sacred texts

jodhpur, india

i love lonely planet. my bookshelf at home has a space reserved for tattered copies from journies past and i look forward to adding two thick, dusty, and worn editions from this summer to my collection. their writers have saved me considerable time and money through their research and have directed me towards remarkable people and places i never would have otherwise encountered (and helped me avoid those i would never want to encounter). as india is less a country than a continent, having a 1200+ page how-to guide written in an easy to follow manner is an irreplacable asset. however, an experience in jodhpur has reminded me that not all benefit from objective travel advice.

one nugget of common knowledge that lonely planet has shared is that if a rickshaw driver suggests that your hostel is full, dangerous or has burnt down, it is so that they can direct you to another where you are charged a higher rate and they pocket the commission. something to be aware of, certainly, but just a few firm responses can have you on course to your destination. the big problem is that it is mentioned for every major city in rajasthan (probably elsewhere, i just haven't looked), creating almost a sense of guarded paranoia in traveler's once they descend the bus stairs or exit the train station's turnstile. these warnings have a way of eroding the confidence of external suggestions, even when they don't come from rickshaw drivers, and reinforcing trust in only those hostels and restaurants gracing the pages of the guide book.

and so when i arrived in jodhpur, i rebuffed the first few offers from the man waiting at the bus station. i told him i already had a place booked (little white lie), but soon i saw that he wasn't a rickshaw driver. then, he said those sweet little words, '150 rupees (us$3)'. even if there was a commission involved, that price couldn't be beat. so my rickshaw followed his motorcycle and soon i saw that right by the suggested guest house where i was going (from lp) was his own guest house. bed, bathroom, lock, i'll take it.

soon we were chatting on his rooftop, soaking in the night sky as mahendra pointed out mehergahr fort and other jodhpur points of interest. he went on to explain how he meets arriving buses and trains, hoping to convince tourists to at least look at his guest house, even saying 'i pray to god that we will be in next lonely planet'. an appearance in lp, or even its poorer, red-headed bastard cousins footprint or rough guide, can mean the difference between prosperity and penury. to have your hostel listed in the sacred text is to receive the seal of approval that will be seen by thousands, perhaps tens of thousands in a given year. and they will come. and to be omitted is to almost cease to exist.

radhika guest house is lovely, but it has no shot of appearing in the next edition of lp in my opinion. its setup is just a little too close to the literal term 'guest house' and not to the industrial connotation more appealing to the editors at melbourne. however, radhika has a shot through word-of-mouth and i intend to do my own share of trumpeting on its behalf. because while other guest houses may have more table space and a wider menu, they don't have the extended family i have stayed with for three nights. mehergahr fort and the main market in town were both fascinating, but they couldn't hold a candle to the three hours i spent on the rooftop watching sonny and gautham, 14 and 10 respectively, kite-fighting. if i hadn't been staying in a residential community, i wouldn't have seen the zigging, zagging, bobbing, weaving, ducking, and diving of dozens of kites cast against the pre-sunset sky. i think that alone is worth looking outside of the familiar and trusted pages.

octopussy

udaipur, india

if you failed to notice its three mentions in the lonely planet or in the brochures for the individual sites, then you will eventually discover through word of mouth that octopussy was filmed in udaipur. for those who have not seen the film, there are multiple hotels and restaurants in udaipur that offer nightly screenings. last night, i caught the last forty-five minutes in between bites of vegetable biryani and garlic naan.

in case you're not familiar, this was one of two 1983 installations in the james bond filmography, this one starring roger moore. two of udaipur's gem locations, the lake palace and hilltop monsoon palace, were featured prominently, while a hotel in the decadent city palace also hosted a few scenes. it is not totally alien to hear people or see signs boasting of a location where a film was shot. after all, i'm from denver, where filming of the second die hard installation grabbed the front page and the fact that a broncos wide receiver filmed a mcdonald's commercial in one hallway inflated the egos of half my high school. but here? it just doesn't make sense.

udaipur is a centuries city with postcard-worthy views around every corner. the lake palace sits regally in lake pichola, watching the aforementioned, imposing walls of the city palace fronting the eastern edge of the lake. the entire town is ringed by verdant hills and if the vistas aren't enough, this town is dripping in hindu temples and a rich yet blood-lined history. so that is why it is so surprising that a town already armed with its own rich tales would proactively market itself as the host to a movie from the decade of wham! and massive cell phones. it's not as if this was the only james bond film (not even unique to its year) and, if memory serves, i don't think it went down in film lore next to casablanca or gone with the wind.

but even this cynic has a softer side. i do specifically recall octopussy and viewing it as a wee lad. my dad shared his affinity for bond films with me and i think this was the first that he shared with me. so on one hand, i decry the marketing dependence on this decades-old feature film in a city that already has so much to offer. on the other, its great to get reminded of people and places that my passion for travel dictates that i be absent from for long stretches of time.

pushkar

pushkar, india

it was well past dark. i found myself sitting atop a concrete platform in the middle of an empty, lush valley with the rain steadily increasing over my shelterless head. i dug into my dhal, alongside the twenty college students i had just met, and wondered: how the hell did i get here? the answer is found in a simple chain of events, but sometimes explanations do not adequately capture just how bizarre reality can be.

like the griswold vacation of decades prior, there could have been a wah wah wah on the soundtrack when i arrived in pushkar. the lake of the hindu pilgrimmage town (where the indians are pilgrims and the pilgrims are indians) was almost entirely dry. as the significance of the town is found in the ritual of bathing in the sacred waters accessible by 52 ghats, this is kind of a big deal. fortunately, a few of the ghats had concrete wading pools and the hordes clad in orange have continued to come, leaving me plenty of visual stimulation for my three days here.

one of the must-do's for this town is to climb up to savitri temple, an hour above with sweeping views of the town and surrounding valleys below. yesterday afternoon, when i reached the archway just shy of this temple, about a dozen young men, many still wearing school uniforms, were sitting. i sat with them to cool off and before i knew it they were teaching me a traditional rajasthani dance set to a download played on one of their mobiles. they showed me the proper protocol in the temple, helped me avoid the monkeys that were swarming near the summit, and shared light conversation on our descent. towards the bottom, i received an invitation to their party, which i accepted.

they were students in the teacher training program at a university in nearby ajmer. based on conversation, let's just hope these are not india's english teachers for the next generation. we walked away from pushkar along the tar road that bisected the green valley, kicking rocks and making jokes along the way. about 5 km from pushkar we reached the site of their party. what they had referred to as their palace was actually a concrete water bunker, with steps leading up to the flat platform no bigger than a couple hundred square feet. we met some more of their friends and helped them finish the two bottles of whiskey, then saw indisputable qualitative data supporting the hypothesis that rajasthani's cannot handle their liquor. but while the three prime examples of intoxication sang and danced (if you can call it that), the rest of us dug into the bati (bread) and spicy dhal that the cook had prepared. so through listening to the conversation among friends, savoring the amazing meal, and being honored and pampered as an esteemed guest, i realized that if i couldn't see the sacred lake of pushkar filled with bathers, i may as well soak up my own bizarre immersion in rajasthani culture.

know your hindu deity, part 1: brahma
brahma was an active part in the creation of the world, but has been at rest since. legend has it that brahma dropped a lotus leaf on the ground and that this town, pushkar, arose (hence pushkar as the home to one of few temples dedicated to him). brahma is usually depicted as four crowned and bearded (see!) heads facing in the direction of the four points of the compass.

tourist info
for those travelers looking to buy tickets at the train station in jaipur, be sure to go to the kiosk designated for foreign tourists, journalists, handicapped, and, yes, freedom fighters. when i bought my own ticket, i wasn't asked which one i was, meaning it was entirely possible that i rode from jaipur to ajmer like so many comrades from the spanish civil war.

stereotype defeated!
always love it when a stereotype takes a tumble, especially if its mine. to date, and this is fact, i have not met any cool italians while traveling. i actually hadn't met too many to begin with, but the ones i did meet tended to be insular and traveling in groups, often clinging to their guide. plus, the whiny, primadonna nature of their world cup team from 2006 gives me enough reason to bedgrudge them. until two nights ago, that is. we shared a brief walk back from our separate dinners, but danielli seemed like a pretty cool, well-traveled guy. i haven't seen him since, but the meeting was enough to shatter one glass ceiling. israelis, you're on the clock......

indi-adar

jaipur, india

i do not blend in, this much i know. i did not fit in anywhere between dakar and accra and at this point my appearance wouldn't seem appropriate in any place save for a norwegian whaling vessel in its third month at sea. but one difference between india and africa is that i felt i knew the rules of the game. my afric-adar was operating pretty efficiently when it came to deciding who was genuinely helping me and who was viewing me as a giant $. it was never perfect and it really never could be, but i'd accumulated enough experience that my opinion to a fellow traveler would deserve consideration. here i have no clue.

maybe i'm being a little too self-critical. what i do know is that the new skin tones, accents, surroundings, means of transportation, and sheer scale of everything changes the traveler's algorithms. stepping out of the train station, the hotel, the restaurant, or just simply being out is an invitation to everyone to talk to you. within minutes you are offered tours, offered rides, offered chai, or given the nebulous 'just want to talk'. it's the latter that is the social tightrope.

but so far, so good. i arrived in jaipur last evening and went for an innocent stroll which found me refusing the first two offers for tours of the city and then buying one guy a 3 rupee chai before he had the chance to give me the indian version of a timeshare presentation. a little further down i met imran. he was with three gentlemen, one of whom was visibly yet innocently intoxicated, and they offered some pretty funny conversation. eventually, imran told me he had an autorickshaw and that he could take me around to various sites for the whole day for 300 rupees (about $6). this price is a little higher than the one in the book, but there was something about imran that told me he was good company. when he refused to play the negotiation game it sealed the deal.

so, today was my day with imran. he took me to a tower overlooking the city, took me to the royal cenotaphs, the awe-inspiring amber fort, then to a textile and carpet factory. along the way he showed his mastery of english terminology related to anatomy and correctly conjugated biological action verbs. like most foul-mouthed people i've found, he was a true salt-of-the-earth, sweet soul. he explained a little about each site before i entered, also telling me if it was worthwhile or not to shell out the extra rupees for a local guide. the textile factory stop was straight out of the hired driver playbook, but he explained that i was under no pressure to buy and that he received a 2% commission on anything i bought, which i found refreshingly honest. for our final stop, the guide book would have suggested the pink, crenellated walls of the city palace. instead, imran guarded my backpack while i played soccer on a muddy, goat-excrement peppered field with the muslim denizens of a random jaipur community. i feel that to date, my indi-adar may be working just fine after all.

delhi

delhi, india

it is at once everything that i expected and nothing that i was prepared for. that's not to say that delhi is overwhelming, though it is very easy to imagine how this could be the case for some. it's more that there is no way to prepare the central nervous system for a stroll through delhi. walking through delhi is like watching the men's, women's, doubles, and mixed doubles finals of wimbledon all being played on the same court at the same time. and you're standing in front of the net.

the streets are a parade for the senses. walking through a narrow bazaar or down one of the narrower side-alleys is to walk past a store with refulgent jewelry, then another lined floor-to-ceiling with colorful shawls and saris, then one with basic sundries densely aligned along its walls. if those aren't distracting enough, then add to it all the decorative signs at eye-level and those for businesses on the two or three floors above. all the while you have to be mindful of human traffic, potholes, puddles, and all the passing bicycle-rickshaws, autorickshaws, and mopeds swerving their way through. the spice shops and incense stands are felicitously placed past the open-air urinals to help you forget what you just smelled. then a quick stop and 10 rupees (20 cents) gets some fresh-squeezed orange juice to wash out the residue from the few-too-many kingfishers you put back the night before with those crazy australians.

and then the people. they are absolutely beautiful in the way that only people with unexpected physical features can be. some are darker, others more asiatic, some have flowing white beards while others recently visited the hindi makeup stand. similar to africa, walking the streets here invites looks from everybody. but while i was used to receiving attention or at least being able to elicit a smile with a mere wave in africa, it's different here. it's more than a stare but less than a scowl, but they look so intense, so stern when they look at you. they're sterning at you. and they are everywhere. delhi feels like a garden where the people are the nonnative species that was introduced and flourished just a little too successfully. an indian census demographer's job is more difficult than trying to count single strands of fabio's hair in a wind tunnel.

from the department of can't make this up
the two nights that i spent in accra were at the salvation army where they have some dorm beds with prices friendly on the traveler's cedi. both times i was there, morning meetings were called for all of the staff. you guessed it: they used a hand bell to call everyone to assemble. since i did not see the person ringing the bell, it remains possible that said person is wearing a santa claus costume.

if you fly air emirates and have a connection in dubai, there is a restaurant with a complementary buffet. i noticed when a family sat at the adjacent table that the woman, clad in a full black burka down to her yellow shoes, was also wearing a wedding ring. my guess is that the wedding ring is a reminder that she is married, just in case one couldn't already tell.

voyage to india

accra, ghana

i never thought too much about it. it made for a decent setting for 'indiana jones and the temple of doom' and i witnessed firsthand the stereotype of its people as working in convenience stores and talking a little funny. one of the characters in mike tyson's punchout was from there and they had that weird religion where one of the gods was an elephant, though i wasn't completely sure. at the end of the day, it didn't really matter too much to me.

but at some point, india became more than a place that was too hot and where there may or may not be snake charmers on every corner. towards the end of my first year of serious travel, in southern africa, i noticed that all the travelers who had been there pronounced it a little differently. it was as if the mere mention of the sub-continent sent their eyes swiveling and forced them to take a deeper breath. india. five letters, three syllables, and not one single adjective could describe it other than indescribable, according to sources. i knew i had to go. there was something about the way that there seemed to be some secret fraternity for people who have endured the train rides, witnessed the unparalleled poverty, or seen veranasi at dawn. it may sound trite or even ridiculous, but after meeting enough returned travelers i sensed that i would regret it for all the days that remained if i never went.

africa and south america have had my attention for the past six years and they each hold a certain piece of my heart, always will. but nothing has loomed so large on my horizon as the trip i start tomorrow. i'm going to india. saying it evokes a smile that rises from within and makes me have to burn copious amounts of nervous energy. i cannot wait for the food, the vivid colors, the stunning palaces, the teeming streets, the bizarre, the tragic, the serene, and the trip through the cerebral spin cycle that only india can provide, as i'm led to believe.

and so i bid adieu to an amazing tour through west africa and हैलो to india. i believe myself already slightly old and a bit seasoned to label the upcoming trek as life-altering; i feel i'm doing pretty alright as is, thank you. but to call it dream-fulfilling would not be an overstatement. ready or not, here i come.

good night and good luck.

doors of no return

accra, ghana

while the segments of roots that i was shown in my seventh grade social studies course were certainly poignant, they hardly compare with the sensation of standing in one of the relics lining the coast of west africa. six weeks ago, seemingly a lifetime, i stood in the dungeons of the slave castle at ile de goree and felt the presence of all those tortured souls from centuries ago. last week in benin, i saw from a distance the gate at ouidah from where so many of the ancestors of present-day haitians and other french caribbeans last saw their home continent. over the past two days, i've visited grander facilities along the coast of ghana that exported perhaps the greatest number of shackled passengers.

sobriety is found in the details. slaves from weaker tribes were captured from more powerful african kingdoms, who then traded their human bounty to european powers in exchange for further armaments, as the case generally was. the slaves were then separated between 'commercial' and 'domestic', with the former being kept in dank dungeons for periods of three months and the latter trained to serve the paltry rations of food and water (so the european soldiers didn't have to). the reason for the confinement was twofold: to separate the strong from the weak (around one-third died at cape coast, more than eight million at elmina) and to weaken any human spirit in these souls.

but you know all this. you may have forgotten a couple facts and figures, but it's been etched into your minds from the days of lunch boxes and yellow buses. but textbooks can't relate what its like to stand in a cellar with no light and picture the 250 people bunched together for months on end. textbooks don't show the path carved in stone by a river of feces, piss, and blood that flowed for centuries from holding cells to the gulf of guinea. and they don't show you the door.

the prominent feature of each of these castles was the same: the door of no return. it is the most affecting image from each castle: dark hallways leading to the bright blue sea. today there are humble fishing vessels on one side and camera toting tourists on the other. with a little imagination, it's not impossible to get an understanding of how this distribution came to pass and its relation to what once happened in each of these locations.

but a strength of the tours was that they showed that the blame for this gross phenomenon is shared and cast wide. those in the americas profited from indentured labor, but so did the more powerful african kingdoms. and let's not forget that some of those european capitals would be a whole lot less opulent if they didn't have their own irons in the shameful inferno.

there is at least a plaque in each of the three castles that provide logical points to end the tour and return to the present. they each bear messages deploring the slave trade and offering some variation on the vow of 'never again'. when you step out of each castle, the many people on their cellular phones and the passing cars might tell you that this era is over. in an ironic turn of events, my layover tomorrow will be in dubai, perhaps this generation's greatest destination for (for all intents-and-purposes) slave labor. guess there's still a little more to learn.

voitures, zems, and taxis

accra, ghana

a most unusual experience
imagine my surprise. having just crossed the border from togo into ghana, i was approached by a few men asking me if i was going to accra. yes, i was. they not only quoted me a reasonable price, but they led me to a station wagon. i don't recall the make or model, but the vehicle had a fender and a bumper, all of its interior upholstery intact, and (what!) a functioning seat belt. i stepped into this strange, otherworldly vehicle (first worldly) and it departed (promptly) with five passengers in a car designed to hold five people. it also, strangely enough, had petrol already in the tank. things went from wacky to outright bizarre when the driver played good music (marley, but not legend-cliche stuff) at a reasonable volume.

scars and stories
upon my return, you may notice a circular discoloration on the back of my right calf. this stems from an injury sustained a few weeks ago when i stepped off a moped and burned myself on the exhaust pipe. painful? yes. threatening? not. the incident will hereafter be referred to as a motorcycle accident since the definition applies, if only technically.

lome
though i only passed through for a half-teaspoon's worth of kilometers, props must be given to lome, the capital of togo. while so many cities choose to ignore their birthright and neglect their seafront, obscuring it behind massive port facilities, exorbitant mansions, or decrepit architecture vaguely reminiscent of past glory days, lome has an amply wide beach and welcomes its seafront. while i don't know what lurks on the other side of that coastal road, behind those interdit uriner warnings (which the populace seems to ignore), i can say that the morsel i saw was laudable.

americana
at a stop for petrol in eastern ghana, i took a stretch to hear american country music coming from a nearby radio. perhaps i'm a little homesick, as my mind raced with ideas: you know, for all our differences, we are all americans. just because i may not live in places where this music is appreciated, doesn't mean that we all salute the same flag, speak the same language, and take pride in an amazing history.
then a second country song came on the radio, and i thought to myself: damn, this music sucks!

jokes that are probably not that funny, but i made them up so offer me some leniency
how many peace corps volunteers does it take to change a light bulb? three. one to change it, and two to refer to the activity as c.a.l.b.

why did the peace corps volunteer cross the road? t.g.t.t.o.s., that is, unless they were medvac'd before their cos.

[okay, okay, enough already. i kid the peace corps cause i care (they do some amazing work).]

if all dogs go to heaven, most peugeots end up in west africa.

a mother is worried about the employment destiny of her child, so she puts a series of objects on the dining room table and leaves home for the day. on one corner of the table she puts a stack of money, thinking that if it is gone upon her return, it signifies that her son will become a greedy man.
on another part of the table she leaves a stack of official papers with a rubber stamp and ink pad, reasoning that if that is gone, her son will become a bureaucrat who forces others to fill out redundant forms that he will them overzealously stamp.
on yet another part of the table she leaves some bedroom slippers and a bucket of greasy, fried doughballs with the idea that if they are gone, her son will become insufferably lazy.
a long day passes. she returns home to find that not only is the money gone, but so are all the official forms and the rubber stamp, as well as the slippers and all the fried food. overwhelmed, she screams to the heavens 'oh no! he's going to become a togolese border guard!'

benin-utiae

parakou, benin

you must at first excuse me. when i heard that we would be going to the tchouk market, i didn't fully understand that this would be a tchouk crawl. with seven people participating, just call it par for the course if i misspell a word or nine. what's that? what's tchouk? why, it's a millet-based fermented beverage, of course. this beverage is served in a calabash, and you can usually see the actual yeast gather at the bottom of every serving. the stuff may not sell like hotcakes if it made it across the pond, but if tonight is any testament, it gets the job done.

so we've returned from katie's village in sirarou. as it's difficult to explain what happens in a village like sirarou, my best explanation is that each hour passes demonstrably slowly, but that each day flies by. at the outset, our agenda included maybe three things that we barely managed to accomplish in three days (do laundry, greet local friends, walk around). it's not that things got in the way, it's just that village life has a way of wrapping itself around you and bringing you down to its speed.

with the school year recently concluded, one of the big events in sirarou was to listen to the results of exams as they came in on the radio. national radio, mind you. picture yourself as a 16-year-old who has just taken a national placement exam and the entire country hears whether or not you will advance to the next level of education. yeah, that.

so it was that last night as we were bidding adieu to katie's local mother, with all the stars in focus, that her mama's daughter's results were announced....and that she had passed. and while katie's mama remained stoic this entire week despite the death of her younger brother, it was so pleasant to see some emotion. her daughter cupped her hands around her mouth surprisingly and received congratulations from all her relatives. the type of seen never to be found in a guide book, never to be found on a guided tour.

wawa
i must say that it is difficult to be surrounded by so many pcv's (peace corps volunteers). the throwing out of acronyms is a bit aggressive, and the insular quality to their stories can be a bit much to handle. but one that fits is certainly wawa: west africa wins again. next time a four-hour bus takes ten hours: wawa. next time the waitress takes your order and returns an hour later to tell you they don't have it: wawa. and so on.

je vais pisser
many of these countries are muslim, yet i really never noticed this phenomenon until burkina faso. apparently muslim men, in an effort to be humble, will take a leak in public, but do it kneeling. that's right. not on their knees, but they will do a bow-legged squat while delicately protecting their special little guy and let their juices flow. my mind has not quite accepted why anyone, individually or as an organization, would choose to punt on the y-chromosome's greatest advantage.

mon amie

sirarou, benin

i can't remember what i first thought of katie. she was a couple months older than my own sister (and similarly named) and she was one of eight volunteers whose health and overall well-being i was responsible for over a two month period in nkubu, kenya. i think i was just so nervous about the whole trip that i didn't have time to form impressions. what i do remember is that like the rest of my group, her hard-work ethic, sense of humor, and ability to immerse herself in the local community impressed me greatly as the . but, at times, i seem to forget that we even met in kenya.

i moved to new york, dreamy-eyed and still wet behind the ears, two weeks after returning from east africa. as she was starting her sophomore year at columbia, it was only natural that we get together to see if the milkshakes at tom's restaurant (the cafe where so many scenes of seinfeld occurred) were as good as she had claimed when we were cooking over the fire in nkubu. they were pretty good. but what developed was more than a 'we were in kenya together' friendship. perhaps because my own sister was back in colorado, it just felt nice to be able to buy someone lunch every now and then. and she introduced me to numerous museums, burger joints, pool halls, and free events in nyc in repayment. over time, that girl in kenya became my friend, no longer needing a geographical preposition.

and so it passed that she joined the peace corps after graduating last spring. and so it passed that i promised her that i would visit her during her two years in benin. and so here i am. there is a lot of catching up to do, and we've made great progress while spending time with some other peace corps volunteers in various stations around northern benin. while i may not have the inside information on all the shop talk and acronyms that are dropped (and believe me, they can out-acronym an irs agent), it has been great to see corners of this beautiful country i would otherwise be unable to see.

and so the agenda for the next few days has us passing the hours in her small village of sirarou. there has already been an exciting trip to the pump to retrieve water, there will be dinner with her local mama, there will be a couple pick-up soccer games with little kids, and there will be a whole lot of lookin', listenin', and learnin' about what life is like in this place i'd challenge you to find on anything published by rand mcnally.

le quatre de juillet

natitingou, benin

a once-present, recently-absent feeling came over me last sunday evening. in the dark courtyard of the mud-constructed chez baba, my hostel for the weekend, i was fixed on a fifteen-inch screen television along with at least 30 malians. the brasilian defense was retreating lazily and an american forward redirected a brilliant cross into the net to take a 2-0 lead in the first half of the confederations cup final. and i.....was.....cheering.......for an american team.........in a foreign country? yes, as a matter of fact, i was.

now before i am dismissed as some america-hating liberal, there does need to be some context (and we all know that those who label lack the intellectual capacity to process complex phenomena). this is my 6th consecutive summer of spending at least 8 weeks in a developing country, meaning that i have had plenty of opportunities to watch american teams competing in international sport. let's face the recent facts: the basketball team is always cocky and lacks fundamentals, the antics of that pole vaulter in 2004 were enough to apply for danish citizenship, and how could i cheer against ghana in the 2006 world cup when i was watching it on african soil?

but this matter transcends sport. i have always had american pride. we are the birthplace of jazz, hip-hop, and bluegrass. we arguably make the best films (and i'm not talking about the terminator 2/transformers garbage we're subjected to each summer), have the best sense of humor, and can fix a cheeseburger like nobodies business. we have a certain degree of politeness sliced with an impatience that, while embarrassing, has a way of getting things done that i have not seen elsewhere in the world. we have among the best literature, execute our curse words with enviable efficacy, and our barbecue sauce has no parallel. in sum, we have an edge, we have creativity, and we have can-do.

but that had been overshadowed recently. the real reasons for being patriotic were usurped by a nefarious band of fat cats bent on making the states synonymous with white-skin, guns, intolerance for 'otherness', and military prowess. people who took some of our best words like 'freedom' and 'liberty' and 'patriot' and made them cheaper than a cell phone companies slogan. it was embarrassing to be an american abroad during the years of george w. bush. it was humiliating to have to apologize with each introduction and explain that you don't think your country has the right to kill and destroy societies for subsurface mineral rights. it was shameful to listen to others badmouth your country, and even worse to have to agree with them entirely. i didn't want to cheer for our athletes, hard-working young adults who existed outside of the political sphere, because a few bad apples had spoiled the whole damn bunch. the taste of america i had once thought to be fat tire had been diluted into bud light and i wanted no part of any of it.

but what a difference a year makes. eyes genuinely light up when i tell people that i am an american, and my new president is reason enough for a pat on the back. you cannot pass through a market without seeing an obama t-shirt or several framed photos of his inauguration or family. a recently befriended trio of a belgian, a brit, and a canadian all bought the obama t-shirts, mostly because they're kitschy and nearly silk, but to watch the high-fives and reactions they got walking around town tells the story. the buses in senegal, mali, burkina faso, and benin all have two miniature flags affixed to the front windshield: their own and ours. obamaphilia is everywhere.

on the surface, it is easy to assume this could be some transparent black-africans-supporting-black-president phenomenon. but just because most africans are relegated to some of the worst education doesn't make them stupid. people here would see straight through a president michael steele (which, unsurprisingly, most republicans can't). africa is all too cognizant of the treatment it has received from the stars and stripes. the effects of american cotton subsidies on international prices and its ramifications on malian cotton farmers (and the economy as a whole) is not uncommon knowledge. in burkina faso, it is well-known that their former beloved leader, thomas sankara, met his destiny in the form of a bullet because he drew american attention. apparently, trying to redistribute wealth to the teeming population living 10,000 leagues under the poverty line and providing free vaccinations against measles, yellow fever, and meningitis reeked of communism to president ronald reagan (hopefully a devoted reader of this blog via the fastest and securist wireless connection found in the nether-reaches of hell). and everyone knows the next destination of those who departed through those castles lining the entire coast of west africa so many centuries ago.

but there appears a modicum of a chance that this history may not have as many blood-stained chapters ahead of it as there are behind. i am proud to (finally) have a progressive president, but am more skeptical of how much change he can bring than most of the people i have encountered here in west africa. the tears in the african tendons are too great for any one man or any one generation, no matter how benevelont and effective, to heal. but what we are starting to see is favor in international opinion and that just might be enough for now. hope breeds patience, hope fuels hard work, hope sends millions onto the streets of tehran demanding that their voices be heard. hope can usher in trust and unity. hope can dissolve fear and squash the political aspirations of those who use it as a tool to achieve personal power. and while it is way too early and the world in too poor of shape for any sort of celebration, hope is what i have and will hold on america's birthday.

in spite of the brilliant play of our keeper, brasil was brasil and got 3 goals in the second half to win the championship. perhaps this was the perfect metaphor for a country that has grown remarkably of late but is still shy of what it could be. but what i do know is that when the us scored their two goals, the cheers from my malian companions was both vocal and genuine. and i know that if we keep imroving in football and in the way we interact with the international community, i will not be cheering alone wherever i may be when the americans take the pitch for the world cup next year.

qu'est-ce que c'est dans un nom?

ouagadougou, burkina faso

would a rose, by any other name, smell as sweet? certainly yes. would ouagadougou, by any other name, be so enchanting? presumably not. ouagadougou (wah-guh-doo-goo). the city that sounds like it adorns a lakeside catskills sleepaway camp for privileged manhattan debutantes. the city that sounds like it was carved in steel using the world's sharpest ulu, then marinated in whiskey and branded onto a lion's ass. ouagadougou. for fun, say it in rapid succession to the tune of the theme from the twilight zone (ouagadougououagadougououagadougououagadougou...)

and though the actual city cannot live up to its name (but really, how could it?), i must give it its due for being a pleasant place, especially by african standards. ouagadougou is characterized (by me, and in less than 24 hours of being here) by being fairly spread out yet easily navigable by one's two feet. there is a bustle, and while hubbub in african cities can be overwhelming to say the least, here it is endearing in the same way as the neighbor kids in a water balloon fight on the fourth of july: it's great for the occasion but best not as a permanent presence.

among its ornaments: numerous bars with ample outdoor seating, wide lanes for traffic, fairly modern buildings, people in all directions with most indifferent to your presence, streets named for the who's who of communist heroes, and wonderful restaurants. i just came from a well-deserved pizza at an italian restaurant lauded by expats, figuring that after a month of rice and fish, rice and meat, couscous and fish, etc., i needed a little thin-crusted western treat. the only downside to the tourist-frequented restaurant was having to steer past the artisans shouting 'ey bro-dere' on the way out, but i've pretty much become inured to that already.

day 2 addendum
the thought of more comfort food and the need for a benin visa has kept me in ouagadougou an extra day, giving me a little more time to form a better impression. here are two: 1) there is more or less not one single photogenic corner/nook/cranny/monument in this entire city, yet the whole thing is visually appealing, and 2) years ago a building in the center of town burned to the ground, giving somebody the idea to raze the entire city center and create 'the next wall street of africa'. it is fascinating to walk through the pair of square kilometers in the heart of this city and see only sporadic buildings and the constant presence of litter.

silver lining to the most painful three-hour bus ride i've ever endured...
i'm pretty sure they were locusts. at one of our numerous stops on the trip between ouahigouya and ouagadougou, the sky was full of winged insects flying in the opposite direction of our travel. the splatters on the windshield, though a bit far from my seat in the back, seemed to verify this. it was obvious that some sort of counter-measure is fire, as we saw numerous roadside fires with several people gathered around. for the next 100 kilometers, we passed through the dark countryside, with several fires and silhouettes near and far on both sides of the road until we reached the city limits.

a most splendid, pleasant scene
today, i walked into the ghanian embassy to pick up my visa for onward travel. i sat on the couch as the family in front of me, a british gentleman, his burkinabé bride and child, were sorting matters out about their own visas with the secretary. the man was incensed that he would have to pay the 15,000 cfa fee for his visa, and verbally tore into the kind secretary. she went to a back room to fetch her boss, who came out and told the surly brit 'what is your problem? you will either shut up or i will revoke your visa.' the man humbly paid the fee for his visa, then mumbled under his breath about the article he was going to post on the internet about how the ghanian embassy in ouagadougou is 'racist' and 'corrupt'. i'm sure this has already hit the airwaves back home.