She looks around the bar, not sure how to compose herself. All the other people in the bar assume she’s waiting for some one else to arrive. Perhaps feeling a bit sorry for her, as she’s been there for an hour already. And she doesn’t look like the kind of woman you would want to miss an appointment with. But they’re dead wrong. She’s not waiting. She’s assuming. To be more precise, she’s not assuming any more. She was assuming when she braved the snow to walk to this place one hour earlier. Assuming, even though what she was assuming was extremely unlikely. But, since it was the only possibility, she had to assume.
It’s been a year since she last saw him. 365 days to be exact. That’s why she assumed he would be here again, in the same place, the same date. The only thing that’s different, is that this time they would have been alone and able to talk privately. It’s been a couple of years more since that was possible.
Half hour later she puts on her coat and walks out. Oddly satisfied, the act of coming probably as fulfilling as the imagined serendipity realized. Even though she doesn’t realize it yet, her intuition was still right. She’s not alone when she walks back home, and neither was she when she went to the bar. Inside of her are 128 cell quickly developing into a person.
I was very surprised today to browse through the winner’s of Transistion Abroad’s narrative travel writing contest. Apparently, there’s a woman (scoring third place) who has been leading a very similar life to mine.
**** **** is from Belgium, but she has lived the last two years in Berlin. The last six months she has been hitchhiking to Iran from Brussels.
Grab your coat and get your hat
Leave your worry on the doorstep
Just direct your feet
To the sunny side of the street
Can’t you hear a pitter-pat
And that happy tune is your step
Life can be so sweet
On the sunny side of the street
Billie Holiday : “On the Sunny Side of the Street”
I just quickly want to post some pointers on African music, since I’m tired of hunting down the links every time I want to evangelize to someone. Of course, it would be impossible to give a survey nearing any semblance of completeness. So consider this a sampling of some stuff I’ve come to appreciate
Ethiopia, for some dark reason unknown to me, plays good jazz. Mulatu Astatke plays damn good jazz. He’s considered the father of “Ethio Jazz”, which for me means funky, dark, exotic music.
I will be forever indebted to Fela Kuti, from Nigeria. For almost single-handedly inventing afrobeat, and for introducing it to me. And for leading a most remarkable life. At one point declaring his compound (housing a recording studio and a free clinic) as a republic independent from Nigeria. At another renouncing all of his 27 wives, changing it to have at maximum 12 of them at any one time, using a system of rotation. To keep things simple, I assume.
Magic System, from the Ivory Coast, are immensely popular. And it’s immensely easy to understand why. “Simple” dance music with satirical, criticising, and downright funny lyrics. Pehaps the new rap. Perhaps.
Mali has an almost ridiculous variety of damn good music. I’m also not sure why this country in particular has such a good tradition, but it might have to do with a great diversity in ethnicities and languages.
Ali Farka Toure, wonderful blues, barring the language it could come straight out of Georgia.
Habib Koite, generally acknowledged to be damn good at his own stuff.
Tinariwen, Tuaregs from deep in the Sahara, in Northern Mali. Somehow, they use electrical guitars, which doesn’t seem very convenient over there.
And, of course, Amadou and Mariam. World famous by now, which means unfortunately one of their albums has Manu Chau whining all over it. But luckily, we can counterbalance that with Amadou’s first single in English, heartbreakingly simple and tender.
As you might have noticed, lately things are burning in the Middle East. And while the events in Egypt and Tunisia are historical, and the events in Yemen, Bahrain, Jordan and Algeria are worth following up, today I want to talk about only the country of which I can tell you something new.
I’m speaking, of course, about Iran. And I want to highlight the difference between the protests that are happening right now, and the protests of last year.
Last year, people took to the streets to demand there vote back, after massive, barely covered-up election fraud brought president Ahmedinejad back to power for another term. People got killed, both during the protests and afterwards, after being sentenced in court for disrupting the peace.
This year, the stakes are different. People aren’t asking for their vote back. They’re asking for an end of the current dictatorship that holds the country in an iron fist. Maybe surprising, considering the people are actually allowed to vote for a president, but we’ll talk about that in a future post.
When I was in Iran, I asked one of my friends why people keep complaining about the president, while the real person that wields power in the country is the Supreme Leader. And the answer was simple. When complaining about the president, you risk being beaten up, maybe arrested for a while. Complain about the Supreme Leader, however, and you run the risk of disappearing. Perhaps shot by illegal police when you’re protesting, or jailed, tortured, raped and executed afterwards. When the first news came in of a planned protest in Iran, one correspondent of Al Jazeera made a great observation. “A good day of protesting Iran is worse than the worst day of protesting in Egypt”.
Two things, probably at odds with each other. I’m hoping Iranians will one day have the government the majority of them want and deserve. And I’m hoping my friends are ok.
