Today I read my blogger-friend Bridget's blog (I've never actually met her, but last week I had a dream that I finally did--does that count?) and found about what happened to Lara Logan in Cairo in the wake of the protests.
I really appreciated Bridget's blog post about her own experience in the Middle East, and since I don't think I can write about my own experiences in the Middle East quite yet (it still makes me too angry), I think Bridget did a wonderful job of explaining many of the problems that come with being an American woman in the Middle East. You can read her blog post here.
And, as an additional note, there is an article from NPR discussing harassment of women in the Middle East (both native and foreign), in the wake of Logan's attack. You can find the article here and another article and recording here.
2.14.2011
Valentine's Day Elevator
Today I got in an elevator in the library, hoping to go from the 5th floor to the 3rd floor. I was unpleasantly surprised when, a few short seconds after the doors closed, there was a grinding sound and a quick drop (during which time my stomach flew up to my mouth), and then the elevator jerked to a halt in between floors 4 and 5. At least, I think it was between 4 and 5. The doors wouldn't open and the elevator was just sitting there. After my stomach dropped back to its usual place and I realized I was stuck, I calmly pushed the 3rd floor button repeatedly, figuring that this was the best way to get the elevator to move (and not fall all the way to floor 1).
I guess it must have worked, because after about 30 seconds (I was just about to call the operator!) the elevator started moving again and stopped on the 3rd floor. I was unpleasantly surprised a second time when, after a valiant struggle, the doors opened about 3 inches and stayed there. I pushed the "door open" button repeatedly and then tried to pry the doors apart by hand (which tactic has worked every other time I have been stuck in/outside of an elevator), but once again, it was to no avail. The doors closed and I was once again stuck inside the elevator.
Thankfully someone pushed the elevator button on the 6th floor before I called the operator, so I just rode it up and then back down to the third floor. This time the doors were sluggish, but they did open wide enough for me to squeeze through.
As I reflected on this incident, I realized that the elevators must be programmed to respond to certain holidays. Since today was Valentine's day, the elevator was most likely giving the guys a chance. I mean, what could be more romantic than getting stuck in an elevator with a guy after you have almost dropped to your death and then the doors don't open? It sounds like destiny on so many levels.
The only problem though? I was alone.
I guess it must have worked, because after about 30 seconds (I was just about to call the operator!) the elevator started moving again and stopped on the 3rd floor. I was unpleasantly surprised a second time when, after a valiant struggle, the doors opened about 3 inches and stayed there. I pushed the "door open" button repeatedly and then tried to pry the doors apart by hand (which tactic has worked every other time I have been stuck in/outside of an elevator), but once again, it was to no avail. The doors closed and I was once again stuck inside the elevator.
Thankfully someone pushed the elevator button on the 6th floor before I called the operator, so I just rode it up and then back down to the third floor. This time the doors were sluggish, but they did open wide enough for me to squeeze through.
As I reflected on this incident, I realized that the elevators must be programmed to respond to certain holidays. Since today was Valentine's day, the elevator was most likely giving the guys a chance. I mean, what could be more romantic than getting stuck in an elevator with a guy after you have almost dropped to your death and then the doors don't open? It sounds like destiny on so many levels.
The only problem though? I was alone.
2.11.2011
Cheese
I recently decided that in order to ease my financial burden (at least partially), I could no longer buy cheese. It's just too expensive.
But I love cheese. Especially toasted cheese sandwiches. And so my body has been going through withdrawal for the last few weeks. I think about cheese all the time.
*Sigh*
The other night, I came home from campus and I was starving. If I had cheese, I would have made myself a toasted cheese sandwich. But I didn't. I was out of strawberry jam, too, and I just bought peanut butter last week but it was disgusting. It tastes like the peanut butter in Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, and I don't like Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.
You see the problem.
No cheese. No (edible) peanut butter. No jam. No frozen dinners (which are almost as expensive as cheese). Actually, in an effort to ease my financial burden, I have cut back on everything except cereal and fruit snacks--and food storage.
I realized I only had one option. I opened my cupboard to see what random assortment of cans I had in there that I could throw together to make something edible.
Canned salmon. Pineapple chunks. Garbanzo beans. All things that are great with cheese, but not so great together.
But then I saw the ramen. Ramen + Kidney Beans + Corn + Tomato Paste = dinner.
But I love cheese. Especially toasted cheese sandwiches. And so my body has been going through withdrawal for the last few weeks. I think about cheese all the time.
*Sigh*
The other night, I came home from campus and I was starving. If I had cheese, I would have made myself a toasted cheese sandwich. But I didn't. I was out of strawberry jam, too, and I just bought peanut butter last week but it was disgusting. It tastes like the peanut butter in Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, and I don't like Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.
You see the problem.
No cheese. No (edible) peanut butter. No jam. No frozen dinners (which are almost as expensive as cheese). Actually, in an effort to ease my financial burden, I have cut back on everything except cereal and fruit snacks--and food storage.
I realized I only had one option. I opened my cupboard to see what random assortment of cans I had in there that I could throw together to make something edible.
Canned salmon. Pineapple chunks. Garbanzo beans. All things that are great with cheese, but not so great together.
But then I saw the ramen. Ramen + Kidney Beans + Corn + Tomato Paste = dinner.
Doesn't it look delicious? My roommate was almost jealous of my delectable dinner, but she had made her own dinner of Thai food. I decided I wanted to eat international food, too, so I ate this with chopsticks.
Everything tastes better with chopsticks.
2.08.2011
Egypt
I've been thinking for a long time how to blog about the events in Egypt. Because, even though I never lived there, I lived right next door for 8 months and I went there twice. It's like hearing that your neighbor's house from that place you lived last year is burning down. Or maybe, that they are remodeling and somehow, when the wrecking crane came in, it knocked down the gas line that unfortunately hadn't been turned off, and then it started a fire and the house has been burning for hours, and the neighbors (including those in your old home) are afraid that their homes will catch on fire too.
Yeah. I don't know if that analogy worked, but that is kind of how it is for me.
Not to mention that I have some friends currently living in Egypt, and I kind of worry about them, even the ones that have already left the country.
When I first heard about the protests, I was excited for the Egyptian people. Whether there are better options or not, and whether Mubarak has done good things for their country or not, it was exciting to see Arabs uniting to bring about change in governmental policy. There are so many things that could be changed--especially when 40% of the country lives below the poverty level of earning $2 a day (even in my poorest minutes I spend more than $2 a day!).
As the protests continued mostly peaceful, my excitement grew. Other Arab countries were noticing and doing things to effect changes in their own governments, and it seemed like Egypt would be a model for a peaceful change to democracy. I almost got a Twitter account, just so I could keep up with the action like the rest of the world.
Of course, when the pro-Mubarak protesters charged in with camels and machetes, all of that changed. With the rest of the world, I watched in horror as the protests turned violent and people strated getting seriously wounded and dying. Horrific images and videos showed up on youtube, and then journalists started getting harrassed, beaten, and arrested.
Now that it has been several days since I started writing this post, the protests have become mostly peaceful again. The people in the square seem to have no intention of leaving anytime soon, and several concessions have already been made in government structure and wages. It seems like perhaps once again this can be an exciting day for Egypt. Perhaps the horrors of watching Egyptians fighting Egyptians (with molotov cocktails and rocks, no less) will help the other Arab nations to keep things relatively peaceful as they, too, are demanding change. And perhaps the Western countries will be able to breathe a sigh of relief when change happens and they can still buy oil for acceptable prices. Because really, isn't this struggle about the American economy, anyway? (please excuse my sarcastic tone here.)
Anyway, here are a few very helpful links if you are just jumping onto the Egypt protests news:
Sherwood Family Blog: Her husband works for the embassy in Egypt. She and her children were evacuated. She posted several of her journal entries from when the fighting broke out. This one is a very personal, and heart-wrenching, look at what it was like to be there.
Al Jazeera English: Yes, their station hasn't been available in America because it is driven by an agenda that is quite different than American news stations (and American government policy). But let's admit it, they really do have the best coverage of what is going on in Egypt. And, they can actually pronounce the Arab names of cities and people, which is always a plus.
Google Crisis Response: Did you know that google has launched a crisis response page? What will they think of next?
Yeah. I don't know if that analogy worked, but that is kind of how it is for me.
Not to mention that I have some friends currently living in Egypt, and I kind of worry about them, even the ones that have already left the country.
When I first heard about the protests, I was excited for the Egyptian people. Whether there are better options or not, and whether Mubarak has done good things for their country or not, it was exciting to see Arabs uniting to bring about change in governmental policy. There are so many things that could be changed--especially when 40% of the country lives below the poverty level of earning $2 a day (even in my poorest minutes I spend more than $2 a day!).
As the protests continued mostly peaceful, my excitement grew. Other Arab countries were noticing and doing things to effect changes in their own governments, and it seemed like Egypt would be a model for a peaceful change to democracy. I almost got a Twitter account, just so I could keep up with the action like the rest of the world.
Of course, when the pro-Mubarak protesters charged in with camels and machetes, all of that changed. With the rest of the world, I watched in horror as the protests turned violent and people strated getting seriously wounded and dying. Horrific images and videos showed up on youtube, and then journalists started getting harrassed, beaten, and arrested.
Now that it has been several days since I started writing this post, the protests have become mostly peaceful again. The people in the square seem to have no intention of leaving anytime soon, and several concessions have already been made in government structure and wages. It seems like perhaps once again this can be an exciting day for Egypt. Perhaps the horrors of watching Egyptians fighting Egyptians (with molotov cocktails and rocks, no less) will help the other Arab nations to keep things relatively peaceful as they, too, are demanding change. And perhaps the Western countries will be able to breathe a sigh of relief when change happens and they can still buy oil for acceptable prices. Because really, isn't this struggle about the American economy, anyway? (please excuse my sarcastic tone here.)
Anyway, here are a few very helpful links if you are just jumping onto the Egypt protests news:
Sherwood Family Blog: Her husband works for the embassy in Egypt. She and her children were evacuated. She posted several of her journal entries from when the fighting broke out. This one is a very personal, and heart-wrenching, look at what it was like to be there.
Al Jazeera English: Yes, their station hasn't been available in America because it is driven by an agenda that is quite different than American news stations (and American government policy). But let's admit it, they really do have the best coverage of what is going on in Egypt. And, they can actually pronounce the Arab names of cities and people, which is always a plus.
Google Crisis Response: Did you know that google has launched a crisis response page? What will they think of next?
2.04.2011
Freezing
It's cold!!
1.16.2011
Christmas: Nativities
So this Christmas my sister Kaitlyn gave my other sister an adorable Christmas Nativity advent calendar. She made it herself. Isn't it adorable?
Anyway, it made me start thinking about (and taking pictures of) nativities. My mom likes to collect nativities, and she has quite a variety.
My mother's sister once made her an adorable nativity featuring our family acting out the scene (with dogs and two children borrowed from her family). The scene she caught was one of my youngest sister climbing into the manger with my little brother while everyone reacted in ways that expressed quite well their personalities.
My mother is struggling from her kneeling position to do something about it.
My father, having just closed the Bible, is completely oblivious.
The one with the blue nails is me: "I wish I could help, but it would mess up my nails!"
My sister is rushing in to stop it.
My brother is just holding his head in despair.
My other two sisters sit on and watch with bemused expressions, while my two cousins peek out from under the cow.
Then, we have the classic nativities. First, the olive wood, carved, of course, by my good friend Omar in Jerusalem.
You can tell that he lives in the Middle East because he carved 3 camels for the three wise men, instead of the one "representative" camel that is in most nativities. He knows that three men can't share one camel!
Then you have the cutsey nativities.
And, the faceless nativities.
And then you have what I affectionately call "European Middle-Eastern," meaning European artists who did their best to make the nativities look Middle Eastern, but their features still look like they could fit right in in the hills of Germany.
This last picture is my favorite of all the nativities. Can you imagine riding a camel like this for weeks or months?
Anyway, it made me start thinking about (and taking pictures of) nativities. My mom likes to collect nativities, and she has quite a variety.
My mother's sister once made her an adorable nativity featuring our family acting out the scene (with dogs and two children borrowed from her family). The scene she caught was one of my youngest sister climbing into the manger with my little brother while everyone reacted in ways that expressed quite well their personalities.
My father, having just closed the Bible, is completely oblivious.
The one with the blue nails is me: "I wish I could help, but it would mess up my nails!"
My sister is rushing in to stop it.
My brother is just holding his head in despair.
Then, we have the classic nativities. First, the olive wood, carved, of course, by my good friend Omar in Jerusalem.
You can tell that he lives in the Middle East because he carved 3 camels for the three wise men, instead of the one "representative" camel that is in most nativities. He knows that three men can't share one camel!
Then you have the cutsey nativities.
And, the faceless nativities.
And then you have what I affectionately call "European Middle-Eastern," meaning European artists who did their best to make the nativities look Middle Eastern, but their features still look like they could fit right in in the hills of Germany.
This last picture is my favorite of all the nativities. Can you imagine riding a camel like this for weeks or months?
1.15.2011
Leftover Guilt
Today I was walking back to my car after spending a delightful time in the library. I really do like spending time in the library--perhaps a little too much, because they tried to charge me rent there once last semester. They said there was a 12 hour limit/day/student, and I had passed that 28 times so far Fall semester. So I switched to another building to study.
Anyway, since this is a new semester, I guess the rent-thing doesn't apply anymore. But I digress. I was walking back to my car and I saw a police car parked right next to it. And I suddenly panicked. Had I parked illegally? Was my car dripping large amounts of oil or anti-freeze? My mind quickly scanned everything I had done in the last 48 hours to see if my sudden guilt and fear had any foundation. As I drew closer to my car, I saw, much to my relief, that the police car was actually parked next to the car right next to my car, not next to my car, and the police was talking to a guy (presumably the owner of the car) who was holding a flashlight and looking in the windows.
I quickly got in my car and drove away before they could question me about whatever was going on with the guy's car. After all, being parked right next to him, I was a likely suspect.
As I drove away, I started to think about what has caused this unnatural fear of the police--because actually, every time I see the police I feel a little twinge of fear. Skipping over the fact that I speed perhaps more than once a year and ignoring the many books I have read about militaristic-type governments in the Middle East and Nazi Germany, I finally realized that this fear began when I was a young child.
I was 5 or 6 and we had gone on an extended-family camping trip reunion up Provo Canyon, as I recall. The reunion was fun, as I recall, and I got to play with my cousins and do other camping things, like slide down a muddy hill and eat dutch oven cooking. As we were packing up, I had found some beautiful wildflowers (which looked like weeds to an adult but violets to a small child) and picked a few of them to take home as a memento of the trip.
After I picked them, I continued walking along the trail, waiting for the rest of the family. It was then that I saw, to my horror, a sign that said something along the lines of, "It is illegal to pick the wildflowers."
Illegal?! I had just broken the law!! I looked down at the already-wilting purple flowers, the evidence of my criminal act clutched in my tiny fist. I panicked. I went and hid in the car, or something else very grown-up like, while I waited for my parents. On the ride home, I felt sure that the police would be waiting at my house with a warrant for my arrest.
I seem to recall that I asked my parents about the legal state of one who has picked flowers from a national park, but whatever they said did little to allay my fears. I resigned myself to life as a criminal.
Well, the police weren't there when we got home. They didn't come all that night, and I think by the next morning I had thrown away the "evidence" (my flowers) and moved on with my life.
But apparently the guilt is still there, and I don't think I will be surprised at all to run into the police one day and have them say, "Breanne? We have been informed that you picked wildflowers at a national park when you were 5. Please come with us..."
Anyway, since this is a new semester, I guess the rent-thing doesn't apply anymore. But I digress. I was walking back to my car and I saw a police car parked right next to it. And I suddenly panicked. Had I parked illegally? Was my car dripping large amounts of oil or anti-freeze? My mind quickly scanned everything I had done in the last 48 hours to see if my sudden guilt and fear had any foundation. As I drew closer to my car, I saw, much to my relief, that the police car was actually parked next to the car right next to my car, not next to my car, and the police was talking to a guy (presumably the owner of the car) who was holding a flashlight and looking in the windows.
I quickly got in my car and drove away before they could question me about whatever was going on with the guy's car. After all, being parked right next to him, I was a likely suspect.
As I drove away, I started to think about what has caused this unnatural fear of the police--because actually, every time I see the police I feel a little twinge of fear. Skipping over the fact that I speed perhaps more than once a year and ignoring the many books I have read about militaristic-type governments in the Middle East and Nazi Germany, I finally realized that this fear began when I was a young child.
I was 5 or 6 and we had gone on an extended-family camping trip reunion up Provo Canyon, as I recall. The reunion was fun, as I recall, and I got to play with my cousins and do other camping things, like slide down a muddy hill and eat dutch oven cooking. As we were packing up, I had found some beautiful wildflowers (which looked like weeds to an adult but violets to a small child) and picked a few of them to take home as a memento of the trip.
After I picked them, I continued walking along the trail, waiting for the rest of the family. It was then that I saw, to my horror, a sign that said something along the lines of, "It is illegal to pick the wildflowers."
 |
| (This one is from Israel. I didn't have any pictures from Provo.) |
Illegal?! I had just broken the law!! I looked down at the already-wilting purple flowers, the evidence of my criminal act clutched in my tiny fist. I panicked. I went and hid in the car, or something else very grown-up like, while I waited for my parents. On the ride home, I felt sure that the police would be waiting at my house with a warrant for my arrest.
I seem to recall that I asked my parents about the legal state of one who has picked flowers from a national park, but whatever they said did little to allay my fears. I resigned myself to life as a criminal.
Well, the police weren't there when we got home. They didn't come all that night, and I think by the next morning I had thrown away the "evidence" (my flowers) and moved on with my life.
But apparently the guilt is still there, and I don't think I will be surprised at all to run into the police one day and have them say, "Breanne? We have been informed that you picked wildflowers at a national park when you were 5. Please come with us..."
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