Baghdad Country Club

I kid you not.
The sign at the door, I read, is "The management is happy to secure any firearms, grenades, flash bangs or knives in the club armory."

Madness.

I was checking out tourist reviews of Iraq -- because there are some crazy-ass people out there -- and it's frightening. People talking of a '50-50 chance of survival if you go to Baghdad".

Time magazine also has an interesting article.

The 8 Most Needlessly Detailed Wikipedia Entries

Very very fun… Though I wouldn’t mind the entry on the Royal Family line of succession to expand a little, I wonder how far down on the list I am.

(did you know that the King of Norway was actually number 61 on the Line of Succession to the throne of Britain? Now he just has to get rid of the first 60 people, and then he can rule Britain too. The funniest takeover in the world, that would be... and all Brits will be Norwegian citizens. Hilarious).

His name is Robert Paulson. Or Ahmed Al Falasteeni.

This is NOT one of my happy cheerful good mood days. It’s one of these days when I lose faith in humanity. When I realise that some people are just too fucking dumb to grab the hand they’re given. That some people are so blinded by their power that they are willing to step on people’s lives, dignity, and everything else.

Eight Palestinians in Gaza were assassinated. EIGHT. That’s eight families that will have an empty seat for the Ramadan dinner tonight. The mere thought of this, with sunset coming up in hours, brings tears to my eyes.

It infuriates me that our dead are nameless, while the name of their wounded, shocked and merely sad are hammered in our collective memories. Why else do we know the face of the father of a soldier that was kidnapped last year?

I’ve got cable TV in Arabic these days and I was watching Al-Jazeera which was interviewing the weeping mother of an assassinated boy in Beit Hanoun, Gaza. She was saying this: “I was cooking iftar (dinner) and my son said he wanted molokheya (a type of soup). I had just finished the molokheya and was going to do the rice. I had just put the rice and was about to add the water, because it was close to iftar time, when I heard my son screaming from outside: Mama! Mama! Mama! Help me!! My brother is dead! They killed him! My brother is dead!”
You should have seen her. That would have broken your heart.

I am tired of this hypocrisy. Our victims are at least as valued as theirs, if not more: we are the victims. We are the ones being forced out of our houses, are children are the ones being killed as they play in the yard of the refugee camp where they forced us 40 years ago.

BBC News report the 4 killed in Beit Hanoun (there were 4 more in Gaza City, too). “At least three of those killed in the reported shelling of a house in the town have been named as civilians. Witnesses said the fourth victim was a gunman.”.

No names. No faces - just the photo of a bombed car. THREE civilians - that makes it a war crime. And the fourth was a ‘gunman’? Says who, the Israeli soldier who murdered them? And assuming the man carried a gun, in his own town, that gives NO RIGHT WHATSOEVER for the Israelis to murder him. Did anyone hear about trials?? The Israeli Occupation army behaves on a ‘annihilate first, find excuse second - or don’t bother about excuses”.
I looked everywhere I could - I didn’t find their names.

Goodbye, nameless persons. We are lesser persons because we let you go.

I can't help but remember this line of Fight Club: "In death, a member of Project Mayhem has a name. His name is Robert Paulson. His name is Robert Paulson. His name is Robert Paulson."

Give 1 Get 1: You’re kidding me, right?

I fell in love with the $100 ‘XO’ laptop, with the OLPC (one laptop per child) project. The idea was to produce a small, super resistant to heat, dust, water, etc laptop that would be sold in developing countries for a $100. Cool, huh?

The idea is brilliant. And feasible. I know for fact that the Egyptian Ministry of Education spent several hundred million dollars putting computers in schools everywhere around the country - and that those computers are not used because the computer teachers either don’t know how to use them or because they are worried kids will damage them (I swear).

Which means that: a) developing countries have that kind of money and b) laptops will be far more efficient than computers at schools.

Libya was said to be charmed and was buying 1.2 million computers by June 2008. (though I doubt Kadafi isn’t about politics rather than development).
But it wasn’t going that well, and political promises aren’t signed contracts. So the computer makers came up with an excellent idea: they will sell the laptops in the developed world; and with each one you buy, one will be given to the developing world. Give One, Get One: G1G1! First recipients will be Cambodia, Afghanistan, Rwanda and Haiti.

I dig.

Only, here’s the thing. Instead of $100, it will be sold for its real cost - twice as much. BUT, since you’re paying for 2 - one for you, one for a little Cambodian kid, you’re paying $399.
How many people will be willing to pay $400 for a funky green non-upgradable computer? A large part of the options that make it great for poor countries - dust and water resistant, rechargeable by a foot-pump, etc - are pointless for most of us.

Sad, but I don’t think it’ll work.

For $400, I wonder if people won't just go get a refurbished Toshiba laptop instead..

Ahmedinajad at Columbia U: A good idea?

Mahmoud Ahmedinajad spoke at Columbia U, as he is in NYC to address the UN General Assembly (a.k.a. the Gen Ass. (kidding… I’m a big UN partisan).
Fun speech, especially the parts about how there are no homosexuals in Iran!

But seriously, the most amusing was the people’s reactions. Pre-pubescent Columbia kids, who couldn’t place Iran on a map (and who still pronounce the name as ‘Eye-ran’!), were vociferously insulting. And the ‘Iran = Swastika’ posters were probably the most tasteless I’ve seen in a while.

The introduction of Lee Bollinger, the president of Columbia University, was extremely insulting - you don’t invite the president of a country to call him a ‘petty and cruel dictator’, nor call him ‘ridiculous’ - even if he is. Bollinger’s lack of decorum has made a complete ass of him. I think Ahmedinejad kept his cool remarkably, because I would have felt like smacking Bollinger on the head.

It’s kinda dumb but the BBC invited a guy from Georgetown who was introduced as a professor on Arab politics - and as much as the guy was a good speaker (Samer Shehata, I believe), doesn’t it feel silly? I mean, didn’t they get the memo that Iran isn’t an Arab state?

Now I'm not a fan of the dude (although I think he's entertaining. A new Kadhafi, if you will) but I think that this pointless and misplaced hatred gotta stop. People being so vitriolic about Iran is just because they are supposed to, according to the ambient mood, and know they'll get away with it for those same reasons. Think of Americans bashing France in 2003. OR, think of kids in an internet chatroom. :)

People, grow up! Think before you shout!

I'll look forward to hear the speech at the UNGA...

The Stolen Asset Recovery (StAR) Initiative: A StAR that I hope will shine long enough (though I doubt it)

Perhaps the first best idea that was started under Wolfowitz at the helm of the Bank, a new initiative seeking to recover assets stolen and transferred by corrupt officials and dictators from developing countries.

And the UN is on board, adding some credibility where the Bank lacks it.

Statistics are scary: The proceeds from criminal activities, corruption and tax evasion worldwide is estimated to be between USD 1 trillion and USD 1.6 trillion, and one quarter of the GDP of African States - or USD 148 billion - is lost to corruption yearly, according to the UN. Additionally, public officials from developing and transition countries collectively receive bribes worth between USD 20 billion and USD 40 billion every year, which is equivalent to 20 to 40 percent of flows of official development assistance.

The individual list is also impressive:

Suharto (Indonesia): $15-35 billion; Ferdinand Marcos (Philippines): $5-10 billion; Mobuto Sese Seko (Zaire): $5 billion; Milosevic (Serbia): $1 billion.

Okay, all that’s pretty cool. The mere thought that Mobuto owned enough money to repay Zaire foreign debt always makes me shiver. It’s a good idea to try to recover assets tucked in Swiss Banks.

2 main comments:

a) I don’t know how they’re going to do it but it will be very, very slow. And I’m sure that developing countries will surely not benefit from any support or pressure that could convince Swiss banks and other offshore havens to open their coffers as was done when recovering the assets stolen from European Jews in WW2. It took 18 years to recover $620 million of Ferdinand Marcos’ cash. I’m not expecting a large improvement, unfortunately.

b) It doesn’t seem the initiative is considering the ‘bribing’ party in the transaction. 20-40% of flows of ODA is a helluva lot! And it’s not always stolen secretly; in “The World Banker”, Stephen Mallaby reports that the WB in Indonesia knew that at least 50% of the money was embezzled, but thought it was okay if the rest of the money was being spent in its programmes. (it wasn’t). There's a serious need for more control on the donor organisations' side, and those guys have essentially no oversight. I don't want to give reason to Bill Easterly that 'planners suck' but there's surely a need for oversight on their end.

Now who will?

A final though. The title said something about ‘recovering stolen assets from developing countries’; for a second I thought it’d be about the stolen artifacts and antiquities that populate the Louvre, the British Museum and others. Then, I pushed hope a little further and hoped it’d be about recovering financial assets transferred to the Central Banks of the Colonial powers from their vessels (like the several billion pounds in gold bullion transferred from Egypt to London during WW2). Wishful thinking, huh?

Dreams of the Kingdom of Egypt

Now that is interesting.

I came across a Facebook group, titled “the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Egypt”. At first I thought it to be a satire of the Mubaraks and the Hereditary Republic we’re in. But it turned out to be actually about the Royal family of Egypt pre-1952 Revolution - the Revolution it refers to the “military coup witch was led by a group of officers who called themselves “the free officers movement” --- which is true but is politically incorrect, since we’re taught to refer to it as a Revolution. You know, so we, the mob, don’t feel too left out. :)

The members of the group swap photos, discuss issues of Royalism, reminisce times they haven’t witnessed (come on, it’s bloody Facebook, they're still struggling with puberty), post articles by historians, etc.

Very interesting, both in the fact that it’s a fairly interesting read--- but also that people who haven’t witnessed the Royal era, with all its drawbacks (well, they were foreign. And were eating in the palm of the British occupation. They stole poor people’s lands, the King sent husbands to war when he fancied their wives. etc.).

A clear reaction to how the current situation, well, sucks.

Reading “Whatever Happened to Egyptians?”, a 50-years-long sociological study of the Egyptian society by Galal Amin (the author wrote the book both in Arabic and in English, check it out) you realise that we’re back to square One. Whatever the 1952 ------- (fill in the blank with your word of choice: coup, revolution, other) sought to achieve has been undone - and perhaps surpassed.

A micro-class owns a huge part of the country’s assets. There is no political participation to speak of, surely no hope for government reform. The government has lost its sovereignty in favour of a foreign force which essentially guides not only its foreign policy -- think US Aid to convince Egypt to hold on to the Peace Treaty with Israel - but also interferes in matters as internal as schoolbooks, but more frighteningly backing a group - yesterday a class group, today a religious group - against the poor majority.

I feel sorry for the people seeking refuge in the glamour of the Royal coat of arms. But I doubt this is the way to go, though.

Beyond Pettiness: Another Prophet Caricature

Some other jerk in Sweden has found it amusing to draw a caricature of Prophet Muhammad’s head on a dog’s body.
That’s it. There’s no joke or amusing situation or funny tag, to justify a caricature.

It’s just pure insult.
How, how petty.

My main question though is: why? Why insult Muslims, around the beginning of their holy month of Ramadan?
The cartoonist had this to say: “It is fundamental for Western thinking to be able to express one's artistry without making exceptions for holiness”.

‘Western thinking’ my eye. We tought you how to think for yourselves.
The prick - and his editor - were just looking for cheap advertisement, and they’re getting that. They’ll also, incidentally, hurt the feelings of millions of people. And if, like last year, things get out of hand - a few lives.

And, ‘artistry’? His drawing is so bad my 3-year old niece can outdo him with her left foot. Jeez.

Well done. They’re getting their publicity alright. And a place in the Hall of Shame of Mankind.

I wonder how this will unfold - and, particularly, how the Swedish authorities will handle the issue.
Personally, I'm more than willing to boycott Ikea.

BBC News: "Larry Craig toilet 'tourist site' "

Hilarious. And ridiculous. And quite hilarious. People would take a photo of just anything...

"The Minneapolis airport toilet where US senator Larry Craig was arrested for allegedly soliciting gay sex is now attracting tourists, say airport staff.

"People are taking pictures," Karen Evans, an information officer at Minneapolis-St Paul international airport, told Associated Press.
Mr Craig, a Republican from Idaho, pleaded guilty in August to disorderly conduct over the toilet incident. "

“Buss hada crazy. 7arami number one.”

The cab driver who said that today was clearly the highlight of my day, he was absolutely HILARIOUS.
Buss would be ‘Bush’ only the ‘sh’ sound was nowhere in my cabby’s pronunciation. The rest is arabo-hinglish (Arabic, Hindi, English), and would translate into ‘This Bush guy is crazy. He’s the biggest thief of all’.

Below are some of my favourite pearls of Dubai cabbies concerning my nationality.

“You’re Egyptian? Ooh, not good. Too many Egyptians in Dubai. They don’t speak good English”.
(of course, my Indian driver got no tip for that ride.)

“Egypt, Husni Mubarak, big friend Buss”! (same driver as the title line).

"You not from Egypt. You look Indian. You from Kerala like me. smthngsmthgnsmthing--in-hindi".

(Same as previous, only change 'Indian' for 'Pakistani').

"No, you not Arab. You Pakistani. Ask your parents".
(no tip for this dude either).

“You from Egypt? Not possible. You are black. There are no black people in Egypt. You sure you from Egypt?”

Is the Immortal about to die?

Youmna (thank you darlin’) informed me that the word on the Egyptian street is that the Leader, the Chief, the Freer of the Land, the Commander of the Air Force in 1973, the Prince of the Believers, Hosni ‘Papa Smurf’ Mubarak was either sick and being treated abroad, or dead. See here, here, and here.

A journalist or two in jail for spreading the rumour, and a lot of ink being spilt on how succession will go. Will Jimmy-the-Heir access the Throne of Egypt?

Will Safwat ‘the Pimp’ Al-Sharif * and Kamal ‘the Pig’ Al-Shazli let it slide in the Mubarak family or will they put up a fight?

Hard to know. Especially that whatever constitutional framework we have for such cases is halted because there's no Vice-President, so the seat will be up for grabs.

The way I picture it will unfold is à-la-Cubana: the President, too sick to govern, will yield some powers to a close collaborator/relative or a group of those. Raul Castro would probably not be able to fill Fidel’s shoes if Fidel was 6 feet under; the latter just, well, took off his shoes and is sitting in bed watching.

Same here. I foresee Gamal Mubarak taking over, with a lot of support from people loyal to the President, gradually, until Papa Smurf is declared clinically dead, probably 4 months after he actually would indeed have died, in a nice remake of the Aqtay/Shageret el Dorr play where she governed in his name while he had died, hiding the news and the stench of the body. (that’s like 950 years ago, btw.)

In any event, sounds like a nice time to be in Cairo... Though I’m still mad at the country for limiting my mobility. Aywa, aafesh.

Word has it they released photos of president Mubarak yesterday (see to the right). Oh well.

* why the Pimp, you ask? Because that used to be his job, once upon a time, in the Intelligence Services: provide the girls to entertain the guests or reward the good boys. And no, this isn't classified info.

Al-Ain: Sleeping in a mosque, getting stuck on the border... the usual.

So I’m still cruising with my stupid 2004 Lonely Planet ‘arabian peninsula’ which is the only version that includes the rest of the UAE (there is a dedicated Dubai guide but apparently they didn’t consider the rest of the country to be worthy of a book.

Al-Ain is supposed to be a cute half-oasis, the other half being across the border in Omani territory, under the name ‘Buraimi’. Supposedly, there’s free passage between the two halves and the Omani side is where cheap hotels are.

It took forever to fill for the minibus going from Abu Dhabi to Al-Ain - so we ended up getting there around 1 am: no more taxis to Buraimi, baby. Crap. There go away my dreams for a $40 bedroom (that’s the cheapest, apparently). I call the main hotel in Al-Ain - $180 - but they’re full.

At which point a good homie from Fayoum, named Ismail, who works a security guard for the local market across from the bus station, offers me to stay in his little ‘office’ until the wee hours of the morning - his shift ends at 5 am.

So I hit 3 hours sitting on a chair, then get really really tired - but thank him profusely anyway (he refused to take the money though), go for a walk with my backpack, realise that the first museum opens at 8:30... so I decide to go to the ancestral house of travellers: the mosque.

True, my sneakers and shorts don’t make me look like the usual Asian bloke sleeping at the back of the mosque but hey, I have the right be here. So I plug my camera battery to recharge it (ha, ha) and get some sleep on the floor, until someone wakes me up at 8 and tells me to evacuate.

I couldn’t help but think of Ahmed Zaki in Ma3ali al-Wazir and imagine that the mosque dude will chase me off with a shotgun.

Anyways. I get to the Al-Ain National Museum - which the first 8 taxi drivers had NEVER heard of. The ninth gets me there when I tell him it’s next to the cattle market. I felt bad for culture for a split second.

The museum is nice and the ticket woman has really beautiful eyes. I check-in my backpack (and end up leaving it there for most of the day, even though I spent like 1 hour in the museum...) then head to the cattle market (you have to be a New Yorker or something to find this exotic because it was, well, a cattle market. What’s with the stupid LP?)

Went to walk in the Oasis - it’s impressive how much green there is here in the middle of the desert (that isn’t planted in imported fertile soil like the rest of the country!).

Then I went to see Buraimi - took a Oman taxi that I split with a Tunisian guy going a visa run in Oman.

Now the border crossing: because it’s not an open road like it is in Mussandam (which an Omani enclave in the north of the UAE); there’s actually a border crossing. I get past the first post where they check my passport and decide that a visit visa won’t let me through to Oman, which I’m sure is wrong but I prefer not to argue to much. So I go around the border post and try to get to the entry post for the UAE (to return where I came from) where the dude says that he can’t let me in because my visa expired.

Hmm. Flashes of the Syria-Lebanon 4 hours border crossing. On that one it was night and it was January. Here it’s 45 degree in the shade.

Anyways. I walk around a little bit in no-man’s land, then decide that it’s boring to ogle at barbed wire for too long so I go back to the UAE customs post where I pull my ‘I’m a consultant for the government and you’ll get fired by Sheikh Mohammad if you don’t let me in’ routine --- so he sneaks me in, literally, from behind the entry post.

Ha. Illegally in the UAE. That will be fun to explain when I take the plane on Sunday.

Anyways. I hitchhike a ride with a Palestinian-Jordanian man back to Dubai.

First night back in a lousy and not that cheap hotel in Little India (a.k.a. Deira). Now though I’m staying with my friend Talal and his brother Oussama who who very graciously offers me their extra bedroom. They’re both great, great lads. (and no, they’re not reading the blog.) and it’s a very very fancy apartment building.

Aww! (Michael Jackson tone). I’m moving in. Actually I’m almost tempted to delay my flight to KSA.

Boring Abu-Dhabi

(updated: photos)

Apologies to all Abu-Dhabi lovers: this city is BORING! Geez!!
Got here last night, evaded the hotel with the pack of Filipina hookers lined up in front (like, 15 of them. and it was a 350 dhs ($100) hotel. oh well.

Ended up in a really nice hotel where the owner is an old Burmese guy who spent 4 years in Paris in his youth, so he started telling me in French about his memories, with his Vespa, his girlfriend.. So cute :)

Abu Dhabi looks more like a real city than Dubai, with its distinct downtown/souk/little india part and its new financial district where i spent the past 2 months.

Went to the UAE Cultural Foundation which the Lonely Planet praises a lot -- ok, nice architecture but nothing to do in there, no exhibitions, no nothing. Well, a fake camel painted in a 'Spiderman' outfit, that was amusing. That's pretty much it.

Idem for El Hosn Palace - a fort built in 1793 (very, very old in UAE terms!) which had no guards on anything... walked for a minute in the courtyard, then headed to an internet cafe.

Might check out a beach or something later today.

Tonight probably heading to Al-Ain, on the Omani border. Might sneak into Oman, if they let me in. :)

Slummin' it in Dubai!

Anyways, so because of the reasons outlined in the previous post, I am in Dubai, and I have no job, no more fancy hotel reservation (and no, Laure, no fancy gym either), no source of income (so I’m living off the money reserved for the trips I’m not taking), and more interestingly, no visa which expired a few days ago.
A great change, all in one day. Charming.

Why did I not leave the UAE, then, you wonder? Well because I’m waiting for the French consulate to give me a silly stamp that proves that I indeed have a French residency permit. It should have taken what, 10 days? I did the same procedure painlessly in Boston. Here, ha, it’s been 6 weeks. I’ve called them -and the French authorities in Paris, and actually putting the two in touch - every single day for the past 2 weeks.
This consulate really is incredibly, and I mean incredibly, incompetent and slow. And rude - they hung up the phone on you.
Seriously, when I worked for UNHCR, we treated refugees better than they treat visa applicants.
Anyways, I digress.

So I left my suitcase and laptop at Tarek’s, and am currently ‘slumming it’ in cheap hostels and backpacker inns. But as it’s the summer and there are very few backpackers, well, my hostel (the cheapest I could find, $50. Dubai...) hosts a number of newly arrived (illegal?) immigrants. And I’m the only I’ve seen in the past 2 days.
If there is a silver lining to this disaster though, it’s that I’m getting to enjoy the real, downtown Dubai - forget those fancy skyscrapers! - and also getting a very close look on the lives of the immigrant, ‘guest workers’ population. Lonely Planet in hand (i put the Iran book in my bag and got the 'Arabian Peninsula' one out..) I'm touring the city on foot - shorts and Boston Red Socks cap on.

It’s incredible how downtown Dubai is probably more similar to a town in the Indian subcontinent than it is to the Arab world. The flashy lights of the shops, the food… even the Hindu temple I saw today. The nearby shopkeeper gave me some sort of bracelet with what I assume to be a Goddess on it - Mata, if I’m not mistaken (anyone wanna correct me on this one?) that I hung to my backpack.
I've seen entire streets with signs in Hindi or Urdu.
I've even seen prices nominated in Rupees!!
Welcome to Little India, a.k.a. Downtown Dubai!!!

So, anyways, living it backpacker style, albeit a very frustrated, angry - and solo -backpacker. I’m totally fine backpacking solo, but when the fit hits the shan (:-) I could use some company.

My bits of wisdom for today:
a) the lonely planet 'arabian peninsula' is outdated. Don't trust it.
b) if you're getting an ice-cream to walk around, only order one scoop -- the other one will require a straw by the time you get to it.

Photos as soon as I get a hold of my laptop.

The Slave

“MY country”, they said.
Whomeover coined that expression messed up the direction of possession: it’s not MY country. I don’t own anything of it.
Actually, it OWNS me. I am a slave, like we Africans have been owned by all types of Masters across the ages. I am a slave to a security apparatus. I am one of 75 millions slaves whose lives are controlled by their Amn el Dawla files.

I had almost, almost forgotten what the country whose passport I carry was: a Police state, one where our destinies belong to the Security files that someone who wasn’t smart enough to be anything but a police officer.
Where we are being watched for what we say, do, where we go, who we talk to.

You see, I was planning a mad vacation - a backpacking trek across Iran and Afghanistan. I give you that, an odd choice of destinations - but still, sovereign countries where the first one I find fascinating and the second one is the giant playground for my job (reconstruction, this type of stuff that I’ve been bugging you with for several months).
So I was all planned, packed, ready to take my plane, marked the main pages on my Lonely Planet, planned a good night sleep so I would be operative the second I’d touch the ground in Iran. Shiraz, Isfahan, here I come!!

But when 8 hours before my flight I hear from my uncle X of this branch of Security, and then, 2 hours before it from cousin Y of that other branch of Security, telling me NOT to go because it’s a really bad idea as far as Maaaaaster the Government is concerned, I had to submit to this fact.
Obey.

I’m starting to understand the mindset of what is essentially every rebellion in the history of mankind.
It’s not just about Poverty, as I would once have postulated. Add Oppression to it and you’ll realise that you got yourself an explosive cocktail.

What can I say. Law lam akon masreyan, lawadadtou an akoun 7aga tanya.
(such an awful thing to say, heh? I still love this place - but I’m really, really pissed at it).

And Yes, it is a minor hassle compared to getting tortured in a police station, of having your 16 years old son picked up from your house at 4 am by the police. (seemingly a favourite time for them to work). But I have still faced a form of opression which has suppressed my right to free movement, which I deem really vital.. Opression takes many shapes and forms. And if I am angry at something seemingly that secondary, I cannot begin to imagine what people whose more fundamental rights have been violated feel..