Sarah's Traveling Circus

India!

2011-07-19T09:30:00.000-07:00

Ahmedabad

Tried to send this from my hotel room in India but wasn't successful. Now trying again from Sweden...

First time to India! I'm in Ahmedabad with a new project I'm working on at Karolinska Institutet. The project is taking place in India, China, Indonesia, and Vietnam so I will be visiting these countries in the next month.

With about 4 million people, Ahmedabad is the largest city in the state of Gujarat and the fastest growing city in India. Its an educational and scientific center.
I was fascinated to see the contrasts on the street. Many houses look like shanties and there are people sleeping on the streets, but most of the cars on the road are new and many young people, especially young women, are riding around on mopeds or shiny vespas. The young women straddle the motorcycles in their jeans or baggy pants, while older women sit sidesaddle behind a male driver. Dress is everything from completely western style, to shalmar kammez, and saris.

I guess I was expecting something else from my first trip to India. There are some things that havent surprised me, like the oxen wandering seemingly aimelessly around the streets (although noone told me about the ubiquitous dogs) and the non-stop beeping of horns I can hear even from my 10th floor hotel room. But both Mumbai and Ahmedabad airports were incredibly well-organized and convenient. Passport control at Mumbai had more desks than any airport I've ever visited, including any of the ports of entry in the U.S. When I got on the plane at the Mumbai domestic airport this morning, after only a few hours of sleep, I realized I had forgotten my laptop computer at the security check. The staff of Jet Airways and the ground staff were incredible. They radioed to security and whisked me off to retrieve it, holding the plane until I got back.

I don't know where India is headed, but it will be exciting to watch them go there!

A Christmas Encounter

2010-12-24T15:22:00.000-08:00

After a discussion over Christmas eve dinner about the Swedish "integration" policy, I get a ride home with a Somali taxi driver. Turns out he moved to Sweden 17 years ago so he's lived here 2 years longer than me and his Swedish was better than mine. We chatted about the difference between Californian, Somali and Swedish weather, and how driving in snow is not too different from driving in sand. He asked me about Christmas traditions in the U.S. and I said Santa Claus delivers presents to children's stockings on Christmas eve night. I realized how absurd this must have sounded when he astoundedly asked me who takes care of the costs for this? I realized that he probably thought anything could happen in the "land of opportunity" as he called it. At the same time, he said his sister lives in Ohio and she was jealous about the possiblity for all children in Sweden to get a decent education, even those who dont have money. But he liked the fact that when he is in America nobody asked him "where are you from." I hear that, brother!

Four encounters on my last day in Lesotho

2010-08-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

Encounter 1

C-O-M-E-O-U-T!
C-O-M-E-O-U-T!

The chanting was coming from behind double-doors to my left. As young women wearing dress unusual for women in Lesotho streamed out of the room to go to lunch I stopped in my tracks to listen to a participant explain to an employee that it was a workshop on sexual orientation (actually, since they were speaking in Sesotho I heard "blah, blah, blah, sexual orientation.") In Lesotho! Fantastic!

Encounter 2

At breakfast I had heard some people speaking Swedish in a corner of the restaurant. Since they were white, and there were 2 black toddlers with them chattering to each other in a foreign language, I assemed they had adopted these children, especially since there are very few Swedes who have ever heard of Lesotho, let alone been there. I went over to talk to them and it turns out I was right. There were 2 families and they will live 200 km from each other so the children will have the opportunty to meet in the future. The couples said they were on their way home after 2 weeks of "adventures." Seeing as how they had never been to Africa, I can imagine the adventures they had dealing with the administration of adopting a child. Even getting a taxi in Africa for the unitiated can be an adventure!

Encounter 3

After breakfast I walked down to the golf course to play a round of golf. One of my colleagues had kindly arranged for me to borrow a set of ladies clubs for the day. In Africa you always have to have a caddie, whether you want one or not. Mine was a nice kid who knows that I don't like a lot of unsolicited swing lessons while on the course (on the driving range is another story). They call women of a certain age "Meh" (like the "Ma" of Ma Ramotswe of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency in Botswana). So he would politely try to encourage me or compliment me based on how well I was doing, ever mindful of his tip I am sure (unlike the unwise ballboy in Bangladesh - there you had to have a ballboy AND a caddie. God forbid the player or the caddie should have to look for a ball - who actually said to me: "Maam, you are very good on the green, but you are very bad on the fairway." He obviously wasn't thinking of his tip. But I digress). Anyway, at one point when I was having a bad streak but trying to look on the bright side, I said to my caddie: "Well, at least I'm not duffing the ball." To which he responded in all seriousness, "Oh Meh it makes me so happy you are not duffing the ball!" So there you go. I made one person happy yesterday!

Encounter 4

After an exhausting 18 holes on the brown, dry course, I stopped by an open-air crafts market. There is a cooperative of women living with AIDS that makes beautiful jewlery out of recycled glass. There was a Peace Corps volunteer there who is helping them with their finances and marketing. He agreed that Lesotho is a pretty cushy place to be stationed. Its certainly very different from my post in Chad over 20 years ago. It's such a beautiful country. It's surprising its not overrun with tourists.

2 miles high

2010-08-02T16:00:00.000-07:00

Grand Lake, Colorado
Elevation 8,437 feet (about 3,000 meters)
Temperature: 75 F

The Thomsen Family Reunion 2010 has gathered my siblings, our kids, spouses (spice?) and parents from San Francisco, Las Vegas, Walla Walla, Chicago, Milwaukee and Stockholm. There are 23 of us hanging out in cabins about 2 miles from the entrance to the Rocky Mountain National Forest. We've spent the last few days swimming, horseback riding, hiking, and hanging out with family. This morning I played 18 holes of golf. The air at this altitude is crippling however. It doesn't matter how good shape one is in, walking up 10 steps has you bent over catching your breath.

We took a walk along the Colorado River and saw coyote spoor, bear scratches on a tree, and paw prints from coyote and moose. Unfortunately, half of the trees in the park are dead because of the Pine Beetle. They carry a fungus that destroys mature pines (mostly Ponderosa here) but leave the new saplings alone. So the hope is that when all of the mature trees die, the young ones will grow up in their place. The danger though is all of the millions of acres of deadwood that will pose an immense fire hazard.

We drove over the Continental Divide at about 12,000 feet. Rain that falls on the East side of the Divide eventually flows into the Atlantic and rain that falls on the West side flows into the Pacific. The scenery is incredibly beautiful above the treeline.

Oh, Oregon!

2010-07-28T22:21:00.001-07:00

Portland, Oregon
Temperature: 86 F

We have had a fantastic time in Oregon. Here are some memories we will take home with us:

Cannon Beach and Haystack Rock: The sun is shining through the mist as we land on the beach at about noon. We throw off our clothes and run around in our swimsuits. We walk up and down the beach. I notice that I am the only individual over 10 years of age wearing a swimsuit. No, it was not a nudist beach, they all had clothes on! I was told that Oregonians don't wear swimsuits on the beach. That was weird. We had a wonderful time though. My family used to come to this beach on vacations so it brought back memories...

Multnomah Falls: One of the highest freefalling falls in the U.S. We climbed up to the top of Horsetail Falls and bathed in the water. The falls start from a mountain spring and not from melted snow as we thought. The view over the Columbia was awe-inspiring. One of the most beautiful places we have visited.

Portland: Powells Bookstore, the largest bookstore in the world! And tandem biking on the greenway along the Willamette River. Portland is the most bike-friendly city in the world!

Our next stop is Grand Lake, CO for a family reunion.

Oh, Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean!

2010-07-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

Skamokawa, Washington (population 400)
Air temperature: 85 F.
Water temperature: 68 F.

We are staying with old friends from college (Polo Reunion!) on this bucolic farm in the Columbia River Basin. The Columbia River is the 4th largest river in the U.S. It starts in Canada and ends about 34 miles from here in the Pacific Ocean. Alcyon Farm is about 3 miles from the river situated in a beautiful valley. In the first 24 hours on the farm and kayaking on the river we saw the following wildlife:

Great Blue heron
Osprey
Double-crested Cormorant
Big Brown Bats
Barn Swallows
Violet Green Swallows
Tree Swallows
Purple Martins
Pacific Jumping Mouse
Various farm animals such as chickens, dog, cat, and sheep.

Kayaking on the river (Fredrika and I shared a kayak) was an amazing experience. There was apparently a seal in the water near us but I didn't see him.

Some history: From Skamokowa, Lewis and Clark looked over the Columbia (which they thought was the ocean) and said "Ocean in view, oh the joy!" But since they had 34 miles to go it was just wishful thinking.

Forty percent of wheat produced in the country is transported along the river and it produces the most hydroelectricity in the U.S. Unfortunately, the dams have decimated the salmon population.

Tahoe!

2010-07-24T13:46:00.000-07:00

Lake Tahoe
Air temperature: 82 F.
Water temperature: 64 F.

The second deepest lake in the U.S. (Crater Lake in Oregon is the deepest). Beautifully deep, blue and clear, it is a joy to see and swim in. We visited friends who rent a cabin on the water. Kicking back on the deck, drinking a rum runner, one can easily think one was in heaven...and because of the altitude (over 6,000 feet, or 2,000 meters), the air feels about as thin as heaven. I swam out to some rocks just about 500 meters away and when I swam back the waves had picked up and I started feeling short of breath because of the altitude. Scary...

California Dreamin'

2010-07-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

July 20, 2010
Santa Cruz, CA
75 F

Being back in the Bay Area is always a trip down memory lane. When I get on the 8-lane highways my brain goes into autopilot and I feel as comfortable as a farmer driving her combine. This time, though I was disappointed because my old favorite radio stations (classic rock of course), KSJO and KOME, were gone. What is happening to this world?

For the 4 days we were there (staying in Campbell) I just went around with a big grin on my face. I was so happy to be back where everyone says hi when they pass you on the street, and no one is afraid to look you in the eye even if they don't know you.

There are a lot of things I like about California but there are a few that are simply tragic: like the state of the real estate market (disastrous) and the proliferation of drugs for example. Crystal methamphetamine ("meth") has completely taken over and destroyed countless families. Santa Cruz was always a fairly nutty beach bum town when I was growing up but now meth is accountable for 30% of all crime in the county and 35% of all child custody cases. It really feels like the country is losing the war on drugs here.

Wisconsin Dells - Waterparkmania

2010-07-14T21:15:00.000-07:00

Weather report at noon today: 82F (27C) and 69% humidity.

My daughter loves water and naturally begged me to take her to a waterpark. I hate waterparks, especially indoor ones, so naturally I decided if we were going to do it, we were going to do it right. We went to the Wisconsin Dells (about a 2 hour drive from Milwaukee) and spent 8 hours at Noah's Ark: "The LARGEST WATERPARK IN AMERICA!!!" I was afraid the name of the park would be prophetic and it would rain or I would end up wishing it would rain but it actually was really fun. Luckily it was hot because we ran around an amusement park in our swimsuits and bare feet all day. Most rides were totally fine for a middle-aged mom and a 9 year old child. On only one of them (a rubber saucer that they stick you in and then push you over what feels like a cliff onto a giant skateboard ramp that you slide down one side and up the other, hanging on for dear life) did my bloodcurling screams make a whole line of teenagers mock me in laughter. But it was okay! My favorite part was actually seeing a Sponge Bob Squarepants movie in "4-D" - in our bathing suits of course! I have an unexplainable love of Sponge Bob and my guffaws were surely the loudest of anyone in the theater.

My ex-colleague Dave in North Carolina asked me what one should do with a few days in Milwaukee in August. Well Dave, here are some suggestions of "typical" Milwaukeean things go do (mostly foody things since I guess you are working in the daytime):

1. Vist a Polish restaurant, like Polonez
2. Eat beer n brats at a pub in the third ward
3. Buy some brats to take home from Usinger's
4. Got to the Milwaukee Public Market downtown
5. Go to any restaurant or pub on a Friday for a Milwaukee Fish Fry (or The Comet Cafe on Farwell on any day of the week)
6. See a Brewer's game if they are in town
7. Take a walk/jog on the lake (you can also rent bikes/rollerblades/kites) there
8. Go to a festival (like Irishfest Aug 19-22)
9. Visit the Milwaukee Art Museum. If you don't like art, just go look at the building (Quadracci Pavillion), designed by Santiago Calatrava.
10. Go to a German restaurant, like Karl Ratzsch's Restaurant

If you have a couple of days off and have the kids with you then, of course, go to a waterpark!

Milwaukee: Home of beer 'n brats

2010-07-11T18:05:00.000-07:00

Weather report: 75 F (23 C) and thundershowers

Fredrika and I are in the U.S. for a month now and I thought I would write down some impressions from the "motherland" for friends back in Sweden. Maybe some friends in the States might also find impressions from other parts of the country interesting too.

First day in Milwaukee yesterday. Started off by jogging down to the lake (Lake Michigan). Was a glorious morning. Felt like about 80 degrees at 6:30 am...There were a bunch of guys fishing. One had just pulled up a 3 ft (1 m.) Brown Trout. He got his picture taken with it and then threw it back in. The trout shook himself off and swam away. Said they had saved one that didn't make it to "throw in the smoker." I asked them if the fish from the lake were safe to eat and he said they were just as safe as the stuff in the stores. I was sceptical so I checked out the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources website (see fact sheet here). According to them, Lake Michigan has overly high levels of PCBs and therefore one (who is not pregnant, lactating or under 15) may eat 8 ounces of Brown Trout from the lake every 2 months. Needless to say, that information would not entice me to eat fish from Lake Michigan...

One of the things I miss about the States is the parades. Everyone loves a parade. The only parade that Fredrika has seen is when the former communist party, the socialists, and the trade unions march on May 1 in Sweden. Now this is quite interesting and colorful but, as Fredrika noticed, people watching are unnaturally quiet (if someone knows why, please let me know). Yesterday, we happened upon a local parade in a suburb of Milwaukee so I plopped Fredrika down on the curb and let her run into the street after the fistfuls of candy that were being thrown at the kids along the parade route. There were all the components a parade should have: tricycle-riding shriners, sweaty clowns, bagpiping Irishmen (???), local beauty queens, radio personalities, marching bands playing Summertime, dancing hot dogs, local motorcyle gang members on loud motorcycles, and (my favorite) the Schlitz bike pedal-driven beer bar. All the while, the audience cheered their approval of the people marching or driving by, often by first name since they are all from the same suburb. Now that is something she won't forget!

Leaving Kyrgyzstan

2010-06-12T11:33:00.001-07:00

Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
Sunday, June 13, 2010
12:33 am local time

Well, we are not sure if we need to, but we are leaving Kyrgyzstan early. We feel terrible about what is happening here and wish we could help in some way but there is no way we are helping by being here.

This morning started like yesterday. We got up and took a long walk throught the green parks that are everywhere in town. We passed the Lady Freedom who is in front of the "White House" where the revolution started on April 7. And we passed Lenin, who was moved from this place to a tucked away corner next to the National Historical Museum after the Soviets left. Then we came home, ate breakfast, I went to a spa, and then we were picke up by our local counterpart who had offered to take us to the Osj market where one can buy cheap artisinal crafts. But on the way there a police car blocked the way saying that "they are throwing things in the market." So we went to a department store instead and then had lunch at a café. Everything seemed normal. Children playing, tourists milling, people spending money. We were advised by local friends not to go out at night so we bought a bunch of food and a bottle of Moldavian wine and bunkered down in our hotel room, chatting and occasionally checking a local news website in Russian that is updated every 15 minutes. Unfortuately, what we read wasn't good. The fighting has started in Jalalabad, a town neighboring Osj. Even though this is still the Southern part of the country, it just all started feeling very unstable.

We are sorry to leave our friends in this struggling democracy and wish them good luck!!!

Signing out from Bishkek...

There is NOT a civil war going on here

2010-06-11T11:25:00.000-07:00

Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

June 12, 2010

12:22 am

Two months ago there was a revolution in Kyrgyzstan. The corrupt president fled the country and is likely hiding out in Belarus. The new interim president, Roza Otunbaeva, has created an interim government but there is no parliament yet. A referendum on the new constitution, which would reduce the power of the president, effectively making the country a parliamentary democracy, is scheduled for June 27. However, last night there were clashes between the Kyrgyz and Uzbek ethnic groups in the Southern town of Osj. Most people we talked to today were convinced that this was sponsored by the ex-president's thugs who are paying young, unemployed men to attack each other. Although this can hardly be called ethnic uprising, it has unfortunately caused 42 persons to die so far.

We were hoping that the Kyrgyz would all come to the same conclusion that this is an attempt at destabilization and ignore the provocations. However, tonight, after attending an amazing concert at the National Philharmonic Hall in memory of those who died in the April 7 revolution (classical concert sponsored by the U.S. and Swiss governments), as we were eating Chinese food
we heard gunshots. When we got home we discovered that there had been a couple of thousand young men milling around trying to get supportors to go down to Osj to defend their compatriots. The gunshots were blanks fired by the police to calm and disburse them. We think it worked because things are quiet now.

The crisis will test the interim president who was planning on holding the counry's first democratic parliamentary elections in September. We hope she will get the situation under control as an unstable situation may give Uzbekistan the excuse to move into the Ferghana Valley, which is where Osj is located, and which borders their country. If not, the Russians have offered to help...

We were supposed to be flying home on Wednesday but may re-evaluate the situation over the weekend.

Your correspondent in Bishkek...

Tajikistan - A struggling post-Soviet State

2010-06-03T10:27:00.000-07:00

Tajikistan is a former Soviet State. This lives on in the form of language (Russian being one of the official languages), infrastructure (ah, that lovely Soviet architecture), and systems. But it clearly has its own Tajik identity, culture and poverty (unfortunately). Someone said today that when the Soviets came to Tajikistan the country went directly from being an agrarian society to a modern one, skipping the social and cultural changes that accompanied the industrialization phase in many other countries. So when the Soviets left, a lot of the reforms that had been made (in, for example, women's rights and education) were not prioritized, and the country has since begun to glide back into traditional values. Unfortunately, this has meant that girls are dropping out of school sooner than boys, a shift that goes against development achievements in neighboring countries and that will eventually have an effect on the health of their children and their own future economic empowerment.

Apparently, there is some nostalgia for the old Soviet system and its stability/predictability. Apparently, during the Soviet times people would go to the bakers and buy a half a loaf of bread in the morning because they knew there would be another half to buy freshly baked in the evening. Now they buy whole loaves at a time in the fear that they next time they go there won't be bread.

In essence, as one person told me today, the sovietization of Tajikistan really was a "europization" of the country, both in terms of social issues (like women's issues) but also infrastructure. Nowhere is this more clear apparently than on the border with Afghanistan where one sees power lines and roads up to the border and then nothing on the other side...

Back to the scene of the crime!

2010-06-02T09:26:00.000-07:00

Starbucks at Istanbul airport

My friend and colleague, Susanna, and I are on our way back to Dushanbe. Back to the scene of the crime! In case you missed our adventures in Central Asia in 2008 (and I mean adventures. We were deported, she ended up in the hospital, and we almost got into a brawl with the hotel receptionist in Almaty over a crooked housekeeper's allegations), you can go back to 2008 on this blog and read it!

This time we are chronicalling (how DO you spell that word???) the Swedish Development Agency's work here for the last 14 years since they are leaving the region. Only going to Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan this time. I will be sorry to miss the Grand Bazaar in Tashkent (Uzbekistan).

I am content because I pulled a muscle in my back (doing sit-ups. How in the world???) and was in pain on the plane here. But we found one of those energy masseuses at the airport here and he fixed me up for the moment. Ah, the simple pleasures of life!

Are the Basotho doomed to die out?

2010-05-11T11:16:00.000-07:00

One cannot be in Lesotho for more than a couple of days without the topic of HIV/AIDS coming up. The country has the dubious honor of having the 3rd highest HIV prevalence rate in the world (after Swaziland and Botswana). With one-quarter of the population infected with HIV, and 60 new infections EVERY DAY, the consequences are obviously enormous, and not just on the economy. I was told by an official in charge of HIV /AIDS here that at one point they were so overwhelmed they assumed that the whole population would eventually die of AIDS. There are almost 100,000 AIDS orphans in Lesotho (19% of all children in the country), so maybe they weren't far off.

Only 15 years ago the prevalence was "only" 5%. The reason for the high prevalence and its rapid spread are similar to other countries in the region: multiple sexual partners at the same time, low condom use, older men preying on younger women, and poverty. Low male circumcision rates are probably also a contributor.

The strange thing is that one doesn't hear the word HIV in society here. There are "testing centers" and people die young but noone talks about how. There are not many older people working in the Ministry of Health. I guess they are all dead. And yet people keep going on with their lives. They seem happy. They work and carry on. They don't talk about it much. It's spooky but a testament to human nature.

Lesotho- the Mountain Kingdom

2010-05-10T11:59:00.000-07:00

I'm in the Kingdom of Lesotho. A tiny mountainous country completely encircled by South Africa (like Swaziland). The self-proclaimed "Switzerland of Africa." Population 1.8 million. Being in the Southern hemisphere it is winter here now and cold. The weirdest thing is seeing the maple (!) leaves turning color. I have never seen maple trees or leaves turning color in Africa, having spent 20 years living and traveling to countries with a much warmer climate. Apparently it gets down to minus 10 celsius in August. That doesn't feel like Africa! The explanation of course is that the country varies between 2,000 and 3,000 meters elevation. No wonder I feel like Bugs Bunny on ether when I try to jog here!

Lesotho gained independance from the British (it was a protectorate) in 1966. Before that it was called Basutoland. People here are very friendly and open, except to the Chinese, who have started running a lot of the garment factories that are popping up all over. Apparently, the Basotho (the word for people who live in Lesotho. And they speak Sesotho) resent the Chinese for buying up factories although they pay taxes like everyone else and provide jobs to the unemployed.

Addendum: I was later told that resentment stems from reportedly poor standards and wages for workers from the Chinese owners.

Leaving Anafora

2010-01-03T07:34:00.000-08:00

I wrote these posts while in Anafora (December 26-January 2) but since I did not have/want internet access there, I am posting them all at once. To read in the right order, start at the bottom of this thread: "Journey to Anafora."

Today is my last day in Anafora and Egypt. I spent breakfast as I have several mornings now, in conversation with Bishop Thomas, asking him about all sorts of things. He has told me about what happens to the identities of monks when they enter monastaries by relating the story of when he was ordained. When Coptic priests are ordained they symbolically "die." The altar and the full funeral service is performed for them with a sheet over their body and face. The Bishop's description of the feeling of dying, letting go of everything and then being re-born with a new name was very moving. Because he felt it was so personal, he chose to be ordained in a remote church, and not in his home town where it usually occurs, in front of one's family. I can't imagine how that would feel to see one's son or husband die (Coptic priests can marry but they have to before they are ordained; Afterwards it is too late)!

After a moving goodbye with the staff and the Bishop (and his blessing), I went to Cairo with Katja and Anna-Clara and was given a feeling for the noise, pollution, traffic, and "controlled chaos" of one of the world's largest cities (17 million). We went to a beautiful store with handmade cotton and linen clothes in amazing colors. Later, after lunch, I was driven to the airport and had an uneventful (although delayed) trip home. I arrived home at 3 am to a white, chilly Stockholm.

Waking up, I can hardly believe I was in the desert 24 hours before, eating rice pudding and chatting with the Bishop. However, the memories will remain fresh for a long time, and the friendships I made will last forever I am sure.

Anafora is an amazing place for anyone who is interested in experiencing a community of faith, love and peace. I highly recommend it!

Pax

Anafora - January 1, 2010

2010-01-03T06:48:00.000-08:00

The first day of the new year! I spent the day visiting two Egyptian sites with very different histories: the shiny, modern Carrefour mall (I had to get some money from the ATM) and the 4th century Coptic monastary of St. Bishoi in Wadi Natrun. I won't waste time writing about the mall since it looked like any mall in the U.S. (including chain stores like the Body Shop and Accessorize) except to say that there must be some people making money to Egypt to sustain a mall like that!

Wadi Natrun (which means 'salt valley' in Arabic), and its monastaries, is considered to be the cradle of all Christian monastic life. Sometime in the 4th century, Egyptian holy people (both men and women) began to wander out into the desert to be able to fully experience God. Some of them became stationary hermits, some wandered around the desert in solitude for their whole lives, and others began to live together in communities. At the height of the monastic period in Egypt, there were said to be 100,000 monks and nuns living in 1,000 monastaries. Today there are 4 left in Wadi Natrun (and a few more scattered around Egypt). The founder of monastic life is considered to be St Anthony but other big names are Macarius (see icon with his image, painted at Anafora) and Bishoi.

St Bishoi Monastary is the oldest and largest surviving monastary, and it is where the Coptic pope (H.G. Shenouda) comes to stay and celebrate mass every weekend. It is also where a Benedectine friend of the family, Father Mark Gruber, spent a year in the late 80's carrying out his doctoral research in anthropology. He later wrote a book about his experiences, called Journey Back to Eden. My Life and Times among the Desert Fathers (Orbis Books, 2002). A quote from that book shows why the desert was responsible for this monastic life: "The desert teaches us how helpless we are, how much we depend on one another for survival. It is with a complete sense of dependence, a complete sense of helplessness that we must approach God, and that we mush approach one another in terms of possessiveness or control." I think this idea might also explain why Anafora is the way it is.

We (a French retreatant and myself) got to St. Bishoi rather late in the day when all the tourists were gone and there was noone around to give us a tour. So we wandered kind of aimlessly around, appreciating the full relics of St. Bishoi himself and the architecture of the old part of the monastary (there is a huge new church - see picture at right below - and living quarters built in the 80's that is less interesting). As we were about to leave we were approached by a couple of laymen who asked if we would like to meet the Bishop of St. Bishoi. Of course, we jumped at the chance

and were ushered into a reception room where we met him, received his blessing, and also a blessed pen with the virgin Mary (made in China)! After this a very talkative monk (named Father Cedrac) gave us a personal tour of all of the interesting bits of the monastary that we had not seen because they were locked. So we were glad that we didn't just rush away, but were open to whatever would happen!

Anafora - December 31

2010-01-03T06:19:00.000-08:00

Today is new year's eve and there is a lot of preparation going on at Anafora. This morning we planted seeds in a ceremony to symbolize hope for the new year. As we were standing there, we saw a shepard and a camel "walking" through the orange orchard towards us. Gradually, we saw that they were made of paper maché and being carried! They had been commissioned by the Bishop for the evening's ceremony but serendipitously arrived while we were planting!

After some inspiring hymns (see me at right singing a "duet" with Bishop Thomas), we got to work inscribing 200 bible verses in English and Arabic on to small pieces of paper. The Bishop had personally chosen them as messages of hope for the new year. Tonight each person will get one to take with them. Then Anna Clara (one of the Swedes living here) and I supervised a group of nuns and girls visiting from El Qussira in baking around 200 Lucia buns (Swedish advent buns with saffron; we had to add tumeric because we didn't have enough saffron, which added a somewhat strange taste to the buns...). It was a hilarious sight with all of us up to our elbows in yellow dough and flour flying everywhere. We decorated them with honey when they came out since they are fasting until Epiphany and cannot eat any animal products (we usually spread egg yolks on top to make them shiny).

In the evening there was lots of hymn singing instead of the normal 8 pm service and I was asked to read aloud the translated version of some of the psalms that they were singing in Coptic, which I felt honored to do. I left after a half hour or so of the chanting and came back at 10 pm for the mass, which the Bishop sped up to only 90 minutes instead of 2 hours in order for there to be time for a meditation before midnight. At 11.55 pm we all went forward and threw incense on the embers of a large pit placed in the front of the church, silently making our wishes for the new year, we each took a bible verse out of a basket, and everyone who wanted got a blessed loaf of bread (I saved mine since is has a cool stamp on it with Coptic letters). At midnight everyone lit a candle and wished each other Happy New Year! This was followed by a feast, since they had been fasting since 3 pm (Copts always fast for 9 hours before receiving communion). It was by far the most interesting and peaceful new year's eve I have ever spent!

Anafora - December 30

2010-01-03T05:57:00.000-08:00

I learned my first Coptic words: nani gurhh ("good night") from Sister Martha. She is the one who paints all of the Iota crosses. She is 27 but looks about 12. We spend a lot of time communicating in sign language and in my hopeless Arabic. I spoke Chadian Arabic (a dialect about as understandable to other Arabic-speakers as pidgin English is to English speakers) when I lived in Chad from 1988-1990, and later studied Modern Standard Arabic (spoken on news programs like Al Jazeera) at the Univ of Michigan in the early 1990's but I have sadly forgotten almost everything. Anyway, I can pretend that my lack of understanding is due to the dialect spoken here at Anafora which is Upper Egyptian, and different from that spoken in Cairo.

There is a half-hour service at 8 every evening, which the bishop tries to make more accessible by giving some instructions in English, allowing the epistle reading to be given in whatever language is represented by the congregants that evening, and making time for some hymns to be sung in English. I have been doing the readings in English (others did them in Swedish, Norwegian, French and Arabic) and also leading some songs in English. Tonight I was surprised to hear a strong male voice in the back of the church joining in on Amazing Grace. It was Bishop Thomas, who had learned the song in his many travels!

I have learned from a visiting Copt that Anafora is not appreciated by all Copts because it breaks from tradition on several counts: the church is not traditionally built, women participate in the liturgy, and there is an attempt at ecumenism. I think that Bishop Thomas is a visionary who really cares about peace, in the same spirit as Brother Roger of Taizé.

Anafora - December 29

2010-01-03T05:08:00.000-08:00

I didn't get much sleep last night since 4 or 5 mosquitos trapped inside my net dive-bombed me all night. Still, I was up at 6 am to attend the full morning mass which is 2 hours long and celebrated every morning here at Anafora, and is open to all. I had borrowed a copy of the liturgy in Swedish with helpful cartoon pictures to indicate where you are in the service. The service involves a lot of incense, which the book helpfully informed me symbolizes the wishes and prayers going up to God. For the most part, though (and I am sure I will be criticized for saying so), the service seemed the same as the Catholic and Anglican masses I have attended, just longer! The church (in the picture to the right and in a link on Facebook here) doesn't have pews, but luckily hand-loomed rugs that are ubiquitous at Anafora, and prayer stools. You take your shoes off before entering. Some wicker chairs are also available for those who cannot kneel. Hanging from the ceiling at the front of the church is an ostrich egg, which can be found in all Coptic churches. The egg represents new life. The eye in this church, which is not found in other Coptic churches, seemes to symbolize the eye of God watching over the egg. It's powerful imagery.

Unlike the all-night advent service, there wasn't too much standing in the mass. Actually, the periodic standing was welcome after kneeling on the rugs. The women generally sit on the right and the men on the left. Thus, it wasn't hard to notice that, apart from Father Ismael and the deacon, there were no men present. I assume they were already out working on the farm.

After the service I was presented with a piece of the blessed (but not consecrated) communion bread, a welcome treat after a 2-hour mass with no breakfast! At breakfast afterwards, Father Ismael (the priest-in-training), who is my age, asked if he could have his picture taken with me (see picture to the right). I thought this was funny - wasn't I the one who was the tourist? But it was pointed out to me, again, that Anafora is a meeting place for people from different worlds. Father Ismael is from a small town that does not see a lot of tourists. Being at Anafora is as big an experience from him as it is for me!

I was also pleasantly suprised to see many young Copts (in their 20's) who came to Anafora to "retreat" just like me (see picture of me and Hannah to the right)! In talking to them, I discovered a big difference between us retreatants, however: instead of waiting until they are exhausted and in need of a full relaxation experience like many of us Westerners, these young people come to retreats periodically to "top up" their spiritual batteries before they are running on empty. They have such a relaxed and open attitude to spirituality, it is positively inspiring.

Anafora - December 28

2010-01-03T04:01:00.000-08:00

I don't write much about what I am doing here because I am not doing much! I mostly lie around and read, sleep and meditate (picture of my room and terrace here. Note the icon I purchased on the wall to the right). I feel like one of those patients in the old movies who go to the Alps and lie in the sun to recover from whatever is ailing them. This is okay because this is what Anafora is about, I have been told. You make it into whatever you want (except, I suppose, an amusement park or disco). This is why there are no brochures or web sites about the place. They don't want it put into a box and labeled. Anyway, it is too hard to find a label. It is a home for an order of sisters (Catholics would call them "apostolic religious sisters," but the Copts refer to them as "deaconesses"), a working farm, a guest house, a retreat center, the center of a vigorous parish, and much more. Most of all it is a community.

The sisters all started by coming from the Bishop's home parish of El-Qussia to help serve the visitors and some expressed the wish to stay and form a community of sisters. Today there are about 10 sisters and there are more young women who want to move here than there is room for. Apart from their religious fervour, some explanations for the girls' coming is the lack of gainful employment for them in their hometown and the absence of marriagable men due to many migrating for work to other Arab countries. The sisters cook for the community, paint icons that they sell, make organic soaps and jams (fig, hibiscus, bitter orange) and oils and sewn articles that they also sell to support the community. They also run the farm together with farmworkers who also live on the grounds with their families (about 2.5 km in diameter).

In addition to the sisters and guests, there is a parish priest named Father Cherubim (who looks like a baby angel with a beard!), and a priest-in-training, Father Ismael, who is doing his 40-day practical study before being sent to El-Qussia to serve his parish. This parish chose Father Ismael, who is an engineer by training, as a person who they wanted to be trained as a priest and serve them. The 40 day training should be done in a monastary but Anafora also "counts," again showing the special nature of this place in the Coptic church. A couple of Swedish women also live and work there, one of whom helped to found Anafora, and one of whom has recently converted to the Coptic Orthodox church.

Then there are the guests, who come from all over the world, some to seek peace and rest (like myself), and some to come for a night or two on their way between the pyramids and the monastaries of Wadi Natrum (which is just a few kilometers away).

Anafora - December 27

2010-01-03T03:37:00.000-08:00

I slept well, only occasionally woken by the braying donkey - something I haven't heard since I lived in Africa in the early 90's.

At breakfast I met Bishop Thomas (picture to the right) - the founder of Anafora. He is around 50 years old and has a special twinkle in his eyes that have seen much suffering but also much joy. He's one of those people who seem to look straight into your soul. Over tea and a breakfast of rice pudding and homemade jams and bread, we chatted about the difference between the Egyptian and Ethiopian Coptic churches (primarily cultural and linguistic), and the origins of the written Coptic language, which I had seen on the gates when I arrived.

In pharaonic Egypt (from about 3,000 BC to 332 when Alexander the Great conquered Egypt), the written language was hieroglyphic but the people spoke Demotic. When the Greeks came they applied the Greek alphabet but there where 6 letters that did not exist in Greek so these were simply added. The Egyptian language, as represented by Coptic today, is the oldest surviving language in history.

The name 'Egypt' is derived from the word Copt. When the Arabs conquered in the 7th century BC they forced most Egyptians (who were all Christians at the time) to become Muslims, and Arabic became the lingua franca of the country, which is called Misr in Arabic. Today the Christian Copts are a minority (about 10%) and suffer considerable discrimination in Egypt because of their refusal to confirm to Islam (although the government claims to be tolerant, there are numerous examples of blatant discrimination which are never resolved equitably, creating periodically serious ethnic tensions). Very few families speak Coptic today but the language is very much alive in the church services - about half of the psalms I heard in the advent service were sung in Coptic (the rest in Arabic). At Anafora children are taught Coptic in "Sunday school."

Journey to Anafora

2010-01-03T03:05:00.000-08:00

I wrote these posts while in Anafora (December 26-January 2) but since I did not have/want internet access there, I am posting them all at once.

I decided at the last minute (December 21) to go to Egypt to stay at a "Coptic retreat farm" for a week starting the day after Christmas. I took a chartered flight down, which I thought would be amusing at best and frightening at worst, since these flights are generally full of Swedes bound for merry-making at one of the beach resorts at Sharm el Sheikh or Hurghada. Indeed, this flight was too, but folks were sedated in the post-Christmas feeding frenzy (the people sitting in front of me only had a couple of gin and tonics and wine with lunch) and not everyone seemed bound for a tourist resort. There were others - such as the Arabic-speaking, Swedish passport-carrying gentlemen who sat next to me - who also seemed to be taking advantage of the cheap, direct flights to Cairo.

After 4.5 hours (plus one hour sitting on the plane in Stockholm while the wings were being de-iced), we landed in Cairo. I was picked up in a nice van and driven for a couple of hours, the first of which seemed to be getting out of Cairo through moonlit cityscapes of colonial buildings, laundry lines and minarets.

Eventually we turned off a smaller freeway into a gate with script above it saying "Anafora," but spelled in what looked like Greek letters. We drove around various domed mud and wattle buildings of different sizes. Finally we came down an alley lit with lamps covered in baskets and stopped in front of a building. We were greetted by some women who had dinner waiting for us (a Swedish guy was also picked up): homemade pasta soup, tahini (sesame paste served with every meal, I've discovered), fresh bread, feta cheese, olives and a lovely green mango paste. One of the Swedish residents - Katja - gave us the history of the place, showed me my room, and then took me to watch some of the advent service in the church that takes place every Saturday night before the Coptic Christmas, celebrated on January 6 (our Epiphany). They had a visiting group from Cairo so there were about 100 people standing, singing biblical psalms until 4 a.m. It was very dark, only lit by candles so it was difficult to notice anything about the church except that the outside form reminds one of a cave (below is a picture taken in the morning). Fell asleep to the sound of mosquitos buzzing outside my net and a donkey braying somewhere in the distance...

Eastern Congo - the trail of tears

2009-07-03T09:52:00.000-07:00

Goma is a pit, a lava pit. There is one road that goes through town, full of holes (the joke goes, when asked which side of the road Congolese drive on they say "the one with the least amount of potholes"), on which hundreds of cars, mostly aid workers, choke their way back and forth all day long. Everything is black and grey because of the lava. The volcano, only a few kilometers away, last erupted in 2002, destroying 60% of the city, an ironic act of God in an area that has been war-torn for 20 years. People are using the stones to build walls and make bricks, which is why everything is so dark. The setting, however, is incredible, being on the edge of Lake Kivu.

I am supposed to be looking at what the health situation is like, and what is being done for women and children, including those who are victims of sexual violence, which unfortunately is a very big problem in the region right now. Hundreds of women and children are sexually assaulted very month (UNFPA documented over 250 girls under 9 raped in 2007) and those are the ones that have dared come forward and managed to find help. Up to now the majority of cases have reportedly been perpetrated by "men in uniform" (rebel army soldiers, Congolese army soldiers, police, and even some UN "peacekeepers"). Originally, rebel forces were using this as a way to de-stabilize families. Women are the main workers in the family. By attacking, and raping women, often in front of their husbands and children, they were attacking the fabric of society. The sexual violence results in a) the woman being traumatized and stigmatized, b) the husband and children being traumatized, c) the woman sometimes becoming pregnant (although if they make it to a clinic with emergency kits, they can get the "morning after pill" and an HIV prophylaxis), d) the woman getting a sexually transmitted infection (50-70% of the victims seen in clinics are infected), including HIV, e) the woman sometimes being brutalized by the soldiers resulting in f) fistulas and complications during subsequent deliveries. Unfortuately, the sexual violence is now being committed by civilian men as well (although there is uncertainty about whether or not they are demilitarized soldiers).

Women have a terrible situation in Congo anyway. They are treated like property by their hubands, as beasts of burden, do all the work int he fields, and bear on average 7 children in their lifetime. In all of my meetings (maybe 30) I met with only 2 women in positions of power. And now this. I don't envy Congolese women at all. As one older Congolese woman said to us "La femme congolaise fait tout dans la famille. Elle travail dans les champs, elle porte l'eau, elle prepare le manger, et quand elle se couche, il ya a le monsieur qui vient la deranger!"

Congo!

2009-07-01T13:52:00.000-07:00

I have been in the Democratic Republic of Congo (former Zaire) for 10 days now but have not had the energy, or internet connection, to write about it. There is so much to assimilate that it takes all my energy just to attend meetings and figure out what is going on. The size of Western Europe, its enormity is beyond comprehension; a sub-continent (but with only about 70 million people, although there hasn’t been a census for over 20 years so they are not really sure), it’s hard to believe it is one country.

I am on a mission with the Swedish International Development Agency (equivalent of USAID) to assess the health sector in this country in order to make recommendations about how Sweden should/could help. The health needs are overwhelming. Each of the 11 provinces has its own culture, language (250 spoken here), norms, geographic peculiarities, economic base, and problems, as they would if they were 11 countries.

Although it possesses some of the greatest natural resources in the world (including coltan, used in cell phones), it is one of the poorest. One major problem that seems to be making everything else worse is the lack of roads and modes of transportation. There used to be roads all over the country but Mobuto let them fall to pieces in order to prevent his enemies from getting to Kinshasa (one should not forget here that Mobuto was put into power by the U.S. and Europe who had the first president of the republic overthrown and then supplied Mobuto with hundreds of millions of dollars in weapons). The lack of roads and transport makes everything - education, trade, forestry, security, and health care- hundreds of times harder (although I wonder if this might be why HIV – “only” at 4.1% - might also be lower than one would think given the high level of other sexually transmitted infections). The only safe way to get around (there are commercial planes but they are notoriously the most unsafe in the world) is by missionary plane or with the UN plane, which is how I got out here to Goma, on the border with Rwanda, the epicenter of Africa’s “first world war” (involving 7 nations) and the largest humanitarian catastrophe in the world today…

Fairness Meter

2009-04-02T16:04:00.000-07:00

The billboards are everywhere. A close-up of a woman’s face with a card against it showing a scale of skin tones from dark to light. Like a litmus test. The sign says “Fairness Meter” and is advertizing a skin lightening product. In South Asia the whiter your skin, the more beautiful you are. So skin lightening products are everywhere. Fair enough (pun intended), in the West, we buy skin darkening products (tan in a bottle) to fulfill our own bizarre beauty ideals (and some still destroy their skin by spending hundreds of hours in tanning booths and on the beach). But the way these skin whitening products are being marketed is blatantly “degrading” (my female Bangladeshi colleague’s word) to dark skinned people, women in particular.

Skin lightening product TV commercial #1: The father of a dark-skinned woman is lamenting the fact that he has no son and therefore no money. The daughter uses the skin lightening product and lands a job as an air hostess. In the last scene of the commercial she is shown taking her parents to a 5 star hotel for coffee.

Skin lightening product TV commercial #2: A dark-skinned stunt man is a nobody until he uses the skin lightening product whereupon the director suddenly “notices” him and gives him the starring role in the film.

Obviously, neither person is purported to get the job based on merit, but on the color of their skin. Unfortunately, this is probably a real reflection of existing discrimination (just as naturally dark-skinned people are in Northern societies). What I find fascinating is that the commercials naturally condone this discrimination. Their solution? Cosmetics as social equity.

The ‘Fairness meter’ is promoted to right the wrongs in society that you have no control over. It is not fair that dark-skinned persons are discriminated against but if they use this product they can control this discrimination. By becoming fairer skinned, they are being given a ‘fair shake’ in society.

There are many ironies in this campaign, but the cruelest is that the products are actually extremely harmful to one’s skin, eventually degrading the elasticity to the point that if one required surgery on the face, it would be impossible to carry it out. So the dark-skinned are being convinced to buy a product that will supposedly give them opportunities in life, but the price they pay (in addition to the product) is destroyed skin.

Dallywood

2009-03-23T08:29:00.000-07:00

My Bangladeshi colleagues have recounted to me two popular themes for movies in Bangladesh:

1. Young man has all of the right qualities of perfect husband: handsome, educated, refined, brave, etc. But he has no money. Daughter of rich man falls in love with perfect poor man. Father of rich man will have nothing to do with him. Daughter falls into the clutches of evil man (kidnaps her, leads her astray, etc). Father is helpless. Perfect poor man saves the girl and the day and convinces helpless father that he is worth daughter. Mother-in-law, who supported her daughter all the time, is vindicated. The whole drama is performed to singing and dancing. Apparently, all movies are variations on the same theme.

2. The recounting of the story of the Bangladesh revolution in 1971. People never get tired of hearing patriotic stories about the “freedom fighters,” those who fought and lost their lives (est. 3 million) in the independence from Pakistan.

Maybe there is a connection between the two genres. Bangladeshis do not accept fate. They continue to fight to improve their situation. Everywhere you look you see industrious people (mostly men; women are not encouraged in visible workplaces), driving rickshaws, making bricks, pounding iron, selling wares. It is rare to see someone idle. I guess that is why Bangladesh has made such advances in the last 30 years despite being located in a hurricane zone, and starting out as a nation with very poor circumstances.

NB: In the interest of fairness, my host, a film producer himself, has pointed out that a handful of Bangladeshi filmmakers have won international critique for their work at the Academy Awards for Best Foreign Film (nomination) and the Cannes, Montreal, Marrakesh film festivals. Most notable is Tarik Masud The Clay Bird, which I plan to watch while here.

Hazardous to Your Health

2009-03-22T09:57:00.000-07:00

Traveling by road in Bangladesh is not for the faint-hearted. There are no more than two lanes and a hell of a lot of cars, buses, trucks, and rickshaws (in the urban areas) to share them. Driving long-distance consists of 90% passing, accompanied by beeping horns. As the shoulders are always occupied by rickshaws or other pedaled modes of transportation, the cars, busses, and trucks conduct a constant game of “Chicken,” waiting to see who will swerve first. This is usually decided by whoever honks the longest and loudest. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the size of the vehicle. Small cars will stare down 2 ton trucks. It is harrowing, to say the least. On our way out to Shirzgaz, we came upon a recent head-on collision between a truck and a bus. Ten people were killed.

I claimed the only seat in the car with a three-point seat belt, claiming my status of a single mother as a reason. The downside is that it is in the front of the car, which means I see everything. Probably would have been better to sit in the back with the others. I can’t imagine anyone surviving a collision with one of these busses or trucks, seat belt or not…

Dhaka!

2009-03-18T09:24:00.000-07:00

I’m in Dhaka, Bangladesh. My first trip to South Asia, I was experiencing more culture shock. But from the beginning the town reminded me of Nairobi: lots of buildings, terrible traffic, and crowds of people. Except the traffic is worse here than I have ever experienced. My hotel is 7 kilometers from City Hall, where we have our meetings, and it takes us an hour and a half to get there and the same time (or more) to get back in the evening. The air is so polluted that your chest is constantly scratchy and you find yourself coughing even though you are not sick. My friend Robin, who has lived here for 18 months, says she and her family are sick every 3 months. So I guess it is a good thing that I have spent every minute of the last 3 days inside or in the car. Tomorrow we are going to visit health clinics.

I am here with a team of experts conducting a mid-term review of a $90 million urban public health project funded mostly by Asian Development Bank (and the Brits, the Swedes, and UNFPA). It is extremely ambitious, and designed to serve the most needy in the urban slums – of which there are currently 30 million people in Bangladesh. At the current growth rate, 50% of Bangladesh will be living in urban areas in 25 years. So this is a highly relevant project, and exciting to be here.

Popular kid on the block

2009-01-26T13:26:00.000-08:00

I've lived overseas off and on for 20 years now and I can honestly say that this is the first time in my life that I am popular because I'm American. After Obama won my friend Carla said "I can finally hold my head high overseas and say I'm American." And I agreed. I have spent the last 20 years trying to hold my voice down in supermarkets, in shops, and on the subway so noone would know where I was from (particularly difficult when one's daughter, who at 5 was still innocent about speaking English in public and the secular nature of this country, would remark loudly once in awhile, "MOMMY, TELL ME THE STORY ABOUT BABY JESUS!"). As any American expat will know, this isn't because I was ashamed to be American. I just was sick of the stares and the sometimes unpleasant remarks people feel obliged to make to you as if you represented the government or the whole population (and sometimes because of the security risk).

When Obama was elected I received numerous e-mails, text messages, and phone calls from all kinds of Swedish friends and acquaintances who simply wanted to share in the wonder of his election. And I was gratified. I was only thrown once when my next-door neighbor called me (no, she didn't come and knock on my apartment door and say it in person) to congratulate me about "my man." Now, "man" in Swedish could either be husband or just man and I was totally thrown for a minute because I had no idea who she was talking about. I haven't been married for over 2 years. Did she know something I didn't? But then I realized she was talking about Obama, because she had seen the poster on the inside of my door.

Its weird suddenly being the popular kid on the block when you are used to being bullied, though. I don't quite know how to react. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just know something is going to happen and everyone is going to say "We always knew you were a bunch of idiots!" I got a taste of this at a Democrats Abroad inauguration event last week where some Swedish guests were disparaging about the prayers before and after the speech, and disapproving of Obama's emphasis on national security. I felt like saying "if you don't understand the role of religion/spirituality in American culture or the importance of national security post 9-11 then you haven't understood why Obama won or what he is facing."

I have been saving up some more pithy observations but am trying to be better about being concise so I'll stop here. Comments welcome!

Last stop: Dushanbe

2008-06-06T10:37:00.001-07:00

June 6, 2008

Dushanbe, Tajikistan

Tajikistan is the poorestof the four countries that we visited on this mission. Sixty percent of the population lives on less than $2 a day. The contrast coming from Kazakhstan, the richest in the region, is striking. Dujanbe is more the size of a regional capital, so I have to keep reminding myself that I am in the capital of a country. I attended a reception where there was a representative from the U.S. embassy and I was blown away when he said they had 50 staff here, until he reminded me that Tajikistan shares a border with Afhanistan. Oh, yeah...

Another contrast besides the wealth is the clothing styles, indicating a much more traditional culture. Virtually all women wear long skirts and many cover their heads with a scarf. But for some reason, they only seem to import the baggiest dresses with the loudest, brightest prints. If Tashkent was dominated by extremely fashion-concious women wearing very well-cut, form-fitting dresses, this country can be said to be a fashion nightmare. It's also hot. Damn hot. Temperatures over 40 celsius (105 farenheit) in the shade. So having to wear long, polyester dresses must not be much fun. I sweat buckets just looking at them.

The Tajikstanis are poor, but they are working hard to re-build their country after 10 years of civil war, 60,000 dead, and half a million displaced. Forty percent of the adult population has migrated internationally (mostly to Russia) for work. They must be finding it because they send a half a billion dollars a year back to the country, which is about 70% of the GNP.

There are so few tourists here, and an apparently amazing mountain range, it seems criminal that we won't see anything outside our hotel or office. Luckily, our hotel - Marion's Guesthouse - is a veritable oasis. Both Susanna and I almost broke into tears when we arrived. It is a B and B with 8 rooms and a small pool, large rooms, free wi-fi, free driving service, free laundry service, and 80 euros a night. Just too good to be true. So we are glad that we are ending our trip here.

I have to end with a quote about another hotel in town from the Lonely Planet Central Asia guidebook, which has been our bible for restaurant eating anyway. The wry style of writing makes it an enjoyable read, regardless of whether or not one is traveling there:

Hotel Avesto: Old-fashioned and chronically overpriced monster with a dreary Soviet feel, though some rooms have a fine view of the mosque and the suites are big enough to get lost in. the management must be waiting for the Brezhnev-era wallpaper to come back into style. The US and Russian embassies used to be here, so expect some rooms to be bugged...

23 hours in Kazakhstan

2008-06-05T03:11:00.000-07:00

June 5, 2008

En route from Almaty, Kazkhstan to Dujanbe, Tajikstan

We got in the country but I’m not sure it was worth $262 in visa support and visa costs and all of the hassle. If Uzbekistan was characterized by friendliness and hospitality (and a certain level of ‘cloak and dagger’), then Kazakhstan can be characterized by its suspicion and xenophobia.

From the time we arrived until we left we felt unwelcome, examined, and suspected. For example, arriving at one of the “luxury” hotels in town (former Department of Geology), we are greeted with “Documenty!” We were then given the privilege of handing over $200 for one night in a giant (thankfully cool) cave with one small double bed (strangely short), two chairs, two bedside tables, a desk and a TV. But it is only one night and we are in Central Asia and are not going to complain. The high cost and low value is irritating but we had been warned that Almaty is a very expensive city. However, we were given a taste of the back side (or maybe cause) of the paranoia here the next morning when we were checking out of our room: pure corruption. The housekeeper came to our room to check the mini-bar. She claimed that we drank 2 bottles of water (complimentary water is apparently not included in the $200). We insist that we only drank one bottle of water and show her the empty bottle as evidence. Down at the front desk, we are now accused of drinking three bottles of water. We are obviously being scammed and insist that we will only pay for one bottle. It’s not the money that is the problem (although $4 for 250 ml of water is a scam in itself), but the fact that we know the blasted housekeeper is completely corrupt. They threaten to call the police if we don’t pay for the other two bottles and since prison isn’t something we want to add to our list of misadventures, we call our contact in Almaty who talks to her. She then tells him there is no problem because “I only charged them for one bottle.” Grrr…Needless to say, we couldn’t wait to get out of the country.

But trying to leave is almost as difficult as getting in. The passport control to leave is puzzlingly the most rigorous of any country I have ever visited. But all of the suspicion and unfriendliness we experienced probably had nothing to do with us; Kazkhstan has simply not been able to shake the Soviet mantle the way the other Central Asian countries we have visited have. For example, we noticed that every time two people exchanged shifts, all items and money had to be counted and checked. I think the paranoia would drive me crazy if I lived here.

Enough whining. We are now on a Tajik Air flight to Dujanbe, Tajikstan and already we can feel that the final country on our tour is going to be very different from anything we have experienced thus far. Boarding was a chaotic, whirling adventure, with people waving their boarding cards around, children bawling, and someone blasting Persian music from their own radio for everyone’s enjoyment. A troupe of 10 year old “Scouts” walks by with blue uniforms and white braiding, a line of skinny, grim Indian or Pakistani men file by. The only people not making noise are the few women in headscarves. Lunch is a plastic box filled with a potpourri of items from around the world: Finnish cheese, a Chinese wet wipe, Turkish peach juice and chocolate, Russian chicken and prune pate and apricot jam, Iranian cookies, Moroccan Nescafe, Belarusian hard candies, Dutch butter, and boiled eggs and bread presumably from Kazakhstan. The United Nations in a box!

Control, gender and HIV in Uzbekistan

2008-06-05T03:05:00.000-07:00

June 2, 2008

Tashkent, Uzbekistan

Uzbekistan is one of the most tightly controlled countries in the world. Everything is orderly and clean and one constantly feels watched. All of our meetings are attended by more than one person, presumably to control the information that we receive. There seems to be little crime. But they can’t seem to keep the drugs out. In some areas of the country (near Afghanistan and Turkmenistan) heroin is apparently cheaper than vodka (which is dirt cheap). One can imagine what a nightmare it would be if the same were the case in Europe or the U.S. Some say the problem has gotten worse since the Americans entered Afghanistan. Others give a more nuanced picture, which is that it initially peaked, but then has declined and is still quite high.
We have been told that before the ‘War on Terror,’ “Everybody loved Americans.” Now not everybody loves Americans. Despite this, we met several people who say they know at least 10 people who have emigrated to the U.S. They say they like it, except for the food.

I didn’t feel any anti-Americanism there, albeit I was speaking Swedish the whole time. Those who did find out I was American usually smiled broadly and asked where I was from. Then they told me where their family and friends lived: “New York, Tennessee, Los Angeles…”

One of the unfortunate backsides of this lovely and friendly country is the status of women. Although they are to be found at all levels of the workforce (30% of parliamentarians are women, which is better than the U.S. senate!), their role is apparently extremely controlled. Girls are tightly guarded and married off between 18 and 20 years of age. We were assured that “There is no pre-marital sex in Uzbekistan.” If it is discovered that a girl has had sex before marriage or a child out of wedlock then she is banned from the family. If a woman with children is divorced or widowed and re-marries she is considered a “bad mother.” Boys and men are, of course, also restricted by gender norms (marriage by 25 being de rigueur for them), but sex outside of marriage for men is tolerated, and even encouraged. We’re not exactly sure who they are having sex with if women are not allowed; presumably sex workers or “fallen women.”

The honor of the family can sometimes result in a very tragic outcome: some babies or children who are born with HIV or infected through blood (which several hundred were a few years ago), have been given up for adoption by their families because of shame and stigma. Of course, this is also due to lack of knowledge and information about HIV, which is something that the country is trying to improve. Unfortunately, personnel at the orphanages do not have the knowledge themselves to care for the children so they are doubly stigmatized (actually, triply, since orphans are also a stigmatized group in themselves). They reportedly divulge the child’s status to others, refuse to give them their anti-retrovirals, and refuse to bathe them with other children because of fear that they will infect them. We met a non-governmental group running a wonderful child development center for HIV positive children in Tahskent, but they are the only group of their kind in the whole country, and their funding is minimal.

Tashkent: beautiful, but sinister

2008-06-05T01:48:00.000-07:00

June 1, 2008

Tashkent, Uzbekistan

Note: I wrote these blogs from Uzbekistan a few days ago but we were nervous about posting them while we were still in the country.

There aren’t a lot of foreigners here but there are a lot of empty hotel rooms. There are even fewer foreigners who don’t speak Russian. So the bellhop laughed when he heard I didn’t speak Russian and asked “Why not?” Why not, indeed? Who needs to speak anything else? Hmm, reminds me of another place I know…

The city of Tashkent is the largest capital in Central Asia (2 million officially, but apparently 4 million unofficially). There has been a town here for 2,000 years, although it was first referred to as ‘Toshkent’ in the 11th century, and it was never as more famous as Samarkand, which is a few hundred miles away. Most of the city was destroyed in an earthquake in 1966 so there is little of historic interest to see. It is very modern, green, and clean, with wide, wide boulevards, shady parks on almost every block, and many Soviet-style buildings leftover from before 1991. However, these are interspersed with beautiful Georgian (the architectural style, not the country…or even state) buildings, which mostly house ministries and the like.

Unlike in Kyrgyzstan, most people here do not look “Asian.” In fact, there is no one “look,” except maybe some leanings towards Turkish, with some European thrown in. There are virtually zero women with veils, and many who don’t wear anything on their heads. People are very gentle, calm and polite. Few look us in the eyes, even when we brushed shoulders with them in the grand bazaar today. We did make contact with a few people though, most of whom showed only a passing interest in us. Given the fact that we were virtually the only tourists in a market consisting of hundreds of vendors, and thousands of visitors, I found this a little suspicious. I am guessing that it was out of fear. After 2005, most international organizations were asked to leave after many foreign governments protested the ‘Andijan’ incident, where hundreds were killed during a peaceful demonstration. We heard from several sources that there has been a thawing in the last year, however, on the part of the Uzbekh government. This may be why no one has yet asked to look at our documents, which we had heard was quite common. Our other theory is that the police know exactly who we are and what we are doing so when we jog by in the morning they just check us off their list. One tends to get paranoid in this country, although there is no outward need to be so.

Just found out that we now have official letters to enter Kazakhstan, which we are trying again on Wednesday. For some reason I’m not really looking forward to visiting that airport again…

I left my heart in Bishkek…

2008-06-01T11:37:00.000-07:00

May 31, 2008

En route from Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan to Tashkent, Uzbekistan

To say that Central Asia is a fascinating place is a gross understatement. It’s hard to believe that this part of the world, with an area of 4 million sq km (80% of which is Kazakhstan), is so unknown by the outside world. Crossroads between Europe and Asia, home of the Silk Road, it is truly the archetypical “Where East meets West.” Geographically it consists of vast grassy steppes and cragged, soaring mountain ranges; Kyrgyzstan itself is 90% mountainous. Recently, it has become a little more well known for its geologic and geopolitical importance: Kazakhstan happens to have the world’s 3rd largest oil reserve and Turkmenistan has its 4th largest deposits of natural gas. Americans and Europeans may also be familiar with the region due to its strategic importance for the ‘War on Terror’ in Afghanistan and Iraq. Another unfortunate claim to fame for the region is that it has one of the world’s fastest growing HIV/AIDS rates, due primarily to injecting drug users, and fueled by the drug trade in the region (from Afghanistan), which is worse than ever.

Kyrgyzstan, like the other ‘stans in Central Asia, was never one ethnic entity. Before the Soviets created it in 1923, basing its name on the dominant of 80 ethnic groups, Kyrgyzstan, which shares a border with China, was part of the melting pot of Central Asia, ruled as small kingdoms. For the most part, Kyrgyzstanis look Asian, not European. However, there are still Russian minorities here, and there are clearly people who are of mixed origin.

Bishkek, the capital, where we stayed, is a small, sleepy, very leafy town of only about 600,000 people. The city’s women are very fashionably dressed in tank tops and miniskirts, and there is no visible evidence that the dominating religion is Islam (although this should not be surprising since Islam came very late and was rigorously suppressed by the soviets). Few people spoke English, but all spoke Russian and Kyrgyz, the State language.

Our interviews in Bishkek were very successful, but the best thing that happened was that we got our Uzbeki visas (not always easy). I keep looking at my passport to make sure it hasn’t disappeared...

Deported!

2008-05-31T22:49:00.000-07:00

May 28, 2008

Almaty, Kazakhstan

My colleague Susanna and I are on a mission to evaluate World Banks Central Asian AIDS Project.

We arrive at Almaty airport at 4:30 am. Present our letters of invitation we received from the World Bank and passports to immigration to get our visas. “Where is the registration number from the Foreign Ministry?” asks the officer in Russian. Susanna, who speaks fluent Russian, asks what he is referring to. “This letter is not valid. I cannot give you a visa.” No amount of discussion will sway him. A stunningly beautiful Kazakh border police officer wearing a military-issue miniskirt and 5-inch spike heels tells us professionally, but firmly, that she is going to deport us. Susanna tells me later that she didn’t understand at first what she was talking about because she had never used the Russian word deportirovat before. Our passports were confiscated by another border guard who appeared to be about 15 and we were asked to follow him. From there a Turkish Airlines official told us that we had to purchase tickets for $800 apiece. Despite our digging in our heels he finally gets Susanna's credit card and disappears into the crowd. We stand there looking each other. “Uh oh. What have we done?! “We are then asked to follow Cadet Boy, who still has our passports, to the plane. Another Turkish Airlines official screams at us to get on the plane without delay. We tell him that we have to wait for our card. Then we hear another border guard murmur that we don’t have to pay for the flight when we are deported. So then we really wonder if we are being scammed. But we insist on waiting for the card anyway. Finally First Turkish Airlines Official comes back and is pissed off because Susanna’s card won’t work. We are relieved and end up signing dodgy looking promissory notes that we will pay back Turkish Airlines. On to the plane where the flight attendant takes over our passports and promises we will get them on arrival in Istanbul. After an uneasy 6-hour flight wondering what is going to happen to us, we arrive and are taken to a special “Deportee Office,” where a jaded looking border police tells us that he is legally bound to send us back to Stockholm. However, as I pointed out to him, there is nothing stopping us from just leaving the airport and entering Turkey as tourists, as long as he gives us our passports, which he does, which was nice of him. We were terribly relieved they didn’t send us back to Stockholm since we had been traveling for 12 hours. We go through customs (with me first purchasing a visa to enter Turkey), and immediately book a ticket to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan for later in the evening (Kyrgyzstan doesn’t require any letters or previously issued visas). We then go check in to a hotel on a marina near the airport, I sleep while Susanna calls hotels and travel agencies to let them know our change in plans. Then we go have a lovely fish lunch and a glass of Turkish wine, and finish up with some shopping. We then get on a plane and head to Kyrgyzstan, hoping that things will work out better there…

The Tragedy of Kenya

2008-02-05T10:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I have received some not so discreet comments about the length of my postings and the fact that it would be better to write less more often. As my friend Anna said, "Sarah, even Carl Bildt doesn't post more than 2,500 characters at a time!" (If you don't know who Carl Bildt is, he's the former Prime Minster of Sweden and one of the best diplomats in the world, currently wasting away as the Foreign Minister of Sweden.) Well, maybe Carl doesn't have as much to say as I do!

Anyway, I will try to do better, especially since I found out that my sister's pre-teen students in Walla Walla, Washington are reading these postings in order to learn more about the world outside of the U.S. Boy, does that put the pressure on!

I have been meaning to write something about the current situation in Kenya, not because I am an expert, but because those who don't know what is going on, should, and those who do might find it interesting to hear something that they won't hear on the news.

I have been traveling to Tanzania and Kenya (and now Uganda) for the last 6 years. Even before the current ethnic turmoils I was fascinated by the difference in ethnic identity between the two countries. My colleagues in Kenya knew exactly who belonged to which ethnic group in the office. They often referred to it jokingly, but it was always there. In Tanzania, however, you couldn't get anyone to tell you what ethnic group they belonged to, let alone guess what ethnic group their colleagues belonged to. It was a non-issue. They were simply Tanzanians. This is thanks to Julius Nyerere, former President of Tanzania's, socialist policies. He simply abolished ethnic identity in favor of a Tanzanian one.

This isn't to say that such political instabilization could not happen in Tanzania, but it would be a shock if it took the form of pitting ethic group against ethnic group. In fact, my colleagues here in Uganda (yes, I'm back in Kampala at the moment; seems to be the only place I have time to write!) are regarding the situation in Kenya with shudders. As they say, Uganda could easily go the same way; that despite the calmness of things here on the outside, it is actually a powder keg. They report that one can be at a social event such as a wedding and hear the minister begin to speak of politics along ethnic lines, something that has not been heard of before. This is truly frightening given the situation in Kenya.

On the way down here I changed planes in Nairobi. I picked up a local paper and found this in a Letter to the Editor, addressed to President Kibaki: "I am concerned and disturbed with the new and the fast-growing ugly face of this nation. I have seen the violence, the hatred and the victimisation of the innocent on the basis of tribe. Mr. President, our country is in ruins. The future, if it still exists, is threatened. There seem to be no light at the end of the tunnel. What was a political dispute has graduated into a rotten valley of death and destruction" (The Standard, January 31, 2008).

But the tragedy for me is that most people in the U.S. and Europe will simply think that this is "business as usual" for Africa, which is not true. People of different ethnic identities have been living in close proximity to one another (including marrying each other) for centuries. This seems to be a new tool used by some who are interested in power, and the fact that the political system allows it (see article in The Washington Post about the "real" culprit, which the authors see as the parliamentary system).

Having lived in the relative chaos of West Africa, Kenya for me has been a country of hope for Africa. Its population is relatively well-educated, the land is rich, it has a well-developed middle class, and it is a popular tourist destination. It is simply unthinkable that it develop into a situation like Rwanda. I only hope that Kenyans agree with me...

Kampala dreams

2007-12-07T11:57:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Kampala, Uganda on Wednesday. I really like this town, although I have to admit I haven't seen anything on this trip except for a couple of hotels, the university, and our office. Still, people are really friendly and it is not as big as Nairobi or as hot as Dar es Salaam.

We're here to start discussions with different stakeholders about a needs assessment for the introduction of male circumcision as an HIV prevention method in Uganda. Several large, randomized, controlled studies have shown that circumcising men can reduce the risk of their being infected with HIV by up to 60%. So some countries (like Kenya) are aggressively promoting it. Uganda hasn't decided what they are going to do so we have been asked to do a needs assessment to see how normal people would react to such a campaign (i.e. acceptability) and if the health system can handle a large demand (feasibility). I'm in charge of this one. Unfortunately, our big stakeholders meeting with the Ministry of Health and other big guns was cancelled today because so many people were absent, largely due to the Ebola virus outbreak in the Western part of the country.

Ebola is a hemorrhagic fever with nasty symptoms that causes death in 70-90% of cases. The really scary part about it is there is no cure. Medics just try to keep the person hydrated. Nobody knows why some don't die. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control reports that during the last epidemic here in 2000-2001 the majority of cases were associated with attending the funeral of a sick person, having a sick person in the family, and treating a sick person with improper protection. So there is little to no risk for me staying at my swanky hotel in Kampala. Worse, though, is that there are actually three additional deadly communicable disease outbreaks in Uganda right now: yellow fever, cholera, and the plague. None, though, are causing as big a scare as Ebola.

The other event that caused low attendance for our meeting was the Chogm meeting here a week ago, which forced everyone to move their meetings to this week to get them in before the holidays. Chogm is the biennual Commonwealth heads of government meeting, which drew 53 heads of state, 5,000 delegates, and the Queen of England. Of course, the meeting was extremely important for the economy and image of Uganda so a lot of cleaning up was done beforehand. New hotels were built, roads were paved, and riff raff was moved out of town. My colleague pointed out one downside of the meeting though: a blank corner where a fine primary school used to stand. Apparently, despite protests, the president agreed to let an investor raze the building in order to build a hotel for the meeting but after they cleared the spot they backed out. That's the breaks!

On my flight from Amsterdam I sat next to a woman who was born to Ugandan parents but was raised in Germany and the U.S. Apparently, her mom bought her a ticket to go to Kampala for 2 months and sent her off by herself. The poor woman was scared stiff. She had not been in Africa since she was 5, she didn't know what her "family" would be like, and she had decided not to eat for 2 months because her relatives apparently didn't have a toilet in their house. I found myself in the bizarre position of reassuring her that all would be fine and that her relatives would be thrilled to see her and take great care of her, and I was the foreigner and she was the African (at least by birth)! I helped her through customs and waited for her seven enormous suitcases, which of course were the last bags off the band. But when customs said they had to look through her bags I gave up. Besides, she had a family member who worked at the airport with her at that point so she was doing fine.

I called her up tonight to find out how she was getting along. She said she was in the "deep, deep village with no water or electricity. The people are weird but treating me nice. Everyone is asking 'why doesn't she speak the language?'" Apparently, she hadn't slept a wink since she arrived because the house is always full of people who want to meet her: “They want you to eat all the time. I can’t do that! This is too much!” But she was laughing and said she was having a great time. I told her that she was seeing the real Africa, not the one that I am staying in. But for some reason she wants to come here to see for herself!

My first Duke basketball game

2007-11-14T19:09:00.000-08:00

I had a chance to go to my first Duke University basketball game ever this week. They played New Mexico State, but it wasn't an "important" game because of some reason I never understood. See, one thing you have to understand about me is that despite living in the Triangle area of North Carolina (Raleigh, Durham, Chapel Hill) for three and a half years, I never managed to get basketball fever. I did, however, grasp the fact that basketball is as big as (or sometimes bigger) church here. And that is saying a lot in North Carolina. It is not unusual to hear b-ball mentioned in the Sunday sermons here, usually something involving "our" team winning.

Another thing I did manage to "get" was that there is not just one team to cheer on (or worship, as the case usually is) in the Triangle area; there are THREE teams that people are just as rabid about (UNC Chapel Hill, or "Carolina", and NC State. Okay, I'll admit, I had to just go ask my friends what the third team was and they roared with laughter). And all of these fans live within about a 30-mile radius of each other. And the teams frequently play each other because they are in the same league. And they don't kill each other despite being so rabid.

Okay, so we went to this game. Not a very big stadium and it wasn't full because despite the fact that noone in Durham (where Duke is located) can get tickets to any Duke games, there are often empty seats because the season ticket holders frequently don't show up when there is a game that is not "important." I was able to go because my friends have season tickets.

So we walk in and take our seats just as they are striking up the National Anthem. For you heathen, unpatriotic foreign friends of mine, this is the tradition at EVERY SPORTS GAME THAT IS EVER PLAYED IN THE UNITED STATES, even peewee baseball. So its routine. And IMPORTANT. But I have to say that for someone who has not routinely attended any sports events since she played girls softball in Fremont, California in the 70's, the experience is just surreal. You stand in a crowd of 5,000 people with your hand over your heart and you listen to someone on the court sing the world's most difficult song (or, in more embarassing cases, you sing along) and you try to look patriotic. But of course, I can't help looking around me to get the looks on people's faces to see if anyone else looks/feels uncomfortable. They don't seem to but I do notice that some people don't have their hands over their hearts. What is that about, I wonder? I mean, are they doing this out of some symbolic rejection of patriotism, or because they are uncomfortable like me, or because they just don't feel like it? The researcher in me wants to go up to them afterwards and interview them about that moment and why they made the choice they made.

But I digress. And that is the point. Throughout the next 2 hours all I could do was to watch the spectacle around me and wonder about all of the interesting/insane/inane things going on around me and, oh yeah, there was a game going on too! One that a very large number of people would have paid good money to see. So I know I sound ungrateful. But it really was fascinating. I felt like a visitor from Mars, or from another country. And I'm American!

So now you know that this blog is not going to be a play by play account of the Duke-New Mexico State game. And maybe you are relieved or maybe you think I am an idiot. And perhaps you are right. But its my blog so I can write whatever I want about the game!

So what else? Oh. The cheerleaders. You can't help notice them. There they are, about 12 of them. And they look incredibly young and pert and, above all, in REALLY good shape. They look like they are in better shape than some of the great, lumbering giants on the court. So why are they jumping around with ridiculous smiles on their face waving confetti on sticks? What do they get out of it? They certainly aren't paid like the athletes (the best freshman player gets $60K a year, which is more than most teachers in America), if they are paid at all. So is it status? I used to always envy the popularity of cheerleaders when I was in high school. But is it that rewarding that it would incite someone to do 20 backsprings across the court during time-outs? I mean, what does that do to your back in 20 years? And why doesn't anyone talk about that when the topic of aging, broken athletes is pretty common? But I guess they are not considered athletes. Again, all very interesting and I wish I could interview some of them...

And finally, there are the fans. The students have the benches down by the court where there are no seats. And, amusingly, they separate the graduate students from the undergraduates. That cracked me up. I mean, what do they think? That they are going to attack each other? Or is it because the graduate students have more sophisticated chants and stunts to pull that they think they should not sit with the hoi polloi? Like "lederhosen guy." This is a grad student who dresses only in lederhosen and stands a few rows behind the basket. When it is time for the opposing team to shoot a penalty shot (which they do annoyingly often, breaking the rythm of the game, in my opinion. But I guess it also gives the poor guys a chance to catch their breath), someone lifts up lederhosen guy so that the person shooting the freethrow will be distracted. As if he wouldn't already be with 5,000 people pointing at him shouting things or all of the 500 students shuffling their feet or waving their arms yelling "miss!"

The funny thing is that the students (who are obviously limited in time and space by the fact that they are usually only at the college for 4 years) seem to pass on the chants from one generation to the next. So, for example, when one of the Duke players, who is large and unwieldly named Marty makes an obvious foul on a member of the opposite team, they all start chanting "Marty doesn't foul!" This is obviously an inside joke so I ask my friend who tells me that this is a loving reference to a Duke player named Marty from the 70's! Similarly, there is "towel guy" who the students start calling to about 3/4 the way through the game "Towel guy! Towel guy!" And so towel guy does his stuff. he wraps a white towel around his fist and waves it very vigorously around the air. I am told that he has been doing this for 15 years and the students noticed it once and have decided to make him an act.

The funniest part about the students' chants is that they frequently start chanting something that none of us middle-aged fuddy duddies in the upper seats can understand. So everyone is going "what did they say? What did they say?" Apparently sometimes they have decided on chants in advance and other times someone just starts chanting and they all pick it up amazingly quickly. Reminds me of the wildebeest we saw on the Tanzanian savannah who just start running all at once, with seemingly no communication between them. Fascinating. Would be fun to...nah!