Day 230: A Day at the Beach

"Pointing her finger unto My head, she addressed all who are in heaven and all who are on earth, saying: 'By God! This is the Best-Beloved of the worlds, and yet ye comprehend not. This is the Beauty of God amongst you, and the power of His sovereignty within you, could ye but understand. This is the Mystery of God and His Treasure, the Cause of God and His glory unto all who are in the kingdoms of Revelation and of creation, if ye be of them that perceive.'"

- Baha'u'llah

Yesterday we took an afternoon trip to the beach after everyone had finished their morning business at the Baha'i Centre. I neglected to bring the appropriate change of clothes, so I decided to just walk in the water a bit along the shore. Hossein and May were trying to convince me to get in but I held fast and decided to just play in the sand with Mitra. She was making a mountain and decorating it with shells (while I was making a dam and attempting, unsuccessfully, to keep the waves back), so I decided to go down closer to the water to find some for her.

When I got close to the water, Hossein starts walking up beside me with a look in his eye. I knew immediately he was going to try to push me in, so I better positioned myself so he knew I knew what he was up to and he abandoned his attempt. After a few minutes, he motioned me over toward a spot a little deeper, where there was a bit of a drop-off in the water, saying there were a lot of shells there. I thought surely he wouldn't try the same thing again, but I was wrong. He shoved me this time and down I went! When I'd regained my footing, I rushed and tackled him. In the process, my glasses came off and went drifting off into the ocean!! I was blind! Luckily, Mitra came splashing down into the water (an amazing feat since she doesn't like the water) and found them while Hossein and I were blindly splashing around trying to get them before they were dragged away. With the strength of the waves that day, it was practically a miracle that Mitra found them. After a few groping attempts in the water, she just reached down and non-chalantly picked them up as if they had been in front of her the whole time.

After a bit of swimming around with Hossein, I drifted closer to the shore with May Saba. Mitra had decided to walk around a little in the waves since she was already soaking wet from rescuing my glasses. Even though I was in her debt, she made the mistake of splashing at me. I leapt and grabbed her leg "like a crocodile" (according to her) and dragged her into the water. Suffice it to say, we all had a nice day of playing around at the beach.

When we came back home, we'd invited our Auxiliary Board member and husband over for dinner, and they ended up bringing along another Auxiliary Board member and his wife as guests. Mitra cooked some wonderful kabob on the grill, and we had some leftovers from the big devotional meeting we'd had the night before. It was really nice to have some of the friends over, although we found out that one of the brothers of one of the ABMs was kidnapped in Pakistan! What a terrible ordeal! I can't imagine going through a family member being kidnapped, especially so far away in a place like Pakistan. They're completely uncertain what's happened to him, but they're hoping that the security police have just mistakenly taken him for questioning or something.

Today, Mitra and I went to a follow-up and evaluation meeting for International Day of Peace at the Ministry of Information, Culture and Sport. After the obligatory finger-pointing about things that went wrong, we were able to have an honest assessment of the event and begin planning for the future. Unfortunately, the President of Tanzania decided to set aside International Day of Peace as Tanzania Sports Day, so this year we were stuck with a chaotic last minute attempt of trying to merge the two events. This year, it's hoped that the head start will help. So far we've formed two working groups within the larger committee to handle the issues of sports-related activities and peace-related activities separately and set meetings for November for the working groups and December for the whole Committee. My only regret is that I won't be here to see it beyond its initial planning stages.

Leia Mais…

Day 229: On the Road Again

"I am, I am, I am the Promised One! I am the One whose name you have for a thousand years invoked, at whose mention you have risen, whose advent you have longed to witness, and the hour of whose Revelation you have prayed God to hasten. Verily I say, it is incumbent upon the peoples of both the East and the West to obey My word and to pledge allegiance to My person."

- The Bab

There should be (God willing) some new pictures on the Flickr site.

This past weekend, against May's vocal protests, Mitra and I went to Iringa in the mountains of the southern highlands area of Tanzania. We were there to conduct external affairs training, and I also delivered a presentation on intensive programmes of growth and consulted with the cluster coordinating committee of Iringa.

Unfortunately the most reputable bus company in the country has been declining in quality quite severely lately. Some of the stories the friends have been bringing back about their trips have caused me to concern, and, of course, I wasn't disappointed on our trip...

In the beginning, the bus was late even leaving Dar es Salaam because we got caught in traffic related to there being no functioning traffic lights during the day and not enough traffic police to direct the flow of traffic. Then barely outside of Dar, the bus broke down. Something was wrong with the gear box so we could only go in third gear. There was some discussion about turning back to Dar es Salaam, but the driver decided to go to Morogoro (2 1/2 hours away) and "see what happens." I guess he thought if he kept driving the bus would magically fix itself. When we got to Morogoro, after driving in third gear the whole way, they did some tinkering around and seemed to fix it a little bit, but it still wasn't functioning properly, which meant a 7-8 hour trip took us 10 hours.

Along the way, Mitra and I discussed dreams, the Baha'i community, Africa, homosexuality and the Faith and women on the Universal House of Justice among other things. For the most part we dozed, read and did a little preparation for the training.

When we arrived in Iringa, we were retrieved by Sohaila, a member of the Iringa Town community, and taken to her house where we were to stay and conduct the training. Lucky for us, the jacaranda trees were in bloom in Iringa, which meant there were purple blossoms all over the place. With the beautiful weather and surroundings it's not hard to understand why Iringa held such importance to the colonialists and still holds importance to modern-day missionaries. Sohaila's house is at the foot of a rising ridge with large rock formations, which helps to block a bit of the raging wind and give you something nice to look at.

The external affairs training started on Friday evening, shortly after we arrived. In fact, the friends were basically there waiting for us when we showed up at Sohaila's house. We were able to refresh ourselves with a quick wash and some chai and fruits before getting into the material. We're trying to develop a network of public relations officers around the country that we can call on and mobilize especially for the defense of the Faith within the country and in regard to the Baha'is in Iran but also for media efforts with newspapers and radio. The training manual was based on one developed in the U.S. for the Public Information Representatives there, but it took a great deal of modification to make it fit in with local media and what we were trying to create. Iringa proved to be the training ground for the training itself since it was the first time we conducted it. There are even more modifications that need to be made before we give the training again, which will probably be in Dar es Salaam and probaby after I've already returned to the US.

Friday night, I was nearly assassinated by my bunk bed. I put on my pajamas and got ready to get into my nice comfortable bed. When I put my hand on the mattress to ease down the whole thing collapsed down on top of me! After retrieving Mitra and Sohaila we managed to fix it and I got a nice, motionless night of sleep. The next day, Sohaila said when she was inspecting it it fell apart on her again! With a bit of investigation, she determined that her house staff had broken it when they were moving it around, and they were hesitant to tell her. "What should we say?!" they exclaimed. "That we broke the bed?" I suppose so, yes, that would have been the thing to say.

On Saturday, we went to Ruaha Secondary School for its graduation ceremony and 20th anniversary celebration. Like any graduation, there were plenty of speeches but there were also a few dances. One in particular by "The Shake Brothers" was interesting. I tried to take some pictures but with the lighting it seems they were moving a little too fast for my camera. =P We got to speak with the year of service volunteers - Annais, Rahan and Ella - for a bit, as well as a woman visiting the school on behalf of the Office of Social and Economic Development in Haifa. She was working on some moral education curriculum and doing a bit of field testing at Ruaha and Banani in Zambia.

Mitra and I got a little bored with the graduation so we wandered around the school a bit. As a member of the Policy Committee, she's planning to do an environmental audit for the school so we were snooping around to see what areas she'd have to focus on when she returned for that purpose. In the kitchens, we were warmly welcomed by the women tending about 30 huge aluminum pots on makeshift fires stuffed full of food for the graduation. We asked for a taste, a little - "kidogo" - and of course we were presented with two heaping plates of pilau and meat, white rice and fried chicken. Although it wasn't quite what we wanted, it did help us avoid the enormous line for lunch later. There must have been 1,000 people there! Freed from having to eat, I was able to catch up with a homefront pioneer and consult a bit with another member of the NTC during lunch, as well as talk to the lady working with OSED about her projects and organize the cluster coordinating committee for a meeting that evening. It seems that work follows you everywhere!

At two points during the graduation, Mitra and I were completely caught off guard by being introduced during the formal programme. While Mitra technically has some connection to the school as a member of its Policy Committee, I have absolutely no connection. But still, it seems that when a mzungu shows up at some function then they must be paraded up front for everyone to see. I imagine it reflected well on the school to have visiting "dignitaries" and "experts" from Dar es Salaam, even if we aren't really anyone in the grand scheme of things. Since we didn't really announce that we were coming, I have no idea how they managed to spot us and work that into the programme. I must have been as red as a beet when they made me stand up!

On Saturday evening, I managed to accomplish my NTC project - a PowerPoint presentation on intensive programmes of growth and collection of information about the activities ongoing in the Iringa cluster. It was a bit of a task trying to assemble the cluster coordinating committee right after the graduation, but I managed to get most of them, the cluster institute coordinator and one of the other members of the NTC. The presentation itself is a bit long (described as "epic" by one of the participants) but walks the friends through the entire intensive programme of growth, from its launch to the four phases in each cycle of growth (planning, expansion, consolidation and reflection) to the end of the cycle and the beginning of the next. Especially important, I think, are the questions it provides participants to assist them in their planning phase. The friends seemed to find it helpful and it assisted in fruitful consultation afterwards when I began collecting information and "capturing the learning" from their efforts so far. Hopefully their challenges and successes can be put together with the information I'll collect when I go to the western part of the country to assist the remaining priority clusters with their own efforts.

We travelled back up the mountain (Ruaha school is at the base of the plateau thing that Iringa town sits on) to Sohaila's house, ate dinner and got a good night's sleep before the external affairs training resumed on Sunday. Thanks to the participants good grasp of English and understanding of the material we were covering, we managed to finish by the early afternoon on Sunday. Mitra and I accompanied the friends into town to the bus stand, laughing and joking all the way. Three Africans, an American and a Persian laughing and talking together managed to turn a few heads, including those of the missionaries who seemed to be wondering who we were and what we were doing on their turf. Mitra and I did a little shopping in the market, got cursed at by a tiny little street boy of no more than five years who we refused to give money to ("Fuck you!" he yelled) and then headed back home. Because there was so much food for dinner, we invited four of the friends from Ruaha school up the mountain to have dinner with us, including two of the year of service volunteers. They stayed fairly late into the night as we swapped stories about Africa, Tanzania and pioneering in general.

The whole time we spent with Sohaila at her house was truly wonderful. She's a delightful woman, and she proved to be an exceptional host. The food was absolutely fantastic but always too much to eat (Persians, go figure)!

On Monday morning, we loaded up and headed back to Dar es Salaam. After stopping at a rest stop built by Muslims to drive business away from the Christians who had built the old rest stop down the road, we heard this God awful crowing from the back of the bus. I turned around and noticed this woman had two chickens with her. On the bus. "Good Lord," I thought. This particular bus company, which I mentioned has been going downhill, seems to have taken a nose dive. Before, they tried to maintain a certain professionalism and insure that no barnyard animals and arm loads of vegetables and fruit and household items were hauled onto the bus, but it seems that policy has gone out the window. Now they're just like every other bus company in Tanzania.

Next time I take a trip, I feel certain I'll find myself sharing a seat with a goat.

Leia Mais…

Day 215: Mwizi Monkey

"...man's glory and greatness do not consist in his being avid for blood and sharp of claw, in tearing down cities and spreading havoc, in butchering armed forces and civilians. What would mean a bright future for him would be his reputation for justice, his kindness to the entire population whether high or low, his building up countries and cities, villages and districts, his making life easy, peaceful and happy for his fellow beings, his laying down fundamental principles for progress, his raising the standards and increasing the wealth of the entire population."

- `Abdu'l-Baha

This has been an absolutely exhausting weekend! Because of a scheduling difficulty, the National Spiritual Assembly (NSA) ended up meeting on the same weekend as the National Teaching Committee (NTC) and then we found out that the National Institute Board (NIB) was also meeting at the same time and the Continental Counsellor had come to meet with the NSA! The Baha'i Centre was really packed full with practically the entire national administration.

Dr. Sabet, the NTC's chairman, was out of town in Ghana. I was expecting him back on Friday evening, but he called to say his flight had been rearranged to early Saturday morning. Then he called to say that his flight from Accra to Nairobi had been overbooked in Sierra Leone, so he had to schedule himself to Dar es Salaam through Johannesburg and he wouldn't be there until the afternoon. Then finally he called to say he was stuck in South Africa because his flight from Accra was late and he missed the connecting flight to Dar. Fortunately everyone else showed up!

We ended up meeting from 9:00 AM - 6:00 PM! That's the longest meeting we've had since I've arrived but we did have a lot to cover. The week before our meeting I really forced myself to work and wrap up the handful of projects that I had pending. So now we have a manual for youth year of service volunteers, a manual on how to conduct the National Baha'i Convention, guidelines for Area Teaching Committees and an in-depth presentation on intensive programmes of growth. I still need to develop a presentation on Baha'i elections and the role of the Local Spiritual Assembly in the Five Year Plan but those were lesser concerns at that point.

Among a myriad of other decisions, it's been formally decided to send me westward to begin capturing the learning that's happening in the clusters on the other side of the country. The clusters there are experiencing explosive growth with the sixth intensive programme of growth launched last week - four of the six are now in the same general area, including two in refugee camps. So I'll be visiting all of these clusters along the way, interviewing their Local Spiritual Assemblies, Area Teaching Committees and institute coordinators to discuss how they've managed to see so much growth. Hopefully we can translate that knowledge into something useful for the rest of the country and even the Baha'i world.

I'll be leaving for the west in November following an October trip to the southern parts of the country to visit another outstanding cluster in Mkululu/Masasi where a homefront pioneer has set the area on fire (figuratively!). While I'm in the northwestern reaches of the country around around Lake Victoria I'm hoping to drop into Rwanda to visit a friend and see some of the things dedicated to the genocide there. One of the members of the Committee started to question why I would want to go there but another interjected to prevent the question, saying simply that it's "an important place for Americans," which I take to mean important to us because of our failure to stop it before it was too late. After Rwanda I plan to go see the Baha'i House of Worship in Kampala and then either cross Lake Victoria by boat to Mwanza and back by bus or loop around the lake to Nairobi and come back via Arusha.

In addition to long hours dedicated to the NTC meeting, I also met with the NSA with Mitra to discuss External Affairs activities. We covered a lot of materials, determined our budget and largely discussed the issue of registering the Faith in Zanzibar, which is turning into a bit of a legal quagmire. While we were meeting the Centre staff brought in the Assembly's lunch and put it on a table. Some time afterwards, an NSA member noticed that one of the monkeys that lives around the Baha'i Centre was trying to reach through the window and steal the Assembly's lunch! Now that's definitely an experience unique to Africa!

We've had the Counsellor and a member of the NSA staying with us this weekend, so it's been a pleasure to have guests at the dinner table. Not a lot of elucidation about the Plan or our work or anything, but we've heard some wonderful stories, including how the NSA member and her family were detained for two days when first arriving in Tanzania about 20 years ago! Apparently they really didn't like foreigners too much back then.

This coming weekend, I'll be going to Iringa with Mitra for Ruaha Secondary School's graduation and to conduct external affairs training and give the presentation on intensive programmes of growth to the Area Teaching Committee there. It seems like whenever I travel somewhere I have to try to cram about a hundred different things into a small amount of time! But with the weather warming up, I'm looking forward to getting into the mountains where it's a little cooler, not to mention it will be nice to see the friends there again.

Leia Mais…

Day 212: "Expedited" Mail Service

"This is not a political issue. This is a moral issue -- it affects the survival of human civilization. Put simply, it is wrong to destroy the habitability of our planet and ruin the prospects of every generation that follows ours."

- Al Gore

My mother sent me a package from the U.S. containing my digital camera among other things. Unfortunately, she sent it to our physical address. The mail service here doesn't deliver like it does in the West. Everyone has a post office box and they send and receive their mail from there. If you send something to a physical address, you may never see it again. Thankfully, she included my mobile number, and Posta (the post office) called me to say it had arrived.

Mitra was kind enough to drive me down there because a week or so ago I hit my toe on a chair pretty hard. Luckily it isn't broken (we don't think) but it hurts enough to keep me from walking a lot. When we arrive, an employee pointed us toward another section of the post office marked "Expedited Mail Service (EMS)." When they told us to go to EMS, I knew we were in trouble because, simply put, nothing here is expedited.

Upon arriving they directed us to the one lady who is authorized to deal with incoming packages. Finding only one person in charge of something that a lot of people use is common, and as you'll see later, they're frequently not around. After producing my passport and answering a string of useless questions, she finally produces a slip of paper.

"You need to see a customs officer so they can check this," she said.

"Okay. Where are they?" I asked.

"They're at lunch," she responded, as if it were obvious. "Come back at 2."

We didn't have time to wait around and come back at 2, so I decided to go the next day. I went with Mitra's assistant, Mei Shirin, and we managed to collect the box from the woman and take it to the customs officers. Luckily they weren't on break, gone to lunch or just plain not there. After digging through the box, taking everything out and making a neat little list of what customs she planned to charge me, the woman proceeded to forcefully jam everything back into the box. She handed me a slip of paper and pointed to the other side of the room, telling me to go pay the cashier and then go back to the first woman.

When we got to the cashier's spot, no one was there. Naturally. And of course there's only one person authorized to act as the cashier.

"She's gone to the bank. Come back at 2," the customs officer said when we went back to ask her where the cashier was. Now why she didn't tell us that before sending us over there is beyond me. On top of that, it seems that everyone will be back at 2, so maybe I should just start going to places at 2.

On day three of trying to receive just one package, we finally managed to pay the cashier and then go back to the first lady. She also charged me money, which was written in the "other fees" section. I think that translates to "someone's pocket." At any rate, I finally got my box after three days of dealing with the Expedited Mail Service. And if that's expedited, I don't even want to know what the regular mail service is like.

Today is the International Day of Peace and the Office of External Affairs was involved in organizing the event with the United Nations. It was centered on children, so a bunch of primary and secondary schools were invited by partner organizers. Each school gave a presentation about peace, which included some Baha'i children. They went through the area with some banners I made that said: "We are the children of one planet. We are the children of one God. We want peace! Guess what we need from you? Be a peacemaker! Be a peaceworker!"

Originally we were supposed to assist one of the interfaith groups here (headed by a Baha'i) organize prayers at the beginning of the program, but on Tuesday we found out that he completely let us down. So on Wednesday, Mitra was scrambling to use all of her contacts to find religious leaders willing to come say a prayer. Through sheer tenacity and will she ended up with a Baha'i, Buddhist, Hindu, and Muslim. None of the Christians were willing to come! They were running us around in circles with the need for letters and authorization from the diocese and all kinds of nonsense. I mean, come on. What does it take to come and say a prayer for peace? At any rate, we managed to find one on the spot at the event.

In addition to the banners, we made a display about the Baha'i contribution to peace-related activities in Tanzania (the core activities), and I attended the planning meetings. If anything else it was a good opportunity to network with some of the NGOs in the city and let the U.N. offices know we're here and willing to help them when we can. Our ability to put together the prayers on such short notice certainly gave us a boost with the organizing U.N. agency, although all the credit for that goes to Mitra. All in all it was a successful event for the office.

Our next big task is United Nations Day. We're planning a panel discussion on "The Role of the Family in Building a Brighter Community" at the University of Dar es Salaam. There will be panelists from the U.N., the government, civil society, the university and the Faith (representing Faith-based organizations). We're working with the student association on campus to get the event accomplished and get the word out to the students and the faculty. I can see already that it's going to be stressful, especially since I'll be out of town for most of October, but God willing it'll come together. "Somehow," as they say here.

Leia Mais…

Day 208: Lights Out

"They beheld with impotent fury the disruption of their authority and the collapse of their institutions."

- The Dawn Breakers

The power situation here only seems to be getting worse. TANESCO (the state monopoly on power generation) announced a new rationing schedule: no power for residential areas from 7:00 AM - 7:00 PM every day of the week, no power to industries from 7:00 AM - 7:00 PM three days a week, and the rationing schedule now includes Unguja (Zanzibar) and Pemba. Before, industries were unaffected and residential areas were without power only during the week, not the weekend.

Unfortunately, a turbine just broke at the main natural gas plant here in Dar es Salaam, which seems to be the reason for the new rationing schedule. Also, the two major dams generating electricity for the country are only centimeters away from being depleted to the point that power generation has to stop. And if the dams go down, we just won't have power at all.

We're lucky enough to have a generator here at the house and at the Baha'i Centre, but generators aren't a sustainable solution. Now that the cuts have been extended to industry, Tanzania is more than likely going to lose the economic gains it's made in the past decade, if not more than that. Not everyone can afford a generator and the fuel to operate it, especially not the small businesses that encourage the rise of a critical middle-class. With the middle-class wiped out it'll be back to business as usual for Africa: masses of poor and a fistful of elite.

A group of businessmen in Arusha asked the government to declare a state of emergency "before it's too late," but I think it's probably already too late. Mitra is saying that in two years they may leave because things "are going to get bad." That sounds pretty ominous in a country where people don't like to fight, but no electricity, no food, no water (there are already water shortages in Dar es Salaam with more on the way) and a rapidly declining economy can lead people to anything.

And yet, I saw hope in one of the young people in a study circle I'm tutoring. In a country where no one criticizes the government and everyone has a picture of the president in their home and business, she boldly proclaimed, "Why should I keep a picture of the presidents in my house? They don't care about us. We have no power, we have no food, we have no water, we have no economy. Why idolize someone that leaves your country poor and helpless while they're getting rich?"

Why, indeed.

Leia Mais…

Day 195: The Journey Home

"He, verily, shall increase the reward of them that endure with patience."

- Baha'u'llah

My trip back to Africa seemed to be going fine until I got to Chicago. As those of you from Little Rock know, it takes an act of Congress to get anywhere other than Atlanta, Chicago and Dallas from Little Rock "National" Airport. Since I was on my way to New York, I had a stop over at Midway in Chicago. If you haven't been to Midway lately, they've really improved it. It's almost as nice as O'Hare and not nearly so crowded.

Anyway, I was taking a Southwest Airlines partner from Chicago to New York - ATA Airlines - so I had to go to the counter at the gate to get my boarding pass. When the man asked if he could help me, I shoved the piece of paper across the desk and grumbled, "Boarding pass." Bear in mind I'd been up since 4:00 AM, and I'd only gotten about three hours of sleep. I know Southwest people are humorous and good natured, but it seems the employees of their partner companies are, too. "Boarding pass? What do you mean 'boarding pass'? What kind of way is that to come up to me and start asking for something?" the man asked, clearly joking. "This ain't New York. Now let's try again."

I guess I had been a little rude, so I asked for it again in a little more polite tone. I stayed and talked to him for a bit once he found out where I was going and where I was from. Apparently three employees of ATA at Midway are from Arkadelphia, which is just weird. When you meet people from Arkansas outside of Arkansas you expect them to be from Little Rock or Fayetteville, not three people in the same place from the same place with a population of no more than 10,000.

After a bit of a wait, they announce that they want us to "hurry up" and get on the plane. So we all come rushing to the gate and, surprisingly, orderly board the plane. You'd never see that kind of thing in Africa. If they told us to hurry up and get on a plane here, everyone would bum rush the gate and probably one person would be trampled to death in the stampede. Lining up doesn't exist here. At any rate, when we were all on the plane they praised us for being so quick, but then told us we had to please get back off and sit in the gate area. No one seemed to believe the man at first because we weren't moving, but then he broke down into plain English: "Seriously, ya'll gotta get off this plane."

Back at the gate, they told us that La Guardia had shut down because of bad weather. They were trying to rush us on to the plane so we could take off before they closed, but we didn't make it in time. An hour and a half later, we were back on the plane and in the air. At La Guardia, I managed to finally collect my baggage at 5:00 PM. My flight left from JFK at 6:10. La Guardia was a madhouse. With the airport closing, it had thrown everything off. I've never seen so many people in an airport pushing and shoving and yelling. The line for taxis was ridiculous and all of the shuttle buses were running late because of traffic. Add to this that La Guardia is one of the most suffocatingly nasty and pathetic airports I've ever been in (and I have been to the Flint, Michigan airport).

Even if everything had fallen perfectly into place for me, it was doubtful that I would make it across Long Island from one airport to another, check-in, go through security and make it to my gate for an international flight in an hour and ten minutes. In fact, my entire booking depended on everything running smoothly - I had just enough time to get from La Guardia to JFK, grab a bite to eat, and get on the plane - so that was clearly my fault. In the words of the shuttle bus coordinator, "Ain't no way you makin' a 6:10 at JFK." He advised me to try to call the airline and rebook before the flight left and mayve after explaining the situation they wouldn't charge me a fee. After some wrangling with my mother and the Internet to get the number, my cell phone was near death. I knew I didn't have enough battery to last through the obligatory holding period of half an hour, so I decided to save it instead of waste it.

Finally at JFK, my arms were about to fall off. It turns out lugging around two 50 lbs. bags, a backpack and a laptop bag is not an ideal way to travel. Go figure. At the KLM ticket counter, I ran into what you might call a stereotypical New Yorker. I told him I'd missed my flight, to which he replied, "And...?" He finally rebooked my flights for the next day, charged me $200 for it and then sent me on my way. All without a smile. The art of friendly customer service seems to have been outsourced to India.

I stayed the night in a nice hotel near the airport (surprisingly quiet) and then came to the airport at 12:00 Noon, which is admittedly six hours before my flight, but still. There was no one at the ticket counter. It's the middle of the day and the place is completely deserted. I know a lot of international flights depart in the evening, but come on! What kind of ship is KLM running? What hours do their employees actually work? Around 2:30 PM some people finally shuffled in and started helping. After an eternity dealing with a person equally as friendly as the one the day before, I was told to wait in a line to pay my fee. It was taking so long to process the Europeans in front of me (they were being difficult) that they were finally kind enough to pull me aside and allow me to pay someone else. While standing in line, I saw no less than three different sets of people get infuriated by the ticket agent. In other words, KLM's New York-based agents are terrible.

In Amsterdam, I noticed the difference between American and Dutch security. In Amsterdam's Schipol airport, this is one of the security warnings: "For security purposes, please keep a close watch on your belongings." In Chicago's Midway airport, this is one of the security warnings: "DO NOT leave your baggage unattended. Please report unattended baggage. All unattended baggage will be seized and destroyed by the Chicago Police Department."

On the plane from Amsterdam to Dar es Salaam, I sat next to a judge on the High Court of Tanzania. It was nice to meet a prominent person for my External Affairs work. He was returning from some victimology conference in Florida, indicated by his gigantic bright pink hat with "FLORIDA" plastered across the front of it. He proved to be good company, and offered lunch the next time I'm in Dodoma.

At the airport, I was able to expedite myself through the "East African Residents" line at immigration, which was nice. I collected my luggage, which was all waiting for me, and headed to customs. "Anything to declare?" the man asked cheerfully. "Nope," I said, and off I went. Talk about thorough! Mitra and Hossein were waiting to pick me up. They both seemed happy to see me and at that point I was happy to be back. Back at the house I said hello to our new house guest and a sick May Saba, then collapsed in bed...but not before erecting the mosquito net, a necessity once again.

In closing, a word to the wise: please don't leave your baggage unattended in Chicago.

Leia Mais…

Day 188: The Advantage

"I charge you all that each one of you concentrate all the thoughts of your heart on love and unity. When a thought of war comes, oppose it by a stronger thought of peace. A thought of hatred must be destroyed by a more powerful thought of love. Thoughts of war bring destruction to all harmony, well-being, restfulness and content. Thoughts of love are constructive of brotherhood, peace, friendship, and happiness. When soldiers of the world draw their swords to kill, soldiers of God clasp each other's hands! So may all the savagery of man disappear by the Mercy of God, working through the pure in heart and the sincere of soul. Do not think the peace of the world an ideal impossible to attain! Nothing is impossible to the Divine Benevolence of God."

- `Abdu'l-Baha

On my fifth day back, I'm feeling a bit mixed up inside. The jubilation and sense of relief after finally arriving seem to have faded away, and the vacuum they've left has been filled by a hundred different on-rushing emotions. I think it would be accurate to say that I'm already depressed. Unfortunately, so is Mitra. It's hard to determine whether or not one of us has caused the other's depression, but we're certainly feeding into one another's depression. We seem to be depressed, more or less, about the same sort of things. It stems from a long, on-going debate about an ordeal I'm facing that, up until now, I've pretty much kept to myself.

In all my naivete, it seems I have fallen prey to one of the local believers, who from the outset has apparently been laboring to dupe and seduce me into some sort of relationship with her. To me it was nothing more than a platonic friendship. I just assumed we were good friends; to outward seeming it wasn't anything more or less than what might exist between two friends in the United States. But in fact, it turns out she has been spreading misinformation to incite rumors about the nature of our relationship, outright lied to me, and so on and so forth. All of this has sullied my reputation with a few people here, so much so that a few people thought I was the one behind all of this, that I was the one generating the rumors, and that I was "using" this poor, innocent girl, when in fact it was the other way around. Thanks to Mitra's intervention that seems to have been corrected, but it's slightly hurtful that someone could possibly come to think that about me in the first place.

Throughout this saga, which started before I came back to America but took on a new terrible form and shape after I returned, Mitra has been invaluable to me. She tried to warn me before but, in typical American (and Bryan) style I brushed it off and assumed that I knew what was best for me. I guess I'm now reaping the fruit of that strategy. She has been kind enough to listen to me and provide words of comfort while I'm sitting there crying because I got my feelings hurt. It's not just that I've been deceived, although it certainly makes one feel stupid and gullible when you find out you've been so easily and flawlessly manipulated. It's not just that people have thought that I was capable of taking advantage of someone in such a manner and that even though this girl has a clearly established pattern of behavior in doing this to numerous people before me local believers still chose to take her word over mine. It's more the bigger picture: what am I here for?

And the bigger picture also seems to be what Mitra is depressed about, too. These people lie, cheat, steal, gossip, manipulate and deceive without a shred of remorse. They lack any small amount of loyalty, and they have a level of superstition the likes of which I've never seen before in my entire life. And I say "they" and "these people" fully aware of how racist I must sound to the reader, but it's nothing but the truth. It has nothing to do with the color of their skin but everything to do with the content - or lack thereof - of their character. "So what," you might ask, "if the society behaves this way. We Baha'is are supposed to set an example." And yet therein lies the problem because these people are Baha'is. And that is what makes it hurt ten times worse.

What are we doing here if the people seem incapable of changing? Why do people become Baha'is if they can't embrace even the most basic of its tenets? We were having a brief discussion of this at lunch and Dr. Sabet enjoined Mitra and I to heed Abdu'l-Baha's words and look for the one positive thing in people and work with that. But at this point I wonder if I can even do that. I am so disappointed in myself in so many ways. How could I have been so blind to allow myself to be advantage of in such a manner? How can I sit here and think so poorly of Africans? How can I condemn others for not being Baha'i enough and in the same breath break the very same rules of behavior that I wish they would uphold? And most important of all, how could I, who came here so brimming with liberal thoughts and optimism, have allowed myself to become so bitter and pesimistic about what I've done here and what I can do?

Leia Mais…

Day 177: Old Friends, Old Family

"Your utmost desire must be to confer happiness upon each other. Each one must be the servant of the others, thoughtful of their comfort and welfare. In the path of God one must forget himself entirely. He must not consider his own pleasure but seek the pleasure of others. He must not desire glory nor gifts of bounty for himself but seek these gifts and blessings for his brothers and sisters."

- Abdu'l-Baha

On Saturday I was able to spend some time with Queena. She was in from Memphis, so we had lunch, went to a movie, ate ice cream and had some fancy, over-priced iced tea at Starbucks. The movie was "Step Up," which I ordinarily would never see, but at a certain point it becomes less about those things and more about just enjoying the company you have. She was certainly at the top of my list of people that I missed the most while I've been gone. The people who somehow seem to bring out the best in you (and, sometimes, the worst) are always the ones that you love the most. And as I get older (I'm sure that will elicit some laughs) I'm gaining a greater appreciation for the handful of good, meaningful friendships that I have. You appreciate it even more when it's endured strain and difficulty and survived. I'm planning to (finally) go have dinner with her in Memphis on Wednesday, which is somewhat of a drive, but, again, certainly worth it.

Today, my mother convinced me to go with her and my dad to pick up my great aunt and take her to visit my great uncle in Arkadelphia. They're both in their 90's. My great aunt has Parkinson's disease, and my great uncle has been having problems with his knees and feet. My great aunt is especially amusing, if inadvertantly. The way she declares things and asks questions is hilarious to me. We ate at one of those fish places on the highway that are so numerous in Arkansas. It had clocks and crosses on the walls. Afterwards we drove to Lake DeGray and looked around, observing especially how low the water level was. Summer seems really hot this year!

In five days, I'll be back on a place bound for Tanzania. Of course everyone's big question is whether or not I'm excited to go back and that's a difficult question for me to answer. The selfish side of me is very keen on staying in the Western world, but the rest of me understands the importance of service in Africa and pulls me back. Everyone's service is different, and it stands clear that mine has been heavily influenced by working at the national level and living in Dar es Salaam. Whether or not those are good things remains to be seen, since it seems premature to draw a conclusion and pass a judgement without finishing up my service.

I can confidently say that I'm looking forward to seeing the Sabets again, especially May Saba. I understand that we have two new youth living in the house now, so I'm sure the potential exists for me to be long forgotten. I'd like to think I made more of an impression than that but you can never tell with kids. They seem to kind of have wandering minds sometimes, but I guess so do adults half the time. I'll certainly find out in a few days!

Leia Mais…

Day 169: Mr. Amin Goes to America

"The day is approaching when all the peoples of the world will have adopted one universal language and one common script. When this is achieved, to whatsoever city a man may journey, it shall be as if he were entering his own home."

- Baha'u'llah

So, it's been a while, huh? Unfortunately, I had to come home in the latter part of July because of my grandmother's health. She's been in the hospital for varying amounts of time since January with all sorts of ailments. Because of her declining health, I made the decision to come home, leaving Dar es Salaam on Tuesday evening and finally arriving in Little Rock on Thursday afternoon. In between all of that, I made a 9 hour stop in Amsterdam, which afforded me an opportunity to leave the airport.

Mitra, May and Allen escorted me to the airport on Tuesday evening. The woman at the ticket office in town had told me the day before that the flight left at 9:30 PM with check-in at 8:15 PM. That seemed like a suspiciously short check-in time, but of course I didn't bother to check her quoted time against my actual ticket. Mitra engaged in some creative driving to get me there on time, including driving down the sidewalk, because we ran into a massive traffic jam on the road to the airport, which seemed to be made all the worse by the presence of the police (instead of the other way around). When we arrived at the near empty airport, I checked my ticket and discovered that the other passengers hadn't shown up yet because the flight didn't leave until 11:30 PM!

We decided that I should go inside, check my luggage, get my boarding pass and then come back out and have tea with them at the cafe upstairs and say goodbye. After I got my boarding pass, I attempted to go back outside but the security people stopped me. I argued with them for a few minutes, incensed that I wasn't allowed to leave the airport after I'd gotten my boarding pass even though I offered to just stand outside the door, go back through security again and even be monitored by one of the security personnel while I stood outside. Finally giving up, I asked the man how exactly I was supposed to say goodbye to my family, picturing a tearful May Saba waiting for me to come back. His reply? "Stand at the window and wave to them." How cold hearted!

I was already frustrated about not getting to say goodbye to the Sabets but the people in the duty free shop seemed to feel that I just hadn't had enough difficulties. I only wanted a news magazine but I didn't have any cash, so I tried to use my debit/credit card. The woman informed me that they only accepted credit cards for purchases exceeding $20, which forced me to buy two news magazines, a drink and a seriously over-priced Putumayo CD of salsa music from around the world (who thought salsa music could be global?). When I signed the receipt, she asked to see my credit card. After moments of scrutiny she announced the obvious: "Sir, your signatures do not match." Unfortunately, my signatures never match. I have the most inconsistent signature in the world, basically a line like an erratic heartbeat on an EKG machine with a somewhat identifyable "B" and "T" somewhere amonst the scribble. I told her that (in fewer words) and produced my drivers' license and passport to verify my identity but when she saw that none of the three signatures matched each other she was even less cooperative.

When her manager came over, I was starting to lose my patience as he explained that if my bank called to investigate the charge then it would be important that the signature "on file" at the bank (since when do banks keep signatures "on file"?) matched the one I'd given them. I have no idea why the Bank of America would care about a $20 charge at the duty free shop in the Dar es Salaam International Airport, and I told him as much. Given all the scribbled line signatures they get at the bank, I'm sure they know by now that I essentially don't have a signature. I don't know if it was my explanation or the fact that I was getting increasingly belligerent but he finally decided to give me my things and let me leave.

Although that was some unpleasant business, the plane ride to Amsterdam itself was nice. I was content with my news magazines and new CD (overpriced as it might have been, it was still good) and the seemingly brand new 777 we were on. As a side note I was a little disturbed by the fact that the airplane only had two engines, but it seems that it can fly for six and a half hours with only one engine so that makes me feel a little better (after the fact). Because I was in a row with a French man whose arm was broken, I was moved to a three-seat row with only one other occupant so the broken-arm man could have some extra room. Unfortunately, I don't sleep very well on planes but I managed to catch some sleep over Sudan and Libya and woke up in time to see us fly over Syracuse, Messina and the Alps.

The first thing that struck me most in Amsterdam was the airport security, or lack thereof. I saw only a handful of security personnel for such a large airport. When I was passing through immigration, I was beginning to think that maybe it was more secure than I thought when the Malaysian woman in front of me got the third degree from the immigration officer. But when it was my turn he barely looked at me. He just took my passport and without saying a word stamped it and waved me on. I suppose having an American passport helped, but I had a harder time leaving and entering my own country!

Anyway, I bought a train ticket to go from the airport to the city centre. It seems there are three distinct forms of transport in Amsterdam: train, tram and subway. I couldn't figure out any of the three. I bought a train ticket, but at one point I ended up getting off (after getting on the wrong train in the first place - talk about deja vu) and boarding the subway. At no point did anyone ask me for a ticket nor did I see one of those machines you have in most American cities where you have to insert your ticket to enter and leave the station. But before I even boarded the train, I ran into a bit of a character...

While waiting on the train, I was checking out the extremely confusing map of the transportation system, which had trains and God only knows what else heading to what seemed like all of the towns in the Netherlands and into Belgium and Germany. Standing next to me was an equally as confused older gentleman who I judged to be in his 70's. He was very neatly dressed and frankly I assumed he was a European until he opened his mouth and asked for help with finding his stop. Then I knew immediately from the accent that he was a New Yorker. He recognized that I was an American and asked me what state I was from, which was a great relief to me because people had been consistently mistaking me as being German (?) or British. When I told him "Arkansas," his first reaction - as with every single other person - was "Oh! Bill Clinton!".

Now, when someone says "Oh! Bill Clinton!" to you, you don't really know if it's a good "Oh! Bill Clinton!" or a bad "Oh! Bill Clinton!". People are so polarized about him that it could go either way. But I soon found out that John and his wife, Barbara, were both staunch Democrats from Manhattan. Imagine my shock when this seemingly polite and well-dressed New Yorker suddenly launched into one of the foulest strain of profanities I've ever heard, all directed at our reigning President.

To paraphrase: "Bill Clinton... Oh, I miss Bill Clinton. He's better than this schmuck Bush we've got now. That stupid son of a b****h just f**ks up everything that he touches, just every mother f**king thing. Me and Barbara can't even travel around this b*****d continent without someone getting all over our a** about that stupid jack**s Bush and the s**t that he's pulling all the time. Sure, Bill Clinton was corrupt. Believe me, I'm from New York, I know how corrupt the Democrats can be. But at least when they were in power everyone was eating, you know? But now these Republicans, they're using all this religious bulls**t and while you're down on your f**king knees praying they're picking your pockets clean. God d**n I hate that man."

At first, I had no idea how to respond. A nervous chuckle here, a "heh, yeah" there and then, mercifully, the train pulled into the station and we said our goodbyes. I wished them a safe trip and the best of luck with the 2008 elections.

By the time I managed to get to Amsterdam's Centraal Station in the city centre, it was somewhere around mid-morning, maybe 9:00 AM or so, but the city seemed like a ghost town! Those few people that were out and about all seemed to be smoking maijuana as they delivered goods to the various shops and cafes lining the street. I'd planned my itinerary back in Dar es Salaam bearing in mind that I would probably be tired when I got there, which was good because I was about to drop dead from exhaustion when I stepped out of the train station.

Unlike London, most people were content to use public transportation or bicycles so I didn't have to worry about being run over by some speed crazed Dutch flying around a roundabout at twice the speed limit. The bicycles were actually kind of amusing. As the morning progressed I was passed by men in business suits and woman in very proper dresses all cycling to work, which is very feasible in a city as compact as Amsterdam.

My first stop was the Dam Square, which was actually a dam for the Amstel River before it grew so large that it was turned into a town square. It houses the Royal Palace, which is just used for ceremonial purposes these days; the Dutch branch of Madame Tussauds Wax Museum; the so-called New Church, which was actually built in the 14th-century but I guess that's still pretty new by European standards; and the National Monument built to commemorate the victims of World War II. Here I was privileged to see Amsterdam's finest arresting a woman who must have been crazy given her dress and the strands of aluminum foil weaved into her unkempt hair. The old Dutch man next to me insisted on delivering running commentary about the incident even though I told him three times I didn't speak Dutch.

After taking a wrong turn and viewing some of Amsterdam's more residential areas, I finally got back on track (after walking in a big circle) and headed toward the Anne Frank House Museum. On the way I must have crossed a dozen different canals! There are canals everywhere and if I hadn't been so exhausted it might have been nice to take a canal tour of the city. But alas I was determined to get to Anne Frank's House and then head back to the airport for some sleep. On the way to the museum, I passed a sign which indicated there was a "Homo Monument" nearby. Since I everything is in Dutch, I assumed that "Homo" must have been "Human" or "Humanity" in Dutch. I made a mental note to check it out on the way back to airport.

At the Anne Frank House Museum the line was stretched out the door, around the building and down a sidestreet. I took a picture of the Anne Frank House and decided I'd go inside the next time I was in Amsterdam.

Back at the Homo Monument, I managed to locate the thing but couldn't find the English inscription. Eventually I found it and discovered that this was not in fact a monument to humanity. Instead, it was a monument to homos, as in homosexuals. Flustered and embarassed, I made haste back to the main road. I didn't even stick around to finish reading the inscription or information about it. It wasn't that I'm opposed to a monument for homosexuals, I was just so thrown for a loop that I didn't know what else to do but evacuate! I was expecting a monument to the whole of humanity, not a minority portion of it! Being such a liberal and open society, someone in the Netherlands sought to immortalize the struggle of the homosexual community, to "inspire and support lesbians and gays in their struggle against denial, oppression and discrimination." It's basically a large triangle made of three smaller triangles of pink granite, which is a reference to the pink triangle patches that gay men were forced to wear in Nazi concentration camps. Each point of the triangle points to a specific landmark within Amsterdam: one toward the National Monument, one toward the Anne Frank House, and one toward the COC Nederland, a gay activist organization.

I bumbled back to the Amsterdam airport on the train without being asked to present my ticket a single time. I received the same treatment at immigration (brief glance, stamp, wave) and the security was even worse going into the airport! I stepped through a metal detector once, which of course went off with my carry-on luggage, but I received only a cursory glance. No one checked my things until I arrived at my actual gate. I'm sure if our Department of Homeland Security found out about it they'd be furious!

The flight between Amsterdam and New York was on a 747, which was like a flying city. I got lost trying to find my seat after stubbornly refusing the flight attendant's assistance at the outset. When we landed at New York, I had another run in with an "interesting" New Yorker at immigration. I don't know if the immigration officials were sleeping or what but they didn't seem to know we'd arrived. I was one of the first people off the plane, so I entered the area through an open entrance but apparently not the main entrance. I was standing in line in the improper place behind this diminuitive black woman. A woman working for the airport comes and tells us that we have to go to the back of the line even though people in front of us had already passed through the immigration officer's extreme scrutiny (*tongue in cheek*).

The woman in front of me turned around and I could tell from the look on her face that she was about to unleash hell, so I stepped to the side. She asked the airport woman just who the hell she thought she was making us get at the back of the line. We'd been on an airplane for eight hours and she sure as hell wasn't getting at the back of the line, so this lady needed to just step off and let us go through because she was ready to go home. And don't even think about messing with me either because I was "with" her. The airport lady's earlier confidence just totally metled in the face of the woman's verbal assault! She just slumped away.

When I got outside the airport to the transportation area, it was a few minutes past 8:00 PM and they told me the last shuttles to La Guardia (I had to switch from JFK to La Guardia) left at 8 so I had to take an over-priced taxi. When I got to La Guardia I found that all of the ticket agents were gone and the electronic check-in was disabled, which meant I couldn't go into the airport proper. My flight left at 10:00 AM, so I had to sleep in the public area of the airport. Enter interesting New Yorker number 3. The area I was directed to had a number of benches, but they were all divided by big plastic arm rests into individual seats except one, which was already occupied. Along comes this old Cuban man, who I assume is an airport employee. He promptly tells me that I "look like hell" and that I really needed to get some sleep. I relayed to him why I was coming from Africa, so he says he's going to wake up "the broad" that was sleeping in the only actual bench. She was an airport employee and should have been sleeping there it seems. So he woke her up, ran her off, and offered me the bench, which I graciously took. After I'd arranged my baggage I tried to get some sleep but typically by the time I was asleep the door would slide open and freezing cold air would blow in from the sea and wake me up.

Despite the troubles ("adventures") and the excitement, I finally made it home. I was under the impression from my mother's description that my grandmother was in the process of dying but not quite there yet, so I wanted to go home, shower, change clothes, get some food, and then go to the hospital. But they were insistent, so I settled for a shower and change in clothes. I spent about 4 hours with my grandmother, who really didn't look much like my grandmother at all. I felt that I'd been a bit deceived about her state while I was still in Africa. Her breathing was extremely labored, her eyes literally glazed over and only partially open with one eye going this way and one going the other way, and she seemed to have no muscle control, not even enough to tighten her grip when I was holding her hand. Maybe 20 minutes after I left the hospital my mother called to say she was dead, which I guess indicated that she was clinging to life long enough to see me before she went.

The visitation was an opportunity to see a bunch of people that I didn't know, although there were a handful scattered around that I actually recognized. The funeral home had put together this very nice DVD that ran throughout the visitation that was basically a compilation of photos of her throughout her life and it was probably one of the things that "got" to me the most. I only observed her in the coffin briefly. She didn't look herself from all the fluid and swelling but then again I guess most dead people don't. I'm made really uncomfortable by funerals and whatnot, but even more so by a dead, hollow, shell of a body itself.

The funeral was held at the Baptist church she attended with her new husband. I was a bit concerned about a Baptist preacher presiding over it, but he did most of it in good taste (although there will always be too many mentions of "in Jesus's name" and "true believers" for me, which is my own personal issue with the Church and clergy). I was proud of myself for not being the hysterical mess that I was at my grandfather's funeral nor completely in denial like I was about my other grandmother's funeral. I'm sure I'll still grieve from time to time as things come to the surface or I see something that reminds me of her, but it will probably lessen with time.

This must have topped a new record for length but at least I've relieved some of the pressure to post!

Leia Mais…

Day 147: An Early Return

"Man draws imaginary lines on the planet and says, 'This is a Frenchman, a Musselman, an Italian!' Upon these differences wars are waged. Men are fighting for the possession of the earth. They fight for that which becomes their graves, their cemeteries, their tombs."

- `Abdu'l-Baha

As you've noticed there hasn't been an update in almost a month. While the Sabets have been away, I've been traveling a lot across the country and general consummed with work (as I should be). That's left me with little time for putting up blog posts! Rest assured, I've been taking many notes and things and there will be some large post up in the next few weeks. I just dropped by to leave a quick note saying I'll be coming home prematurely for one month. My grandmother is sick, and it's important that I be at home to see her.

Stay tuned!

Leia Mais…