This is not Kansas - Harbouring dangerous despots in Ghana

It’s definitely surreal. My ipad perched on my lap in bed, I read of human rights atrocities, people being burned alive, rebel troops from two sides of a political struggle killing and maiming innocent citizens in a city less than 300km from me. For months this chaos has been brewing. Laurent Gbagbo, Ivory Coast’s incumbent president has refused to leave his post after losing a democratic election last October.



Although international media is less concerned as they are with the developments in the oil-rich middle east, Ivory Coast has been heading toward the brink of an all-out civil war for months. Local media and that odd BBC article have been following.

Sometimes the lines are blurred between the good and the bad, the right and the wrong.

And in the middle are the people. The industries. The entire society is at a standstill, cowering, hiding from the bloodshed in the streets. Banks packed up so people cannot get paid. Sanctions have crippled the biggest industry – cocoa.

And at the heart of it all is one man’s insatiable ego.



And then yesterday, local media publishes a photo of a glamorous lady in designer shades, with her little boy – they are staying at Ghana’s finest hotel – The Labadi Beach. It is Mr. Laurent Gbagbo’s second wife.

How quaint. Apparently first wife is staying in my neighborhood as well.
It also comes out that Gbagbo owns a mansion in a near by luxury housing estate.

So here we are, in the middle of something ugly.

It’s days like this when the distant din of news – of CNN and BBC and Al Jazeera reporters ‘on the ground’, reporting disasters and developments around the world, come just that once step too close to home.

Dorothy ain't in Kansas anymore. Or in this case, Mississauga Ontario.

Could Ghana offer asylum to a man that has allowed close to 1000 citizens violently and senselessly murdered to keep his power for a few more days, weeks, months?



Will his wife be offered a luxury suite with money earned on the backs of those who lie dying in the streets in our neighboring country?

Will we all just watch it happen and turn the page to a new story?


In the meantime, the streets of Abidjan are in turmoil. And they have apparently descended on Gbagbo's residence. But they cannot find him... The family is not inside...I wonder where they are.

Ivory Coast faces civil war while I battle the bulge...

Well I hate to admit it, but keeping at it (perseverance), not cheating (that’s no Death by Chocolate for dessert), and exercising frequently are the basic recipe to losing weight.


It’s so non-mysterious! It’s not like finding a miracle fad diet (read Twinkie diet!), and it’s not like trying for a long time and giving up because it just doesn’t work.

The bottom line is that if you eat healthily, and keep your calories in check every day, plus exercise, it doesn’t matter what age you are, it will make you more fit, and help you lose weight (or inches – since muscle weighs more than fat).



So, since my last rant, 16 days have past (bad blogger!), and that makes 24 days since I started my quest to lose the muffin top.

I am happy to report that, despite a trip to South Africa (Cape Town for the weekend! – which is always quite dangerous on the culinary front) in between, I have not cheated, I have exercised at least every second day for an hour or so, and

….drum roll…

I have lost over 4 kilos! (That’s about 9lbs). After my despair with the scale, I left it alone for a couple weeks and voila! It rewarded me when I returned, having done my part every day in between.

So, even though this only brings me back to a starting weight from previous diets, it has done wonders. I am swimming in my fat clothes and fitting (some still snugly) into my ‘medium’ jeans!! Yippee!



Does this mean I can O.D. on Nanaimo bars over the upcoming Christmas holidays back home? I mean what is a good Canadian Christmas without the 800 calorie per glass glug of egg nog (Jack in the Box brand), and trough like quantities of shortbreads and homemade balls and bars?

I am planning on doing my best to keep the indulgences at bay for the most part. Except Christmas day of course!

I WILL NOT bring my fat jeans along on this trip… but there is always the temptation of comfy leggings that accommodate any lumps, bumps and expansions. But I resolve! And how important is it in the big scheme of things??

As a little reality check – I am sitting in a capital city, 200 miles from the border of our neighboring country, that is at the brink of civil war as I write this.

Last week two political rivals were each sworn in as president and leader of the same country, and neither is willing to step down. Power sharing is apparently out of the question (and isn’t much of a solution if you take Zimbabwe as an example!).

Stay tuned.

My Lebanon - a feisty, feasting flurry of fun

My first impression of Lebanon was hatched through a cloud of smoke at the luggage carousel at Beirut’s Hariri airport.

After having our passports scrutinized for the dreaded Israeli stamp (which warrants immediate deportation), we wandered through to collect our bags and were greeted by a nightclub’s worth of exhaled smoke. Passengers and pilots all getting their fix after the long journey. But right there in the public areas of the airport? It just seemed so lawless, such an olden-days-before-the-international-ban type atmosphere…

In a way, it seemed like rebellious teenager, and my later impressions of Beirut as a city stayed true to that initial perception.

As we weaved our way through the streets that night I tried to soak it all in. Every sight, every building, person, smell, colour, curb… to compare what I saw to all of the stereotypes that had been built up in the collective mind of the westerner.

When I mentioned heading to Lebanon to many North American friends, the reactions were all negative or at least bemused.

“Why Lebanon??!"

“Will you be safe?”

“Interesting choice of holiday destination…”



What images came to their minds?

- Hezbollah – dangerous terrorists

- War – building rubble and wailing women

- Black veils oppressing women

- Anti Christian, anti Jewish, anti democracy-progress-development.

And the truth is that if I’d never met the amazing Lebanese people that I have in Ghana, I never would have gone.

But how wrong everyone was!

I must say though, that the streets of Beirut are not for the faint hearted when it comes to driving – and by extension, walking! There are no rules or at least no adherence to lanes, lights, right of way.. it is survival of the fittest and fastest. If you can hit the accelerator and the horn at the same time, you are on the right path.

But the more surprising feature of the roads is the actual cars. Bling bling bling… we learned quickly that it’s all about keeping up with the Khourys when it comes to your car in Beirut. The streets were full of the latest Porsche Cayenne, Ferraris, high end Audis and GMCs… Everywhere there is valet parking (including at McDonalds – no joke), and at the end of an evening at a club it’s a Hollywood scene as all the fancy cars pull up and the groups get in one by one, silently screaming “Look at us!”.

I later learned that many of these cars are on credit, but it’s all about living large in the here and now, and that general lust for life attitude carries over into all aspects of life. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in the same period of time. We were in the hospitable hands of the greatest friends and every extended family member or friend we visited had a feast awaiting us.



Food itself is a phenomenon in Lebanon. The flavours are fresh and vibrant and indulgent. Food is not about hunger and digestion but socialization, fun, people. A good dose of Arak (Lebanon’s version of Pastis or Ouzo) also goes a long way to make a mezze meal stretch smoothly on for hours. It’s amazing to witness and take part in, even if your Arabic is limited to Inshallah, and Shukran…

As a matter of fact, most Lebanese are fluent in at least three languages. Everyone speaks French, English and Arabic, and many speak others like Italian, Spanish or even Chinese!

There is a true affection between the Lebanese and the French and it is evident everywhere. One night, as we walked along the busy, bar lined streets of Gemmayze, we came to one of our friend’s favourite places. The windows were perspiring and we could see a lively crowd within – separate tables of families and friends all joining in together to sing along with the performer, her backup piano squished in the semi circle of tables, backed onto the washrooms. We opened the door and the flood of voices hit us. They were singing French ‘classics’ and everyone knew the words. It was a vision of what Paris would be like if it’s population was Lebanese! We joined the crowd and ate, drank and tried to sing along. It was a spectacular evening, of the type it seems only the Lebanese know how to carry off so naturally.

The more time we spent in Beirut, the more I realized that due to CNN and it’s sisters, the West has a warped and uninformed idea of what Lebanon is about.



- Women in Beirut are all about glamour – eyebrows are tattooed perfectly, (if severely) nails are done, hair shines with not a lock out of place and the high heeled shoes made me unsteady on my feet just looking at them. I barely saw abayas and hijabs, let alone the niqabs that cover the whole face. I also have never seen more facial plastic surgery in my life – and I have been to Los Angeles! Dr. 90210 has nothing on this place ☺

I don't know how they feast so much and stay so fit... the gyms must be busy!

- The biggest KFC I’ve ever seen, like a a KFC Mega Mall, spanning a full city block – I saw in Beirut.

- Dunkin’ Donuts is everywhere, and police (like their American counterparts) can be found hovering with a coffee in hand.

- The sound of Christian Church bells rivals the Muslim call to prayer all around Lebanon

- Skiing is a popular winter sport in the mountains of Lebanon

- Most signboards around the city of Beirut are in English or French

- Popeye’s Chicken and Biscuits is a popular fast food joint (and I thought it was too regional to come to Canada!)

Beirut is a modern city, but it has character. It has many battle scars. It cannot completely hide the years of bombings, of invasions and civil wars, and there are many buildings, their facades pock marked with bullet wounds. It’s so difficult for an outsider to imagine what the place and the people have gone through, and so recently, when you meet the open, friendly kind-hearted masses.



I think that being through trauma makes us appreciate each day, each flower, each fruit.

We saw vibrant red poppies, sprouting up through concrete landscapes, and tasted exotic fruits like escadinia (a small oblong yellow fruit, like a plum, with shiny rich brown seeds inside), and bomali, a huge citrus fruit, somewhat like a grapefruit but larger and sweeter, and the sharp tang of fresh almonds, green and slightly fuzzy, eaten with salt.



When friends took us to the hills outside the concrete jungle of Beirut (where there is no free standing homes, just miles and miles of highrises), we came to a different world. We drove through tiny Druze villages perched atop cliffs and wound our way to a magical home, built into the side of a mountain. It took my breath away.

Artichokes and orange trees and huge fresh green beans grew all around and the house itself, like a secret cabin, peeked out, fully open to the trees and blooming flowers that sheltered it.



There was a feast there too – a luncheon where the guests poured in from the city, and the drinks and food poured out of the open kitchen just as fast.

There was an Easter egg hunt for the kids as it was Easter Sunday, and trays of baklawa for us adults. Yum.

This is the Lebanon we were embraced by – the fast and the slow, the sad and the joyous, the vibrancy that flows in the people, the places, the soul of the country.



Some great links about Lebanon:

Blogging Beirut
Lonely Planet
Lebanon.com

Gone gone gone, she been gone so long...

I've been gone so long. I feel as if I'm sheepishly crawling back into this space to see if I'm still welcome. If someone will throw tomatoes or old shoes at me... I'm ducking.

Waiting...

Phew! Ok I see I'm safe. Well my excuse is that life has been happening in a big way. Some experiences that are beyond the world of blogging and far closer to the world of book/screenplay that have come my way...

But also I have traveled and though I had no Internet connection, I did write about the experience and I share it here:


Notes from a business trip in Sierra Leone…

A simple three day business trip to Sierra Leone is basically anything but that. The 2 hour flight becomes an 8 hour journey, since once you arrive in the country, you discover the airport is across a large body of water from the capital city…

My last visit involved boarding an ancient Russian helicopter to get the last leg across. Back then, the helicopter was run by a shady little company called Paramount Airlines. The beast was at least 40 years old, struggled to move, and held it’s passengers like captives, with all the luggage in the middle and rough benches around the perimeter. There were tiny round windows with no glass, which was a good thing because the heat inside was literally unbearable. The few wafts of breeze through the windows kept us going… All said, the journey from the airport to Freetown was about 10 minutes, but those were terrifying… Two years ago they crashed for the final time and that very day, the pilots and all staff closed up the offices and left the country. Their signboards still line the streets to Freetown…



I was pleasantly surprised this time though, climbing aboard the helicopter at Lungi airport. It was obviously bought over from the UN when they evacuated a few years ago, and was a significant step up from the ancient beast.

There are two other methods of reaching the mainland from the airport but the chances of all options being operational at the same time are slim to none. The hovercraft takes about 45minutes, the ferry can take 5 hours, the speed boats only 25 minutes, but they bash along on the waves, and have been known to run out of gas half way…
So I braved the helicopter, which is now only a 7 minute journey on a professional looking craft, with airline seats, luggage compartment in the back, and headsets to block out the noise. Luxury!

But the improvements in Sierra Leone since my last visit seem to have ended there. On arrival.



There was some sort of a commotion in the lobby as I arrived. My attention was quickly pulled from the rusting airconditioners outside, and the dark wood paneling that choked the small lobby, by the reactions of the staff. Having seemingly woken from their working trance, they all gathered around the tiny elevator at the far end of the room.

In their signature broken English, I pieced together that all the back and forth was about the elevator being stuck and some poor sod being stuck inside.

The men in the lobby, some cleaners, some guards and various other hangers-on, all gathered around the old metal door with some large object and began to pry it open. There was a lot of noise, rough banging and eventually the door was sufficiently damaged, and pulled aside on an unnatural angel. Inside, a white man’s chubby, hairy calves were revealed, along with a tote bag hanging down with the words “London Museum” visible. The floor of the elevator car had jammed half way between the two floors.

One man ran for a chair from behind the reception desk and was met with hesitation and resistance by the lady who had no interest in having her seat be used in a rescue effort. She was supposed to be checking me in, but apparently had no interest in that either.

Eventually the man was pulled, twisted and finally’ born’ like a red pudgy newborn, feet first out the bottom of the elevator door, a bit shaken but still with a witty comment for the staff, “I’ll be taking the stairs from now on!”.

This is the type of scene that plays in my head at every African hotel I’ve been to. This is the worst nightmare that has had me climbing 14 stories continually up and down to my room in Nairobi, Kenya on a 4 day trip – getting exercise by sheer circumstance… There are the persistent power outages and the general African lack of maintenance that render elevators a no-go area for me.



My colleague had brought me supposedly to ‘one of the new hotels’ but NOT the one that I’d been booked into, that actually had it’s own website and had been reviewed on Tripadvisor. That was too good to be true. Turns out there are a myriad of NGO and church conferences going on in town this week – surprise, surprise… and hence the lack of rooms.

So, for $130 a night, I got the Kimbima Hotel, a building overlooking the ocean, which claims to be a 5 star hotel but still manages to look like a dismal depressing dungeon…



The place literally looks as if it were built without an architect, by 10 rival groups of 7 year olds, each group trying their best to mismatch what had been done by the group before. No door closes properly, many staircases lead to nowhere, windows lead onto walls, and columns, trellises, tiles and all are installed on angles. Electricity sockets are not straight, doors are not straight, stairs are nor straight nor are each the same height. Uniformity and straight lines are not concepts in building here. There are cement, wood and tile surfaces with various patterns, paneling and interlocking bricks and all can be found in one room or one area.

There is mold in the hallways, in the rooms, in the chairs. I hope it’s not in the sheets.

This morning I came out of my room and met the cleaning crew. They’d swept up all the creatures of the night and managed to tip hundreds of wellfed cockroaches onto their backs. As I descended the 7 stories down to the breakfast room, I passed many twitching roaches, each having lost this one little battle, surrounded by yesterdays’ dust and crumbs…



On the beach though - you can’t help but have positive thoughts. The promise if each new wave as it laps the shore is infinite. I took a long walk down the beach, after learning the president had announced a new holiday, one day in advance, in the middle of my 3 day trip…



In Ghana, though we live in a coastal town, there is no serene beach, no long luxurious stretch of mother nature’s cool white sand to play in. All the patches of sandy coastline are divided up between hotels and various communities that would rather use it as a toilet than construct latrines…

So I love this about Freetown. There is a gorgeous stretch of beach, just a walk from the hotels. It’s just beyond the huge UN Peace Keepers compound that was a hive of activity only a few years ago. It stands empty now. I hear they left everything in tact when they moved out. Every airconditioner, TV set, fridge. A local guy is now renovating it, apparently with the aim of converting it into a hotel. I can only imagine what changes will be made…

Walking along, as I dig my toes in the sand, I pass the remnants of cafés that boomed with music, patrons, cocktails… dotting the boardwalk along the beach in the UN days. Even the American movie Blood Diamond alluded to the hedonistic bar scene that existed.
Now, there are only crumbling reminders. The bleached wood chairs and tables, in varying stages of disrepair, with rust stains, like blood pouring from their wounds, these are the carcasses of the false economy that ran Freetown. When the UN left, the bar scene died. The prostitutes now circle at night, their eyes are wild and desperate. I watch them, younger and younger, circling the fewer prey…

I come to a dilapidated gazebo on the beach. On the sides are painted warnings, “No Weapons Allowed” with rudimentary drawings of rifles with big red X’s over them. This was a disarmament stand during the war. It’s a reminder that this beach held much more than waves and cocktails and party goers, not so long ago.

I’ve been told they’ve sent many of the ex-child soldiers off to Afghanistan and Iraq to do menial labour jobs. This is considered good as they will return with some money in their pockets. I’m not sure how true this is, but what about the legacy in their minds? In their violent and vacant hearts?



Back at the hotel, as I climb the dusty path to the long winding road along the bay, I can’t help notice the hundreds of dogs I pass. All are sleeping, spread carelessly across the dusty rocky ground. They lie in the paths of cars and pedestrians, a symbol of the despair around them. Each house along my path leads down to the water. They should be prime real estate! Instead, they are unpainted, half built or half torn down structures, with squatters sitting in the exposed rooms, washing their few tattered clothes and stringing them across the unkempt yards, blowing in the breeze like captive birds…

UNinvolved in Africa

Whenever I see a great photo or picture of any kind on the Net I download it, thinking, I'm going to write a great post one day and that will be the accompanying photograph/picture/comic etc...

Last night I almost lost my whole blog in a procedure I'll explain another time, when my nerves have calmed... But what it made me realise was that I have a great database of interesting pics and I thought I'd just post them from time to time, whether or not there's great text to accompany them.

Today's submission - a photo - probably photoshopped, on a funny site called FAIL...

It speaks for itself really.

More from Liberia - Excerpts from the local paper...

One gets quite an insight into a country from the newspaper. What is covered, how the stories are covered, what the perspectives are...

I arrived in Liberia this week - here is a general sampling of the main stories featured in the country's main newspaper:

1.FRONT PAGE: Taylor Loyalists Warn American 'Boys and Girls'

This story covers the reaction of a former (NPP) government chairman, to American forces raid on ex-President/tyrant/war monger/war crimes detainee Charles Taylor’s residence (with search warrant) this week. Mr. Cyril Allen states” Those American boys and girls are lucky they did not encounter ex-fighters in the building, because their heads would have been cut off!”. He further warns, “They should try it again!” (apparently foaming at the mouth).

2. also FRONT PAGE: Brutalizing Girl was Little Matter

This story is about a current Senator Nathaniel Innis, who brutally attacked his very young niece (she looks about 8 to 10 years old in the photo), without cause last week. I have to quote the rest because I just couldn't believe what I was reading.

"Sen. Nathaniel Innis said the devil and Satan fooled him when he brutally beat up his niece on Monday." When asked about the incident, the Senator said: "Anything that besmear my character, I should call on your hournalists because they will say, it's a Liberian Senator. The incident will incur negative raves on Liberia, hence journalists should help cover up such actions".

Then, in response to the labour minister, who had called for his prosecution, Sen. Innis said: "Liberia is a big elephant meat, he better cut off his own and be silent. He wants to use my little matter he missed it big time. Sen. Innis is the wrong man to to reckon with". ....

No charges have been laid.

There is full page advert for this weekend's Anti-Rape concert. It is fully funded by the UN, with performers coming from around the region.
Liberia's years of war, under Charles Taylor, legitimized mass rape, and now that the war is over, the hundreds of thousands of boy soldiers are finding it hard to learn new ethics. Rape is still rampant. Taylor's soldiers also murdered their parents at his command and cut limbs off everyone in their path. Women and children were not spared...

The extreme violence has ended, but the rapes continue daily, despite the fact that Liberia elected their first woman as President and that many of the key positions such as Chief of Police have been assigned to women. The society still sees women and children as objects and in a place where abject poverty is everywhere, the frustrations of the powerful are taken out on the weak and the small.

Will the Anti- Rape concert do anything? Will it help raise consciousness? The word in town is that many people got kickbacks in the organising committees and that the budget was highly inflated to allow for personal pockets to get filled.

Sigh....

War torn hole offers up fine quisine, apertifs

This is the airport restaurant in Abidjan

This photo was taken during my five hour wait at the Abidjan airport, after discovering the plane to Accra was quite delayed.

I resigned myself to the miserable wait and wandered up to the restaurant that they mentioned at the check in desk. Wow - the airport is definitely one of a kind in sub-Saharan Africa! Must be another remnant of French domination. I sat down expecting a disinterested server to toss a grimy menu down, with a list of generic sandwiches, fries and the like. Instead I found a grand stylish restaurant with impeccably dressed waiters and great service. They only had about 4 items on the menu (which is par for the course in the majority of African restaurants I've been to - and I've been to many). But there on the menu - and available! - was a gorgeous salad with real lettuce (unheard of in Ghana), smoked salmon, (smoked salmon?!), capers, grapefruit, avocado, shrimps, tomatoes, vinaigrette... oh and a selection of french wines... HELLO! Have I just spent three days in a war torn country where 12 foot piles of rotting, smoking garbage line the sides of every city street and highway?? Did I not spend three days crusing around in stifling heat through the immense stench of open gutters, and get pulled over numerous times by corrupt army and police officers with massive guns asking for bribe money in order to secure the priviledge of driving on through the squalor??

Abidjan is a city of contrasts - glaring, unbelieveable contrasts between French affluence and design, and the African reality of corruption, poverty, crime, unrest, neo-colonial fall out.

Driving into the city from the airport looks like a miniature Manhattan in the distance. However, as the car passes through massive burning mounds of rubbish, to the extent of reducing complete visibility in the toxic smoke along the highway, it gives the feel of driving into Manhattan on the set of a Mad Max film. It looks like a pessimistic sci-fi vision of the world after an apocalypse...

Within the city streets, the contrasts become quite apparent. There are beggars and roadside sellers, as in most African cities, but they live their lives against the backdrop of glamourous shops and gold glassed high rise office buildings... I stayed at the Novotel with a gorgeous view of the lagoon on one side, and the dilapitated downtown core on the other.

to be continued...