Earthlings

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Just after publishing downward dog post, I watched a documentary, Earthlings, on youtube. Wow. Talk about graphic footage. And the narrator justifies its graphic nature by saying that if one insists on having meat in their diet, they should not shy away from seeing how that meat gets to their table. 

 

I’ve watched the Peta videos on their website in an attempt to kick the flesh habit. It worked for a while, but I was back to nyama choma shortly thereafter. Earthlings is a whole other ball game. Only watch it if you would change the world and make it a better place. And if you have a heart that’s soft enough to be touched by cruelty to animals.

 

What we do to animals in the name of God giving us authority over all animals on earth, is JUST UNSPEAKABLE!  I’ve tried to justify it by saying that that goat, sheep, and ingokho over christmas cannot possibly fall into the realm of commercial farming, but that’s a moot point. We all were never habitual meat eaters traditionally. An animal was only sacrificed during important occasions (doubt the veracity of my argument? Go read ‘Things fall apart’ for the umpteenth time, and see the fixation on kola nuts and yams, vs. nyam chom or egusi soup). And we knew what occasions were important enough to permit blood-letting. And surely, the animal was asked for mercy before its throat was slit (basis of kosher- and halal-ism (essentially, mesma coisa), though I’d put my money on halal meat in Somalia being the ‘halal-est‘ ’cause those folk do.not.play! or compromise). Today, what exactly is the special occasion that justifies that nyama choma on a frequent basis?

 

The truest thing said in that documentary was that, “if slaughterhouses had glass walls, or if we had to personally kill the meat we consume, we’d all be vegetarian”. Not quite sure about that though, because the (clearly) hidden camera footage from those slaughter houses & hunts shows people who enjoy hurting defenseless animals. It’s not enough that the animals live in those conditions, they have to kick, throw, hit, prod and insult them! Ohhh and don’t even let me get started on the dolphins! So it begs the question, in the unlikely event that commercial animal farming stopped, where would these bloodthirsty chaps end up? And more than that, do they have families? Children, wives? How do they behave towards them, if they’re that cruel to defenseless animals? 

 

Quick overview of the video, animal exploitation by humans around 5 themes: 1. Pets (shows how, by not spaying your pets or by discarding them, you’re ensuring they are ‘put to sleep’ in INCREDIBLY inhumane ways, and disposed of in landfills – something which CSI, when they delve into landfills to find dead bodies, never show us), 2. Food (beef, pork, poultry (ducks for foie gras - which I regrettably, once enjoyed in a francophone country), seafood: fish, dolphins, whales), 3. Clothing (leather – I’m giving away my leather jacket ’cause I SO KNOW it’s Made in India!… shoes are made in China, which is no better… what to do, when leather shoes and belts are marks of qualidade?????? , fur – I was never going to buy anything fur-lined, since the WalMart scandal around dog fur-lining winter jackets in the ’90s), 4. Medical experiments (one word, UNSPEAKABLE!). I cannot tell you how many times I called “HEYZEUS” (translate from spanish, and doesn’t it kinda link modern christianity to Zeus, that Greek Almighty?) in the course of this particular segment, 5. Entertainment (Circuses, Zoos – thank the heavens I never made it round to the Jozi Zoo, Pony rides, Bullfighting, Rodeos, Hunting, Fishing).

 

The point of the documentary was that in our interactions with other ‘earthlings’ (sentient beings inhabiting this earth) we should ensure we are not exploitative. It needs to be a symbiotic relationship, not a parasitic (by us) one. And right there, I saw how my partying and disregarding DD’s needs is part of this exploitative relationship. Though I must admit that after that 1st night (returning at midnight), I would rush home, regardless of the scintillating company, to get DD out the apartment before he got desperate. And did I mention that if you leave the bedroom doors open when he’s home alone, DD will make a point of pissing on your bed to seek retribution for you leaving him alone? Perchance, in his “best breed of therapy dog” way, he prepared me to receive the Earthlings video in a positive manner? 

 

There were parts that had me looking away, fast forwarding ‘cause I could not stand to see the suffering of the animals. There were parts where I gazed in horror, convinced my eyes were not seeing what they were seeing. 

 

I finally get why the guys at the ashram have vegetarianism as a pre-requisite for taking their yoga-instructor courses. I’d previously thought they were being a bit forceful, the usual religious oppressiveness of getting everyone to do it your way or not at all (ok, so maybe they are just a tad). I thought this even after reading their pamphlet on why vegetarianism was the moral choice. It is one thing to read about vivisection (experimenting on live animals) and quite another to actually see what vivisection looks like to millions of animals. 

 

So does one viewing of Earthlings mean I’m cured from the flesh habit? For the time being, yes. But like taking a bath/shower, it needs to be done repeatedly. No, I don’t plan to traumatize myself further by watching it on a monthly basis. I just plan to be more mindful of power relations, that might does not make right (whether you’re a despot or a person about to step on an insect), and that I should empathize with the suffering of all other sentient beings instead of rolling up my window and speeding away ‘cause I am overwhelmed by the number of people who want small change from me.

 

 

Downward dog

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I’ve been hanging out with… let’s call him ‘downward dog’ (or DD for the purposes of this post, mostly because he does a most enviable downward dog in the mornings) for a week now, and boy has he taught me a great deal. I’ll start with the cool parts, though to be honest, it’s all cool He parts crowds. When I go out with him, all kinds of people change their routes, quickly crossing over to the other side of the road, or choosing not to leave their cars/perches just yet. I guess that’s how all those dog-walkers in Jozi feel when I spot them from afar and change my walking route. He is precious! and has totally sold me on getting a miniature dog. Eventually. Just need to put a few things in place, see about my schedule and about not living alone, then I can provide a good enough life for one. ‘Cause he is not without demands. He requires a minimum of 2 walks a day. One in the AM, preferably before high noon, and one in the PM, once the streets have emptied of people and cars. A couple of nights I’ve come home late. The first time was at midnight, and as I opened the front door I could feel his weight against the door, and hear his scratching and whining. When I got in, he hustled me like a nonsense! I sprinted to the bathroom, did my business, then sprinted to get his leash so he could get his did. The helper can be heard calling “DD! DD! Malandro!” He hides away when he hears her tone, ’cause he knows he did something really malandr-inous and doesn’t want to cross her path just then. 

He is uber-attentive. Soon as you wear street shoes and he hears the chink of chaves, he starts chasing his tail, thinking you’ll take him out. When he sees your hand reach to get his leash from its perch, he literally starts climbing walls, is how excited he is. It takes some doing to attach the leash to the collar and open the door. When I leave it so late (midnight), he practically flies down the stairs, dragging me in his wake. A couple of times I’ve almost lost my step… that’s what I get for partying too long and leaving him home alone beyond the time he’s accustomed to. Once outside, on flat ground, he picks the direction he wants to go in, then proceeds to sniff at the trunk or roots of the myriad trees present, pissing where he thinks it necessary to leave his scent. He is truly something to watch. Oh, the rules are that you stay outside for as long as it takes him to do number 2. And it’s a science, from a seven-day observation period, I’ve narrowed the average down to 10 minutes of walking and pissing/marking the street before he takes a dump. After that, more pissing/marking, until you the human decide it’s time to get back indoors. And the whole time I’m thinking, “dude! (a) just how much piss do you have in that bladder, and (b) you should go to the Kegel Olympics for being able to exercise that much start, stop control!”

We get into some adventures though. He is a total mchokozi. He knows there are big dogs three gates away, so he walks over there, sniffs at the space underneath the gate, then proceeds to piss on the pillar holding one of the gate hinges. You should see how crazy that drives the dogs behind the gate. Ok, so we’re both wachokozi ‘cause after I observed that the first night, I deliberately take him that way, just to see if we can provoke the ‘prisoners’. Lord help us the day the gatekeeper decides to open it as we’re indulging in our shenanigans.

DD is a most awesome ice-breaker and a great help in assessing someone’s character. I walk him in a different direction ‘cause I want to go by a kiosk and get some stuff. I speak my getting-better-by-the-day-but-still-woefully-inadequate Portuguese to the kiosk owner, and the result is so! not what I desired. The owner says to me that my Portuguese is bad, and that the undesirable result is what I’d asked for in Portuguese. Yeah, right! Anywho, having recently ‘Africakanized’ (this meaning, stopped having a fit about everything that’s not working, and choosing to use the situation – whatever it is – to my advantage), I accept his BS, and we end up having a really great conversation, courtesy of DD. He sees me holding the leash tight (DD likes to lure me into thinking he’s a mild dog, then, when he’s certain I’m not holding the leash tightly, he’ll start barking and running towards random people. He pulled that on day one, almost bit a random individual and I was extremely lucky ‘cause I had the leash wound tightly around my hand just then) and asks what kind of dog I’m hanging out with. I honestly don’t remember what breed his owner told me he is. He looks like a maltese puppy, but he’s 10, so he can’t possibly be a maltese dog?? I pull him back towards the curb so the kiosk owner sees him.

Kiosk owner decides to work on his English with me, and tells me of how he loves dogs, has 6 german shepherds, one doberman. He wants a rottweiler. I ask him if he knows how potentially dangerous that dog is, and a conversation ensues about the merits and demerits of certain breeds. He knows the rottie’s a good indoor family guard dog and he likes its weight, all that muscle and huskiness. I tell him I’ll see what I can do once I’m back in SA. The conversation then turns to how he thinks german shepherds aren’t very good guard dogs, and how the one doberman mauled one german shepherd to death. He says he got home one night after closing the kiosk, to find a mauled dog. Had thieves invaded his compound? Nope. It turned out it was the doberman that done it. He says he was very, very saddened by the loss of the german shepherd, though he’s quick to add that he didn’t cry ‘cause it was a dog, but that it did touch his heart. Did he put the doberman to sleep (in case he’d acquired a taste for german shepherd jugulars)? And I relate this urban legend from my home town, about a family man who had a doberman guarding the house. According to the legend, dobermans are very jealous dogs, they don’t like to see you, their owner, giving someone else quality time. His mom came to visit and he (naturally) spent a great deal of time with her. One sunday morning the family went off to church, leaving the mother in the hao ‘cause she wasn’t too well. She decided to go out into the garden to get some sun… and the rest is legend. They came home to an awfully nauseating sight and tragedy, courtesy of the jealous doberman. So, did kiosk owner put the doberman to sleep? No he did not.

That’s one interesting thing about Maputo. Everyone is warm and eazee, you can feel that ‘hakuna matata’ vibe, BUT, people have dogs, and all kinds of security contraptions in their homes and compounds. Clearly, there’s a need for the kind of security exercised, but the level and characteristic of crime in this city are not immediately evident. I’m still trying to figure them out. One thing I’ll say though, is there is nothing more beautiful than anonymity. Blending in with everyone else, not standing out (when you make sure to shut your mouth). Reason #304847 why I love being an African in Africa (Afrikanization notwithstanding).

Re: the character assessment, I’ve always thought dogs are a good tool to figure out if a person, of the opposite sex, that you might could be interested in in that way, shared some of your world outlook. DD quickly helps me determine that a very sweet guy, love interest (LI), I met a couple of days ago is not going to be easy to get along with at a fundamental level. Granted he’s extremely sweet, but when you’re this long in the tooth (did I just say that of myself? I meant it at an experiential level ), you’ve seen ‘em all. What gives him away is that as soon as I exit the apartment with an excited-to-be-out DD, he immediately raises his leg as if to kick DD. We go downstairs together. I figure I’ll let it ride this first time, afterall, maybe he felt threatened and inclined to defend himself. DD isn’t paying him any mind anyway. We get downstairs and chat as DD is busy leaving his mark on a nearby tree trunk. I ask him if he’s scared of DD, ‘cause a more harmless dog would be hard to find.

There’s a Portuguese saying, o cao que ladra nao morde, a barking dog does not bite/his bark’s worse than his bite… though I’ll bet there’s a whole lot of folk willing to attest to the contrary! LI’s response, lifting his leg in a kicking motion to indicate that he has his leg to keep away DD’s bite, leaves me cold. And no, lest you think one easily dismisses someone based on one ‘small’ thing. What usually happens is that the person has already either offended you or raised your hackles through a series of very small, negligible matters. DD is the last straw in this load of raised hackles, and I smile politely, but acknowledge that LI is a non-starter.

Quasi-runner playlist

I’m still flirting. Even though I know I should be working on moving this relationship to the next level, en route to the ultimate prize . But let’s see what the object of my affection says… see if he can accommodate me and my dreams. Yes, I’m briefly back in Paradise. Running early morning and early evening. I’ve felt lazy on a couple of days, but have managed to drag my behind out the door, egged on by the thought that I am not allowed any excuses ‘cause I’m only here for a few days.

The music on my ‘pod’s been of great assistance in this endeavor. Granted it’s very unsociable of me to run with a ‘pod in the first place. When I asked the talent to get it for me from places where it’s cheaper than in SA, I was asked why I wanted a ‘pod in the first place, why not just socialize and be approachable at the gym? I like my toys, my gear. You should see my swimming kit. You’d be excused for thinking I belong to some elite swim squad (as I labor to do a mere 50 meters non-stop). What’s cardio without the toys? I ask.  Of course it’ll be a while before the effects become visible… but what did I expect, taking so long to work up a rhythm and requisite dedication?

So yes, I should be running to the sights and sounds of Maputo, but it’s so much nicer to run to:

• Viva la vida – Cold Play
• Stronger – Kanye
• We made it – Busta Rhymes with Linkin Park
• Let’s groove – EW&F
• Bamboleo – Gypsy Kings (that guitar!)
• Rockstar – Nickelback (that guitar!)
• Gotta be somebody – Nickelback (that guitar!)
• Luv – Janet Jackson
• Nobody do it better – Keith Murray
• Circus – Britney
• You can do it – Ice Cube
• 1980 – Estelle
• Potion – Luda (naturally)
• Love’s Holiday – Norman Brown (that guitar!) (naturally, ‘cause it’s my theme song for paradise)
• Got to be real – Cheryl Lynn
• Comfortable – Lil’Wayne ft. Babyface (my current favorite)

A tad eclectic, I know, but it makes for great moments. I love that as I sprint full throttle (for all of one minute) down some streets, or even when I stumble by wheezing for air, the guys who are sweeping the tiny yellow petals and leaves off their section of the sidewalk stop to let me pass. The lack of attitude staggers me. In other places, they’d see you as interrupting their work, so it would serve you right to get dirt and dust pushed in your direction.

On the bus here, a guy deliberately stepped aside to let me on before him. Such gentilesse causes me to sigh deeply. As I sat there, way in the back, typing away on the laptop (unapproachable once again, no doubt), I paused to reflect on how gentle people had been with one another as we got on. None of the pushing and shoving, carrying a thao overloaded bags on board, and dehumanizing experiences (from fellow passengers or bus staff) that would be attendant on some buses at home. And no, I’m not being unduly harsh, I’ve been on enough buses to know that pushing and shoving is so normal, one notices (with anxiety) its absence.

For the skeptics, I’ll just mention that though I see it as paradise, it’s still inhabited by humans. So of course there’s folk who endeavor to leave a bad taste in the mouth. Fortunately, gentilesse will always triumph in the memory, and as long as you put on your African cap and understand what the person you’re interacting with needs – usually humility and affirmation from you – you’re sorted.

My periodic contact with it (Paraiso) is, I hope, tweaking my Kenyan rough and toughness into something gentler, something more approachable, something more generous. Hey, hope springs eternal in this human breast.

Inhaca Island (1 of 3)

 

A Ilha de Inhaca reminded me of a coastal childhood.

It had cicadas which had terrified me when I found them, 3-eyed (ok, ok, third eye is something along lines of mimicry… of course it has only 2 eyes), loudly, shrilly screeching and flying around like banshees in my bedroom. They are, apparently, a bio-indicator of pollution and degradation. Cicadas and degraded places are incompatible. Let’s just say that in this one instance, I was glad my childhood home got polluted and degraded.

My first visit to the island had been in 2003, very perfunctory, more like the press of duty, and my not being in a position to refuse it. Didn’t see much beyond the Pestana hotel  at the village. Boredom incorporated. Got a nice golf-shirt out of it though. And for the next 3 years, whenever I wore it in the summer, out at the mall or something, someone would walk up to me and ask, “you’ve been to Inhaca?” . 

So, 2nd visit to Inhaca, the welcoming party? On a coupla trees that we had to walk past to get to the accommodation block (after paying an arm and a leg to get a truck ride from the village to the marine camp… surely ignorance/lack of info is a regrettable, regrettable entity), were cicada screeches ahem… i mean ’songs’. Lamented not bringing ear plugs, but then again, who knew it would be that loud? Would have given the other arm and leg for DDT (even being aware of all its setbacks). Right at that moment. Glad none was handy… though I did think several times about it…

And who said that in adulthood you wouldn’t relive those anxious childhood moments, where the sound of a screech has you scrambling for the highest post possible, hands over ears and screeching like a banshee yourself), much as you knew the lone cicada that accidentally slipped into your room (attracted by the light and the screen door you’d held open for a beat too long, no doubt) wouldn’t suck your blood or gouge your eyes out (I hope). I also found flowering grass. OMG! When’s the last time I saw flowering grass? Those blue flowers? (can you tell I live in a concrete jungle?)  I was thereafter totally smitten, cicadas notwithstanding. 

Went into the museum and noticed that the insect collection had ‘Mdudu Mombasa’ (and I is talking ‘bout the old school, real one; not the new school viral one). Those who aren’t familiar with that name may have seen an insect that looks like a masai shield (the curio shop ones). Mdudu Mombasa. I remember it well ‘cause a relative had stepped on one. He’d been found wandering around, lost, not 1 km from the house. It’s said that if you step on it, you get lost, confused, can’t find your way home for nothing! The cure (assuming in your confusion you realize it) is to switch stuff around. e.g. wear your left shoe on right foot and vice versa; or wear your shirt inside out. Only then will you regain your senses. Failing that, best hope your relatives have very quickly put out that APB on your behind, or a stranger, recognizing your confusion, urges you to switch your shoes.

Inhaca sent me back to a charmed childhood. Where down the street was a plot of land where these Somalis long distance drivers would park their trucks (not far from the harbor) and they’d say hi whenever we passed by (it helped that we had a young adult cousin who’d walk us by). Being taught the conventions of polite behavior: even if you were only sent to drop something off at the neighbors, it was impolite to refuse to eat/drink whatever was offered. It was impolite not to greet an elder with Shikamo, and even (in total coastal indulgence) do the curtsey that goes with it. Only thing we didn’t do was kiss the back of the hand. That was reserved for the bonafide wa-islamu/wa-arabu.

Hanging out at Indian friends’ houses, eating chevra, watching videos, playing marbles… before we got to teenage and our relationships got estranged… we moved from friends to competing races. I remember a John Bosco who was the toast of the hood ‘cause he rode a scooter. I remember that the then president paid a visit to a neighborhood primary school, and we were there in the jostling masses, happy to be in his presence. His head and shoulders, arms even (holding the flywhisk) were sticking out of the sunroof in that blue limo. Was surprised that he had blue-looking eyes (from my vantage point), and of course he treated us to a loud ‘harambee’, and we all responded, ‘hee!’ Now that I’m all grown, I can only imagine what a potent drug it must have been for him to know that we were hanging on his every word. 

But Inhaca went beyond evoking childhood memories. It was rooted firmly in the present, and maybe even the future. There is incredible demand for beachfront property, and South Africans who have all the money are clamoring, fighting for, and sometimes getting, that land. A small part of the island is protected, same with some of the water that surounds it. But let’s see what government says, after all the pressure from private sector. 

Somewhere in the visit I was told of a king? chief? of the island, and how most of the island’s population was related to him; about how most young people prefer to go to work on the mainland; the number of women is higher than the men… something to the tune of 70% female to 30% male. Then a comment on a recent national discussion about whether or not to allow polygamy legally.

Both sides of the argument were good. One wife/family focuses you and your resources, allows you to move yourself and your progeny forward, if you’re so inclined. Then again, what’s to be done with all the women who will miss out on husbands? Import foreign men? (anathema, if ever there was one). Given that in the greater population, to say the proportions are 60% women: 40% men is a generous pronouncement. Truly tough questions, and somewhere in the discussion is a statement that homosexuality simply compounds this problem (of gender proportion) and that homosexuals are generally frowned upon ‘cause there is a considerable number of women in need of manly men, but there they go, loving one another instead of the women that need them. But that’s just one opinion.

I once went to Club Coconuts and saw a gay couple (decked out in pink and anything else that would set off one’s gaydar). They seemed quite happy, and no one bothered them. Other thing I remember about them is that as the evening progressed into wee morning hours, they got into a fight (clearly ‘cause one of them had indulged their all-too-human-urge to check someone else out), and there was no mistaking that they were both male from the punches they threw and the shirt-grabbing they did! Perchance Lusophonia is more tolerant than Anglophonia?

King Midas has donkey’s ears

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You are aware that if you live long enough, you’ll hear just about everything. (read the following with a southern drawl) Well honey, I just about done reached that ‘long enough’ point, ‘cause I got to hear ‘everything’ just the other day!

And so it was, when in accordance with every dumpee’s fantasy, the dumper got back in touch in a dizzy tizzy of apologies for bygone wrongs, and a question about if soul mates really exist. Of course, the other part of the dumpee’s fantasy is that she shall just sidestep the pleading dumper and go on about her business without paying the dumper no nevermind. Not wanting to betray this part of the fantasy, I have been silent. But I feel the need to share my thoughts on soul mates.

Do I believe there exists such a creature? I give a resounding Yes! to that question. As a matter of fact, I have met mine, and he was incredible; just what the doctor’d ordered.
The error is in assuming that simply because a person is your soul mate and you’ve recognized them as such, you will now unite and spend the rest of your lives together.

Once you read of the origins of the concept of soul mates here, you will not fail to realize that you can only get together once “all karmic debt is purged”. So until then, feel free to ‘muddle through’. And if you muddle yourself out of happily ever after with a person you now (belatedly) think of as a soul mate, do yourself a favor. While you’re on the 12 steps back to the person you once were, and reach the part where you’re supposed to seek out all you sinned against and beg for their forgiveness, note that some people are not interested in hearing from you. (Do what I just did ) Go whisper it into a shallow pool instead.

Matthew 7:6

I’m not an avid quoter of “the good book”, but sometimes it succinctly captures one’s sentiment.

“Do not give what is holy to dogs, and do not throw pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.” (Matthew 7:6).

Tudo bem

Have 3 pics for you. 

The first is the new logo for Mozambican tourism (pole about the qualidade). It’s toe curling (in a good and normal way) when viewed with the video (which I’ll figure out how to upload onto you tube at some point – version I have is only working on PC, not MAC so far). There’s no pay-off line below the logo ‘cause there were just so many things to say… those responsible for the logo left it blank so you jijazie. 

The 2nd picture was taken ‘cause I couldn’t believe the old chestnut of naked (female) natives has in the past or even at present, been used to promote mozambican tourism. Then again, it’s used to promote even Kenya (Samburu and patented? Maasai girls). Another way to look at it might be that there are nude beaches in Bazaruto, and I can finally indulge my fantasy of unhindered sunbathing? (though I have it on good authority that places where ‘the sun don’t shine’ are very UV sensitive).

3rd picture: I may just have to move here ‘cause I finally found mabuyu (powder AND seeds), thus completing the surrogate-for-Mombasa role Maputo plays in my life. Granted they’re not coated with the red syrupy sweet stuff, but who’s to say I’m not the one to bring that change to the way mabuyu’s eaten here? 

ALSO, should you happen to be in Maputo and looking for free wireless internet, try Pastelaria Nautilus (next to Piri-Piri, opposite Polana shopping centre). They have a very generous ‘biriany de galinha’ (chicken biriyani) for 140,00 MT (should you choose to eat there) to go with that free internet .