Drinking the Tigris: Mission Unaccomplished, Botched, @#$%ed Up and Crashed in a Ditch :: 12.14.08
Good God. I guess its all over except for the crying and the T bond payments to China.
Drinking the Tigris: Indentured Servitude at BIAP :: 12. 4.08
Finally!!! This is starting to get out or Iraq. My favorite CNN reporter, Michael Ware does a report on labor abuse committed by KBR and their subcontractors in Baghdad, specifically in the airport area where I live. This is something I've been pressing people about for a year and a half. FBI, Border Patrol, State Dept, nobody is willing to take a stand on this. Meanwhile thousands of migrant laborers, almost all from S.Asia are living without full civil rights, no labor protections, and arguably - in debt bondage. All those jobs soldiers used to do: laundry, cooking, construction, water management, trash removal, in this neo-con war is being done with cheap labor out of S.Asia. The guys who work in our cafeteria make between one and two dollars and hour. They work seven days a week, 12 hours a day. In a month they make less than 700 dollars and they have to PAY to get the jobs. Keep in mind, these guys are working INSIDE American bases. These are the guys who put the food on the soldiers plate. How much did they pay to get here? Most have paid labor brokers between three and five thousand dollars. They sell their family farms or take loans from loansharks in their home countries at usary interest rates. THIS IS ENDENTURED SERVITUDE. WRITE YOUR CONGRESSPERSON(S). This is not my America, but this is all in our names.
Rahul Das weighs in on Mumbai :: 11.27.08
Rahul Das is a close friend of mine from CalArts. He came to CalArts from India and we lived together for a year in abject artistic poverty. He posted this great insight about Mumbai on his facebook account yesterday. From Rahul:
The writer Suketu Mehta captured brilliantly the dogged, resilient compassion of Mumbai in his book “Maximum City: Mumbai Lost and Found.”
In remarks he has given based on the book, he spoke of asking a man named Asad bin Saif, who worked at an institute for secularism, whether the chaos and slums and filth made him pessimistic about human beings. Here is how Mr. Mehta continued the story:
“Not at all,” he responded. “Look at the hands from the trains.”
If you are late for work in the morning in Bombay, and you reach the station just as the train is leaving the platform, you can run up to the packed compartments and you will find many hands stretching out to grab you on board, unfolding outwards from the train like petals. As you run alongside the train, you will be picked up and some tiny space will be made for your feet on the edge of the compartment. The rest is up to you; you will probably have to hang on with your fingertips on
the door frame, being careful not to lean out too far lest you get decapitated by a pole placed too close to the tracks. But consider what has happened: your fellow-passengers, already packed tighter than cattle are legally allowed to be, their shirts already drenched in sweat in the badly ventilated compartment, having stood like this for hours, retain an empathy for you, know that your boss might yell at you or cut your pay if you miss this train, and will make space where none exists to take one more person with them. And at the moment of contact, they do not know if the hand that is reaching for theirs belongs to a Hindu or Muslim or Christian or Brahmin or untouchable, or whether you were born in this city or arrived only this morning, or whether you live in Malabar Hill or Jogeshwari, whether you’re from Bombay or Mumbai or New York. All they know is that you’re trying to get to work in the city of gold, and that’s enough. Come on board, they say. We’ll adjust.
Bush League: New Shots from Malawi - Mixed Bag :: 11.20.08
Some more of the shots from last months trip to Malawi.
Bush League: New Shots from Malawi - Vmbuza :: 11. 8.08
Vmbuza is a healing dance. It happens at the traditional healer's compound once a week, usually on a Friday night and lasts all night.
The women play a rhythm with wooden sticks. A couple guys play a second rhythm with hand drums. It's LOUD and it's POWERFUL. The traditional healer led the songs, which I think are partly or wholly improvised and can last 15 or 20 minutes.
The patients dance until they can't dance any more. I have no doubt that it makes people feel better. It makes me feel better every time I go!
I think this first shot may be one of the better pictures I've ever taken.
Bush League: New Shots from Malawi - Football :: 11. 5.08
Some shots from the football pitch. It's the first time I've seen Malawi's dry season, it's really beautiful in it's own way.
Drinking the Tigris: Relief! ::
What an astonishing moment in our history. From my perspective here in Iraq, while I love the message of hope and I believe in that whole heartedly, mostly I feel relief. Ethan Bronner wrote this in the NY Times from Palestine. It sums it up for me:
"But wonder is almost overwhelmed by relief. Mr. Obama's election offers most non-Americans a sense that the imperial power capable of doing such good and such harm - a country that, they complain, preached justice but tortured its captives, launched a disastrous war in Iraq, turned its back on the environment and greedily dragged the world into economic chaos - saw the errors of its ways over the past eight years and shifted course."
We have a Statesman at the wheel again, and for the first time in my life I'm looking at a (living) politician as a role model. It's strange to think that without 8 years of G.W. this probably couldn't have happened.
Bush League: New Shots from Malawi - Church :: 11. 4.08
Here's a little photo essay from the village. This is the Sunday service at the local Catholic church. I'm trying to improve my photo skills. The boy in front of the Red doors is my favorite. What do you think?
Drinking the Tigris: The World is Watching :: 11. 3.08
Just back from Malawi yesterday. A lot to report from there, but on the eve of the election, I want to share this instead:
From the Economist:
http://www.economist.com/vote2008/index.cfm
The whole world is holding its breath!!!
A Quick Explaination :: 10.11.08
For anybody who just stumbled onto this blog, a quick explanation. I (Cy) am a filmmaker living/working in Baghdad. Jake is a former Peace Corps volunteer who worked for three years in Malawi, Africa. Jake is co-producing my documentary film BUSH LEAGUE which was shot in the village of Zolokere where he volunteered. Jake is back in Malawi at the moment working on a really cool ethnographic music recording project and I'll be joining him there in a couple weeks to shoot the end of the movie.
Bush League: Shooting THE END ::
I've been looking forward to this for a long time. I start the trip back to Malawi tomorrow. It'll take five days to get from Baghdad to the village. I'll have a full week to shoot the epilogue for Bush League then Jake and I will make our way to the south of the country.
I'm really excited to see everybody and really hoping there isn't much bad news. Gama, the guy who took care of us in the village, died last autumn of HIV/AIDS. I'm a little worried about who else might be sick, or worse.
It's been two years since I started shooting the film. I don't know how much longer it will take, but I hope it doesn't end too soon. I love that place and I've learned a great deal from its people.
Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #4 ::
Hey man,
Its Saturday and I just got to Mzuzu and read your emails. Made me laugh though I haven't felt normal now for two weeks. There was one good day when I had to go to Zambia and pick up a dead body. I felt 100 percent on that day. Now I'm in town I'll rest for a few days then head down to get you. Recordings are a screw in my temple. I had two important sessions set up for yesterday and rain come from the heavens. I can't believe God is even against me. It hasn't rained in October in Hewe in centuries and it decides to pour for two hours when the Roman Catholics are their way to my house. Consequently, we've got to get to Hewe by Friday morning as I've scheduled with them for that afternoon. Thosi sent me a letter and said he'd make himself available but he doesn't know anything about the interview he thinks we want to greet him. So we can do that the day you arrive and head north or on our way to Mulanje. Don't worry about the bed I've already got something set up outside. People still trying to decide whether I had Malaria or not. I'll write more tomorrow. Looking forward
Jake
Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #3 :: 10. 8.08
Hey Cy,
Just got to Mzuzu last night. What a week! The elements are starting to take root and as a result I'm losing a bit of focus. I had a near replay of your food poisoning episode on Thursday night from midnight to about 5am with both the entrance and exit door at work. I too got all the way down to the yellows of my stomach. Every time I replaced water it shot right back within 30 minutes. I've finally woke up with a bit more strength today thanks to the comfort of Zanyiwe's house and hospitality. I drank 7 bottles of Cokes last night as I watched Feroz, Fat Joe and Robert get drunk. (Feroz has been fasting for Ramadan and he's been wanting to hang out since I arrived) When I woke up Zanyiwe cooked me chips, cabbage and chicken livers for breakfast. Man it's hard to take care of yourself here. Unfortunately, I had Friday set up for 3 recording sessions and two for Saturday. I made two of them Friday and missed both Saturday due to another funeral in Kapalala. If I told you last time I didn't yet start to panic, scratch that, now I am. Again, as I already knew organizing and mobilizing people who are living, due to their circumstances, in such an immediate way is nearly impossible.
Continue reading "Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #3" »
Drinking the TIgris: New Shots from Baghdad :: 10. 6.08
Some new shots from Baghdad. Click on the picture for the stories. The most important one, is the bottom shot with note included.
This, for me, is the untold story of this war. All the labor; cleaning, cooking and washing is done by S. Asian laborers. Their pay is meager. The guys who clean at the Dining Facility work 12 hours per day seven days a week and make, in total, $350.00 per month. If Nike or Coca Cola made a fat profit off their backs the way KBR does, people would be up in arms. But nobody knows about this, and it's happening at every base in Iraq. In our Dining Facility there are NO Americans serving food. Maybe one now and then. The staff is well over 25 guys per shift and they serve thousands of meals per day. They clean the floors, take out the trash, pour the coffee, they work the registers at the PX, they do everything except fight.
This will be part of the American legacy in Iraq. Someday these guys will go home and tell their friends and families about us. What will they say? It breaks my heart to even think about it.
Drinking the TIgris: Da Beard, Count Down to Africa is Over :: 10. 5.08
Drink it up ladies. That's a whole lot of man beard...
It sucks having a beard! I feel like a ground hog is living on my face. I thought maybe it would make me a better guitarist, or attract hippie chicks. It hasn't done anything, except get bigger and create awkward social moments. Here are some standard openers when people see me now:
"That's (pause) really something."
"It's so full."
"That's new."
"Are you going to keep it?"
No way I'm gonna keep it, It's gone. I'm going to the barber tomorrow and I can't wait. This means only six days till I depart for Malawi. Gonna have to find a better way to pass the time between trips.
Alittle something from Rocket Boom, about beards of coarse:
Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #2 :: 09.26.08
This is post #2 from Jake in Malawi. The photos are from 18 months ago:
The road had been recently graded so Tuff Gong drives with more speed than I consider necessary. We cross foot paths that line rows of banana and pass village shops whose shadows host groups of men playing checker games listening to fuzzy radio broadcasts. The truck goes up and down with the hills slowing on the steeper slopes. Where the road forks is where we bear left beginning our descent through Mpora into the Hewe Valley. September starts the worst of Malawi's dry season, as the temperature rises so do the winds that swirl hot air and sand through the thirsty landscape. I am thirsty already as we begin to pass villages with names I could still recall, Kaduku, Ching'anya, Gayo, Chirufia and finally Chatumbwa, the very heart of Zolokere.
The truck manages the last left hand turn then the engine expires 100 yards before my old brick and tin house. The village somehow looks naked but I can't seem to grasp how or why. By this point we have spectators and I can hear echoes of my name in the distance. After 120 km of pulling the truck decided to faint just before the finish line. With the starter cranking, clutch open and engine choking we sputter the final distance to a spot between the two houses, park and I prepare myself for all things Tumbuka. Isaac shakes my hand but Edward gives me a hug. The same goes for Mlawa and Jacklyn, the first offers a hand the second a body. The children look at me with astonishment and I can feel them sizing me up. A few note I am fatter (really only 5 lbs.) and many note I am whiter, like a real Mzungu (white person). As the bags are offloaded the Sub-Chief reaches the house to welcome me. He also starts by saying I look whiter. I think, perhaps I am in more ways than one. We then exchange greetings, he says that if I am back already it must mean I really love the people. I suppose I do. Now that I have returned I am about to see how much they really love me.
Continue reading "Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #2" »
Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #1 :: 09.25.08
Everywhere I turn it seems somebody has some sort of immediate problem. With Tuff Gong, my friend who picked me up at the airport, it is fuel injectors. I exit the airport with trepidation after failing to see him nor Chatwa in the waiting area. I quickly begin negotiating with a cab driver to use his cell phone in exchange for the 70 kwacha I had left in my pocket when I left Malawi in June of last year. As the driver begins dialing I feel Tuff Gong on the edge of my periphery. His real name is Suzgo, which means trouble in Chitumbuka. Apparently, there were some problems before, after or during his birth, which resulted in one of his relatives giving him the name, an eternal reminder. Of course he was glad to see me but his face showed an immediate concern. After exchanging greetings with Chatwa, my friend from the village, Gong begins to explain about the truck's 'pulling' problem. In Malawian English 'Pulling' is what we deem as acceleration. He also explains some of the truck's nuances for when I drive it, which I knew would be within the hour based on Gong's thirst for Carlsberg Green. It had only been an 8 hour hop to Amsterdam, 12 hours inside its maze of streets, alleys and canals, another 8 hour hop to Nairobi, a 5 hour delay before a 2 hour skip to Lilongwe. I guess I had still had enough gas in the tanks for a 5 hour drive to Mzuzu in a truck I've never driven through crowded trading posts and police road blocks all the while passing or being passed by tractor trailers, lorries, bicycles, pedestrians, peddlers, goats, cows and chickens. The 'pulling' problem never allowed me to take the accelerator off the floor. We twist and turn through the Viphya Plateau, flash our lights at trucks in Chikangawa Forest and stop only to relieve Gong and his mechanic friend's swollen bladders. By the time we reach Mzuzu I am ready for a well-deserved rest. So after some spaghetti and meat sauce made especially for me we retire to Gong's single bed where he and I share pillows, blankets and visions of tomorrow.
Continue reading "Malawi Dispatch: Words from Jake Post #1" »
Drinking the Tigris: Body Armor :: 09.22.08
When new people arrive here in Baghdad, one of first things they do is get a set of body armor. It's heavy, 20-25 pounds, and uncomfortable. The vest holds two large metal plates that cover the vital organs. When our personnel are outbound for R&R the first question they usually ask is, "Can I drop my gear?" We label it with tape and store it for them while they're gone. It's like checking a pair of bowling shoes. When they get back they're always in a hurry to get it back. "Can I get my gear? I've got a helo in 15 minutes!" Everyone loves the helicopters. Gotta have gear on to fly in them though.
Drinking the TIgris: Red Monday :: 09.15.08
Oh man. The stock market is in trouble. The sand is back here in Baghdad. It's terrible. The shot above is today. I thought it was over. Bummer of a Monday.
Drinking the TIgris: Sandstorm ::
These are shots from May 08.
Sandstorms here aren't like the ones in movies. The wind doesn't pick the desert floor up to snap it out like a bull whip. It's more like a surprise sneeze. A gust and a squint of the eyes. A diffused red wall rolls in like fog. Then the wait. How long it will take for the billions and trillions of tiny particles, finer than talcum, to find a gentle landing? Last year they only lasted a day. This year, because of the drought in Iraq, they last for days. It sticks to the TV. It fills nostrils and sinus cavities. It fills the windshield wipers. It fills the carpet, and turns the floor of the shower red. It lies across the bed waiting, suppressing its sly joy before it crawls up on your tired face and covers your skin. Finally, it creeps into your consciousness where it smoothers your patience and dries up your imagination. It's in everything. It's everywhere. It creeps and curls and corkscrews and connives its way into every crack and seam in life. It turns the world red.
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