Hence, I just finished a paper I should have finished two weeks ago.
Hence, I am still studying for my exam tomorrow.
Hence, I will be ready for my exam tomorrow.
Amen.
Hence, I have to hope this will NOT make me go grey prematurely.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Parkinson's Law
Hence, I just finished a paper I should have finished two weeks ago.
Hence, I am still studying for my exam tomorrow.
Hence, I will be ready for my exam tomorrow.
Amen.
Hence, I have to hope this will NOT make me go grey prematurely.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
in sheep's clothing.
a few months ago i visited an orphanage in rwanda, traveling mainly by motorcycle taxi.
rwanda is perhaps one of the most beautiful countries i have ever visited, though i am surprised that i even noticed since every time we traveled anywhere my 'helmet' would fall over my eyes, and i was usually too busy gripping the motorcycle driver's tee-shirts with a death grip to push it back so i could see.
on a particularly bumpy trek down from the mountains one day, my driver was particularly chatty. he would lean back as he drove to ask me questions or comment on this or that.
fyi - this did not make me particularly happy as i thought he should be doing less leaning and chatting and more worrying about staying upright on the road.
none the less, he was a very pleasant fellow, and shared all sorts of anecdotes about his love for his family, his love for Jesus, how glad he was to have a job driving motorcycle, his plans to marry soon, and so on.
at one point he leaned back and asked 'i heard that even poor people in america have cars - is this true?'
i paused.
in rwanda, the only cars i ever saw outside of the capital were owned by aid workers, mainly the UN.
i didn't know how to answer his question other than honestly.
'yes,' i said carefully, 'many poor people have cars there.'
he sighed. 'it is my dream to go move to america where all the poor people are rich.'
i tried to explain to him that even though poor people in america might have cars, they still don't think of themselves as rich. i tried to explain the idea of relative poverty, where even the posession of the luxury of a car wouldn't be enough to give someone status in society.
he wasn't buying it.
the first image that popped to my mind was this man, who in rwanda rode his motorcycle through beautiful green hills preaching about his love for Jesus, who had perhaps never had to wear shoes in his life, whose family all lived together, who had hope to bring a final peace to his nation - and i imagined him immigrating to america, living in a cramped apartment, struggling to pay bills, surrounded by advertisements for credit cards, a language he didn't understand, hip hop music, people who would stare at his deep black skin with suspicion and treat his hard to understand accent with impatience.
that's a negative image, and i don't mean to only portray a negative side of the immigrant experience to america, as has been an will continue to be a land of opportunity for millions.
however, at that moment, i secretly prayed that he wouldn't have to go through that. i prayed that he would go home to his family in the village, that they would laugh and eat, and talk about the crazy foreigners they had driven around that day. and that he would go to bed in peace.
i'm in development.
my goal is to help people live a better life.
but sometimes i don't know what that better life is. and wonder if i am being arrogant to think that i would ever know better than they would.
is helping people make more money so that someday their children could be wealthy enough to have a car, or to immigrate to america truly the point?
to acquire things, bigger houses, more food than they can eat?
to acquire degrees to nail to their walls?
poverty, especially extreme poverty, can be a curse. it can drive desperation, crime, corruption, family violence, and so on.
but can't wealth also be such a curse? greed, sloth, gluttony, and perhaps the worst, apathy - all stem from a misuse of wealth.
so i don't know, sometimes.
its easy for this kind of work to become almost a religion - but sometimes, i wonder if the message we preach, of improving your life, of empowerment and education.. is not just a sly wolf in sheep's clothing.
rwanda is perhaps one of the most beautiful countries i have ever visited, though i am surprised that i even noticed since every time we traveled anywhere my 'helmet' would fall over my eyes, and i was usually too busy gripping the motorcycle driver's tee-shirts with a death grip to push it back so i could see.
on a particularly bumpy trek down from the mountains one day, my driver was particularly chatty. he would lean back as he drove to ask me questions or comment on this or that.
fyi - this did not make me particularly happy as i thought he should be doing less leaning and chatting and more worrying about staying upright on the road.
none the less, he was a very pleasant fellow, and shared all sorts of anecdotes about his love for his family, his love for Jesus, how glad he was to have a job driving motorcycle, his plans to marry soon, and so on.
at one point he leaned back and asked 'i heard that even poor people in america have cars - is this true?'
i paused.
in rwanda, the only cars i ever saw outside of the capital were owned by aid workers, mainly the UN.
i didn't know how to answer his question other than honestly.
'yes,' i said carefully, 'many poor people have cars there.'
he sighed. 'it is my dream to go move to america where all the poor people are rich.'
i tried to explain to him that even though poor people in america might have cars, they still don't think of themselves as rich. i tried to explain the idea of relative poverty, where even the posession of the luxury of a car wouldn't be enough to give someone status in society.
he wasn't buying it.
the first image that popped to my mind was this man, who in rwanda rode his motorcycle through beautiful green hills preaching about his love for Jesus, who had perhaps never had to wear shoes in his life, whose family all lived together, who had hope to bring a final peace to his nation - and i imagined him immigrating to america, living in a cramped apartment, struggling to pay bills, surrounded by advertisements for credit cards, a language he didn't understand, hip hop music, people who would stare at his deep black skin with suspicion and treat his hard to understand accent with impatience.
that's a negative image, and i don't mean to only portray a negative side of the immigrant experience to america, as has been an will continue to be a land of opportunity for millions.
however, at that moment, i secretly prayed that he wouldn't have to go through that. i prayed that he would go home to his family in the village, that they would laugh and eat, and talk about the crazy foreigners they had driven around that day. and that he would go to bed in peace.
i'm in development.
my goal is to help people live a better life.
but sometimes i don't know what that better life is. and wonder if i am being arrogant to think that i would ever know better than they would.
is helping people make more money so that someday their children could be wealthy enough to have a car, or to immigrate to america truly the point?
to acquire things, bigger houses, more food than they can eat?
to acquire degrees to nail to their walls?
poverty, especially extreme poverty, can be a curse. it can drive desperation, crime, corruption, family violence, and so on.
but can't wealth also be such a curse? greed, sloth, gluttony, and perhaps the worst, apathy - all stem from a misuse of wealth.
so i don't know, sometimes.
its easy for this kind of work to become almost a religion - but sometimes, i wonder if the message we preach, of improving your life, of empowerment and education.. is not just a sly wolf in sheep's clothing.
This is the last week of classes.
Meaning I am almost no longer a student. And I'm leaving for Kenya in just a couple of weeks. Here's what I need to figure out how do to ASAP:
1. Publish chapter from thesis (I have no idea where to start and it makes me kind of sweaty).
2. Learn some conversational Swahili (asante sana!).
3. Write up a business plan for NGO idea.
4. Find something to do that actually sends paychecks for once I get back from Kenya (income is always a perk, right Dad?).
5. End up in the same city as this guy.
1. Publish chapter from thesis (I have no idea where to start and it makes me kind of sweaty).
2. Learn some conversational Swahili (asante sana!).
3. Write up a business plan for NGO idea.
4. Find something to do that actually sends paychecks for once I get back from Kenya (income is always a perk, right Dad?).
5. End up in the same city as this guy.
OK. Ready go.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Why Victor Wants me to Have His Babies
I 'morphed' my face with Victors.... and this was the result. Very. Weird. I saw this on a friend's blog and decided it was clearly what I should do instead of write a paper.
Go morph your face with your significant other's and you too could see what your first child will look like: http://www.morphthing.com
PS - Let's hope for less of a comb over with the real thing. And maybe less curved teeth. And if its a girl, maybe less five o'clock shadow.
PPS - This is what Morphthing says our child will look like as a baby:
Tell me that is not at least a little cute.Ok, I am REALLY going to write my paper now.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Something I learned from Rhodes University
Every other year, students at Rhodes University (where I spent my Rotary Ambassadorial year in 2008) get together and decide on a major philanthopic project they want to take on. Students nominate ideas, they vote, and then they spend two years organizing, working with the community, fundraising, and making it happen. The year I was there, the project was 'Galela Amanzi', or Pour the Water. Essentially, the students at Rhodes are fundraising to build water tanks at schools and community centers in the townships surrounding Grahamstown, where most of the schools don't have reliable water sources.The thing that gets me is that the project is the student-initiated, student-led, student-run. Its a way for students to change their community for the better RIGHT NOW. And it is the collective energy of the entire university, in conjunction with the community, that makes it happen.
At this moment, I wish I was going to be at University of Denver just a LITTLE BIT longer so I could have time to get something like this geared up.
Or that I was a teacher again and could get some students in gear. How cool would that be to see a high school take ownership of a project like this.
Or what about a middle school?
I'm envisioning: kids forming a team to lead the project, talking to community members to see what is needed (or identifying needs right inside their own neighborhoods), learning about the processes that have to happen to implement, creating a budget, presenting at a city council meeting, utilizing the skills they are learning in class to MAKE IT HAPPEN.
Community benefits +
Kids empowered =
Kids empowered =
Bam.
Powerful.
Powerful.
Camera suggestions?
I am seriously considering investing in a higher quality camera before my next round of travels. Pictures are my journal and the most powerful way I have of sharing my experiences with my family, friends and anyone else I coerce into watching. In particular, I think the next project I will be working on in Kibera will be very powerfully conveyed through images.
So I think I'm going to take the plunge.
Here's what I'm looking for:
- A serious zoom (at a minimum 10x, but ideally a 15-20x)
- Compact size (I'm not sure I'm ready for something that requires its own suitcase - I want it to be able to fit in my handbag).
- Something that is good in low light situations, macro and portraits
- Has video capabilities
- Under $500
- I use my camera most to capture 'life' situations, so I need something that can capture an image very quickly if needed (in other words, a long start-up time would not be the best)
- I am no camera expert, but am pretty good with the basic customizing that you can do with a point and shoot - I'm looking for an 'advanced' point and shoot, something with more options than a basic, but not quite a dslr.
These are three that I've been looking at, in my initial order of preference, but I have no idea if I am on the right track or not:
I would appreciate ANY suggestions! Leave a comment or shoot me an email if you have any opinions. Thank you SO much!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
There has to be a better way.
I have to write this down so that it can stop spinning in my head.
I have been so frustrated lately with the non-profit sector.
Not that the non-profit sector has done anything wrong, at all. On the contrary, almost every job, internship, potential job, volunteer opportunity, travel experience, etc. has been directly involved with a non-profit. I am the type where I can LIVE the vision of an organization if I believe in it. In fact, I truly believe to be good at a job, that is the number one key. I have to believe in what I am working for, all the way down to my bones. That's just how I'm wired.
As are most non-profits. So I have nothing against you, non-profits.
Its just... you're not sustainable.
Let me think through this a little better.
There are three sectors, right?
I love you non-profits, but I hope someday you go away. I hope someday we don't need you any more.
I honestly believe that people want to do good. But it takes time and energy, sometimes, and people are busy and tired. And sometimes poor.
But in the system we live in, we all have to buy things. Like socks, we all need socks. And food. And other things like alarm clocks, light bulbs, shoes, garbage sacks, dental floss, and the other million things we consume every year. What if the companies we bought these things from were responsible? What if they treated their employees as valuable, whole human beings? What if they were benefitting our planet instead of simply extracting from it? What if my sock purchase helped my community, in more ways that just keeping my feet from smelling? What if the sock company was using some of their brilliant sock-making knowledge to find ways to be innovative and make their profits in such a way that was good for me, as a sock buyer, but also good for society? What if my sock purchase meant that a family in Bangladesh ate a nutritious meal tonight, instead of going hungry?
WHAT IF ME BUYING SOCKS HELPED THE WORLD BE A BETTER PLACE?
Other smarter people already figured out how to do this.
I want to be like them.
Like Mohummad Yunus.
And David Kuria, who I will be working with this summer.
Some people call what they do the fourth sector.
I like where it is going.
And I want to be a part of it.
The for profit sector can change. They are driven by demand. And I certainly demand things. So really, its up to me. Its up to me to demand that the products I buy are socially responsible. It is up to me to research where my dollars are going, and to look for ways that I can bring creative energy to solving social problems. Not just treating them, but solving them. If you have any good ideas, pass them this way, I'm all fired up.
Ok... ready go.
I have been so frustrated lately with the non-profit sector.
Not that the non-profit sector has done anything wrong, at all. On the contrary, almost every job, internship, potential job, volunteer opportunity, travel experience, etc. has been directly involved with a non-profit. I am the type where I can LIVE the vision of an organization if I believe in it. In fact, I truly believe to be good at a job, that is the number one key. I have to believe in what I am working for, all the way down to my bones. That's just how I'm wired.
As are most non-profits. So I have nothing against you, non-profits.
Its just... you're not sustainable.
Let me think through this a little better.
There are three sectors, right?
- You have companies - the profit sector. You know, banks, grocery stores, small business, big business, tycoons, ma and pa shops - all of that. Their goal is to make a profit. Otherwise they shut down. That's how it rolls. They are driven by the fundamentals of capitalism, of supply and demand... etc. This sector benefits some people greatly, but it also demands things like cheap labor and cheap supplies in order to make more profits. This means that it relies on the fact that some people, somewhere will work for cheap, and that supplies can be procured cheaply, sometimes at the peril of the environment.
- Then you have the public sector - the government. We give the public sector taxes and authority, and it gives us things like roads, public schools, and stimulus packages. It is directed at the common good. We all benefit from having roads. We all benefit from having our population educated, etc. But public sector, you are inefficient. You are big and bureaucratic and its really hard to change you.
- And then you have the non-profits. Aka nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) or not-for-profits. These guys are around the fill the gaps left by the other sectors. The for profit sector can be ruthless and drives inequality - the rich get richer, the poor get poorer. And the public sector just doesn't cut it all of the way either. They are inefficient and bound to political campaigns, special interest and politics in general. So the non-profit sector treats fills in - they provide soup kitchens and education programs and even basic things like access to water in some places. They treat symptoms of poverty, and try to undo the damage done by the other sectors. They often challenge the other sectors to step it up and do their job. But non-profits, you are not sustainable. You have to rely on people to give you money, and sometimes, like right now, the economy doesn't allow people to have a lot of money to give. And you are treating symptoms, not the problem. You are feeding people but not necessarily addressing the reasons why people are hungry.
I love you non-profits, but I hope someday you go away. I hope someday we don't need you any more.
I honestly believe that people want to do good. But it takes time and energy, sometimes, and people are busy and tired. And sometimes poor.
But in the system we live in, we all have to buy things. Like socks, we all need socks. And food. And other things like alarm clocks, light bulbs, shoes, garbage sacks, dental floss, and the other million things we consume every year. What if the companies we bought these things from were responsible? What if they treated their employees as valuable, whole human beings? What if they were benefitting our planet instead of simply extracting from it? What if my sock purchase helped my community, in more ways that just keeping my feet from smelling? What if the sock company was using some of their brilliant sock-making knowledge to find ways to be innovative and make their profits in such a way that was good for me, as a sock buyer, but also good for society? What if my sock purchase meant that a family in Bangladesh ate a nutritious meal tonight, instead of going hungry?
WHAT IF ME BUYING SOCKS HELPED THE WORLD BE A BETTER PLACE?
Other smarter people already figured out how to do this.
I want to be like them.
Like Mohummad Yunus.
And David Kuria, who I will be working with this summer.
Some people call what they do the fourth sector.
I like where it is going.
And I want to be a part of it.
The for profit sector can change. They are driven by demand. And I certainly demand things. So really, its up to me. Its up to me to demand that the products I buy are socially responsible. It is up to me to research where my dollars are going, and to look for ways that I can bring creative energy to solving social problems. Not just treating them, but solving them. If you have any good ideas, pass them this way, I'm all fired up.
Ok... ready go.
From TED: Hans Rosling on HIV: New facts and stunning data visuals
After a long day of AIDS writing, this got me all pumped up:
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
i am a graduate student.
I woke up at 5am.
I worked on a paper.
I ate some cereal.
I worked on a paper.
I went to class for two hours.
I learned some stuff about statistics.
I think.
I'll find out in my lab on Thursday.
I went downstairs to meet my group.
I signed a petition to bring a PhD's student's family here.
He is from Gaza.
The Israeli government won't let his family out.
Or him in.
He has a daughter that he has never met.
I spent 7 straight hours
finishing and formatting
our final project for my project management class.
Our project was to build a girls' school
in Afghanistan.
In an earthquake zone.
With the threat of an attack from the Taliban.
And the stigma against women's education.
With a budget of $500,000.
I ate some sushi.
The pre-packaged kind.
And a rice krispy treat.
I finished.
I took a five minute breather to write this blog,
and now am about to write that paper
Its due tomorrow.
Eek.
Its a case study about crisis management.
I am using the crisis of HIV and AIDS in South Africa.
And showing
how not
to handle a crisis.
It was 86 degrees outside today.
I love love love
love love
warm weather.
But I was inside,
eating stale sushi,
hypothetically building a school
and thinking,
once again,
about AIDS.
In the midst of my misery,
I secretly loved every minute.
And am so grateful
that I can learn
about what I love.
I worked on a paper.
I ate some cereal.
I worked on a paper.
I went to class for two hours.
I learned some stuff about statistics.
I think.
I'll find out in my lab on Thursday.
I went downstairs to meet my group.
I signed a petition to bring a PhD's student's family here.
He is from Gaza.
The Israeli government won't let his family out.
Or him in.
He has a daughter that he has never met.
I spent 7 straight hours
finishing and formatting
our final project for my project management class.
Our project was to build a girls' school
in Afghanistan.
In an earthquake zone.
With the threat of an attack from the Taliban.
And the stigma against women's education.
With a budget of $500,000.
I ate some sushi.
The pre-packaged kind.
And a rice krispy treat.
I finished.
I took a five minute breather to write this blog,
and now am about to write that paper
Its due tomorrow.
Eek.
Its a case study about crisis management.
I am using the crisis of HIV and AIDS in South Africa.
And showing
how not
to handle a crisis.
It was 86 degrees outside today.
I love love love
love love
warm weather.
But I was inside,
eating stale sushi,
hypothetically building a school
and thinking,
once again,
about AIDS.
In the midst of my misery,
I secretly loved every minute.
And am so grateful
that I can learn
about what I love.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Things that Make Me Ridiculously Happy
- grand schemes.
- unexpected hugs.
- strawberry margaritas.
- talking to my little brother on the phone.
- mocha babies.
- spanish.
- morning.
- harmonized voices.
- riding in the passenger seat on roadtrips.
- the world atlas.
My Official New Life Plan,
at least until August,
involves the largest slum in Africa,
flying toilets,
a Rotary 3H Grant,
an Ashoka Fellow,
and being a teacher again.
Details to come.
involves the largest slum in Africa,
flying toilets,
a Rotary 3H Grant,
an Ashoka Fellow,
and being a teacher again.
Details to come.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
That is not Kosher.
JERUSALEM (Reuters) - Swine flu? Not in the Jewish state.
"We will call it Mexico flu. We won't call it swine flu," Deputy Health Minister Yakov Litzman, a black-garbed Orthodox Jew, told a news conference Monday, assuring the Israeli public that authorities were prepared to handle any cases.
Under Jewish dietary laws, pigs are considered unclean and pork is forbidden food -- although the non-kosher meat is available in some stores in Israel.
(Writing by Jeffrey Heller; Editing by Charles Dick)
Sunday, April 26, 2009
On Being Detained
I was "detained' a few times, to varying degrees, while crossing back from the West Bank to Israel.
This was the first time:
I took a friend of mine to go and meet the Bedouin teachers that I taught every Tuesday.
She is American, but has Israeli citizenship.
Israelis are not allowed in parts of the West Bank, but Americans are.
So we figured it would be fine as long as she showed them her American passport.
She forgot her American passport.
So then we figured it would be fine if she showed them her American driver's license.
It wasn't fine.
Let me back up.
To get to the Bedouin school, I would catch Arab Bus #36 from the university (near where I lived) into al-Alzaryya, an Arab village inside the West Bank. It is a very short bus ride, maybe 10 minutes, but you have to pass through a checkpoint on your way back, and depending on how thorough the checks are that day, it can take a long time.
The way they do the checks is somewhat inconsistent.
Sometimes, the "easy" times, only the 'Green-pass' Palestinians would have to get off of the bus to be checked, and everyone else (including me as an American passport holder) would just stay on the bus, flash our biggest smile, and show our credentials to the 19 year old armed soldier who would get on the bus to glance at our IDs.
But not every time was easy. Sometimes, we would all have to get off of the bus. Sometimes they would go through our purses and bags. And sometimes, they wouldn't allow people to pass.
When my friend and I were coming back, it was one of the not easy times.
We all got off of the bus, the Israeli soldiers checked us all. When they saw that my friend didn't have a passport, they pulled us both aside, along with two older Arab men. My friend frantically was showing them her driver's license, but they weren't taking it.
Then the bus left us.
My friend speaks Hebrew, but didn't want them to think she was Israeli in case they would fine her for being in the West Bank, but after some heated exchanges in English, she broke into Hebrew to try to explain what had happened.
They became even more suspicious after they realized that she could speak Hebrew, and immediately began yelling at us in Arabic, saying that she was Palestinian (and I guess that I was trying to sneak her in). This, of course, wasn't true. She showed them her Israeli ID, but they thought it was fake, and continued heatedly questioning us. The process dragged on when they realized that she spoke Arabic, as well. All sorts of scenarios were swimming through my head... what if they don't let us through? Who do I call? Do I know the number of the American embassy? What if they let me through but not her? What can I say to convince them to let us through?
The interesting thing was, they questioned us so much that I actually started to feel guilty, as if I had done something wrong. As if I had something to hide. But I didn't do anything wrong, and I didn't have anything to hide.
The process went on for quite a while, with neither of us really knowing what to do. I kept trying to pull my most convincingly-American charm out, trying to explain she was my friend from the UNITED STATES, but they were having none of it.
It all ended quite anti-climatically when they either got tired of us or figured they didn't know what else to do, and they handed us back our ID documents. The fate wasn't the same for the two Arab men with us. They were taken back into another building for further questioning.
They didn't have to tell us twice, and we turned on our heels and took off up the road.
We walked briskly for a ways until a cab came along. The Arab driver looked at us sympathetically as we clammered into the car, saying 'Got held up at the border, huh?'
We paid him to take us back to the university.
This was the first time:
I took a friend of mine to go and meet the Bedouin teachers that I taught every Tuesday.
She is American, but has Israeli citizenship.
Israelis are not allowed in parts of the West Bank, but Americans are.
So we figured it would be fine as long as she showed them her American passport.
She forgot her American passport.
So then we figured it would be fine if she showed them her American driver's license.
It wasn't fine.
Let me back up.
To get to the Bedouin school, I would catch Arab Bus #36 from the university (near where I lived) into al-Alzaryya, an Arab village inside the West Bank. It is a very short bus ride, maybe 10 minutes, but you have to pass through a checkpoint on your way back, and depending on how thorough the checks are that day, it can take a long time.
The way they do the checks is somewhat inconsistent.
Sometimes, the "easy" times, only the 'Green-pass' Palestinians would have to get off of the bus to be checked, and everyone else (including me as an American passport holder) would just stay on the bus, flash our biggest smile, and show our credentials to the 19 year old armed soldier who would get on the bus to glance at our IDs.
But not every time was easy. Sometimes, we would all have to get off of the bus. Sometimes they would go through our purses and bags. And sometimes, they wouldn't allow people to pass.
When my friend and I were coming back, it was one of the not easy times.
We all got off of the bus, the Israeli soldiers checked us all. When they saw that my friend didn't have a passport, they pulled us both aside, along with two older Arab men. My friend frantically was showing them her driver's license, but they weren't taking it.
Then the bus left us.
My friend speaks Hebrew, but didn't want them to think she was Israeli in case they would fine her for being in the West Bank, but after some heated exchanges in English, she broke into Hebrew to try to explain what had happened.
They became even more suspicious after they realized that she could speak Hebrew, and immediately began yelling at us in Arabic, saying that she was Palestinian (and I guess that I was trying to sneak her in). This, of course, wasn't true. She showed them her Israeli ID, but they thought it was fake, and continued heatedly questioning us. The process dragged on when they realized that she spoke Arabic, as well. All sorts of scenarios were swimming through my head... what if they don't let us through? Who do I call? Do I know the number of the American embassy? What if they let me through but not her? What can I say to convince them to let us through?
The interesting thing was, they questioned us so much that I actually started to feel guilty, as if I had done something wrong. As if I had something to hide. But I didn't do anything wrong, and I didn't have anything to hide.
The process went on for quite a while, with neither of us really knowing what to do. I kept trying to pull my most convincingly-American charm out, trying to explain she was my friend from the UNITED STATES, but they were having none of it.
It all ended quite anti-climatically when they either got tired of us or figured they didn't know what else to do, and they handed us back our ID documents. The fate wasn't the same for the two Arab men with us. They were taken back into another building for further questioning.
They didn't have to tell us twice, and we turned on our heels and took off up the road.
We walked briskly for a ways until a cab came along. The Arab driver looked at us sympathetically as we clammered into the car, saying 'Got held up at the border, huh?'
We paid him to take us back to the university.
Qalandia Checkpoint
This is the Qalandia checkpoint.
It is designed to keep terrorists out of Israel.
Every single Palestinian or International passing from Ramallah into Jerusalem, man woman or child, has to go through this turnstile, show their identification, run their belongings through an x-ray machine, and walk through a metal detector (a more chaotic version of what we go through at American airports).
That means that if a Palestinian works in Jerusalem, but lives in Ramallah (a common occurrence), they have to go through this every single day.
It is perhaps one of the most frustrating things I have ever witnessed.
It is designed to keep terrorists out of Israel.
Every single Palestinian or International passing from Ramallah into Jerusalem, man woman or child, has to go through this turnstile, show their identification, run their belongings through an x-ray machine, and walk through a metal detector (a more chaotic version of what we go through at American airports).
That means that if a Palestinian works in Jerusalem, but lives in Ramallah (a common occurrence), they have to go through this every single day.
It is perhaps one of the most frustrating things I have ever witnessed.
I have heard more than one person refer to it as a cattle shoot.We waited for probably 20 minutes where no one was let through for no apparent reason. This was the most frustrating part. At airports, for example, you know why you are waiting in line and you know approximately how long it will take to get through security. Not here. There were long periods of time where no one was being passed through, and no announcements made explaining what was happening. The line stretched out behind and in front of us, with people confused as to which lane to get into.
We saw the guards laughing and pointing at monitors behind the glass windows. The women and men (mostly women this night) in line were patient at first but got increasingly agitated.
Finally after about 15 or 20 minutes, the green light flashed above the turnstile, signaling that people could pass through. Each time, the turnstile will only turn about 3 or 4 times, and then there seemed to be an indefinite amount of time until it would turn again. Each time it turned green, the people would lunge forward, trying to get as many through as possible on each rotation. Sometime people would get stuck inside the turnstile if it wouldn't rotate all of the way.
I kept watching to guards, and they kept looking at monitors and laughing at something, and occasionally would bark orders in Hebrew over the loud speaker, I assume saying 'step back!' or something to that effect.
We saw the guards laughing and pointing at monitors behind the glass windows. The women and men (mostly women this night) in line were patient at first but got increasingly agitated.
Finally after about 15 or 20 minutes, the green light flashed above the turnstile, signaling that people could pass through. Each time, the turnstile will only turn about 3 or 4 times, and then there seemed to be an indefinite amount of time until it would turn again. Each time it turned green, the people would lunge forward, trying to get as many through as possible on each rotation. Sometime people would get stuck inside the turnstile if it wouldn't rotate all of the way.
I kept watching to guards, and they kept looking at monitors and laughing at something, and occasionally would bark orders in Hebrew over the loud speaker, I assume saying 'step back!' or something to that effect.
The night I took this picture, and crossed from Ramallah to Jerusalem, a little boy got stuck in the turnstile. Not stuck in the open part, but stuck between the bars and the cage. The pushing crowd had seperated him from his mother (who was holding another child in her arms) while going through the turnstile and his little body was yanked and pulled in different directions as the metal bars rotated. Women lunged forward to help him, and he was pulled out. Fortunately, it just looked like he would have a couple of bruises and nothing worse.
The guards didn't react.
I am not speaking politically, this is just what I saw.
The guards didn't react.
I am not speaking politically, this is just what I saw.
Pictures from Palestine: Ramallah
After watching Jimmy Carter: Man from Plains, I am all riled up about the situation in Palestine and how little we know about it in the United States.
One of my last days in Israel, right before I left for Egypt, I took a day to visit Ramallah, the de facto capital of the West Bank.
Along with two friends, I took an Arab bus across the border, and to the center of the city.
The city square:
Outside the tomb:
Looking down on the town square from Stars and Bucks:
And of course, the Wall. This is the security wall built by the Israeli government in an effort of keeping potential terrorists from crossing from the West Bank to Israel. It runs the length of Ramallah, and on our way back to Jerusalem, we stopped to take pictures near the checkpoint. The graffiti on the wall is famous all over the world.
One of my friends told me that the artist who painted this little boy vowed to never paint his face until Palestine was free. He is a recurring image all over the Palestinian Territories.
This image was the in documentary I watched last night, which spurred a whole series of emotions for me.
This is by perhaps one of the most famous artists who has painted on the Wall:
As we rounded the corner to go to the checkpoint, we saw this man just sitting there. He smiled at us and waved for us to take his picture. I think it is priceless.
One of my last days in Israel, right before I left for Egypt, I took a day to visit Ramallah, the de facto capital of the West Bank.
Along with two friends, I took an Arab bus across the border, and to the center of the city.
The city square:
The lions had apparently been graffitied during a protest about Gaza during the weeks previous:
A poster stapled to a pole on the sidewalk, depicting a weeping Palestinian girl hugging an olive tree (the symbol for peace and also one of the main sources of livelihood for many Palestinians).
Outside the tomb:
Looking down on the town square from Stars and Bucks:
Supposedly, the owner visited the U.S. and liked the idea of Starbucks... It is a fun place to eat, kind of like Starbucks, only with some serious Palestinian flare. I encourage you to check out their website, it is a hoot.
And of course, the Wall. This is the security wall built by the Israeli government in an effort of keeping potential terrorists from crossing from the West Bank to Israel. It runs the length of Ramallah, and on our way back to Jerusalem, we stopped to take pictures near the checkpoint. The graffiti on the wall is famous all over the world.
One of my friends told me that the artist who painted this little boy vowed to never paint his face until Palestine was free. He is a recurring image all over the Palestinian Territories.
This image was the in documentary I watched last night, which spurred a whole series of emotions for me.
This is by perhaps one of the most famous artists who has painted on the Wall:
As we rounded the corner to go to the checkpoint, we saw this man just sitting there. He smiled at us and waved for us to take his picture. I think it is priceless.
Jimmy Carter, Man from Plains
Last night I watched the documentary Jimmy Carter, Man from Plains. I loved it, and highly recommend it.It follows Jimmy Carter through his life in 2006, right after his book Palestine: Peace not Apartheid was published. It is about the situation in the Occupied Palestinian Territories and Israel's policies there. The book raised a huge amount of controversy, and Carter faced enormous amounts of criticism for the provocative use of the word 'apartheid' in the title. The documentary shows him defending his choice, and trying to raise discussion about what is actually happening over there.
Watching the documentary bought back a slough of emotions regarding my experience in Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories.
The film was produced (is that the right word?) by Participant Media.
A friend of mine, who will be interning there this summer, turned me on to to the organization, and I am amazed at the way in which they conduct their business. Every film I have seen that they are involved with has made me THINK. Even more important is the way in which they make their films. Check out their mission statement. THAT is what I'm talking about!!!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Election Day in South Africa
Today is the day!!!
South Africans are going to the polls to elect their next government.
While I am more than underwhelmed at what will most likely be the outcome, seeing the images of South Africans of every shade of color winding around city blocks to write there ballot is absolutely beautiful.
Sixteen years ago this would have been a nearly impossible sight to imagine.
I, along with most people I know who love South Africa, will be anxiously waiting to hear the results, with hopes that no matter who is voted into office, they will represent their communities, country and continent well.
I will leave you with a cartoon by the ever-sassy Zapiro, a South African political cartoonist I follow nearly every single day. His sentiments echo many that I have heard from some of my South African friends:
South Africans are going to the polls to elect their next government.
While I am more than underwhelmed at what will most likely be the outcome, seeing the images of South Africans of every shade of color winding around city blocks to write there ballot is absolutely beautiful.
Sixteen years ago this would have been a nearly impossible sight to imagine.
I, along with most people I know who love South Africa, will be anxiously waiting to hear the results, with hopes that no matter who is voted into office, they will represent their communities, country and continent well.
I will leave you with a cartoon by the ever-sassy Zapiro, a South African political cartoonist I follow nearly every single day. His sentiments echo many that I have heard from some of my South African friends:
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