Kevin11 [is not the] Foreign Minister

Jerusalem of Above and Jerusalem of Below

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 20 Jul 2013 17:58:00 +0000

No matter how holy a city, commercialism
rules.

After already having fulfilled the standard verse of "next year in Jerusalem", I took it one step further last Thursday night. I went along to the opening ceremony of the Maccabiah - the World Maccabi Sports games, an International competition where around 7,000 Jews from around 70 countries compete against each other. It is a kind of mini-Olympics, where past and future Olympians compete along-side amateurs. I last attended this ceremony 20 years ago, as a teenager. But I digress, the special part was the opening ceremony itself, which more or less started with the singing of Hatikva, the Israeli National Anthem. Singing this for probably the first time as an adult, in a crowd of 35,000 people, in the capital of the Jewish people (as the prime-minister told us on the night - Israel is not a country belonging to the Israelis, it belongs to all Jews).

We decided to stay in an Arab part of the city, just north of the Old City, in what was formerly East Jerusalem. The purpose was threefold; cheaper accommodation, closeness to the Old City, and a 'different' experience (including more things being open on Saturday!) I chose to use English and carry my Australian passport, though I would like to think that the friendliness we experienced would have been no different had I used mainly Hebrew.

I'm not sure who thinks Jerusalem is a beautiful city. I don't. It has character - the Old City is amazingly interesting. The markets are fun, colourful, and full of spices and smells. The city though is white - Jerusalem stone is everywhere and colours are seriously lacking - as if it was designed by the same people who design clothes in Denmark. The alleyways are full of twists and turns - again, interesting and enjoyable, but not practical nor beautiful. The views from the Mount of Olives of the modern Haas Promenade are spectacular - history is laid out before you. But it's not what I would call pretty.

Apartheid In Israel

There are many people with a low IQ in this world who claim that Israel is an apartheid state. Rather than demonstrate why these people are nincompoops, I will provide them with some evidence they can use when putting forward their arguments. It only took 48 hours in Jerusalem to twice experience restriction of movement (segregation) based on religion (well, it wasn't based on race, but since the proponents of this argument aren't the smartest of people - I'm sure they won't care about such minor details).

Walking to Friday prayers through the Arab Quarter of the Old City.

Anyway, Friday morning we are walking into the Old City through Herod's Gate, walking amongst the throngs of Muslims heading for prayers at Al-Aqsa. Now, admittedly, we were not trying to get to Al-Aqsa, but we did get told at one point we had to turn around because as non-Muslims, we could not head down one of the final passage-ways.

Similarly, Saturday afternoon, when trying to find Herod's Gate to exit the city, again, due to not being a Muslim I was told I couldn't proceed down a particular street.

And who was telling me this? These terrible Israeli military folk with their machine guns, doing their utmost to protect the Muslims whilst not letting me through!

Sources of Hatred

Jerusalem is so obviously the centre of the world for so many people. This is particularly noticeable when standing on a rooftop vantage point in the Old City and seeing the Western Wall, Al-Aqsa, and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, all within a stone's throw of each other.

Inside the Kotel Tunnels - 30m from where the Holy of Holies used to be.

I can't help by get annoyed at (what I'm sure is only a part story) of how things have worked out for the Jews and the Christians. The Christians were kind enough to have their story take place a little distance away from the Jews. But the Muslims had to build over the Jews - which is obviously a source of frustration. Interestingly, the Muslims almost built over the Christians too, were it not for the foresight of Omar the Caliph who when offered by pray inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, replied that he had better lay his prayer mat outside, as it would likely become a place of pilgrimage in the future. Sure enough, it did, and a mosque was built a few metres from the Church many years later!

They do ask nicely (similar signs are plastered all over the neighbourhood).
So you cannot really blame them for throwing stones at you if you
disrespect them.

Sadly, the contrast and hatred is quite evident today still. On the surface, it is an amazing experience walking from Me'ah She'arim (one of the most religious Jewish neighbourhoods in the world), across the main road, into a dense Arab neighbourhood, all is not quite as it seems. Upon leaving Me'ah She'arim, we came upon a poor soul having trouble with the air pump at a petrol station. We stopped to help him. It turned out that during the time he left his car there while collecting bread from the bakeries closing just before Shabbat (for his chickens), someone had slashed his tyres. All were flat, and at least 3 had punctures. While helping him, another gentleman showed up with the same problem. Both were Arabs. On a Friday afternoon there was no chance of finding a garage to help them, and the police were not interested. You could not help but feel sorry for them.

Hebrew Conjugations Gone Mad – Tech Speak in a Foreign Language

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 17:00:00 +0000

In the tech space in most countries, the English language rules. However, my experiences at work in Israel have really brought to my attention how a language can change through common usage. The following English verbs have crept into the Hebrew lexicon and allow for the full conjugation according to the rules of the Hebrew language. And maybe this is what I find interesting, that not only is the English word used, but it is altered through conjugation. Using the ‘real’ Hebrew word instead of the English word will get you a puzzled look from your conversation partner. Most of these words I have learnt at work, in the hi-tech sector, but many of them are used every day by non-geeks as well…

English	Phonetic	Hebrew
To configure (eg., a setting on a computer application)	L'kanfeg	לקנפג
To format	L'farmet	לפרמט
To filter	L'falter	לפלטר
SMS	essemess	אסמס
To interact with someone on Facebook	L’fassbeck	לפסבק
To be purged (reflexive)	L’hitpargej	להתפרג’ג'
To be made active	L’actev	לאקטב
To synchronise	L’sunchren	לסנקרן

Of course, many English nouns are used as well instead of their Hebrew counterparts. Nouns are a lot less exciting because it seems to be much more acceptable to use the ‘real’ Hebrew word rather than the English one. Additionally, the only ‘change’ they undergo is that they take on the Hebrew form of the plural rather than the English. The interesting part is guessing whether an English noun becomes masculine or feminine – and this pretty much goes by feel. For example:

English	Phonetic	Hebrew
user/users	user/userim (masculine)	יוזר/יוזרים
host/hosts	host/hostim (masculine)	הוסט/הוסטים
periphery/peripheries	peripheria/peripheriot (feminine)	פריפריה/פריפריות
function/functions	foonktzia/foonktziot (feminine)	פונקציה/פונקציות

And then there is my very favourite adjective, found a lot in apartment rental ads, the word is “בילדאין” (bildin), sometimes written as two words “בילד אין” (bild in”, the second word, in Hebrew, is a negation word. So after spending quite a bit of time trying to figure out what the word “bild” meant, I finally realised that just like the term used in English for parking brakes in a car (hand-brakes) has morphed into the amusing “ham-brakes” in Hebrew, “bildin” is basically the English term “built-in” – referring to an oven or something similar in the kitchen. Go figure!

Of course, this is just the tip of the ice-berg, I could go on forever…

rooMeter - The Buying Power of YOU!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 23:05:00 +0000

Tonight, rooMeter came out of hibernation and onto the main stage of the Haifa Auditorium and won the popular vote in the StartApp Factory Startup Competition.

Ready to rock'n'roll on pitch night

After participating in a Startup Weekend a couple of months ago, where around 200 young entrepreneurs came together for around 45 hours to 'create' something (10 of the most popular projects were worked on after around 60 one minute pitches by those with ideas), myself and three other attendees formed a team for another startup competition based on the idea of one of the team members. I must admit, my enthusiasm for the idea was not particular great the first time I heard it, but after putting our minds together and giving it lots of thought, the idea morphed into rooMeter and we all quickly built up the enthusiasm for the concept and this new competition. The four of us who make up rooMeter come from a variety of backgrounds, and apart from myself, we have a design expert, someone with deep knowledge of the hotel industry, and a software developer.

The competition is a kind of 'business accelerator' based upon the intelligence of the masses and crowd-funding. In other words, rather than having a handful of so-called experts telling the startups what they should do and how they should do it,the general public guides the startups through voting and by providing funds. At least in theory.

Surveying the waiting crowd prior to the event

The event took place inside the Haifa Auditorium

The preparation over the last 6 weeks has been mainly preparation for the opening night of the competition, a pitch night. Despite typical Israeli organisation - the Hebrew word "balagan" comes to mind (let alone the fact that out of the few alterations they do to our presentation, one involves changing my name to spell it incorrectly! Why people think I can't spell my own name is beyond me...) - we were relatively well prepared. And despite me having the worst Hebrew out of all four of us, I made enough of an impression at the Startup Weekend (which was conducted in English) that I was selected to be the presenter. We competed against 6 other startups - a bunch of young people with some fantastic ideas. It didn't really matter whether each and every person thought they would make use of the particular product being presented, but I believe that everyone was impressed with not just the ideas that people had, but the work that was done towards realising them. I know I certainly was.

Time to convince the audience...

So, rooMeter A few one-liners have been used already to 'say' what the idea is; Discounted hotel rooms using the power of your social network. Group buying using social media. Tired of paying full price for a hotel room? Take back the buying power of YOU! But none of them really explain the idea. And any short line which is used to explain the idea, often results in the listener responding with, "oh, you mean GroupOn", or "oh, just like HotelTonight". Well, no. Not like either of those, and not like anything in existence today.

What rooMeter does is to take a few simple, and not uncommonly known facts and works with them.

Hotels typically have less than 100% occupancy and empty rooms are lost money. Sometimes hotels can forecast low occupancy far in advance, sometimes they can't.
Individuals pay the standard price at hotels (whether it be booking online, or using any other method). Groups always receive a discount - which can be quite significant.
Hotels pay a significant commission to travel agents and booking agencies (including online ones).
Advertising is not cheap, and any advertising that does not look like advertising, is always better than 'obvious' paid advertising.

Q&A time

Point 1 by itself is already solved by dozens of travel websites out there. But take advantage of the other points as well, and we have rooMeter. Hotels 'offload' excess rooms. The more rooms that are sold, the lower the price for each room, because the hotel considers it a 'group' booking (even if they are not all on the same night) and offloads the advertising effort to those people who are making the bookings. Users are encouraged to share any bookings they make on their social network, be it Facebook, Twitter or Google+, to encourage others to book through rooMeter and thus lower the price for everyone. Of course, if only one person books - then they pay the standard price (no more, of course). Simple, right? Well, in some senses yes, but in many senses, the devil lies in the detail.

Each team has one final opportunity to convince the crowd, so I tell them
about the wonderful hotel deal already available.

One of our greatest morale boosts came from our first agreement with a hotel, the Jerusalem Tower Hotel. The fact that on our launch night, we could offer people up to 25% off the best Internet rate (depending on how many rooms were sold), was a great feeling (by the way - you can still join in and book for yourself at this great rate, thereby contributing towards everyone getting the discounted price).

So, after winning the popular vote we now move to the next step. Building a working prototype, contracts, agreements, stage 2 of the competition, and many long discussions. Most of all, we started doing this for the fun of it, for the experience, and to learn. But now, perhaps www.roometer.com will soon be the primary destination on the Internet for those booking hotel rooms. In the mean time, show your support with a vote or even some cash (it's only Israeli Sheqels, and according to Australian financial institutions, it's not real money anyway, so you may as well give some to us...)

To the victors go the spoils

Just for laughs...

We produced a short clip of our creative process in action...

The Israeli

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 05:32:00 +0000

The Israeli is a curious creature. Despite the Israeli being made up of one part of nearly every country in the world, and only a minority of Israelis able to actually call themselves second generation Israeli, this creature has a unique behaviour, which rather than being a mix of all the components making it up, has its own special characteristics. Out in the wild, the following characteristics can be clearly seen, almost without exception:

Opinion is as good as fact. If an Israeli heard a piece of information from someone they know, this information becomes fact, even if it flies in the face of logic or truth. An example of how this is embedded in the culture: a private company produces a booklet with the values of all cars of all ages. This has become the reference book when buying and selling a car. The only important thing when setting the sale value of your car, is what the book says. Similarly, negotiations are all centred around the value in the book. Precise percentage discount values are specified for different situations - number of owners, type of previous owners, etc. However, try to argue about the price due to a factor that is not specified in the book and it is a lost cause. The book says so, therefore it is true.
Whatever your interaction with one of these specimens they are doing you a favour, even if it handing over money in return for goods they are selling - by taking your money, they are doing you a favour.
Despite being a tipping culture, service oriented Israelis are few and far between, that you sometimes may be forgiven for thinking you are in Australia.
When something does not go the way an Israeli wants or expects, he finds it necessary to shout and swear at who/whatever is causing distress. Additionally, the Israeli will try and involve all bystanders within a 50 foot radius in the complaint by shouting a series of rhetorical questions at them, such as; "How can they give us this kind of service?", "I have been waiting here for 30 minutes, how is it acceptable that a bus isn't here?" or "I have never had to do this before, how can they say this? This isn't normal!"
After giving him the finger because he honked at you as a result of you obeying the road rules but him not liking it, he pulls up next to you to ask you "why?" He actually listens to your explanation, and then, with only a slight hint of ridicule, wishes you "a very happy holidays from the depth of his heart".
Whilst more than happy to fight for his country, in a war, where real deadly weapons are used, the Israeli is shit-scared that somehow if he lets you off the train before he pushes himself onto the train, the train might leave without him. Although this extends to all forms of public transport, it is most evident on the trains.

And like all Israeli documents, the following disclaimer applies: All references to males in this document apply equally to females. Similarly, all references in the singular apply equally in the plural.

Modern, Yet Behind The Times

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 15:32:00 +0000

There is no doubt that Israel is one of the most technologically advanced countries in the world. This is what the statistics say. Silicon Wadi, the concentration of hi-tech start-ups along the coastal strip from Tel-Aviv up to Haifa is second only to Silicon Valley (and actually beats Silicon Valley in some statistics). Take start-ups out of the equation, and you still have the dozens of huge international companies who have chosen to set up one of their few offices outside the USA, in Israel. Of course, the cynical amongst us (me included, at times), would argue that one of the main reasons for this is the relatively low cost of labour here compared to the high productivity - I wouldn't be surprised if Israel tops the world 'productivity / labour cost' list. However, when it comes to day to day interaction with this country, one could be forgiven for thinking that it is only just emerging from the middle ages - and I'm sure some would argue that this is because people have bigger fish to fry here than to worry about the small stuff, but I would argue that it's because technology companies are so focused on the big money, that it's much more lucrative simply to export to larger markets, than to try and work within the Israeli market. So what exactly am I talking about?

It is all very well that we have the Sabbath, the holy day when Jews are not supposed to do many things, including driving. The fact of the matter is, that many (most) people in Israel are more than happy to travel on Saturday. The lack of public transport however makes owning a car a necessity. Take Haifa for example, the one major city that still has public transport on the Sabbath. However, if you want to take a bus between the end of the 'week day bus schedule', which ends at 16:30 on Friday, and the 'night time bus schedule', which starts at 22:30, you are simply out of luck. Result - you buy a car. Consequently, Israel can be seen as the complete opposite to Denmark in that respect.

Too many buildings (like this one at the end of
my street) remind me of downtown Dakar.

Staying on the theme of the environment, despite what some Israelis think, the culture here is to use and abuse. Want to divide up your trash and recycle what you can? Sure - but be prepared to put in a lot of effort to find the relevant recycling bins to put your papers and plastics. I haven't yet seen a green waste bin, and although shops are obliged to give you a 30 agorot (8c) deposit refund on glass bottles, actually returning the bottles is hardly ever done. I imagine this is partly due to the low incentive, and from stories I've heard, the unfriendly checkout staff who consider it a hassle to process the refunds.

Ignoring the actual part of throwing your rubbish and recyclables away, there are many behavioural aspects which which are closer to what I experienced in Senegal, than in Australia or Denmark. Firstly, the filthy habit of smoking. In this respect, Israeli law isn't far behind Europe, but enforcement of this law is. You can find people smoking almost anywhere, even if it is directly underneath a 'no smoking' sign. Going along with this, is the hatred of walking more than 2m to throw rubbish in a bin. Throwing cigarette buts, chewing gum wrappers, and just about any other small piece of rubbish on the floor or out the car window, is a national past-time. The only reason I can think that nothing is done to change this behaviour is that the country would not know what to do with the throngs of street and side-walk cleaners that pretty much make up a full army.

Then there are the high tech marvels which one comes to expect after living in modern countries like Denmark. The ability to find information online, a uniform system for public transport tickets, or the ability to do things online or over the phone. Take information for starters: during the times that buses don't run, group taxis, known as sherut, do many of the routes. Try and find out through any method apart from asking someone who knows, whether a sherut can get you from X to Y and whether it runs on a certain evening, and there is very little chance you will have success. Sure you might find a phone number, but the likelihood of anyone actually answering your call is very low.

Despite living in a modern apartment, like
most Israelis, I have to flick a switch 20
minutes before I want to take a shower
(assuming I want hot water), and then
remember to turn off the boiler afterwards
(assuming I don't want a massive electricity
bill)

Have a question for a government department? Feel free to go to the office (which is only open, of course, for a few hours a day), wait in a queue, and ask the question. Some departments don't even have public phone numbers that get you through to a live human! Forget about getting the particular information you need on a website (and many commercial websites aren't that much better...)

Want to travel on public transport? Buy a paper ticket from the driver! Have a smart-card but need to recharge it? Again, buy a recharge off the driver! Seriously, the concept of saving time by dealing with a machine, or someone other than the driver is only just starting to appear here. And if you have recharged you smart-card, but then want to use it in a different town, even though the ticket price is exactly the same, you then have to buy a recharge for that town, again, off the driver. Want to check how many trips you have left on your card? Ask the driver to print out a report for you. Yes, this is the height of taking an advanced technological concept and implementing it in one of the most inefficient ways possible.

My pet peeve, which I find more amusing than anything. This country is based on cheques. Yes, those pieces of paper with handwritten information about how much you want to pay someone. Time to pay the rent for your house? Then hand over 13 post-dated cheques - one for each month plus a security deposit. Ask the average Israeli why this is done rather than something slightly more sophisticated, and the answer comes back because this is just how it is done, and it's secure, the landlord has the cheques in his hand. Sure, because cheques cannot be cancelled or bounced.... hmmm.... This is amusing to the point where at a recent hi-tech event, someone pitched an idea to give people the ability to write cheques on their mobile phones! Wake up Israel! We are living in the dark ages here!

For a country famous for its bureaucracy, there are certain things which should have some red tape, and sadly, don't. I decided to sign up for an Edi Card, the Israeli organ donor registry. Without any sort of ID verification, I am now in the central register as an organ donor. Just like that - I hand over a couple of details, which I could enter about just about anyone else I know, and voila, the person is an organ donor. Just a little too easy...

Despite all this, despite all the flaws. I love the place. It's a balagan, and I'm happy being a part of it. Yes, I miss things that work, clean air, clean streets, polite people, efficiency and the ability to do everything online. Instead though, I am glad to be amongst liveliness, honesty, reality, real life and a Northern hemisphere country where you can relax on the beach in March!

A Little Bit Like Africa

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 29 Dec 2012 13:47:00 +0000

I have decided that there are a lot of similarities between living in Israel and living in Senegal. In many ways Israel is a particularly technologically advanced nation, but in many ways, there is a slightly less modern feel about it. However, unlike Senegal, I like this less modern feel – it has character and energy.

Haifa is already growing on me. A city where Jews, Arabs, Druze and Baha’i live in relative harmony, it feels very much a multicultural city. I hear Arabic as much as I hear Russian. I don’t feel uncomfortable at all when I walk past an ultra-orthodox Jew on the one side of the street walking his son to synagogue, and see a Muslim on the other side on his way to the Mosque. My neighbours speak Arabic, yet half the doors in the corridor have mezuzot on them. Of course, some of the benefits of this multicultural city seem very selfish – I have the option of eating kosher if I want to, but I am also free to go shopping on Saturday. On the other hand, Haifa feels very much like a large town, rather than a city. There is no significant CBD with lots of skyscrapers, people dawdle (except when driving) and the place really isn’t so polluted (but perhaps I’m just comparing to Dakar…).

Today I went to the local shuk in Wadi Nisnas, the majority Arab neighbourhood bordering on my new home in downtown Haifa. Not only was it open on Saturday, it was thriving with people, guarded at all entrances, something which didn't feature on Friday. And as I am still getting used to, I walk past the security checkpoint and casually get asked whether I am armed, in the same manner as someone else might ask me for the time. I walk through the crowds, notice the children’s entertainment, and the band on the roof playing what sounds like a Yiddish twist on Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean. I go in with a shopping list – a new apartment needs a lot of basics. However, a few hundred shekels later, I leave primarily with lots of Middle Eastern goodies. Halva in multiple varieties, more baklava than I can possibly eat (though that won’t stop me trying), fresh pita, chocolate croissants, rougelach (similar to a chocolate croissant, but the chocolate is rolled into it rather than put as a filling, and then it is topped with icing sugar), a half kilo back of za’atar (my favourite spice of all time which seems to be sorely lacking in many countries), and of course, a few things I actually needed…

Going Home

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 17 Dec 2012 10:47:00 +0000

I am about to embark on what is likely to be my last flight this year – the one that will take me to my homeland and hopefully fulfil a dream of almost 20 years. I have spent much of this year doing travel related things: packing up one home of 11 years and one of 2 years (not to mention packing and unpacking through two temporary homes); I have spent more time in airports this year, than even I, as a pilot, thought I would – about to embark on my 40th flight of the year (not counting ones I piloted myself) and my 7th intercontinental one; I have destroyed 2 suitcases and lost numerous items along the way. But now, I am going home – I hope.

This will be the second goal fulfilment this year – the first one being the opportunity to work in a humanitarian aid situation. Done and dusted (but of course, maybe it could be different next time?)

I approach this with much trepidation – so much more than going to Denmark or Senegal. I go without a solid home and without a job, but because I want to. On and off for 19 years I have been thinking about this. Reliving childhood memories of fun, friendships and freedom. Yet I go back with the expectation of hard times, a large pay cut, and still being thousands of miles away from my family. I am excited though – I know opportunities will await and there will be a life to live. It has been nice to be able to say: לשנה הבאה בירושלים (next year in Jerusalem), and actually mean it. It has been nice to think that, although I have rarely been directly affected by anti-semitism in the past, now, I will be living in a place where my government does something about it. I look forward to feeling my religion, rather than just practicing it. I look forward to going home.

South Africa in Senegal

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 05:29:00 +0000

For the non-mutual friends, rather than me trying to reinvent the wheel, it makes a lot more sense to simply direct you to a blog entry written better than I could ever do - Walking with Lions in Senegal.

Out of Africa

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 03:56:00 +0000

Despite everyone still speaking French, Brussels, even if just for 60 hours, was a very pleasant change from Senegal. Although I thought I was getting away from the touts, the cheats, and the average person who simply wants to get your money - case in point, being cheated at the airport on the way out when I thought I was being nice by taking some Euros off a woman who I thought was given them as charity by arriving passengers and giving her CFA, only to find out later that she had substituted some Euro coins for similar looking worthless CFA coins – may be people like that burn in hell! – but back to the story. I was reminded, upon arrival in Brussels, that capitalism simply results in large, organised companies being evil and trying to rip you off rather than individuals doing it in a non-organised way. A coffee in a large cup at the coffee shop chain at the airport results in them taking it a little too literally – the cup is large, but the volume of coffee is slightly less than what would have fitted in the small cup. May that company suffer the wrath of the European financial crisis!

Manneken Pis - and the female equivalent, which looks more like
Golem from Lord of the Rings taking a leak.

I wasn't even sure whether I should have left Dakar for the long weekend. Friday was Eid-al-Adha, locally known as Tabaski, and I was invited to spend the feast with one of my colleague’s family. Although I was curious to see the change from having thousands of sheep and goats all over the city to all of a sudden them all being on the dinner place, I was too scared this might turn me into a vegetarian. So I spent a lot of money to have a few days of solace and catching up with a good friend – and it couldn't have been better. Despite the trip being focused around ‘being’ rather than ‘doing’, we still got quite a lot in.

There was the mandatory walking tour of the city centre to see all the impressive sites – and impressive they wear. I really do like the classical European cities with the 3-4 storey high buildings that look so elegant, the beautiful city halls, the clean streets… it’s all so, civilised. It reminded me a bit of Copenhagen - good memories of course...

The Botanic Gardens north of the city were actually quite a highlight. After the dreary brown of the Sahel, the Autumn colours of northern Europe were just stunning, especially against the well manicured gardens and one of the most awesome greenhouses I have ever been inside (and not just because it helped me escape from the almost zero degree weather, which I thought I would quite enjoy without the need for warm clothes after the horrible heat and humidity of Senegal). An educational trip, I even discovered, whilst walking through the Australia section, that plant species was named after my ‘home’ suburb! Learn a new thing every day…

A couple of other treasures in the gardens include tree roots sticking up through the ground which have an uncanny resemblance with some kind of animal standing on its hind quarters, as well as a stunning castle jutting out into a lake – my retirement home!

The top right photo in the collage has the view towards Brussels' version
of the MI5 building - or at least that's what it looks like to me...

The one real tourist attraction that we visited (well, apart from those seen walking through the city) was the Atomium. Sadly, despite scoring highly on Tripadvisor, this has got to be one of the worst tourist attractions ever when it comes to value for money. The giant statue representing an iron crystal enlarged 160 billion times was built for an Expo on 1958 does look pretty cool, and promises a great view over the city. Unfortunately, the stupidly steep entrance fee coupled with the queues to go to the top put a bit of a damper on the ‘reasonable’ view from the top atom.

Delirium - the pub with the biggest beer selection in the
world - not somewhere indecisive people like me
should hang out...

The weekend, importantly in my opinion, was focused around eating, drinking and talking. Brussels certainly lived up to my expectations (at least I don’t think it was purely because of the contract) in terms of the food and drink. Where else can two consecutive meals consist purely of waffles? Or where else can one enjoy such fantastically tasting beers for only a few euros each. This was definitely a highlight of the trip. On the other hand, perhaps I should worry about how happy I was to even just have McDonalds at the airport on the way home… Even if this didn't compensate for learning the hard way that TAP really does stand for "Take Another Plane" - a 2.5 hour delay without a single announcement nor apology meant arriving at work on Monday with 2.5 hours worth of airplane sleep and nothing more...

Well, since it wasn't a particularly touristy weekend, but I still liked what I saw, I’ll let the pictures do the rest of the talking…

In Copenhagen, dogs ride in bicycle baskets, in Brussels, they ride in wheelbarrows...

Saly - not quite Scarborough Beach

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 08:35:00 +0000

The local 'Picaso' taking my purchase (bargained from 60,000
down to 20,000 CFA) off the frame.

Saly is one of the resort towns of Senegal (the other one being Cap Skirring). It is a around 80km South of Dakar (which means anywhere from 50 minutes to 2.5 hours driving) and serves weekend holiday makers as well as Europeans on package holidays. It has sun, beaches, and clubs. My reason for going: the beaches. I wanted to get away from Dakar for a weekend, relax on the beach which would hopefully be nicer than the ones in Dakar, and just enjoy a quite weekend. Well, on Senegalese standards, it lived up to these expectations. Therefore, if you're in Senegal, it makes for a nice getaway - though I certainly couldn't recommend making an effort to specifically come here from another country - that, is something I don't get...

Oh, and don't watch the video below if you're planning on having fish for dinner...

On a global scale, I would say that the beaches of Saly are nothing short of pretty horrible. But for Senegal, they aren't too bad. Although there is still a lot of obvious pollution and rubbish around, in contract to some of the beaches in Dakar, it is quite clean. The water is not even close to being comparable with the clean, azure waters one might expect in a tropical environment, but, you can certainly go for a paddle and only occasionally bump into some seaweed or a dead fish. On the beach, instead of constant hassling by locals, you can go for at least 3 or 4 minutes before some one comes and asks you how you’re going and whether it is “tranquil”. For a country of people who speak French, no one seems to know what the word ‘tranquil’ really means – it certainly doesn’t mean you walking with me for 15 minutes as I’m trying to ensure a walk along the beach and asking me every minute “tranquil?”. Sadly, I haven’t learnt how to say “get stuffed, mate!” in French yet…

I did manage to find a nice little hotel in the small village just south of Saly run by 2 women. Apart from no fewer than 15,000 bugs in my room, it was a nice little oasis where there were no other guests, I was 100m from the beach, had a nice pool in my peaceful oasis, and European friendliness to work with. Just what I needed!

Mbour

A few of the local beach salesmen had told us that due the approaching festival of Tabaski the following weekend, the return of the fishing boats at Mbour would be particularly spectacular that Saturday. After hearing this from a few different people, we decided to go with one ‘tour guide’ who assured us that we would have a good experience with him, he was knowledgeable, been doing it for many years, wouldn’t just take us there and back but would actually guide us, etc. Also, at a cost of 3,000 CFA per person, it was a good deal because this was a quarter of what the Europeans who came from the hotels were paying him – he even showed us some bookings.

Anyone for shark?

As with many of the locals, this guy was an outright liar (which, was expected, just perhaps not the to extent he was). He showed up on his horse and flatbed cart to take us to Mbour as promised – but of course, no other 'rich guests’ that he said he had. And apart from answering a few questions with simple answers, his idea of being a tour guide was hurrying us along as we walked around, and then making sure we went into various tourist shops where he was quite obviously going to get a commission from his ‘brother’ (everyone is everyone’s brother here).

Mbour is an important fishing village, similar to St Louis. In the evenings, hundreds of fishing boats (though it didn’t quite seem like the 400 – 850 promised by the various beach sellers) arrive back from their week on the the ocean to sell their catch. The undercover market was packed with disgustingly smelling fish of all varieties, and the overflow onto the makeshift ‘shops’ on the beach was quite spectacular. I definitely found this an interesting part of the weekend, and it was a good way to ensure I wasn't going to eat fish for another couple of days at least.

A Cultural Divide

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 21 Oct 2012 21:34:00 +0000

Since it would obviously be politically incorrect of me, and perhaps even racist by some, to generalise about negative aspects of a group of people based on their culture, I figured, since today was full of great examples, to write a post about the massive cultural divide between myself and 2 particular people – they happened to be taxi drivers in Senegal (although the latter, in a sense, drove a car and accepted payment for the ride, I’m not sure if he really was a taxi driver…) In case someone happens to misconstrue this as a generalisation about Senegalese (heaven forbid), I will throw in an example of the cultural divide between myself and a certain aspect of bureaucracy – the other person happens to be an Indian.

Stuck in Friday arvo traffic - downtown Dakar

Taxi!

So after deciding to take a weekend break at the seaside resort of Saly, I flag down a taxi after work to take me to the Gare Routiere, from where I will catch my sept-place taxi to Saly. The conversation with the taxi driver, before I get in, and following the standard pleasantries, goes something like this (I have translated in a way that I assume I would sound in French).

Me: I would like to go to the Gare Routiere. How much?
Driver: blah blah blah blah. Gare Hotel blah blah blah.
Me: No. Gare Routiere (this time, pronounced differently, just in case I got it wrong first time).
Driver: Blah blah blah. Gare blah blah. City blah blah?
Me: Not city. Near Point E. Before Place de l’Indepdance. I want to go to Saly. Sept-place taxi. Gare Routiere.
Driver: Ah, Point E. Ok.
Me: No, NEAR Point E. But Not Point E. Before Place de l’Independance.
Driver: Ah, Place de l’independance?

… You get the picture. Eventually the driver implies that he understand and we settle on 1,500 CFA. He tries to engage me in conversation a lot during the journey, I repeatedly tell him I cannot really communicate with him. However, the words “Gare hotel” seem to come out of his mouth a lot….

Me: Do you know where is Gare Routiere? I want to go to Gare Routiere?
Driver: Do you know where Gare Routiere is?
Me: [Pointing] There. Before Place de l’Independance.
Driver: Ah. Blah blah blah, you have to pay more money. Place de 'l’Indepdence is far.

… The above exchange gets repeated in varying form around half a dozen times. I realise the guy has no idea where I want to go. There is no chance I have not pronounced it well, and either the taxi driver does not speak French very well, or I really am that bad at French. But could he really be that stupid to agree on a fare to take me somewhere, but have no idea where I’m actually going, and then just drive? Well, apparently ‘yes’. After threatening to get out and pay him 500 CFA, he agrees on a new fare, 2,000 CFA (why I agreed, I don’t know, I just wanted to get there). But then, 2 minutes later, the whole conversation above starts repeating itself.

Me: Do you know where the Gare Routiere is. Yes or No?
Driver: [Every single word in the French dictionary, apart from the words ‘yes’ or ‘no’]

Finally, we pull over next to another taxi driver.

Driver (to the other driver): Blah blah blah Gare Hotel.
Me: No. Do you know where the Gare Routiere is. I want to go to Saly.

A mixed Wolof & French conversation follows where the other driver explains to my driver that I want to go to Gare Routiere Pompiere. Finally, he understands! For the next 5 minutes my driver complains that he is taking me on a long tour. His problem. Until, we get stuck in traffic. Standstill traffic because we are now downtown, at the main intersection where there is a roundabout with 3.6 lanes of traffic, a few dozen street sellers walking amongst the traffic, a hundred or so pedestrians, and the odd goat.
Finally, 40 minutes later, we drive into the parking lot marked with a sign that says ‘Gare Routiere’. At last…

Taxi! (again)

After nearly 2 hours sitting in the middle of the 3rd row in the Peugeot 504 sept-place, I jump out to get another taxi off the main road into Saly and to my hotel. People are shouting ‘taxi’ at me, so I accept the offer of the first guy after telling him I want to go to Eden du Pescadou and agreeing on 1,000 CFA. This driver, it seems, is just a local with a car trying to make some cash on the side. No problems – a nice young guy who actually puts in an effort to communicate with me in basic French. he knows the hotel, great. Although street maps aren’t used this part of the world, my hosts roughly described how to get there. So when he pulls in to a guarded residence, I ask “Eden d'u Pescadou”. This is Eden he tells me. I try to tell him that it doesn’t look right. But we go around in circles. The guards come over and try to help, and no matter how many times I say to all of them I want to go to "Hotel Eden du Pescadou”, all they can tell me is that “No, this is a residence, Eden.” I try to show my frustration, at least I am thinking “that’s all well and good, but then take me where I want to go!” It doesn’t come through…
I pull out my phone and show them all, the driver and the guards the email from the hotel explaining how to get there. Turn left at Bank CBAO, go past Chez Marcel and Chez Poulo restaurants. It’s on the left. I had been trying to explain this to them for a while, but even after getting each of them to read this a few times, they still have no idea. Not because they don’t know, but because all they can tell me is that I am at Residence Eden. Great.
Thankfully, a couple of Europeans show up. They offer to speak to me in Spanish, but I tell them that my French is better. Magically, within 20 seconds, they are able to explain to the guards and my driver where I need to go. My driver knew the area, he knows the 2 restaurants, but simply wouldn’t think.
The cultural divide? The taxi drivers agreeing to a contract they don’t even know how to fulfil. It’s plain stupid. The inability to think to try and solve a problem rather than just hoping you can get away with things being obviously wrong – that simply doesn’t work.

And for cultural diversity…

In a very large organisation, one always expects to encounter illogical scenarios. Hypothetically, if this were to occur to me, and I’m not saying it did, I wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry…

From: Me
To: Someone in India
Dear helpdesk,
Does corporate service X exist in this organisation? We are currently using solution Y, which as you know is a half arsed solution, and service X, if available, would make a lot more sense – but I am not sure if it is available.
Thanks.
Kevin

Innocent enough, right?

From: Someone in India
To: Me
Dear Kevin,
In scenario A, service X is available and managed by us. In scenario B (your scenario), service X is taken care of by a third party.
Regards,
Helpdesk

OK, sure, you answered my question, I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to anticipate anything further than that.

From: Me
To: Someone in India
Dear helpdesk,
Since service X is something which we are all supposed to be using, who is the third party? What are their contact details?
Regards,
Kevin

I have learnt to now be specific. That’s specific enough, right?

From: Someone in India
To: Me
Dear Kevin,
We are not allowed to provide the contact details of the third party.
Regards,
Helpdesk

Of course. Why would you?

From: Me
To: Someone in India
Dear helpdesk,
So let me get this straight. We have service X available and maintained by a third party, but we have no way of using the service because you are not allowed to hand out the contact details. That doesn’t make sense? How do we make use of the service?
Regards,
Kevin

Trying to not get too facetious…

From: Someone in India
To: Me
Dear Kevin,
I have provided you information you requested as per my own capacity & by following the guidelines. Now it is up to you how you decode it. I cannot comments anything on your assumption.
Please intimate us if you require any technical assistance.
Regards,
Helpdesk

Great, the guidelines require cryptic messages to be sent that I have to decode – this wasn’t in the job description. On top of that, I need to intimate them – I don’t even know what that means.
Time to start a weekend break by hailing a taxi…

Senegal v2.0 – Since I have so much trouble putting this into words…

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 20:19:00 +0000

When people have asked me what things are like in terms of housing in Senegal, I have found it very hard to describe the situation. I still find it very hard to describe the situation. So moving into a new apartment upon my return from a 2 week hiatus, I decided a photo blog might be the easiest way to describe the situation.

Despite coming to an agreement with an agent regarding an apartment. I was to pay 20,000 CFA per day for an apartment I liked on the 3rd floor. Whilst in Australia, that all of a sudden became 600,000 CFA per month, with no partial months, making my rent essentially 23,000 CFA per day. What choice did I have? Well, apart from give the agent less of a commission (ie., tip). Then I return to Dakar, go to the apartment, and discover i have been given one on the ground floor. After a few bullshit stories in terrible English with some French and Wolof thrown on, I accept it because I literally do not have a choice. Now, to describe the place. On the surface, at a high level, it looks like a pretty reasonable place – it’s not luxury, but it does look OK. But dig a little deeper, and you learn a little bit about housing in Senegal. And keep in mind, this housing is some of the more western housing around.

Kitchen

I seem to have a more advanced version of the Senegalese kitchen. In other words, I actually have cupboards (a couple of them even have shelves!) What seems to be very common here is the frame for the sink, but just an empty space underneath where the few pots and pans may be piled up. Another important selling point in this apartment is the hot water heater – what may be a standard feature in Europe or Australia, is an important feature you have to ask for here. A couple of other interesting points about the local kitchen (or how locals think foreigners want their kitchens), the fridge stands on a wooden pallet (again, I have seen this all over the place) and the crockery and cutlery, instead of being neatly packed away in cupboards and drawers (drawers don’t exist in this kitchen), they permanently live in the drying rack. Despite my effort to pile them somewhere, I return the following evening to find the cleaner has put them back in the drying rack.

A great illustration of the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ mentality of cleaning here, such as, if the floor looks clean from eye height, then it must be clean (clearly this is not the case), the picture on the side illustrates what I find waiting for me in one of the kitchen cupboards. Strangely, I am not too surprised…

Bedroom

Like the apartment as a whole, the bedroom doesn’t look too bad. It has a bed, bedside tables, and cupboards. It is more or less clean. Again, closer inspection reveals some interesting facts. We have a mattress which is softer than a baby’s bum – OK, some people like it like that. But it is made with bedsheets which resemble a finely woven canvas. If you think of a bedsheet from a fancy hotel where they advertise the thread-count, and then go to the opposite end of the scale, you have these sheets. And at the top of the bed, items stuffed with hard chunks of foam, that are where the pillows should be. Again – keep in mind, this apartment is not the odd one out… As it turns out, it’s not as uncomfortable as it sounds, and I’m generally quite tired, so I have no issues sleeping.

In typical fashion though, not all mechanical things work as one is used to. For example, one chest of drawers next to the bed has a great feature where it falls apart when you open one of the drawers! The drawers stay open, meaning you never have to waste any effort opening and closing them in the future!

Bathroom

After being used to Danish bathrooms, the bathrooms here are positively huge. I’m not sure what the builders imagine people doing in them. Or perhaps, they just look bare the way they are designed. Now, you look at this bathroom and you think it has everything, no serious problems. But closer inspection reveals some defects which do not actually surprise me, and when mentioning them to the landlord, do not evoke that much concern (or perhaps that’s my issues with French…)

The toilet seat is not connected to the toilet bowl. It’s as if someone went to Bunnings to buy a seat, but didn’t think it would be useful to attach it. I think it may have once been attached, but that was a long time ago. The repair job looks and feel as if it was done by me, with my eyes closed…
The shelving unit above the sink looks OK, despite the fact that 2 of the shelves aren’t level any more, I can live with that. The top shelf though, above typical eye level, is so disgusting that after touching it I have that same icky feeling I get when I pick up dog poop in Perth and suspect there is a whole in the plastic bag!
The shower head is the most modern looking thing in the apartment. Sadly, it’s also the most impractical. Unfortunately, it’s hard to capture its operation in a photo, but what comes out of it is a 2-dimensional spray of water (except of course form the few bits the spray all over the bathroom because it too, is a little broken, and as per usual, there are no shower curtains here).

Oh, and it turns out my neighbour is a famous Senegalese soccer player who is plays in the English football league. If only I cared…

Entrepreneurship in Senegal

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 26 Aug 2012 15:44:00 +0000

Not 'the' beach, this one is further down the road on the Westernmost
point of the continent

After visiting the beach yesterday afternoon for a bit of R&R, my interaction with the local entrepreneur got me thinking about about entrepreneurship in Senegal. Something that exists on a completely different level to the capitalist entrepreneurship I am used do. Of course that does exist here, but to an extremely limited extent. Here is my experience, at my local beach – I go there because it is a 10 minute walk away, and I’m not actually sure there are any other beaches in a reasonable walking distance (I use the Australian definition of a beach here – where land meets ocean in the form of gently sloping soft sand into the water – some rocks are acceptable).

I sit down on the sand, specifically not taking advantage of one of the half broken umbrellas or partially torn up straw mats. Within seconds, I am approached by a hustler, calling me mon ami and asking for 2,000 CFA! Although this at some point in the conversation changed to 1,000 CFA, and I’m sure is different for every person at the beach, I wasn’t up for it. I figured this is a good opportunity to practice the little French I know, since the gentleman does not speak English. “Why?” I ask. He explains. I have little idea what he’s saying. We go back and forth, with half of the conversation being me telling him that I don’t understand or him telling me that he doesn’t understand English. My argument (armed with knowledge I gained from my colleagues) is that this is a public beach, I am not using any of his ‘equipment’, so why do I need to pay? His argument, I think, is that just like I have a job, he has a job, and it is related to the beach. It seems as though he is telling me that he cleans the beach and makes it look presentable. Admittedly, the beach does look a 100 times nicer than most public spots in Dakar. There is very little rubbish there, the sand and rocks are clearly separated in a way which didn’t occur naturally. Still, I argue – I a coming here to read my book and swim. If I use his services, I will pay. After 15 minutes he decides to leave me and give me free passage.

And what a view, from the Westernmost point...

I started thinking a lot about this encounter and realise that this is typical of this country. The local ‘entrepreneur’ is attempting to extract money from a ‘customer’ in a mildly unethical way – through an attempted guilt trip. Although it is a public beach, because he has done some work there, I should feel obliged to pay him. Take the taxi drivers – with 1 passing me every 10 seconds on a main road, I would flag one down if I wanted to. But many drivers feel that shouting out ‘taxi’, honking at me, and stopping next to me is enough to make me change my mind – not because I need a taxi, but because one is there for me now. Or the mobile phone credit sellers in the street. The same ones see me every day, twice a day. I don’t have a prepaid phone, but they feel that perhaps I’ll change my mind if they persist enough. I’m sorry, this is not being entrepreneurial.

My local beach is round about the middle of the left-facing 'bay'

Later on, the beach ‘landlord’ returns with his brother, the same discussion ensues. I decide to see whether this group of entrepreneurs is actually trying to take advantage of opportunities. They have a beach to themselves, no shops nearby, maybe they offer value added services. I ask if I can buy a drink. “Sure, anything” is the response. My request for any type of juice leads nowhere, and my request for a beer lands me with a bottle of Sprite. That’s all they have apparently. I’m sorry – but that’s lame. Offer value added services properly – people appreciate it. Put a sign up (even in English and Spanish) explaining that although this is a public beach, you spend hours every day improving it because the government doesn’t and suggest people give you something in return. Don’t just sit around playing music and smoking and feel that you can bully people into paying you.

I have found that this sort of thing is the prevalent attitude here. The full entrepreneurial spirit may exist here, but on a much smaller scale. There are, I’m sure, plenty of opportunities here, but they simply are not being taken advantage of particularly well.

Love Of My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 20:40:00 +0000

To my dearest Jessie,

I know that technically, I saved your life once, long ago, when we first met. But ever since then, I feel like you have saved mine countless times. Perhaps not physically, but emotionally. You have been with me as long as I have been an adult and although I feel like I have already abandoned you, I can't bear the thought of not being greeted by you ever again.

The true meaning of friendship

You brought so many smiles to my face, especially at the times I really needed them. You comforted me always whenever I needed to be comforted. You were a true companion and I know I will always treasure the memories I have of you.

Always on the lookout for the best spot

Of you being able to make my heart melt when I first met you. Of you, somehow, at 5kg, overpowering anyone who tried to hold you still on a car journey. Of tiny you, who could produce enough hair on furniture, clothes and the carpet to keep the Eskimos warm. Of you, who used to wake up from the deepest sleep as soon as I opened the door to the garden, just so you could come outside with me. Of you, who would trot back and forth, side to side around my bed, asking to be let up, night after night. Of you, chasing insects in the garden and ending up with a nose covered in dirt. Of you, who in the middle of summer would wake me up with a scratch on the bed or a lick because you wanted to go for a walk.

Always finding the best spot

Of you, who in the depths of the Canberra winter, I would wake up with a soft pat to go for a walk in the darkness. Of you, who got countless hours of entertainment from barking at and eating water from the top step of the swimming pool - despite how much it annoyed everyone. Of you, who chased and barked at the lawnmower when I was mowing the lawn. Of you, who squirmed like crazy when I bathed you but seemed so greatful to me afterwards when you got to lie in front of the radiator. Of you, who always listened to me and never judged. Of you, who got me to enjoy nature more, if only by watching you love life so much when you were amongst the smells of the bush and the flow of water. Of you, who knew the true value of investment by finding a good spot in the garden to bury a bone, protect it with your life, and then dig it up days later when it would be so much more disgusting to eat.

You always kept yourself, and your family, entertained

Most importantly, I will remember you, the friend who truly showed me the meaning of unconditional love.

I have slightly paraphrased what is, as you well know, one of my favourite songs of all time. Love of My Life, by Queen. I know it was meant to apply to a different situation, but it will always remind me of you.

Love of my life, you've hurt me
You've taken my heart, and now you leave me
Love of my life can't you see
Bring it back, bring it back
Don't take it away from me, because you don't know -
What it means to me

Love of my life, don't leave me
You've taken my love (all of my love) and now desert me
Love of my life can't you see (please bring it)
Bring it back, bring it back
Don't take it away from me, because you don't know -
What it means to me

You will remember, When this is blown over

And everything's all by the way
When I grow older
I wish I was there at your side to remind you
How I still love you - I still love you

Back - hurry back
Please bring it back home to me
Because you don't know what it means to me -
Love of my life
Love of my life

Your safta sent this to me. It is comforting, but I don't know how I can ever be sure whether us humans say things like this just to make ourselves feel better. I truly hope not.

If It Should Be (author unknown)

If it should be that I grow frail and weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then you must do what must be done,
For this last battle can’t be won.

You will be sad – I understand,
Don’t let your grief then stay in your hand,
For this day more than the rest,
Your love and friendship stand the test.

We’ve had so many happy years,

What is to come – can have no fears.
You’d not want me to suffer so,
When the time comes, please let me go.

Take me where my needs they’ll tend,
Only stay with me until the end.
And hold me firm and speak to me,
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time you will see.
It is a kindness you do to me,
Although my tail it’s last has waved,
From pain and suffering I’ve been saved.

Don’t grieve that it should be you
Who has to decide this thing to do.
We’ve been so close we two these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.

So I am glad, not that she's gone
But that this earth she roamed and lived upon
Was my earth, too, that I had closely known
And loved her and that my love I'd shown.

Tears over her departure?
Nay - a smile
That I had walked with her a little while.

You will always be in my heart.
Kevin

Hello. My name is Kevin and I've been diagnosed with a mental illness.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 06 Aug 2012 19:02:00 +0000

Whinging is my middle name, and this blog posting will probably demonstrate why. I have decided to 'come out' and write this because I have realised that there still massive prejudices and taboos in this world against mental illness. The phrase covers such a broad range of things, yet it evokes emotions in so many of the worst kind of disease possible. It is as if, ticking a form on a box saying you have a physical impairment causes people to immediately assume that you must have Ebola, without considering the possibility that you stubbed your little toe when you were 5 and the hairline fracture never healed properly, causing you a small amount of pain whenever you walk. Taboos in today's society which despite all the efforts of some great people and organisations around the world, still result in a massive amount of unbelievable discrimination. Given the statistics, I know there will be a few people reading this post who will at some point in their lives be in a similar situation to me, and I hope that they will learn from my mistake.

Depending on which statistic you see, mental illness affects somewhere around 20% of the population at some point in their lives (some stats indicate this figure is as high as 33%). But those numbers are immaterial. The key thing being, it affects many people I love, and it has affected me. As a result of this, I have been in the past, and still am today, discriminated against. No matter how many people rightly say that mental illness is "just another disease" and shouldn't be treated differently to any physical disease, it still is. The average person, and the average authority is scared of it and doesn't know how to deal with it. People do not understand it. Why it is easier for people to understand leukemia than depression, I have no idea. Neither are visible to the naked eye, yet for some reason, the 'physical' explanation is a lto easier for many to swallow.

I know that in personal relationships, honesty is always the best policy, but all of us are confronted by other situations where overt honesty leads to difficulties. Everyone in life has countless experiences of this, and I have had many small ones (take the example of admitting to being an asthmatic when wanting to SCUBA dive - I always achieve my goal in the end, but with a lot more effort and costs).

A dream of mine, since the age of 14 (or rather, THE dream of mine, when I was 14), has been to return to Israel. The place that provided me with the happiest 3 1/2 years of my childhood, and the place where I have always had a feeling of being home in. So here I am now, going through the process with the Jewish Agency, the agency which has been mandated to process people according to the Law of Return (which states that ever Jew has the right to come to Israel as an oleh, where an 'oleh' is defined as 'a Jew immigrating to Israel'). You would think that someone who has lived there before, legally, as an immigrant, wouldn't have any problems trying to go back there. Well, you're wrong. Firstly, I do not fit into the standard category of immigrant. I fit into the category of a returning minor (katin chozer) because I have lived there previously, but left prior to the age of 14. Just to complicate things, I do not have Israeli citizenship, yet most people who would have done what I did as a child and followed the standard process, would have.

I start off by filling in various forms online, where I proudly provide stupid amounts of information - as if I am obtaining a Top Secret security clearance (yet, I accept this - I want Israel to be a safe and secure country for me). Everything is filled in honestly. Naturally, in preparation for Israeli bureaucracy there are long delays when dealing with the agency electronically, and every email is signed by a different person - never does the same person in the office write to me more than once. The next step is an interview with a shaliach, a representative of the agency. Naturally, there is not one in Denmark so I wait for the Swedish one to be in town. The interview is straightforward, yet a little pointless in my humble opinion. Nothing really substantive is asked of me. So I proceed to the next stage, providing originals of various documents I was previously told I only had to provide electronically. Of course, this means digging through boxes in Australia to find them. Which I do. I arrive at the Israeli embassy in Copenhagen with dozens of documents, yet only two are now required. OK. Better safe than sorry.

A little more back and forth and I'm told that everything is OK. Next step, my file gets submitted to the Absorbtion Ministry. Despite being told I will hear back in a maximum of 3 weeks, after 5 weeks I establish contact to find out what is going on. Turns out I am required to attend another interview. Natrually, every email from me has a series of of questions, and in general, the return emails (which arrive anywhere from 2-5 days later if I'm lucky, or sometimes never) do not answer my questions. Why? When? How? Where?

I discover there are two exceptions to the Law of Return:

If the person is engaged in an activity directed against the Jewish people.
If the person is likely to endanger public health or the security of the State.

So far, there have been no claims against me that I have engaged in any activities directed against the Jewish people. All indications are that exception number 2 is being investigated.

Of course there is no shaliach in Senegal (my place of residence until the end of September), and the bureaucracy of the high tech Israeli society does not accept telephone or Skpye interviews. The need for the interview? I'm a 'special case'. I have a history of mental illness. In reality, I am a special case because I was honest. This is the crux of the matter. I didn't lie and now I pay the price for it. They don't care about my history of headaches, asthma, or the fact that I have had 3 scaphoid fractures. They wouldn't care if I frequently got the flu. I have been diagnosed with a mental disease which I have had under control for most of my life, and although I have provided a certified doctor's letter attesting to the fact that it is 100% under control, my biggest mistake was, admitting to it in the first places. Now, I am a special case. I need to be interviewed again, because no one thought of asking me questions about it first time around. And no, I will not be interviewed by a health expert, but by some person who knows nothing about me and has no expertise in the matter at hand.

After the interview, my case will be resubmitted to the Special Committee on Discrimination Against Normal People (no, that's not really what they are called). This will take up to 14 working days (yeah right) and then the visa will take up to 2 weeks after that for it to be issued.

Will the interview affect my illegibility? It shouldn't, I'm told. Unless I pose a threat to public health. Seriously!?! We are talking about Israel here and you are worried about me, someone who has decided to be honest about his situation posting a threat to public health? What about the real problems?
Why do I need the interview? Because the matter wasn't discussed at my first interview (and who's fault is that?!?!)
What are my alternatives? Well, I can pay $1,500 to travel to South Africa and have an interview there. I can wait until I return to Australia and then hope for smooth sailing if I already have plans to migrate shortly after arriving in Australia. Alternatively, I can make my own way to Israel, and attempt a 'change of status' when there.

If the Jewish Agency is stuck in the 18th century, linking any form of mental illness to 'crazy axe murderer', why wasn't this discussed with me when they had the opportunity? Why not do your job properly?

I generally apply lessons learnt to my professional life. But here it needs to apply to my personal life:

Overt honesty is something to be careful of. I classified myself using a label - but I could just as easily as classified myself using a different label. It was my choice and I felt the need to be overly cautious. I needn't have been. Typically, you know more and understand your situation better than authorities - no one knows you better. Sometimes you may be discriminated against for no valid reason. Whether in the form of paying almost $500 in medical fees to keep your pilot license, or whether it's simply being given a hard time to fullfill your dream. Be honest to your loved ones. Be careful with those who do not understand or know you.
Unlike the mission statement, the express purpose of The Jewish Agency is to make things hard when it comes to moving to Israel. I was hoping to to be welcomed with open arms, not to have to fight my way into the country!

I am seriously disappointed that a country I love is doing what it can to discriminate against me. I am even more disappointed that a representative agency of a modern country such as Israel has such archaic views in linking the broad category of mental illness to the possibility that a person could be a danger to society. I knew there was bureaucracy and I knew things wouldn't be easy, but if there ever was a life lesson I have had, this is it. Israel - if you are trying to get me to hate your guts, you're making a good start.

To anyone else wanting to make Aliya... You understand yourself better than other people. Do not be stupid like me and answer 'yes' to questions which result in you having to do extra work, wait longer, or complicate things in any other way. Think. Be careful. Understand.

258km in 6 hours - The Road to Saint Louis

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 20:01:00 +0000

One restored building, and its mirror image across the street, 'about' to be restored

No, I haven't made it over to Missouri, USA. I have just headed up to a town which provides a strong reminder of the French presence in the area. Both because the town was named after the French king at the time (but seriously, to add 'Saint' in front, does seem a little obnoxious), and also because of the fact that Saint Louis served as the capital of French West Africa for over 2 centuries. The town, another one of Senegal's UNESCO World Heritage Listed sites is part crumbling to bits, and part remnants of its colonial past.

Above: Silting from the artificial break in the sand banks is very evident.
Below: the locals enjoying some colonial shade.

The heart of the city is located on an island in the middle of the fascinating Senegal River. Fascinating (to me at least) because although it provides the natural border between Mauritania and Senegal, just before it reaches the Atlantic Ocean, it turns south, and runs parallel to the ocean for another 30 or so kilometers, separated from the Atlantic by the sandy Langue de Barbarie (Barbaric Tongue). This is a sandy strip of land, only a few dozen metres wide at points. Of course, around 10 years ago, man interfered with nature by cutting a canal through the sandy strip - only a few metres wide. This has eroded into a huge gap now and massive amounts of erosion and silting which is clearly evident from both satellite imagery, and up close inspection.

The banks of the Senegal River at St Louis

I was fortunate enough to have multilingual company on this trip. English speaking for me, and French speaking to gain a wealth of knowledge from a friendly fisherman and then have it translated for me. Of plan for the Saturday was to wander around the town, but after engaging in a friendly chat with a local fisherman (which amazingly did not involve him pushing any sales on us), we ended up walking around the fishing village with him for over 3 hours on a personalised guided tour. I spent much of my time taking pictures, trying to see which words of French I understood, and even attempting to talk back. In the scorching heat and unbearable humidity (how on earth this fisherman survived, given it's Ramadan, I'm not sure) we walked and talked, and talked and walked. We learnt a lot of things about the people, the culture and the town. Unfortunately, but typical of me, I quickly forgot most of it...

A ~4 million CFA grand pirogue under construction the old fashioned way

Oh, the stench!

Fishing is a major industry and this is clearly evident by the endless colourful pirogues lining the beach. Each one owned by one of the 'elite' and utilised by the fisherman. The small, open-air, wooden pirogues go on 4-5 day fishing trips. Their destination is known roughly by the license number written on the side of each vessel which indicates the country in which waters the vessel is allowed to fish. The 5 or so fishermen on the boat, live together for those days, catching their fish either using lines or nets and then storing the fish in their makeshift polystyrene 'freezers'. After the 4-5 hazardous days at sea, they return, hopefully with a full catch, which the owner takes straight to the market to hopefully earn himself around 750,000 CFA. 250,000 CFA of which goes towards financing the voyage (ice, fuel, etc), he takes a cut for himself, puts some aside for amortisation of the pirogue, and the rest gets split up amongst the fisherman. A good trip can earn them each a paltry 30,000 CFA - roughly what we paid for a hotel room for one night.

The colourfully decorated vessels tell a story. Each colour represents something - the sky, the land, and most interestingly, yellow - the colour of the human race (if you mix all the different skin colours together, apparently). Most pirogues also have a national flag on them. Importantly, this flag is linked to the football team that the owner likes most. Spain, France and Germany feature very highly! On the inside of the pirogue are various 'pockets' covered with canvas. It was explained to us that under each one is a Koranic verse, the significance of which is known only to those who put it there. The locals are quite a devout bunch of people, whilst many in Saint Louis do not get a traditional school education, the Koranic schools are popular and many people know Arabic better than they know French.

Makeshit freezers

Unlike most of his family, our guide went through to the end of high school. His grandfather, whom he was named after, wouldn't have allow one of his descendants with his name to not do so. This, we were told, lead to numerous problems in his childhood. Basic things, that we take for granted, became major issues. His insistence of washing his hands before eating brought him constant ridicule from his family for example. He tells us, that with the current generation, not much has changed.

The mixing of Islam with traditional beliefs has brought about some differences between the Islam practiced here and that in other parts of the world. Superstitions are rooted deep in the culture. When we started asking about the vast number of goats on the beach, we were told that there were two types. Those further ashore that were typically tied up and well fed, were essentially farm animals who would end up being food. Whereas the scrawny ones closer to the water that were roaming around, eating anything from fish bones to cardboard, were the sacrificial ones. Most of these goats had been forced to swallow a glass vial with a Koranic verse in it that was meant to bring good luck to the fisherman. When disaster would strike, a goat would be sacrificed as a result. All in all, a very unpleasant thought, especially when within minutes of hearing this story we see parts of a sacrificed goat laying on the beach.

The beautifully restored 'swinging bridge' linking Saint Louis Island to the mainland

Mosque with a view

We didn't get a lot of smiles from the locals when walking around the fishing village. We were told this was because people don't like toubabs (that's local parlance for "white folk") because they remember the history. His view is much more pragmatic and he was happy to show us around places that we probably wouldn't have ventured to without a guide. The young kids of course, innocent as ever, couldn't care less. They would quite happily call out "toubab" and ask us for something. Sometimes even just to have their picture taken and see the result on the LCD!

The predominantly Northerly wind is obvious from looking at any tree in the area!

We stayed at a nice little hotel on the island. It was of a style very typical in Saint Louis. A quiet inner courtyard to relax in during the day, 3 stories high, and a rooftop terrace which was remarkably pleasant to relax on in the evenings (remarkable because the mosquitoes weren't so bad!) Unfortunately, our hotel was also across the road from a Koranic school, which meant I woke up startled at some ungodly hour to what sounded like someone with a megaphone in my ear crying out "allahuakbar" and various other chants in Arabic!

The remnants of a bridge across the Senegal River

Since I joined this trip at the last minute, I barely had any organising to do. My new travel buddy wanted to go to one of the nearby wildlife reserves on the Sunday, which I happily agreed to. I couldn't have made a better decision. We went to an area famous for bird life further South along Langue de Barabarie, and in all honesty, if you are looking to go somewhere to be amazed by birds, this is certainly not the place to go. However, it was the day I so badly needed... It was a day full of relaxing, with very few people around. Lots of peace and quiet, lots of water, and no hustle and bustle. Unfortunately though, the culture of destroying the environment through pollution and throwing rubbish everywhere, was all too evident from everything washing up on the shores here. But apart from the remnants of upstream Saint Louis that had washed up on the shores, the place was actually quite serene and pretty.

Sure, we did get to see lots of cormorants, pelicans, some other birds I am not familiar with, and lots and lots of crabs. The prize for the coolest creature though goes to the dozen of jumping fish that would constantly swim and hop around alongside our boat.

Being out of tourist season, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. The 'hotel' we went for lunch and a relax had us and the staff. No one else. Of course, we were still not far away from people trying to rip us off at any opportunity. After ditching our first transport/tour guide (at a rate of 15,000 CFA) because he didn't show up when he promised he would, and someone else offering us the same deal for 10,000 CFA), we ended up in a position of slight embarrassment where we quickly learnt that the whole system is essentially monopolised and the owner of the initial transport turned up as the sub-contractor to the cheaper guy, demanding that 15,000 CFA is the price. As per usual, nothing is written down and no agreements are valid until the fat lady has sung. We paid our 15,000 CFA and off we went - nearly 2 hours later than initially planned. Not bad for Senegal time.

A typical inner courtyard of an old French building

One of the worst parts of this trip at the time, yet one of the best parts in my memory, was the transport there and back. Saint Louis is 258km from Dakar. We were heading up Friday night to ensure we would have a full day on Saturday, and we also decided to not leave Dakar before sunset, to ensure that any Muslim driver did not have an empty stomach. What we didn't take into account is that Friday night is one of the worst times for getting out of Dakar, even at the best of times. The narrow peninsula leading out to Dakar is served by an auto-route. Locally, this is a tollroad highway. It's roughly equivalent to a poorly built suburban road in Australia. Some of it is dual carriage, but this means nothing. 6 hours, including 6 police road-side checks (including one which the driver spent around 15 minutes having a very long argument with the police officer about) and an endless number of stops at the roadside stalls so the sellers could press themselves up against the car to sell us food, we finally made it. And by made it, I mean just. This car struggled to get about 60km/h - not that that the rough roads really provided much of an opportunity to even get to that speed....

The Peugeot 504 graveyard - AKA Dakar sept-place station

Roadside seller: Anyone for a fish?

We had planned to take a sept-place. These are old (and by old, I mean, older than me) Peugeot 504 station waggons with an extra row of seats placed in the boot. So they take 7 passengers plus a driver. Each seat to Saint Louis costs 5,000 CFA. Once all seats have been sold, the car leaves. When we arrived, there were none even close to being full (or so we were told), but a mini bus would be ready to go if we bought tickets. So, we stupidly did. 18 people (plus driver) shoved into a car only slightly bigger than a Tarago. For 6 hours I was practically squashed on a hard bench, barely able to move my legs due to the luggage under them. My companion magically managed to sleep most of the way, while I tried to savour the experience! On the way back, we 'treated' ourselves to 3 seats between 2 of us in a sept-place. The return journey took just under 4 hours and the comfort level was roughly the same as sitting in the backseat of an old school VW Beetle.

Going Colonial in Gorée

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 21:17:00 +0000

I have quickly realised that my blog entries about touristy things are going to be extremely different to what I'm used to writing. Primarily because tourism (which for me - is more or less doing or seeing something new in a different place) is totally different to what it is in Europe. Essentially, it is a lot more limited by that definition. There aren't that many places in Senegal that I would say I would want to go to from a tourist point of view (of course, this is solely my opinion). Either that, or my enthusiasm for travelling has waned a bit (possible, but less likely). Within Dakar, I don't have that much enthusiasm to go and 'see' things, but I guess that's because the few cultural sites are all in French, and there isn't really a heck of a lot of 'beauty' around. Nice architecture is lacking, as is places of natural beauty.

Enter two things to do. SCUBA diving, and visiting Gorée Island...

Gorée Island is famous for its history. A slave trading post in West Africa with many stories exaggerating its history. That's not to say it wasn't a slave trading post, but just that its significance as one has been questioned by some scholars. That's also not to diminish the history of slave trading. For this, it is certainly worth a step into the French Colonial past of this island which sticks out as a unique spot which is in the calm waters between downtown Dakar and the rest of Africa.

The trip to and from Gorée is on a boat called Beer. It's a pleasant 20 minute journey which cost me 5,200 CFA return (only 1,000 CFA for Senegalise residents). Even the guides on the boat who were bugging me constantly to try and get my business, did so in a friendly way, setting the mood for the island (however, the damn annoying sellers with their clanking wooden maracas type instruments almost tipped the scales the other way). Arriving at the island made me feel like I was arriving in a totally different country. Without cars, the place just seems so much more peaceful than the constant chaos of Dakar! The small beach by the jetty was clean (by local standards) and quite full. Thankfully, the ferry as well as the island itself weren't totally packed, due to the fact that Ramadan had just started. I was warned that Gorée is a haven for locals wanting a break from Dakar - and I can undertstand why.

Apart from eating, and wandering around, there really isn't a heck of a lot to do there. But that was perfectly OK with me. Eating is always good, though it is bordering on "bad" when the fly population at the table rivals that of Central Australia. The island is easily walkable, and there is a nice lookout hill with both a memorial, and left-overs of one of the canons that used to protect Dakar from invading armies (now pointed inwards for some weird reason!) The walk up the hill though, takes one past a non-stop stream of artists and artisans selling their wares. The art is pretty good, but a little repetative. There are some beatiful African canvas paintings (as well as a lot of shit), sand art, lots and lots of jewellery, fabrics, and something I found particular fascinating, 3D art partially made using old electronics. These would all be in the same style as the canvas paintings (usuall black figures with a stick-like appearance), but the body might be made of a broken Nokia 5110 for example. 10 points for recycling.

Recycling bins - with instructions!

Speaking about recycling. Whilst Dakar (and much of Senegal) can possibly be considered the world's largest rubbish bin, Gorée Island is a lot cleaner (but far from 'clean'). Somehow, the concept of recycling has made here. How much it is done, I really don't know, but I have a feeling the UNESCO World Heritage listing may have had something to do with it. Just a hunch...

Monument to the slaves in the gardens outside the House of Slaves.

The architecture on the island is also certainly an improvement on Dakar. There are actually some cool colonial facades around the place. Whilst walking around Dakar you feel like you have lost much of your colour perception, pigmented paint has actually made it to Gorée so the whole place has a nicer feel to it. Of course, this is history aside. There are various monuments around the island, and a few plaques as well. But the only 'cultural' place set foot inside was The House of Slaves. The Door of No Return, located at the back of this house, opens up to the ocean and is said to the be the door that most slaves that were traded from the island walked through to get on their boat to the "New World". The inner courtyard of the building reveals a number of cellars where apparently the slaves were kept, packed in like wild dogs, prior to being sold. Definitely a bit harrowing. And definitely yet another reminder (just in case we really needed one) of something else our white European ancestors did to screw others.

Dakar in the distance, behind the 'local art'

One thing I found slightly ironic about Gorée was the number of people around who looked like they were in Jamaica (or rather, how I'd imagine people would look over in Jamaica). It's as if the slaves went to the New World, then came back with some of the things they liked - dreadlocks and the idea of tucking a few kilos of them under a woolen hat so it looks like you have a cat sitting on your head - all while it is over 30'C and damn humid!

Old gun mounts now house artisans and their goods

Who needs a church organ when you have
bongo drums?

I would like to return for one moment to my comment about most of the country being one large rubbish bin here. Unfortunately, this also extends to the ocean. The beaches here are generally filthy. Additionally, when I went diving, I discovered the filth is there too. The amount of plastic and other human waste under water, caught up in various aquatic plants, and sitting on the rocks, is incredible. Whether the pollution is the reason for the not-so-amazing diving, I'm not sure, but it definitely doesn't look good. On the other hand, in a country where a population has much bigger fish to fry, how can one really convince each individual of the need to look after the environment?!?

Of course, other aspects of diving here are different to what I'm used to. Having had mild asthma in the past, and with the global air of the fear of being sued, most dive companies are not that keen on taking asthmatics. Those that will, often require a doctor's OK in order to rid themselves of some liability. On two separate occasions in Thailand, this has involved me filling in the form at the dive shop, ticking the 'asthma box', being sent over to the local doctor who performs a rudimentary check-up for a couple of dollars, writes that I'm perfectly healthy, and away we go. I was all prepared to finally admit that I have learnt my lesson and that sometimes it is is better to lie, I was ready to just not tick the asthmatic box this time. Yet much to my surprise, without so much as seeing a form, I was in my wetsuit and ready to jump in the water for my dive. Never before have I seen such a relaxed dive shop. That's not to say they weren't professional, and the equipment was certainly A-OK. But it was great to simply have someone take my word about my certification, no questions asked and no forms to fill out. Nice!

Bottle-tops put to good use - a place mat!

The Kindness of Senegalese (and work..)

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 14 Jul 2012 21:00:00 +0000

The friendliness and generousity of people in Senegal cannot go unnoticed. Unfortuntaely, with my limited (or should I say, lack of) French, the only appreciation I seem to be able to show is "merci", or the occassional "merci beaucoup". It just doesn't seem to do it justice.

Ziguinchor on final approach

For the past week, I was down with the local IT Officer (who essentially heads the IT in the WFP Country Office) at the sub-office in Ziguinchor. WFP has 3 sub-offices in Senegal outside of Dakar - this is one of the longer standing ones. Ziguinchor is located in the Casamance province, the area between The Gambia and Guinea Bissau. It's a significant, but small town, a little bit inland from the popular tourist destination of Cap Skirring (a town that I unfortunately could not make it to on the weekend due to recent attacks on the road between Ziguinchor and the coast. There has been on and off fighting in the region between separatists and the government for around 3 decades now. So although Casamance is one of the more flourishing regions of Senegal agriculturally, the fighting has meant that people focus more on protecting themselves, than agriculture. Therefore, minor food problems here get exacerbated. Consequently, WFP has a role to play here.

The lush green Casamance Region

Despite what some may call a civil war going on, Ziguinchor is particularly peaceful - seemingly more so than Dakar. Here I am told I can walk around the town centre any time of the day or night (my hotel is around the corner from the heavily gaurded central bank compound - so I'm told I should feel even safer). I walk to and from the office (when the weather doesn't suffocate me) and only get hassled by hawkers around half a dozen times each way (as opposed to hundreds in Dakar). At least I think they are all hawkers - not understanding them does have some benefits! The town is, what would be described in Western Europe, as a dump. But it's actually not too bad. There are a handful of paved roads, but the ratio of potholes to flat road is quite amazing. I would not be exagherating if I said that you cannot drive more than 5m without hitting a pothole - and not some shitty little dip, I'm talking about a pothole 2m in diameter and at least a foot deep! Basically, the roads are rough and the taxies have no suspension left!

Together with the local staff

The office here is great. In this small office, everyone greets each other in the morning with the standard "bonjour. ca va?", "ca va" and a handshake. Or variants thereof (by the way - all French in this blog will be written phoeniteically until I know better!) A special effort is made to try and ask me something extra in French (those who are determined I should learn French) or English (those who are determined to improve their English). This "ça va" greeting is so unbelievably common here. It roughly translates to "g'day, howzit going?", "good mate, and you?". Basically, everyone says it to each other, but the only response you're allowed to give is "ça va". No one really wants to know how things are, it's just not part of the question. All cultures seem to do this, this is the local way.

One of two 'leather goods' shops across the road from my hotel.

Throughout the day at work the kindness continues. Most significantly is the Senegalese tea I receive each evening that I'm working in the office late. The guard will brew his tea outside, and bring a glass (a small glass, roughly double the size of a standard shot glass) filled with frothy tea up for me. This deliciously concoction of a slightly sweet, minty, herby, spity tea tastes especially nice. He will then collect the glass, and a few minutes later bring up the next glass. Slightly sweeter than the first. Then eventually the third glass comes up - even sweeter (naturally, my favourite).

The start of a magnificent evening storm

The river is a major source of fish

Afternoon tea here is a national sport. Much like dodging tax is in Greece, and being unemployed is in Spain. What is special about is demonstrated in the coffee drinking (or rather, the making) too - through the endless servings of instant Nescafe on the sidewalks (going at 10c a pop). Key isn't the ingrediants, but in the frothing of the tea/coffee. It is achieved by endlessly pouring the liquid from one tiny cup/glass to another, from great heights. Think of playing with a slinky and moving it between your two hands - this is what the tea/coffee mixing looks like from afar. A closer view reveals that it is indeed liquid that appears to be magically flying between the cups, without a single molocule spilling. Talk about talent!

So back to the generosity. Apart from the tea, I have been fed some beautiful 'things' (I still don't quite know what they are) which look like fried fishballs but taste of some kind of bean. Then there is the wonderul 'mad' fruit (no idea what this is in any language I'm familiar with) which grows all over the place here in Ziguinchor - made into an ice cold juice for me. The coconut milk with tonic water, and coconut flesh provided in the evenings, the fresh mangoes - it is all a bit non-stop! I can't show my appreciation enough.

The donkey - a common mode of transport

WFP's wireless communication installation in Ziguinchor

So onto what I'm actually doing here.... The week down in Ziguinchor has been, what I think will be typical of most of my work here - being an extra pair of hands with regards to making IT stuff for the WFP country office 'work'. This has meant I have been involved with upgrading office connectivity, deploying new laptops to staff, installing and configuring servers, liaising with headquarters units in various teams in both Italy and India, helping people do things on their computers (changing passwords, logging on, installing software, etc). What I have learnt from this is that the local IT Officer has a lot on his plate - he is certainly a jack of all trades. He has shown me that it is possible to know how to ste up and configure everything from the power supplies, to the radio networks, to the telephone systems, to the antiquated Domino mail servers, the user laptops, manage the cabling, and many more things. Nothing is done perfectly here, but things are certainly done!

This leads on to the second part of my role here. Apart from providing an extra pair of hands, I will hopefully be able to impart just a little bit of my anal engineering attitude towards processes, documentation and standards into an environment where very little is planned because time and resources have not previously allowed it. Things get done, but not always in the best possible way from an academic point of view. There is certainly some scope for improvement, and I believe this has only come about recently due to the rapid expansion of operations in the country and the consequent explanation of the IT team. Maybe, just maybe, I can leave something good here. It's a high aim, but I'll certainly try.

The rooftop terrace

Finally, back in Dakar, I have moved into what I hope will be my permanent accommodation for the duration of my stay here. It's a guest-house, part way between a hotel and a share apartment. I have my own room and bathroom, but then there are a number of common rooms, kitchen, rooftop terrace and swimming pool. I think there are around 10 rooms altogether, so it's quite intimate. Most importantly, despite the price, it has the standards I have come to define as important: cleanliness, a reasonable bathroom, air-conditioning (and one that isn't old and noisy), space to cook if I want to, and in the area of the office (I am within walking distance). So whilst not perfect (for example, there isn't a heck of a lot of natural light in my room), I think it will end up being a reasonable base for me.

Looking over the suburb of Mamelles (literally, 'breasts') from my new dig - one with what I think is mainland Africa's Western-most lighthouse, and the other with the Africa Renaissance Monument.

Musings on Dakar - Part 1 (most likely...)

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 20:42:00 +0000

Welcome to Léopold Sédar Senghor (Dakar) International Airport

I have only been here a short time, but I have already noticed so many things that stick out to me. Some of them stick out because I have simply been transformed to a different climate, different culture, different language and different life. Others though, simply do not have explanations because in any context, they simply do not make sense. In no particular order, this is my list of impressions of this hot country of which I have only touched upon...

The unofficial taxi driver coalition in Dakar believes that if enough of their members honk at you, you will eventually get in one of their taxis and pay for a ride.

In terms of equal standards, accommodation costs are slightly higher than Scadinavia, yet taxi rides are about one-twentieth the cost, even though the cost of fuel is roughly the same (on the other hand, the standard of the taxis themselves, can't really be compared...)

It is nigh on impossible to find a self-service laundrette. But there are plenty of "pressing" shops that will clean your clothes (I have a feeling they actually dry-clean...) at a handsome cost per item (a load of basic washing just cost me 16,800 CFA / $33)

A busy round-a-bout with 3 Nescafe vendors (2 seen here, partly
blocked by a ubiquitous yellow taxi)

Instant Nescafe from a street-seller in a tiny plastic cup is the height of coffee culture, and can be found on every street corner.

Forget Japanese, European and American cars, Iranian and Indian cars rule the roads here!

Forget BP or Caltex, here we have OilLibya!

Like most non Anglo-Saxon Western coutries, the people are some of the most warm, welcoming and genuinely friendly people ever. Spend a day driving a new colleague aroundn to help him find an apartment? No problems. Invite a relative stranger into your house for a meal? Of ourse. Whilst overfriendliness tends to raise alarm bells with me, the worst thing that is likely to happen here as a result is daylight robbery by the street-seller or taxi driver.

Locals do not need real-estate agents. Finding an apartment is as simple as following these steps:

Suburbs of Ngor/Almadies - near the office

Drive around the neighbourhood you like.

When you see a guard in front of a building, or someone who looks bored on the side of the street, stop and ask them if they know of any apartments available to rent.

If they only know one, and they are otherwise busy, they might point you to it. Otherwise, they will hop in your car and take you around to a couple of places they know who are renting places out (mates, colleagues, etc.) If you take a place you're recommended, you give the guy a tip (which, compared to the standard real-estate commission of one month, paid by the RENTER, is nothing), otherwise, you drop him back at the side of the road.

It doesn't matter how hard I try saying "une eau minérale, s'il vous plaît", I still have to point and raise a finger to indicate that I want a bottle of mineral water.

It is perfectly normal that a suburb of the capital is called "Breasts", because it has 2 rounded hills that stick up out of the otherwise flat landscape, but in other respects, we are in the past here...

Traffic really isn't so bad on the main roads outside of peak hour.

3 post offices serve a capital city population of over 2 million - they do not actually deliver post to residential addresses though.
it is perfectly normal to see animals in the streets (either wandering the streets randomly or dragging a strewn together cart with a flat wooden seat)
apart from the main streets, most streets don't have names. They simply have a number, which together with the suburb name are used to identify them. Actually, never mind that, most streets are what I would otherwise call a patch of desert between 2 parallel rows of houses.
homosexuality is still illegal.

Hand towels in bathrooms are optional. I am yet to work out whether people do not wash their hands after doing their business, or simply wipe their hands on their clothes (I have chosen to do the latter).

Streetside curbs (on the streets, not on the stretches of desert sand) are 1 foot high! The island between the carriagways, also, a cement block, 1 foot high. The only reason I can think of is to try and tame the traffic - to ensure the cars stay within the bounds of the roads. It is quite evident that in the paths that aren't streets, cars do not restrict themselves to 'lanes'.

Speaking of islands between carriageways - if you want to make a left turn off an arterial road (we're not talking a highway, but the equivalent of your suburb arterial), the island prevents you from doing so. You pretty much ave to go to one of the major intersections (ie., a round-a-bout), and chuck a u-e (always wondered how you're supposed to spell that?!?!)

Small change is a necessity. Whilst normally, paying a $3 bill with a $10 note, or a $11 bill with a $20 note would be perfectly acceptable, here, it means the receiver might have to go find someone who can provide change. People must have small change reserves at home. I would have done well here as a kid when I liked collecting 1 & 2 cent pieces!

The view to the East on runway 18 in Dakar (see below for a close-up view
of the construction activity)

Certain aspects of Danish design have made it here - only the worst ones - bathroom related. The toilet/basin/shower in 1 square metre of bathroom has been sighted a couple of times, and the lack of shower curtain around the area one would normally mark of as the 'shower' is commonplace.

With the amount of construction going on in Dakar, you'd think there are a million people moving in tomorrow. There are a lot of construction projects that have either collapsed midway, construction is extremely slow here, or there is going to be a huge increase in supply in the very near future!

Bumper Cars in Dakar

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 29 Jun 2012 16:53:00 +0000

Today I got a ride to my hotel with a Japanese woman in the office who happened to be leaving at the same time as me and heading in the same direction. When I mentioned that I thought she was brave to drive here, she told me that it's not so bad, and I only need to go to downtown to see 'bad' drivers. Wow! I've seen good-bad drivers (Israel), crazy-bad drivers (Bangkok), and now, scary-bad drivers (Dakar). There was certainly no need for the humanitarian aid agency I work for to have a rule about no driving when on deployment, there is no chance in hell I would chance it here!

The taxis are a mixture of Western cars, Indian cars and Iranian cars. You'd think that would be enough of an explanation, but no. The sea of yellow taxis around Dakar (I would imagine that for every private car on the road, there is a yellow taxi to match) is quite spectacular. Traffic rules are entirely optional. I don't think the phrase "give way" exists in either French of Wolof - especially at round-a-bouts. I think I am yet to see a taxi without a dint in it. And I'm not talking the kind of scratch one gets from someone pushing a shopping trolley into your car, I mean enough dents and scratches to warrant the manufacturer selling the new 'shape' as a whole new model. The drivers will do what they can to pick you up if you're walking, then try and take you to the cleaners when negotiating a fare with you, and if you're lucky, get you to your destination alive. I was told that they will typically try to charge me twice of what I should bee paying, but as of this morning, 5x doesn't seem out of the ordinary! On the other hand, with the 'real' fares paid, I have no idea how there can possibly be any profit in the fare, assuming the cars run on petrol (which is as expensive here as any Western country).

My landing in Dakar was fairly pleasant, despite the long journey. The view of the city just prior to landing gave me a tiny bit of a shock - a very bland landscape of what I thought were crumbing buildings, but later turned out to be half finished buildings (and they are everywhere - the seemingly endless amount of construction is crazy). I was greeted at the ramshackle airport (this one really brought back the couple of memories I have of Harare airport in the 80's) by dozens of friendly Senegalese trying to change my money, sell me SIM cards, and get me to my destination. Just a little overwhelming. Especially when you don't have the language to communicate with them.

The language has really turned out to be quite an issue. Any shyness I have had in the past about languages is disappearing pretty quickly. The people who can't speak English still speak it better than I speak French. And no one is afraid to laugh at any attempts a non-speaker makes! They're not being horrible, they're just having fun. My colleagues are determined that by the end of my 3 months here I'll speak French - but given that I still have to ask them, after they talk amongst themselves, whether they were just speaking Wolof of French - I tell them they're dreaming! At the very least - I need to know my numbers - although the street seller today who received 100 CFA (20c) for a bag of nuts instead of what I should have paid her, 50 CFA, probably isn't complaining!

N'gor Beach / Fishing Boat Harbour

The culture shock has been something. I have somehow been scared into a state of slight nervousness. Were I travelling for 'fun', perhaps it would be different, but I feel bound by rules. Obviously, the rules (well, recommendations) are totally in my best interest. Whilst Dakar is an extremely safe city (assuming you are not too worried about petty theft of being totally ripped off by taxi drivers or street sellers), I have been informed that I shouldn't be out alone after 7pm. Hmmmm - OK. Then, perhaps this sounds a little crazy, but I would say this nis either as a result of growing up and living in 'white' cultures, or the South African heritage (it would be nice if I could easily blame it on just that), but despite how much I don't want to notice that people are different, I notice skin colour. But maybe this isn't a bad thing, in fact, I know it's not. There is nothing wrong with noticing that in Denmark many people are blonde and blue eyed, so it's not bad to notice that everyone around me has skin as dark as midnight. But of course, the difference produces some kind of reaction that makes me hold back. And don't get me wrong - these are some of the friendliest people I have come across. My colleagues are a million times nicer to me than I have been to foreign consultants coming to work with me. Similarly, I get a 'bonjour' from just about every person I walk past in the street - which is certainly a wonderful change from Denmark (even if it does take some getting used to). Despite being made nervous about petty theft - no one touched my gear on the beach when I went swimming this evening - there were just hundreds of people chatting, swimming, drinking tea, playing games and mucking around near me. In fact, I'm hoping the happiness will be contagious.

I know someone will read into the above something I don't mean, but those who know me will understand what I mean. I'm loving the differences here - would be nicer if I had a slightly more permanent place to live - but I'm loving it.

Dear Boss, I hereby tender my resignation...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 11:39:00 +0000

Dear Boss,

I hereby tender my resignation with immediate effect. As you are probably unaware, there are numerous issues with my job and the current workplace which makes my continuing employment here untenable. Although, these in themselves, are reason enough for anyone to leave such a workplace, I have greater things coming my way right now.

I was planning on tendering my resignation in a few weeks' time anyway, but an opportunity has been delivered to me which gives me need to hasten that act. I had planned to leave your employ at the end of July and enjoy a month or so holiday before spending the Jewish New Year with my family in Perth. Following that, I was to move permanently to Israel. This is is a plan which has been roughly (and I use that word in its extreme sense) been in place since late 1993. The dream of returning to live in Israel has always been with me, and, as a wise sage once said (I hope she doesn't mind me quoting her here...):

If I don’t go, I will be forever plagued by the ‘what if’ and it will eventually consume your life and cause me to blame any future failings/mishaps on not ever taking the plunge.

It has already plagued for for a long time. But the fact that I tend to be attracted to certainty (in some aspects of my life) has held me back. No more. It is time to take the plunge and live my dream.

As mentioned earlier though, the decision has been brought forward somewhat due to the impending fulfillment of another dream of mine - working in the humanitarian sector, in the field. When I started working for you, I thought I would be going 'half way there'. But after not too long I realised I was simply working for a bureaucratic monster, where my efforts had very little affect on humanitarian sector at all. Twice before I have come close to a deployment to the field with RedR Australia. Once I turned it down due to having recently started a new job, and last year, I was practically prevented from applying while in your employ. This time, I am going. Shortly, I will be off to Senegal to work with the World Food Programme for 3 months. This fits perfectly with my timeline, and could not be a better offer for myself.

In all this though, I do not want you to think that I am leaving because of my desire to fulfill a dream or two. I would be leaving anyway, perhaps just with not as much excitement in my body. There are many problems with this work place, many reasons to not work here, and although I have tried to discuss many of them with you before, you have rarely listened to me and barely acted on them. I know many feel the same as me, and I know you don't believe that. Below, you will find, in no particular order, what I think is a damning list of reasons why this workplace is no longer for me.

There are no prospects of me ever progressing to a more senior position. There is clearly a glass ceiling above my head.
On the one hand, I find myself in a non-senior position, but there is no one in my field in a more senior position from whom I can learn from - consequently, I also do the work of that person whom I should be learning from.
On the other hand, I am expected to do work above my pay grade without any form of recognition.
I am employed in a technical position with a technical job description, yet due to lack of support in the office, the bulk of my work is non-technical. Consequently, I am losing technical skills in a position listed on my CV as being technical. Of course, I'm gaining other skills, but not in a structured or recognised fashion.
Bureaucracy is taken to a new high. Achieving something technical which should take a week, takes a year. This is no way to solve the world's problems.
It is hard trying to follow in an organisation where senior management rarely leads.
It is hard trying to work effectively in an organisation where senior management rarely manages.
It is frustrating and downright insulting working in an organisation where senior management does not listen to staff when serious issues are brought to their attention.
This work environment offers no job certainty. Because of your name, you expect people to grovel and hang around until the last moment - this isn't right. My job is ending in a year's time anyway - surely you do not expect me to hang around until the last day before I find something else? I need to be the master of my own career and not react to an expired contract.
Again, because of the name, I seem to work in an environment where staff are taken advantage of because of the perceived desire to work in the organisation.
I can't rely on the 'greater' organisation to be on my side when it comes to accomplishing my work.
I can deal with a lack of transparency and cronyism in general. I cannot deal with it when there is a claim that it is not the case. I never knew that there could be such a wide gap between the holistic, altruistic claims of an organisation and the actual goings on.
I am prevented from experiencing professional development when I try to develop myself, where there is allocated budget, without any explanation given. The same opportunities are of course available to those in more 'core' functions despite the budget supposedly being tighter.
The IT infrastructure really is a little sub-standard.
You misled me during the recruitment process. You told me that if an opportunity with RedR would come up during my employment that we could discuss me going and there was the possibility that I could go. Yet when the time arose, you gave me a blanket 'no' without really discussing it. This time, I cannot afford to give you the chance.
You misled me regarding remuneration package in my job offer. You informed me that there is an employer contribution to my pension. You neglected to inform me that I will never see a single cent of that contribution due to the term of my employment contract.
Do we need to hire someone or spend money to talk about what we're doing? Of course. Do we need to hire someone or spend money on actually doing something? Of course. Yet typically, only one of these two things typically happens - and if a choice has to be made, it's the wrong one.
The incompetency, apparent nepotism, cronyism and unethical behaviour, with respect to HR in particular, is mind boggling.
I am sick and tired of the unethical behaviour around human resources. Please understand - there is 'being ethical' and there is 'appearing ethical', both are important. Should a certain process be followed when hiring someone under contract type A? Sure - but let's only do it in some situations. Are certain types of employment contracts allowed when there is a shortage of resources? No, not any longer. Unless of course you're the right person. Should hiring information be kept confidential? Sure. Unless it's too hard, then it's no problems that random people know more details about why certain people did or did not get the job than the candidates themselves! Why make confidential information hard to access when it's so much easier to just share it on a network drive with free access for everyone?

Yours faithfully,

Kevin [who is not] the backbencher

A Divided City No Longer

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 23 May 2012 17:16:00 +0000

Pariser Platz - named so many years ago to piss off the French

I have always been amazed by the concept of war, especially, past wars. Mostly, because they don't make sense, but also because countries tend to behave in such ways which make even less sense. Even equating countries with toddlers doesn't quite explain things. The results of WWII are evident throughout Germany, and although Berlin nowadays acts like one city, it is quite clear from how it looks that there are two sides to the coin.

One of my favourite Communist murals - on the side of the DDR's Finance Ministry building

Destroyed by the Allies in WWII, the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church
was rebuilt (apart from one of the towers) and now houses a cool
flying Jesus!

Even today, the concept of rules of war - what on earth is that all about? Of course, the reasoning is great, but if countries are going to agree on rules of war, wouldn't it make a lot more sense to simply agree on no war? Similarly, the whole idea behind embassies having sovereign land in other countries where the pretense is a 'diplomatic mission', but both countries (and everyone else) know that it's all about spying. But I digress.... What happened in Germany, and in particular Berlin, during the Cold War, is almost impossible for me to fathom. But it has definitely created a source of fascination.

Trabants on safari next to one of the few remaining parts of the Berlin Wall

Not growing up in Communism, I find the engineering feats of this group of people absolutely amazing. Whether is it the massive, and massively uniform, ugly concrete towers in the form of residences, or the Trabant cars which despite seemingly consisting of a plastic mould, a few seats, and the engine of a whipper snipper which somehow still run today, they are certainly sites to behold. But they did create some things to stick out; the futuristic looking (at least for its time) TV tower at Alexanderplatz, the geeky yet cool world clock, or the huge 'power to the pioneer' motifs found on prominent buildings in East Berlin.

The Brandenburg Gate at night, seen from the Reichstag

The city has been largely rebuilt following the War, but much of the original character remains. The Brandenburg Gate boasts the grandeur of earlier times, whilst the classic Reichstag building with the ultramodern facelift that suits Germany's position in today's word economy. The Reichstag, which became the home of the German parliament when it moved to Berlin from Bonn, is definitely worth a visit. Without a guide you don't actually get to see inside the building, but with a free online reservation you get to go to the roof to soak up the great view - and with it, walk up the spiral inside the modern glass dome. Definitely some great views.

Like many things in Berlin though, the Reichstag clearly illustrates that although Germany was unified just over 20 years ago, it was more like West Germany subsumed East Germany. It seems quite obvious that it was not a partnership of equals, but an integration of the East into the West. The way the history is told in the city clearly illustrates this point. Whilst all us Capitalists intrinsically know that 'we were right and they were wrong', when the West tells the story of reunification, we don't seem to rub it in the noses of the Communists, or Russia, that 'the West won' - I'm not sure why though.... Maybe, leave the past in the past, and fight new battles in the present.

We of course just spend lots of time walking around the city. Initially, with the Free Walking Tour, as I seem to do in just about every city that has it, but then just a lot to enjoy the sights and get from A-B. It's a large city, but still quite walkable. We also took a self guided walking tour with a focus on Communist sites - from the boring grey residential buildings, to the wide promenade of Karl Marx Alle, to the old Soviet theatre and restaurant. All very retro. All very much a demonstration of Berlin not looking like a single city. Back to the walking tour - yet again, fantastic. A great mesh of history, culture, architecture and general knowledge thrown in, and what's more, by an Australian guide! As per usual, I highly recommend them!

Berliner Dom, on Museum Island

Berlin definitely has a lot to do, a lot to see, and can keep you busy for plenty of time. Be it 4 days as one may plan, or 5 days as a result of missing one's flight home! I need to go back though - with a museum pass. Despite not being much of an art critic, I think I could do with a quick stroll through the art museums on Museum Island - the buildings themselves were fantastic, and maybe, just maybe, there will be some pieces of artwork inside that will impress me. More importantly though, I think I require a visit to the nerdy German Technology Museum - somewhere, I imagine, I might be able to spend a full day. We did manage to cover some interesting museums though - the DDR Museum for example, a cool, hands-on museum with lots of information about the DDR - but being stuffed full of people, a little kitschy, it wasn't perfect, though still thoroughly enjoyable!

The tourists at the East Side Gallery...some pretty cool graffiti'd parts of the leftover of the wall...

A Wandering Jew in Berlin

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin11) — Wed, 23 May 2012 12:54:00 +0000

Walking along the East Side Gallery - a remaining part of the Wall

With tens of thousands of Jews living in Berlin now, I wonder to myself a little bit, "why?". While I wonder that, I think others may wonder why Jews even want to visit the city. However, Berlin is, on the surface at least, an extremely multicultural city now with people of all different sorts of colours and backgrounds roaming around. On the one hand, it's hard to imagine the horrors of 20th century, but on the other hand, walking through Berlin, it's hard to forget them too.

One of my main purposes of visiting the city was to learn a bit about Germany and Berlin in particular. Both from the point of view of National Socialism leading up to the war, as well as in terms of, how shall I put it, capitalism and communism following the war. Every time I think about what happened there in the 1930s I feel disgusted at what human beings are capable of. It makes me sick to the bone. Worse so, it disgusts me what happened after the war when the so called 'victors' took over and were horrible in their own right. The Soviets creating a Nazi State version 2. And the Western Allies with their half hearted attempt at justice.

The Free Berlin Walking Tour provided a wealth of background information on the city, especially from the 1930s and the ensuing half a century. One of the stops was the Berlin Holocaust Memorial. A rather unusual memorial with 2,711 rectangular concrete slabs laid out in a grid pattern. Each with the same footprint but different volume. There is apparently no significance to the number of blocks, and the designer of the memorial did not provide an explanation as to the meaning of the concrete slabs. He wanted each visitor to reach his or her own conclusion. For some reason, this memorial did not strike me as one of the most powerful ones I have seen, but it did cause me to stop and think, and therein I think is the purpose. It is in a prime position in Berlin. Shouting distance of the Brandenburg gates, close to the Reichstag, and right next to where the Wall used to run. For me, the most powerful symbolism is that it it clearly shows the will of the Germans to make sure they never forget what their forefathers did.

This was indeed a recurring theme. It is very easy to try and forget one's mistakes. Or to believe that one was right, even when proven wrong. On a country level, most countries aren't particularly good at acknowledging mistakes and making amends. It is clear that a large proportion of Germany, very soon after the conclusion of WWII, acknowledged not only defeat, but that what had happened was wrong. Many things took many years to be dealt with. Many things are still not dealt with. And many things were simply let be (hence my reference earlier on to West Germany's version of justice by leaving so many Nazi criminals to essentially live in peace and make the past, 'history'). However, many things are dealt with, and dealt with in such a way that the reminders are their every day to help ensure the right things happen going forward. Putting such a significant memorial to the murdered Jews in such a prominent spot is a good example of this.

Main entrance to the concentration camp (between the commendant's quarters and the camp)

"Work Makes Free" - on the entrance to too
many Nazi camps

Unlike Auschwitz in Poland, Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp is largely destroyed, and were it not for the museums parts of it, it would be hard to imagine the horrors that went on there. One of the reasons for this is that following the war, the Soviets turned it into their own concentration camp, to hold those they didn't like. Over time, parts of it were renovated and other parts destroyed. However, the essence of the camp, what was a model camp and used as the basis for many other concentration camps afterwards, remains. Its existence dates back to 1936 and is only a short train ride from Berlin by the town of Oranienburg.

In the memorial garden of the camp

The death strip, electric fence, barbed wire, wall and dog
tie up points making the boundaries for inmates

2 reconstructed barracks in the Jewish area of the camp (previously burnt down by vandals)

Monument installed by the GDR in 1961.

The museum components of the camp are excellent and provide a chilling background to the history of the camp which was used not only to house Jews, but significant numbers of political prisoners, as well as gypsies, homosexuals, and other so called 'inferior' people. The fact that the camp borders on a quiet German town, where one can only imagine the pains the residents had to go to to try and pretend they didn't know what was happening in the crematorium which was less than 1km away from their residence, is a chilling reminder to the horrors of 70 years ago. It is times like this where one has to wonder why we as humans tend to assume the basic premise that human life on earth should continue. Why do we even want to bring children into this world where they may be the subject of such brutality, or worse still, be the subjectors of such brutality. The world isn't a pretty place and Sachsenhausen reminds us of this.

Wreaths laid by the representatives of the Israeli Defence Force in the memorial in the cremetorium.

The Jewish Museum of Berlin is an extraordinarily comprehensive museum with a specific focus on the history of Jews in Germany, and particularly Berlin. It is housed in a striking building and provides the visitor with one very clear message: How stupid were the Germans?! I took away from this museum the contributions of Jews to society, as so many Jewish museums do. Germany, an important world centre in technological innovation was a haven for resourceful Jews who contributed immensely to society. Whether it was the Jew who started AEG and was responsible for the first setup to distribute AC electricity in Germany, the financiers who kept things going in the economy when others couldn't, or the personalities that played a massive part in German pop-culture.

The Holocaust memorial void at the Jewish Museum

This was definitely a splendid museum. The focus was not really on the Holocaust, though that was covered. The focus was on the religion through the ages - how it came to Germany and how it stayed. How it was influenced by the various waves of migration, and how it influenced society. Certainly, this is one of the best Jewish museums I have ever seen.

So why are tens of thousands of Jews living in Berlin now? Perhaps it is to stick it to them. Just like all Berliners seem to be sticking it to the old-timers, showing that the Wall is simply a memory now - division is no longer part of the city. They are showing Germany and the world that nothing can make them go away. All the evil of early 20th century Germany not only contributed to the creation of the state of Israel, but showed the world that the Jews are not going anywhere because the world won't function without them.

The Opposite of Tears of Joy (Smiles of Frustration?)

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin11) — Tue, 22 May 2012 19:48:00 +0000

I think I get a kick out of things going wrong, finding someone or something to blame, and then investing all my energy into somehow extracting my revenge. This tends to occur in the following form:

Me, the helpless victim, tries to purchase goods or services from big business.
Big business screws me over by not delivering as promised.
Consequently, I suffer some massive injustice. This may be that I end up having to pay an addition $3 to get something fixed, am uncomfortable in a plane because I get stuck next to some person who takes up my seat as well as theirs, or something similar. Either way, the injustice I suffer, is, naturally (when I argue about it), roughly equivalent to WWIII.
I pull out the Bacher gene (that part of the chromosome inherited from my maternal side of the family) and complain. This is the part that I may get the slightest kick out of it. I complain verbally or in writing. Whichever way I do it, I don't stop until I get my way. Of course, sometimes the effort is way more than the argument is about. But it's about principle and the satisfaction it brings. It feels little better if I can tell myself that the other party has somehow learnt from their mistake.

This long weekend has taught me about one fatal flaw in the above process. And it occurs when there isn't another party that I can rightly blame. When that 'other' party is myself. When people ask me what I hate about myself most, what I would like to change most if I could, it's my inability to simply accept that I lsometimes do terribly stupid things and make mistakes. I'm not talking about anything serious like uoisoning a human by accident, I'm talking about simple material things which equate to money - $10, $100, $200. And why do I hate this in myself so much? Because it's so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So why do I do this to myself? Well, of course there is logic, otherwise it wouldn't be me...

I ache and pain over planning. I dare say that I am relatively good at it. I squeeze the best value out of every cent and the most things I want to do out of every second I have. I can afford to be more relaxed and spend a bit more money, but I think I enjoy the challenge of not doing so. If there is a way to optimise value for money, I'll find it. It's just the way I am. So when I make a mistake, when I screw up, when I plan badly and end up paying for it financially, I feel like all that planning was wasted. Totally wasted. And the irony is, that the reason for the screw up is because that particlar thing that I screwed up, was not planned well. Talk about positive reinforcement of a really obsessive behaviour!

Then, rather than just accepting the mistake and moving on, I ache and pain over the failure. I calculate in my head, over and over again, the dollars and cents the mistake cost me. Whether it's the lost time, the cost of a taxi, a night in a hotel, added up in my head, over and over, again and again. It makes no difference, but I still do it. Sure, I tell myself it's pointless and I already know, in my mind, all the good advice that anyone can tell me about the matter. But it doesn't change things.

Of course I could go to a shrink, have my problem analysed, and relax in the satisfaction of knowing that I (and my insurance) are helping to pay for the shrink's meal at a fancy restaurant, and that I have just wasted a few more hours of my life. But, I already know the outcome, so why not just write it here - it's quicker, cheaper, and probably more effective.

Lounging Around Lubeck

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin11) — Sun, 06 May 2012 20:40:00 +0000

Why Lubeck? Why not?

How much is that doggy in the window?
Woof woof. Woof woof.

We passed through Lubeck a while back on our train trip to Hamburg. It's a small town in the Schleswig-Holstein region of Germany. When I say small, it's actually a probably a city according to Danish standards, but the inner city, the old city which is surrounded by water is easily walkable, only 1.8 x 1.2km. Lubeck doesn't really have much going for it in terms of excitement, so the 5 of us had to bring our own fun. The old town is UNESCO World Heritage listed, and for good reason. With many buildings in the town from the 12th and 13th centuries, there is a lot of eye candy there for those who enjoy looking at old architecture, especially the famous Holstein Gate with its two towers that give the Leaning Tower of Pisa a run for its money. Otherwise, there is always marzipan....

Lubeck Town Hall

For some reason, Lubeck became a centre for marzipan in the late 18th and 19th centuries. A law was even enacted that ensured all marzipan bearing the Lubeck Marzipan name was of a certain quality (in terms of the ratio of sugar to almond paste). The small inner town, at one point, had over 100 marzipan makers, the number is now down to just a couple, but production is in the many tonnes per day! We went to the famous Niederegger Cafe to check out their slightly disappointing marzipan museum, and to sample some wonderful German cuisine - the type I like! Tortes! All sorts with nuts, creams, marzipan (of course), and chocolate. And so so yummy! This was thoroughly enjoyed in their classic 'early 20th century looking' cafe (which was only built following the destruction of the original one in WWII).

My favourite part of the town though, was St Mary's Church. A huge church that, like much of Lubeck, was bombed by the Allies during the war. It was rebuilt in all it's glory, but the most moving part, was the church bell that fell from one of the towers when the church was burning. In addition to getting slightly deformed from the heat of the inferno, it hit the stone floor from such a height that the stone floor itself became warped. The bell was left in the position it fell, even though the church was rebuilt. It stays as a reminder of the war. Quite an interesting thing to have in a church which is otherwise filled with references to godly things.

The 5 of us stayed in a great little terrace house in the old town. We were welcomed by the owners (also neighbours) in a wonderful un-Danish like style - talkative, warm and friendly. The middle aged couple couldn't do enough tor So make us feel at home and introduce us to the town. However, some aspects of Denmark have definitely seeped into this part of Germany. While you can enjoy a curry-wurst or schnitzel, you will receive it with standard Danish restaurant service. In other words, you will be lucky to have your lunch order taken before afternoon tea and have it served to you prior to dinner. That being said, since we weren't in a rush to go anywhere, it was all quite enjoyable still.

The seemingly ubiquitous 'love bridge' featured in most European
cities.

Would I go back? Sure - for a lazy weekend in summer where I just want to relax amongst beautiful architecture surrounded by water. But if I want any hint of excitement, I'd be going somewhere else.

This has got to be one of the largest liquor stores in the world. With almost 4 levels jam packed with beer, wine and spirits, it is a haven for travelling Danes who load up here just before boarding the ferry back to Denmark.

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