Pursuing praxis

Turns out it’s convenient to walk between the Dept. of Justice and the IRS buildings on my way to the natural history museum. Apart from being very large (and reminding me of the giant government buildings surrounding Tiananmen Square), these buildings aren’t hugely remarkable, for their neoclassicism. I mean they’re fancy and tall and a full city block in size, with lots of columns and relief sculptures and whatnot.

What suprised me was the use and non-use of signs and words between the two. The DoJ has its name spelled out in giant letters on a smooth strip of stones running the length of the building on at least two sides, near the top floors. Every side of the building has some big sign or engraving proclaiming it’s the DoJ, often flanked by "United States of America", or "Office of the Attorney General", and American flags are in no short supply. On all sides there are quotes pertaining to justice carved into the side of the building, sometimes near a statue, things like (and I’m botching them here, from memory) "Render to each man what he earns", "Absent the rule of law, tyranny rules", etc. They are the DoJ, they’re proud of it (at least when the building was built), and they want everyone to know it.

Compare it with it’s near-sibling building, the IRS. It too has a line of smooth stones near the top which says … nothing. There are no quotes, no statues, not even a "United States of America" sign anywhere on the four sides of the building. Most doors are totally unmarked. No flags fly, as I recall. Only the two main entrances - on a building that extends over a city block - have signs reading "Internal Revenue Service," with 18"x18" panels at knee-height, on either side of the door. And that is it. Not even "United States Internal Revenue Service."

Somehow it reminds me of any of countless movies where the mobster says, "Bring the money - unmarked bills only. We don’t want nobody tracing the dough. Got it?"  

But it also kind of reminds me of a cartoon elephant trying to hind behind a lightpole in a crowded square.  

I heard a story recently which underscored the need for awareness of cultural context. It really is secondhand - I heard it from the guy myself. It goes like this:

He ships out for a west African university to help them set up a computer network at their school. His excess baggage on the plane consists of some 30 computers. He arrives at his destination, and within two weeks he has the whole thing set up. Huzzah.

Of course, a network with no one who actually knows how to administer and maintain it is useless, so he decides that an internship program would be perfect for training students to use the computers, administer the network, boost usage, and ensure long-term viability. So at a faculty meeting he pitches his idea to the chair, and concludes by saying "So I think an internship program would be perfect. 12 interns should be just right. Six men and six women."

The chair nods slowly, and drawls out a "Yes," which, as the fellow said, is African for "no." Everyone else in the room is silent, and remains silent. Seconds tick by. Eventually someone lets out a giggle. Soon everyone is laughing uproariously, the chair included. The fellow has no idea what’s going on. He thought it was a good idea.

At least in that west African country, students who want to learn a new skill are first "attached" to an instructor. If they’re interested enough and good enough, they will then become "apprenticed" to the instructor, to eventually become independent with their skillset.

The only "intern" they had ever heard of was Monica Lewinsky. And he wanted twelve!

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I also happened to watch the movie Secondhand Lions last night, which centers a lot on secondhand stories and trust, although it does also have a secondhand (used) lion in it. Not a bad movie, except for some overly mushy parts towards the end. It’s kind of an oddball movie, maybe a little discombobulated as far as style goes, but if you find it on TV and have nothing else to do, I recommend it.

Sigh. Kenyans are ecstatic that Obama got the nomination. Why? Because he’s so qualified? Because he’s a great speaker? Because they agree with his positions and policies? Because they think he will be good for our country, and advance noble ideals and practical solutions? Because he’s (more) photogenic?

No.

Because he is Kenyan. Obviously.

From the Kenya Times:

"We as a family are thrilled to be directly related to a man who has not only made a major achievement, but has also made history."– Said Obama, Barack Obama’s Uncle

"It’s unbelievable! This shows that Kenya is a great place; a great country. God has blessed this country. Senator Obama is already the next U.S. President." — Bishop Beneah Salalah of the Anglican Church of Kenya  [can you believe that?!]

"We know he will go ahead and be elected President of the United States. The American citizens have shown that they don’t see race or tribe in someone, but his or her leadership qualities. Africans should learn from this."– Kakamega Mayor Joe Serenge

"We are strongly behind him and we urge Americans to go ahead and elect him their President."– Kisumu Mayor Sam Okello

"Kenyan" is the only information most Kenyans need. It’s all they needed when I was there a year ago, and it’s all they care about now. There is no discussion of Obama’s political positions, his background, his qualifications, his experience. Only that he is Kenyan, and was a Senator for just four years in Illinois, and now he is nominated for president.

No matter that only his dad was from Kenya; his mother is rarely if ever mentioned. (It remains bizarre to me that mixed race people are judged to belong to the darker race, whichever it is, by all races). No matter that several tribes spent the better part of January trying to kill each other, resulting in about a thousand completely unnecessary deaths (the Prime Minister’s views notwithstanding). No matter that no tribe is more "Kenyan" than any other. No matter that if Obama was actually from Kogelo village and actually born in Kenya, the odds of him getting a good education and big opportunities would have been drastically reduced, not to mention being barred from running for president because he wasn’t born in the US. Yes, that sure makes Kenya great …

It’s total tribalism - whether you are blessed for it or cursed for it - which stems from determinism. In family-based tribalism, it reduces to genetic determinism. Pro-Kenyan-Obamaism, while cheerful to say the least, comes from the same premises that motivates people to burn each other alive. Lacking a machete doesn’t change the poor logic of "my family," "my tribe," "my color," "my town," "my country." You’re born into all of those, at least two of those you can never change. And if you’re very poor like most Kenyans, it can be hard to change your town or your country as well. So basically they have no choice as to whether they’re somehow linked to someone who turns out to be from one of their many groups. Ergo the person is brilliant and they are better people for being involuntarily associated with him. Wha…?

I became friends with the cook at the guesthouse I stayed at. We had many interesting and rewarding conversations, even on religion and politics, which for safety’s sake I had vowed not to discuss at all while abroad. On matters of business and politics, people were a lot more receptive than I had expected. Njenga and I talked about Obama several times. They knew more about him than I did, and were totally stoked about him back in spring 2007! I barely recognized his name.

Njenga asked if I supported Obama. I said no, because I didn’t know anything about him, and my views on all the candidates were preliminary at the very best, since it was early in the race and I didn’t have time to follow US politicking. I asked why he supported Obama. "Because he is from Kenya!" Njenga said, lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Obama is black - and there has never been a black President of the United States before. It would be good, very good. There is still so much racism."

I said, "Njenga, don’t you see, that is what it means to be racist - to prefer someone because of their race, or their country, or whatever. Racism isn’t just white people being unfair to black people. Racism is about being unfair to anyone because of their race, whatever their race. If you are against racism, don’t judge Obama based on his race. Judge him on the things he can control - his thoughts, his values, his actions, the kind of character he has, the kinds of policies he supports."

That stopped Njenga in his (mental) tracks. He considered it briefly, seriously, and then a smile spread across his face. "You are right. What you say is right. You are an unusual person," he said, addressing me by my last name, as was his custom. "What you say is very unusual. There aren’t many people like you," he instructed me. It was neither praise nor criticism, more like an observation, though he was often hugely entertained by my unusualness, all while being deeply interested in the ideas discussed.

This exchange probably sounds like a parody, the way I relate it. But that’s the style of speaking English in Nairobi - very much out of my third grade teacher’s book. I think it must be some combination of English as a second (or third) language, the tradition or dialect, and the state of political education even among the educated. I learned it by trial and error; speaking very simply, respectfully, cheerfully and honestly (sometimes brutally so) kept people happy and got me what I wanted. So it was wierd being hailed as an intellectual giant (staying in a roach-infested guesthouse for $10 a night), when I only said what I thought was simple and obvious, as simply as I could.

(It is exhausting speaking like that though.)

It’s lovely that Obama can be billed as the first post-racial candidate. But that’s true only among a certain demographic. It’s not true for all Americans, to say nothing of all nations. Many people still care very much about race, as an extension of a tribalistic outlook on life, selectively ignoring the contradictions that crop up. I wonder how many of Njenga’s people (the Kikuyu) are cheering for Obama (a Luo) this week. Cuz they were hacking each other to bits and burning each other alive six short months ago.

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The main competitor for Starbucks here in Chicago, it seems. Apart from having a cervid motif, I dig their slogan: "Life is short. Stay awake for it."

So, I finally made it to the SF Zoo this weekend. My motivation was entirely bovidly, of course. They have greater kudu, which I had great trouble seeing well in the field, and Derby’s elands, which nowadays reside in countries I don’t care to visit (Sudan, DRC, and other central and west African gems).

This is a Derby’s eland bull. A.k.a. a giant eland, mainly because of its horns, which are a more stretched-out twist compared to common elands. Some authors say Derbies can be heavier than common eland, but it’s a really close call. This bull is pretty lightly built, although his horns are very nice. Derbies also tend to be a richer red-brown throughout life, and retain more stripes on the body (in male common elands, the stripes fade with maturity and age). The white spots low on the cheek are also key distinguishers of Derbies, and a dewlap that goes from chin to shoulder, but not down between the front legs. This guy doesn’t have much in the way of bangs; male elands often get that, and then they rub their bangs in the mud, in urine and feces and anything else that’s stinky. Either it attracts the ladies or repells competitors. Sometimes the males get grass or bushes wrapped around their horns, and end up with a bovid ‘fro.

There were also greater kudus, including one mellow bull and a few cows. The cows were rather variable in appearance, and I suspected some variation in age, although none was overtly juvenile. One was just fuzzier, had weaker stripes, and a bit of a pot belly. They do have very pretty eyes though.

In other bovid action, there were a few blackbuck ewes and one ram, though he looked a bit youngish, not be a very blackish buck. Blackbucks are from India. They’re they only living member of their genus (Antilope) and are the namesake of the whole subfamily Antilopinae. They’re rather bizarrely squat, for a gazelle (all their nearest African relatives are much narrower side to side), and don’t come up much higher than your hip. I don’t know as much about them, since I’m up to my eyeballs trying to get a handle on some 75 African bovids. There are a lot of them ranched in Texas though.

Next up, the scimitar-horned oryx. Normally I’d say these are desert animals, but they are apparently flexible enough to subsist at the zoo, which is about a stone’s throw from the Pacific Ocean. Males and females are virtually indistinguishable (unless you aren’t shy about peering for genitals, like I do). They’re not very tall, but they’re not midgets either. What can I say, the giraffe was in my way.

Oryxes are in the tribe Hippotragini, which in Greek means horse-goats, or something very close. Here you can see their horsey-ness: long tails, fairly even back, bit of a mane, and then kind of a goat-ish head with horns. They are my second-favorite tribe to tragelaphines.

The only other bovid I found was the yellow-backed duiker (rhymes with biker). Duikers are the most numerous African tribe, and most all are forest-dwellers. Since I haven’t been to the very forested parts of Africa, I’ve only seen the versatile common/bush/gray duiker. The yellow-backed duiker is among the largest, up to 80kg. Most are in the 10-20kg range. Proportionately, duikers are the brainiest bovids. They’re also the only ones that are habitually omnivorous; some actually hunt and eat birds! The smallest ones look kind of rabbity or rodenty, but that’s true of most ruminants under 20kg. The bigger duikers look a bit like pigs to me - arched backs, a wide wet nose, and a proclivity to eat some strange stuff.

Finally, to round out the ruminant branch of the mammalian family tree at the SF Zoo, we have the muntjac. It’s in the deer family (Cervidae), hence the antlers on its head. But, it’s quite small - probably not much taller than my knee - and it has very long, furry pedicles, from which the antlers grow annually.

This guy was on patrol most of the time, stalking the perimeter or stalking the does while they napped or got up to pee. Most ruminants males are obsessed with females’ urine; it’s how they tell if the female is in estrus or not, and so whether they get to have sex or not. It’s a pretty simple calculus, just not very appetizing to our tastes.

And I didn’t even get outside artiodactyla! Next up, the more mundane orders of carnivorans, primates and rodents, plus one very cool rhino.  

I’ve had several people ask me if I was ever scared or in danger during my trip in Africa. The short answer is obvious: I made it home and never saw the inside of so much as a medical clinic. Which doesn’t mean I didn’t ever feel my adrenaline spike. Here’s the second-best candidate story, and the first significant such experience, excerpted from a much longer, more rambling post I put up back in March, shortly after said adventure. Plus, I finally up-loaded the promised pic, which is my real motivation for posting now :o).

— 

I got a campsite about 11km from the main gate (the closest campsite available), dropped my driver there with plans to meet at 6am and get an early start for kudu. In the receding evening light I passed a small group of cow and calf elephants roadside, though obscured by the thick bush, and watched a weak and watery sun descend beneath the escarpment in the disance. 

The campground was deserted save two dik-diks dicking around, and some impala. THere appeared to be a one-horse stall/shed built next to the bathrooms, with hatched doors and all the rest. The toilet was a porcelain hole in the ground, but the taps were functional so I called it a success. Given the "man-eating lions of Tsavo" and the very sane park rules of "don’t get out of your car" while driving around, I opted to "camp" in the backseat. Lions, mosquitoes, cold, dew and dirt (and my greatest concern - the wiley Homo sapiens) more than sealed the deal. I sucked down a melted chocolate bar and had some crackers and water and called it good. 

ALthough I reasoned they wouldn’t clear a campsite and allow people to buy camping spots if it wasn’t relatively safe, I made some provisions for what-if scenarios, apart from not leaving my sushi-like body laying on the ground at night. I locked the doors (despite the heat), put the keys in the ignition and the gear in first, and kept the front seat clear in case I needed to make a speedy getaway, be it elephant, buffalo, lion, or human threatening my wellbeing.

It’s funny how being alone makes you more wary of people in general than if you’re accompanied by another human. A truck passed by on the bumpy road, and the instant I heard it I switched off my flashlight and my eyes and ears felt twice their size. I decided taking my daily notes was not feasible with my adrenaline levels as they were, so I sat and watched stars. Yeah, I know, they don’t move very fast, but they really do twinkle, and I watched what was either the ISS or a satelite pass relatively quickly by. I’m not any astronomy buff by any stretch of the imagination, but I"m pretty sure there was a planet out - maybe Venus? it was very bright and beautiful - and I kept my rational faculty going full tilt as I tried to make sense of a twinkling, non-moving light showing through the bushes by the bathroom. Probably just a very bright star low on the horizon, I reasoned.

Soon, a second vehicle bumped down the road, headlights bobbing with the potholes and ruts, and bobbed right into the campground and straight for yours truly parked under a tree. It was a big white pickup, and pulled up unhurredly next to me. Doors slammed, and a couple people piled out. I caught a glimpse of a KWS decal on the side of the truck, but my red flags were flying high and skepticism and caution were the foremost attitudes governing my mind. But, knowing that polite friendliness and humor grease a helluva lot of wheels in Kenya (while suspicion, reticence, and rudeness will raise everyone’s eyes and guard) I unlocked and opened my door (but just that one), without getting out of the truck. The fellas standing there weren’t too near, and had non-threatening "just doing my job" body language, but were most alarmingly wearing camo and sporting automatic guns at parade rest.

The driver, whose face I could not see with the headlights on, greeted me with a friendly tone and asked if I was alone. No, I said, I have a driver. Is he here? he wanted to know. Yes, I said. Where? he wanted to know. Why, in the accomodation for drivers outside the gate, I said. So you are alone, he concluded. No, I insisted, I have a driver and we spent all day in the park.

I beat around the bush long enough to see what the reactions were, and where the line of questioning was going, and nobody made any moves, or peered into the car, or got impatient. He asked if I had any protection against the animals, and I said I was sleeping in my car, and my foremost weapon was an active brain. They laughed easily, and I said I was more worried about being visited by armed men in the night than being attacked in a locked car by a lion, and gave the guys standing nearby a direct and toothy smile. They laughed again, and after another round of phraseology-challenged questions indicated they were from Kenya Wildlife Services, and their mission was not just to check up on me, but to have a couple rangers guard me through the night.

At this point in my stay in Kenya I am pretty accustomed to the differences between Kenya Wildlife Services and the (comparatively humble) Park Service back home, with their military dress, replete with automatic rifles (for people or animals, I’m still not entirely clear), berets, camo, and pants-tucked-into-combat-boots look. I asserted that they’d better be ready to sleep under the stars, because they weren’t staying in the truck with me (more laughs, as was my aim, though my tone told them I was quite serious about it), and I did they have any badges or IDs I could see? As is the Kenyan habit, it seems, they assured me everything was ok, they were for real, I could trust them. I played the I’m-a-foreigner card and asked to see their IDs again.

By this time I had been introduced to two of the guys, Peter and Haron, and Haron produced, at length, a rather worn looking KWS ID card that looked quite legit to my eyes. Peter had evidently forgotten his, so I bantered about a bit more trying to get a better feel for their intentions, attitudes, and expectations. They didn’t move an inch from their first spot on the ground, I saw no prying eyes, or leering smiles, or really anything to indicate this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill operation for them, yet another camper to watch, whose exact identity and circumstances were neither part of the job description nor particularly interesting, for that matter.

Finally I consented, shook Peter and Haron’s hands again (shaking hands is a cultural staple here), and watched the other couple men get back in the truck and pull away just as they had come. I promptly closed and locked my door and watched my watchers set up camp next to the big tree trunk. It was a minimalist affair, with white-blue headlamps illustrating their few movements. Soon they were settled, and I heard some low and relaxed conversation, a couple chuckles, then all was quiet and dark. I heard nothing, saw nothing, and slowly my adrenaline was re-uptaked by the appropriate ligands, and I laid down in the backseat to battle the heat instead of my worries.

In truth, I really did sleep easier with a couple good humans nearby, though still quite lightly (and with the keys in the ignition) and I stopped thinking about dextrous lions and rabid elephants and Jurassic Park, and passed the night one handful of minutes at a time, instead of one second at a time.

I awoke at 5:40 am relatively well-slept, and greeted the guys with a cheerful good morning - because it’s always easier to be cheerful in the morning after potential danger has passed. They goodmorning’ed in return, and in 10 minutes all our stuff was in the back of the truck. I gave them a lift to park headquarters, just a few km down the road, thanked them for their services, requested a pic, and bid them goodbye. The pic’s blurry because it was 6am. The guys looked a lot better than I did.

The family reunion email that I received the other day reminded me that this year is the 100th anniversary of my paternal great-grandparents’ arrival in the US from Czechoslovakia, from a tiny (and still tiny) rural community on the Morava River near present-day Slovakia.

They came here for their honeymoon. If I remember correctly, they came back in 1911, with nine dollars and my Great Uncle Tony in tow, registered at Ellis Island, and never went back. They set up a family farm in Michigan, and many of their eventual 11 children worked in or for the factories in Detroit. My grandpa met Grandma in college, got a Masters in history at Michigan State, and worked in labor relations for GE. I don’t think either of my great-grandparents had a college education.

One of my great-grandpa’s brother’s stayed behind, one immigrated to Chile, and their sister died in childbirth. In 30 years’ time, friends and family were in concentration camps, and then the Iron Curtain descended for nearly 50 years. When I traveled to the Czech Republic in 2004 to locate or discover relatives I had read about, they discovered me: none of them had the faintest idea there were any relatives in America, much less 100+ of us. In fact, to my knowledge, there are easily 2-3 times as many people in America with my (very unusual Czech) last name, than there are in the Czech Republic. It appears that having 11 kids in a communist country either isn’t a terribly popular idea, or death rates kept population strongly checked, or both.

So, although the rest of their version of family tree was quite complete, evidently all knowledge of my great-grandfather and great-grandmother evaporated sometime in the last 100 years. It only occurs to me now that perhaps that wasn’t accidental. Having relatives in the West was a considerable liability under communist rule, for both the citizens and the government. Your kids can’t know about people you never mention, and certain governmental agencies are only too adept at destroying or "improving" historical records.

I met two Czech-Canadian couples while traveling in China last spring - two brothers and their wives. The younger brother escaped Czechoslovakia to Canada in the ’70s, with his wife pregnant and seventeen dollars to their name. Although the second brother tried to escape twice, he was unable to because the authorities kept a very close eye on him because of his brother’s escape. He and his wife didn’t leave the CR until 1991, after the wall fell. His wife described the conditions of her childhood to me the day we took a boat down the Li River in Guilin. I kid you not, the pioneers of the 1840s had it easier than these people in 20th century Europe. They were destitute. And now they’re an engineer, an architect, a dental hygenist and a teacher, who make enough and save enough and want to live and see their world enough to travel for 2-4 weeks a year together.

I’m glad they had the ambition to come here, and the sense to stay. Both my great-grandparents and the Czech-Canadians.  

So, no field work for me in South Africa, despite some fairly well-sketched plans for it. There’s the overabundance of work at the museum, but what tipped the balance was a nation-wide strike by public service workers. "Talks" had been going on for several weeks - perhaps even months - with the union demanding a 12% salary hike, and the government only willing to give 6% (7.25% as of June 15th). The strike started around May 25th, and is continuing.

This means many government-run services like the courts are either just creeping along, or not working at all, many public schools aren’t open, so kids are out and about. Although nurses and the police have contractual agreements that they’re not allowed to strike, public hospitals have been minimally staffed, meaning private hospitals are over-booked, and many striking healthcare workers are now being fired, along with other strikers.

Firing union members - even with warnings, ultimatums, and deadlines - is one of the surest ways to piss these people off, so some of the demonstrations have recently turned violent. (Teachers burning tires and trying to shut down a provincial hospital in Kwa-Zulu Natal on Thursday night). Newspapers this morning quoted President Mbeki telling union members to "behave themselves," (as if that works for 8 year-olds, much less a group of hundreds of thousands of adults who feel entitled to use physical force as a means of getting what they want - which is what unions do). The papers also announced that some 200,000 police officers will might be striking as well. That’s right, they’re considering breaking their contractual agreement to the contrary, right when people aren’t behaving themselves. It is as I predicted: if police officers are members of the same union that is striking and breaking the law, the situation simply cannot turn out well. It’s an inherent conflict of interest - yet another fantastic reason unions only ever make things worse - and in this country, I don’t have too much motivation to assume the best about people.

Oh yeah - and many private taxi companies are joining the strike as well - I think at the behest of the union - on the arguement that much of their business comes from public service workers, and the taxi companies are best served by not operating (i.e. not making any money) and further crippling those people and businesses that keep the country running while others sit on their hands in petulant self-righteousness expecting to keep their jobs, get higher pay (and back-pay while striking!), and return to a friendly work enviroment as if they hadn’t just threatened their bosses. Isn’t that extortion?

These are some of the same taxi companies that gained worldwide infamy in the late ’90s by warring with each other over "territories" and routes, and shooting up each other’s vehicles and killing scores of passengers. Looks like the ‘wars’ started up again, just before the strike. Needless to say, I won’t be taking any of those taxis to the airport (the South African equivalent of matatus - 14 passenger minibuses). Better to pay an arm and a leg for a private yellow cab, which was my plan anyway.

The good news is, the airport hasn’t been affected yet, so hopefully things will not disintegrate so fast that I’m delayed getting out of here on Saturday.  

True enough, other researchers here have succeeded in doing field work, but in my book the facts that I don’t have a travel partner or assistant, that I’m female, and that I haven’t traveled around the country much yet, tip the scales in favor of staying put in the museum. I’m quite alright with this. Pity I’d (finally) gotten a grant to reimburse field work costs! Hopefully I can persuade them to let me use the money for other research costs coming up.

For the record, I’d planned to go to the Hluhluwe/Umfolozi Game Reserve in Kwa-Zulu Natal province to see nyala, one of my dear tragelaphine antelopes, and the only one not present in East Africa. They’re the fashionistas of their tribe, males having elaborate coats with stripes and long white hairs along the spine that they can make stand up to look bigger and more impressive. Their horns are very similar to sitatunga horns, and the females are similar to most of the other tragelaphine females. Nyala are rather rare, but locally numerous. I figure they’re not going anywhere too quickly, and I can deal with them later.

Having just read a paper by a friend in history of science (41 pages, double spaced) I was reminded how science (generally) favors terseness and visual representation before lengthy exposition. Mostly I fall in the science category, with notable exceptions in blogging…

Places I’ve been. More undoubtedly to come.

Civilzation is so under-rated. I suppose some people seek out experiences in undeveloped areas for the sake of appreciating what they do have when they return from such places. It’s a frequent effect, in any case. But I doubt that is the motivation for all people these days. What I can’t comprehend is people championing backward ways of living because they are backward or - more likely - because they are not civilized, not rational, not Western, not 21st century.

I wonder how many people actually think that groups of "indigenous" people actually want to keep the status quo, or even "go back" to what they had "before." (Whatever exactly that means - tribal ways of life changed rapidly and often directionally long before Western culture came on the scene. Cultures have been going extinct as long as they’ve been around). Which, if you remind them, means no cars, no cellphones, no modern medicine, no health insurance, no guns, often no property rights, no literacy, no mathematical skill, the list goes on. All gifts of Western culture - the culture of reason, of productivity, of ambition, of wealth, of health, and of independence - independence from disease, poverty and ignorance as well as your family, your neighbors and the state. Freedom from people is still a totally foreign concept in many parts of the world - developed and developing - and social dependence of one form or another is the elephant no one knows how to name or describe.

Most Kenyans I met liked their country - they always encouraged me to come back. Most Kenyans I met who had ambitions and goals for themselves, who were working to make a better life for themselves, wanted to come to America, and several told me, unabashedly and factually, that America was the best country on earth. How many urban Americans, who in many ways "have the most" of all Americans, would agree, much less say it without squirming? Many Americans I know have what you might call "Western guilt" - guilt over being the most wealthy, most powerful, and most influential country ever. They accept the idea that they - personally, as an individual American - inherit the blame, fault and guilt of every wrong action (real or imagined) of past administrations, past generations, past values. Their values are a long list of nots. Not-Western, not-capitalist, not-commercial, not-logical, not-valued, not-capable, not-established, not-like-this, not-like-me. They acknowledge and submit to the tribalism that motivates families to senselessly feud for generations, countries to attack each other for hundreds of years, and cultural and ethnic groups to blindly hate each other because "they" are not "us." Except here the tribalism is reversed: instead of hating everyone who’s not like you, the sentiment is to hate, loathe, or bemoan your own tribe (and self) and elevate everything that fits the formula of not-me.

It’s a much more peaceable and self-contained method of destruction than the two-party clashes of traditional tribalism: you just attack and punish yourself, no one else gets hurt. Except that never happens - self destruction isn’t good enough. The motivation is to get as many people to agree with you as possible, so that you are not alone in with your guilt and self-hate. You join the classic tribalists in denouncing and destroying what you are and what you stand for, all while taking a morally superior tone. But there’s nothing superior about suicide.

Such people buy into tribalism on another level - that of time. One’s identity and personal responsibility extend not just to himself, but to his ancestors, be it biological, cultural, religious, or intellectual. Americans today feel responsible for actions against Native Americans that occured generations ago - starting with the arrival of the first mass of Europeans in the 1600s! Americans often feel responsible for slavery which ended 150 years ago, and that white people owe black people some sort of debt - perhaps material, but certainly moral or spiritual. But black people in America today have not been slaves! Young blacks have not even experienced legal segregation. But there’s this sense of group responsibility and group blame that permeates the whole discussion. And the thing is: it rests on the validity of race as a measure of someone’s worth - that is, racism. The tables have just been turned. As I told many Kenyans: the greatest thing you can do the eliminate racism is to stop giving a damn about race. It’s not the important thing about anybody. Not you, not your country, not your continent, not Obama. Ask instead: what ideas does he hold, what decisions does he make, what actions does he take and why - what is his character? That’s what people have control of, and what they should be judged on. Those things are the measures of a man’s worth. 

A South African man I sat next to on the plane said the white people of Zimbabwe were so paralyzed, demoralized, and adrift because of "colonial guilt" that they don’t see that their country is imploding, and while all rational thought points to getting the hell out, they stay - unsure of what to think, what to say, what to do. Whatever bad things happen, they feel slightly responsible. And, accepting that guilt, the moral thing to do is to "suffer through," to accept the consequences. The moral thing to do, if the guilt is deserved, is to stay on the sinking ship. But what they fail to see is what all racists fail to see: unless a particular person has engaged in or given support to morally objectionable things like slavery, property confiscation, murder, racism, or countless other wrongdoings, he’s not culpable! He’s not guilty of those things! Yet white people the world over accept blame for the actions of generations past - sometimes very distantly past - as if guilt clung to the genes coding for skin color, and one inherited it along with a predisposition for sunburning.

I actually met a Kenyan who was a Christian creationist, and who believed that AIDS was a punishment from God: that anyone with AIDS obviously had done something wrong and deserved to die a horrible death. AIDS was a just act meted out by God. I explained how HIV was transmitted in blood, and how many many people have gotten HIV through no wrongdoing of their own - blood transfusions, pregnancy, through mishaps of others. He was unperturbed, and said that they must be paying for the mistakes of their ancestors.

His view of culpability was exactly the same as other tribalists - that one’s own actions in life do not determine one’s character, worth, or load of responsibility, that one is the slave of a group to which he involuntarily belongs. Family, race, time and place in history, demographic background - we have no choice over these. Yet this is how tribalists want to pigeonhole the world, in order to know how to deal with it. What such worldviews are incapable of dealing with, or really even comprehending, is the self-made man - he who fashions his ideas, character, actions and life by the free and self-chosen action of his own mind - the most defining and enabling aspect of being human.

In any case - I’m glad to be in a place with regular electricity, reliable internet, water you make hot for a shower, and that’s clean enough to drink out of the taps (first time in 4 months for that, actually), where bugs don’t swarm my food or vie for my bed, and toilets do their job when needed, the first time around. In 3.5 weeks I look forward to leaving behind barred windows, countless keys, razor wire, cut-glass and spike-topped fences, living inside a guarded gate, and staying inside after dark. In short, I look forward to home with increased freedom and prosperity.

On the off chance you’re headed to Kenya, especially Nairobi, any time soon, here’s the advice I’ve discovered, used or been given during my 8 weeks here:

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Assuming you’ve read all the standard guide book and state department advice about Kenya and Nairobi, my two cents are:

On safety:
- Mind the dawn-to-dusk rule strictly.
- This applies to driving.
- Be very wary of stop lights, stop signs, or stopping in general at night. Great way to get car-jacked.
- Driving around town in the day, best to keep the doors locked and the windows up, especially if you’re white or Asian. People like to reach in and just steal things, broad daylight, including the necklace off your neck or earings off/out of your ears.
- Don’t wear necklaces or earrings or anything fancy.
- If you get car-jacked, for heaven’s sake keep your hands where they can see them, do what they tell you to do, don’t resist, and get out of the car as fast as possible.
- Don’t take more money/important documents with you than you’ll need for the trip/day, etc.;
- Do keep some non-petty cash on you in case you get robbed. Better to satisfy him with something then leave him grouchy with nothing. Retaliatory beatings/killings for having nothing do happen.
- The US Embassy is your friend.
- Keep your stuff hidden and locked as much as possible, even in your hotel room;
- Throttle WAY back on any display of wealth, especially out and about town, even cheapo-designer-knockoff sunglasses - people target money more than race or sex or nationality per se.
- If you’re white or Asian, you are targeted for robbery since white and Asian people 1) aren’t ever police officers and 2) are thought to have a lot of money.
- For the love of god, don’t go east of Tom Mboya street, not even Nairobians go there.
- Ditto for Riverlands/Wastelands in general.
- Be very wary of being even remotely flirty if you’re a woman. What Americans consider "being friendly" or "joking around" or "hanging with the guys" can be interpreted as overt signals of sexual interest, and saying ‘no’ later is much harder (if possible at all) than just being a prude from the beginning. Rape does happen. You’ll notice most women are a bit cool in the beginning. I suspect it’s related.
- Expect a beaurocratic nightmare.

On the more-positive side:

- Copious hello-how-are-you’s etc. are a staple and go a long way to getting what you want.
- Riding someone’s ass daily if not hourly to get what you want is standard, and doesn’t make you an American bitch.
- Kenya Wildlife Service is effectively a branch of the military; the rangers rock and for all intents and purposes exist to protect good people.
- Feel free to hit them up anytime you need info, help or are in a jam - what counts as standard for them is unthinkable for US parks service people.
- For the love of god, don’t take a long-distance matatu (minibus). They break down and get car-jacked and the drivers are insane.
- Sarit Center in Parklands is a great all-purpose mall if you’re having trouble finding items or sanity.
- Uhuru Park in Nairobi is fine during the day, but totally off limits after dark; it’s where the urchins and homeless stay at night.
- Big smiles and a playful/joking attitude and a firm price has gotten me a lot farther on cut rates than being grouchy.
- Ask ask ask people for how to get stuff or where to get it etc.
- The food sucks but will keep you alive - I hope you like cabbage and a lot of gristle in your meat.
- If you act like you’ve done it a thousand times before, people will believe you more than your paperwork, unless it’s really important or their job pays well.
- Watch out for the police, they’re not on the side of tourists like they are in Egypt, and will very often set you up to extract a bribe, sometimes hefty; my friend got illegally thrown in jail the night before her plane for a Ksh4000 payout (that’s about 60 bucks).
- Taxis are expensive by Kenyan standards, ’bout fair by American dollars. Haggle like hell before stepping foot in the door.
- Using the same driver repeatedly (and still haggling) gets you about half the going rate.
- Broadly speaking, the only drawback to being an American is they think you have a lot of money (and that every Kenyan is evidently an expert on American culture: "In America, you have/get/always….").
- The roads totally suck, so be prepared for an uncomfortable ride if you’re taking a bus or car anywhere long-distance. I mean really uncomfortable.
- Parks entry fees are going up to $60 per foreigner per day this summer. Be prepared.

On elephants and their byproducts:
Since I’m not into elephants, they of course seem to be a dime a dozen. I’ve seen them at Tsavo West, Aberdares, and out in Laikipia District north of Ol Pejeta Conservancy/Nanyuki. If you’re driving and along the road you see giant piles of shit that are chock-a-block with undigested grass, you’re in elephant territory. Giraffes, being ruminents, are far better at digesting cellulose, so their shit, while big, is a bit smaller, denser, blacker, and doesn’t have observable grass in it (like a cross between horse shit and deer shit, if that’s of any help at all). Giraffes and elephants tend to co-occur, and both inhabit a fairly wide range of habitats, so that can be useful.

On large mammals in the road:
Oh, and if there’s an elephant (or buffalo) in the road or nearby, best to err on the side of caution and give it a very large berth, though I’ve found that at least with buffalos you can soon gauge their state of mind and figure out whether to pass by carefully, wait them out, or get the hell out. In any case, don’t ever get out of the car except in designated area. Bushes hide all manner of things that would love to mangle you. But also, I’ve been told buffalos key in to the human form; so long as "you" look like the shape of a car, you’re ok (all else equal); replace that shape with a human shape, and things change in that buffalo’s mind - watch out. (I should say that the foregoing is something I was told by a ranger; I haven’t tested it and don’t plan to).

Elephants occasionally attack cars, a pissed elephant bull being extremely dangerous; elephants appear to have a definite sense of anger and will destroy something that pisses them off. I met one animal handler who had been (literally) skewered and tossed 20ft by one; miracle the elephant didn’t finish the job, actually.

Giraffes, while gentle, have a tendency to just appear at the side of the road and amble out in front of your car, so be watchful if you’re in giraffe territory. I haven’t seen an insurance policy cover giraffe collisions (and I came this-close to hitting one at 35mph in Namibia, no trees in sight!).

On climbing Mt. Kenya:
As for climbing Mt Kenya, I didn’t try, but I hear it’s a significant haul - the highest peak being a technical climb, and budgeting 4 days at minimum, 7 days ideally, is recommended because of altitude change, guides required. Beyond that, I don’t have much more to suggest than what the travel guides say. I didn’t go to that park myself, just Aberdares next door (beautiful!!). It’s damn high, even in Nanyuki and Nyeri on the west side - probably in the 7000-9000ft range from Meru to Nanyuki and Nakuru, so keep that in mind. Kenya has a tremendous variety of environments, and they change rapidly. (In Nanyuki, the Ibis hotel was tolerable in the fairly-cheap range).

Fun stuff to do:
If you’re in the area and have a couple hours to spare, I *highly* recommend going to see Morani the Rhino at Old Pejeta Conservancy in Nanyuki (the chimp sanctuary there is, I’m told, not worth the extra money; chimps aren’t from Kenya anyway). On the other hand, they have all manner of other critters at Ol Pejeta - it’s an absolutely huge place - and they keep pretty close tabs on the wildlife. Hopefully you can see Morani when there’s not a tour bus full of senior citizens with the same idea. He’s the only tame (black) rhino, I believe, and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about people, unless of course you have something for him to eat, in which case he’s mildly interested. He even knows his name, but he forgets things easily - things like your presence. And he doesn’t like loud noises, like yelps or shouts. That makes him leave. Otherwise, you can pet him, lean on him, lay on him, whatever, and he’s fine with it. (Don’t lean over his horns though, no need to get gored in slow motion by the one peaceful rhino in the world). So totally cool.

I also had a total blast at the Mt. Kenya Safari Club Animal Orphanage. It’s a class act, and most of the critters you can touch and feed (ever ridden a 100 year old tortoise? Speedy was a total blast!). It’s a beautiful establishment, the grounds are impeccable, the critters are healthy and happy, and the staff is wonderfully helpful and knowledgable. Both these places are just outside Nanyuki, with cool green tropical montane vegetation, very close to Mt. Kenya.

Before visiting parks:
I’d recommend calling KWS prior to your trip(s). If you don’t have the number of the main office in Nairobi, just dial the directory (if you’ve got a cellphone) and get the number (my cell phone’s dead or I’d give it to you myself - dial 020 for landlines in Nairobi; calling cellphones doesn’t require an area code, just all 10 digits of the phone number, starting with 07). With KWS you can ask about admission costs (watch out for SmartCard-only parks - you have to "load up" this park pass, and not all parks let you do it at the gate), lodging/camping options, costs and availablity, and also get the numberS for the specific park. Call the warden’s office and double-check the info (KWS is pretty consistent, thankfully), and also inquire about weather, road conditions, where to see particular critters, and options for hiring a ranger and/or guide. Then, when you arrive at the park, get all this info again. Generally it’s easier in person, but for some stuff (not always specified) you have to do it or know it ahead of time.

I’ve gotten massively mixed messages about student discounts. Up until the last park I visited (Saiwa Swamp by Kitale), I was given the distinct impression that ’student rates’ only applied if you were part of some school group visiting the park; foreign students on holiday paid full rate. So I paid full rate a lot, which totally sucks. Saiwa Swamp gave me the student rate when I showed my Cal ID and my research permit (bafflingly). Flashing my Kenya Research Permit and museum affiliation letter got me jack at all parks I tried, though it apparently worked for another American student at the museum visiting Hell’s Gate. Go figure.

…are mostly up from my Egyptian extravaganza with Karen. Yeah, I’m a picture-takin’ foo’, but so is she. We had a good time. Don’t let the absense of bad pictures imply the absense of less-than-wonderful things in Egypt. I don’t plan on going back any time soon, save perhaps the super-awesome town of Dahab, although I do wish I could transplant it closer to home and farther away from crazy jihadists.

Two more weeks in Nairobi… er, a little over one, now. Then off to Pretoria and just maybe Kruger Nat’l Park or KwaZulu-Natal to see some Nyala.

Homestretch! 

My impressions of the new Bibliotheca Alexandrina (Library of Alexandria), Egypt. Completed in 2002, it’s a modern monument to knowledge and learning, self-conscious of it’s predecessor founded by Alexander the Great in 288BC (and destroyed by the Christians in the 3rd century AD), but not inhibited by it. I’m a fan. 

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Initially I disliked the library’s appearance (some photos here) but I’ve come to really enjoy it. Precious few buildings have captivated me with their purpose, style and execution, culminating in an impression of beauty and a feeling of excitement.

Outside, the dominant features are its magnitude, geometry and isolation. It commands your attention from every angle. But it’s also very approachable, inviting strolling and contemplation of its vast circular face, the letters from 120 languages inscribed on its granite walls, and the moat reflecting only building and sky. The entrance and lobby are modest, giving no indication of the building’s size. They invite perusal of the bookshop and exhibits, and allow quick navigation and access to the library within.

There I was first struck by the volume of the room, dominated by the vast, sloping ceiling with its diamond-shaped slices admitting indirect natural light, its height indicated by columns unobtrusively stretching to the roof. But the superhuman scale was immediately balanced by the eleven cascading terraces of the functioning library below, each with its own reference desk, work areas and section of stacks. The layout was such that I barely thought about getting around things – I just did what I wanted.

Overall, the experience seamlessly conveyed the magnitude and importance of knowledge and, by scaling everything to the human psyche and body, emphasized that individuals create knowledge. And quietly laid before you are the resources to do it. It is a building of ideas, by ideas, for ideas. Hugely exciting.

Other positive tidbits:
- I found Atlas Shrugged and The Virtue of Selfishness listed among the accessible holdings, although they weren’t on the shelves.
- The Fountainhead and VOS were in the collection of filmmaker Shady Abdel Salam, whose personal library and drawings comprise a permanent exhibit.
- The architects made no attempt to integrate the building complex with the crumbling colonial architecture of Alexandria, nor with the mental milieu of the country or region. It is wonderfully un-Egyptian and un-Islamic.
- I bought a fantastic book critically evaluating the library’s architecture. Email me if you’re interested.

On the negative side:
- Funding came principally from Saudi Arabia, Libya, Iraq and their ilk (but not Egypt).
- The philosophy section was laughable. VOS was supposed to be between a long line of "dictionaries" of philosophy and a few books on bioethics.
- There was a modern art exhibit, and meaningless sculptures, though few and forgettable, dotted the grounds.
- AS was listed with popular fiction. (It was in the classical literature section in the American University Cairo’s bookstore - the first place I’ve seen any AR work for sale during my travels in Africa.)

So, here’s the lengthy scoop on Dahab. (My pics here):

It’s a small town on the south-eastern shore of the Sinai Peninsula, Egypt, on the Gulf of Aqaba which is part of the Red Sea, just across the way to Saudi Arabia. It’s about 1.5 hours north of Sharm el Sheik, the airport town and Sinai’s Little Vegas Del Mar, which is right on the tip of the peninsula. The coral reefs of the Red Sea are spectacular. Mt. Sinai (my pics) is about 2 hours west o f Dahab, and is actually the 2nd tallest mountain of the peninsula. At the foot is St. Katherine’s Monastery (my pics), founded by the Roman emperor Justinian (I think) and going back to the 6th century AD. Middle of BFE, I’m telling you, but architecturally it was amazing and fascinating. Still functioning, also.

But back to Dahab. There are two sizable downsides to it - 1) a plane ticket there prolly ain’t cheap if it’s the only purpose of your trip, and 2) there was a terrorist bombing there a year ago, perpetrator identity still somewhat questionable, tho disgruntled Bedoins and Jihadists figure in the list of suspects. Of course, I found out that little gem yesterday, on the 1 year anniversary of said attack. Not that I needed such info to assume the worst when I heard a thunderous blast from nearby construction. My poor best friend nearly shat her pants and hit the deck, having served in Fallujah in 2004. We’re both rather amivalently happy about our previous ignorance, as we most certainly wouldn’t have gone to Dahab knowing about the bombing ahead of time.

But thankfully all went swimmingly, including us, there being some nice reefs about a stone’s throw from the shoreline. I’m not much of a fish in any sense of the word, but I did enjoy snorkeling and seeing a lionfish, some fluorescent-green lettuce-looking coral (that indicates the extent of my knowledge of that phylum), some french-kissing foot-long fish, harmless purple jellyfish, a large blue and purple fish that eats coral and craps sand, blue-lipped clams, and other marine treasures. Oh, and I think I found a good chunk of lapis, this beautifully blue stone, probably dropped by some other tourist, as it comes from the Aswan area of Egypt, I think.

The other upsides of Dahab is that in the 80s it was a hippie colony where they chilled with the Bedouins and presumably drank tea and smoked shisha and other herbs and basically chilled out all day. Now it’s like a back-packer’s resort, with several dozen low- to mid-priced lodges lined up along the sea, literally wall to wall, with their associated restaurants across the way about three feet above the ocean and beach. They are basically very colorful and thematically-unique guesthouses and B&Bs and pensioners, with room prices probably ranging from 50-200 pounds/night (uh, about 12-50 bucks), and their restaurants all serve fabulously great food at amazing prices since they compete so stiffly (especially since business has rather dried up since the bombing; the desperation is quite evident at times, and the only major hassle to be had in the town). They speak good English on average, the men don’t gawk or leer or comment or hound NEARLY as much as in Cairo (thank the powers that be), and the restaurant touts and shop owners are chill, more like rational humans than the leeches and rats I encountered at the giant market in Cairo. Dahab is a big haven for scuba afficionados, and also the Russians (whom the Egyptians typically hate for being obnoxious, rude, and the women apparently dress like tramps), and the Brits. We didn’t run into any Americans, though they might just have been saying they were from Canada (just like us). A lot of Egyptians thought I was French, which is a bit funny.

It’s on the Gulf of Aqaba, and you can see Saudi Arabia right across the way - mostly mountains on their shoreline. One shopowner said it was them doing construction, building a road, with 1-2 dynamite blasts a day, but I don’ tknow how true that was. Some people claimed it was thunder or other atmospheric things (they also say that the age of Ancient Egyptian pharohs is "a mystery" which just means they’re not taught it in schools, since it predates the arrival of Islam to Egypt), one waiter faciously said the boom was a big Egyptian farting a ways up the coast, etc.

I hiked Mt. Sinai the other night for a sunrise - with about 1000 other tourists at like 3am, 3 miles up this (haha) god-forsaken freezing mountain in the pitch black. But the mountains are truly amazing - pics coming soon - a lot of pink granite and incredible formations, like rows of serrated teeth just jutting out of the desert floor. Oh, and camels. Hundreds of fucking camels all along the trail, with their Bedouin handlers hassling for business all along the way. I’m positive that the word ‘camel’ is spoken 1000:1 to that of the words ‘god’ and ‘moses’ put together. Though they don’t moan like the tourista camels at the pyramids, so maybe they’re happier camels. The rock trail was built up, so in portions there was a nice drop-off on one side. Evidently camels go temporarily blind (like the rest of us) if you shine flashlights in their eyes at night. Good to know if you’re 8 feet in the air on a tylopod in the dark surrounded by hundreds of torch-weilding tourists. Yeah, no camel for me, thanks, ("La camel, shukran").

But anyway. Dahab is beautiful and chill and man, the food totally rocks. It’s actually not that fancy, but it’s like an up-scale middle-eastern take on down-home casseroles, grilled meat, iced tea, and bread with cheese spreads. Yummy. You basically get up, go eat, lie around, go eat, go snorkel, go eat, watch the sunset, go drink, go to sleep. Seafood is obviously a specialty, though I fancy red meats and milkshakes and salads. And they actually had hot breakfasts (the typical Egyptian breakfast consists of like 4 breads or pastries and cheese or jam or butter spreads. And tea or coffee. Every damn day). Oh, and alcohol prices appear to be about 1/10th the cost as elsewhere in Egypt, so that’s nice, but there wasn’t a ton of boozing in Dahab, which was nice. They’re as big on tea and sheesha (flavored tobacco smoked socially in a bong the size of a table lamp) and laying around like one of their floor pillows as anything. Oh, and there’s actually good internet! I haven’t tried elsewhere in Egypt (I use Lorraine’s at home), but it’s respectably fast internet!

I rate Egypt as a 2nd world country, FWIW, and Kenya would be in the 2.5-3rd world range, whatever exactly that means. So yeah, it’s clean, peaceful, quasi-natural (being a 1.5 hr drive thru desert to the nearest airport at Sharm el Sheik), high on convenience and ameneties, fairly low on price, and tops on relaxation. It’s not for those who scorn mid-range Western luxuries for "authentic" "cultural experiences", which usually involves not showering, eating poor quality food, and shitting in a festering hole for a week or more.

Oh, I should also say Dahab is so far the very-most Western of any city in Egypt I’ve visited, way more chill, way more rational, and by far the least sexist. Egyptian men are, in the main (especially in the streets and such) … beyond description in their leering, greasy awefulness towards foreign women lacking a male escort (which you hope they presume is your husband, whatever his actual standing!). But they’re also all cowards, so at least you don’t have to worry about getting stoned, kidnapped, raped or murdered for being a white western woman. On this continent, that really does figure in!

Two days in Luxor to see temples and tombs and such - pretty cool, all in all, and I have to say I am more impressed by the technology and artistry of the Ancient Egyptians than I am by the Ancient Chinese. They also seemed to wage far less war than the Egyptians, but there is tremendous sampling bias in the available artefacts and info we have on them, being mostly funerary materials.

The other night walking around Luxor some teenage kid approached me and hit on me in the typical subtle-like-a-baseball-bat manner of Egyptian men. Since I didn’t give him the time of day, he cut to the chase and asked, "How much? How many camels? I give 20 camels. I give 300 million camels!" Women’s hands in marraige typically being acquired thus. This was soon followed by a more mellow request from a more eligible guy on the ferry traveling with his… two sisters?? I have no idea. It pretty much consisted of, "Hello? What is your name? Where are you from? Lovely, very lovely. Are you married? Will you have tea with me? I want you for wife. How much? How much??"

I’m not sure there are 300 million camels on Earth, so points for enthusiasm to the teeny bopper in a tunic. lol. And the other day I got a cappuccino with about a half dozen hearts drawn in the foam. Shopping at the Khan, I was called angel, princess and Barbie within the span of about an hour, which were the positive highlights of social interaction that day. (For those of you who don’t know me personally, let me just say this is utterly unprecedented and would be laughable in America - especially since I’m very obviously brunette, compared to my blonde traveling partner standing right next to me!) 

I think my red Underarmor shirt draws attention of this sort like dehydrated hummingbirds to a jar of Koolaid. It would be more entertaining and less stressful if there weren’t a hundred bipedal, carnivorous pigs-for-men for every harmless smitten Egyptian male. So today I wore khaki and a long-sleeve shirt with more success. It’s a shame - I really like that red shirt. Plans for snorkeling in the Red Sea will be an exercise in strategy, that’s for sure. Women here swim fully clothed. Really.