only should you be saving money, but you should be learning about the art of investing. When this recession ends, the stock market will be like Vegas where the player always wins in the long run. I have already gone and put a good amount of money into the market in case things have already hit their lowest, but I have been convinced that the worst is yet to come. I have had the luck of coming under the tutelage of what I term a ‘market guru’ who is going to teach me how to look at a company’s balance sheet and determine value, to predict market trends and recognize the formation of a bubble, and most important, how to make money hand-over-fist like he does. I have never cared much for money (or rather what it can buy you), but I know I need it and that the more I have of it, the less I have to concern myself with it in the future. So I am going to use this global downturn to make money, and I want all of you to as well.

I am going to start documenting the lessons I am learning on this journey, and hopefully we can all do a little better for ourselves.

Doha Doldrums

2008-10-18T12:04:00.000-07:00

The reality of moving is setting in. Gone is the phase of intrigue, novelty, and anticipation, what has taken its place is the reality that comes when the hoped for finally arrives. Up to recently, there was always the chance that this move would not happen, but now the rubber has hit the pavement.

I was sitting up this past morning realizing with what I would ‘dread’ the simple realities of my situation. I am moving far away AGAIN, this time really far away, and that move is going to bring along at least three months of loneliness, insecurity, home-sicknesss, etc. etc. Although I believe I will come out better for it, I am not looking forward to it. Luckily I have some friends out here, but in the big picture, I am pretty much out here alone. No family, no feeling of home, no cultural safe ground… all that is going to be tough to get through. But this is what I signed up for.

Emails from friends and family have just made me realize how much I will miss all of you all, and that being without the relative easy access to you will be difficult. Don’t feel too bad for me, I am just getting what I asked for.

Which reminds me, I am not here on vacation, I am here on a mission. These are the things that I want to do while I am here:

-Become a better writer, through consistent practice of course.
-Become more knowledgeable of other cultures, through travel and friendships with people other than ‘westerners’ and ExxonMobil employees.
-Increase my understanding of the issues controlling the world: economies, resources, wars, history, culture. Will do this through more non-fiction reading.
-Attempt to learn Arabic.
-Make all efforts to “taste the rainbow”.
-Exercise my body as well as my mind (swimming, yoga, weights, soccer)

Most people in my situation are here for the money, and yes I do appreciate the money, but that is way down on my priority lists. I must also not fall into the pitfall of trying to work to hard at my day job (not much chance of this).

This whole assignment is about growth and preparing myself for my destiny (whatever that may be). Wish me luck people.

A Tale of Two Candidates

2008-10-14T12:29:00.000-07:00

November is slowly encroaching on our lives, but unlike most years, this one brings with it the close of one of the most closely followed and most exciting Presidential election campaigns in this nation’s history. Come November 4, a day that will stand out in the memories of our lives, we will know who has won the great contest between Barack Obama and John McCain.

You can look at this debate through a number of lenses, whether from a policy on health care or Iraq, to their respective choices of Joe Biden and Sarah Palin for VP’s, but the most interesting view for me is through the lens of those ‘fundamental differences’ that each of these candidates often speak of. I wish I had written this post a few weeks ago, before Newsweek beat me to it, but I can at least have my crack at what was then untouched territory. I want to discuss the ways that each of these individuals sees the world.

The importance of this dissection lies in that old mantra ‘perception is reality’, and these two men will soon have the power to shape the nation and the world in the image of their perceptions. Also, when you look at their policies, the two are not as different as you would expect from a Democrat and Republican. They both more or less are supporting tax cuts, increased health care, financial regulation, and international diplomacy, even though they go about them in different ways. They both are far from the ‘right’ wing of politics, and let’s not forget that they are both agents of change. I, an independent, and a moderate one at that, fall squarely in the middle of the political spectrum and have given much attention to both candidates. I have decided that the difference between the candidates lies more in their private perspectives than in their public policies. It was mentioned in the second debate, electing a president is not about electing policies and promises, but about electing someone who’s character, wisdom, and passion will guide the country through the unforeseen future and the dynamic changes of the global landscape. So with that, lets begin.

John McCain is a fighter. Much of what will follow is a direct elaboration of this central fact. The history of a man is important, because like a vector, your origins play a large role in your destination. McCain was born into a family of military men who served this country courageously and achieved many accomplishments. His father and grandfather were four-star Admirals in the Navy, and he followed that same path, through the Naval Academy and into combat in Vietnam. In those skies, a force knocked both his plane and his life off its trajectory. I hope that we all know the story, he crashed, was beaten by a mob, rescued by the goodwill of a strange woman in a strange land, imprisoned for years in POW camp, offered release as a special courtesy to an Admiral’s son, rejected this offer and suffered away for several years until he was finally freed at war’s end. A story I find amazing. Evidently it moved him as well, because it changed his fighting from a physical arena to a political one. The goodwill of the Samaritan, the camaraderie of his fellow prisoners and the persistence against an evil force (from his perspective at the time) all changed John McCain from the future-admiral to a potential future-president.

Barack Obama is a thinker. I was torn to label him a number of things, from visionary to intellectual, but what stands out most is his instinct to think through issues objectively and thoroughly. Barack, who connects so effortlessly with his audience that I insist on using his first name like I know him, also has an interesting background. He was born to a Kenyan father and white Kansas mother, but was largely raised by his mother and grandparents after the early exodus of his father, Barack Sr. He grew up in Hawaii in a middle class household until his mother remarried, causing them to move to Jakarta, Indonesia, the birthplace of his new stepfather. Eventually moving back to Hawaii to live with his grandparents, he remained there until his college years in LA and NYC. After a short, but promising career in a research firm, he left this career to pursue his dream of community organizing in Chicago. After victories in these efforts, both small and large, Barack went on to get his Law Degree at Harvard, returned to organizing, became a professor of law, and eventually settled into his current career as a politician. Much of what makes Barack a complex person, more so than McCain, comes from the path of self-discovery that runs between these impressive accomplishments. Through internal battles with his racial background and with the absence of his father, Barack emerged with a deep appreciation for the everyday struggles that others around him were dealing with. This led him to devote his life to service and he intends to continue to do so as the next president of the United States.

Barack, the thinker, and McCain the fighter, both have compelling stories that force the electorate to decide between two competent and capable candidates. So how do their histories determine their perceptions of the present and future. Lets see:

On our enemies: McCain sees the world as a dangerous place because there are bad people out there that need to be beaten down or protected against. This view presumably originates with his military upbringing, career and schooling. Obama envisions the world as a place full of miscommunications and opportunities for cooperation. Obama learned to solve problems in the service sector where problems are solved through allies and compromise not force. Both know that we have enemies, but one is more apt to beat our enemies into submission and the other is likely to see diplomacy and strong sanctions as a path to peace. McCain favors the quote, ‘speak softly, and carry a big stick’ of Teddy Roosevelt, and Obama prefers the JFK ‘never negotiate out of fear, but never fear to negotiate’. Neither would fail to use force if necessary, but the levels of restraint and hesitation would be higher for Barack.

What this means practically. The prevention of nuclear capabilities in Iran, the sovereignty of Pakistan’s Afghanistan border, and the handling of the war in Iraq and Afghanistan are all issues where these differences may become a serious issue.

On our economy: Barack grew up in a single family home with grandparents who worked much of their lives. He is a solid believer in the strength of the middle class to power an economy and believes that the job creation is the key to enabling that strength. McCain admittedly does not claim to be an expert on the economy, and I suspect much of his ideas come from his background of wealth and republican ideology. That being that capitalism is a trickle down process, as it is intended to work, and that lowering taxes on the top corporations and individuals promotes investments and growth. Obama believes that wealth is concentrated in the hands of the few and wishes to equalize that distribution, McCain believes that what a person earns a person keeps.

The extremes of both views are scary. Barack’s plan for redistributing wealth in this country borders on socialism, and McCain’s tax cuts for corporations and high-wealth individuals will almost certainly allow the gap between ‘wall street’ and ‘main street’ to grow.

On healthcare and welfare: McCain proposes a significant reform to healthcare, but in no way does his plan make it universal. His plan gives the American public more freedom to take their health care provisions into their own hands. By providing a tax-credit to individuals, McCain argues that the individual will be able to choose what is best for him or herself based on their personal situation. This plays to McCains belief that government should largely stay out of the lives of the American people, and that individuals can make the best choices for themselves. It is important to note that illegal immigrants, and those that have fallen out of the federal tax system, will remain unaffected or potentially worse off from this plan. McCain does not believe in free handouts, especially to those who are not playing by the rules.

Obama plans to provide health care to each and every individual within the borders of this nation. As stated in the debate, he believes access to health care is a right. This will bring American policies more in line with our northern neighbor, and also with our contemporaries in Europe. But this will not come free; the increased coverage will likely lower the quality of some existing health care coverage, and will cause prices of ‘designer’ health care packages to be prohibitively expensive. This does bolster one of the central philosophies of Barack Obama: it is the responsibility of those who can, to provide for those who can not.

Ultimately, McCain will attempt to preserve the American way of life as it is and how it has been. Obama is prepared to guide us into a redefined American Dream in which the old lines of power and privilege are redrawn. McCain sees the America as the rightful leader of the free world while Obama sees that as a right the world must bestow upon us.

The reality of an Obama world is simple. America will have to change, from the fundamentals to the superfluous, our priorities and relations to the world will shift. We use too much energy, exercise too much power, and consume too many resources in comparison to the rest of the world. Obama believes that we must equalize with the rest of the world, and there will be undesirable aspects to that change. Under Obama, America will not fight the ascensions of other nations into power, and as a result we will use our current position of power to teach others how to grow their power responsibly.

McCain believes that we have what we deserve, not because we are gluttons, but because this is the reward and the right of those leading the free world. McCain will ensure that we continue to do so to the best of our abilities. It is not the plan of the McCain presidency to usher in the new world order, one in which the USA is not the sole-superpower. McCain may imagine the world as a giant game of King of the Hill, where there can only be one leader of the free world. We will fight to stay on top of that hill.

Prior to going to the polls on or before November 4, investigate how it is that you see the world. Doing so will make your choice for President much easier.

Cellophane

2008-10-08T11:11:00.001-07:00

I just spent the last ten minutes looking at the results of googling “Anthony Jackson”. I simply wanted to find out how easy it was to find some reference to myself in that big ole world wide web.

This innocent episode started when I searched the name Germanique Pickens. Why search that name? Because I went to lunch with one of my mentor’s from work, and he was like, ‘you need to meet Germanique’. But he said it in a manner that says ‘I wish I was twenty years younger so I could meet Germanique’ wink, wink. So I proceeded to look her up on our phone system. Unfortunately she did not pick up the phone, leaving my curiosity roaming free. So I googled her. It did not take much foresight to imagine she was probably the only Germanique Pickens in existence, and that there would probably be a pic of her somewhere (Facebook, myspace, etc.). Sure enough, there was a pic. My interest to meet her has gone down somewhat. BUT, the whole exercise made me want to look up my own name.

I knew my name was popular, and that many people such as bass guitarists, criminals, and authors shared my moniker. But I figured that if I filtered through all the clutter that they created, I would get to that diamond in the rough that is Me. Thirty google pages later, I gave up. If I am not google-worthy, what good is my existence? It really hurt when, on page 28 or so, I see GEM – Anthony Jackson. Thinking I had finally hit pay dirt, because I was indeed a GEM scholar (which there are not many), I click on the link to discover there was even another Anthony Jackson GEM scholar… that cheeky bastard, with his PhD and accomplishments. So it turns out I am an unoticable speck in the universe that is the internet.

All this has given me hope though, a new purpose even. I will be the most famous Anthony Jackson to ever hit the internet!!! I realize such an ambitious goal is not easily accomplishment. First I will become the most famous Anthony Jackson in Texas (evidently there are 50 of us according to White Pages), then I will become the most famous Anthony Jackson on Facebook (random friending, here I come), and finally I will take on the entire internet. I will need all your support in this most important of tasks.

I really need to be more productive at work.

Dreams From My Father: A Review

2008-10-07T14:30:00.000-07:00

I have never been naturally drawn to autobiographies, but Barack Obama’s story of race and inheritance perked my interest for a number of reasons. He is the potential, and dare I say presumptive, President of the United States of America; he is young (relatively), black, ambitious, and gifted… just like myself; and he has that rare and elusive ability to inspire the masses. Reading this book was going to strengthen my resolve in supporting Barack Obama, the beacon of change. My hope did not completely translate into reality.

As implied by the title, this book was intended to address three issues: race, inheritance, and the impact of his missing father. All this was to be told through the eyes of a young man coming of age. Barack Obama tells the story well. He is an adequate writer who knows how to keep a story well proportioned and pertinent. He is descriptive, articulate and contemplative. Reading this book, you learn a great deal about the life he led. But the whole thing left me disappointed. Because at some point in the 400 odd pages of text, you realize that you know what happened to young Barack, but you do not know Barack.

I enjoyed the book, and learned a lot from it, but the same story could have been told by a close friend or a ghost writer. The text was so bereft of personal disclosure that I hesitated to continue. You see, I picked up this book because I was uncomfortable in voting for someone who was so elusive. He is a moving speaker and a man with clear intellect and wisdom, but I did not feel like his motives and his character were open for display. Now I do not assume that these motives or his character are sinister in nature, I just do not know what they are. So I picked up this book to find out. And found his text to be as obscure as some of his speeches.

The text was very quick to elaborate on the inner workings of others, or to speculate about the inner turmoils of classmates, coworkers, or family… but his divulgences into his own psyche seemed selective and curtailed. Perhaps it was in efforts to staying focused on the previously mentioned issues, but I really wished he would have given more time to his personal relationships, whether with family or friends or women. For those that have read this book, and those that will read it, please pay attention to the difference between being told something and being made to understand something. Barack tells in this book but does not make us understand him. I believe that it was understandable to do this when he wrote the book, because he was fresh out of law school and, frankly, had no reason to let people in on his life. The issue that I have, is having recognized this trait in young Barack, I see it still in older Barack. That worries me. Things are hidden away either from shame or because of ulterior motives.

The story was of a man searching for himself, and I am unconvinced that he found what he was looking for. He searched for himself in the grave of his father and kept searching through generation after generation of Obama’s. But the truth of a person, of yourself, is to be found inside. This searching was his true inheritance, his father had it, his grandfather had it, and it is obvious that Barack has it. This sense of discontentment, the need to prove one’s self to himself and to others. It is the driving force that I believe has led Barack to the place where he is now. With this presidency bid he is vindicating the wrongs and achieved the rights that his ancestors have embodied. I think Obama is still searching for that peace of self-knowledge, and has allowed success and altruism to serve as a substitute.

I believe that Barack has the ability to do great things with this country, and I believe he will. I do not know what has become of the Barack that wrote Dreams… but I hope that young man found himself somewhere along his journey.

Funkytown

2008-09-18T00:39:00.000-07:00

I have been in a sort of funk lately, but I think its time to come on out of it. The funk is the result of my parents going through a divorce and the sloppiness associated with such. Good or bad, I am the type of person who tries to make sucky situations less bad, and that has pretty much had me knee deep in both sides of my parents issues. Being in that situation has taken some of the joy out of being me lately, but I know that it helps them and I can handle the burden. In all honesty, I enjoy taking on this load. It feels natural for me to try and help other people get through their problems. If I could be translated into a group of inanimate objects, one of those objects would be a cane or a crutch. I realize more and more that I have the ability to make weak people stronger. I don’t take joy in this role but it is satisfying if you can note that distinction. By the way, some of the other objects would be a bouncy ball, a mirror, and maybe a McLaren F1 supercar (ok that last one not so much).

Coming out of the funk means I will be more inspired to write. I am getting into that stage of focusing my energy towards goals and things, so I hope to do the same for my writing. I talked to my bestest bud about starting a forum on philosophy/government/logic that should, in theory, flesh out how our world views and opinions would affect the world as a whole. Well enough about this until the vision statement is written. Which I will work on right now…

Trust

2008-08-19T07:17:00.000-07:00

People often speak of trust as if it is a present to be bestowed on someone. Like a title worn by those honorable enough to earn it. But trust is not as simple as a token or a crown, it is not absolute. One indicator of trust’s sneakiness lies in any attempt to define it. If you tell someone to define chair, or to produce an image of a chair in their mind, the details may differ but the structure will remain consistent: that which can seat someone. With Trust, it can take many forms. To some it is believing that person is honest with them, another thinking that said person will act for their best interest, or perhaps, it is simply that there is a mutual understanding between two people. Trying to define Trust is like trying to define when something is wet. You may be able to picture a dry sponge, and a soaking wet sponge, but where in the middle of those extremes does something become wet. Likewise, people think that they KNOW when someone has their complete trust or when they feel someone is completely unworthy of trusting, but all those people in the middle… well that is a bit tricky.

Most absolute statements prove to be falsehoods upon further inspection, and Trust has been one of those areas in which people feel drawn to the absolute. Women especially are fond of asking, “Do you trust me?,” and for that matter, you can substitute the words care, love, want, need in place of trust and the statement applies. Before I get to the bottom of my belief on the issue of trust, take the time to think about a few things. First, define trust (your own definition, not Webster’s). Do you completely trust yourself? If yes, can you truly ever completely trust another person? If no, how are you at a point to declare who you completely trust? If you did this exercise correctly and honestly, you recognize the pitfalls of declaring complete trust. I will tell you the nature of trust.

Trust is conditional and completely temporal. First, let’s deal with the first descriptor. Take my best friends, my sister and Jon and Ron, I trust those people more than anyone else (excluding mom). But to me saying that statement is pretty useless. Trust them how? To do what? Trust must be conditioned. My sister, I trust that she will always love me. I do not trust that she could handle my credit card in a shopping mall. Jon, I trust to give me rational and honest feedback, but I would not trust him to give me good advice on women (we both suck in that respect). Ron I trust simply because he is consistent and I know what to expect. Using those examples, it does not take long to realize something. We trust everyone to some extent. We trust some people to do the selfish thing. We trust that some people will always pick a good blind date for us. We trust that X person will always help you out.

This gets us back to the trust exercise mentioned above. Trust is a function of understanding. The more you understand something or someone the greater your trust is. Because you know how and why that person or thing will behave in reference to you. When someone ‘breaks your trust’, they do so by acting outside of the pattern that you had set for them. So asking ‘do you trust me?’ is basically asking ‘do you understand me?’. The answer to both is always, to some extent.

Postscript: I have learned that there is a romantic and a realistic way to look at the world. Neither seems to have an overall benefit to the other. But since I fall squarely in the realist camp, I tell it how I see it. Trust to me is not a matter of faith as a romantic might argue, but of projection. Maybe the two views intersect in a Venn diagram type way, and there is some healthy undiscovered middle ground.

Two Week Outlook on Life

2008-08-04T08:39:00.000-07:00

Family, friends in Houston, friends outside of Houston, soccer teammates, and coworkers all get the same response to my ability to be somewhere in the future: I only have a two week outlook on my life. This has played havoc with event planning, friends coming to visit, court dates, and bill collecting, but overall I have found it rather exciting. But things have been going a little crazy lately.

As most of you know, I have been traveling to Lagos, Nigeria lately. The idea was to eventually move to Lagos for about a year, half the time spent in Lagos and the other half on and off of an oil platform. It would pay very large sums of money and it would look good at work, because no one else is willing to go to Nigeria. Well I have been making strides towards getting a work visa here in Nigeria, and I finally got the approval I needed and informed my boss (in Houston) of this fact. Now instead of a congrats (getting the work visa can often be a difficult process) he tells me that ‘management’ wants me to go elsewhere. Now they want me to move to either Tokyo or Brisbane, Australia… and just recently added Dubai, U.A.E. This not too long after they asked me to go to Doha, Qatar, only to tell me that opportunity was no longer applicable. There are many reasons why my current situation is so variable, but I need some stability in my life.

I will probably end up going to one of these places, with a preference for Tokyo or Dubai, but really I just want a home for more than one month at a time.

Guess Who's Back

2008-07-30T08:27:00.000-07:00

I am back in Lagos, and not too much has changed about the place. I guess that has to do with the fact that I was only gone for 10 days. I have a new room that appears to be better than my last one. This room has windows that actually seal shut, and the TV has clear reception, so I am happy. It does lack the tabletop oven that was perfect for reheating the dining hall’s pizzas, but maybe I can get that fixed with a phone call or two. I am still pretty exhausted from my trip over, which was somewhat of an adventure.

As some people have noted, I tend to be a procrastinator, especially in the area of packing. Well this trip was no exception. All Sunday day, I thought about packing, but decided that Sunday night would be better suited to my avoiding work. I was fully aware that I was going to a concert Sunday night, but I thought that I would easily be home by 10:30 since the show ended at 10. Well, my prediction was very wrong. The concert was by the Houston Press, one of those uber-liberal, grass-root, blue collar, free-publications that promotes all things local. It turned a lot of the downtown restaurants, bars, and clubs into venues in which quite a number of local acts performed. It was a lot of fun, but it definitely did not end at 10. The performances ended at 10, but then the DJ exhibition started at one of the clubs soon thereafter. This turned out to be nothing short of a freakshow which was pretty awesome. The crowd was made up of hippies, druggies, gays, punk rockers, ravers, the seemingly normal, and the obviously not. There was an even a guy with a foot-long safety pin going through his nose and mouth (he had on orange platform shoes too). The point is, we ended up partying with these fools until one or two in the morning. It was well worth, besides I was able to witness a three way body shot by already scantily clad women. The music was great too. Eventually I got home and went to sleep, vowing to wake up and pack in the morning.

And I did. I woke up three hours later and started packing, and by 7:30AM I was 90% done and looking forward to my 8:00AM pick up. I may have forgotten to mention that I agreed to bring a bunch of stuff back for people, mainly meat for one of the expats and medicine for a Nigerian co-worker. The expat’s daughter lived in my apartment complex and she had put the package of meat together that I was supposed to take with me. So she calls me around 7:40 telling me she needs some help carrying the meat down. Turns out she has damn near 70 pounds of meat (69 pounds to be exact) that I am supposed to be taking with me. All this is in a duffle bag filled with little hot/cold packs stuffed with meat. The bag was heavy, so getting that down to my apartment brought me pretty close to my 8:00AM pick-up time. So I stuffed the rest of my stuff in my bag and got in the limo to the airport. The driver said only one thing when he saw my bags, “You must be going to Africa.”

I check in my 68 pound personal bag and the 69 pound bag of meat without any trouble (gotta love first class allowances) and head to my plane. I have no idea if it is legal to ship meat or prescription drugs, so I just listen for my name to be called on the loudspeaker, but nothing happens.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful, except for the layover in Atlanta. Being passed out the entire trip to Atlanta, I forgot to set my watch one hour forward, which resulted in me being almost left by my plane. That time I DID get to hear my name over the loudspeaker. I realized this error maybe five minutes after ordering my food at TJI Fridays while on the phone with Tiffani. It went something like this:

Me: Well I will let you get back to work, I don’t want people to think you are goofing off
Tif: It’s pretty late in the day so it should be ok
Me: I guess so, it’s almost four right.
Tif: No, its almost five.
Me: [Looks at watch] Oh that’s right, its almost five to you, but I am in… (mind realizing that I am in Atlanta, therefore its almost 5)… wait, my flight is leaving now.
Tif: Oh
Me: Gotta go, talk to you later [click]

I tell the waiter to cancel my order, but it is obviously too late since the food is being brought to the table. So I pay for the food and get a to-go box then rush out the restaurant. It was 4:55PM when I heard them announce my name for my 5:10 flight, so I started running. It is always when you are late that your gate is at the very end of the hall, so I was running for a while. I literally was applauded by people as I approached the gate. Eventually I got to my seat and honestly did not see what the big deal was, I still had ten minutes to spare.

Stepping foot in Nigeria was met with less excitement and nervousness this time, but it still felt good walking off the plane. I got yelled at by a Nigerian guy because I was trying to steal his luggage cart (I did not think he was using it) but besides that the only worry was managing the 140lbs of luggage I had checked in. Luckily the ExxonMobil greeter got a cart and took care of everything. I ended up being the only one on the bus, so they turned the radio up loud and I could look out the window without any white people getting scared. I took some pictures and relaxed.

Back at the hotel I was treated like a celebrity. Those notes I wrote really did the trick, everyone was very nice to me. I got in at around 12:30 but waited a while to tell my job that I was in the area or else they might have asked me to come in. Instead, I fell asleep and did not wake up until five hours later.

P.S. They served leather again in the cafeteria. I forgot to mention this last time, but one of the delicacies here is Leather, as in skin from a cow. It tastes like nothing, which is much better than what I would have guessed it would taste like.

On White People

2008-07-21T17:37:00.000-07:00

Comments are duly noted. I wrote some stuff but kept deleting it. In short, you guys are right.

White People

2008-07-20T20:47:00.000-07:00

[Written under the influence]

I just had a recent disturbing and confusing encounter with a white man. Less than four hours ago, I was in the airport returning from Lagos, Nigeria. But since that time, I agreed to meet up with some friends to celebrate my return. I met this guy from New Orleans, Matt I think, who has really left me in a confused state.

I was intending to come out for a beer or maybe two, but here I am recording the events several drinks later. Matt is a friend of a new coworker of mine name Lane. Lane is an ex-Army guy who evidently was awesome in Iraq. Matt was telling me all the heroic tales of Lane and how every member of Lane’s family was preposterously successful. In short, Matt was telling me to ride the coattails of Lane all the way to the top. I was enjoying the gossip and was truly impressed by Matt’s recounting of Lane’s accomplishments. But then the conversation changed.

‘Can I be perfectly blunt with you,’ asks Matt. Which automatically raised my alarm system. Very seldom does a white guy ask if he can be blunt, and then something good follows. But Matt ends up saying, ‘You know, I am just proud to see an African American doing what your doing, working for one of the best companies, ExxonMobil, and being successful.’ He went on to explain how where he comes from, New Orleans, you don’t see to many successful black folks. I told him that I took no offense to his bluntness and that I really appreciated the realness of his statement. For the next twenty minutes we talked about race, and honestly, this Matt fellow was the most understanding of white guy I had ever encountered. He attributed this to his sociology major, but the guy was on point. He recognized the double sided problem of black folks, the governmental and historical system that has and is working against them as well the need for black folks to step their game up. We went from supporting Barack Obama to agreeing the real problem with people was ignorance. A perfectly candid example was given by Matt, ‘If my mother would have wanted to marry a black man, my grandfather would have put a shotgun to his chest. If my sister wanted to marry a black guy, my parents would be pissed but would eventually get over it. And if my daughter (he has a three year old) wants to marry a black guy, I would just make sure he is a good Christian guy, and I would give my blessing.’ Matt said that this evolution is what gave him hope in the world.

Matt appeared to be the realest white guy I had ever met, and I let him know that. I told him that talking to him about race issues was similar to talking to most educated black folks about the issues, neither blaming things completely on society nor on black themselves. We were real close then. But then we went into real dangerous waters. He asked me if I had seen the news today, about how the NAACP had decided to bury the N-word. I told him I had not seen the news today, but that the NAACP ceremony had happened months ago. Regardless, he went on to ask me what I thought of the N-word. I told him that I don’t appreciate anyone using it in my presence, especially white people because they cannot excuse the implications of racism. Following the I-don’t-see-color line to the dot, Matt proclaimed that a word is a word. I had to remind him that a words have histories and memories, and he seemed to relent. We talked more about race and stuff and how he sympathized with the black man.

Matt by this point was drunk, and had ordered me perhaps my second round of drinks. He was telling me how good it was to talk to someone about these issues, and that he really did love me ‘bro’, and what not. I returned the sentiment, he had convinced me that he was a sincere guy. After a few words of general talk, we returned back to the N-word. He said, ‘I want to be completely honest. Whether you know this or not, white people use nigga all the time. What up my nigga, this. And what up my nigga, that. We don’t really see it as that big a deal’. Beginning to feel uncomfortable, but still bolstered by the strong foundation we had set, I took Matt’s statements at face value. He was simple telling me that white people make a joke of the n-word. That I thought of us as neither bad nor good. Good because they seemed to really be oblivious to the negative connotations of the word, and bad because they were oblivious to the negative connotations of the word. Matt in this explanation switched from the term ‘N-word’ to ‘nigga’. He asked me if it was ok if he used it when describing his situation. I told him, I personally have a thick skin to the term, and would not mind him using it only because I had decided he meant no libel by it.

That was a mistake. As he ordered more drinks and dived deeper into his New Orleans social group’s use of the word, he took to using the word in the present tense. ‘You know you my nigga’, he would say… quickly followed by, you know I don’t mean anything by it. I told him that normally I would take huge offense to it, but really the last twenty minutes of talking had convinced me that the word meant nothing more than a weird sensitivity to him. He certainly did not mean anything by it, so I told him ‘I’m your nigga, only if you are mine as well.’ To which he joyfully agreed. This was about the time where I thought I should leave, but Matt was on a role. After more conversation and perhaps one more drink, Matt ordered for two shots of Patron. I insisted that I pay, but he said, ‘I am paying for these, bitch.’ Now to be honest, I am not schooled on white boy protocols or drunken etiquette. As far as I have noticed, the most offensive the comment the better. So I took the ‘bitch’ statement in stride. After the Patron shots came, he went on a rant that included such comments as ‘you my nigga, and I’m your nigga too’. That was comment number one of white folks getting too familiar. Then seeming to test his limits came, ‘you my ugly black brother’ or something like that. It was only then that I came to the conclusion that he had buttered me up for just this moment. He had spewed his equality message, and social understanding just so he could feel familiar enough to insult me (without seeming to insult).

It was then that my memory reverted to 8th grade when a Chinese kid used the N-word in my presence. Honestly, I don’t remember the kid saying the word, or even the context in which he said it. What I remember was the reaction of another black kid, Freddrick Peterbark, when I told him the story. I told him that [Chinese kid] used the word, and I just walked away from him, convinced he was a jerk. Fred reprimanded me for not beating his ass, saying that was the right response to the slur. I remember being somewhat torn, because my natural reaction was to label the kid a jerk and move on, while the seeming black thing to do was whoop ass. So here I was again. I was convinced that this drunk white guy had descended into the meaningless realm of base insults, but did not feel any urge of violence towards him. Instead, the only thing I wanted from him was yet another drink. Before I had felt bad about his drink buying, (he had no job as far as I could tell) but after his pointless slurs, I insisted that he order more drinks. The beauty of drunks is that they don’t think straight. He ordered two more drinks, and I put mine on an empty table and walked off. That was what made me feel better.

But after I walked away, I had a whole bunch of questions. I do not feel that Matt was a closet racist, but rather that he felt some sort of latent desire to say the un-utter able. To speak the unspeakable, to break the rules of taboo. Here was a black guy telling him that he understood the black plight, and the temptation was too great to resist. He had to take it to the next level and say those things that only black folks or the truly accepted white’s can say. As a graduate of Morehouse College, I have come to terms with certain things. First, the word Nigga is embedded in the culture unfortunately, and also that non-blacks (even at Morehouse) would use the word in a non-controversial way. Matt wanted to ascend to that level of acceptance by testing these phrases out on me, but curiosity was not behind his request, not sincerity. As much as I hate the word, Nigga, I recognize the facts that it can be used by blacks and non-blacks alike as a word of brotherhood. This guy just wanted to use it, not with any meaning behind the word, as a test of his limits. This really has hurt my image of white folks. Here was a guy that truly seemed to sympathize with the struggle of blacks in New Orleans and around the country, but did not really understand his role. He thought that he could circumvent the history of black perception on words by just having sympathy with their current situation. To me that proved he was as ignorant (on race relations) as most other white folks I encounter.

Instead of getting violent, or argumentative, the best I could do was contribute to his high credit card bill for the night. Which made me feel like I was for sale. I essentially said, I will tolerate your belittlement as long as I am getting what I want from you. That seemed like the best course of action, but maybe I should have just told him off. He would have lost nothing then.

This whole situation made me miss Africa (Nigeria specifically), where this issue did not come into play so much. But it also made me think of how Nigeria and whites interact. It was essentially the same way as my situation at the bar. The western (white) companies come in, emphasize their understanding of the Nigerian situation, and then secretly practice superior sentiments. Nigerian get theirs by letting the whites think they are superior. They let the whites work twice as hard at the job, bring in twice the money for the investment, and at the same time let the white companies pay the vast majority of profits to the Nigerian people. Essentially, Nigeria puts up with the western superiority complex to maximize what it is that they want. But is that temporary surrender of respect too much? I don’t know.

What I do know is that the general white population is on notice. This Matt guy made me think that at least some of you understand, but that turned out to be a farce. Now my hope in a shared dream amongst all races is stuck, yet again, in the sand.

Conclusion

2008-07-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

Leaving Lagos was a difficult process because it was quite the rude awakening. In order to get to the airport, we had to drive through the overwhelming poverty of mainland Lagos. The trash, the housing, the people reminded me that I had truly had a sheltered experience. What I witnessed on that trip was the real Nigeria.

Once we arrived at the airport, things got no better. The scene was just shy of chaos. Everybody was just so rude to one another. Customers yelling at airline employees, employees yelling at customers, police officers yelling at everyone, and nothing really getting done. Things turned sour to me when I was told that they had to weigh my bag. I knew my bag was heavy, so I was not surprised when they told me my bag was overweight. I was acting as a courier for a few people, so I was carrying other peoples items to deliver to folks back in the states. Those extra pounds were causing problems. I tried to take the heaviest item (a voltage converter) out and stuff it in my carry-on but that was denied because they said I could use the heavy electrical equipment as a weapon to ‘bash someone’s head’ with. So I did the best I could and stuffed a few pairs of pants in my carry on. This did not get me any closer to the legal weight limit, but they eventually felt sorry for me and gave me an exception to the rule. ExxonMobil had a local Nigerian travel expediter assisting me through this whole process, and I gave him a large tip for his help. Strangely he seemed torn when accepting the money, and for a second I think we both felt dirty for the instinct to reward kindness with cash. But he took it and sent me on my way. From the bag scale, I had to go to the bag scanner, which is a guy that looks through your stuff and asks you for money. Once again I paid up, because I am pretty sure my passing that inspection was directly related to the amount of my tips. One of these days I will learn to carry smaller bills because I am still forcing myself to shell out 1000 Naira bills, leaving me constantly strapped for cash. By the time I got through to the departure gate, I had 50 Naira, 10 Euros, and 10 Gulden left to my name.

The flight was supposed to leave at 11:45, but it was not until 12:45 that we left the gate (which proved to be very problematic for my one hour layover in Atlanta), and the delay was straight due to coonery. That is the only word that can describe the process that the airport took in getting people on board the plane. It was 11:30 and they had not even started boarding people, which confused me because both the plane and the passengers were present. The boarding was just as bad. I have never heard a pilot basically have to beg people to take a seat, or to turn off their cell phones in order for the plane to take off, but now I have. I tried to say hello to the Nigerian lady sitting next to me in business class, but she just ignored me. The only time she said something was sorry when she spilled her drink on me (luckily it was just water). Basically the trip back was not the greatest.

But on the plane I had time to reflect about Lagos. The more I thought about the place, the more depressed I felt, because it is a place that suffers unnecessarily. I don’t even have the energy to go into it. Most of what I would say has already been written. But here is a quickie. On that plane, I felt for Nigeria much how I felt for Michael Vick during his recent scandal. They both were blessed with wonderful resources and talent, but each has been ruined by self destructive tendencies. I can never try to unravel the choices that led Michael Vick to his stupid decisions, and I cannot grapple with the circumstances that have led to Nigeria’s ineptitude. Most unfortunate is the phrase that comes to mind.

Goodbye Lagos

2008-07-20T18:03:00.001-07:00

Today is the last day of this trip to Nigeria, and I can’t begin to encapsulate how wonderful it has been. The amount of love and sincere well wishes given to me have made me feel proud yet unworthy. Proud of what a strong connection was formed over this short time in Lagos, yet humbled because I cannot match such a bountiful level of caring. I honestly feel closer to the people here in Lagos after this month than I do with most of my coworkers in Houston that I have known for a year. It’s such a beautiful thing, the spirit of these people.

This evening, I wrote out letters of appreciation to a few of the hotel staff that have been especially kind to me, and included a modest tip. One of these letters I gave to Patience and Angela, and the response was overwhelming. I gave the letter to Angela before going to dinner, telling her to wait until I left to open it. Turns out she and Patience opened it pretty quickly. Angela insisted that I come and talk to her and Patience after dinner, and in the meantime asked if I wanted dessert. I thought I had a seen ice cream being served to the guy at the next table (which I had been told was not served in the Hotel), so I asked Angela if I could have the ice cream. She said they did not have any but pleaded with me to let her go and get some, claiming that it was really simple. This girl walked from the hotel to another restaurant and came back with a huge waffle cone filled with ice cream. It was the best meal I have had in a long time. But the real treat came after dinner. Patience and Angela were so moved by the letter that I had wrote them that they were near tears. Patience told me that in the four years that she has worked here she has had customers treat her nice and treat her bad, but never had she received such a gift. She said that letter meant so much to her, that she never ever got the feeling that non-Nigerians really appreciated her, until this letter. Angela then proceeded to bless my family and myself many times over. It was really all very surreal. Many things were said, but the gist of it was. We each found much needed acceptance through each other. This whole scene was a little awkward because we were actually standing in the middle of a bar full of coworkers. The white coworkers just watched and listened in confusion, wondering what it was I could have done to make them so happy. This whole paragraph might be sort of bragging, but I am proud of myself. The truth is that they gave me much more than I gave them. That letter, although sincere, took nothing to write, and the money was something I can easily part with. But they gave me love that was so sincere and so fulfilling that it has left me in a daze.

My last day in the office was no different. There was so much love and well-wishing thrown my way that I felt uncomfortable. All I can say is the people have a beautiful spirit.

The hardest part of my job so far has been saying goodbye to people. In Qatar, I had a less intense but similar departure from another set of wonderful people. I will really miss this place and hope that I get to return. Luckily I have a plane ticket to return on July 29.

Why Do We Have Underarm Hair?

2008-07-17T08:55:00.000-07:00

I was in a meeting recently, and I was sitting next to a guy in a loose shirt who had his hands on top of his head. When I glanced over, I could not help but notice that I could see straight through his sleeve to his armpit. Surprisingly, I was not greeted by the usual tuft of hair, but by smoothly shaven skin. It even had a little sheen to it. First I was simply amused at the idea of a man shaving his underarms, but when you come to think about it, is not that bad a practice. This is particularly true in places, such as Nigeria, where deodorant is not widely used. Smooth skin is less sweaty and easier to clean than the hairy parts… at least that has been my experience. By the way, I actually like the smell of people here in Nigeria, everyone has their own smell.

The second thought that the shaved armpit provoked: why do we have underarm hair, it is such an unlikely place. I imagine that we were once really hairy creatures, but I guess clothing gradually reduced the need so we lost most of our hair. Hair on the head is naturally a keeper since a huge proportion of heat is lost through the head. Hair on our arms and legs can be thought of as remnants of things once necessary, but why the armpits. They are naturally warm places, yet they are places where the hair has yet to recede. So if you know why we have underarm hair, please tell me. I think I am going to google it, but perhaps someone has a good theory.

Web Guesses:

In fact these areas become hairy at puberty, that are part of our secondary sexual characteristics. When we were animals running around naked they were one of the ways of letting the opposite sex know we were old enough to be interested in breeding. Nature of course neither knows, nor cares that we now generally cover these signals with clothes, making them fairly superfluous.

Actually it was originally used to absorb and keep body odor on you because believe it or not, body odor used to be used to *attract* members of the opposite sex. I wonder why we try so hard to hide it now?

The sweat we produce all over our body is water based, except in our hairy places where it is oil based. Water based sweat is made to evaporate and keep us cool, oil based sweat is meant to stick around and make us smell funky! The hairs hold on to this perfume for longer than bare skin would. It's only the waste products of the bacteria that eat the sweat that gives you B.O.

It is believed that the functions of pubic hair include the dissemination of pheromones and protection from the friction of sexual intercourse. Natural selection may also have sustained it because it can show a potential sexual partner that the other person is sexually mature and can reproduce. Pubic hair and the growth between the tops of the legs and the buttocks, like under arm hair, helps to lubricate the areas, making movement smoother and more comfortable.

Defeat

2008-07-15T06:23:00.001-07:00

Just boiling below the surface of my experiences here was the suppressed truth about this place: the problem with Nigeria is Nigerians. Please don’t hang me for heresy before I get the chance to defend myself. I have grown to love this country and its people, but it is obvious from the moment I stepped off the plane into that mildew saturated airport that this country has some serious issues.

Today at lunch, I had an important and real conversation with Ladun, my coworker, and a man I had never met before, both Nigerian. I asked them if they had been keeping up with the issues developing in Zimbabwe and in Sudan, and when they said they had not, I briefed them on the presidential woes of both countries. This opened up a floodgate of opinions, not about these countries and their problems, but about Nigeria and its problems. Corruption, laziness, unfathomable geed, petty vindictiveness all were detested with such sincerity by my lunch guests. All of these evils were spoken of as if they had already won, that the country was firm in their grasp and nothing could shake it out. Bluntly, Ladun explained that it is the people, it is the mindset. This I thought I knew, but her interpretation of the Nigerian situation made me realize that I only scratched the surface.

One example: In America, you may have a police officer, and he may not be paid well by American standards. But chances are, that police officer will do his job with pride, be committed to helping others, and generally exhibit integrity. Here in Nigeria, there will always be one officer that ruins everything from everyone. The government will give the chief officer money for uniforms or supplies. Instead of siphoning off parts of that money, or collecting on the interest of the funds over time, the officer will take all of the money and cover his trail with lies.

Naturally, this is a worse case scenario, but in the newspapers and in conversation with people here, it is obvious that it happens on a grand scale with alarming frequency. This country is extremely rich people, yet no one sees the money. When a society produces government leaders that have no issue at stealing billions of dollars from impoverished people, that is a problem. I tried to argue that corruption is everywhere, even in the US, but they made the true point that other country’s corruption cannot even approach that of Nigeria’s. She said if a politician used 20% of a budget on himself and did something for the community with the rest, the people would praise the man. They would hardly care that he lived in a big house or drove 15 cars. But the situation here is that the official will use 75% on himself, 20% on friends, and 5% on improvements.

But the worse was yet to come. Ladun brought it home to our workplace. Mobil Producing Nigeria, 55% (at the minimum) owned by Nigeria, the rest by ExxonMobil is not immune. “I am glad I am on a project that has more whites than blacks,” says Ladun, “otherwise things would not get done.” I damn near choked on my water hearing that. My instincts of labeling this as self hatred were overcame by the fact that she was probably right. Accounting for the facts that Americans are generally workaholics, and that there are certainly highly qualified and highly capable Nigerians, the statement still rings true. In the month that I am here, I have noticed that westerners (I refuse to use the term whites) essentially run this place. And that the areas that are not ran by westerners are pretty bad. The gentleman who sat relatively quiet excused himself to leave, but before he left, he offered one last piece of advice. “We need to import our leaders. We import everything else we can’t make, from cars to refrigerators, we should do the same with leaders.” The words that stuck out were “can’t make”. When you feel you cannot make the leaders that can grow your nation, the society is failing. Their harsh criticism of their people was not borne out of contempt, but of disappointment. Their people have squandered so much and as a result, morale is terribly low. It was like Ladun’s feelings for her people mirrored my feelings of my people. The situation of blacks in America is horrendous and no matter how much you take into account the forces acting against us, our own selves are our biggest deterrent.

White supremacists need not rejoice at the admission that we (Africans and the diaspora) are suffering from major internal failings. This internal bleeding are symptoms of gross violations inflicted upon us by our fair skinned brethren. The vice grip of the West on Africa was not slackened until the last century precluding any periods of growth that was our due. The same story applies to brown people world-wide.

People of Africa and its legacy are trauma victims that have been widely unattended. We must not be blinded by the pride of the defeated. And yes, we lost, we did not know that we were fighting and they certainly did not fight fair, but we lost. We need help to get back on our feet. If we can help ourselves, lets do so, but if not, take the help wherever it is offered… even if it comes from our attackers. When we recover, we will awaken to a world molded to shape by those that conquered us. Getting off point now…

Nigeria, really Africa and its Diaspora, must grow, and it will take time. We have been stunted, but only temporarily. But the first step is to recognize that things must change. We must set our course on the right bearing.

Broke

2008-07-15T02:33:00.001-07:00

The rich American is broke, in Africa. Last Thursday morning I borrowed a 12000 Naira (100 USD) from my boss to get me through the rest of the week. By early Friday morning it was gone. The reason I have to borrow money instead of just using my own, is that I have no access to funds here. My Corporate Card is off limits because the company bans its use in Nigeria, my ATM card won’t work here because my bank will assume some sort of fraud scam is going on, so really the only funds I have is the cash that I brought with me. Everyone told me that this was the case, but they grossly underestimated how much I would need. All the coworkers I talked to before coming said that I would be hard pressed to spend 500 USD. The meals are free, your hotel is covered, the only time you spend money is if you want to eat somewhere besides the hotel. So I brought 500 bucks with me.

What they left out of their explanation is that they never leave the hotel and have fun. Fun here is expensive, because they price the troublemakers out. So all the partying and having fun let me run through my 500 in four weeks, leaving me forced to borrow money from the bossman on Thursday morning. He had offered to let me borrow money before, so it was no big deal. I had big plans of not spending the vast majority of those funds and giving most of it to the staff of the hotel in tips.

But then Kunle called, asking if I wanted to go out with him and some Chevron folks for dinner and maybe a drink or two. Thinking Dinner was within the budget, I gladly agree. It turned out that the little dinner was actually a big going away party for one of the Chevron guys. When the drinks and bottles were ordered without any regard of keeping track of who got what, I knew this was not going to be a cheap night. Dinner was a lot of fun, and really tasty, but the bill came to about 6000 Naira each or about 50 USD. It was a good time so I was not too upset at having spent that much money. But they weren’t done. Wes, the coordinator of the event, as well as the driver of Kunle and myself was not satisfied. He managed to get the group of about 12 people to agree to continue the party at the lounge Number 10. His most convincing argument being that the leftover money from dinner could buy us a bottle at the bar. Everyone was won over. Wes’ girlfriend Iji (a beautiful Nigerian woman) even agreed to invite some of her friends at my request, so it seemed like a win-win situation.

At Number 10, I split the night into a healthy good time, and belligerence. The healthy good time consisted of the ‘free’ bottle of absolute being split amongst everyone, and Iji introducing me and Kunle to her friends Joy and Cynthia. Joy showed up drunk and belligerent, but was a lot of fun, and Cynthia was a self-employed “model”. When Cynthia said the word Model, she flared her eyes and made a face that produced an instantaneous and unintentional ‘Ah!’ of fright from me. I had to apologize profusely for that. But they were nice girls and we were all pretty tipsy and had not spent a dime. Then Wes orders about 12 shots of tequila. Turns out Wes is an alcoholic… and none of his friends keep him in check. Eventually those shots get consumed, although I suspect mostly by Wes because the majority of folks were at their limits by then. Wes then pulls the waiter over and starts to order another bottle of Absolut. I immediately intervene telling him that it was a terrible idea to do such a thing, but you can’t keep an alcoholic from his drank. Besides, his friends were not protesting it all making me seem like that party pooper. I relented and the 80 or 90 USD bottle was ordered. Thus begins the debauchery stage. The older folks and the sane headed home, and those that did not mind acting the drunken fool in a near-empty club stayed. The hours pass, and it seems the staff is getting ready for us to get the hell out, but not before Wes gets in another round of tequila. I just take a seat, note that it is three in the morning, we have glasses full of undrunk alcohol on the table (although a surprising amount of that second bottle was consumed somehow), and brace myself for the tab. I secretly hope that Wes is so drunk that he volunteers to pay for everything (which would be appropriate), but the talks of splits begin. NOW all of a sudden people start paying attention to what Wes ordered. Protests are futile at this point and the calculations begin. I hear numbers like 8000 Naira, and 9000 Naira being tossed out, but in the end it comes to a comparably reasonable 6000 Naira a head. Deciding not to be ‘that guy’ I hand over my cash and laugh about spending 100 bucks in one night.

It was an amazing time and worth a hundred bucks, but it was not worth my last hundred bucks. Now I am going to have to ask the boss for another hundred and face his inquiries about what happened to the last loan. That Friday was rough; on three hours of sleep, I was woken by a call from Cynthia making sure I was awake for work. Unfortunately I was. I got a text from Kunle asking if I wanted to go out again, to which I replied with an adamant no. I was going to sit my butt in my room all weekend and not spend a dime.

Sympathy

2008-07-14T03:58:00.002-07:00

These posts about legless bums and life being random are painting me in a bad light. People aren’t getting to see my puppy dog side. Really I am a giant soft belly. I cry in movies, I give to those in need, I want to save the world, I go gooey for kids and puppies. Is that enough to convince you? I really just think I am the ultimate optimist at times. I can’t feel sorry for someone if I think they still have a pretty good life. It just so happens that I think everyone has a pretty good life.

I had a very meaningful dream once, brought on by a book, and in the dream I was confined to a tree. I was stuck in the trunk of the tree, and the only movement that I had was being able to look up through the trunk of the tree and see the sky. Somehow I was able to stay alive, but I was miserable. I was in pain, I could not move, I was alone. But then I calmed down and looked to the sky, and a bird flew by. That bird eased my pain and fear, because it let me realize I was not alone. From that point on, I would look to the sky. Sometimes I would see a shooting star, other times clouds, birds, insects, etc. And soon enough, I was at peace. Not happy being stuck in the tree but at peace. That’s when I woke up.

That dream captured a belief that had not previously solidified. We can overcome the greatest of obstacles if our minds are in the right place. Learning to appreciate the smallest of things can get you through the biggest of trials.

For the record: If I ever get stuck in a tree… someone shoot me, that would really suck.

Life Makes No Promises

2008-07-14T03:58:00.001-07:00

My brief existence has led me to few conclusions, but here is one: life makes no promises. Life never promised to be fair; it never said it would make you happy; or that you would be successful; or that you if you do right, you will be blessed; likewise, it never insists that you be miserable, or poor, or a failure. Life takes no accountability, it gives and takes without consideration for those effected. Life simply is.

I have been of this opinion for a long time, but only recently has it taken a forefront in my mind. I finished a book entitled The Road, by Cormac McCarthy, about the struggle of survival. This book, teamed with my surroundings of poverty and struggle, made me remember that life makes no promises. We see it everyday, even if we choose to ignore it. The injustices in life, which make us ask why would things be allowed to be this way? Or maybe the person who tries so hard, but just can’t make it, why? Then there are those that achieve so effortlessly. Or worse, those that waste what is so precious to others. As frustrating as it is to have nothing to blame, or to celebrate, it ultimately provides understanding.

It provides an understanding and a responsibility. Understanding that nothing was ever promised to you gives you a choice. You can realize everything you have and see a blessing, or consider everything you do not have and perceive a curse. That choice is largely influenced by the cards you have been dealt in life, but for myself and those that I have known in life, our cards are unquestionably a blessing. We therefore have the responsibility to share what we have with others. When God, or fate, or chance decided my path, or simply the circumstances of my birth, I had done nothing to have deserved my good fortune. Similarly, Youssef (the poor Iraqi boy who had his face set on fire) did not deserve the pain and the trauma that will likely scar the rest of his body and mind for the rest of his life. So why must we all behave like we are owed what we have. It is in the best interest of us all to even out life’s excesses and shortcomings.

This seemingly secular thought actually arrives at the same conclusions as most religious teachings. Be grateful, no matter what the situation; be generous when you can give what others need; be forgiving, for you never know the situation of another.

But you pay the price in sympathy. That emotion largely originates from the belief that someone does not deserve the fate given to them. I have never pretended to know why things happen to people, whether for good or bad. The question why is just as appropriate as why not? Both are equally pointless. Life (you can substitute God for life if it suits your tastes) decided an action was to take place; all you can do is help them through the bad and help them appreciate the good.

I did a lot of thinking as a kid, and one of the thoughts was… why were some kids born in Africa (it was one place to me back then) with hunger and disease, and I in America with food and fun? Why was I able to go to church and know Jesus when some kids in the Amazon had never, and might never, see a Bible? I used to come up with all kinds of possibilities. God knew that some kids would be bad, so he stuck them in the crappy places. Or perhaps, God knew some people needed more help to be good so he put them close to church. Or even, you were bad in a previous life and that decided things. But really, the answer that stuck was, nobody (human at least) knows why.

Take things as they are and act accordingly.

Snippets... Mo Fiya

2008-07-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

So there is one consistent facet of a night out on the town in Lagos, and that is the legless bums on roll-carts. Picture Eddie Murphy in trading places, if you can recall, and that’s pretty much it. Now make him dirty, skinny, and just very pitiful looking. My first night out I was intrigued by the man’s existence but that was about it. At the second place we went to that same night, I saw what I thought was the same man, and thought, “wow, for someone with no legs, he sure get’s around town.” Later I realized that there are many legless cart-men rolling through the streets of Lagos. But it was not until this past weekend that I began to ask myself why I feel so ambivalent towards them. After the Karaoke bar, a bum literally hung on to the car for probably a quarter mile, begging for money as we attempted to shake him off. I began to worry that his shirt was caught in the door or something, but he must have been just hanging on to the underside of the vehicle because he let go when he felt the effort was futile. After he drifted into the distance, I asked myself…why do I feel intrigue but no sympathy? I should feel sad or bad or something sympathetic for the homeless guy right? Whether I should or not, I don’t and that made me think I am as my sister reminds me ‘a cold-hearted bastard’. Except I don’t want to be that, so maybe there is some other explanation. Honestly though, I have never felt that particularly bad for almost anyone. I say things like ‘that sucks’ or ‘that’s unfortunate’ but rarely do I have real sympathy accompany the words. Generally real sympathy is saved for abuses to the young or helpless, or rape and murder, but everything else I feel you can sort of deal with. There are obstacles in life, and some people are born with more than others. But we all just have to make peace with them. If my little spot of Vitiligo takes over my whole face, I would just have to make peace with that, not feel terribly sorry for myself. Maybe it is pompous or ignorant to expect the same from everyone else, but I do. If your fat, get over it; if your ugly, get over it; if your short, get over it; if you have no legs, get over it…haha.

Before you solidify your contempt of my lack of sympathy, allow me to tell you about a recent discovery. Those bastards on the carts DO have legs. I saw one lift himself up with his hands, and there beneath his bended knees were gen-u-ine FEET! Granted, his legs and feet were in terrible shape, but they were there. You may be thinking that I just saw one faker, but I have been paying attention later. And I was able to witness one other faker, a big ole’ pinky toe was sticking out the back of the cart. So I have witnessed two separate fakers, the rest I could not get a read on. This leads me to a new theory. Maybe I felt no sympathy because I could subconsciously tell that the guy was a faker. Yes that’s it. These guys were just like Eddie Murphy in Trading Places, fakers, but with better acts.

The goodies from the admin came in today, and I am ecstatic. I have 6 cases of evaporated milk, one huge jug of powdered milk, a giant box of corn flakes, Pringles, and some digestive cookies. I am set for at least a week if Nigeria erupts in an unexpected civil war that traps me in the office! My boss is still grumpy because he did not get all that he ordered, further convincing him that Florence is making off with the remainder.

By the way, why don’t they have fresh milk in Nigeria, I can’t find it anywhere. I know they have cows, I have seen them. Why can’t they just squeeze a tit or two? And they don’t refrigerate the eggs here, I don’t know if that is okay or not. I asked my friend about it and she said asked “why would you refrigerate them, do you think they are going to hatch?” I did not have an answer for that. So if anyone knows, let me know, does refrigerating eggs make a difference?

At lunch the other day, folks were talking about their family members and Dimola started talking about her pregnant sister and how she was going to give birth soon. Ladun then asked if she was going to have the baby here. I assumed here meant Lagos. ‘No’, replied Dimola, ‘she is going to the states’. Evidently here meant Nigeria. Letting my naiveté shine brightly, I ask ‘why the states, does she not trust the hospitals here?’ To which they laugh, and move on with the conversation. Later I get them back to the topic. They explain that she is going to the states to have the baby so that the baby will be a US Citizen, and will be able to go in and out of the states without an issue. I do not approve. I never considered myself a Minuteman (meaning the guys who board the Mexican border not sexually… I mean, yes sexually as well) but in this instance I wanted to warn immigration that the lady had sinister plans for her US visit. I understand the ladies motives, but I also think that the US should probably have some sort of plan to prevent this from happening. Easier said than done I know, but worth a try.

At the hotel, I was talking to the desk clerk about how my mom traced our heritage on her side to Senegal. She said that she had hoped I was Nigerian. I told her perhaps that is where my Dad’s side came from, and she did not understand. She asked, ‘your dad is black also?’ When I told her yes, she said, ‘Your not American, you are African.’ For some reason that made me happy.

This past Friday, the all night outing Friday, we were quite the interesting group. When Ehi picked me up from my hotel room, it was hard to ignore the four young pretty women stuffed in his back seat. These girls had to be between 18 and 20, no older than that. Now I felt old as a 24and a ½ year old (taking it back to elementary school), so I know Ehi and his partner Obi had to feel old. I suspect Ehi and Obi are closing in on the big 30 so it was very fitting that towards the end of the night, R Kelly was brought up. Obi, who only referred to Kelly as Kells, was a staunch supporter of him getting free. Arguing, the girl is not pressing charges, why go to jail. But really his point was, in Nigeria, R. Kelly never would have gotten in trouble for that. Which made me ask, what is the legal age here in Nigeria? The responses varied from there are none, to there is one but no one besides lawmakers knows what it is. Jokingly I said that Obi would find out when he is being arrested. Obi laughed, but responded more cleverly with, I will tell them I am not a Negro (African American) I am Nigerian! And demand that they let me go.

I eat at the crappy hotel restaurant virtually every day for food. It’s easy, it’s free, and I don’t have to call for a cab to take me anywhere. Besides, I like talking with the staff and have become superficially close with some of them. One of whom is a server named Ben. Ben and I talk about sports and the books that I am reading and just general banter. So I thought it no big deal last Friday when Ben started talking to me about his weekend plans. He was describing how he was going to have fun on Saturday (his only day off) and that I should wish him a good weekend. So I say, ‘I wish you an excellent weekend Ben’. He says, no, no, and he lowers his voice and says something that I can’t understand. I ask him to repeat himself but he says he will tell me when he delivers my food to the room. So ten minutes later [I was actually on the phone arguing with my sister about diseases and their levels of badness at the time] he shows up with my food, and he says, ‘I was asking you to wish me a good weekend.’ Thinking the message was lost in translation, I tell him I don’t know what he means. So Ben says, ‘Money, I want money.’ To which I was so thrown off, that I just end up saying some mix of Ohhh, Of course, and Hold on. As I walk to my wallet, I start to get over the shock of his request, and realize that he is forcing a tip out of me. This was coupled by the realization that I only had 1000 Naira bills and a quickly diminishing supply of cash early on a Friday night. But I had been feeling bad about not having ‘tipped’ Ben the whole time I was here, so I relented and gave him the 1000 Naira. Needless to say, he was very pleased. Ever since then he has been EXTRA nice to me.

There is this one street in Lagos that is more entertaining than other’s to drive down. I call it Ho Row because the real name is hard to pronounce and not nearly as cool, but as the name implies, its where the prostitutes congregate. These aren’t the ‘classy’ meet you in the club type prostitutes, these are the street walkers, the come up to your car window type. What is so entertaining about this road is that there is only one institution of note once the sun goes down. The place is called, very fittingly, Why Not? And the pro’s are spaced symmetrically around this central hub. I have heard many of the expats joking about this place, because if you go in there, you know exactly what you are going for. But other than the blinking neon bulbs that spell out the name of the joint, the other entertainment comes in seeing the ho-wear. Some of these women might as well stand out there naked. I have seen a fishnet outfit people, not just the stockings, the whole outfit. Then there is the deep v-cut shirt where the nipples are purposefully not covered. Oh the sights and sounds of Lagos.

Tuesday I had a pleasant surprise. The tailor for my African outfits came to the office. I made the mistake of saying I wanted to have a traditional outfit so I can dress like everyone else on Friday’s (Traditional Day), and the ladies of the office have made it their goal to hook me up. They have brought in fabric to show me, helped me pick stuff out; pretty much everything but make the shirt. Luckily they have a tailor, and she was coming to the office to measure the girls for their outfits. They were going to get me measured at the same time but I had strict rules. Mostly, I could not speak, and I could only answer by Emeka (Emeka Chukwu was my given Igbo name). So nervous I walk to the outside of the building with them, and meet the seamstress. You try introducing yourself without speaking, I think I just managed to come off as rude. After the introduction I just went to a corner and tried to act like a shy person would. But soon they were calling Emeka and it was time to get measured. My officemate and official cultural integration expert, Ladun, stood by my side during the whole process in case I got stuck in a bind. Naturally the seamstress asked quite a few questions. Is this sleeve length ok? Is this pant length ok? How would you like this designed? To everything I just nodded, yes, yes, yes, to everything. I thought I was doing fine until Ladun bursts out laughing next to me. I look over and she can barely contain herself. The seamstress notices and gets suspicious, but Ladun says something that makes her calm down. After the measurements, I went back to my corner and then up to my office. I went up to my office having successfully faked being Nigerian. Can’t be paying no foreigner price for stuff, especially not the American foreigner price.

I have periods of suspicion around these Nigerians. I wonder if they are being nice just so they can dupe me into being kidnapped. I keep expecting one of them to say, why don’t we take a weekend trip to the Niger Delta… doesn’t that sound fun? So far I can’t pick up on any malice, but there has to be some catch to them being so nice. Right?

I felt really bad at lunch the other day. I was approaching fullness and giving up on finishing, when Ladun asked me, why don’t you finish all your food? All those times Mom said, ‘There are starving kids in Africa, and you can’t finish your food!’, came rushing back to me along with a flood of guilt. I was twenty feet from those starving kids and I had not finished half of my plate. Needless to say I gave my food another shot, but I have decided to request smaller portions from here on out. Must not waste. In a related point, I saw this man sitting on the side of the street making a feast out of the contents of a garbage bag, and it made me feel sad for the guy. Not sure why I felt so bad for the guy, I see bums in the US eating out of the garbage all the time, and I don’t feel to bad for them. But this guy got me. Maybe it was all the flies buzzing around his head. That last sentence was not meant to be funny, but it sort of was.

Escape from Justice

2008-07-10T07:08:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would be a fugitive from the law, but yet I am. It all began one fateful Sunday with the simple idea of going to the movies. My friends John and Pauline, both native Nigerians, swung by my hotel and picked me up to head to the theater. After the hello’s I ask what time the movie is going to start, and with a slight amount of hesitation, he says Hancock starts at 4PM. Checking the time, I point out that it was now 3:50PM, but from the way John sped out of the lot, it was apparent that he knew we were running late.

Over the next five minutes, John weaves in and out of traffic, cuts through intersections, and honks his way past pedestrians. We are making excellent time. In fact, we eventually pull up to the avenue where the theater is located, but that’s where the fun stops. All of a sudden, a cop steps into the road and blocks our way. A second later, two more cops are on the other side of the car and they are yelling for John to roll the window down. John politely ignores them. This lasts for all of about 30 seconds, during which John explains that this is a bad situation. We have clearly been targeted for extortion he says, and that we probably don’t have enough money between us to pay them off.

So after realizing the officers were not relenting, John turns his attention to them, but still refusing to roll down the glass. After many gestures and accusatory exchanges, John relents and cracks the window. John yells at the cops, saying that he did nothing wrong and to stop harassing us. But the cops yell back that the road we had just turned from was a one way street. We all turn around, and sure enough, there was a dusty sign with an arrow going in the opposite direction from which we came. As having been on this road yesterday, both me and John realized that between then and now, this road had become a one way. We certainly were not the only ones ignoring or not noticing this change, but we were the unlucky ones to get pulled over for it.

John becomes instantly more concerned once he realizes that they have him for an offense. He turns to us and tells us that they could charge him 50,000 Naira under the new traffic enforcement law, and that if we did not have that, we were screwed. Unfortunately we were all cash-strapped. Looking straight ahead, John proceeds to say under his breath, “I am going to have to do something crazy, are you okay with that?” Slightly shocked, I don’t say anything. Again John asks, “I am going to do something crazy, are you okay with that?” My adrenaline level kicks up a notch, and I take a look at the group of officers surrounding the cars, and notice that they are without their trademark AK-47’s. In the meantime, Pauline gives her consent. Reluctantly, I say “go for it.” John tells us to get ready, and then he puts the pedal to the metal. Next thing I know, we are speeding away from the side of the road, the cop in front and the cop on the right side are jumping out the way, and the cop on the left side is swinging at the side of the car with his baton. But it’s too late we are creating our own lane in traffic and speeding away. I fight the instinct to duck deep into the backseat, and instead look back through the window, to see our former captors losing ground in their chase after us.

Celebration lasted only about 20 seconds, because we soon realized we were heading in the opposite direction of the theatre. Somehow we were going to have to get back that way. Going back down that one way was not an option, so we eventually make it to a roundabout and turn around. This put us on the same road as the cops, but on the opposite side of the street, with a divider separating the two. Sensing the very real possibility of another encounter with these cops, John speed builds exponentially as we near the intersection. My hearts thumping, but I dare not look over, and we all let out a little yell of excitement as we rocket through the intersection. Quickly, John has to slam on the brakes because we are nearly running into the group of cars ahead of us, but we are safely through the gauntlet.

A minute or two later, we pull into the mall area and park. The time is only five past four, and all is well. We get in the mall and up to the ticket counter, and that’s when we notice the billboard. It says Hancock Showtimes: 3:00PM, 6:00PM, 9:00PM. All this trouble and the movie was not even showing. Refusing to let the trip be in vain, we get tickets to the Incredible Hulk instead which was showing at 5. All in all, it was a good time.

Snails and Equality

2008-07-09T06:26:00.001-07:00

At lunch, two things of note occurred. First, they served snails as the entrée. I am not talking the little snails from your garden, these were monstrous chicken-finger sized snails from the jungles of the Congo. Wherever they were from, the Nigerians were all about them. There was no line for the continental cuisine today, which worked for me since I was not bold enough to commit myself to that much snail just yet. I ended up tasting some later, and it sort of tasted like a rubbery mushroom. I was not a huge fan.

But the real fun of lunch was the topic of conversation. Today, we talked about crazy ole’ America, starting with marriage. Statements like, ‘Americans change wives like they change their clothes’, and, ‘American’s don’t care about marriage like we do here’, and, ‘People in America don’t get married expecting to stay together.’ So I had to defend the pride of my Red White and Blue home. First, I clarified that like anywhere else, people in the US intend on staying together. Also, that these marriages are built on the same principles as most anywhere else, love, vision, and family. Conceding the fact that divorce is much more common in the US, I told them my theory about why. Basically, the dynamics of marriage are changing before our eyes. We are transitioning from a society that labeled the man as the driving force of a family, to one that is shared equally amongst both spouses. Before, women may have had ambition, but the opportunities were severely limited, leaving most women to rely on their husband’s ability to provide for the home (not to mention the social expectation of female subservience). This resulted in marriages where only one person’s vision trumped all others. What the man said was accepted by all other parties, it had been so in the past, it would be so now. But lately the momentum of change has peaked, where women of recent generations are ambitious WITH opportunities. Interestingly enough, this fact does not seem to have stifled women’s desire to get married. So now people are getting married and the marriages turn into that two-headed Hydra from The Odyssey. Two heads on one body have to focus four times as hard on growing in the same direction. Unfortunately, this is very difficult, and people end up ‘growing apart’ or developing ‘irreconcilable differences’. The two captains realize they can’t stay on the same ship, so something has to give. Basically, I told them that divorces were a consequence of the women’s rights movement. Women realize they deserve more, expect more, and refuse to put up with less. In time this will hopefully increase our marital standards. Equality is to blame.

They agreed, but then the conversation changed to testier waters. The men at the table said, ‘That is why it is better in Nigeria, the man decides the way of the family’. And the women said ‘Men have it too good here, it should be more like America’. Ladun explained, “In America, the man will cheat on you, you get a divorce, and you keep half his stuff. Here in Nigeria, the man cheats on you, get’s another wife, kicks you out, and you get nothing.” She was half joking, but the problem was illustrated. It is without a doubt that men still rule the family here like they did in the USA circa the 1950’s. This is sort of amazing, just looking at my office building I would say 50% of the engineers and employees are women, making good money. But that reminded me of a separate conversation I once had. I was telling someone how I would love to marry a rich girl, and I would stay home chillin and raising the kids (no diapers, cooking or cleaning though…we would have a maid for that). My coworker said that here in Nigeria, the girl would go and make all the money and then somehow the man would be the one controlling all of it, making the wife cook, clean, and take care of the kids when she gets home. Also a half joking response, but momma says, always some truth in jest.

Somehow the same lunch conversation switched to gay marriage, and how that is accepted in the states. It amazed me how against it they were, asking the most ‘ignorant’ of questions. Like ‘do you know any gay people, what are they like, aren’t they so weird?’ They made it seem as if there are no gay people in Nigeria, and I having seen some flamboyant displays in the clubs, I can say that is not the case. They proceeded to make me ashamed to say that I supported gay marriage, because they considered the idea to only acceptable amongst crazy people. I gave them the following history. When America was first forming, they hated certain immigrants (Irish, Scottish, Polish, etc.) and discriminated heavily against them. Eventually that changed, and it made the US a better place. Then they hated black people, and eventually that also changed for the better. Then it was time to look at women and decide they deserved equal treatment, again, a good choice. Now we look at gays, and say, if it worked for immigrants, blacks, and woman, why shouldn’t we give rights to gays as well? The point of my story was completely missed. Met with more, America is crazy talk.

Throughout most of this America bashing, I was thinking to myself, most of these fools only wish they could get to this ‘crazy’ country. The other thought, was, maybe this difference in thinking is why Nigeria is Nigeria and the US is the US. That lunchtime was certainly entertaining and enlightening, but it was also the only time that I felt like a stranger in a strange land.

Awesome Weekend

2008-07-09T05:12:00.002-07:00

Well this past Friday night/morning, I did not have to worry about getting locked out of the hotel because I came in after they had opened for morning operations. By the time I got in my bead it was 6:20AM on Saturday, and I had pulled my first all night party scene in as long as I can remember. We ended up bouncing from club to bar to club all night, capping it off with some late night/early morning Chinese food. Needless to say, I stayed in bed till about 1PM that day. I got up, watched Venus overpower her sister in the Wimbledon finals, went to the gym, and then got ready for the night again.

A co-worker named John wanted to take me around so he stopped by the hotel and picked me up. The idea was to go to a movie, but Hancock ended up being sold out. Instead he suggested Karaoke. Who can turn down Nigerian Karaoke? Certainly not me. So we get to this Karaoke bar, and man, this was completely different from what I expected. It was dark, there was no stage, but more surprising was the fact that the people could SING. I always thought black people could generally hold a note, but these folks were making me wonder if it was the real thing playing or karaoke. My friend John evidently is a singer too, so he was none too fazed by this. I guess it did not stop me either. I told John that Karaoke in the states usually consists of drunk people singing terribly to wild applause, he found that to be quite backwards. One other minor difference, during love songs, the background to the lyrics was what I would describe as PG-13 soft porn. The usual scene consisted of something like a white couple making out in a bed naked with all their squirly areas tastefully covered… meanwhile the words scroll unabated.

I did not notice this until the girl I invited along pointed it out… which made me think either that I was too into the song or a little too used to porn. After the Karaoke, the lady friend Pauline invited us to a house party. The house party was in an insanely rich neighborhood. The houses in this place were some of the biggest I have ever seen anywhere. Nigerians as a whole may be poor, but this country is rich. [Side note: I was told that contributions by ExxonMobil and Shell alone would put 18000 USD into the pockets of every Nigerian citizen annually if the money was split up. I hope that’s gossip, otherwise that’s just sad.] There have only been two times thus far that Nigeria really blew my mind. The first was when I saw a Rolls Royce Phantom (450KUSD vehicle) parked outside of a club, and the second was the size of the houses a mere mile or two away from the poverty of mainstream Lagos. What might have been more amazing was that the roads in this neighborhood were even worse than most of Lagos, and that is saying a lot. We had to creep through at about 5 mph or else we would break the car we were driving in. Now why can’t these obviously filthy rich people pull together 2000 bucks each and pay to get the road paved… there has to be a reason. I am sure the driveways inside their gates are paved, why not outside? Oh well. So the house party was in a big, but reasonably sized, home of a well-to-do Lagosian. The party was very awkward mostly because Pauline ended up leaving me and John to socialize (understandably so, she was trying to score a job through flirting with the head of Zenith banks) and because John was very uncomfortable there. This was not his crowd. John is what I call a real Lagosian. He is not rich, he is not westernized, he is very religious, and he, traditionally, is only interested in finding a wife these days. So here he was in this crowd of rich folks being offered alcohol that he is not interested in (it was some good stuff to, Grey Goose, Hennesey, etc.) and dressed in traditional clothes in contrast to everyone else in Western attire. So I was stuck not drinking the free booze, gasp, and not getting to socialize with anyone because John says ‘You don’t meet good girls in clubs.’ Disregarding the fact that we were not in a club and that these girls seemed perfectly normal (and besides, I was not looking for a wife), I agreed with him. We did not stay too late, and we ended up leaving Pauline at the party with her friends.

The ride home was pretty interesting. I was finally told what exactly was so dangerous about going to the mainland in the late hours. He explained that there are gangs are on either side of the bridge and underneath the bridge, and they sometimes just trap people on the bridge and rob them. He explained that if your car breaks down on the bridge late at night, you just leave it and run. Let them have it.

Sunday was another failed attempt at seeing Hancock, so I was forced to watch the Incredible Hulk again. We did have quite the adventure getting to the theatre though, but that’s for another post.

Blacklandia

2008-07-09T05:12:00.001-07:00

My official response to the question, “What is Nigeria like?” has been, “Imagine a country ran entirely by black people.” All the good and all the bad associated with that fact are present here. Considering the world’s impression of Nigeria, this may sound like a bad thing. But I still think it holds true.

The spirit of the people here is so strong that the seemingly insurmountable challenges facing them are simply taken in stride. No matter how little they may have, they are generous; no matter how sad they may be, they still laugh; and if you can’t make ends meet, you hustle. Lagos to me is like one big hood, full of street peddlers, corner shops, hustlers and crooks. But it is also filled with people who have learned to derive happiness from the immaterial. Maybe these things go hand in hand. True materialism is present here like anywhere else, but it is also so impractical that it is treated as a fantasy and not a reality to guide your life by. Family, God, Love, money and sex… these are the foundations of society here unclouded by some of the distractions of the ‘civilized’ world.

But along with the good comes the bad. The generosity can be abused (which ultimately allowed the colonization of Africa), the good-natured mindset can stifle the desire for change, the struggle to survive can erode the structure of an honest society. These factors have taken their toll on Nigeria and specifically Lagos, where these issues are concentrated so densely.

The people are smart, motivated and talented, but these traits are not being taken advantage of to the fullest. Most conversations with Nigerians about Nigeria result in the pointing of an accusing finger at the leadership. The leadership is corrupt, they have failed to inspire the country to change its ways. But really, Leadership and the Nigeria cannot be separated so easily. The country, the culture, the people create the leaders. The leaders are a reflection of the greater culture, a sort of summation of the state of affairs in a human body. So when saying that the Leaders have to change, so also, do the people. This entire paragraph could so easily be telegraphed onto to the Black American situation. The parallels are so apparent, the only difference is that our (African Americans) problems are replicated in the rich and powerful United States. But the issues are the same. We must expect more from each other. We must instill values that promote wellness amongst the community. These go beyond the admirable generosity and good-nature, and into a different arena of accountability and change. Not tolerating corruption, can start at the individual level… regardless of that individual being the President or a bus driver. Easing tribal tensions is a personal choice of acceptance that can practiced by all.

As much as I love this place and it’s people, I hate the state that it is in. But by fixing one does it alter the other. I hope there is some balance, and that we (all of the Diaspora) find it soon.

The Preciousness of Life

2008-07-04T08:14:00.001-07:00

I attended a safety meeting this past weekend where they made simple acts like walking steps or crossing the street seem like life or death situations. ExxonMobil is borderline OCD about safety, so I have been enduring these meetings on a regular basis since I started at the company. Thankfully they give some awesome prizes away at these meetings. But at this particular one, I started to think, at some point the concern for safety has to limit your life potential.

The amount of caution saturating our culture (American) is alarming. From seven airbag vehicles, to terrorist threat color schemes, to warnings of identity theft, the number of threats and precautions seems to quadruple annually. Should I simply stay at home on the couch with a fire extinguisher (most fire deaths occur at home) protecting myself from the unknown? From this past meeting, that seemed the only safe way to exist.

But really, I think our culture has placed entirely too much emphasis on healthy living and not enough on really living. What happened to getting outdoors, doing something mildly adventurous, meeting new people, getting a few scars… or better yet, understanding that the best way to succeed is sometimes to fall down, literally. Jill Scott says in one of her songs: Just because you have a nightmare, does not mean you stop dreaming. Likewise, if you get in a lot of car accidents, don’t just buy a car with a million airbags, learn to drive better.

Longevity is another obsession that I just never grabbed hold of. The idea of living till 80 or 90 is all fine and good, but what about getting the most out of life now. Too many people are not doing for themselves what they can do now, yet are worrying about 50 years down the line.

Safety like anything else can be taken too far (I am pretty sure that statement could get me fired), use everything in moderation. The entire presentation that I attended could be summed up by the following words: Don’t be stupid.

Aside: Real life dilemma. The ‘safest’ way to handle food here in Nigeria is to ship it in from the states from a source that you are completely familiar with. But is that 1) reasonable, and 2) any way to really get the most out of an experience. True you may put yourself in danger of sickness, but you gain a lot as well.

Poisoned Words

2008-07-04T08:10:00.000-07:00

My boss might have well have cursed me. Today, he turned the haterade on full blast, and succeeded in making me genuinely worried. It all started with some groundnuts. Basically it is the local peanuts from Nigeria, and I am occasionally provided them by the admin for the group. I have come to like them a lot, and usually eat a few handfuls each day. Today Greg happened to see me, and he made it seem like I was eating fresh meat that had been lying on the ground. Over and over, he repeated, don’t you know they don’t have the same cleaning standards as us, don’t you know this isn’t the States, don’t you know you are really pushing your luck eating the stuff you do? All this I would have brushed off if I did not secretly believe that it’s true. Really, I just made piece with the fact that I will get really sick at least once while I am here.

But what he was warning me about was worse than sickness, it was worse than death actually. According to him, people here don’t just get the usual runny poo and stomach aches, when you get sick here, you end up in the hospital for days. ‘Have you ever been so sick you wish you would die?’, that’s how sick you will get, says the boss. Worse yet, he had supporters. One of the Pilipino guys that I work with said the same thing. He got so sick he wished he would die, and said he surprised that was possible, considering the things he ate in the Philippines. So now I am pissed, why couldn’t they let me live in blissful ignorance. And if I got sick, so be it. Now I am setting at my desk dissecting any movements in my bowels in search of foul play, thinking back over my last meal. I have lost the mental advantage, and everyone knows that soon after, the physical falls as well. Before the talk, I was in the middle of eating a roasted plantain that was brought to me, but afterwards I quickly wrapped it up and plan to throw it away. Although that is probably a good idea since it came from a street vendor and was wrapped in newspaper. But now I have to fight this paranoia, because scared or not, I have to eat this food. Unlike my boss, who shipped over two years worth of pre-packaged food (yes his apartment is full of boxes), I have to eat the food here. So all he really did was make me afraid for no reason. I liken Greg to the guy who tells you that there are 92 deaths a year on elevators, right as you press the button to get to the 72nd floor. Yes I made that fact up, but the point is the same. Greg knows my situation, he just wants to rain on my parade. Really I think he is upset that I like it here, because he has convinced himself that he has to be miserable in his room for the next two or three years. Que sera sera… whatever will be will be.

My New Office Distraction

2008-07-04T01:07:00.000-07:00

I was trying to find a map of lagos and ended up finding this awesome website instead. It is www.nairaland.com and is basically a forum for discussion about Nigeria or Nigerians.

Here is the post that got me hooked

Entry One (Submitted by angry African American)

I've been reading the Nigerian online News reports and all I see is loads and loads, and loads, and loads of articles on how this person and that person has stole some shit and or cheated somebody out of some shit. I mean, like a good 85% of the listed articles are focused on instances of mass corruption in the nation and or mass violence incurred most like via some form of corruption. I'm tired of it.Why in the hell can't them knuckleheads get their shit together with all those resources and talent amongst you folks and that nation still hasn't been developed in to being worth a shit more than providing the west and Asians with resources like this is till the fucking colonial days. Please, I want to know, what the mess is the problem. Don't you know the world is laugh at you fools raping each other as they go about raping you unison? This is ridiculous, to have all that free potential and yet not achieve a got damn thing with it. LOSERS is what most folks would call such unproductive people. Don't get me wrong here, I not trying to be hateful; I mean AA need to step our game up too, though at least we've made extreme progress within the past few decades in getting many of our social ills under control. Though Nigerians as a whole seam like they're make no progress, and in actuality have gone backward. To have what you Nigerian have and not be like a major world power by now is just trifling ridiculous. All that potential wasted. I can't even joke about this shit because it make me too angry to even think about it. What the hell is it going to take to stop the rampant mass corruption holding that nation back; and save me the bullshit about the government heads doing all the corrupting, because its like a nationally embedded mentality. Not all are mentally corrupt though a pretty damn large bunch are. You need like a national mental cleansing of that whole nation.

Entry Two (by genius Nigerian)

I've been reading the US online News reports and all I see is loads and loads, and loads, and loads of articles on black-on-black crime, drug dealing, violence, baby mama syndrome or the high black drop out rates. I mean, like a good 30% of African american males are in jail. I'm tired of it.Why in the hell can't them knuckleheads get their shit together with all those resources and talent amongst your white masters and your schools and neighbourhoods still haven't been developed in to being worth a shit more than providing the media and racists with yet more ammunition since the fucking days of slavery? Please, I want to know, what the mess is the problem. Don't you know the world laughed at you when Katrina exposed your collective intellectual poverty? This is ridiculous, to have all that free potential and yet not achieve a got damn thing with it. LOSERS is what most folks would call such unproductive people. Don't get me wrong here, I not trying to be hateful; I mean continental Africans need to step our game up too, though at least we've made extreme progress within the past few decades in getting many of our social ills under control. Though African Americans as a whole seem like they're making no progress, and in actuality have gone backward. To have what you Americans have and yet be nothing more than unwanted appendages or mere cheap labor for a major world power like the US is just trifling ridiculous. All that potential wasted. I can't even joke about this shit because it make me too angry to even think about it. What the hell is it going to take to stop the rampant illiteracy holding you ex-slaves back; and save me the bullshit about white racism, because its like a colour-embedded mentality. Not all are mentally inept though a pretty damn large bunch are. You need like a complete re-engineering of you folks as a people.

Now I know that neither of these people addressed the issue, but I found the dialogue very funny.

Things I am afraid of Part Two: Death

2008-07-03T07:37:00.001-07:00

Death has always been a reliable source of apprehension. I can recall sitting in bed as a child worrying about the prospect of going to heaven or hell. It was not the fear of going to hell that gave me the willies, it was the idea that I would be stuck in either place for Eternity. There isn’t anything I like to do so much that I would enjoy doing it Forever. There I was in my Spiderman PJ’s tucked away in my Transformer sheets, trying to list things that would drone away the milenia. It was thinking like this that resulted in my first and only peaceful resolution to the afterlife. But we will get to that later, because as of late, even that is not solid ground.

First things first. It is not the dying that scares me. One of my most recent realizations has to do with my lack of fear for dying. As much as I enjoy living, I really am OK with the idea of dying. Outside of having a family, I sorta feel like I have had a pretty successful run at life. From elementary school, it was obvious that everyone dies, and we are therefore given enough time to get over the fact that we will not be here forever. It’s what’s on the other side of that partition that worries me. There are many things that I am contentedly ignorant about, but death is not one of them. My childhood theory was a good one, at death you simply return to the source. You die and then you become one with that which created you, i.e. God. It occurred to me that only perfection could satisfy the demands of eternity, and the only perfect thing in my mind was God. Gone were the golden streets, and the long lost family members, and in came a reunification with the force that created you. That let me sleep easy.

But at some point, things started to get shaken up. The What Ifs appeared? What if there is no God? What if there is a God, and he/she/it is not perfect? What if there is no God, what is the point of this infinitesimally small existence? What if we create our own afterlife? What if… What if… What if… Perhaps the worse one of all, what if there is simply nothing? It was around this time, that I started resenting my inquisitive mind, its lack of acceptance of things assumed. In general, I started to be jealous of the happily religious person’s carefree view of death. To them, Heaven was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Once you get it your happy. But just like the pot of gold, what do you think is going to happen once you get there? All problems are solved I suppose. It seemed most people looked upon death in the same way they looked upon any other seemingly attainable goal: once I get there, everything will be just fine. Unfortunately, God/nature wired me a bit different.

So I have been left in a weird spot with death. The spot of ignorance. The best theory to the afterlife I have is: I don’t know, I will just have to see when I get there. [I am reminded of something I told my sister long ago. I said that I was going to wait until I was 80 to get baptized, and then I will be cleansed of all my previous sins. I should of known I was a heathen back then. But even then I was half joking, half serious about my post-mortem insecurities.] The only problem with the ‘I don’t know theory’ is my proclivity for control. I love to control the things that are important to me, and death (potentially the longest part of my ‘life’) is something I feel I have no control over. But although I can have intense moments of brief despair, I am becoming more and more ok with the idea of just letting things play out. Nowadays I can use my imagination to explore the vast possibilities of death without feeling much nervousness. I keep these thoughts on a tight leash though, because one misstep and I am back where I started, sitting in bed scared of eternity.

Bonus: Has it never borrowed you guys that we are all going to hell in someone’s book? If you are Christian you believe Christ is the way. If you are Muslim, there is Mohammad. Hindu… well you have thousands of Gods and none can spare you the suffering that is life. Buddhist, the way of the Buddha can bring you enlightenment. Then there are the hundreds of smaller religions that are equally exclusive, or refreshingly open. But the point is, if we accept the separatist view of most religions, aren’t we just condemning the vast majority of the earth’s population… mostly because they were not brought up believing the same things as us. Probably the worse part of my fear of death is that I seem to be rather a lone in respecting life/death enough to at least give it some serious thought. Or maybe it’s just not a good topic of conversation.

Lastly, the flip side of fear is excitement. For every moment of fear is an equally intense feeling of excitement, it’s a land where anything can happen!

Snippets: Part Two

2008-07-01T07:32:00.000-07:00

So I was talking to my boss the other day about how lucky he is to stay on the lagoon side of the Bayshore hotel. I on the other hand have the street side with its associated honking and traffic, and it really is preposterously noisy. So my boss says, very matter-of-factly, “You should probably talk to one of the managers about that… and it would not hurt to give him a little something as an incentive… maybe a hundred bucks or so.” Then he quickly adds, “I mean I am not telling you that you have to do that, but that was how it was done for me.” So it seems I have to bribe my way into a nice hotel room, but I am too cheap for that. I will just try and make nice with the staff so they will let me know when any of the rooms open up.

Not too long after the bribery conversation, we get out of the car and walk into the hotel. At the door, Greg asks me if I know why there are mosquitoes in the car in the morning. I said no, and that I thought the mosquitoes only came out at night. Greg then explained that our driver Linus actually sleeps in the car every night. Wow. Greg went on to say that his wife, kids and brother are the only ones that can fit in the house, so he sleeps in the car. In the process of going in and out, mosquitoes get in the car.

Similarly, when I was coming home at all odd hours of the night, I learned that a lot of the staff slept outside on any flat surface they could find. Some on boxes, some in chairs but evidently it was the best that they had. Greg asked how much one of these guards made per month as we came in the gate one day, and Linus guessed about 18000 Naira a month. That translates to about 2000 USD a year! In fact I went to dinner with one one guy and his wife recently, and our bill was over 20000 Naira. He had to show the bill to the guard on the way out so that we did not have to pay for parking, and the guard wanted to keep the bill. If some guy just spent more money on a meal than I made in a month, I would also want to show that to my friends.

This past Friday, I had a thought that I wanted to share with someone, the problem was that I did not know who to share it with. It ended up just coming out in the car on the ride home with my boss. It went something like this: “You know why I like it here Greg, because it feels very familiar. So much of the African American culture can be felt here that it’s like some weird sense of Déjà vu. I can see how their food evolved into our [African American] food, how their music became our music, how their mannerism are our mannerisms and so on. It’s a little scary feeling this welcomed and comfortable in a strange place so quickly.” After that short rant, I waited to hear what he had to say. He said absolutely nothing for about two minutes until it was time to get out of the car, then it was a quick ‘See you tomorrow’. I guess I could not blame him, I might not have known what to say either if I was a white guy that had absolutely no sense of connection with my current environment.

There has been a cultural war going on recently in the office, and the turf has been the thermostat. It is not unusual to see the Nigerians (women at least) wrap a scarf around their bodies, or for an expat to only where short sleeved shirts, both of whom do so because they are equally uncomfortable. The Nigerians complain about it getting too cold, the Expats too hot, and then there is me who thinks the temperature is perfect. I would guess that when I started here, the temperature was set at 78 degrees Fahrenheit. But ever since Friday of last week, it has slowly been creeping up. And at the last serious power outage, the AC failed to come back on at all. This left the office at around 85 degrees. To everybody this was warm, but I think the general Nigerian population preferred it at 85 to 78. So the great standoff was set. The expats (myself included) were literally sweating at their seats, complaining loudly of the temperature in hopes that the Nationals would have some sympathy. They must have heard our cries, because today things have returned to normal, a cool 78 degree peace has returned to the office scene. The expats are still hot (but bearably so) and the Nigerians are still cold, but you gotta remember the saying ‘a successful compromise leaves everyone equally screwed’.

So we went to a really nice club Saturday night called Club 10, and on the way out of it, I had a very odd experience. I walked towards my ride’s car, but ended up catching the glance of two attractive young ladies. As I passed by, one of them asked me a strange question “Excuse me sir, do you know if they let girls in there?” Perplexed, I look from them to the club and say. “I would think so.” They continued “Are you sure, have you been in there?” It was then that I realized their predicament, girls was code word for Hoes. So I changed my answer to “I don’t really know, but you can try.” Then with the most pitiful voice one of them asks “Will you walk us in?” I felt bad for them, but not that bad. I told them that I was leaving and wished them luck. But it makes me wonder, how can you tell a ho from a crowd. The bouncers at the club clearly knew, but I would have been fooled. This is why I think I may have a problem here (see Prostitution post). An Aside: To get into the club you enter this rotating tube which keeps you enclosed while it scans you for metal, it was really cool.

Late Saturday night, probably around 3AM, we were driving from one Ikoyi Island to Victoria Island. In the middle of the street with flashlights were men with guns stopping cars. I felt relieved once I realized they were cops, but I soon was unsure about whether that was a good thing. When it was our turn to stop, the cop made us roll down the window, and Obi (the driver) knew exactly what he had to do. He took out some cash and handed it to the cop as if he were paying a toll. Perhaps out of guilt, he proceeded to explain, sympathetically, why this happens. The police demand money because it is pretty much their only source of salary, he explains. On top of that, they are in a very dangerous job where they are always outnumbered and outgunned by their opposition. The criminals and armed robbers have new weapons and almost always have enough people to force the police officers into surrender. So to make it worth their while, they supplement their salary with ‘donations’ from the people. I doubt they would have done anything if we were without money, but generally I look unfavorably at AK-47’s being present when solicited for ‘donations’.

These people club hop, and the beautiful thing is that most places don’t charge a cover. They don’t even seem to have a dress code. Don’t get me wrong though, if you look like you don’t belong, you won’t get through the door because these bouncers look like they are used to kicking out the riff raff. We went from Club 10 to Volta to Caliente to Baccus to La Casa and I noticed that if you look like you have money, you get in. By the way, I have officially been to a club where the bouncers are armed with AK-47’s. Hooray!

Ladun, my office mate, was telling me at lunch that she was going to give me a Yoruba name. She told me she had been thinking of one and would deliver soon, but due to my resemblance to a Yoruba man, I could not get by without a proper Yoruba name. So upon getting back to the office, I mentioned my excitement about my Yoruba name to the office Admin. She gasped and said, no no no, you are Ibo not Yoruba. She then proceeded to take me to a nearby group of friends, and asked each of them whether they thought I was Ibo or Yoruba. Each said Ibo (although I think they were all Ibo, and therefore biased), so they decided that I was to have an Ibo name instead. In about five minutes they had it, Emeka Chukwu. I went back to my desk and told my boss that he can call me Emeka from now on, but I don’t think he is going to play along. Hopefully Ladun will still give me a Yoruba name, that way I can match my name to whatever tribe someone thinks I am from.

Ladun has malaria. She informed me of this like it was the common cold. She said she had been feeling ill, headaches, joint pain and such, and I asked her if she knew what was wrong. “Probably malaria,” she says. “Malaria! You need to go home and stay out for a week,” I reply, but she shrugs my advice off. She did end up going home early and staying home today, but it shocks me that Malaria is such a non-event here. I was talking to a coworker today about it, and she said that she gets malaria three or four times every year. I thought Nigerians were immune, but really they are just used to it. The reaction is less severe, and their bodies have built up some defense, but you still get it. This was yet another thing that impresses me about Nigerians. Americans will stay home at the slightest sign of a sickness, while Nigerians are steadfastly coming into the office while suffering a malarial fever.

The Nightlife

2008-07-01T06:35:00.000-07:00

So Ehi goes out a lot, and Thursday’s are no exception. I had just gotten back from dinner at the Guest Quarters (a little haven for US citizens), and was looking forward to a good read and sleep when Ehi calls. After some slight peer pressure I decide to go out as long as it’s not too late. Not too late ended up getting me home till 2:30AM, but it was worth it. We went and picked up one of his friends from her home, and man this place was nice. Her family had a compound and guards just like my hotel, and they were just one family. Ehi of course insisted that her house was not that big, it was only average for a military officer. So the young lady, Pauline, comes out and we hit the town. We end up going to a few clubs and meeting up with other groups of people throughout the night, and I realized for the first time that I really was going to like this place. The music at these places were good, the people were nice and classy, and they know how to have fun. Throughout the night I kept saying I had to be home by midnight… then 1AM… then who cares, because I figured that if Ehi and Pauline can stay up and go out, so could I! On the way home though, Pauline explains that she was heading to Ghana tomorrow and Ehi said he does not go in to work till 10 on Fridays. They thought it was pretty funny that I had to be up and ready for work at 7. Good times nonetheless.

Friday night was a bit different. When I got home I went straight to sleep. Mostly because I was exhausted from my previous night’s lack of sleep, but also because I was invited out again. This time it was not Ehi, but a black American (as we are called) who was taking me out. We ended up going to this nightclub at about 12:20 and it was completely empty, but by 1:30 it was packed. We were in the VIP section and even that was crazy packed. At around 3:30 our crew was burnt out and we decided to head home. Getting out of the club was much more difficult than getting in, because I did not know the proper dash policy. Dash is another word for bribe, and evidently, you are supposed to dash the bouncers as you leave. It seemed like I passed 15 bouncers on the way home, each gripping my hand and then giving me a perplexed look when there was nothing in it. I ended up dashing the bouncer that was letting me in the VIP section, but the only bills I had were 1000 Naira notes, so I gave him that. He was happy, but then the other bouncers wanted some. But my generosity had passed. We finally made it out of the club and got home.

Saturday was an even busier night than Friday, which was bad because I was without my nap. I went out with Ehi’s crew again (they know much better spots than the Americans) and we ended up staying out till 4 and bounced around to 5 clubs. A testament to how popular Ehi and his crew are: we went to one club that was turning everyone away because they were past capacity and as we were turning around to leave, one of the promoters basically forced to let in Ehi and everyone else with him. The ironic thing was that we ended up leaving because it was too crowded in there. Nothing too eventful happened the rest of the night, but I think it’s safe to say I have been introduced to the nightlife of Lagos.

I Made a Friend :)

2008-07-01T06:34:00.000-07:00

This past Wednesday, I had my first real outing. It was not the first time I had been out socially, but it was the first time I left without the safety net of an expat escort. My tour guide tonight was a Nigerian guy named Ehiosu, or Ehi for short. I met Ehi through my good friend Michelle, and after talking to him on Tuesday, he said he would come and pick me up on Wednesday.

So Wednesday comes along and sure enough he calls and says he is outside the hotel. I get in the car, and only then did I bother asking him where we are going. To the mall he says, Silverbirds Galleria to be exact. As we near the mall I realized that it was a very popular spot, because finding parking was damn near impossible. So Ehi decided to make his own spot, which is not that unusual here it seems. The spot he choose was good, but quickly some of the folks came out asking him to move slightly further down the road. The folks that were telling us this are the people who use the lot as a source of income. They pretty much stay there all night, assist with parking in tight spots, and make sure your car does not get broken into. Ehi refused to move his car, much to their chagrin (this will come into play later).

Once out of the car, I noticed two things about Ehi. First he’s huge, at least 6’6, and second, he knows everyone. Before we even got in the mall three or four people were saying what’s up to him and once inside the mall it was a non-stop meet and greet. At some point he did give me a warning that he is very popular in Lagos, but at the time I probably just thought he was bragging. Well he shows me around the mall and we decide to grab something to eat. Well not too long after getting the food, he gets up and walks off, promising to come right back. About ten minutes later, he returns with two women, who evidently were going to be joining us for the night. Their names were Mary-Anne and Funke, the latter of which I had to ask twice about (it’s pronounced Phoon-Key). Strangely enough, once they found out I was not Nigerian, they became super bashful and shy. So we finished our food and decided to check out the movie Speed Racer, which I actually liked a lot. After the movie, Ehi sticks the girl in a cab (after much negotiation with the cab driver) and we head back to his car. He explained that he does not drive people back to the mainland after dark, because you stand to great a chance of getting robbed… fair enough. So instead he pays for the cab to take them home.

When we get back to the car, we noticed it had a little bit of a gangsta’ lean going on. His front driver side tire was flat. So here we are in the middle of some road at 11PM on a Wednesday with a flat tire. Naturally I thought, lets call AAA, but quickly remembered where I was. Luckily Ehi had a spare and a jack, but no jack lever. Luckily the calvary came. One guy came with a flashlight, another grabbed the jack, another went and found some pliers to use as a makeshift jack, and before long the car was in the air. These guys were definitely nice, but primarily they knew they were going to get some money out of the deal. An hour later, everything was fixed. We paid the guys for their help, and got on our way.

The whole night I was really thinking of two things. First, Nigerians are SO generous. Ehi refused to let me pay for anything while we were out the first night and the people that came to help us with the tire would have helped us whether we had money or not. The other thing that kept crossing my mind was Malaria. I was doing the statistics in my head every time I felt one of those little bastards bit me. One in fifty four mosquitoes has malaria here, and Malarone (my malaria pill) is 98 percent effective… so I can get bit 2700 times before I am statistically expected to get malaria. That gave me some comfort amongst the bug bites.

The Bullet Riddled Testimony

2008-06-30T06:08:00.000-07:00

So I went to church this weekend, and discovered that, for the most part, the Baptist church here in Lagos was not all that different from a Baptist church back home. But there was one thing that could not have happened anywhere else…

The preacher approached the podium and asked for one of the members to come up and share a particularly moving testimony. Nothing too unusual here, I thought, but I had no idea what was coming. So this Nigerian guy comes up to the stadium and proceeds to explain what happened to him.

The man started his testimony by explaining that his family lives in Lagos while he works in Abuja, the nation’s capital. This past weekend, he decided he would drive home and pick up his daughter from summer school. Afterwards he was simply going to spend time with his family. The father proceeded to pick up his daughter from the school and was driving across town to Victoria Island (where I stay) when he noticed a disturbance in the road ahead. Evidently he observed that there were people on the side of the road next to a group of vehicles. He simply assumed that there was an accident and that people were being dragged to safety. But as he got closer, he realized that there was no accident at all, and that the people were being subjected to an armed robbery. Unfortunately he realized this too late, because soon the armed robbers had their AK-47’s trained on his vehicle. They motioned for him to stop, but the father made the split second decision to gun it. As he rapidly tries to accelerate away, the robbers open up their guns, riddling the SUV with bullets. The father forced him and his daughter as low as possible in the car and just kept driving until they ran into a bush somewhere down the road. The father sat up and realized that they had driven far enough from their assailants that they were relatively safe. The father took the time to look around the car and observed that the window had four bullet holes in it, his side of the car was shot up, and that both he and his daughter were bleeding. His daughter had been shot in the arm, and he had only been grazed by a bullet in the side. He quickly drove his daughter to the hospital where she now recovers from her injuries. The man simply wanted to Thank God that they survived the incident and that his daughter will make a full recovery.

Now how is that for a church testimony? There are a couple of things that I found particularly shocking about this. First, this happened in broad daylight. Secondly, this happened on a Friday on the nice side of town when there was probably plenty of traffic. Third, the father tried to run AWAY from the men with automatic rifles. Ever since I have been here, people have explained that armed robbery is just one of those things that happen here, and that you just give them what they want so they will leave you alone. Otherwise they might feel the need to try and shoot you. But hey, you never know what you will do when you are in that sort of situation, especially when you have your daughter in the car with you and you realize she was going to be in danger no matter the outcome.

Surprisingly, this testimony tied in with the Sermon for the day. The message, if I may summarize, was Do Your Part to Make Lagos Less Screwed Up. He proceeded to tell people to not abuse power or management, to not take bribes, and to not do ‘favors’ for undeserving people. But on top of that, he gave a history lesson. He spoke of the Lagos of his childhood where you could put your goods and a price list on a table outside your home, and people would leave the money on the table and take the goods without any risk of getting ripped off. He was probably exaggerating, but it emphasized the point that Lagos’ descent into mayhem and lawlessness was both rapid and recent. The answer to this downward spiral was naturally Jesus. The lack of Jesus in the community was the reason these things were happening. This I found interesting, because Nigerians seem to be the most religious people I have ever encountered. But as most people know, being religious and being a Christian are too different things. So maybe the preacher was right after all.

Free Stuff Sucks

2008-06-30T06:07:00.000-07:00

You know that saying, nothing in life is free? I am beginning to believe it. I have been bragging about my free Microsoft Zune (80 GB) that I got from my Corporate American Express Card reward points. It was new, shiny, and more expensive than an MP3 player I would ever buy for myself. I was very excited to have gotten it.

All that changed yesterday when it decided to erase all 40GB of music I had put on it. Don’t worry, the music is still safely on the computer, but the Zune has crapped out. Every time I try and load any music on it, it freezes and gives my computer the blue screen of death.

So now I have to get it replaced. Which sucks, because I am in Nigeria. How am I supposed to 1) call support 2) ship the thing back 3) receive the replacement when I am on a different continent. Worse is the fact that I am on a manufacturers warranty driven timeline. Fortunately, I can’t get too upset because its not like something broke that I actually paid for.

Striking Nigerians

2008-06-26T09:04:00.001-07:00

On another note, it turns out that Nigerians in the oil industry like to strike. My trip to Nigeria was actually postponed due to one of the strikes happening against ExxonMobil. It’s a clever trap they have set up. Nigeria allows an oil company to come in and pump oil but they have to use 85% Nigerian workforce. Begrudgingly, oil company agrees, and then proceeds to set up training centers so that Nigerian citizens are skilled in the necessary areas. This national content also usually applies to materials, so now the contracting companies build fabrication yards so that the materials can be manufactured in country. Now that the workforce and the material is controlled by Nigerian citizens, the unions go to work. The unions make demands for raises or they will shut everything down. First, they can and will shut everything down, and second, their request seems understandable since they are paid relatively low wages in comparison to the expats. So Oil Company gives in. In the case of XOM this has evidently resulted in a 28% raise every two years or so. But this year has set a new precedent. With oil prices as high as they are, the unions are making stricter demand. In XOM’s case, a 30% raise fresh after getting a 28% raise. Now the oil company’s are in a pickle. They do not want to give in, because at some point this precedent will result in equally paid or better paid nationals than expats (see post ”We’re all Doc Thompsons Children” on why that is not exactly fair) making the idea of being in Nigeria unprofitable. So the companies resist. The government is a partner in all of these projects, so when oil company loses money, they also lose money. This is why the Nigerian oil company is currently in the poor house. So the government tries to intervene, but unfortunately Nigeria has no control over its unions, rendering it powerless. So Union flexes its muscle and shuts everything off, forcefully. The office that I sit in right now forcibly (but peacefully) kicked everyone out when the strike took place. Similarly, people shut down platforms, closed wells, and went home. Now Oil Company is really in a bind. They are here for oil, and every day shut in is probably a half billion dollars in revenue… do they need oil more than the employees need a paycheck? Evidently the oil company loses every time. Shell, ExxonMobil, and currently Chevron are all subject to the same extortion, but they take it. I find the whole thing to be extremely ironic. The same thing that Europeans did to Africans all those years ago, are happening in reverse today. Now I don’t think two wrongs make a right, but in this case I remain neutral. The only thing that Nigeria needs to watch out for is revolt. Just like there were occasional revolutions against European colonies, these oil companies may revolt by pulling out, which recently happened in Venezuela. This industry is great.

Productivity... Who needs it?

2008-06-26T09:03:00.000-07:00

So what I actually do at work is Project Management, and part of that is determining productivity. It is based on an index where a value of 1 means that you are as productive as the Gulf of Mexico area in the US in 2000. It relates all these projects overseas to how long it would take back at home. A value of 1.5 for Singapore would mean something takes 50% longer there than in the states. Nigeria’s factor is 4. Meaning, anything done here is expected to take 4 times as long. It’s not saying that workers or Nigerian employees are four times as long, but that, for example, building a fab yard in Port Harcourt will take 4 times as long. Before I got here, I always thought that this was a huge exaggeration, but now I am thinking again. Work, not linked to your survival, seems to be a distant second to your family and personal relationships here… and that’s awesome. What sparked this was the fact that it was 7:30 AM and I had been at my desk for half an hour. My cube mate, who got to work was everywhere but at the desk. She was engaging with her coworkers, what a strange concept. It made me realize why things frustrate expats here, because all most of these western expats are interested in is work. That’s what they do, and they get frustrated when others don’t share the same zeal for it. But at the same time, there are benefits to this obsession. Stuff gets done. Here, you throw an eventually in front of that statement. Similarly in Qatar, they would say the phrase ‘En Shalla’ (sp.?) after every request by a westerner, and it meant God Willing aka eventually.

This Is Nigeria

2008-06-26T09:02:00.000-07:00

So I had my first “This is Nigeria” moment today. This statement is uttered on occasion by expats who have had something not perform to standard. Mine started this morning with a phone call. Not from the wake-up call I asked for, but from my boss asking me if I was coming down to the car. I looked at the time, 7:15AM, what the hell happened to my 6:00AM wake up call. I told my boss that I was just waking up and did not get a wake up call as requested, so he said he would send the car back for me in half an hour. So I quickly get ready and head out the door. Once out the door, I knew I was in a country ran by black people, because what is bumping over the loud speakers… none other than R. Kelly. That was not too bad, mostly just funny. So I walk to the elevators and get on. Right as the doors close, the power goes out. I worried about that happening, given the frequency of power outages here. Sure enough, I was stuck in the elevator in the dark. It was actually scarier than I would have thought; I actually had to remind myself to stay calm. Luckily, the power came back on a minute or two later, and I got out and met Linus at the car. I thought the antics were over, but in trying to get across the road we were almost ran over by a Mack truck that ignored the cops instructions to stop. It was not the near-running over that made me think “This is Nigeria”, it was that the Mack truck was actually towing a bunch of people. It was just like any other 18 wheeler, but instead of a boxcar being on the back, they were towing what looked like an improvised bus set up. They had cut holes in this thing and added seats, and it seemed to function just like a bus except it was an eighteen wheeler. It was the coolest most creative thing I have ever seen on wheels.

Just Like America!

2008-06-26T09:00:00.001-07:00

On the way to work today, I heard an advertisement that made me laugh. It went something like this.

Person A: You ready to go to the club tonight?
Person B: Naw, I think I am going to stay in
A: What?!? You were all hyped up about going just yesterday, what happened?
B: Well if you must know, my clothes are kind of funky. I got nothing to wear.
A: (Laughs) Well that’s no problem, just get them washed.
B: What are you talking about, where am I going to get my clothes washed in time for tonight, its already mid afternoon.
A: Haven’t you heard about Nigeria Wash (made up the name). It’s brand new, you can wash clothes right there. Just like in America!

Announcer: That’s right folks, you heard it right, come see Lagos’ first American style Laundromat. You can bring your clothes, and actually wash them yourselves while you wait! No more hand washing, or waiting for days, come to Nigeria Wash and experience the brand new laundry experience. We have 12 state of the art washers and 15 dryers that will have you in and out in no time. Just like in America!

That had me cracking up, first because I did not consciously realize that Laundromats were a luxury service, and secondly because he used America as if the mention of the name were enough to get people in the store. Maybe it is.

Stationary and Retirement

2008-06-26T08:59:00.000-07:00

Evidently supplies don’t last very long here. Someone told me to start paying attention to stuff like paper, or toiletries, or pens and pencils, because you will notice that they never put out more than what’s necessary. The reason, people take it and sell it. Now I know why I always felt the need to take pens and pencils from the office, it’s in my blood. But really, they take the stuff because this stuff is a luxury expense outside of the office. It’s sort of like the Robin Hood principle, take from the rich, give to the poor. By the way, I believe that Robin Hood really was from the hood. I always connected with his principles and I think that it is the closest thing that black folks have to a fairy tale.

At dinner the other day with a fairly seasoned Nigerian guy, he dropped a fact I found most interesting. The mandatory age for retirement in Nigeria is 55 years old. He went on to explain that mandatory was more like “mandatory” but that you have strong incentives to getting out by then. Mostly your pension quickly erodes the longer you stay after 55, which was another interesting concept. He explained that you basically have a pot of money that is dealt out to you after retirement, and that the pot is biggest at the age of 55. After that, not only does the pot shrink, but whatever you make as salary comes out of that pot. The idea is, the money is there to support you when you are not working, not when you are employed. So were they discouraging people from working? No, the reason was quite simple. There are a lot of young, highly educated people in Nigeria who are waiting in the wings for that good job to open up. The government realizes this and incentives the older folks to leave so that the new generation can have their chance. What seemed backwards at first ended up making sense after all.

Random Stuff

2008-06-26T08:55:00.000-07:00

So I gave up on the daily accounts because they are actually giving me work to do these days, and it is seriously cutting down on my ability to write in an uninterrupted flow… so now I have switched to writing snippets. My snippets will be long though.

I am trying to stop being so random because I think my boss is beginning to think I am weird with all my seemingly unrelated statements. So with these snippets, I will try and group them together in some related categories.

“So has Don talked to you about the women yet,” asks my boss on the way home from work the other day. Don is like your old mean uncle who has a raspy voice like a New Orleans trumpet player. Naturally he is full of advice, and one of the first things he told me about was the women. “Yes he’s told me,” I reply. But clearly, Greg wanted to explain again. Greg then proceeds to go on about how the women of Nigeria will see me as young, attractive, walking gold. I thought he was joking but I have been hearing the same story from expats and Nigerian’s alike. I guess we will see.

So it turns out that I have a cousin (sort of, she is my mom’s first cousin’s husband’s sister) who lives in Lagos. My mom sent her my contact info and told me to call her. After verifying with my mom that she was expecting my call, I give her a ring. Naturally the woman had no idea who I was or why I was calling. But after a few minutes of convincing here I was not some stranger, we had a pretty good convo. She married a Nigerian guy 30 years ago and has lived here ever since. They are having their 30th anniversary party this Saturday, and she has invited me to go. Well yesterday she stopped by the hotel since she was in the area, and she proceeded to tell me how Lagos is the safest place on earth. ‘Oh don’t worry about walking around, you’ll be fine’ she says, but the next sentence is ‘But make sure you carry some ID on you in case you somehow become unconscious’. She was a nice lady though and I look forward to going to her party if I can get transportation to it.

I realize that I stare at people here, and I think it throws some people off. I sit in a cubicle, whenever someone crosses my path, I end up looking at them and making eye contact. I think the office is beginning to know me as that staring guy. But I finally figured out why I do it. I have been conditioned to immediately observe black people. Under normal circumstances, I would never see a black person at work, or at a work social gathering, or even at my apartment complex. So I constantly subconsciously searched for black skin so that I might not miss the chance of seeing someone like me. I know we (black people) do it, when you walk into a room, you probably notice all the black people in there. Well I have not shaken that habit yet, and since nearly everyone is black, I end up staring at nearly everyone. I guess eventually I will get used to this.

At work the other day, I had my first completely Nigerian meal and I really enjoyed it. It was some beans, jollof rice, and chicken. It was great. Since then I have discovered some collard green like dish that’s pretty good and plantains which are awesome. Its funny to see the origin of so many foods in Caribbean and Black culture right here in Nigeria. It makes sense, but it is just cool seeing food here and seeing its evolution into foods back home.

Nigeria: Day Five

2008-06-25T08:25:00.001-07:00

Thirteen hours of sleep. Wow. When I went to bed last night, I told myself I was going to sleep as much as I possibly could. I was expecting to wake up at nine or ten at the latest. But one in the afternoon that was preposterous. Not even the many wake-ups of the Lekki Expressway could get me up this morning, I just kept going back to sleep. But I actually needed to be up at one today, a guy from work, James, said he would take me around a bit. I am friends with James’ beautiful daughter back in Houston. Unfortunately she has an awesome boyfriend and is uninterested in jumping ship, oh well. So I called James and he said he would swing by the Bayshore (my hotel) in half an hour. That gave me enough time to get dressed, brush my teeth, and get my phone. Oh yes, my boss told me he had a spare phone that he could loan me, so I finally have a method of local communication! So James scoops me up and he tells me he has to go and buy a phone for his wife who is coming soon to Lagos.

As I had said earlier, there are no Radio Shacks or Circuit City’s around here, so I had no idea where this was going to take us. Well luckily his driver knows exactly where to go for these things. He drives right to this roadside market that looks entirely dedicated to mobile phones and peripherals. As close to a Sprint store as you are going to find here. So out we go. A quick jump over a drainage ditch (these drainage ditches don’t drain, they mostly just collect putrid runoff water so that it can slowly radioactively decay) and we are in the market. All eyes are on us, especially the vendors’. Why, because we drove here unlike 99 percent of the people here who walked. On top of that, we were driven here, and my friend James is very light skinned, more so than any African would be. So they knew we were outsiders, and flocked accordingly. Our driver stewards us to this storefront in the corner and introduces us to the vendor. I have come to learn that names and introductions are very important here. So far, Nigerians have proven amazing in their abilities to remember names and to use them often in conversation. It’s a very personal place, where hand shakes and introductions proceed any shop talk. So after the introductions the vendor shows us his selection. Really he does not have to show us because the boxes are perfectly visible. The store is not really a store, more like one of those carts in the middle of American malls that sell little goods like hair clips and electronic belt buckles. Picture those but squish them into a much smaller space and put it outdoors in 90 degree heat with no shade. Naturally he starts off with the most expensive model, but after hearing the 45000 Naira (roughly $400) price tag, James quickly told him to downgrade. So he went with the well-featured, modestly priced entry that was going for 19000 Naira. You’ve got to give the vendor credit, he said the price tag so nonchalantly that I almost expected to see a price tag on the box with that amount. James thinks about it, and before he can respond, our driver (a Ghanaian whom everyone assumes is Nigerian) asks again how much the price is. Once again the vendor states 19K. Our driver motions for us to move on to the next stall, but of course the vendor backs down. After much heckling the vendor gets down to 17200 Naira, and all parties seem satisfied. Later James confesses that he gets reimbursed up to 40000 Naira for the phone so he really did not care what the price was. But by the time we get the memory card and the phone card, we are right back at 19000. We jump back across the drainage ditch and we get in the car. As we prepare to drive off, we notice the phone card guy running after us. Evidently, we did not pay him for the phone card. When asked how much, he said 1000 Naira. To which James brings out a 1000 Naira. But Robert (our driver) is appalled by this rip off. [I was told by a Nigerian that you can get a phone card for 300 to 700 Naira off the street] So Robert gets back out of the car and basically gets in this guys face until he backs down to 500 Naira. I have learned that Robert has a temper. In a particularly bad traffic jam, Robert put the car in park, got out of the car, walked over to a car that was blocking the road and started hitting their glass and yelling at them to get out of the way. By the time he got back in the car the road was clear.

After the phone market we drive to our next destination, the Shop Right shopping mall. We did not go in, but it was amazing to see a small but seemingly normal shopping mall in Lagos. And it was packed, it was clearly the place to be on a Saturday. The next stop on the Lagos tour was the Lekki Market, but it must be noted that just as much stuff was being sold in the street outside of the mall as in the mall itself. People were selling paintings in the street, yes paintings. On the way to Lekki Market we drive by the Chevron complex and that place is NICE. It makes the Exxon compound look like poo. I have heard that the Chevron complex is a self sustaining place, now I understand why. High fences and barbed wire block off what is clearly a huge complex of impressive homes and facilities. It was like a little chunk of American suburbia transplanted in Nigeria. In addition to Chevron’s place, we passed some other very impressive building complexes that were clearly for the financially well off, and each one, as explained by Robert, housed some Company’s expats or rich Nigerians.

Eventually we arrived at Lekki Market, and it is as busy and as chaotic as you might expect a large Nigerian market to be. There are so many things that are shocking to me as a westerner. The amount of meat and fish sitting out in the sun exposed to the elements is amazing. Right next to that raw meat might be some fresh fruit, or some kids playing next to water that looks like it should be roped off. Then there are the roads, I cannot express how terrible these roads are. When I say some of them conjure images of cleared minefields, I do not exaggerate. If you are not in an SUV, I just don’t see how it is done, yet car’s manage to succeed. Continuing through the market, we see roadside hair salon’s, goat slaughterhouses, fruit shacks, and clothing stores. Anything you can think of. James even remarked that he might go pick up some coasters for his tabletops. I just want to say, that as messed up as the infrastructure and conditions are, this place is wonderful. It is so ALIVE, everything about it pulses with activity. When Robert stepped out of the car at the market to buy a lottery ticket, James turned back to me and gave me his two cents on the place. He explained that everyone lives hand to mouth here, whatever this guy makes from me today, is what he can eat with. So there is no complacency, no sitting idly, everybody hustles, because to stand still is to walk closer to death. Preach on James. When Robert returns with his lotto ticket, James asks why he plays when it is a waste. Robert explains that it’s a waste to some, but he has won twice, hustle on.

On the way out of Lekki market, James asks Robert where we can get some cold beers. Naturally the answer is ‘on the side of the road somewhere’, and before you know it, Robert has pulled up next to some shop and sent a little girl into the back to get us some beers. They aren’t that cold she says apologetically, but that’s understandable when most of the people are without electricity. Later on in the day I was remarking to Robert that there were no speed limits, or traffic lights, or lanes in the road, and how different that was from the states. He simply said that when they put up lights, they get taken down for parts and wires, if they put up speed signs everyone would ignore them. He said he stays in Nigeria over Ghana because there are no rules here, whatever you can do to make money is what you do, no one will tell you no. Back to the girl with the beers. Seeing that we had no bottle openers, she runs in the back and returns with a piece of aluminum window frame with a hole cut in it. She knocks the tops right off and runs back inside with the homemade masterpiece as if all bottle openers were just like it.

Before heading back to Victoria Island (we were in Lekki), Robert recommends we drive by Victoria Garden City. This gated community is the Beverly Hills of Lagos. Huge homes, parks, clean well paved streets, speed limits! Green grass and personal delivery diesel trucks screamed ‘we have money’. Robert explained that this is where very rich Nigerians lived and some expats as well. What amazed me was that this place was able to exist without being constantly robbed or solicited. But evidently crime was not a big issue. Robert explained that because you have to drive into the complex, most people that are up to no good (poor, desperate people) can’t get in.

After the brief VGC tour, James takes me back to his place because he wants to ‘try out his George Foreman grille’. I thought that would imply steaks or something, but evidently James like to George Foreman his hot dogs. So we have a meal of chili dogs, beans, and fritos. Surprisingly, that all American meal was exactly what the doctor ordered.

James had Robert take me back to the Bayshore, and not long after getting there, I gave another guy from work a call. Dwayne picked up and within twenty seconds he had convinced me to come with him wherever it was he was going. Ten minutes later I was in his car heading off to another meal. Dwayne is a special guy, it took ten minutes of riding in the car with him to even say hello, because he probably made 12 phone calls. When I say that this guy is Mr. Lagos, I mean it, he knows everyone and everyplace that is worth knowing. Unfortunately he is a ball of energy that is a little too much to be around. He had been up since 4AM and was as active as a twelve year old post pixie stick 14 hours later. He ends up taking us out to the Golf and Tennis Country Club of Lagos where he pointed out all the big shots of Lagos. There is the presidents assistant, there is a VP of Chevron, there is so and so who is the cousin of blah blah blah. He knew everybody and everybody knows him. He is the type of person I like to use. But we had gizzard and beef Suya, and boy did that stuff have some kick. I don’t know what gizzards are but the texture made me reluctant to ask. They were good though. We also had some special fruit drink that I forgot the name of, I think it was made of pomegranate or something. I forgot to mention that there was another guy there named James (a different James) who is the most Nigerian looking Louisianan I have ever met. He was full of stories of how he was often confused with the staff at his own housing complex. But anyways, James was cool, but me and him were mostly the entourage of Dwayne (turns out this was the first time that James had met Dwayne as well). After the Suya, Dwayne rounded us up and we were off to the next place… another meal at restaurant called Saipem. There we met up with a big shot ExxonMobil Nigerian named something that sounded like G-Day. He was very nice, but I only got to get one or two sentences in with him the whole night, this guest was for Dwayne’s engagement. When I say this restaurant was nice, it was nice by any countries standards. Excellent décor, and good food, naturally it was expensive. Luckily we were all so full from earlier that we did not eat too much. In the end G-Day explained that the cost of this meal was about two thirds the same price of his first car that he bought for 3300 Naira. As he counts out the bills for our meal from a huge wad of cash, he recounts how different things were back then. He explained that even the denominations of cash had changed. A 50 Naira note was the most they made in contrast to today’s 1000; and that the exchange rate to the US dollar was 1 Naira to 2 US dollars, contrasted with today’s 118 Naira to 1 US dollar. Inflation and oil changed everything he says. At 10PM we parted ways and Dwayne makes a few more phone calls. He plans on calling it a night, but he wants to see if any of his friends are willing to take me out tonight. He assumed correctly that I would be interested. Perhaps for the best, none of his friends are going out, but before we go home Dwayne decides to show us a little eye candy with a drive-by of one of the clubs close by. Once again I will say, there are some beautiful women here.

I eventually get dropped off at the Bayshore, where there is a message waiting for me that my sister called. Not a message on Voicemail, no none of that, this is a verbal message delivered by the reception desk guy. These guys no your name and room number just by seeing you, and they gave me my message without needing to reference any notes. Impressive. Once in the room, I fruitlessly try to call my sister, but by this time the radio room people have called it quits. Instead I pull out my laptop and start typing away. That, and tending to the far too often demands of my bowel movements. How’s that for a note to end on.

FYI, Dwayne did tell me that his wife has two tennis coaches, a personal trainer, a cook, a driver, a masseuse… all for a price that’s reasonable to his salary (p.s. he makes a lot of money). So if anyone wants to marry me and come live in Nigeria, let me know, you could be living the luxury life pretty soon. Plus, I will get a much better incentive package if I ever move over here with a wife :).

Prostitution Revisited

2008-06-25T06:07:00.000-07:00

Confrontation…It’s got my heart pumping a little faster… Me (a friend of mine’s sister) is right about one thing, I do not get enough challenge to my ideas. Thank you, and let’s analyze. Here’s the response to my Prostitution post, written by Me (not me):

Dude, A. Are you serious with this post? First, I concur with Tatamwari- I thought the only reason one didn't sleep with prostitutes is because your schlong would explode? A nice serving of emotionless sex and a side order of HIV to go. No thank you.And I've posted on your blog before, and finally, you have me convinced that you do not understand women. That or you've placed yourself on some undeserving pedestal that you cannot even take the time to be introspective or self evaluatory enough to realize that dude, your theories just do not make sense. Or perhaps you just need less "yes" men around you. Dating as prostitution (I've indeed heard it all.)And FYI. The feminist in me needs you to recognize that prostitutes ARE honest women. Sometimes, a woman has to survive how she may. And her body sometimes is what she has because the man's weakness for the flesh is legendary. And there are those who are in it due to a lack of choice. Think drugs, desperation, an abusive spouse/ boyfriend, kidnapping or just the plain old pimp stereotype. They're no less honest than any other woman out there. It's mindsets and comments like yours which contribute to stereotypes and prevent abused prostitutes from getting the help and attention they need.Dude, you need to sit down while you're out in Nigeria and do some thinking. P.s. Nigeria is not all that bad. Just leave Lagos. It's the pits.

End Post

My, my, Me, seems I have struck a nerve. So let’s see if we can clear some things up, because this looks like the usual case of mistaken identity.

Yes, Me, I am serious with this post. And I also would throw STD’s in the mix with reasons for not sleeping with a prostitute, but certainly not the only reason. Otherwise, brothels specializing in clean women (and I am sure there are such ‘classy’ places) would by my after-school hang out. The purpose of the post was not to address the risks involved, but whether I personally thought it was right or wrong for me to become involved in such activities.

Me, I freely admit that I do not understand women, heck, I don’t even know if women understand women. But I get along with them, so I guess that is all I can ask for. In addition to that admission, I have placed myself on a pedestal. I am one of those ‘God’s gift to women’ guys that women despise, but guess what, you women put me here. I had no idea I was a catch until women told me so. Luckily I have some friends that bring me back down to size eventually. I do, however, resent the accusation of not being introspective or self-evaluatory. I consider myself to be the very embodiment of those things. And why do people, in this case Me, make statements like ‘your theories just do not make sense’. Please elaborate, be specific. Which theories, and what about them do not make sense? A theory is meant to be tested (to their possible destruction), otherwise I would call them laws.

Lastly, I would like to agree with you and dispel any notion that prostitutes are not honest women. They are as honest as the rest of us, they just practice a social taboo. I just do not think highly of their chosen profession, but then again, I don’t really like lawyers or engineers either. But we all make a living doing what it is we are able to do best. That being said, I do think its an unfortunate fact that most women are led into this life by Me’s aforementioned reason, but nothing I wrote about ever implied otherwise.

My post was an objective evaluation of the idea of prostitution and my interaction with it. I purposely stayed out of the murky waters of contemplating the actual prostitutes. So which comments contribute to the stereotypes of prostitutes and prevent them from getting help? I suspect that was just a reactionary statement to satisfy the ‘feminist in you’.

Inadvertently, my blog has turned into exactly what I wanted, a place of dialogue. Awaiting your reply…

AskAnOilMan.com

2008-06-24T05:18:00.000-07:00

Welcome to AskAnOilMan.Com. Here you can ask all those questions about energy and Big Oil that cross your mind, and you will get as best an answer as OilMan can provide.

Question # 1: I hear ExxonMobil is closing all of its service stations, sounds like a bad sign for the lubricated giant, right? (Paraphrased from Tatamwari)

Excellent question Tata, glad you asked! Indeed, ExxonMobil (XOM) will be phasing out its corporate-owned US gas stations over the next few years. That seems like an odd announcement, akin to General Electric’s recent announcement that it will cease selling appliances. But similar to GE, XOM is finishing a job it started a long time ago… and for a number or reasons.

First, let’s discuss what the release of these stations mean. In the grand scheme of getting oil from the ground to moving you down the road, operating service stations is a necessary but relatively unprofitable business. In the U.S. XOM has about 12,000 branded (i.e. display Exxon or Mobil) service stations. What most do not know is that all but approximately 2200 of them are privately owned as franchises. This is done for the same reason that most franchises are created, low margin operations (the actual operation of the stores) are better handled by independent owners whom have less overhead and bureaucracy.

So why sell the remaining 2200? It mostly comes down to the current pricing situation. As most of you know, gas prices are set to be well over 4USD/Gallon for the remainder of this year, but is less publicized is that the average gas seller makes roughly 11 cents per gallon sold. When coupled with the fact that credit card companies eat up 5 to 6 cents per gallon in transaction fees, this leaves the owner with only half their expected profits. Surprisingly, three or four years ago, service station owners were making significantly more than 11 cents per gallon when gas prices were only a fraction of today’s costs. Why, look to 135USD/Barrel oil prices. The price of oil has increased four fold in three years while gas has less than doubled. The downstream (the gas makers) has to pay for its oil in the open market, meaning XOM oil does not sell straight to XOM refineries and then to XOM gas stations, leaving the price increase to be absorbed the profit of gas makers and gas providers. This is not in the goodness of their hearts, but they simply cannot pass on the price increases to the consumer and still expect them to pay for their product.

The other reason to sell these stations is to ease public relation tensions. It is easier for XOM to go before congress and say, ‘don’t blame us for 5 dollar gas,’ if they are no longer in the gas selling business. One recent article recommended removing even the branding from the remaining stations.

So in conclusion, does this selling of service stations because of their diminishing profits signal a problem? I would say no, because that is the duty of any large corporation. Invest in the profitable businesses and remove the less profitable ones. It also must be considered that most likely only half of one percent of the $40B profits last year was earned through its service stations.

This was fun, so if you have any other questions, feel free to ask.

Prostitution

2008-06-24T05:17:00.000-07:00

I never considered myself to be a John. Or a trick. I just could not see myself pulling up to a street corner, saying some corny line, and then handing a chick some cash as she gets into my car. The guys on TV and the movies just seemed so sleazy. But it was not really the sleazeball factor that pushed me away, it was the combination of facts that sex should be free and that I was never that horny a person that I could not wait. So you could say I was too cheap and unmotivated. My sister will be the first to attest to my belief that a lot of dating is a molded form of prostitution. Typically, a man takes a woman out, feeds her, pays for her, gives her attention, and then he solicits sex and often receives it even though she probably does not particularly want to. A trade of services is made. Goods in terms of affection, attention, and a free meal are traded for attention and sex. Most of you are probably holding back your disgust at this bastardization of courtship, but dating and all relationships is really an exchange that benefits both parties. Prostitution is just that as well, just a socially taboo one.

Regardless of what you think of my theories, the point is that I never considered prostitution. Now that I have been traveling overseas, all my assumptions have changed and I don’t know what to think anymore. If I was traveling to economically equivalent places like most of Europe, my impression would remain the same. In Germany, you still have to go and get yourself a hooker and pass twenty perfectly free (honest) women along the way. But lately I have been traveling places where the socioeconomic structure is all screwed up. The norm now seems to be, where the people with money are, so will be the prostitutes. Most of the time, sneakily disguised as normal women. So here comes Anthony in a hypothetical situation. I walk into a club with some friend. This is not some ordinary club, not one mainly for locals, but an expat friendly place that is safe and not too different from what westerners are used to. Let’s face it, in a lot of places that are not westernized, either you are not welcome in most places or you are not comfortable going in most places. So you end up going to someplace that is a mixture between your background and the culture of the country you are in, a place specially designed for your kind. So here I am in the club, and I notice that there are some lovely ladies from all over the world scattered throughout the bar. Eventually I work up the nerve to go and talk to one. Great, she is receptive. She smiles, laughs at my jokes, tells me about where she is from, and seems to be generally having a good time. About the time that I think that I really have found a nice find, she whispers in my ear her price. Not wanting to believe, or selectively not hearing, I say ‘come again’. She says ‘if you want to come again, that’s double the price’. Haha, that’s my attempt at a dirty joke. But eventually you realize she is a prostitute. (This has yet to happen to me luckily, but it is inevitable). You then go through two reactions, first you feel betrayed because you believed you were talking to an honest women, and second you feel dirty because you are actually thinking to yourself ‘that’s actually pretty cheap’. I may say no the first time. But what happens when the situation happens the next time, and the next time and the next time. Soon your disgust with the situation wears then, and your shock at the situation becomes non-existent, and you end up with a hooker back at your place.

That is how I imagine it happens. The proof is in the pudding. Almost most of the expats and contractors that I have met overseas (and especially the military guys) have admittedly frequented prostitutes. I would venture to say that it is the norm in my line of work. The people, mostly men, are usually married, and are away from their families for long periods of time. They mostly seem to go this route because they are bored or need affection. As much as I look down upon them, I understand. So here I am, having recognized the chain of events that could turn me into them, have to make a conscious decision. I must decide relatively early in my career whether I will succumb or not to these offers. But there are some moral pitfalls in my path.

One is the rich man complex. As an American, that often makes me the rich man by default. So lets say I boycott prostitution, but instead, sleep with a girl that I know is after me just because I have money and can treat her better than any comrade of hers. Or that maybe I will fall in love with her and take her home to the states. Is that as bad as prostitution? I may not be paying her outright, but without the money, there would be no way she is interested in me. How can I tell if it’s real or not?

Do I just abstain from relationships all together? I really like relationships and is it reasonable to ask for me not to pursue one because I know the scales are not balanced? I never felt like the scales were balanced in the states, simply because there are so few good black men and so many good black women.

Do I think prostitution is inherently wrong? No, I generally think everyone has the right to do what they want with their body. Do I think highly of prostitutes? No, but how highly would you have to think of somebody you are just having sex with. Actually for me, that’s pretty high. And that’s where the issue is solved. See fear of sex entry, my current state of affairs is that I can’t have sex with someone unless I really like them and feel comfortable with them. Maybe the fact that I am such the anti-manwhore will prevent me from even being able to entertain the idea of hiring a prostitute. In conclusion, me and prostitutes will never probably mix, because my standards for sexual partners is too high. Similarly, I don’t really feel comfortable taking advantage of someone. Like in Qatar, there was a very beautiful, adorable, smart, and engaging young Filipino coworker that I really got a long with. We had a definite attraction to each other, and we confessed that to each other, but I told her I would not pursue anything with her. The reason: she would have expected so much more from the relationship than I did. I primarily would have been interested in the sex and companionship. She would have had dreams of a brighter future. Because when I left work and went to the Four Seasons, she took the worker’s bus home to the labor community in one of the small towns not far from the office. She lived in a completely different world. It was like Romeo and Juliet, or a West Side Story. It was tough to realize that there was another barrier on love, you have to start on even footing.

Note: All you people that think love is enough. If you’ve got love, the rest of it will work out. I hope you are right, but unfortunately the evidence is against you.

Nigeria: Day Four Continued

2008-06-24T05:15:00.000-07:00

The rest of the work day was pretty uneventful. I verified that I was screwed as far as a phone was concerned so they recommended that I just buy one and expense it. Well there are not exactly radio shacks around here, so they recommended just getting one off the street. We will see about that. Florence, the admin, brought the list to me, and even helped fill it out. I officially made my break with my boss today as well. He asked me if I was ready to go home around 5, and I told him that I was actually going to stay late because I was going to dinner with a friend. I could see the slight look of disapproval on his face. But all he had to see was ‘have fun’.

After work, I met up with an older gentleman named… let’s say Al. At some point in the night, Al said to me, ‘I want to know if you understand something. What happens in Lagos stays in Lagos.’ This was said after a few drinks, but I will get to that later. So I meet Al in his office and he tells me we are going to a Mexican place named Bottles and that another one of his friends was going to meet us there. Let’s call the friend Bob. So Al is a black guy, Bob a white guy, both of them much older and I all head off to Bottles. Now I had heard of Bottles before, because it is like the high school jukebox joint or Nigeria. Expats tend to go there and meet up after a hard day of work. The popular night is Wednesday when they have their margarita specials. I might have mentioned this in a previous post, but this past Wednesday, the margarita night ran out of margaritas and food (as reported by disgruntled expats). So we arrive at Bottles, and it is a pretty hole-in-the-wall institution. Inside is tackily decorated in Mexican-like wall murals, and sombrero hats tacked to the wall, but it does the job of coming close to replicating Mexico while on another continent. Dinner talk was fun and entertaining, especially as Bob explains his lifestyle of living in Angola. He explains how beautiful the women are (mostly due to the many skin tone variants produced from Portuguese promiscuity with the natives) and how he has a different local flavor for every day of the week. In a slimier looking white guy, I would have thought much less of him, but Bob was pretty cool. And as it turned out, he married one of these chicks. Somehow that made me feel better. So Rob an old guy was clearly a manwhore. But so is Al. So I am out with these two old guys having drinks, and eventually the question is asked by Bob, ‘Where can we go where there are not any ExxonMobil folks’. Now as explained before, Bottles is essentially the ExxonMobil expat hangout. This is around the time where we have went through a pitcher of margaritas, a big bottle of beers, and I have been described as a ‘hard cock’. Not me in particular, but I think they were generalizing about the horny nature of any person of man my age. The statement was dunked in envy and sprinkled with nostalgia. So Al gets the check and we go off into the night.

We end up heading to this place called Michaels, and along the way Al verifies my ability to keep secrets. So we get to this place and it appears to be the typical club setup, a bar, tv’s, people, and prostitutes. Wait a minute… prostitutes! Yes, unless my whoreometer is busted, all but a handful of these women were out to make some money that night. At least I hope so, why else would these gorgeous women be hanging on to some old crusty white guys with ponytails and a bald dome. In short, I had fun, no one hooked up with a prostitute (I think), and there were some nice girls in there that I think were free to talk to. I was afraid to find out though. I met a Nigerian guy who gave me his card and assured me there was a lot of money to be made in Nigeria, but I don’t know whether he is trying to scam me or not. People have been telling me to be wary of people that seem overly friendly, and that’s unfortunate. We ended up calling it a night rather early, around 11 or 12, which was sad because the ‘women’ were getting more and more beautiful by the minute. I got home and decided that I was going to sleep until I could not sleep anymore. And that is what I did.

My Nigerian Blogging

2008-06-23T02:09:00.000-07:00

Hope you all are enjoying my writings of Nigeria. My entry posting is delayed mostly because I have no Internet connection at the hotel, but eventually they will catch up. I have been writing everyday so far, but I imagine that will slow down eventually to just record the good stuff.

That's about it, later.

Nigeria: Day Four

2008-06-23T02:03:00.000-07:00

Your right Chisom, I still do not have earplugs, and I don’t think I will be able to find them. But I think I am used to it now. For the first time, I did not bother to set up a wake up call. I just woke up at 5:30 to the honking as usual. I think I am okay with it… actually it’s going to suck being woken up at 5:30 on a Saturday.

This morning as we were leaving the gate of the hotel, our driver, Linus, ever so subtly slipped the traffic guard the thousand Naira that Greg had promised yesterday. The guard new the deal, but more surprisingly the guard on the other side of the street new the deal as well, because as we passed them, he beckoned for us to give him money as well. Linus waved him away and kept going. Greg, clearly uncomfortable that he created friction, was asking Linus if the other guard would share. [Side note: Communicating with Linus is always an interesting task, because despite the fact that he speaks English, his type of English is very different and causes a lot of confusion. I get the impression that Nigerians speak a hybrid English sort of like Spanglish, but instead it is infused with their Native tongue.] After some confusion, Linus insists that he will share not only with that guard but with two others that are manning the block.

In the car this morning, I noticed my first mosquito. I was told they were small, and this thing was tiny indeed. Mosquito’s are on my short list of things that are ok to kill, but these Malaria mosquitoes are on the must-kill list. Evidently one in fifty four mosquitoes in Nigeria carry the malaria strain, and that is enough for me to squish every one I see. Eventually it popped up again and it was squished. I felt better.

You know how there is casual Friday in the states (well not at Exxon), at my office in Nigeria, they have Traditional Dress Friday’s. So a good deal of the Nigerians, and even some of the expats come dressed in African garb. Naturally there is some competition as to who can look the best, so the outfits are really well put together. I am glad my mom told me to bring one of my African shirts, that way I can participate next Friday. Also, one of the admins is supposed to have the hook up on a tailor, so I will have to pursue that a bit more.

One of the old black guys in my group, who is a bit grumpy I might add, made fun of me for staring at the women who pass by. Called me a rubber-necker. It’s true though, but only half of my staring is because the women are beautiful, and they are, but it is also because I am so easily distracted. I tend to follow any object that crosses my sight. The worse part, was while he was ridiculing me, he blatantly was checking out the behind on this chick that passed by. After giving him the ‘I see what you just did’ face, he replied, ‘I’m old, I can do that’. Then he told me that if they find out that I am American, to some of them, I might as well be Puff Daddy. His name is Don and he is so close to retirement that he can do whatever he wants, including socializing for most of the day.

So, one of the persistent issues that I have had since arriving is having access to a cell phone, and an office phone as well. I have all the ingredients to have a working cell phone, an international phone that accepts various sim cards, and a Nigerian sim card by MTN. But because its an ExxonMobil phone, it wont let me put in another sim card without knowing the special password. Since I don’t know that password, I had to send an email to the cell phone authority back in Houston requesting it. I get the following note back: Turn the device on and enter anything into the password field. Doing so 7 times will erase the device, and you should be able to enter the device. So I do what he says, and instead of granting access, it locks me out of the phone. Now all it says is contact service provider. So I write this fool back telling him all this, but I am sure he will not write me back until well after I have gone home for the day. Oh well.

I also came to the conclusion that Malarone is making me a little queasy. I was feeling fine this morning, but after taking Malarone (our anti-malarial prophylaxis), I started feeling a little stomach ache. My boss told me I need to take it when I eat more fatty foods and to stop taking it with breakfast. Maybe that will help.

My boss decided to give me a little history lesson on Nigeria and the oil industry. The story goes like this. Above $50 a barrel of oil, oil companies really don’t get more money because almost all agreements signed with foreign governments are things called Production Sharing Agreement. They basically say, when oil price is this, you get this percentage of the oil. But since these contracts were all signed when oil was 10 and 20 bucks per barrels of oil, and were never expected to go above around 50, the terms were very generous to the nations past that point. In other words, as prices shot past 50 bucks, the percentage of oil that ExxonMobil gets to claim plummets. The idea is that the oil companies should not get ridiculous profits because oil prices rise, or else they might influence the price of oil upward. Unfortunately, this concept has not been widely understood outside of the industry especially not in Nigeria. Here the government pushes for workforce raises, and for higher taxes, which has left Mobil Producing Nigeria (Exxon) and NAPMS (Nigerian National Oil Company) in the poor house. Which leads to, as Greg puts it, strangling the golden goose until it gives you more eggs. The companies are in dangerous territory of not being able to reinvest in developing new fields. So the money the government wants now is taking away from its potential earnings in the future. This is the nasty state of affairs in Mexico and Venezuela as well. The unfortunate aspect about the Nigerian tale is that no one seems to know where the government confiscated funds are going. The reason there is so much unrest with groups like MEND (the hodge podge of militant groups wreaking havoc in the oil producing region) is because the people believe that the money is being kept from them and is instead filling the pockets of corrupt politicians. The end.

This brings me to another issue. I have and will say some things that put Nigeria in a bad light. But I like to think I do so respectfully and objectively. But one thing that I have noticed is commonplace here, is for expats to talk about Nigeria as if they owe it no respect. Black, white, and yellow expats from all over the world regularly denounce the place often right in front of Nigerians. Statements such as “I could not stay in this s***hole for more than a year,” or “I don’t see how anybody could eat this food,” and many others that are a waste of time to type. A lot of the people here treat this country with open contempt, as if they did not choose and continue to decide to stay here. Not only that, the air or superiority and the taint of ‘civilized living’ is present in their approach to all things Nigerian. It is not necessarily what they say, but why they sat it. If you point out the poverty all around you with empathy and with the desire to help, it is different that pointing out poverty simply to degrade a nation. The people here are smart, cognoscente of their countries situation, and are tenacious about improving their lot and those around them. So it is hard for me to hear people describe the average Nigerian as part of the problem. These people are part of a system that needs fixing, and sipping on the haterade is not going to help.

I was inducted into some of the office drama recently. So evidently, every MPN (Exxon) employee is entitled to 4500 Naira worth of goodies per month. That can range from water, to chips, to coffee, to cookies, but everyone is entitled to it. It is managed by the group admin, who is an admin. It is obvious that the policy is designed more so for the Nigerian majority who work in the office, but its open to us expats as well. So I hear Greg telling the admin, Florence, that I need to see the list. After that, he comes to my cube and begins to fill me in. Evidently, Florence had been ordering everyone’s stuff, except his and other white guys stuff. Instead, he suspects Florence received the stuff and took it home with her. Whether to sell or to keep, who knows. His evidence seemed rather convincing, waiting until they were out at a meeting to distribute the stuff, or claiming their order was lost, or making up orders in their name and asking them to sign for it… basically it seems very likely that she was purposefully ignoring the US expats. The catch is that these expats get all these things free anyways. The same stuff on the list is available in limitless supply at the various residences that the expats stay at. What Greg, and perhaps the others want to do, is to give their order of stuff to their Nigerian drivers as gifts. Eventually this came to a head when someone turned Florence in to the big boss, and she was almost fired for it. In comes my role. I am supposed to inform Greg if she actually delivers my stuff or not. But whatever happens, I know one thing, I ain’t no snitch!

Nigeria: Day Three

2008-06-20T02:42:00.000-07:00

‘We should get our friend a present’ says Greg my boss. He is speaking to Linus our driver about the police man in the middle of the street that guides traffic. He never makes us wait when we show up at the intersection because he knows we come from the Bayshore Suites and are therefore likely to tip him. Linus agrees that it is a good idea to give him a present. After asked by Greg what we should get him, Linus hesitates before saying 1000 Naira. Greg’s mouth opens a bit, and Linus, who thinks he has overstepped his bounds, quickly corrects by saying 500 Naira. I silently chuckle to myself, because I was thinking that he was going to get him something like a teddy bear or an ExxonMobil mouse pad. Greg was thinking correctly though, and told Linus, that 1000 was fine, he just thought we should give him more…

I spent the first two hours of the job today writing about my accounts. I have no problems with that, we end up working ten hours a day anyways so I call it even. Justino, a 70 year old Filipino man who looks 50 and has not intentions of retiring, just came in explaining that there was a major wreck on the way to work today. He nonchalantly explains that some guy got hit by a car, so they moved his dead body to the side of the rode and laid a cloth over him. ‘Life is so precious’ he says before logging in to his computer. This makes me think of the conversation I had with Greg the other day, where he told me the going rate for a human life in Lagos was around $40… maybe life is not that precious.

I just went to the restroom and there was a guy finishing up his business. We’re talking dropping kids off at the pool, not watering the flowers. We made eye contact as I prepared to wash my hands, and I scooted over for this young Nigerian guy to access the other sink. He came up to the mirror, brushed his hair, and then left! No hand washing. Now I hate to stereotype off of one data point, but that was nasty, and I am going to be monitoring cleanliness from now on. Note: I can only cast a small stone; I have been known to not wash my hands occasionally as well, but always after the number two.

Today I decided to go to the cafeteria by myself in hopes of forcing someone to sit and talk with me. The way it works in the Caf, if I did not clarify this yesterday, is people go through and get their food, and then try and find a seat wherever they can. Seats are in high demand, so if you sit by yourself, someone else or a group of others might come and share your table. So I head down and pause in front of the food display table to check out what they are offering. Goat stew for the national dish, and hamburger patties and pasta in gravy for the continental dish. The goat stew looks really good, and as I am mentally preparing myself to order it, I hear ‘Anthony!’ from behind me. I turn around and it is my cube mate Ladun. She comes over and inquires about why they sent me down to the cafeteria all by myself. After insisting that I chose that fate, she asks me what I plan on ordering. I guess my abnormal amount of time in front of the display case alerted her to my difficulty in choosing a dish. So I explain how I tried the food yesterday (to which she was very amazed) but told her that I was not really ready for it and did not finish it all. Then I said I was willing to try again today with the Goad Stew. Surprisingly, she recommended against it saying that it would prove too spicy for me to handle, and that I should get the hamburger patties. Around this time, I notice a very attractive young lady over Ladun’s shoulder, so I quickly agree to get the patties, and move on to the sign in sheet behind mystery woman. I decided that I would get whatever food selection she was getting. But despite my waiting in the middle of the two lines for her to make a choice, she ends up talking with some friends before getting her food. I noticed that her table of friends was full, so I went in line and put my hopes into following her to whatever table she sat at. Naturally, I get my food way before her, so I dilly dally until I see her moving. I guess I was paying too much attention, because I ended up knocking my huge water bottle into my meal. So while I am cleaning up my mess, I see that she has pulled a seat up to the table with her friends. Luckily, Ladun sees me looking around for another table and she waves me over to hers. The whole scene reminded me of the first day of high school. You want to sit with the cool kids but somehow you end up with the nice dorky people.

At the table with Ladun, I had my first real conversation about Nigeria. She told me about the different states, where she was from, how the politics work, the corruption, and what she thinks of the country’s problems. She spent some time in the UK, and I she said something memorable about it: “It’s interesting being in a place where the system works”. I guess I never really thought about it, but we DO come from a system that works. Your basic needs are provided, you have opportunities to accomplish most things, and your future is relatively secure. She was saying that here in Nigeria, the system does not work, and that no one really knows how to fix it. Her thoughts on the solution start with Power. [The following is research results combined with talk with Ladun and my own opinions] Nigeria produces 3500 MW of power. When compared with the 40,000MW of power that South Africa provides for its population roughly one-third the size of Nigeria, you begin to see the problem. Nigeria has for many years suffered from outages and shortages despite its access to natural resources like oil and gas. To reach industrial-nation levels for its population size, it will need roughly 100,000MW of power. Billions of dollars were poured into the power sector over the last couple of years (by the previous administration) but the current administration has discovered that the money was used for anything but power generation. According to Ladun, power generation actually fell during the last administrations revamp efforts. So why is power important? Not in the sense you would think, i.e. lights, cooking, be able to watch TV and get on the internet. Really power is necessary to generate investment in the country. No company will bring its manufacturing plant to Nigeria when it knows it will have plant shutdowns three times a day because of power shortages. Similarly, data and energy intensive industries like banking, chemical, metal plants, mining cannot come in and turn Nigeria into an industrial powerhouse. The people are who ultimately pay for this shortcoming, because instead of being employed by the plethora of companies that are attracted by the cheap and abundant work force, people are finding employment though odd jobs and side hustles. Something like 70 to 90 percent of government funding comes from oil, but if they were able to diversify this mix, total income would increase, and the country’s leverage on resource sharing agreements would greatly improve. But enough about the problem, how do you solve it? I don’t know.

After lunch, I launched on a campaign to find friends, and emailed all the names that I had gathered before arriving here. These were names of Nigerians and African Americans that are here in Lagos who are friends of people that work at Exxon in Houston. The email went something like: I’m new, I am stuck in the hotel, and the white people I work with won’t let me out. Help. So far the response has been overwhelming, almost everyone one of them has agreed to help me out by taking me around or introducing me to the right people. In fact some have even stopped by and introduced themselves already.

We decided to take a different way home today to avoid that terrible hour and a half delay we had yesterday. Instead we got an hour long drive home, due to impromptu road closures, and people turning two way roads into one way roads. But today’s trip was awesome, because we were on a major road this time. It was like driving through a mall, so much stuff was being sold right outside the window. But the rules of street vendors is the same everywhere, don’t make eye contact, and politely wave no thanks. We were specifically targeted because my white boss is in the front seat and we are driving a shiny new car. This may be an inappropriate reference, but the balancing on the head thing is just like National Geographic said it would be. I swear the most amazing, lopsided, huge bundles of stuff are carried on the heads of these street vendors. Trays of peanuts, packages of pants, towers of fabrics, all balanced with ease. It made the ride home pretty awesome. Normally I pride myself in my sense of direction, but I am out of my league here. I cannot tell up from down in these convoluted streets.

After work I went to the gym for the first time, and that was really cool. It’s owned by the same people as the hotel, but it is open to the public. And it is a really good gym. My friend’s last day in country is today, so we went and got some food and drinks. We ended up having a good conversation about black people. It started from watching a soccer game where most of the players were black, despite representing a non-African nation. Why are your people so good at sports type talk? It ended with us coming to the conclusion, that if he really want’s to know what it feels like to be a minority, he should take a full time position (a year or two) in one of these countries we do business in. Being in another culture that you do not identify with is the essence of being a minority, and I think everybody needs that chance.

Nigeria: Day Two

2008-06-19T03:49:00.002-07:00

It’s 5:30 AM and as promised, the Lekki Alarm Clock has woken me up. I thought it strange that this hotel had no alarm clock in the room, but I now understand why. Everybody wakes up at 5:30, whether you intend to or not. This is courtesy of the Lekki Freeway that borders the side of the Bayshore Hotel. My fellow expats told me of this phenomenon, but I was still shocked to experience it. As if on cue, the symphony of honks start and will not stop until 10:30 PM. Oh well, I had my wake up call set for 6:00 AM anyway.

I take my shower in quickly diminishing hot water, and brush my teeth hesitantly using the tap water (they insist it’s safe at Bayshore, despite the repeated warnings of the Bus driver warning us against tap water). I would simply trust the line that Bayshore has its own filtration, but then I ask, why can’t they filter out that slightly brown color? Oh well, its 24 hours later, and I am ok.

Breakfast is some Lebanese approved, Nigerian prepared, version of American breakfast cuisine, and the results are quite interesting. Interesting is the official word for things that I am hesitant to call bad, but I certainly do not think is good. So far, a lot of things in Nigeria are interesting… but I expect that my perception of things will change as I spend more time in country. After breakfast we head to the car where I am introduced to our driver. His name is Linus, and he is as my boss explains “the happiest guy I have ever seen, he is always smiling”. If whitey was paying me a good salary for two half mile drives, I would be smiling in his face as well. Regardless, Linus expertly executes the acrobatic moves of getting us across the highway without breaking a sweat. A feat I was too be impressed by until later that afternoon when he pulls an even greater performance.

The quick two minute drive to the office grants me my first impression of Mobil House. Mobil House is like an island, not that it stands alone from its environment physically, but more so like a wart on a face, or a gold tooth amongst a smile. It’s big, uninviting, and maintains a sense of westernized corporate order in a country that generally lacks such things. It simply does not seem to belong. But it is here, and I am glad for it, because it is completely necessary. Once past the multiple security checks, you emerge into what ExxonMobil clearly considers ‘architecture inspired by African tradition’. I’m convinced, but then again, I am the westerner who knows nothing really about what I am talking about. One thing to note, when I get issued a badge, you literally write your name and other info in a giant book and that serves as the record. Same with checking in my laptop. No computer database, no redundancy checking, no verification, and really no point. But this is one of the first examples of western expectations unsuccessfully executed in a non-western world. It is similar to the ‘honor code’ system at Bayshore Suites where you write in a ledger what you ate and drank, and ExxonMobil pays the tab at the end of the day/week/month. Regardless of what is written there, Bayshore Suites is going to charge whatever it wants to Exxon as long as the amount passes the sniff test.

So at work, I am shown to my cubicle where I get settled and introduced to a few people. The vast majority (appears to be 85% or so) of Mobil House employees are Nigerian citizens, with expatriates making up the remainder. My group is more 50/50. Shortly after arriving, a man comes and takes my chair, stating that he had stolen the chair I initially had from someone else, and that it must be returned before he gets to work. He returned with a much crappier chair that had seen its prime about ten years ago. He promised to bring another later, along with a phone, a trash can, and a few other things. This is a white guy by the way, in case your mind is visualizing a Nigerian (not sure if that was a necessary clarification). I like my dilapidated chair though, it reminds me of my furniture at home.

The highlight of my workday was the hour long explanation of how dangerous Nigeria is from my boss. Don’t get me wrong, this city is very visibly dangerous, but my boss takes it to the extreme. He literally goes to work, gets to the hotel and locks his door, and does not come out until the next morning. He eats the American food that he had shipped over ($6000 worth) for breakfast, lunch and dinner, because ‘I ate the food twice, and twice I got food poisoning’. He considered going to the gym at Bayshore Suites, but the first day he was going to go, it was robbed by an armed gang who stole everybody’s stuff. So never going to the gym he says. He proceeded to give examples of contractors getting shot (injured not killed) when driving to the mainland without a police escort, and of people getting robbed on the street because they look like rich white guys. For clarification, he explains that I will not have as much of a problem (because I am black), and that the Lagos island that we are on, Victoria Island, is safer than mainland Lagos. Although, I am seemingly imperious to fears of death, his continued monologue of danger begins to sink in. I am now officially worried about my safety in Lagos. This is probably a good thing, because now when I go out, I will be more aware of my surroundings. I explained this to him to which he says something like ‘I came here to work and to make money, I did not come here to die’, but wishes me luck in staying safe if I venture out. After the hour safety discussion, we discuss what I am here to do.

Lunch time comes, and my boss reluctantly takes me down to the cafeteria. He explains that he ate here only once (reference previous statement of food poisoning) and has stayed away ever since. But, he continues, he has since found out that they have a sandwich and salad bar. I notice once he gets his meal, that they are out of lettuce at the salad bar, and that the sandwich appears to be four pieces of toast, poor guy can’t catch a break. I on the other hand am looking forward to my meal. The National (aka Nigerian) selection was Cassava, Fufu, Otongo Soup and some other goodies; but I was set on the less adventurous curried chicken with rice. As I get in line, I notice that I see a lot of the National dish being served out, but then again most everybody in the caf was Nigerian. But as I get closer, I do not even see the rice and curried chicken, but when I ask, the lady says yes there is chicken. She was referring to some other chicken, not my curried chicken. So here I am at the ordering place and I do not know what I am looking at. So I get a little of everything. By the way, there is no such thing as a little. They give TREMENDOUS portions, to the point where its preposterous. So, my little of everything was still a lot. The second I saw her spoon the Otongo Soup and noticed that there was a mucous like film hanging from the ladle, I knew I was going to have some problems. I have explained to some, that my only beef with Nigerian food comes from the heavy use of Okra, which becomes slimy when boiled. This Otongo Soup was the definition of slimy, but I promised to give it a shot.

I get my plate and meet my boss at the table, and I can sense his disgust at my plate before I look up and see it. ‘You’ve got bigger balls than I do’ he says. My balls were not that big after all, because I did not make it very far into that meal. I took my first bite of Fufu, and it was so spicy, and so foreign a taste that I had ended up drinking half my glass of water. Then I tried the Cassava, which looked like a potato like food, and found that to taste like toilet paper. Don’t ask me why I know what toilet paper tastes like. It was not bad, but it was just bland. I wrapped some Otongo Soup around it, yes you have to wrap it or else the stuff will just stick to your spoon, and tried the combination. That was better, but no success. It was when my boss said ‘You don’t have to do this to yourself’ and ‘I won’t think less of you if you give up’ that I did indeed give in. I found the international line and returned with some yummy curried chicken and rice. The rest of my day, I spent battling massive indigestion, and refusing to get sick.

Around 6:00PM (time out, my office mate is cutting her nails with scissors) we go home, or at least we try to. It took us two minutes to drive to work, would have taken at most ten minutes to walk it if we were allowed to, but it took us an hour and a half to drive home. The worse part is that there was no obvious reason what the delay was for. Cars just were not moving. Evidently this trip doubled the last record for longest trip home, but I was not that bothered by it. I was able to witness a little bit of Nigerian life during that time. Chickens, small shacks that were barely livable, mansions whose land was evidently worth more than most places in Beverly Hills, seemingly eighteen year old police men and their AK-47s, car to car salesman carrying socks and shirts, friends socializing, a guy taking a crap in the bushes, men repairing tires, vendors selling fruit, beautiful women being flirted with, drivers creating their own lanes, restaurants and jazz clubs, potholes that made the road look like a cleared minefield, range rovers, Mercedes, pintos and hoopties. An amazing spectrum of things, but still the overriding flavor is poverty. Maybe not in the eyes of those in the streets, but in my eyes, ones that have seen better. And I feel correct in saying better; there are basic necessities that are not being met for a lot of the people that you see here. I am the first to say that all you really need is food, water, air, and shelter but it seems these basic requirements are not fully being met in the general populace.

It was easy to theorize about how to ‘fix’ Africa back in the states, or how Yar’Adua was doing a good job in revitalizing Nigeria, but on the ground and in the streets it was hard for me to think of ways of making things better. How would you go about cleaning the streets of the overwhelming garbage? Where could you house people so that they are protected from the elements? Why is there such a disparity of wealth? How do you change a culture built on ‘corruption’? The last one is particularly tough to me. You bribe everyone here, but when it is expected and a source of salary for most; how do you change that, would you want to? Dash, a gift, a tip, a present, whatever the form, small infusions of cash are the way of getting things done and spread the wealth amongst the population, but also undermines the ability of governments to curb corruption and large scale corporate bribes. How do you permit something in the micro without it also affecting the macro? Tough stuff.

Back in the car, we finally make it back to the hotel after our driver forces his way across four lanes of gridlocked oncoming traffic. At this point, I am eager to take care of my indigestion, and also to relax. I talk to my Pops and watch some TV before heading down to dinner. My stomach barely at ease from lunch, I take it light during dinner and overhear a pretty funny convo. ‘Did you make it to the happy hour, I hear they ran out of food and drinks’, response, ‘They always do’. I need to get out more.

One of my coworkers from Houston showed up as I was finishing my meal (turns out he just got out of work) and he exchanged some money with me. I now have my first $100 worth of Naira. Those hundred dollars gives me 11,700 Naira, which turns out to be a pretty thick wad of cash, but they say it goes fast. As seems to be the custom, Star beers were purchased and everyone drank until they felt tipsy enough to sleep through the honking horns. Another eventful day in Naija.

Nigeria: Day One Continued

2008-06-19T03:49:00.001-07:00

I failed miserably at staying awake. The hours between 6 and 8 PM were a total loss. I did not even gain the satisfaction of feeling refreshed because I woke up at least 50 times during that nap. If you don’t know, I am a light sleeper, and in this noisy city, that equaled no sleep. So I literally would lie down on the bed, fall asleep, wake up, look at my watch, realize two or three minutes had passed, tell my self to get up, try and will myself to move, and in the process fall back asleep; repeat. Two hours later, I broke the cycle. Mostly, I awoke because I was supposed to call my boss around 8PM for dinner.

After receiving a busy tone from his phone, I went down to the dining hall of the Hotel and found a group of Houston coworkers well into some post-meal bottles of wine. They offered some leftover pizza and I eagerly obliged. But being old, most of those guys went to bed around 9, and another recent hire and I stayed behind. The EuroCup was in full effect so we went to the bar across the hall where I was introduced to Star Beer. Evidently, in Nigeria, you can choose between Heineken and Star when it comes to beer. There are more, but those definitely seem to be the most popular. This leads me to the legend (or rumor) behind Star beer. Once upon a time ago, Heineken opened a brewery in Nigeria to satisfy the demand from it’s local customers. Soon the brewery went defunct and was abandoned. Not long after, a Star was born that somehow tastes remarkably like Heineken. And that’s the story, but the source of it warned me that it could be completely false. Anyways, at the bar with my Caucasian friend, the Nigerian bartender asks my friend Ryan where he is from. He says the US. Then she turns and asks me where I am from, and I say the US. Then she proceeds to look very confused. She asks, ‘Are you from the US, America?’ I say yes. Then she says, ‘but’, and rubs her skin. I, shocked that she might think there are no black people in America, look at my friend who is just plain confused, and explain to her that there are plenty of black people in America. She then goes and gets a friend and explains that both me and the white guy are from the same place. Ryan, finally understanding the situation, adds in that we even work in the same building for the same company. More shock and incredulity. All in all, it was a revelation for all parties involved. I almost refuse to believe that their misconception was genuine, but perhaps it was.

Not long after that, the bar closed and we were forced to take our drinks to our rooms like drunkards. What’s awesome is that the giant bottles of Star beer we were drinking cost 300 Naira, which is about $2.50. Party at the Bayshore Suites.

Nigeria: Day One

2008-06-18T23:36:00.000-07:00

It is the rainy season here in Nigeria. This became apparent as the water droplets streaked past the planes on the window, obscuring my potential first viewings of the city of Lagos. It was not until the airplane began making its way to the terminal that I realized I was excited. My first footsteps on the continent of Africa was about to begin and I had no idea what to expect.

The doors of the plane opened to warm humid air, but all I could think was, these are my first lungfuls of African air. It smelled like it had been raining a lot, that sort of mildewy scent that emanates from damp carpets, but I am learning that this city engages your senses more than anyplace else I have been.

A fellow Exxon employee, Brian, happened to be traveling in the adjacent seat as I on the plane. Brian, a Caucasian, allowed me to really see some of the subtle differences of our similar work experiences. Through our talks it was clear that he was here for work, and I verified that I was primarily here for growth. Brian and I both had an error in our immigration paperwork, but at the entry desk, Brian was not allowed to pass and I was. Same guard, same error, different person. Similarly, whenever I handed my passport to an airport official, they would reply ‘welcome home’. That’s amazing. Even the guard checking the bag blessed me with those two words. My American passport meant nothing except I had not been home in a while, and that has set the tone for my experience thus far.

Although I felt welcomed, I still felt like a stranger in a strange land. A Nigerian Exxon employee escorted myself and the other travelers to the bus that would take us to our destinations. And there we waited. The plane landed at 10:00AM and I arrived at the bus no later than 11:00AM. Due to complications in the baggage of two travelers in our party we did not leave the airport until Noon. That hour was filled with hunger and thirst, but also with my first chance to observe the people. It is hard to comprehend how much infrastructure we expect in our American lives, until we get to a place without it. Just the walk from the terminal to the bus allowed me to slightly grasp some of these things.

The guard with the AK-47 was the first sight to leave an impression, not because he had a gun, but because he had such a stripped down, second-hand gun. My guide to the bus was initially missing, and it was amazing how many people could smell opportunity in the air. One man asked me if I would like to use his phone for a call, another asked if he could carry my bags, a third and fourth if they could drive me somewhere. I felt nervous, not because I felt in harm’s way, but because I knew I was out of my league. Luckily, the escort appeared before I became too edgy. The walk to the bus was mud strewn with potholes intermittently spaced along the road, and people were everywhere. They were not at the airport for flying, but were there to make a living doing whatever small tasks were available. In the bus was my the last of my initial observations. The bus had all the curtains drawn, which was expected. I was most surprised by the fact that no one besides myself was tempted to look outside. I was in a bus with five Caucasians, most of whom had never been in the country, and they were seemed little interested in the brand new world around them.

Eventually the bus driver announces we will begin moving. But first, he says he must find out where he is taking us. It turns out, your hotel location in Nigeria (for Exxon employees at least) is not guaranteed until you actually arrive in Lagos. Then they find a place for you, with your stated preference being ideal. All but one of our group of six were staying where we wanted to, the unlucky fellow just happened to pick the short stick that day. The bus is off, and before we leave the grounds of the airport, the incessant honking begins. This honking is the one constant in Lagos. Even as I sit in my hotel room typing this, the chorus of different pitched horns is piercing the narrowly insulated hotel walls. Back to the bus ride. The things you notice immediately, are the poverty and the audacity of the people. The poverty is obvious through the plethora of shacks and dilapidated housing that line the major highways, but the audacity is more interesting. The phrases, balls to the walls comes to mind. Meaning there is no half-stepping. When they want to sell something, they get in the middle of the highway and sell it. Speeding cars be damned. This guy really wants to sell some automotive floor pads, and this guy needs to get rid of some embroidered napkins, or some fruit, or some sodas, or DVD’s. At some point I begin looking at the toes of these road vendors to see if there feet are imprinted with tire treads. They are not, and it’s because they are good at this. This audaciousness is found in many things I have observed thus far. The driving stretches the limits of reasonableness, people cross the street as if they are only mildly aware of the implications of getting hit by a bus, business men ride on the back of mopeds, and people find work in anything from picking weeds by hand or shoveling dirt from one pile to the next. It’s chaotic, it’s primitive, and it’s beautiful. The tenacity, that celebrated hustler spirit, I witnessed in the hour and a half ride goes straight to the top of my list. Out of poverty comes necessity.

As our police escorted caravan enters the first of the ExxonMobil compounds, I see why the rest of the party took the time to sleep or chat with their coworkers. They are expected to be isolated from this society. The compound is behind a big wall with big metal swinging doors, and appears to be a self sufficient living quarters. I quickly learned that Bayshore (where I stay) is the same way. I can eat here, catch the bus to work, and sleep here without any needs of interacting with the outside world.

After dropping off the first of our crew, we continued on our way down the increasingly smaller streets. At one point, to avoid a traffic jam, the police escort ushered us down the wrong side of a one way street. As much as I was enjoying the increasingly liberal road rules, my destination was soon upon us. The Bayshore Suites is a Lebanese Owned, ExxonMobil rented temporary housing facility that does a very good job of providing generous accommodations in a place where the general population has so little. After some initial confusion (they claimed I was not supposed to be staying with them) I got into my room and started to get as settled as possible. The staff, all Nigerian, has proved very nice and has so far offered to take me to church. They promised the service would be short, three hours at the most.

That is my account thus far. I am trying to fight sleep as best I can, but luckily the perpetual cacophony outside my window is going to make staying awake much easier. Tomorrow, I will invest in some earplugs.

Things I am Afraid Of: Part One

2008-05-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

Fear. It is one of those words that is hard to define and is probably different for each person. Try it with yourself. What does fear, to be afraid mean to you? Sure you may be afraid of snakes, death, horror movies; but what about failure, love, losing love, God? People are afraid of both the tangible and the intangible, and some fear quickens the heart while others plunge the stomach. But for me it all boils down to a few things.

Very few things make me panic, which I consider to be the extreme display of fear, but certain things make me uncomfortable. I made a list of these things and want to flesh them out as much as possible in a best attempt to understand the source of each. If you have ever read Dune, you will remember this quote about Fear: “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” Dense at first glance, but simple at its core. To paraphrase: Fear binds and limits freedom, destroying the potential a person can obtain. Fear is real and must not be avoided, instead embrace it so that you might understand it. With understanding comes control, and you can dissolve the fear through an act of will leaving only a stronger version of yourself. We do this often, but mostly subconsciously and on a small scale. Consider the fear of going to the doctor. You quickly see the limitations on your health and well being that your fear poses, you conquer it by analyzing the risks and accepting them. The fear is like background noise if you do it right, a caged animal that even if free could never threaten you again. Having said all of that, I will confess that there are still areas in my life that I am afraid.

The first on the list is Sex. ** Sister Warning: Explicit Content ** I am uncomfortable with sex. I get that funny feeling of being naked when I am well… naked. And it has proven totally emasculating. I have such a grounded hold on life 99% of the time, that when something knocks me off balance, I do not know what to with myself. Sex is one of those things that happen in that 1%. My Christian upbringing, failed past relationships, and my relatively conservative nature have done nothing to help my anxiety with sex. I once had a girlfriend who asked me to do something I considered ‘freaky’ and I was so nervous… well lets just say it was a failure. I did not know it then, but am slowly coming to this realization, but I have been only scratching the surface of sex all along. I have been entirely too immune from vulnerability to get into the thick of it. By immune, I should say mentally isolated from vulnerability, I would simply not allow myself to step into that realm. It is funny that my greatest weakness in life is revealed through one of the most primitive acts. I have been building a damn strong fortress for a long time, and I always saw acts of vulnerability (confessions of love, crying, true intimacy, complete honesty) as potential cracks. For a while I have been on a road in the opposite direction tearing down the bricks piece by piece. It takes practice and effort to successfully tear down what took practice and effort to put up. Sex can be a power tool in breaking down those walls. I need someone to release the inner bedroom tiger. The tiger images on my bed sheet simply don’t supplant the real thing, and I am on a search to bring it to fruition. But I am going to tell you now that it will not be easy. For this to be successful, I need to someone patient enough to work me through my issues of vulnerability, and I need someone freaky enough to push me towards the edge of my fears. I gotta jump. I’ve got a lot of awesome sex to have.

P.S. I have gratefully had some amazing sex at times, and each time the trait was marked by intense emotion. Those emotions helped me be vulnerable when it was hard to do so. Now I need to work on making this a full time thing.

P.P.S. I have built a great me throughout my life, but I have been so protective of myself that I have been afraid to let it out to the general public. Thus I keep to myself and share my feelings and thoughts with only the selected few who will accept me as I am. The stage of life that I am in now is one marked by openness. I open myself up to rejection, love, hate, and expressing to others who I am. Strangely a lyric from Joe springs to mind, “What good is a diamond, nobody can seee-ee.”

Next Fear: Asserting my will on others…

Anthony the Sellout?

2008-05-28T16:53:00.001-07:00

I don’t play Basketball; I don’t read Zane; I think T-Pain is garbage…catchy, but garbage; I think OJ did it; I like Hilary just about as much as Obama; I hated The Coldest Winter Ever; R. Kelly should go to jail; I don’t watch BET, ANTM, The Bernie Mac Show, or any TV for that matter; I play soccer; I prefer old school over new school in virtually any category; and I eat Watermelon and Fried Chicken about as often as the average American.

It’s funny how the simple things define a person… especially if those things are linked to the color of your skin. I just finished watching a YouTube video of Smokey Robinson really making fun of the context we put on race. His message of race being an inside thing and not an outside thing made a good deal of since. So what’s on the inside of me. A lot of gray. Not black or white, just gray. Which leaves me in a tough spot. Black people see that I am black, but also treat me as the black guy who has not ‘embraced’ what it means to be black. With my black peers that usually involves the obvious rap music, club frequenting, woman chasing, white people avoiding, dressing fly, inherent Christianity, and hating on various things. As much as I do not fit those blatant group tendencies, I also lack the more subtle sense of entitlement, anger at the system, fear of homosexuality, and materialistic priorities. Yet I still love Motown, BBQ’s, dancing, and generally having a good time. Like most things in life, I consider I took the good and discarded the bad. But that has left me fairly disconnected.

So now I am in my state of limbo. My new work environment dunked me in the cold water of whiteness, and it was a shock to the system at first. The constant drinking, the lack of music, the silence of interactions (white people are soooo much more silent than black folks), the college sense of humor, and the obsession of sports left me without solid ground to stand on. For the previous six years, I was surrounded by black folks (more or less black folks that shared my racial complexity), and I had no recollection of how to behave in this new world. But instead of running back to black folks, which proved rather dissatisfying, I adjusted. Soon, I could sit out the silences and drink with the best of them. But also, I was eating healthier, having more positive conversations, and trying stuff I never would have done before. Pink Floyd, Camping, Beer, Dave Matthews Band, Dance Clubs (as in Techno), have all been some pretty awesome additions.

I am actually much more at peace with my racial identity now than I can ever recall in my past. It’s primarily because I gave up the baggage that came along with associating with any one race, and just did what felt right to me. And whatever persons had those similar interest, those are my crew. Currently, I primarily hang out with a Guatemalan, Jordanian, Mexican, Nigerian, White, Black crew, and am loving it. The only thing I wish is that more black folks would let go of their roles. This is not a movie where your character is determined by a script. It was like in middle school when you realized sagging your pants was just silly no matter how many of your black friends were doing it. That is the way you have to approach your habits now. If your eating, acting, taking in stuff that is bad for you, change that. If you are not accepting things just because ‘black people don’t do that’, you might want to change that too. The middle is a great place to be, and there is plenty of room. Strangely everyone wants to keep things black and white.

Danger! Danger!

2008-05-12T16:35:00.000-07:00

This was pretty good. A bridge in the wind with 'dramatic' commentary.

http://blogs.thenewstribune.com/gritcity/?title=revisiting_the_greatest_camera_scoop_of_1&more=1&c=1&tb=1&pb=1

Enjoy

I'm Really Smart

2008-05-08T20:32:00.001-07:00

Clearly I have an issue with spacing out my posts. Maybe B.I.G. (R.I.P.) gets me in the writing mood.

So it turns out I am a genius... well technically I am nine points short of that title. But according to the IQ test at http://www.intelligencetest.com I am in the top 2% of the population when it comes to intelligence. So, for all that no me, I am about to get that much more unbearable. If you thought I was never wrong before, just wait... my assurance in areas where I am completely ignorant will increase ten fold. You know why, because even if I know nothing about a topic, I know more about it than 98% of the people I am talking to. Now you may think that is flawed logic, but you would be wrong, because I am always right (reference high IQ).

Well that's pretty much it. If you want to test your brain power against mine, take the test and try and beat a 135. It's 15 minutes and not crazy difficult. However if you don't beat me, you may never want to mention it because you will never live it down. Actually, I am so smart, I know your score without you having to tell me.

The Golden Ticket

2008-05-08T20:00:00.000-07:00

It was brought up to me today that meditation is probably not the best way to find your destiny or your purpose in life. It is designed for deciding who you are. Well I for one feel relatively content in my purpose and decided that I should probably do a little bit of narrative to put it into context. After all, the vast majority of leaders only have one thing in common, they write their goals down.

I explained to my friend that my purpose in life is best described by relating to the Golden Ticket of Willy Wonka. I am a boy with a dream and an innate sense of purpose that is following a path that should lead him to his destiny. Charlie (the boy who eventually wins the Golden Ticket) simply led his life according to his philosophy and believed in what felt right in his heart. Despite towering circumstances, his dreams ended up coming true and he went on to accomplish all the things that were meant for him.

So how naïve is it for a grown man (sort of) to believe that he is living a fairy tale. Pretty naïve, but at the same time, I cannot lose. The beautiful thing about destiny, or fate, is that it is inescapable. There should be no sense of failure or disappointment, there can only be the satisfaction of pursuing the path that feels right to you. If you fail and fall into mediocrity, that was indeed your destiny in the first place, and you never really failed at all.

So where does that leave me? Waiting. I must wait for my Golden Ticket to arrive, and like an athlete waiting for the big race, I will train as hard as I can. I know what I need to be good at. It is the talents that have gotten me this far. The ability to relate, the need to make connections, the power of unifying opposing forces, the sense of moderation between extremes. All of these things are the skills that have been given to me for fulfilling my purpose. The ability to write, to discern character in others, to remain optimistic despite the perils of the world, all these will come in handy like a tool belt at a home improvement site.

I know that I feel destined to change the world for the better, the only question is to what scale. I sincerely believe that I can lead people towards a better way of treating each other, loving each other, and respecting each other, but how I am to be used in that path is beyond me. The only fear that I have is that there is no guiding force and that I am supposed to surge forward on my own initiative. Instead I feel that there is a time and a place designated for my usefulness, and for that I wait. I wait for the golden moment, the Golden Ticket.

My job now is to train. Experience other cultures. Learn as much about the world as you can, despite personal desires of comfort and familiarity. I have prepared for a long time to give up a life of personal amenities for that of a life of service, and when that time comes the road will be long and hard. If this torch passes me by, so be it, I will live a happy life, but my purpose seems not for the simple road. I was built for the purpose of uniting those around me, and I can only hope to make that circle of influence as wide as possible.