Power of pen

Have you ever been caught without a pen? (No computer or other recording device either). I’m not talking about when you’re taking a test or filling out an application and you can ask the person next to you. I mean when you literally have no means to write.

Maybe you’re outside, see something interesting and want to write it down, maybe you want to remember something, you could be reading something and you want to take notes. Maybe you’re on an airplane or a train and want to journal your thoughts.

I’ve felt completely de-powered in these situations. In the luckier instances, I’ve resorted to using eyeliner, highlighters or anything I got my hands on, which could make marks I could hopefully read in the future–or at least, express myself in the moment. In these situations I’ve always felt surprised. Surprised at extent I’m distressed by my lack of ability to record.

What does writing mean to you?  How do you use the skill? To me it’s expressing my thoughts, a way for me to think “out-loud,” a way to sort things out, clear my mind, learn, communicate with others and myself, remember, keep records, schedule and manage my time, state opinions, respond to others, ask questions, create, etc. And then there’s reading, which especially with internet access, is access to knowledge.

In the U.S. and around the world,  millions cannot read and write. While there are many other ways to express oneself– think art, dance, talking, etc–not all are as peaceful and productive as having the ability to get ones thoughts out in writing. Think violence, vocal outbursts, etc.

In Afghanistan around 28 percent of the population is literate—out of women, only 12.6 percent. I just watched part of a Frontline piece about the U.S. operation there and in Pakistan. How would it be different if those people in villages in Afghanistan were blogging and reading online? Many likely have TVs, but it is not the same kind of power to actively seek and choose information and there is no feedback. No means to inject one’s own experiences and opinions.Increase cultural exchange, increase cross-cultural understanding….

 How many people around the world of all ages have some kind of online expression, whether a blog, twitter, Facebook, even professional communication sites such as linkedin.  Writing online, reading online, news online, inter-human connections online. People who cannot read and write cannot participate in this.

Another question, what is the internet like for non-English speakers? What about those who speak uncommon languages. To what extent is information available in different languages (barring government censorship of sites), are translations available and usable?….If Wikipedia is any clue, the numbers are drastically different with changes in tongue. Over 3,180,000 in English, with Dutch coming in second place, (can that be possible?) with over 1,019,000.

Just some thoughts to start the day. Please contribute yours!

What came before that smirk

Update 4/25/11- FYI I am removing the contents of this post due to the highly personal nature of the content.

Why do we think how we do? What shapes our lives?  What can we learn? The following is a series of anecdotes, which in part, explain how I have reached certain opinions. I have received a lot of personal criticism over the last few days. This is my response.

Thanks for reading!

Anti mobsuta?

We hopped off the bus, shaking away the 10 hour ride and the rush of our work in Cairo. We blinked our eyes as at the bright blue sky, sparkling sea,  and desert, which stretched into mountains and dunes everywhere the sea was not.

Two days earlier, when I mentioned to Susannah, a coworker at St. Andrews, that Dahab–a popular Sinai destination–was more touristy than I imagined, she invited me to come to her favorite camp along the Red Sea. It’s quiet and peaceful, she promised. I  already talked to the owner, Hani, and reserved two huts.

Eid, the feast and celebration, which follows Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, is a common time to break from work, reflect and often travel.

Now somewhere between Taba and Nuweiba, a mere 17 kilometers from Saudi Arabia, we walk along an empty desert road, looking for old tires marking the entrance to Hani’s Moonlight Camp. The occasional passing car seems dually jarring and foolishly trivial in the context of the desert.

Steph, our legal director at RLAP and Aos, a surgeon in Iraq, current RLAP’s psychosocial expert, filled the other two spots. I didn’t expect it to be like this, said Stephanie.

What did you expect? I asked.

I don’t know, but I’ve never seen a sea with no trees at all. Nothing but desert.

Aos, a former surgeon in Iraq and the head of our psychosocial department, smiled broadly. A veteran of the tourist haven Sharm-El Sheik, peace accompanied with the perfect aqua sea was new to him.

Moonlight camp, as promised, greeted us with tires by the road and a fading sign. Bags tossed aside, sitting under the reed roof of the common area, sipping welcome tea and eating breakfast, Hani, the owner, came to greet us. After breakfast we swam and fell asleep on the beach.

The meaning of time, the rush of the city and the urgency of our lives slowed. We were here. The time was solely ours. We had nowhere else to go, no internet was in reach, my cell phone rang-unanswered in m sandy straw hut.

We spent our days swimming, sleeping, eating, reading, studying Arabic, playing tawla/backgammon (Steph and Aos) and talking with each other, other guests and Hani.

There were about 20 other guests at the camp, ranging from Germans, Palestinians and Israelis. Sometime late in the afternoon Hani tracked us down and asked us what we wanted him to cook for our dinner.  The last two night everyone at the camp ate together, sitting on the floor at low tables.  Both nights the dish of choice was makhluba. A delicious array of rice, chicken spices and vegetables.

After dinner we relaxed around a fire on the beach. We drank sweet tea, told stories, asked questions and gnawed on hard figs, Hani swore were from Iraq.I fell asleep under the stars. The stars were prolific and more brilliant than I’ve seen since visiting Siwa, an oasis near Libya, last year.

Anti mobsuta? (Are you happy?) Hani would ask us, coming to chime in our discussion or join in a game of tawla.

Friends. A peaceful beach. A book and Arabic flash-cards. Food and a place to sleep. I was glad I forgot my iPod.

Ana mobsuta, ehna mubsuteen (I am happy, we are happy).

Simple, meaningful, often brushed over by the things we expect ourselves to want, busy schedules and commitments.

Antu mobsuteen? What will make you happy?

Our huts at 5:30 a.m.

I spent a lot of time staring at Saudi, contemplating how far 17 kilometers means. As an American I'm free to travel to most countries if I have the time and money. Saudi Arabia is one of the few places I wonder if I'll ever be permitted to enter.

Finally studying Arabic (picture by Stephanie)

Susannah and Stephanie meet Hani and Suleymon along the beach