A Word On Women

This is actually a little girl who was attending a street political rally, but I admired her attempt at being fashionable.

In the 90's I spent a lot of time in Venezuela and the one thing that was always a constant was The Question.  When you climbed into a taxi and the driver realized that you were not Venezuelan, the very next thing out of his mouth was the trivia question: How many Miss Universe have come from Venezuela? I forget the answer, but it was some outrageous number and clearly a point of national pride. 

Yes, the Venezuelan women, a mix of Latin and Caribbean cultures, were put together well.  Having said that, all of this "put together-ness" takes time and effort, an immense amount  I imagine.  The English phrase that gets bandied about for this effort is "high maintenance", and for years I've searched the Spanish lexicon for a similar phrase.  There isn't one.  The fact that there is no easy way to describe a woman (or man) who is fastidious about their appearance and spends inordinate amounts of time keeping it so speaks volumes about this culture. In other words, the attribute of being "high-maintenance" is so inculcated into the lives of so many Venezuelans that it's accepted as normal and does not need to be described, it just "is".

Begging To Be Said

 A woman begs on the street of Istanbul.

Driving down the street this morning through a busy intersection in south Atlanta I noticed several high school-aged football players walking in between the cars collecting money.  Ostensibly they're trying to raise money for equipment, which I know is very expensive, or maybe a trip someplace.  Whatever the reason the players were walking past the waiting cars collecting money in their helmets.

What happened to car washes, bake sales or some other "productive" activity designed to raise money?  Since when did coaches start teaching their players to beg?  Let's face it, that's what these guys were doing. What sort of life-lesson is this imparting on the players? 

I grew up as an athlete so I'm intimately familiar with the valuable lessons learned from being a member of a sports team.  Never in my experience did any of those lessons include begging for money, regardless of how effective the technique may be.  Do the ends justify the means in this case?  Does the ability to purchase needed equipment outweigh the lesson that it's alright to stand on the street corner, next to the homeless, "will work for food" guy and beg for money? I would strongly argue that it does not.

Appearences

I watched a protection detail ride past yesterday.  Four police motorcycles, a large client SUV and a police trail SUV.  I wondered which vehicle the client was in; it was pretty obvious.  My thought was that this was simply the appearance of security and had nothing to do with actually providing or achieving security.  The detail would have been better off dropping the police escort and letting the VIP drive around the city in his unmarked SUV.

Similarly, everywhere you look in San Salvador are uniformed static security guards armed with ill-cared for shotguns.  Even a casual observer could discern again, that the guards are only for appearance sake and have no effective use.  Unfortunately this is all-to common in Latin America, it is better to have the appearance of something, such as security, than actually achieving it.  My previous post on ambulances is another example of the same concept.

The concept of appearance can be extrapolated and used to explain many of the social and cultural aspects of Latin America.  Another example is the appearance of wealth.  A long time ago I lived in Santiago, Chile, and not far from my house was a massive grocery store with unspeakably expensive items imported from all over the world.  Each Saturday countless woman would shop the aisles filling their carts with the most extravagant items. They would then stop off at the coffee bar in the middle of the store to chat with their neighbors about the parties they planned to throw and peer into each others baskets.  At the end of the day they would leave the basket in the aisle and slink out of the store unnoticed by their friends, being totally incapable of purchasing any of the items they had selected. 

For God's Sake, Stop!

My EMT partner told me a story last night of a call that he ran a few days ago.  His patient was a 12-year old girl with abdominal pain… she was two months pregnant.  Looking on, her mother…25-years old, and also her grandmother…37 years old.  I'm at a loss, you do the math.

Rules To Live By

A young Haitian girl stands outside one of the hospital pediatric tents.

There's an art to living on top of people, one which I suspect actually gets taught in naval submarine schools and fire academies.  My existence for this trip to Haiti has been highlighted by the return of communal sleeping conditions to my life, something that I've not experienced since my days in Special Forces. I fear that I've grown accustom to 5-star hotel suites with multiple flat screens and ocean views. Those that know me are laughing right now.

The group that I'm with on this trip is camped out in a small, open room with 15-20 thinly mattress-ed metal frames placed within a foot of one another. My personal space extends from my bunk to 6-inches on every direction; I am the master of my kingdom.

The first and really only rule is to be overly considerate.  Here are some things to think about:

• No unnecessary banging around of things during sleep hours.  Even the slightest rustling of stuff can be annoying to those that are trying to sleep.
• iPods can be heard by neighbors, also typing on keyboards.  Take it elsewhere.
• Be mindful of your neighbor's kingdom… no border excursions however unintentional.
• Keep your things packed and neat. You're not setting up house - it's temporary. 
• Flush the toilet.  Even if there's no water in the tank, that's what the big barrel of water and bucket are for sitting right next to it.  The water goes in the bowl, not the tank. Also, in most third world bathrooms- the paper goes in the trash not the bowl.  Get used to it.
• Learn to love cold water bucket showers. Close your eyes an imagine a tropical waterfall.  It lessens the shock.
• Personal hygiene.  It's not a competition to see how nasty we can all be. Wash yourself, especially your hands as often as you can.
• Pick-up communal spaces, and especially don't leave stuff for others to have to deal with.  Leave it cleaner than you found it. Pack it out baby!!
• Pitch in, pitch in, pitch in.  Someone has to take the trash out and sweep the floors. You know it needs to get done.  Don't ignore it.
• Keep valuables secured.  You never know who will come strolling though your living spaces, and  other cultures look differently upon opportune acquisitions than we do in the west.
• Share electrical outlets.

Coffeebreak

 I'm in "my office" this morning known to most people as Starbucks Coffee, and while this is my office, Barnes & Noble is "my church".  I come here to read, write, edit photos, and watch people, the last is my most favorite pastime. 

This morning people are lined up three-deep at the counter ordering every sort of caffeinated concoction, feeding the American coffee culture.  This fascination with coffee is not something that we necessarily share in large degree with the rest of the world.

Many years ago I was living in Santiago, Chile doing the bidding of Queen and country, and in Chile, like most LATAM countries at the time, coffee came in tiny cups that looked like they were part of a little girl's tea set. The Chileans just didn't eat much of a breakfast so the idea of morning coffee was a bit foreign to them.  Coffee was something that allowed them to stay up into the wee hours attending dinner parties.

Down the street from my apartment, not far from the U.S. Embassy (a brilliant idea) a Dunkin Donuts prepared to open for business; this would be the country's first, and I can't describe the excitement that streaked through Santiago's ex-pat community.

On the first day that the shop was open I steered clear because the line was outrageous.  Ex-pats wanted a taste of home, and Chileans were morbidly curious as to what the excitement was all about. From all accounts it was an authentic Dunkin Donuts and the Americans, especially those from the northeast, were beside themselves with glee.

The very next day I made sure that I was first in-line when the door opened in the morning.  I strode in all giddy and excited to have my first massive styrofoam cup in well-over a year of American-style joe.  I placed my order, however the Chilean attendant frowned and told me that the coffee wasn't hot yet, pointing to the urn positioned underneath the brand new brewer.  I politely asked him how that was possible, as "The coffee comes out hot", I exclaimed .  He tapped the metal urn and said, "No, todaiva no".  It then hit me, he had left last night's coffee in the urn and had simply turned on the hotplate and was waiting for it to get hot.  Yea, I can see we still have a ways to go.

Karma At Barnes & Noble

As I was walking into Barnes & Noble yesterday afternoon a young African American woman approached the door at the same time from the opposite direction. She was nicely dressed in jeans, a colorful shirt, and knee-high boots. Just as she approached the entrance a voice cried out in a leering tone, "You're awesome! I'm married, but you're just awesome. Come over here for a second and talk to me". A middle-aged African American man was leaning up against the wall, obviously waiting for someone, but the girl just continued on her way and eventually entered the store.

I felt sorry for her and the the fact that she had to endure that sort of treatment from a complete stranger on the street. Why did the man feel it was appropriate or acceptable to speak to anyone that way? I wonder what he would say if someone approached his wife or daughter like that. "Wow", I thought, "your karma sucks." Then I realized that it wasn't just his. He affects how that woman, and probably countless others, view men, of which I'm included. So his karma is now linked to mine. When I realized that, I opened the door for the woman and apologized that she had to endure that sort of treatment. Can we delink our karma from others? I don't think so. What one person does, affects us all. Please smile at the next person you see, because that guy at Barnes & Noble is going to need all of the help he can get.

Taking The Tuition Leap

After a bachelor's degree and two different masters degrees I like to tell people that "I'm educated far beyond my intelligence". This normally elicits a chuckle upon the realization of the difference between education and intelligence. I chide my wife that I'm "one up" in the degree count, which annoys her to no end since I'm a proud product of a rural public school system and she comes from many years of elite private schooling. Trust me, she's pretty quick to point out the education-intelligence mismatch as well, and I sometimes think that she would tattoo it on my forehead if she could.

In all honesty I do think the link between formal education and intelligence is tenuous. I've meet some people that just barely got out of high school and can intellectually man-handle me with abandon. On the other hand, I've met PhD candidates that didn't know enough (or care) to brush their teeth in the morning. So what does thousands of dollars of formal education buy you? Firstly, I think there's a bit of "right of passage" there. In other words, "That's the route I came up from, so you have to follow". Secondly, I think that it's a measure of commitment to one's chosen vocation. If you're going to drop untold amounts of money and many years of your life on becoming a physician, then most can rest assured that you're serious about medicine. The final argument is, it's better to be safe than sorry. Few have not gotten hired for being over-educated.

So as I stare are my 5-year old's first tuition bill I take heart that he'll at least have a good start. Where he goes from will be influenced by many factors, not the least of which is himself. My wife and I promise to do our part, but in the end I want him to have the tools to be happy in life. It's the intelligent thing to do.

My Take-Away

This is the one post that, for quite a while, I've known that I would write. For the past three months I've been living with three 21-year old college students and their associated friends. I fell into this situation by sub-letting a room, in their four-bedroom suite, from one of their friends who was traveling for the semester. It's been an interesting and often entertaining experiment.

Firstly, these guys are no different than when I was a college senior back in '86. Nothing has changed in the past 23 years, and most likely going back a lot longer than that. There is still copious amounts of alcohol, good friends, girls/boys, sports, classes, and an over-all attitude of reckless invincibility. The only notable difference, however, is the advent of video games; my suite-mates sit for hours playing all manner of games, including Rock Band, which can be very annoying when you're trying to sleep at 3:00 a.m. I've found this to be the only game that can penetrate the protective cocoon of my Bose noise canceling headphones.

My only epiphany during the entire experience came when realized that these kids are often inebriated, loud, and "out-of-control" only because society allows them to be that way. They're cut free from the confines of home and allowed to rapidly grow and expand with almost no tempering force. The college culture expects/encourages/demands them to act in this manner.

On a side note, what happens when you re-introduce a dampening or controlling force, e.g. you remove the kid from college and enlist him or her in the military? My experience has been that they still grow and mature but not at such an exponential rate. The environment is more supervised, and prone to a lot less recklessness; but that's another post.

During my stay here I've treated several college kids in the ER, one for a very serious alcohol intoxication. The sad part was that her mother came to the ER and had to see her near-naked daughter lying on the table engulfed in an octopus of tubes, wires, pumps, and monitors. I first tried to empathize with the mother, but found it difficult as she viciously blamed everyone for her daughter's condition except the young girl lying before her reeking of vomit and alcohol.

My "take away" has been that if left unchecked these kids will eagerly sprint down an often dangerous path, just as we did at their age; as most of us are lucky to still be walking this earth. There must be some sort of societal, peer, family, organizational, tempering force that allows them to grow and mature, but at a reasonable and less self-destructive rate. When I get home to my five-year old, we're going to work on that one pdq.

College Again

Bike porn: My new Cervelo P2 set up in my room in Bloomington. It'll be trainer rides for a while. It's snowing out here today.

I just arrived in Bloomington, Indiana for a paramedic course that I need to take. Bloomington is a college town, home of the University of Indiana, and I'm staying at a large apartment building that houses hundreds of college students. I ended up getting a sub-let off a kid that was going abroad for the semester and needed to get out from under his lease. Subsequently I'm sharing a suite with three students. I can't tell you what an educational experience THIS is going to be.

Last night one of the 20-something students told me that he was going to travel Europe after he graduated so that he could enjoy the experience "before he got too old". "You're kidding me, right?"

The medic course is going to take up the vast, vast majority of my time, demanding 14-16 hours every day. Added on to that are twice daily triathlon workouts amounting to 14 hours a week. I don't expect to see much of my student room mates, but I'm sure there will be the occasional entertaining episode. More to follow.

The Fixer

An Iraqi father poses with his two sons.

"Fixer" is apparently an Arabic word that means, "I don't wait in lines". Like almost all western companies in Iraq, we employ locals to act as "fixers; to get us through the snags and complications of operating in a foreign land. They use any means at their disposal, some of which can be pretty unsavory, to get us in a position to do our job.

I went to the airport this morning, our lead fixer and I were flying out of Baghdad on the same flight to Amman. At the first sight of a line he didn't even break stride, walking purposefully right the the front of the 30-person line, grabbing my passport as he went. The cacophony of groans and gripes was deafening to my sensitive western ears. The fixer seemed to be energized by it, and pressed on; business class seats, boarding passes, luggage tags all within seconds. I was looking for a corner to hide in as the symphony of disgruntled passengers grew.

This scene transpired not only at the check-in desk but also at Immigration, the boarding ramp, and the bus taking us to the plane. Nothing would deter him. He was like a pitbull. I meekly followed along, afraid to get lost in the throngs of unhappy (pissed off) travelers. I secretly reveled in the "fast track", but was painfully embarrassed at the means to get there.

On a side note, while on the airplane we were handed a form, what at first I thought was an Immigration form for Jordan. Dutifully filling in the blanks I got to the question, "Do you have diarrhea?" It went on from there; "How long have you had it? Medications? Doctor's note?" Not something that you see everyday. They were apparently looking for cholera coming out of Iraq.

Sunday Observations

In Baghdad's Victory Base Complex there's a coffee shop known as The Green Bean. Not much more than a couple of double-wide trailers glued together with a coffee bar in the middle, it's a popular gathering place for contractors and military personnel. I spent about three hours in "The Bean" today watching the world go by. It sort of reminded me of the "bar scene" in the original Star Wars. Here's what I saw:

• A group of impromptu musicians played folk and bluegrass music in one corner much to everyone's delight. The Brits were struggling with it though.
  

• Several people wearing PT uniforms with drop-leg holsters. It must be hard to run like that.

• A group of cyclists stopped by, out for their Sunday morning ride, adorned in black and yellow Go Army/Livestrong bicycle shirts.

• Five or six people reading bibles. OK, it was Sunday. No one was reading the Koran though.

• An Iraqi army officer fighting through his first ever expresso. He couldn't finish it.

• Waves of khaki colored flight-suited PSD types; blood types scrawled on their boots, patches Velcro-ed here and there.

• Soldiers in dusty ACUs with M4s strapped across their back trying to find some normalcy in a coffee shop.

• Women with a single guy in-tow. Few women are seen alone there. They always have to token male escort, who's happy to go along albeit a bit desperate looking though.

• No Wookies or blasters, but I wouldn't put it past one of the PSD guys to have a Genuine Immitation Luke Skywalker lightsaber tucked away someplace.
  

A Good Afternoon

The Baghdad Ballet- Revisited

The littlest dancer

We returned to the Baghdad Ballet School to deliver some gifts that were generously donated by a similar school in Mobile, Alabama. It was a great afternoon and I got a chance to interact with a lot of the kids. I laughed because the only English that they could speak was to sing the "ABC song" and count to ten, which they did relentlessly. I taught the boys how to do an "Obama-style fist-bump", as well as thumb wrestle. American culture is good for a lot of things. I walked away smiling. It was a good afternoon in Baghdad.

Not So Good With Technology

A passing taxi driver. Happy guy.

The Iraqi's have a new device at selected security checkpoints around Baghdad. A serious looking operator holds what looks like a toy remote-controlled car device in his hand, and wearing a pair of earphones, dutifully walks down the side of the car. What he's listening for I have no earthly idea; maybe the ticking of a bomb? Who knows?

This ridiculous display prompted a tirade of comments from my Scottish security partner about how the Arab culture is not the most technologically savvy on the face of the planet. My favorite remark described how you could give Iran, Iraq, etc... the most sophisticated fighter aircraft in the inventory complete with state of the art weaponry and in the end you will still have some guy at the controls wearing a green scarf around his head mumbling "Allah akbar".

I'm not sure why the Arab culture has not embraced technology. Maybe its a function of it's education system; preferring to spend time studying religious subjects instead of physics or chemistry. Quite possibly they don't need to, as they can afford to hire foreign "technicians" to manage things for them. This is certainly the case in much of the Middle Eastern oil industry.

I helped a 30-something year old Iraqi set up his first laptop. I got him a Yahoo account, an email address, login, and password. I did it all for him in minutes as he curiously looked on. When I got to the mandatory "security question" I scrolled through the various options to find one that was appropriate for him. OK, "What was your childhood friend's first name?" He looked at me with dinner plate size eyes and exclaimed, "They know that about me!?"

You Can't Win 'Em All

Ballet shoes sit discarded in a pile at the Baghdad ballet school

I watched an interview with Bill Gates a while back and he stated that he and his wife do not intend to leave their children with a large (or small) fortune. The Gates' would rather see their offspring make their way through life on their own merits and talents, much as they did. Now you can debate the wisdom or justice of this all day-long but I suspect that Mr. Gates, if anyone, fully understands the corrupting influence of great fortune.

I tried to explain this concept to an Iraqi friend today and he looked at me like I had a third eye. There was no way that he was going to wrap his head around the fact that money does not equal automatic happiness, and in most cases it's just the opposite. He believes that money will bring cars, houses, more cars, and even greater houses, all adding up to eternal bliss and happiness for he, his wife, and their children. He found the story of the Gates' intention so bizarre that he ran over an had to tell all of his Iraqi friends.

I took a step back and asked him if he were happy right now. He claimed that he and his wife were very happy... but would be even more happy with a bigger house and another car. I tried to point out people that live modestly with great satisfaction, and others that are swimming in wealth but suffer from depression and a myriad of other ailments. My friend was not biting, and in the end I gave up as he continued to stare at me in blasphemous disbelief. You can't win 'em all.

Uphill Struggle

A Caracas mountain top peaks out through the evening mist

When I first started visiting Latin America in the very early nineties I was struck by the fact that I never saw anyone outside running, or biking. On those very rare occasions when I did see a lone jogger, he inevitably turned out to be a visiting gringo. As a matter of fact, it was considered inappropriate for men to even wear shorts in public, aside from the one-off "football" player. The gyms were sparsely populated by men that looked to be replicating movements from the 1960s' Jack LaLane Show.

Ten or fifteen years later it's all changed; the parks of South America are full of runners, cyclists, bladers and the like. Modern box-gyms are everywhere, as are Spinning studios, and yoga gyms. The Latin population has embraced the pastime of fitness.

The Middle East, on the other hand, is not there yet. In the two years that I've been traveling here I've never once seen anyone running outside, albeit Baghdad is not a 'jogger's city', as my friend jokingly described what he called Insurgent fartliks. The incidence of smoking is through the roof, Middle Eastern men are becoming increasingly fatter, and the cultural diet would make the American Heart Association wince with pain. Unthinkable here is the vision of a women runner, complete with running shorts and singlet. I wonder where we'll be ten or fifteen years from now?

Happy Feast!

Today marks the beginning of the Muslim Festival of Eid that coincides with the annual pilgrimage to Mecca know as the Haj (where the derogatory moniker "Haji" comes from). There is much hugging and kissing among the locals today, akin to the westerners' concept of Christmas. Speaking with one of "our guys" he told me how he woke his family up at 2:30 a.m. so that they could slaughter a sheep (bad day for the sheep population) and distribute the meat to their neighbors. I had to wrap my head around that one, but I guess a fat, bearded guy stuffing toys into hanging stockings is no less strange. Happy feast!

Babylon Buddhist

I had a run-in with one of our Iraqi staff yesterday. He lied to me. It wasn't even a good lie, and when I called him on it, he made up another one on the spot. I was furious and chose to walk away, informing his supervisor along the way.

I'm at the very end of my deployment and have no patience for this cultural tendency towards lying. I understand that the anger and rage that I felt was mine, and mine alone. I had to deal with it, accept it, chide my ego for entertaining it, and then just let it go. At times Iraq and the Arab culture can be a wonderful place for a Buddhist :)

Conspiracy Theorists

The most recognizable landmark in Baghdad, the famous "Crossed Swords". People come from all over to be photographed under the swords.

Explaining the American presidential election process to our Iraqi staff is always an entertaining challenge. They cannot accept the fact that everyone gets only one vote. Iraqis understand that Americans go to the polls and vote, but they have it in their collective head that in the end, a "group of powerful Israel-supporting senators" will have the ultimate say and choose the candidate that it wants; in this case John McCain. It's telling of their culture and political process.

There is no greater conspiracy theorist than the Iraqi man on the street. Over the years I've heard some outlandish claims such as Iraqi dust storms are purposely caused by nuclear explosions somewhere in the world, or the American tethered radio antennae balloons that dot the Baghdad horizon are armed with powerful cameras and Hellfire missiles constantly searching for miscreants. Iraqis love to believe the outrageous; the bigger the story the more conviction they have that it's true. Weaving some tale that would even make Hollywood blush makes an Iraqi appear powerful and knowledgeable to his family and friends. No one ever calls "bullshit' as that would be a slap in the face, so the stories just keep getting bigger and better.

My Head Hurts

I treat a lot of headaches. That seems to be the chief complaint of our local Iraqi staff, but they describe it in such debilitating terms that it often makes me suspicious. A a single aspirin or Tylenol later and they're good as new, generally within ten minutes, which is surprising as the absorption rate is closer to fifteen minutes.

Today was a sprained knee, so bad that the staff member said, wincing and moaning, that he couldn't walk. I told him to ice it; a half an hour later he's running around with no signs of injury. It's a miracle!!

The truth is that I found many Iraqis to be attention seeking. All they want is someone to listen to their near-death complaint, give them something that looks like medicine and they're merrily on their way. I'm not sure what the cultural reason is for this. If it were my 4-year old I'd say that he's trying to get out of school. At least it worked for me a time or two when I was younger. I don't believe the staff is trying to dodge work, because they're happily back at it again once they've been pulled back from the bright light and resuscitated. I think that I'm going to teach my Iraqi security operators how to initiate IV therapy. Ya got a headache? Ya need an IV!! At least my guys can get some good training out of it.