Secret Asian Man- Who Wants Ice Cream?

Spent a long weekend with family, including a 7 and 10 year old, spending their first time in Jordan.  

After showing them around an Embassy and explaining why we were so well secured, because the American government does things that upset some people, we headed out into the desert.

And maybe because we’d unplugged them from electronic devices for a couple days and, and maybe because the desert is so gosh dang quiet, but little ears hear everything.

So, when one remarks about bombs falling in Syria, little ears perk up.

Child: “Wait. What? Bombs in Syria? Why?”

This is where explaining warfare gets hard.  As an adult we can make all sorts of justifications, but a kid’s world is much simpler. 

Adult: “Well, the US, Britain and France are bombing Syria because their president used poison gas on some of his own citizens. And they believe that’s cruel.”

Child: “Weren’t they bombing them before with regular bombs or starving them?”

Adult: “Yes. But, there is a belief that being gassed is an inhumane way to die?”

Child: “So, is it like a video game where if you use a special power and the other person doesn’t have it, it doesn’t make it fair?”

Adult: “Something like that….”  I sensed difficulty ahead in trying to explain a conflict I have a hard time understanding myself.  I felt like reverting to an age old trick, one that, as I thought about it, seems to happen way more than it should. 

“Hey kids! Who wants ice cream?”

Secret Asian Man: Speaking of School Safety.

Spawn of S.A.M graduated from an undisclosed school in Asia. It was a beautiful campus for 2000 kids or so. Rooftop water garden, covered amphitheater, snack bars, a couple sports fields, smoothie bar.

It was also a fortress. It's not just schools. Cars are searched before entering most shopping malls.  Metal detectors and frisking takes place at all the doors. Even IKEA!  Who hates the Swedes for God’s sake?

The school grounds had 20 foot fencing surrounded the place.  Topped with razor wire or spikes. There were two entrances for cars and people. Every car was searched on entry. Trunks were opened, mirrors were thrust underneath. Each and every car. Large metal gates and barriers raised and lowered all day long.

Classroom doors were all rated to stop an AK-47 round.  Whether they would stop two rounds was another question.

They painted the walls with bright colors and positive affirmations to disguise the fact that they were walls.

Guards were posted by the score at the entrance. Each equipped with a panic button. A few had guns. They all smiled at the kids. Maybe that was part of the training. Maybe the kids were just funny.

No one got in without a photo ID. There were checkpoints within the school. Cameras were pervasive. It would be hard to find a blind spot there.

Guns were restricted as they are in most countries. Getting a paintball gun required a permit. There were always more guards than the capacity of a magazine, in the hope that the last one standing could hit the panic button.

Prior to spawn’s attendance; someone did toss a grenade or pipe bomb over the wall one day. No one was hurt. They raised the wall by a foot or two.

That's how they harden schools abroad. It's a huge infrastructure investment . It's a huge labor cost.  One might even call it a jobs program.

“What's your profession?”  

“I'm a doorman and a target.”

How hard should the walls and doors be?  How many bullet stoppers can we afford?  

   

Schools can be protected. If there are no limits to resources, then the walls can be as high as you want them to be and the guards can out number the bullets. But if there are limits...

Secret Asian Man- Lumpy Old Dog

I developed a lump. This is not to alarm the reader. It is just part of the story.

I’ve actually had it for a while. A few years, really. Lately, though, it seemed to be a little bigger.  I’ve read stories and seen pictures of other peoples lumps that grew to the size of basketballs. They said they never noticed it.  Denial is such a powerful force.

I didn’t want to be that person, so I went to get it checked out.  This is my encounter with the medical system here.

I got a referral to a surgeon who spoke English and found the office. Because this office caters mostly to locals, though, all signage is in Arabic. There aren’t even Pictograms to guide you.  No photos of lungs or intestines or scalpels. In a small cramped hallway with four Arabic-scripted doors, I chose door number 3.  Success!

“You’re the American.  Please, come in.”  The Receptionist spoke terrific English.

They handed me a form to complete, entirely in Arabic.  “‘I’m gonna need some help with this.”

“That’s okay.  We will help you”  It looked pretty daunting, there were some 20 or 30 blanks on the form. “First, what is your name?”  I entered it.

“What is your phone number? I wrote it in.

Then they pointed to the bottom of the sheet and asked, “How many children do you have?”

“Really?”

She nodded, so I entered a response and then she said, “Okay. Thank you. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

I looked at the rest of the form.  I imagined, it asked for my address, or emergency contact info or drug allergies or family history.  But, they didn’t need any of that. Just name, phone and number of children.

I saw the doc within 45 seconds of opening an Arabic MotorCar Magazine. He took me back to his office. I told him briefly about my lump.  He walked me across the hall. I exposed my lump.  He felt around. “ I think you’re gonna be okay, but let’s take a look under ultrasound.”

So, he traipsed me, half clothed, down the hall to a third room, slapped on some goo and his magic wand and pointed to the flat screen on the wall. He showed me this and that.

“I wouldn’t do anything unless it starts to hurt, or unless you start to worry about it. And, I would encourage you not to start worrying about it.”

I got dressed and said, “Some dogs grow lumps when they get old.  I guess, I’m becoming a lumpy old dog.”

He laughed.  “I guess so.  Have a good day!”

  

I asked for his bill, since I’d taken up 15 minutes of his time and soiled two exam rooms.  He just waved and smiled.

I hope he doesn’t come for my children.

S.A.M- Happy New Year

Happy New Year!

After several months and some fits and starts, I’m trying to get back in the groove. I feel I haven’t really related what life in Jordan is like and I hope to make it up this year. And I will.

I thought a lot today about what to start off with, but it really came down to missing my kids. We had two fun weeks and after going months without seeing them, it was great to have their energy and presence, their humour and personality back in our lives for a while.

The cookies get eaten a lot faster.  The hot water goes quicker, too. After they depart and sheets are changed, the echoes of our laughter and conversation remain. I pick the stale candy off the gingerbread houses and think about each spawn’s theme and architectural design.  They are certainly unique in their own way.  

It’s nice to see them grow up.  It’s nice to see them make mistakes and plans.  And it’s nice to look forward to when we can spend some time again.  

I mentioned my laxity in keeping up with this blog to my son. He, a budding writer, proposed that we keep each other motivated by supporting each other.  We gave ourselves deadlines and we’ll aim to keep each other honest.  He’s got a Tuesday deadline. Mine’s Friday.

So, look forward to entries on the ins and outs of Arab banking, or a brief foray into the Jordanian medical system to come.  Or whatever else, I can come up with.

In the meantime, you may also want follow along on his blog as well.  You can find it at….

https://notsosecret3.blogspot.com

Until next week…. Massalameh!

Momma Jockeys

I've talked of traffic lots.  Jakarta traffic jams are the worst in the world, based on the number of times drivers apply the brakes over a given distance.

The whole of traffic allows for a good look at economics. I'm sure there must be some theory that can be applied. But, here's how I see it.  

Jakarta has a burgeoning middle class. It's growing by leaps and bounds. There are millions of newly moneyed and they all want. Want. Want. Cars are a big status symbol.  It's what they see on tv and in the movies, so they aspire to having a car, or three or four.  Cars are also a way to get around in a place with chaotically poor mass transit.

If you can't  have a car, you still need to get around, so many families opt for a motor bike. 2900 new motorbikes hit the roads here each day. The government, in an effort to keep the economy turning makes low interest rate loans available to consumers so they can buy cars and motor bikes.  It also subsidizes fuel for all.  

In addition to the lack of mass transport, there is an abysmal lack of good roads.  There are only a few main thoroughfares and access on or off them is a choke point issue.

So despite subsidizing an auto culture, the government admits there are too many cars on the roads. 10 years or so, it put in place laws to promote carpooling. It required 3 passengers in a car during 7 of the busiest hours of the day. The fines were pretty substantial for the everyday Indonesian,  perhaps 50 dollars or so.  

It's left to the police to enforce the laws. Law enforcement though is not a well paying job if you rely on your salary alone. So it seems the police used carpool violations as a means to make money. Pulling over cars and checking for passengers.  You can either pay the full fine downtown, or pay the lower “fine” right there on the spot and go about your business. What happens? People pay the lower fine and drive wherever they want.

Enter the 3-in-1 jockeys. These entrepreneurial Indonesians, sensing a money making opportunity stepped in and organically grew a system whereby people rent themselves out as passengers so drivers can skirt the rules and get where they want.  Jockeys sometimes earn 15 bucks a day just sitting in other people's cars for a while.  They've got regular clientele and everything.

Once every so often the police sense some encroachment on their fines and so move into clear the streets of the jockeys who scatter into the slums.  Some who are caught are put in detention for a few days, but they're back at it soon after promising not to do it again.  

The rule is 3 people per car, so if you're driving alone you have to pick up two strangers.  Jakarta mothers found a further advantage.  If they rode along with their toddlers, the drivers got 2 people in the car for around the price of one.  

So, every morning and afternoon, you see moms with toddlers strapped to their waists hustling for a ride. The kids, though, are always sleeping, slumped over on moms shoulders. All very docile.  No one, it seems, wants a noisy kid sitting in traffic, so moms are alleged to drug the kids, so they stay quiet during rush hour.  

Now some mothers struggle.  It's hard to run a household while sitting in traffic earning a living. So, they've got a drugged kid and a house to keep, why not just rent out the kid and let someone else sit.  

This is apparently where the line is drawn.  It was found out that this was going on and then confirmed that these kids were being sedated and possibly put in danger. The whole thing racket has fallen apart.

The government, now seeing that it's future citizens are at risk, decided to do something. Not by removing children from moms who rent them out, not by restricting the sales of narcotics, but by ceasing the carpool laws.

Police are up in arms because they worry the roads can't handle the traffic.  Everyone thinks what they're really worried about is the loss of their revenue stream. There is worry that they may tie up traffic just to prove a point

The jockeys lament the reduction of income. Many of them have nothing else to do that can earn 15 dollars in a day.

We all lament the potential increase in traffic.

The children, though, should come out ahead. They may wake up and be able to experience the world. Perhaps they'll learn to read or think or play or scheme up some new ways to make the money.