Ayb! Ayb!* Parking Hall of Shame
I am not outraged just because I passed up these two spots, both empty, once I saw the sign, which you will notice is in Arabic, English and just in case you can’t read, also in sign language. NO PARKING!
I am not outraged just because only about 20 feet from these two spots are also parking spots, it just means walking a few more feet in the hot sun, no, not rock star parking, but not like walking a couple hundred meters, either.
I am outraged because these were WOMEN. WOMEN! We know better! We have aging mothers and children, we sometimes NEED special treatment, but these women who parked here were both ample and able. Actually, in the first photo, I was so angry, I had the women as they got out of their cars, but I took a deep breath, and decided that would NOT be a good idea in case I ever want to go here again. They might beat me up! They might arrest me for insulting them!
But I am insulted. This is Ramadan, people are fasting, and it is hot hot hot, even though it is cooling down a little. Women faint, men get electrolyte imbalances, and people need ambulances. THIS is AMBULANCE PARKING.
There is something in each of us that believes in variations of Locard’s Exchange Principal where anytime two people come into contact they exchange some physical matter, no matter how small. On some level, when we say “what goes around comes around” we are applying the same physical properties to the spiritual world, and why not? Are we not taught that we are to treat our neighbors as we would want to be treated?
So my fear for these women who would park in an ambulance spot is that one day they would need an ambulance, and find that the ambulance cannot park because someone is parked in the ambulance spot. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
*Shame! Shame!
OJ Simpson Charged Again
And speaking of idiots, if you’ve committed a double murder and gotten away with it, why would you be so arrogant as to keep having run-ins with the cops? No matter how good the lawyers are that you hire, one day your luck runs out. With all my heart, I am hoping that this is the day for OJ Simpson.
God willing, your criminal arrogance will trip you.
The following is from CNN News, where you can read the entire story.
LAS VEGAS, Nevada (CNN) — Prosecutors on Tuesday filed numerous criminal charges against former NFL star O.J. Simpson and three other men in connection with an alleged armed robbery at a Las Vegas hotel last week.
The 11 charges include two counts of first-degree kidnapping with use of a deadly weapon; two counts of robbery with a deadly weapon; and two counts of assault with a deadly weapon.
Prosecutors say Simpson and his co-defendants — Walter Alexander, Clarence Stewart and Michael McClinton — committed kidnapping because they intended to hold or detain the two alleged victims using a weapon.
Not Too Bright
In yesterday’s Kuwait Times was a very dramatic telling of a drug bust. Police had sighted someone suspicious in a car, upon approaching, the suspect ran, the police chased. Now, it becomes very cinematic, as the police chase, the man runs up into a building and jumps off a second floor balcony, and the policeman follows him, injuring himself. Another policeman picks up the chase and eventually the suspect is captured, only to slip right through the fingers of the police.
Pretty exciting so far, huh?
In today’s Kuwait Times, the saga continues:
Escaped Drug Dealer Chats into Custody
Following up yesterday’s on foot chase of a drug dealer in Salwa where Lt. Hamad Al-Zuwayyed was injured when he jumped off a second floor balcony to catch up with the suspect, Al-Zuwayyed never thought that the second accomplice who managed to escape arrest would be his hospital roommate. Security sources explained that while receiving treatment at Adan hospital, another patient arrived and was placed in the bed next to Al-Zuwayyed’s. Then, on chatting at night to kill time, the man told Al-Zuwayyed that he was hit by a car while being chased by a policeman in Salwa. Al-Zuwwayed immediately called the police who raided the hospital and arrested the suspect.
Don’tcha just love it???
K-Ville premiers tonight
Notice today from Amazon:
we thought you’d like to know that K-Ville, the new crime action series starring Anthony Anderson and Cole Hauser, premieres Tonight at 9/8c on FOX.
From writer and executive producer Jonathan Lisco (NYPD Blue, The District) comes K-Ville, a new police drama set and filmed in New Orleans. Marlin Boulet (Anthony Anderson) is a brash veteran of the NOPD’s Felony Action Squad, the specialized unit that targets the most-wanted criminals. He also held his post during Hurricane Katrina, spending days in the water saving lives and keeping order, even after his partner deserted him. Boulet’s new partner, Trevor Cobb (Cole Hauser), was a soldier in Afghanistan before joining the NOPD. Though committed to his new job, he’s less than comfortable with Boulet’s methods – and is harboring a dark secret.
Here is the official website:
I don’t know how to get these things and it just isn’t that important to me, but you tech-savvy people might have some fun with this. And it IS New Orleans! The music is worth a visit, just to view “Anthony gives Cole some advice about gumbo.” š
Peter Bowen: Wolf, No Wolf
“You have to take this. You’ll really like it,” Sparkle insisted as I inwardly groaned, thinking of the TWO stacks of unread-must-reads by the side of my bed, and my already bulging suitcases.
“I know it doesn’t sound like something you’ll like,” she went on, slightly frustrated with me, with herself, “but once you start reading, you’ll get into it.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but good enough for me. I always KNOW what I think she will love, and she has done me many a favor in return, introducing me to authors and series worth reading.
“It’s about Montana. The main character is mixed Indian and French and some other things, a grandfather, and it all takes place in a small town in Montana . . . ” she sort of fizzles out. “I’m really not doing a very good job of making this interesting.”
And she sighs in frustration.
So, about a month later, just because I love my sister, I pick the book up and start reading while waiting for my husband to get home for dinner. As it turns out, he is very very late – and I am very very glad. I don’t want to stop reading!
When you first jump into Wolf, No Wolf by Peter Bowen, it takes you a minute to adjust your ear to the way they talk. These aren’t people most of us have met before. Gabriel DuPreĀ“ is mĀ“etis, a mixed blood. His ancestors are French who came early to the great continent that is now the US, Canada and Mexico, and they trapped and hunted, married native American wives, and developed a culture all their own. His language pattern is similar to that of the Cajun in Louisiana.
He is a cattle brand inspector in this small Montana town. His children are grown, he has so many grandchildren he can’t remember all their names. Every now and then, he pins on his deputy sherrif badge to solve a mystery in the small town of Toussaint, Montana.
Here is how Wolf, No Wolf opens:
Du PreĀ“ fiddled in the Toussaint Bar. The place was packed. some of Madelaine’s relatives had come down from Canada to visit. It was fall and the bird hunters had come, to shoot partridges and grouse on the High Plains.
The bird hungers were pretty OK. The big game hunters were pigs, mostly. The bird hunters were outdoors people; they loved it and knew it, or wanted to. The big game hungers wanted to shoot at something big, often someone’s cows.
Bart had bought a couple thousand dollars’ worth of liquor and several kegs of beer and there was a lot of food people had brought. Everything was free.
Kids ran in and out. The older ones could have beers. Bart was tending bar. Old Booger Tom sat on one of the high stools, cane leaned up against the front of the bar.
“You do that pretty good for someone the booze damn near killed,” said Booger Tom. “I know folks won’t be in the same room with the stuff.”
“Find Jesus,” said Bart. “It’s not too late to save your life.”
He went down to the far end of the bar and took orders. Susan Klein, who owned the saloon, was washing glasses at a great pace.
One of Madelaine’s relatives was playing the accordion, another an electric guitar. They were very good.
Du PreĀ“ finished. He was wet with sweat. The place was hot and damp and smoky, so smoky it was hard to see across the room. The room wasn’t all that big, either.
Madelaine got up from her seat, her pretty face flushed from drinking the sweet pink wine she loved. She threw her arms around Du PreĀ“ and kissed him for a long time.
“Du PreĀ“,” she said, “you make me ver’ happy, you play those good songs.”
. . …
Someday this fine woman marry me, thought Du PreĀ“, soon as the damn Catholic church, it tell her OK, your missing husband is dead now so you can quit sinning, fornicating with DuPreĀ“.
I’ve never hung out in a bar in Montana, fiddled, or had a girlfriend named Madeleine (!), but already I feel like I know these people and this life. Peter Bowen is the Donna Leon of Montana, introducing us to the kind of crimes that happen in those sleepy looking towns we drive past on the superhighways, glancing at, or stopping to fill our gas tanks.
DuPreĀ“ is a good man, and, like many a good man, sometimes has to do a bad thing to protect those he is sworn to protect. Policing is not pretty business.
The first story has to do with the re-introduction of wolves back into the Montana highlands, something not at all popular with those who have been raising cattle there. The second book in this two-book collection has to do with serial killers, how they stay under the radar, and how very difficult it is to catch them.
In both books, it is as much about a new way of living and thinking as it is about solving the crime. DuPreĀ“ consults often with his friend Benetsee, the local medicine man, who sees things we don’t see. One of the FBI Agents is Harvey Wallace, also more than half native American, whose real name is Harvey Weasel Fat. The books are about how men and women fight, the nature of male friendships and female friendships, and very much about the human condition wherever we may be.
Life is short. I can never live in all these places long enough to even scratch the surface of the flavor of each variety of life. But these books help, they give us glimpses into another way of thinking, another way of doing things, and stretches our little minds just a little so that we learn to think more flexibly.
So who is going to write the Kuwait detective series? Who will take us into the diwaniyyas seeking information, who will take us out on the shoowi to gather information against those delivering drugs to Kuwait, with whom will we camp in the desert, avoiding explosives left over from the Iraqi invasion? I think his name is Anwar al Kout (the light of Kuwait!) and his wife is Suhail (the Yemeni Star!) – somewhere out there is someone who can take us into Kuwait and bring it alive. Where are you?
(You were right, Sparkle. I loved it!)
Feeding Stranded Bangladeshis
In today’s Arab Times is an op-ed piece by the Rev. Andy Thompson on the continuing plight of Bangladeship workers, whose employers stopped paying their 20KD salary PER MONTH (can YOU imagine?) and who now – only want to go home.
Over the summer, many people from many walks of life in Kuwait worked together to help try to see that these men got some food, and then tried to find a more equitable and lasting solution.
By Rev Andy Thompson
St Paulās Anglican Church, Ahmadi
JUST before the summer holidays started, the Arab Times recorded a disturbing story about the plight of over a thousand Bangladeshi workers who had not been paid their paltry KD 20 a month for many months and so they consequently went on strike. With no money, no hope and living in appalling conditions these workers were at the end of their tether. A subsequent Arab Times article called āYou can make a differenceā, challenged readers to respond by at least making sure that the Bangladeshi workers did not go hungry. The story had clearly touched the hearts of many Arab Times readers and the response was fantastic. Over the last two months, food has been flowing into the Bangladeshi workers residence. I wish I could publicly acknowledge the many people who helped, but typically they gave generously and anonymously. They include both Kuwaiti and expatriate, rich and poor, Christian and Muslim. They were united in their repulsion of the inhuman and unacceptable treatment by a greedy and unscrupulous company who traded human misery for profit
You can read the rest of the article (and it is worth reading) HERE.
Azan Insult
This is from last week’s Arab Times, one of those things I clip because they are interesting and then sometimes I forget. My Kuwait readers will wonder why I am even bothering, maybe this isn’t so interesting, but to me, it is one of those things that illustrate a difference in how we think.
Man Insulted in Azan Row:
Director of an unidentified department of the Ministry of Awqaf and Islamic Affairs has filed a complaint with the Andalus Police Station accusing a Kuwaiti man of humiliating him and threatening to cause him harm, reports Al-Rai daily.
A knowledgeable sourse said the man works as a muezzin at a mosque in Sulaibikhyat and the suspect accused him of calling the faithful for prayers earlier than the time assigned by the ministry.
The source added residents of the area had sent letters of complaints to the ministry stressing the muezzin should abide by prayer timings issued by the ministry.
A source added the man is a political activist and has a file at State Security.
The source also said the man visited the director and humiliated him in a very negative manner. The man reportedly called the official on the phone and called him a donkey and threatened to cause him harm.
Here’s what I love – in Kuwait, the muezzins are LIVE! In every other Islamic country in which I have lived, it has been recordings, but here, they are LIVE! One woman told me that their muezzin was fired because at the end of the call to prayer, music started playing, and everyone knew he had left a recording.
Each muezzin starts the call to prayer at a slightly different time, so you hear a chorus of individual voices raising their voices to say “God is great” and to call the people to prayer, a sound as beautiful as the church bells of western countries, which fulfill a similar function. You can hear the sound of the call to prayer here:
And in how many countries would exact time be an issue when calling people to prayer? Life is sweet, living in a country where time to pray is an important issue.
And here is what I find intriguing – in the west, when we call someone a donkey, it is a very mild insult. I have heard that here, being called a donkey is like one of the very worst things you can call a person. Please, local friends, can you tell me why donkey would be such a bad insult?
Donna Leon: Death in a Strange Country
Recently I discovered, to my disgust, that I have purchased two Donna Leon books I have already read. I bought them from England, and now they have been published in the US under different titles. Aaaarrrgh! I hate it when that happens.
I have a good friend I want to pass these books along to, an amazing woman who has no idea how amazing she is. When she talks about her early years as a private detective, she refers to herself, with a perfectly straight face, as a “Dickless Dick.”
After I read this book, I passed it along to Adventure Man, who loved it. He aloud to me from it late at night, and we both laughed. Here is the the excerpt he liked, he could identify with it:
In their bedroom, he saw that she had placed a long red dress across the bed. He didn’t remember the dress, but he seldom did remember them and he thought it best not to mention it. If it turned out to be a new dress and he remarked on it, he would sound like he thought she was buying too many clothes, and if it was something she had worn before, he would sound like he paid no attention to her and hadn’t bothered to notice it before. He sighed at the eternal inequality of marriage, opened the closed, and decided that the grey suit would be better.
He, of course, is Commissario Guido Brunetti, Donna Leon’s chief investigator, consumately Venetian, very married, and fighting a lonely battle against the louche corruption of the Italian bureaucracy.
And this book is about the death of an American military man in Venice, except that of course, it turns out to be about something much much bigger. Leon has several axes grinding in this one, but the biggest is illegal dumping, and the arrogance of countries who dump their toxic wastes on smaller countries, eyes wide open, knowing full well that horrorific consequences may result – and not caring.
My favorite part is when Commissario Brunetti visits the American base outside of Venice for the first time:
He left the place and went to stand outside, content to get a sense of the post while waiting for his driver to return. He sat on a bench in front of the shops and watched the people walking past.
A few glanced at him as he sat there, dressed in suit and tie and clearly out of place among them. Many of the people who walked past him, men and women alike, wore uniform. Most of the others wore shorts and tennis shoes, and many of the women, too often those who shouldn’t have, wore halter tops. They appeared to be dressed either for war or for the beach. Many of the men were fit and powerful; many of the women were enormously, terrifyingly fat.
Cars drove by slowly, their drivers searching for parking spaces: big cars, Japanese cars, cars with that same AFI number plate. Most had the windows raised, while from the air-conditioned interiors blared rock music in varying degrees of loudness.
They strolled by, amiable and friendly, greeting one another and exchanging pleasant words, thoroughly at home in their little American village here in Italy.
Donna Leon has a sharp eye for detail, doesn’t she? Don’t you feel like you were sitting there on the bench with Commissario Brunetti, seeing through his eyes?
Reading Donna Leon transports you to another world, Venice, and the joy of reading has less to do with solving the crime than being able, for a short time, to stop and drink coffee while tracking down a criminal, eating a meal or two with Brunetti and his family, experiencing the frustrations of the Venetian bureaucracy in all its radiant corruption, walking along the canals so early in the morning that the delivery men haven’t even begun yet making their deliveries . . .
And yet the problems addressed in the Leon books are part of a greater world picture, and Leon has an enormous capability to draw blurry lines with increasing clarity as we watch how international corruption works hand in hand blindly taking profits while dribble by dribble degrading the world for future inhabitants.
Pastor “apologizes”
This story is from yesterday’s Arab Times. I am putting in the whole thing because of what is missing:
A US pastor accused of beating his televangelist wife Joanita Bynum has apologized to all Christians over a case that could see him imprisoned for up to 27 years.
In a statement issued through his lawyers Wednesday, Thomas W. Weeks III, 40, apologized to Christians, his church family and others “having to endure this ordeal.”
Weeks, known to his followers as Bishop Weeks, is accused of beating, stomping, choking and threatening to kill his gospel singer wife during an August 21 argument outside a hotel in Atlanta, Georgia. He has been indicted on felony and misdemeanor charges stemming from the alleged attack.
“Because of the method in which this was handled just hours following the situation, it has not only hurt me, but has damaged the reputation of Christians around the world,” Weeks said.
“It is for this reason that I continue to trust in God while the storm would try to engulf me. Finally, I’m asking every Christian to pray that God’s will be done.”
In his statement, Weeks, the pastor and co-founder of Global Destiny Ministries, also cautioned against rushing to judgement in the case, and said he would give his side of what happened at the appropriate time.
This article makes my blood boil.
He apologizes to everyone – EXCEPT to his wife, whom he beat, stomped, choked and threatened to kill.
This is typical of the cowardly kind of bully who beats up on those smaller than he is and tries to make them believe that it is THEIR FAULT, that they drive him to these vicious rages by . . . oh who knows . . . a tone of voice, a step too loud, one of the kids gets a bad grade. It is always everyone else’s fault, and he is quick to kick the nearest victim, usually his wife. And the saddest thing of all, is that the wife, and sometimes the kids, buy into this jerk’s reasoning. “You made me do it.”
“You made me blacken your eye. You made me break your arm. You made me push you down the stairs. You made me drink. You enraged me. It’s all YOUR fault.”
If you are one of those cowardly, contemptible bullies reading this, I have nothing but scorn for you.
I hope this guys wife leaves him and never looks back. Of course, the problem is, he is one of those self-absorbed imbeciles who might feel she is his property, and might decide to kill her for leaving him. Still, even a moment’s freedom from this abusive lout’s controlling rages is better than another minute in his presence.
In the last line, he says he will give his side in time – yeh, when he can figure out how to present it so that HE is the victim, and his beaten wife the bad guy. I am not going to hold my breath.
Rape in Kuwait (2)
There seem to be some misconceptions running around about rape in Kuwait. One misconception is that Kuwaitis commit a lot of rape. If you read the newspapers, however, you will discover that a lot of the rapes committed are nationality on nationality, for example, one senior Phillipina lady will befriend an unhappy domestic worker, will “help” her get away, and the domestic finds herself abducted, gang raped and in sexual slavery. That’s one common story.
Domestics of all nationalities are abducted off the streets, taken to apartments or villas, raped repeatedly by two or more men, and then dropped off on the street (or dropped off a balcony). People don’t seem to be very concerned about domestic servants being people here, having the right NOT to be raped, it sort of seems like business as usual, no matter who is raped or doing the raping. I have yet to read of one single case being prosecuted or sentenced in the Kuwait newspapers, but maybe I missed a day or two.
Another common story is Indian/Bangladeshi/Pakistani on Indian/Bangladeshi/Pakistani, and that can be men abducting/raping men, or men abducting/raping women. Some of these women are also recruited into prostitution, and are found when the police raid the dens of iniquity, catching the men and men or men and women in “uncompromising” positions, or, even better – RED HANDED!
There is a whole catagory of abductions – Kuwaiti, Bedoun or other Gulf or Arab nationality where a man or woman, or men or women, is/are abducted and taken to camps in the desert and raped multiple times. Sometimes they are left naked by the side of the road. Sometimes their dead bodies are found, and occasionally enough clues to guess at the identity of the abductors/rapists.
Then there are the men that rape children. It can be within a family. It can be within a building. It can be within a neighborhood. Many times the child knows the rapist, and is told that if they say anything, the rapist will kill or harm the child’s parents. There was an epidemic of child rape in Hawali, and although the man arrested cries “I didn’t do it!” the fact is that the epidemic of rape in Hawali has stopped. That doesn’t mean that children aren’t being raped, it just means that the Hawali Monster seems to be off the streets of Hawali.
Objectively, if there can be said to be a “good” thing about rape in Kuwait, it is that so few of them are fatal.
What can, accurately, be said about Kuwait is that there seems to be a lot of rape. If you think I exaggerate, I challenge you to read the Kuwait papers every day for a month.
When there is a lot of rape, it means there is a social, legal and political climate that tolerates rape. It means that rape cases are not handled with a lot of attention to gathering evidence. It means that men and women are not encouraged to persue rape charges. It means that the police are not very interested in investigating accusations of rape. It means that the legal system is not very interested in prosecuting rape. It means that the rape victims are not valued highly enough to deserve not to be raped.
Rape happens everywhere. Rape happens in wars, rape happens on the streets. In most places, we are taught, rape isn’t about sex as much as it is about power. Here, in Kuwait, I am inclined to think it may be a little bit of both.
I’ve worked with rape victims in several different locations. Working with the victims gives you so much admiration for women, what they endure, what they survive, and their deeply ingrained sense of priorities and self. You’d think the experience would be devastating, but the women who have experienced rape and overcome it have been anything but devastated – many of them become truly awesome individuals, literally, awe-inspiring. They refuse to be victims. They carry on with their lives. They accomplish. They let their anger fuel and energize them to become incredibly accomplished individuals. It isn’t surprising – wealth and accomplishment also give you additional protection against it ever happening again.
There is another tragedy in Kuwait – male rapes. When men rape another men, like in prison, it is very much a power thing. Me big – you little. Me do what I want with you. Most of the victims I have met, or heard about are young teens. Being raped by a bigger, older male really skews their lives. They begin to question what it was about themself that got them raped, they question whether maybe they are gay and don’t know it, they ask, over and over – Why ME? Young men who were good at school start getting bad grades, they can’t concentrate, they often turn to drugs.
Being forced to have sex, whether you are man, woman, or child, is wrong. And doing nothing to stop this epidemic is also wrong. To look the other way is wrong. To say it isn’t happening is wrong. To become so used to it that your heart becomes calloused is just plain wrong.
I know most of the time my blog is a nice place to visit, and these entries make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I myself am so uncomfortable that, as Martin Luther said (only he said it in German) “I cannot other. God help me.”
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