Ramadan Mabruk my Libyan Friends

Being a self-obsessed American, I completely forgot it was Ramadan in Libya already. I was reading something today that reminded me to check the date and sure enough… Happy Ramadan! I’m so very sad that I’m not there to share in it this year. Although my American customs probably offend some in Libya during this time of year, (no eating, smoking, drinking, etc) we were welcomed with open arms into our Libyan friend’s homes the last time we were there during Ramadan. It’s an amazing season of thanksgiving and family sharing that I wish we Americans practiced too.

 

My best wishes to you all during this time of celebration and reflection. Don’t fast TOO much! And someone break their fast for me with some tea and dates! God I miss that!

 

PS: If anyone of you over there are in a position, you know we’re always looking for projects to bring us back! I’d like nothing more than to spend the next ten years over there doing what we do best, inshallah. Again, Ramadan Mabruk and the blessings of Allah all of you and your families!

Ras Lanuf Albums

To Whomever Keeps Searching This Site For Ras Lanuf Content

 

I can see from the access logs that someone (most likely one of the offended parties) was searching Google for the posts I removed from the site considering certain unmentionables in Ras Lanuf.

 

Thanks to your search efforts, I was able to locate a cached version of the page in google's cache engine. You'll be glad to know that I've already submitted to google for them to remove the cached copy, which should take effect semi-immediately.

 

If you find any more of the inappropriate photos, comments, etc that were the cause of the trouble before, please let me know via email at tjordan@carolinaregion.com so I can remove any and all traces of them from the web.

 

Those who were potentially harmed by this material should know that I would never have intentionally harmed people I had come to call friends and who showed me the kindnesses you all did. I've done my best to remove all traces of the material from the web, but I can see that one of you (and I think I know who) keeps searching for the posts. I know the searches are coming from Malta, so that kind of narrows the list down. If you find any more cached copies of the material... let me know about it asap and I'll clear it out. I didn't even know that cached copy existed until you searched it out.

 

Tommy

Why it's important to have friends (Africa: Day 2, October 31, 2007)

If you ever go to a foreign country, the very first thing you'd better do is make friends. If I hadn't been recognized from my blog by a nice lady in Africa, almost a year ago while eating dinner at the Venezia, then my life would be much different at right this moment.

I'm currently sitting in Tara's house in Saraj, on the western of outskirts of Tripoli, in Libya.  (shown above)To be specific, I have spent the last two days wearing her shorts and her husband's T-shirts while I wait for my entire life (luggage) to be delivered, assuming of course it's not lost forever into the hands of some islamic militant ipod-toting, gps using, bandit. In addition to ALL my clothing and tools, the most disasterous aspect to all this is that my cell phone charger and iPod chargers are in my luggage.  So, if something isn't done very soon, I'll be sans iPod and with no communications... which is WAY not cool.

Let me see if I can tell this story from the beginning...

Saturday October 28th

We left the USA on Saturday, the 28th of October via RDU and IAD on to LRH and then to TIP, arriving finally at 3PM on the 29th. After enduring 25 hours of flying and no sleep, we spent three hours sitting in immigration with no visas. Why in the world would we travel with no visas? Well, we were told they would be waiting there for us. I should say at this point that each and every airline employee who asked to see my Visa shook their head in the same manner when I blithely informed them of the fact that my Visa was waiting for me in Africa. They simply muttered something and stamped my ticket, before giving me a "good luck you poor bastard" gaze as I walked on to my next destination.

Well, since we spent three hours in customs, our ride had left us, naturally assuming we had missed the flight. From here we managed to wrangle a cab to the hotel we always stay at, and then were fairly surprised to find there were no rooms. Neither me nor my guys knew anything about it, but there is a major international air-show going on in Tripoli as well as an expo, so the entire town is booked solid. And I DO mean the ENTIRE town. After being told we couldn't get rooms at the Wenzrik, we started trying other hotels. We went through six hotels before finally trying the Corinthia, assuming that at one-thousand dollars per night, they were sure to have a vacancy. Ummm.. no. Even they were booked solid.

After 4 hours of trying, we were finally able to reach Mani on the phone so we had our taxi driver drop us off at the Corinthia where we would rhendevouz with Mani and plan a course of action ultimately destined to put our sorry asses in a bed sometime before dawn.

By paying a cab driver 50 bucks I was able to get him to drive all over town while we ate dinner and have him try to locate us a room, which he eventually did. When our friend  Haitam called about the room the cab driver told him it was 85.00 each, for one night, which isn't too bad really.... except this hotel is only 50.00 per person per night. He was trying to make an additional 35.00 off our desperation.... stupid capitalist. Haitam renogotiated us a room rate and took us to the hotel so at 11:30 PM we finally got in a room and I was able to call Tara and explain why we couldnt meet her at the airport 12 hours earlier.

So, twice already in our first twelve hours, we were saved only by the gracious nature of friends we'd met earlier in our travels. Tara called me later Monday night and we were able to explain what happened and why we couldn't meet with her. Gracious as always, she offered to put us up the following days until we were able to either get a hotel or move on to the desert.

Tuesday, October 30th

Tuesday began with a little less drama, however I still had no change of clothes to wear and have been in the same garments now since I left the states. Probably smelly, but no worse for wear we meet Tara for lunch and then she took us for some shopping before heading back to her place.  I've been to her house before but didn't get to really appreciate it the first time. Tim and I were accomodated on the 2nd and a half story (that's kinda the best way to explain it). We each have great sized rooms, and obviously an Internet connection, and the hospitality of a really great lady who makes a pretty mean taco when she wants to.

I spent the remainder of the day trying to get British Airways to track my lost baggage down. Unfortunately I can't call an 800 number from Libya, so I had to get April to handle the US offices while I contacted London and Libya offices. After a few hours of trying to reach everyone in the world (literally the whole world) all April and I could determine was that British Airways is completely useless. The tripoli office told me to cal the airport.. wow.. YOU are the airline who lost my luggage and you want me to call the airport that it never came to? That's freakin brilliant! British Airways in London has no information at all. British Airways online responded with a message saying "we'll respond." Well, hot-diggity! When? BA in America could only tell April that the knew it was lost.. not when, not where, not anything else, just that its lost. I guess when I find it, they'll want me to call them and tell them where it was, for their records...

Having nothing else to do of significance, and now garbed in Tara's clothes, the three of us pretty much relegated ourselves to Gaming on the computers until bed time.

Wednesday, October 31st

Well, it's Halloween I guess huh? Happy Freakin Trick.

Today began by sleeping-in in my king-size guest bed. I got up, called all the airlines and lost & found departments again, and still nothing. Tara was kind enough to put a few of her company guys on it. They deal with this sort of thing from time to time as well and are experienced in how to get your gear back, most of the time.

Later in the afternoon, my boss got to Tripoli and asked us to meet with the client so we can go to the desert tomorrow... did I mention I have no clothes, no tools, no gear, no toiletries, and basically nothing I need to do my job? As such, Tim is going by himself to Ras Lanuf while I stay here for a few more days and try to get this mess straightened out on my side.

So far, I've heard from my guy in the field, Mohamed Torshi, and he asked me "why are we here? I'm here with four egyptians and we have no idea what we're supposed to be doing, have no car, and basically can't do anything..." The one guy I have who DOES have a car is in Sirte doing something else, when he's supposed to be in Ras Lanuf doing his job, which is par for the course with him. He's politically connected, so I pretty much can't touch him, yet I'm forced to employ him for the benefit of Wasta.

So when I DO get to the desert, I have to get my team straightened out, get desert passes for everyone, try to round-up a car (or three) to drive, and then start the project... all of this is of course pending I actually get my clothing and tools straightened out in the next few days. If not, I'm sending my CEO a huge bill to replace all my gear, then I'm hopping my happy little butt on a plane and heading for the promised land!

On top of all this, I found out today that I have to be back in the states in about three weeks. I have a court appointment in Washington DC (nothing I've done, no worries) that I can't miss. Joy...

So, that's been my week so far. This has by far been the most messed-up deployment we've ever had. There is literally no way I'm going to be able to get anything handled at this rate. I haven't even been able to tell my CEO that I've got to leave in three weeks yet, but I guess I'll let him know tomorrow when I see him. I talked to him today and he didn't seem too concerned with my well-being, so long as one of us got to Ras Lanuf to get the project going.

Truth be told, it's annoying, but it's not terrible. It could all be much worse. I have luckily made wonderful friends who have gone out of their way to help us out when we have nothing in return except our gratitude to offer them.  If not for them,  I would seriously have gone crazy.

I'm going cut this off here and get on to working on my other to-do's. I'll write more when I can.

Tommy

Contacting Me Overseas

For those who can't remember how to reach me but want to, here's how to contact me when I'm in Africa.

 

Do NOT call my cell phone! I mean, you can, but it's going to give you a weird message because I have to take out my SIM card when I'm in Africa. If not, each voicemail costs me about $4.00 US. So, use the methods below to reach me and Cingular can't connect you to my voicemail if my card isn't plugged into my phone at the time of your call.

 

Call My Local Number: 252-565-4626
This will ring straight into my Internet voicemail while I'm gone, but it will email me the voicemail message and allow me to know I have one too, so I can check it on the web or on the phone. Otherwise, I don't have a way to know I have voicemail waiting.

 

Call my Libyan phone number: 011-218-92-744-8702
Just dial that exactly as you see it on the screen.
011- Tells your phone to connect to the international circuitboard.
218- Tells it you are calling the country of Libya
92- Is my area code (yes, it has two numbers instead of three)
744-8702- is my local number there.

Email Me: alornmage@gmail.com
Most of you know my email address, but I've been discovering some recent problems trying to connect to my american server from Libya because it appears most of the country is blacklisted... SO... instead of emailing me at tjordan@carolinaregion.com, please contact me at alornmage@gmail.com

Yahoo Me: alornmage
My username on Yahoo Messenger is alornmage, so you can contact me that way if I'm online.

Times you can reach me:
This is sometimes easy, sometimes hard. We are 6 hours ahead of you in Libya, sometimes 7 depending on the year. We are usually available all day and part of the early evening, but we have to contend with trying to get a signal through the concrete buildings, which doesn't work too well. Basically, you can get me on the phone if I'm standing outside working, or driving around the field in the truck, or eating dinner at the patio at night. If I'm in my room, you can just hang it up... no service inside the block at all.

 

The best time to reach us is as follows:
Daytime: 7AM our time until about 5PM. That equates to 1 AM Eastern until 10 AM eastern, so pretty much that means you need to call us in the mornings, because it's afternoon there already for us. If you call us after 6 PM EST, then it's after midnight there and we're already in the block and can't get your call... and even if we could, we don't want to talk to you THAT badly. lol.

I'll be quite honest about it, it's VERY lonely being stuck in a third world country, in the middle of the desert, with few people who even speak your language and we only have each other to talk to for most of a month (Tim and I) so we LOVE having folks call or email us while we're gone.

Just please do me a favor and don't email us any large email attachments if you can avoid it. Our "DSL" speeds over there are about 2-3kb/s, meaning just trying to load this web page literally takes over half an hour. (If you've been on the internet since the days of dial-up, then you'll understand this. Remember that REALLY SLOW dial-up connection you used to have? Yeah, well that's about 21 times faster than we can connect...) Loading GMAIL is pretty fast, only about 5 minutes or so to get logged in, but any large email attachment while we're there could completely shut down our emails for the rest of the trip.

New Way To Contact Me

Hi all. I just finally managed to get signed up into GrandCentral ( a telephone company) that makes it a little easier for me to reach you guys.

 

This web link won't connect you to me, but it will let you leave me a voicemail that I will get in my email in Libya. Just leave me a message and I'll call/email you back.

 

HOW IT WORKS:

Click the Button and when it changes, enter your name and phone number. The service will automatically call you on your phone, and then connect you to me. It's really really fast, so you won't have to wait for anything. Pretty cool huh.

NOTE: It's automatically set to be a private call, so your caller ID wont be showed to anyone, in case you're worried about that.

Leavin.. on a jet plane (ugh.. again)

Well, I'm leaving out of here on Sunday afternoon. It's official. I called and booked plane tickets yesterday morning. Now, with the short notice, I've been in a mad rush to accomplish all the things I need to in order to get out of here on time.

It took me 6 hours and $733.00 later before I had managed to get together all the things I need for this trip. You'd think that after having been over there so many times it would be cheaper after awhile? Not so much. I spent $290.00 on a backpack today... can you believe that crap? For that much money I expected it to drive itself the other stores and then pack itself and perform its own baggage check, but nope, it's just a bag to hold crap.

I promise I don't make a habit of foolishly spending frivolously on stuff. Most often I spend forever doing comparison shopping online, then browsing stores, and eventually I settle on something in the middle of the price range. However, this makes my 6th trip to Africa and I've never had a laptop bag survive more than one trip. I started with the 39.99 from Wal-Mart, later upgraded to a 65.00 one when the first one died after a trip, then upgraded to a 130.00 one when THAT one died. After one trip, I had to replace the 130.00 with another one just like it (under warranty thankfully) and then the same problem happened to the replacement one and now they won't warranty that one...

Considering that we usually have to carry a $1600.00 laptop, a $500.00 GPS, multiple $100.00 external drives, $250 Ipaqs, $250.00  digital cameras, $400 world phones, and a $300.00 iPod, we need something that can protect our materials. This one came with a "no-matter-what" warranty for 25 years... so I'm going to put it to the test. Can you tell I'm still trying to justify this to myself???  Did you know that a $290.00 backpack is CHEAP nowadays, depending on where you shop? When I grew up the most expensive thing you could buy was L.L. Bean and those were $65.00 or so. I was in high school before my mother could afford to get me one and I've still got it to this day and it's STILL in great shape.  It was such a cool thing to have that I've always taken care of it. And now, eleven years later, I have a freakin' three hundred dollar bag that doesn't even carry itself around on electric wheels or anything.... inflation sucks.

In other news, I've been frantically freaking out while trying to update the web site, shopping cart, and forums for NCBBA.org, while trying to build a new site for Robinson Jewelers, specc'ing a new camera job for a company in Raleigh, trying to setup a new phase of our current project, getting our equipment that's 4 months late to ship finally sent out of the country, locating new vendors that can handle industrial fulfillment quantities, trying to purchase three new cars from the Netherlands and have them shipped to Africa, and then finally working on updating my iPod with new money.

Oh yeah.. crud... I started this post so I could post my flight info for my family and April to be able to get to if they need to. So, here it is:

SERVICE        FROM                TO

-------------- ------------------- ---------------------

UNITED AIRLINES - UA 168

SUN 28OCT      RALEIGH DURHAM NC   WASHINGTON DC

NON STOP       RALEIGH D           DULLES INTL

               1440                1557

               EQUIPMENT:BOEING 737-500

               RESERVATION CONFIRMED

BRITISH AIRWAYS - BA 216           WORLD TRAVELLER

SUN 28OCT      WASHINGTON DC       LONDON GB

NON STOP       DULLES INTL         HEATHROW

               1945                0650  29OCT

               EQUIPMENT:BOEING 777-200/300

               RESERVATION CONFIRMED

BRITISH AIRWAYS - BA 898           WORLD TRAVELLER

MON 29OCT      LONDON GB           TRIPOLI LY

NON STOP       HEATHROW            INTERNATIONAL

               0930                1500

               EQUIPMENT:AIRBUS INDUSTRIE A320-100/200

               RESERVATION CONFIRMED

 

OK. I'll post some more in a bit.

It's official.. kinda sorta...

Well, I'm not confirmed on the date yet, but it looks like it might be this coming Sunday or Monday. I'll know more tomorrow. The fact of the matter is, however, that I'm leaving again for Africa in the very near future.

I hate that I'm going to miss my anniversary with April... that part really sucks a lot. If I'm lucky they'll reschedule and postpone again, which would be great, but I never know until the last minute. That's just the way this job works.

Anyway, I just wanted to give you all a heads-up. I'll post more when I can.

Tommy

Update To Scooby Central: What Happened to Africa?

This is to answer the emails I received regarding why some of my posts from my last trip to Africa were removed. I'd like to start by saying that this blog started as a way to communicate with my friends and family, and for my friends (the scoobs) to stay in touch and share thoughts with each other. Basically, it was a private place that was open to the public if they (you) wanted to read it. In fact, what I enjoy most is the responses I get from those I don't know. Logging on here and finding out that someone from another state, or country has bothered to read my posts and then taken the time to comment on them means a lot to me.

In the last two years, primarily due to the massive role the new google changes have had on the internet, the "private" aspect of the blog has decreased and the public awareness of my little spot on the web has increased dramatically, as evidenced when someone found me when searching for Tripoli, Libya, and later published my post all over the web, garnishing massive response to the editorial I had written to my friends back home.  Google's new technologies have made searching the web much more inclusive, such that my postsing, rants and raves, and pictures quite often wind up in google results when people are searching related materials.

Additionally, I'm one of the few americans who has had the pleasure to visit Libya for an extended period of time and as such I have more posts about it than probably any other american blog on the web, which thanks to services such as technorati, digg, and google, have put my personal thoughts at the top of the search engine results when people search libyan information.

In the USA, this isn't a problem at all. I am one of the largest proponents of free speech you will ever meet. I believe everyone should have the right to share their beliefs, thoughts, opinions, humor, and all other parts of their personality that they choose with the world at large. However, having said that, there are limitations that I am quickly coming to surmise that need to be instituted on this forum, at least when the posts come from me.

Libya, where I've spent much time over these last two years, is NOT a free democratic society, and as such has rules and customs which are much different from our own here in the USA. As such, some of the things I've said and posted on here have drawn some fire from people from time to time. Can it hurt me? No... not really. The most that can happen is that they refuse me entry if I try to go back again.  (and I love it there, so I'd hate for that to happen) However, I have made many friends in Libya who I respect, care for, and admire, who CAN be hurt from ramifications of what is posted on this blog. Quite frankly, anyone who upsets the libyan government can and might very well BE evicted from the country. It's not for me to say that this is wrong or right, because I'm not a citizen of their great country and as much as I THINK I know of their customs and beliefs, I am still quite ignorant of many of the ways things work abroad.

About 50% of the email I receive from this blog is congratulatory; appreciative comments about the interesting things people have learned from my travels. THAT is why I post these things.. to share with the world that which not every American can experience themselves. The other 50% of emails received are warnings, disparaging remarks, and recently even threats about the ramifications of my "freedom of expression."  It is for that reason that the posts have come down. I'm not concerned about myself, for like I said there isn't much they can DO to me as an American citizen, but there ARE many friends and acquaintances who have made it their lifes work to live in that country and to work there and these people deserve to be rewarded for what they do, not disparaged for it. So, to save everyone the hassle, I've taken all the related posts down.

Will I repost them? Sure. I'll take the time to carefully be sure of the content and the ramifications of the posts and then I'll repost what I can that I feel will neither offend Libyan officials, nor endanger the friends and compatriates I have made there.

Is this censorship? I dont' believe so. Censorship would be someone ELSE telling me what I can and can't post on here. Common sense is when I do it on my own, for my own reasons.  I am certainly free to post anything on here I wish, however responsible journalism ( for that's what this is becoming) also comes with its own set of rules. When what you write injures someone else, especially people you admire and respect, then it's not worth writing if you truly care about the subject of your posts.

In conclusion, thanks to ALL of you who have posted comments on this blog. Some of you have appreciated what I've posted and others have been worried about the fallout that can ensue from what seems to me to be an innocent journal of my travels. I have taken ALL those comments into consideration when making this choice and I will try my best to keep them in mind when making any future posts.

Till next time...

Africa: Day 6 (Ras Lanuf) July 27, 2007

(This wasn't published until my return to civilization on September 14th, 2007)

  Well, I've decided to cease my useless ranting about all the things I cannot change and instead share with you some of the unique experiences that will be mine alone in this world to experience.

Upon entering Ras Lanuf camp, we were priveleged to get to know some of the expats, a friendly term used amongst the expatriots of other countries who have hired on full time with Veba, here in Libya. The universally proclaimed leader of this rag tag band of immigrants is Billy, the wholesome British ex-sailor who keeps the rest of the expats all sane. It bears mentioningthat this is in no part due to his overly kind demeanor or kind speech, for the man gave me understanding of what it means to curse like a sailor. His deep brogue makes his bawdy curses seem almost affectionate though and the smile with which he delivers them is a giveaway that he likes you, or so I'm told. I won't tell you the first thing he called me, but later Bryan told me "Oh, noo.. if he calls ye that, then surely he likes ye. It's when he's quiet that ye must worry overly."

 

Bryan, the supervisor for maintenance, is another Brit implant here in the colony of Ras Lanuf, the kindliest and most generous soul a person could hope to meet. I firmly believe he would give me the shirt off his back if his coverall design woud allow. As it will not, and I'd not have him bare-assed without his coveralls for proof, you'll just have to accept my word on the matter and let me move on in my introductions. Bryan has helped us more than any other person since we arrived, and all on his own personal kindness, not because he has anything to do with our project.  Quite the contrary, his department is the only one we're not working hand in hand with. Nevertheless, his kindnesses make the days bearable when other circumstances make me want to crawl back under a rock and wait for Ramadan.

Harry is Billy's counterpart in vernacular olympics. Any time I've ever walked into the Brit-Shack, as I've come to call it, you can find the two of them comfortable ensconced in their relaxed postures, standing around the pedestal-bar, listening to 1940's jazz or 1960's Patsy Cline. The first night I was invited to spend time with them, I think I only gained a measure of respect because I had a rather impressive list of Patsy on my iPod. Otherwise he would have not believed me in the least and would have summarily thrown me bodily out on my ear.

The conversation on music led me to my next person of note; big Ivan. Picture if you will, a giant Serbian of a man, raised in the wartimes of Yugoslavia, and who dreams of coming to America to see the sights that we take for granted every day. We spent an hour the first night I met him talking animatedly about the music of the 30s and 40s. In his country, the government decided sometime in the 1950s that all new music was absolute crap, so most of them have spent their lives without the newer influences of the modern musical age, though the youngest of them could sit for hours with any elderly gentleman of our nation and discuss in detail the music of four generations ago as if it were only yesterday that Glenn Miller played on the record player in their home.

Another man of great note is Slavko. Slavko works for Harry in maintenance I think. I can't be sure of the department. The next time you think you have a hard life, take a look at a guy like this. Another war-torn generation of people who rose from the ashes of Serbia to try and escape to make a life for themselves, Slavko is one of many who reside in the construction camp a few miles up the road. They are locked in at night at 7 PM as if they are in prison, though they are in fact not. Slovko got to come over last week and hang out with us on my first night in the Brit-Shack and picked me as his immediate new best friend. You'd have to physically stand in front of the man to understand how intimidating a Serbian (russian) construction worker, who sounds like Ivan from the Rocky movies, can be a complete wonder to talk to. He was quite verbose about how much he loved what he does and how happy he is to be here. He fell immediately in love with my blue-black sunglasses, and I felt happy to let him have them. After all, I always come prepared and had my good pair in my suitcase in the room anyways. They seemed to thrill him to no end. I believe the phrase was "Look Billy. Slavko is american movie star."  I will have you know that I DID fight to get my hat back, but that too has now been admired by the local Area Manager of the camp and it seems I will be bringing another with me on my return trip. Thankfully mine didn't fit the guy who so admired it!

Ha. That's Slovko giving me a big kiss. I got kissed by that man more in one night than I get kissed at home in a week. I love you, my darling April, and don't ever grow a moustache. It itches horribly.

There are many more to tell you about but I can't do it all in one night, so I'll spread the introductions out over a couple of posts.

 

In other news today, I did have occasion to run across the first camel spider I've ever seen in the wild. I have to admit, I was fairly surprised by agility and the ferocity of this creature. The picture shown below is a baby spider, spanning approximately the width of my outstretched hand. I would never have known if not for Bryan telling me, to look for its mother, which apparently stays near when they are still small, if only by comparison to other camel spiders, which I've been told can span ten inches.

 I was posing with Bryan for this picture here, taken behind RTU-1 at the oil field tank farm, standing only a few feet from the dangerous little creature.

We all three walked VERY carefull back to the land-cruiser we had left idling a few hundred yards away. Our trip back was spent with much more time looking at the ground than the preceding trip was.

Though not deadly to a human at first bite, the feeling still would not be a confortable one. The camel spider anesthizes its victim at the moment it bites, numbing the area with a mild neurotoxin, so you never feel the bite. However, at that point the arachnid clamps on with its teeth and begins secreting a meat-eating fluid that will disolve the flesh of it's intended vicitm. This sounds much worse than it is. It's not as if the animal is going to eat you, though you might indeed wake with a small hole where you didn't have one before. It's likely enough that the creature will eat its fill of you in a matter of moments and then wander off in search of whatever it is arachnids search for.

  

In case you're curious, that picture you see is about half the actual size of the spider. I was searching for an item to use for a size reference but was unable to procure a volunteer willing to "lend me a hand," foot, or any other appendage for that matter and I cant say I was too keen on getting any closer myself.

What truly amazed me is that while Bryan, Kris, and myself circled the spider from a distance of about sx feet away the little spider was perfectly capable of watching us all at the same time. Whenever one of us twitched toward or away from it, it turned to face us directly head on, moving forward and raising its two front legs in a warning of attack. Never once did it retreat from us. When we closed in together on it, it only moved far back enough to get us all three in its vision before returning to the offensive. This is quite frankly the most hostile arachnid I have ever seen. I've heard lots of misleading stuff about them from web sites and from friends who have seen them in the deserts of Iraq, but never had the experience to see for myself what they are like in the wild. Quite disturbing to say the least.

That rock, shown to the left of the spider in the second picture, is about the size of my shoe, if that helps to put it in perspective.

I can say with honesty that this trip has been much more lively with respect to wildlife than my last trip to the desert.

Only yesterday, Kris got the chance to see his first camels inthe wild, traveling together over the dunes to the west of the road we were traveling on.

Today, as I was out walking solo on a survey expedition, I was able to spot wild dogs a little ways off and I spotted their tracks up near where I was conducting the survey. I tracked a gazelle where it had come through the fence line sometime during the night and then later saw where the dogs and a desert fox had come through the fence in different places, quickly locating the tracks of the gazelle and setting off in pursuit. I have yet to spot the gazelle or the fox in the wild, though I'd love to get a picture of both if circumstances permit.

I know that things here will grow tiresome and the yearning for home will grow like a cancer as days progress into weeks and weeks into months, but I write these things now in the hopes that I will remember my perspective as I face those challenges and deal with more and more time away from home. Trips like this into the desert and especially the times I've spent with the expats are completely irreplacable moments that no one else I know will ever get the chance to do. I'll carry some of these stories for the rest of my life and one day tell my grandkids of their grandfathers adventures in Africa and the people I met along the way who improved my life just by being part of it. The experiences I have here and the people are my own personal history in the making, the thing that makes my experience unique and personal to me.

I'll write more later as time permits, but I feel I must get back to the daily grind. If I can ever get an internet connection, I'll publish these posts to you all. I hope you all know you are missed and that I'd love to have you all here with me if I could!

Ma-Salama for now.

Tommy

 

Technorati tags: Desert, Tommy Jordan, Scooby Central, Ras Lanuf, Sahara Desert, Camel Spider, Oil Field, Travel, Africa, Photos, Personal, Libya

Africa: Day 5 (Ras Lanuf) July 26, 2007

(Reposted after the changes were made to the blog)

I'm sure some of you are wondering where I've been. I've been too busy, sick, tired to write since I arrived and communications are worse than I had hoped they would be. I'll try to start at the beginning to let you all know what's been going on since we got here. Before I get into that though, I'd like to say I love you to all those I usually get to say it to in person; April, Mom, and Hannah.

Hannah: I don't know where I'm going to be on your birthday in a few days, but my thoughts are with you. Someone please please hug my daughter for me and tell her that her Dad loves her. I'm not sure if she'll get to see this or not, so someone please make sure to call her for me and tell her I miss her and love her.

April: I miss you so much darling. I know you and I have the least amount of problems compared to the others on my team when it comes to communications. We're used to being apart and not speaking for a couple of days at a time. But I want you to know I love you, I miss you, and I'm thinking of you constantly while I'm here. It's ok here, but it's never wonderful when I'm this far away from you.

Mom: I'm sure you're worried. You always do. Don't worry too much. We're all ok. I'm keeping the guys hydrated and we're getting along all right here, if sans a few modern comforts; like hot water.. ugh. I'm lucky apparently in that regard. My room has working hot water, though others seem not to. Privelege of being in command? HA! I'm not sure. To me it just means that there's a line waiting to get in my shower in the mornings.

Ok. I'll see if I can start a semi-decent narrative of our adventures since arriving in Africa on the 21st.

Things were great on arrival. It felt like coming home to see the sights of Tripoli and to feel the sand beneath my feet as I walked through the town. You don't realize how much of life you miss while riding in a car all the time. Walking the streets and smelling the sea, the scent of the arid desert sand, the mildly sweet scent drifting from the date palms, and all th me other sights and smells that make this place like a second home to me.

Upon arrival, my plans were changed without my knowledge; instead of having four days or so to get the guys acquainted and supplied, we had only one day to rush around like mad before leaving for the desert. As such, the tourism aspect was cut drastically short. I did get to take the new guys to the Venezia though, meet with Mani, walk them through Medina-Al-Khedima, and show them some of the sights, such as the Arch of Marcus Aurelius and the ancient hotel, Gurgi Mosque, and a few others.

Mani was great, as has always been my experience with him. He took good care of us and, in typical libyan fashion, went out of his way to help us out with all kinds of things. Thanks again Mani for meeting with us and for introducing us to your friends, Malek and Mahmoud. I almost forgot, thank Nasr for me too, for taking his time to drive us around and for helping me get the phone for Wess. Please extend my thanks to all of them and let them know that we will not forget their kindnesses. Should they ever need a favor that we can provide, we are in their debt.

To continue, after getting settled in the hotel and making a few trips around Tripoli, we were put in a mad dash to get our desert passes issued. Rather than letting me do my job and plan my travel and arrangements, others took that responsibility over and royally screwed it up. At this time, six days after entering the country, we still have no return tickets home, no visa extensions, no proper identification papers for desert travel, and no tools. If you were here, you could see my "surprised" face....

As always happens on these long overseas flights, my bad tooth acted up again and the infection started soon after I landed in Africa. Within 24 hours of hitting the sand I was screaming in pain and screaming more because the screaming caused more pain, a fairly vicious and unpoductive cycle now that I look back on it. I slept ok the first night, but had to spend the entire second night packing the stuff that was rescued from our Libyan apartment. Between that and the running around and the pain from the toothache, I never went to bed at all. I had to fly to Ras Lanuf and chair a kickoff meeting with no sleep in 48 hours, no pain meds (because they lost the bag containing almost $1,000.00 worth of medications and our hygeine supplies). Surprisingly, I managed to survive that long enough to get to a clinic and get some local meds to knock the edge off the pain. Now, four days later, the left side of my  face looks like I'm chewing on a tennis ball, but the meds keep it bearable for the time being.

Some of you know that we had an apartment in Tripoli when we were here last. Well, the landlord is a piece of &^%$... sorry, but I needed to say that. That sorry sonofabitch took 40 thousand dollars of our company' money, but won't let me in the apartment to rescue the rest of my stuff from there. So now, I'm down half my clothes, ALL my medical and hygeine supplies, and all my electronics gear. Not to mention the people that are CURRENTLY LIVING IN MY PAID FOR APARTMENT are making use of all my kitchen supplies and my coffee pot. Do you have any idea how completely insane you have to be to come between me and my coffee pot?

I had to end this early to get back to work, so I'll just start a new post. Read on.

 

Technorati tags: Tommy Jordan, Libya, Africa, Scooby central, rants

Africa update

First - this isn't Tommy - this is his Mom, Brenda. I spoke with him Friday and he was gracious enough to give me his password so I could write this post, kinda for him. He hasn't had any internet access yet. This is the third time I have written this and hopefully I will get it posted this time. You can definitely tell, Tommy didn't get any of his computer skills from me. I lost the post the second time when I stopped to google the camel spider Tommy had told me about. I spoke with him Friday about 1:00 my time. We had a great conversation, he sounded very upbeat and happy. Evidently he happened to be in the only spot where he could get a phone connection. He asked me to tell you, his friends, a little about whas been happening so far. I am not the story teller he is; but maybe I can make it interesting for you. They are in a place called Ras Lanuf; on the northern coast. So, for a few more days, until they move farther into the desert, they are enjoying the Med breezes. They are in kind of a military compound; three meals a day; no snacks and drinks except water. I guess that means no coffee and no coca cola. Frankly, I don't know how Tommy is making it. Near this compound, there is a group of older men called expats. They have been in Africa for 25 to 30 years. They are British, South African, Swedish, Dutch and Serbians. They are pretty much self-sufficient and are this way mostly because they make and trade moonshine. It's called flash; the first run is 90 proof and the second run is 98 proof. These men have a deep fat fryer, ICE MACHINE, and other tools and they trade the flash for gas to run these things. They also trade it for cigarettes and food (not camel and cous cous). Tommy and the rest of the guys were invited to eat with them. And, in Tommy's words, "since we wanted to be hospitable and fit in, we had to have a drink or two". Yeah, right. He and Wes got blitzed and as they were leaving Tommy tried to climb an oil tower. He said they did not want to appear to be freeloaders but since they don't have a lot of money to spare, they asked what they could do to help. So far, Tommy has peeled quite a few potatoes and either Friday or Saturday night, he was going to cook. He will really enjoy that. I have always been amazed at how good a cook he is. He definitely did not get that talent from me - I hate to cook. He said he has really enjoyed hanging out with these guys. It is a once in a lifetime experience and I am sure he will give you more stories and greater detail when he has a chance to get on the internet. The temperature is pretty harsh - 120 degrees. They have been going to bed relatively early and are pretty exhausted at the end of the day. I mentioned earlier that I had lost my post because I had googled the camel spider. I did this because Tommy saw one a few days ago. He said he really couldn't describe it to me except it was about the size of his hand. You really need to google it to see what he is talking about. One more note about the expats. He said one of the guys is a great talker and his accent is to thick, Tommy wasn't sure what he was saying most of the time. So he just nodded his head and laughed a lot and just hoped that the man didn't ask him a question. I have covered most of the things we talked about. April called just before we finished our converstaion and needless to say, he got off the phone with me real quickly. I guess I know who is the important lady in his life - LOL - and rightly so. I am just glad they had a chance to talk to each other. I know they miss each other a lot. Take care everyone.

Ma Salama Scoobies (Goodbye)

It's 8:04 and I sit here awaiting Tim and Claire to pick me up, having packed all four bags, triple checked everything I can think of, and kissed my pretty girlfriend farewell for the next 45 days. I'll miss you all terribly while I'm gone and I really wish I could pack all of you up and bring you over with me. It's an experience everyone should have once in their lives. I'm lucky, I guess. I get to do it repeatedly.

I'll land in Tripoli tomorrow at about dawn your time, and I'll be there for two days, during my libyan phone will work. After that, I'll be in the desert and I don't think any of our phones will work, but we'll see when we get there.

Until next I write, I bid you adieu.

Tommy

Africa: Flashback Upload for YouTube

I didn't get a chance to post this while I was there due to bandwidth limitations, but this is my friend Nadir breakin down Arab-Style! (Ok.. so no one ever gets to pick on MY dancing again!)

 

 

 Days like this are when I miss being there. For all the headache, we had a lot of fun there too!

In case you guys read this, Hi Tara, and Khadeja! Miss you guys!

 

Tommy

United States: Day 10650 (Yeah, I did the math... lol)

I'm not going to bore you with a long narrative about our trip home, but I just wanted to thank everyone who kept us in their thoughts. As of today, I am back in the USA. It was a good trip, but I'm glad to be home.

I did make some really great new friends over there this time and solidified older friendships I had made before. Tara, it was great meeting  you guys and I can't wait to see you again! Take care of my guitar! (and email us pics with that fast VSAT connection of yours.. we'll post 'em on the blog.)

My sincerest thanks to Mohamed Torshi, Mustafa Maana, and Nadir, without which we would never ever ever get anything done in Tripoli!

I'll write again soon when I've had a few days to decompress and spend some time with my girl(s).

Love you all!

Tommy

Africa: Day 20 (ana urid Beer, En-sha-allah!)

Looks like we're coming home guys! Tim and I made plans today. We're leaving Tripoli at 1600 hrs on Thursday afternoon and will be sleeping in JFK Thursday night while we wait for our Friday 6 AM Flight to RDU.

Just wanted to drop you a quick line to keep you informed. More posts and pics when I get to the states.  I don't have much time right now... I have to go home and get my socks and underwear out of the oven...

(And Wess thought that my pizza, on the coffee burner innovation was impressive! You should see my dryer! I'm not paying the electric bill.... that's all I gotta say about it. I'll take a pic to show you!)

Love you all!

PS: Thanks for the comment earlier, Kadeja!

Tommy: 2155 HRS GMT+2 022007

Africa: Day 24 (Back to Civilization... sort of)

Let me begin by offering my sincerest apologies to those of you who refer to this blog often to see what I'm up to. On the small chance that you have nothing better to do than read about what I'm doing, then I have been very slack about keeping you inundated with new information. I can't take all the blame, however. With the arrival of my CEO in town, my recent trip to Sebha in the south Sahara desert, and meeting new friends, not to mention trying to spend my little amount of literary inspiration trying to write a novel, I have had little time for communication lately. I guess I should begin in by taking things in order... nah, that's too simple. I'll just fill you in as it comes to me.

 

My CEO arrived in town last week to check up on progress and to make some other arrangements of his own. Any of you that know Moe know he's always full of ideas, new things he wants to try, which means he's always tasking us with creating new approaches to modified American technologies that can be deployed in this country. Life with him here has been interesting to say the least, though we haven't actually seen him much except for the first night. My plans and travel have kept us fairly insulated from each other so far.

I was hoping to be back from Sebha before he arrived, having had time to compile all the necessary data to create the final deliverable document to the client. As usual in this country, relying on the locals for anything related to a timeline is worse than hopeless. Repeated delays due to lack of planning, general stupidity, and an inability to understand the concept of respect for another's plans make working in this country unbearable sometimes. Don't get me wrong, the people are great, but you just can't depend on them for anything "on time." Having spent seven months here now, I can tell you there's  reason this country is considered third world.

Imagine a society where no one congratulates you on hard work, rewards extra effort, or recognizes true initiative in a person. Now apply that moral characteristic to whole countries' labor force and you begin to see the ramifications it has on technology and innovation. No matter how hard you work here, no one is going to promote you to something else unless you're related to the boss. No amount of skill gets you a "good job Mohamed," or anything else like that. Living in that environment, these people have adopted a "I just show up and do what I'm told until I can't do that anymore, then I stand around twiddling my thumbs" attitude. Simply put, these people just don't give a damn.... about anything. They're not interested in furthering their own lives because they have no concept of the capitalist momentums that are ingrained in Americans by age 6.  In America, we all have small jobs as kids, earning money by mowing lawns, etc. We are reward oriented in the fact that parents give their children a treat for doing really well on a test in school, or something similar. That mentality carries over to our adult lives as well. When we join the work force, those of us with a drive to succeed will work harder to earn that possible Christmas bonus, or get a promotion, etc.

Here, none of that applies. In fact, last month a British friend of mine I've met, who runs the accounting division of an oil-related company paid a Libyan man here a small bonus for actually going the extra mile and surprising her with his efforts, coming in on his days off to get work completed, etc. The first thing she found out was that the other locals shunned him because he's working too much, doing more than they feel is necessary to get the job done. The second thing she was hit with was a line up of Libyans with their hands out, ALL expecting bonuses equal to his. There is no reward system here, so to them it means that they all get more money this week because Joe-blow got the job done faster. Even the concept of personal reward is alien to these people.

The reason I believe it will never change is due in large part to their religion. I can't tell you how many times I've heard the words "En Sha-allah." It means "if God wills it." Basically, they apply this to every single facet of their lives. We will get you on a plane sometime, Mr. Tommy En-sha-allah. Yeah, really? Friggin amazing. It took allah 6 days to get a ticket for me! You know it only took my Libyan employee Mustafa about fifteen minutes! So, I say "en-sha-Mustafa!"

Can you tell I'm having one of those days?

I absolutely LOVE the culture here, the people, the society itself, but when you're talking about working in it, it's ludicrous. The problem with this job currently is that we came here setup to be supplied and transported by the customer, which means at their whims. I haven't even gotten a ride to work but once in the 24 days I've been here because the Younis (who we've dubbed "Useless") is off playing with his camel somewhere.

I'm slowly working on becoming self-sustaining, procuring my own vehicle so I can drive, etc. Relying on these locals for transportation has cost us thousands of dollars, no.... tens of thousands of dollars in wasted payroll and per-diem because we have to sit around and wait for days and days and days to get things done. To date I've been in this country 24 days. I checked my journal today to see how many days I've actually NOT worked because we can't get anything done due to Libyan stupidity... ten days. That's ten days of lost work in three weeks because we have to wait on Libyans to quit scratching their ass long enough to sign for a driver, or whatever.

UGH!

Ok.. next topic.

The British Invasion

Thankfully, I have had a few experiences lately which have renewed my flagging inspiration. Those of you who read the blog often have noticed that the banner (the big picture on the top of the blog) changes from time to time, as I programmed it to. Further, that image oft as not contains pictures of me in my travels. Well, you want to talk about coincidence: check this out.

While sitting in the Corinthia last week, I noticed an American woman sitting with a man at a table, two tables over from Tim and I. Apparently, hearing us chatting and seeing the laptops, she too recognized that we were Americans. However, at the time neither of us said anything.

Later that night, she was online at home in Tripoli and was playing around with Google's "blog search" feature, after talking to another friend who has a blog here in Libya. (To add to the level of coincidence, that friend also happens to be a friend of Aprils... six thousand miles away.)

While searching, she put in the keywords "Tripoli, Libya" just to see what would come up. Well, apparently I'm the first result for Tripoli, Libya in Google's blog search. As she clicked on the link, she was carried to this blog... which loaded my picture on the top like it usually does. Imagine her surprise when she just happened to accidentally click on the only American guy in Tripoli after just seeing him hours earlier in the restaurant.

So, thankfully she's a communicative person, and had decided to make some comments on the blog to introduce herself. Not knowing what else to do, I emailed her my local Tripoli number and told her I'd love to have lunch sometime and hear about her travels here in Tripoli. The next day, boom.. phone call.

So, long story short (not really) I got to meet Tara and her husband Kevin, who have been living in Tripoli for two years now. Tara, a native of New Mexico, married Kevin (who's last name I can't remember.. sorry Tara and Kevin). Kevin runs a company based out of Houston Texas, called PGS Enterprises. PGS (Petroleum Geo Services) is a company that located oil in the desert for oil companies to dig up and sell. Interesting job, I must admit. I'm intrigued by some of the stories I've heard from them thus far.

To digress for a moment, poor Kevin has his hands full. Tara, his wife, is COMPLETELY American. Arriving to meet me at the Corinthia for lunch, she steps out of a 1986 Jeep Laredo 4WD, wearing a white resistol, and cowboy boots.

After having lunch, we planned to do it again and to let me meet her husband and the crew. So, late Friday afternoon after work, I was picked up and off we went. We traveled to meet with Kadeja (another friend of April's here in Tripoli) and went to see Kevin's offices, where I was introduced to the crew. You have no idea how pleasurable it was to hear "bugger off" in that strong British brogue, as opposed to endless days of Arabic conversation. That was the first time EVER I had spent five minutes in a room with four English speaking people that weren't my own staff.

In her typical bulldozer manner, Tara invited Tim and I to join the crew for a barbeque that night at the yard, one of the company locations. You can imagine my delight to have a chance to have a beer (yeah, Chris.. the kind with alcohol in it), red wine, vodka, BBQ shrimp, lamb, and chicken... all cooked to American/British standards... LOL. It was a great break from the norm here.

I also got the chance to meet a few of the locals that work here; Kevin, Tomo, John(aka Trevor), Vivienne, and a few others I can't remember... and one loud German dude who didn't like me, but pfft... who cares.

All in all, it was a great experience and I hope I can repay the favor to them sometime while I'm here. Since they live in a completely self-sustaining compound here, they don't get out to travel much and don't know where a lot of the local shops are, so I've got some plans to take a few of them out to show them the town later this week.

Oh yeah.. I got a few pics while I was out there. I got one of Tara, so April can see who it is she's been chatting with on Gmail, and of the horses... yeah.. they had horses! I could seriously build a little shack and live on the Yard.

 

Anyway, before I forget, I'd like to take a moment and sincerely thank Tara and Kevin for their hospitality, and thank PGS for allowing us to hang out for a night... on behalf of all the Libyans I didn't have to kill that night!

Well, since I haven't been online in almost a week I think I'm going to end this here, without the benefit of an edit and pre-post-review, and go to Saraya to post this and check my email.

I'll try to write again soon. This post isn't up to my usual par, but I had to vent a little.

Write you all again soon!

Tommy: 1250HRS 021807

Africa: Day 15 (Curse You Tom)

It is with great resignation and few hours of sleep, even that interrupted by dreams, that I title this posting such. If there were a grand bell tolling the hour, it would just be finishing the last of its six clangs as I start this post to all of you. Trying in vain to go to sleep at 3 AM, I lie there and drifted off sometime before four, but I’m not sure how long before. At 5:15 I was again awoken from the midst of quite an interesting dream by an incessant toothache, of which I am oft plagued lately.

So good in fact was the dream that I lie there consciously attempting to re-enter to see how it would have concluded In my dream reality I was still myself, though encased in the physical characteristics of Marshall Flinkman, a character you will only recognize if you are a fan of the TV series Alias. I have no clue as to why I manifested in my dream as this guy, but it was my brain inside his body throughout which I enacted my REM saga. I was in Los Angeles, working as technical coordinator for a man whose name I can not remember now, the detail having faded as dreams often do upon waking. My counterpart in this dream was a lovely young blonde woman, bearing a tight-pulled executive ponytail and sharp, yet narrowly chiseled features. Her eyes were ocean blue; Caribbean ocean, not that of the Atlantic or pacific, with their darker overtones.

In my dream, we had only two days with which to prepare what must have been a press conference for the unnamed senator. The dream picked up in the office where we work, dark mahogany paneling suffacing every available panel and the scent of lemon air-freshener, reminiscent of a cheap laywer’s office, not that of a senator-to-be. I remember offering to help Lauren coordinate the events’ technical aspects over dinner. It’s funny now to remember. If you know the character of Marshall, you would understand, but basically you have to implant my attitude and flair for the dramatic into a man little over five feet in height and who is a complete and total techno-weenie in every sense of the term. Anyway, most of the dream has faded from me now, but I remember leaning across the desk and offering to take her to dinner to discuss the event, and then running all around LA in my Jeep (which ironically I still drove in my dream) trying to find a car wash that would do a quick laser-wash before I picked her up. I arrived at her apartment, walked in the door, and then I woke up. I’m not sure where the dream came from, why I was in Los Angeles, nor why I was working for a senator.

Quite frankly I blame it all on Tom, who has put me in this creative writing mood lately. Upon waking, I tried to lure myself back to sleep after taking a vigorous dose of darvocet, only to find myself trying to distract myself with thoughts of what I would write, if I were indeed to take on this challenge to try to write something worth publishing.

At first, I simply lie there trying to think of a way to start. Do I write a crime thriller, a police investigative story, a profiler serial killer novel? Deciding to further investigate alternative methods of originating at a plot, I started seeking other plot devices to help me solidify something in this that would allow me to gain a foothold.

Following that line of thought I left my main plot filed under the to-be-determined-later section of my brain and focused instead on the where’s and why’s that would provide the back story of my story. Do I write about places that I know and am familiar with or do I extend myself fictionally to upstate New York or California, about which I know little to nothing? While I few ideas appealed to me, this area of though left me just as undecided. I henceforth moved into character development. Every good novel needs a hero, supporting characters, and of course a villain or multiple villains.

Again… I say with the most deadpan voice I can summon… “Thanks Tom…”

At 5:30, now fevered even more by hunger than I had realized, I got up and made myself a six egg omelette while I allowed my brain to churn out whatever it would. Apparently all this mental straining was quite the work out, leaving me exceedingly hungry at a time when the house is mostly bare of stock with which to make a proper breakfast. Hence, the enormous omelette I concocted in the kitchen.

It is now almost 6:30 and I sit here to document what I have been able to come up with so far, and YOU (pointing out at you, Tom) had better be reading this, for you are now my chief editor. I hope you’re happy. I’m sorry to appoint you to such a post, but Tim isn’t exactly the bastion of literary embodiment I need as a sounding board. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him read one book in the three years I’ve known him. I did try to use April for advice and ideology considering her love for similar literary works a boon to my newfound creativity, but when trying to explain my concerns about writing to her I was rewarded with, and I quote, “Just shut up and do it.”

So, what do I have you ask? Well, so far I have a main character with no definition. His name is one he hates, one he has had to grow up with, been teased about, and is now old enough to accept it with the dignity in which it was meant. Something like Maximus comes to mind, providing me with plenty of easy-to-imagine literary license for childhood horror stories. Is he FBI, DEA, Secret Service, police investigator, CIA, homicide detective, local pharmacist, rugby recruiter? I haven’t any idea. I only know that he’s at least 40 years old, and has only been in his job for a few years, after retiring from some government career that will leave him with a decent pension and good connections in the world in which he will be created.

I do have my supporting character imagined fairly well for someone starting out in this novel-creating concept. Angus Johnson is a mid forties black man of immense physical proportions, robust without being even slightly considered fat by any stretch of the imagination. Angus Johnson is a medical examiner currently, though that may change as time goes on. Coming from a small town in southern America, he was your atypical high-school jock, athletic but possessing a softer personality, making him friends with those from all walks of life. Possessing a natural skill for football, Angus played defensive end for his high school football team, moving on to play through college on a sports scholarship, but devoting all his spare time to his studies, eventually leading him to his desire to work in the medical profession. Having been lean throughout his younger days, Angus took his football seriously, working out in the gym religiously and at home when time allowed. Over two years his physique grew to match the proportions he thought God intended for a man who has to go through life towering over others at 6’5” tall. Seen through the guise of his helmet in his youth, the only visible aspect of his face was an exceptionally broad forehead, wrinkled with determination as he faced his opponents on the field. Coupled with the intense determination seen by his opposing teammates in his deep brown eyes, he somewhere gained the moniker “Black Angus”, a name that came to be feared by whoever was unlucky enough to sense the presence of the thundering mass of this bull of a man charging towards them on the field.

Suffering a devastating injury to his left shoulder and rotator cuff during his junior year left his dreams of professional football unrealized, and he then applied all his time to his studies, both in criminal law and medicine.

A grown man now, Angus works for the coroner’s office as a medical examiner. A fan of browns and tans, he is most often comfortable in thick tweed jackets, button-down collared shirts of various shades of yellow, green, or similar patterned material, and crisply pressed slacks that come to rest just precisely on his comfortable, yet stylish brown loafers, which he swears aren’t orthopedically resplendent, just trendy. And there we have what I have so far…. not much I know.

Lacking any further information, yet being unable to seek the solace of sleep, I shall now regale you with my tales of the past week while I let my imagination work quietly in the background. It seems lately that I have a guilt complex when I go too long without composing this journal. Often in the middle of the day, my fingers itch to be working at this keyboard, even when my mind has yet to render anything for them to type. It is those times that I find myself getting up to go search out something worth writing about.

This was originally continued but I chose to edit and end it here to begin the new post with a new topic.

Sorry for the discontinuity.

To Be Continued…

Tommy 0705HRS 020907

Africa: Day 11 (Citizen Cane)

I'll keep this post short. My temper and my pain threshold  are both suffering today. I sit here with my new accoutrement keeping me company... a shiny black 36" cane. I woke up at 5:30 this morning screaming in pain with tears rolling down my face, apparently having been crying for quite sometime considering the dampness of the pillow beneath my face.

I woke having absolutely no recollection as to why exactly I was crying, quite mystified by the fact. I have never in my life awakened in mid-cry with my nose stuffed up, my head mushy with sleep, and tears running down my face, so it took me a moment to discover what may have been the source of the episode.

Rolling over in the bed to stand up and get a cigarette, since I was quite obviously awake for the day, I started to stand only to fall screaming back into the bed as I attempted to put pressure on my right foot. Apparently, I hit my ankle in my sleep... I'm still not quite sure as to why I woke that way, but I can tell you definitively that I now know that I have indeed sprained my ankle.

Unfortunately, sprain or no, I have a trip planned for tomorrow which will have me doing quite a significant bit of traveling and walking. So, it was with grim determination that I surmounted the tasks of showering and putting my foot into a boot to go shopping... cane shopping. I feel quite foolish walking around town in a carhart jacket, leather cowboy hat, and cane, but the device seems to make the issue bearable for now. Hopefully, this week will end without further incident and I'll be able to relax a little this weekend and "put my feet up" without causing myself further pain.

I have to go for now... I have tasks that remain unaccomplished today which require my attention. I'll talk to you all soon.

PS: Thanks April, Mom, and Wess for the emails. Please write more if you get time. I'll try to respond to the ones I have today.

Love you all,

Tommy: 1538HRS 020507

Africa: Day 11 (Can't Sleep)

It is about an hour after I finished composing my last blog post that I sit here writing to you. When I finished earlier, Tim and I headed for the cab area outside and hailed the only waiting taxi, heading out once again towards our home, about two miles from the Corinthia.

As luck would have had it tonight, this was Tim’s turn to pay for the taxi, so I grabbed my bag as quickly as possible and headed through the rough concrete gate towards the door to the building, in a mad rush to escape what was quickly becoming a deluge. Not paying attention to my surroundings quickly taught me a lesson as I stepped up onto the slick marble entryway that precedes the foyer. As I hurried up the steep step, right foot first, my shouldered laptop bag shifted with my swaying stride to the right side, causing me to overbalance and fall crashing to the wet marble. Somewhere between the firing of my neural pathways that registered to my brain that I was in mid-fall my mind had the time to succinctly register the pain shooting up the outside of my right ankle and up my right leg, vanishing behind the knee only to reappear as a lightning bolt of painful energy somewhere near the top of my thigh. Even before I hit the ground fully I knew I was hurt. Not having ever actually sprained anything before, I am unfamiliar with the feeling, but I’m quite sure the tight steel bands that were only moments before sinuous ligaments are a sure sign that I have at the very least strained my ankle.

After limping upstairs in pain, grateful to Tim who ambled in his never hurrying pace to my side and shouldered my pack upstairs, I called my girlfriend to have someone to commiserate with momentarily while I ran a hot bath in the master bathroom. As the water heater gave forth its last vestiges of promised comfort, I pulled up a white dining room chair complete with plastic dust cover still intact, and sat beside the tub smoking a cigarette and drinking coke from an old fashioned glass bottle as soaked my right foot in the hot water.

I sit here now, with a Marlboro drifting its smoky tendrils up across my screen to my left, and relax in my room, seeking once again the appearance of words from blank page. Just as before, I have nothing prodigious to share with you, except for maybe the rantings of a would-be night owl who ought better to be in bed at this hour.

I sit her beside the opened door to my balcony, the smoke now choosing to shift its drift towards the more active breezes that dance outside my room. The lights of Libya lay before me, looking from this distance like the electrical pins on a social circuit board, winking on and off in no particular pattern as the city lives on beneath me.

I find it singularly strange how these people are affected by the rain. Indeed I am quite happy to be able to feel the clean taste of the air, now that nature has taken a moment to wash the scent of human influence from the air. The locals however have taken this as an unwelcome visitor to their social calendar, quietly going back to their homes to await the dry rebirth of another day. It is strange how completely silent the city has become. Were it not for the fact that I was just out on the streets a short while ago, I would believe some holocaust was imminent that that I was the only one who had not been told of its coming. Even our ride home was singularly strange; never passing one car either coming or going in either direction on the quiet wet city streets.

Considering the quite austere temperament of the rest of the city, maybe I too should tend to my dreaming and let this day pass from me as well. I have no work to do tomorrow, so I plan to do some prodigious shopping in old-city if the weather permits. So, until then my friends. May your dreams guard you well.

Tommy: 0235HRS 020507 GMT+2

Africa: Day 11 (Prose and Cons)

I sit here in the soft luminescent glow proffered by the dinner lighting in the Venizia, nearby the railing of the veranda overlooking the subterranean seafood restaurant here in the hotel Corinthia. I am awash in the sounds of dozens of languages flowing around me like wonderfully exotic fish in a zoo aquarium. The tumult of voices blends into a natural buzz of after-thought, no one conversation or language being able to be singled out of the mix.

I came here tonight to write. I have no subject and no particular inspiration at the moment, so I sit here in search of a divine message. I feel like Noah on the mountain, awaiting the words of god to come spilling forth for him to write. Again today I was told by a friend that I possess a literary talent that needs to be more thoroughly explored. I can certainly agree that I have the mental construction to be a writer. I am similar to authors in that I live for the praise of others, both in spoken and written word; one of my greatest failings I admit. Rarely am I sufficiently pleased in my accomplishments enough to sit quietly and be proud of them. My ego requires supplicative support from others from which to fuel itself.

I will admit to having a desire, for to call it a yearning would be to overstate the strength of the notion, to become a writer. Since I was young this desire has plagued me from time to time, waxing and waning like a benign cancer throughout the years. Sometimes it will go into remission for years only to experience a resurgence at the strangest of times. However, I have come to accept that this is a part of my personality that I have never been able to consciously harness to any effect. I can not simply sit at the keyboard and wait for words to appear in my head. I have even resorted to the old fashioned method of pen and paper, trying pencil when the ink failed to produce any result, as if I were a doctor trying to select the proper knife when any perform the task with equal succinct results.

In my younger life, back in high school, I lived for essays, dreading only the limitations on the length of the narrative I was being asked to deliver. I remember when, in my sophomore year in school, sitting in English class, I was tasked to write a short story. Actually the whole class was tasked with the same goal. I remember well the ensuing moans of displeasure that erupted from the classroom. I however was eager for the task. Possessing an electronic typewriter that accepted three and a half inch disks, I spent many nights banging away on that story, creating character outlines and filling entire notebooks with arcs of plot ideas, twists, and backstory. Having no idea how to truly be an author, I simply attacked the task the same way I do everything else; with a brute force mentality that simply would not accept defeat. Having no skill for the task at hand, I eventually found my own natural rhythm and began the first of many hours typing that story.

The assignment was for a five to ten page short story, though I can’t remember the other criteria. As time drew closer to turn in the paper I grew more and more frantic, spending more and more frustrated hours at the typewriter; not in fear of not being able to complete the narrative assignment, but in fear of not being able to finish the plot I had so painstakingly setup in my mind. The evening before it was due I was able to finally apply the finishing touches, prepare a proper binding and sleep the sleep of those who have accomplished what they set out to do. I should say now that I endured endless ribbing for weeks following the delivery of that paper to class. Rather than the five page short story, I dropped on my teacher’s desk with an audible thud, a one-hundred and forty page novella, complete with cast of characters and chapter headings.

I got an A.

This proclivity for writing went to hibernation for three more years, never again rearing its head in any real form until my sophomore year of college. There I began my required studies of world history pre-1500’s under the tutelage of professor Kenneth Wilburn. Fascinated by the subject of civilization as taught by a man who truly loved his subject matter, I took avid notes on the subject matter. As a matter of passing the course, all students were required to create a journal of our daily study material as well as an integrated journal of class lecture. As with the novella, I took to this task with delight. This time, however and never before or since, the enthusiasm stayed with me for the entire semester; so much so in fact that when the semester finally ended and we were required to turn in our journals I was the only student who didn’t get his returned to him. Fearing some reprisal, I was quite worried when I was invited, though it sounded much more like a demand, to the professors study after class. I entered the classroom and took the proffered seat judiciously, though really having no idea what the nature of this meeting entailed. Professor Wilburn had never before asked me to his office, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. On his desk in front me, sliced through with shades of sunlight from the louvered blinds was my journal. Having turned this in to our teacher’s assistant as required, in private, I was truly upset that the material I had worked so hard on might not meet par. Again, my ego would have been crushed at that instant if so many hundreds of hours of work were to be discarded as filth not worth grading.

I was quite surprised however when he patted me on the back and told me the reason for his requested meeting. He began by asking me if I had the soft copies of the material I had presented for grading, which I tenuously handed over to him, my hands probably shaking at the thought of failing his class. Only then, with the disks firmly in hand did break a smile and congratulate me on delivering what he considered the best journal he had ever seen. He patted the manuscript thoughtfully and informed me that he would prefer if I not show this to anyone else or sell the journal for profit. When I expressed confusion as to his insinuation, he slid the course book over beside the journal I had written. He laughed then and pointed to the two of them sitting there side by side. If I remember, the course material was around seven hundred and fifty pages long. My journal, bereft of pictures and wide margins was an astounding four hundred and fifty pages of single spaces, ten point text. He informed me that the material itself would provide an easy A to any student who wished to read it instead of actually paying attention in his class.

This was the first and only time a written material of mine has ever achieved the praise of an academic who was well versed in the subject on which I was writing. After taking a moment to remove my heart from my throat and place it firmly back in the middle of my chest where it belonged, I thanked him for his kindness and his generous words and promised never to duplicate the work for profit. I did cheat a little however. As soon as I left his office, I went back to my computer in the dorm room, copied the files to disk yet again and proceeded to the student computer lab where I printed the entire document one more time. I reverently bound the material and placed it in an orange journal cover and gave it an honored spot on the shelf in my dorm. Today it lies packed in a box in a storage shed, but I have never been able to part with the document. I still keep the computer disks in my office drawer, where they have been for over nine years now. I’m not sure why I keep them, only that I know they make me smile when I accidentally stumble across them while trying to find something in my desk.

So, there you have my thoughts for today; a narrative about two narratives, none of the three of which shall ever make a publisher’s shelves.

Yes, it is true. I would love to be a writer. To turn out plot twists with the panache of Koontz, , Gabaldon, Donaldson, Jordan, King, Hoag, Johansen, or any of today’s other bestselling authors would be a major accomplishment for me as well as fulfilling one of those many “what I want to be when I grow up” fantasies. However, even the basic idea for how to become a writer eludes me. Never having been one to study the process, I haven’t the slightest idea how to capture the attention of editors, publishers, marketing gurus, or others in the literary world.

Does one simply write a book first and then beat the publishers to death begging for audience and a chance to be given an editorial review? If so, this seems to me that there is somewhere a massive store of novels who share a lonely life together in the vast store rooms of literary warehouses somewhere in middle America. Maybe even worse would be the knowledge that those never-published works simply were discarded into trash cans in office cubicles, making their way down to the garbage chutes rather than the bookshelves, much as the dreams of their would-be authors follow the same path into the midden-heap of failure.

Supposing again that I did succeed? Would I begin to regret the tedium that became my life when I abandoned all other career pursuits in the hopes of becoming a famous author? Knowing myself and my egotistical limitations, I can’t see being happy being only a mediocre writer, never making it to eye level in the shelves of america’s bookstores. Well, maybe all this just deserves more thought. I suppose that being a 29 year old man means I have plenty of time with which to consider such an idea. I truly would love to feel a hardcover novel one day, written in my own words with an artist-airbrushed photo on the dust jacket.

All in all, I must say “Thanks Tom,” for now I have had a chance to at least explore the idea on paper as well as to create another blog topic. I’m sure most of you didn’t make it this far into this posting. To those who did, I raise my glass to you in sincerest thanks for taking the time from your life to share my thoughts.

Till next time…

Tommy 02/05/07 0124HRS GMT+2