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.
Ramadan Supplies
Oh! It’s a perfect day to be out shopping. Stores are putting out all the special Ramadan things – and now is the time you can find all the things that have been missing all summer. It’s a lush, wealthy time, anticipating the joys of the coming month of Ramadan.
And look what I found! Straight from the Street of Lanterns?
No! Made in China!
Kuwait For Kuwaitis
Today, two Indian gentlemen passed me on the Gulf Road and ended up in front of me at the next stoplight. They gave me a good laugh:
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.”
One Year Today
(Photo above from a very cool website called Coolest Birthday Cakes.Com. Oops, no, it is not the 50th anniversary of this blog, only the 1st, but I love the cake!)
One year ago today, I gathered up every fragment of courage I could find and joined the blogging world. You can’t imagine how nervous I was. I had a lot to learn about WordPress to start, it was a steep learning curve.
I had done my homework. When moving to Kuwait, I discovered the information-rich world of blogs, and while trying to figure out what life in Kuwait might be like, also discovered several women bloggers I really liked: The Queen of Kuwaiti Bloggers Jewaira, a highly literate and often cleverly funny Alflaila / Zin / 1001 Nights, and a bravly funny MiYaFuSHi. Ladies, what I liked the very best about your blogs was that when I would go to the comments sections, I would learn all kinds of things, things I didn’t even know I didn’t know!
And the men – Don Veto(he has a sharp eye for inconsistencies), Hilaliya a Third Culture Kid with an entertainment/political/social issues blog, Skunk who talks about money and culture with irreverance and wit and enormous insight, and of course Purg whom I found scarily intimidating until I found out he was a sweetie-pie. There was also Gastronomica / the Equalizer who used to write lyrical and beautiful posts, but who opened his own restaurant and doesn’t seem to blog anymore.
Thank you all – you inspired me and helped me have the courage to jump in.
Zin, you most of all. I remember a post where you asked if you should even continue, that you knew there were a lot of viewers, but few responses, and boom! you got all kinds of responses! When you blog, you kind of put yourself out there, and that can be a little scary. You were an inspiration to me.
Thank you all, old friends and new, for making me so welcome. One year later, I feel like I have a whole new world of virtual friends. 🙂
When I started blogging, my niece, Little Diamond, was a frequent visitor, and just one short month later, she also started blogging. Then my nephew Earthling blogged for a while on the Google campus and the food there. My sister, Sparkle also blogs sporadically. And, just so you know, my Mom reads the blog, so I am very careful about language!
I hope you are having as much fun with Here, There and Everywhere as I am. I love the times you jump in and give me the information I need to answer those useless questions that buzz around in my head, like with the Yemeni Star. Now I know something new! I love it!
The only bad surprises I have had were the occasional nasty comment and the garbage bins full of spam. I have to go through the spam, and I try to do it quickly, to make sure good comments don’t get lost, but oh, what horrid stuff there is out there, and I am offended they would want to put it on MY blog. It makes my skin crawl!
As for the occasional nasty or aggressive comment – mostly, I let them stand. I figure it tells you more about the mentality of the commenter than anything about my blog. Some people just carry a lot of baggage, more to be pitied than condemned.
Thank you. My time here in Kuwait is so much richer for knowing you through your blogs, and for the good and bad times we share.
Yemeni Star
I give up.
I am throwing myself on your mercy.
A week ago, Adventure Man heard a morning radio show on 99.7, “Superstation”, in which a meteorologist at the Kuwait Airport mentioned a particular star, which when it appears above the horizon in Kuwait, the ancient inhabitants would know that cooler temperatures were on the way.
Adventure Man is sure he called it The Yemeni Star, because it appeared over the horizon in the general direction of Yemen.
I’ve google’d it to death and can’t find anything. I called in the superstar Googler, Little Diamond and even she had to admit defeat.
Kuwaiti friends and bloggers – please, ask your elders if they know of the Yemeni Star. I think the weatherman said it was the nomadic peoples who would watch for it. I am guessing that in Kuwait, there are few nomads left, but a great number of descendants of nomadic peoples. Or, if you have an astronomer, or weather person in your family, could you ask them?
I don’t know why it matters to me, but it does.
The Big Test
Sure, having a three day weekend is a GREAT way to introduce a change . . . kind of like “let them eat cake!” But today and tomorrow are the real tests. Today is the first day that is not a half day off / beginning of weekend, and tomorrow is a WORKING Thursday for Kuwaitis – let the grumbling begin!
Change is always disruptive. A year from now, it will all be comfortable, but it will take some time to get used to the new way of doing things. Businesses who deal with the outside world will have more days in common. I believe that Saudi Arabia and Oman are the only ones still on the Thursday – Friday weekend.
In truth, it has no effect on us. Adventure Man takes Friday for his day off and works the other six days – nothing changes. When he is around, I drop my work and spend time with him.
But this weekend is going to be the BIG adjustment.
(For my non-Kuwait friends, we have had a serious drop in temperatures – at 8 in the morning, it is only 88°, not the 100 degrees of earlier in the week. The expected high for today, though is a cool Fall September 114° F/ 46° C.)
DementoCat
OK, OK, No more after a while, just this one last one. Yesterday, as I was uploading the photo of the Qatteri Cat and his babies, he was zonked out on the couch, and dreaming.
With his eyes partially open, but totally out, little paws going, mouth going, making those inarticulate sounds we make when we are in the middle of a very active dream . . .
And he looked so funny! I promise, I promise, this is the last one for a while:
Thank God Adventure Man doesn’t have a blog! I don’t want any photos me me, when I am having a bad dream!
Think I should submit it to I Can Has Cheeseburger? I know it is not socially relevant, but I love this site. At least one caption gives me a laugh-out-loud, a great way to start the day.
Big Red
Adventure Man and I have an agreement. We leave each other’s lives alone. Like I don’t try to tell him how he should work (I do try to tell him how to drive, or how not to drive, he hates it and I can’t help it; I don’t want to die!) and he doesn’t tell me how to run the house (but he does make “helpful suggestions”, he can’t help it.) We cut each other a lot of slack – it’s the only way you can stay married for a long time.
He monitors my blog closely. I don’t mind, he is like my personal security agency, making sure I don’t tell you too much about myself. I know he is protecting us and I honor that. It also helps me to think about what I am writing as I write – he has never asked me to change anything, but the awareness that he is watching helps me remember to be careful.
But I draw the line at him telling me what to blog. Here is what I say:
GET YOUR OWN BLOG, ADVENTURE MAN!
Yesterday he brought me some Big Red, with a complaint and with a compliment. Many of us in our family are addicted to Big Red, a cinnamon chewing gum. I like it because I drink coffee, and coffee can make your breath bad. Adventure Man just likes it because he likes it.
“This Big Red is not the same!” he complained. “It tastes wrong!”
I tasted it and I thought it tasted normal, but I have been buying Big Red here for a while and maybe my “normal” has gotten skewed.
“And look!” he said, triumphantly “Big Red is supposed to be RED!”
And he was right – this Big Red is WHITE?? How can that be??
But here is the compliment – look what is printed on each individual gum wrapper. (You have to read it from left to right!)
Pretty cool, huh? And this blog entry is for you, Adventure Man.
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