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Month: March 2011

Don’t Believe the Hype

Don’t Believe the Hype

Y’all. The protests that have been happening around the Middle East are with good reason. Mostly.

A lot of media outlets – CNN, NYtimes, Fox, etc. have been grouping Oman in with the rest of the Middle Eastern countries that have experienced protests. Although they don’t overtly say it, they promote the image of these Omani protesters as fighting for freedom against an all powerful monarch.

Don’t believe the hype.

Some of the protesters demands are legitimate – Oman does have problems with nepotism and corruption – but some of their demands are so outlandish that they wouldn’t fly in any country.

Cancelling all loans? Top-level jobs for college dropouts?

Many of these protesters are little more than 20-something year olds, too big for their britches, who have grown up in a society where the government gives you food, builds you a house, gives you medical care, doesn’t make you pay much tax, and generally helps you far more than most governments ever could. Now in the face of very tame problems, coupled with the happenings around the region – they have decided that this government is now intolerable.

Now some of the protesters are well educated people with very concise, fair, and legitimate demands. Corruption and nepotism is a pervasive problem throughout the Gulf that must be dealt with, and a codified constitution can never hurt either. But the notion that burning down supermarkets, torching cars, vandalizing property, harassing passers by, and looting (seriously – looting isn’t even a form of protest, it’s just stealing stuff!) are justified is totally unfounded. Don’t compare rambunctious Omani youth with the freedom fighters of Libya or Tunisia – it’s not the same. Don’t believe the hype.

Bedtime Story Becomes Reality

Bedtime Story Becomes Reality

The bedtime story is an event which occurs nightly in the bedrooms of most little girls with their mom or dad at their side and a stuffed bunny in their lap.  Most revolve around a princess in a pink gown or a unicorn in the sky, but my mom rarely pulled out the legend of the prince who saved the day. Instead, I remember her telling me about the year she left small town Minnesota and moved to Bogota, Colombia where her life was forever changed.  Ever since those stories were implanted in my mind Colombia has always been one of those places I knew I had to visit.  So, when the idea came up of taking a 10 day trip there while sitting around a campfire on the beach in Puntarenas, Costa Rica with 2 new friends I realized it would finally happen.

So two weeks ago as the school week ended and our spring break began my friend Katelyn and I sat in my room and packed our small school backpacks with enough clothes, toiletries and bug spray to last 10 days and left with our friend Eric to Colombia.  Our flight from San Jose to Cartagena, Colombia was painless and when we got out off the plane I was approached by a young Brazilian woman name Flora who asked if we could split a cab into the city.  From that cab ride on Flora stayed with us almost the entire trip and I am so glad we met her because not only was she well traveled and educated with tons of good stories, she was so much fun to go out dancing with and reminded me so much of my Brazilian sister Tati!

The only way I can explain Cartagena is a city that resembles Sevilla, Spain in the center and Miami, Florida on the outside.  The center of the city is completely enclosed in old fortress walls and inside the architecture is amazing with colorful colonial homes, narrow cobblestone streets, Spanish style Cathedrals, and horse carriages.  Beyond the city walls the city is adorned with white skyscrapers along the Caribbean coast.  We spent the majority of time in Cartagena riding bikes around the city, cooking in the hostel, taking pictures at sunset, and going dancing with the people we met in the hostel from all around the world.

After one day and a half in Cartagena we departed for Santa Marta for one night.  The city of Santa Marta has a lot more to offer on the weekend but because we were there on a Sunday the feel was pretty relaxed.  We walked along the boardwalk and ate dinner at an outside cafe.  The next morning we went to Taganga, a small fishing village on the Caribbean Sea inside a cove which was so beautiful.  Katelyn, Flora and I got a hotel room in the town and found a secluded beach for some sunbathing until sunset.  Then, we got ready for the night and went out to a restaurant for some authentic Colombian seafood fresh from the sea.

The next day Flor, Katelyn and I woke up and decided we would go meet Eric (an avid surfer from California) at a surf camp he had ventured to earlier in the week.  The surf camp was amazing to say the least.  It was located on a piece of land sold a few years ago from a para military group to a pair of Canadian brothers.  Because most of the land has remained unsold the beach we were on was deserted for miles.  All the surf camp consisted of was a few hammocks tied to palm trees, 2 outside showers, 2 outside toilets, a picnic table, a thatched roof kitchen, and a storage of surfboards.  The camp was called Costeno Beach and there were only 12 of us or so there, all backpackers from all around the world.  It felt so amazing to be one of the only people on a deserted beach as far as the eye could see.  We went swimming in a fresh water river, cooked and ate communal meals together, had a campfire on the beach, slept in hammocks, awoke to the sunrise, and Eric even taught me how to surf! The main mode of transportation was a two seater bike that could conveniently carry surf boards on the top, holler monkeys were used as the morning alarm clock, and Mario the beloved dog was the only form of security.

After a 2 days in secluded paradise we decided it was time to go inland.  We said a sad goodbye to our Brazilian friend Flora and picked up a Canadian amigo Loren who came with us to Medellin.  The road to Medellin takes 14 hours from the North coast so we opted to take an overnight bus to save some time and money.  The bus went through the mountains and the mix of high altitude as well as a blasting air conditioner made me wish I had my North Face down jacket.  It felt so good to step off the freezing bus in the morning and breath in warm, fresh air of Medellin.

Medellin is a Colombian city notoriously known for the former violence and control imposed by drug lord Pablo Escobar.  However, today the city is peaceful and I enjoyed it very much.  The city lies in a valley but as the population has grown more and more communities have grown up the mountain.  We took a metro cable car to the very top of the mountain that overlooks the city and it seemed as though it would never end.  Also, most of the homes are an orange-ish, tan-ish color so the view from the top looks like a sea of brick.  Also, while in Medellin we took a day trip to a small town named Guatape with hopes of climbing this huge rock with a killer view at the top.  The town was gorgeous with green hills surrounding clean, clear, blue lakes.  Also, it seemed untouched by tourists as the majority of people on the streets were Colombian.  When we got to the top of the hill the rock sat on via horse we saw a sign that broke our heart.  It cost 8 mill pesos (about 4 dollars) to climb the rock.  BUT due to a lack of planning we realized hiking the rock would mean forfeitting our bus ride to Medellin.  So, we had to cut our losses and give up hope of climbing the 500 stairs up to see the view.  Instead, we found an empty lot that was for sale and climbed down a path to the water to go swimming.  I don’t think I’ve ever swam in water that clean or refreshing.  We spent our last day in Medellin touring the city with a friend of my Colombian friend in Chicago and got some shopping in as well.

After a Colombian breakfast we thought we had gotten away with a flawless trip without any major obstacles.  However, we were proven wrong while at the airport.  As we stood in line to get our ticket we realized we first had to go through another line and when we approached the man in the first line he asked for our Yellow Fever vaccination cards, we all pulled ours out from our perspective clinic and got a worried look from the man at the counter.  He left us and then came back to explain that mine and Katelyn’s were not in the correct format for re-entrance into Costa Rica and we would not be let back on the plane.  A frantic feeling entered our stomach and we tried to fight it through.  Luckily, the airline workers were so helpful.  The man got us through the line, called a Dr. for us, and gave us directions to the closest hospital.  After running around the city, paying off the doctor, racing back through the ticket line, immigration line, security, and to our gate we barely made the flight!!

While I am more than happy that I made it back on that flight to Costa Rica I do feel like I am not finished exploring Colombia.  From my short time there I learned how diverse the country truly is and also how misrepresented it is. Contrary to popular belief, I personally never felt in danger nor did I see any resemblance of the FARC presence, paramilitary groups, drug trafficking, etc.  I took the normal precautions I would take as if I were in Chicago or even Costa Rica but did not feel like I ever put myself in a negative situation.  The Colombians I met were more than hospitable and welcoming.  I have a feeling that one day I will return to go beyond the tourist sights and see more of the culture and the people of Colombia.

Loyola Students Save the Day!

Loyola Students Save the Day!

Hey everyone. Sorry about not blogging in a while. I’ve been doing so many cool things. I really have to play catch up and finish my story about Tet, our trip to the citiy’s canals, a trip to Can Tha, Can Gio, and the Mekong Delta. Plus we leave for Cambodia next week so I only have a few days to crank out a lot of details, because if I wait until after Cambodia I’ll be hopelessly behind. So, here is the first dent in many stories to tell. This is the story of a man named Robb…

This past Saturday night seemed to be normal for us Loyola students. We had recently gone to a group dinner and had returned to the dorm to relax. Besty and Alex were back in one of their rooms, Gabe was out with a few of the newly arrived CIE students, and Robb and I were sitting with a few of our Vietnamese roommates talking on the upper lobby floor which is a large open space between all the rooms which has open walls. We sat around a small glass table in wicker chairs with nice red padding. Robb’s I-pod was playing softly in the background as cool night breezes whispered around us. The mood was nice and relaxed, and all of us were reflecting on the week gone by and talking excitedly about our upcoming trip to the Mekong Delta.

This tranquility was broken however when two of the CIE girls were carrying up a fellow student, we’ll call him A, very thoroughly drunk. He could barely stand himself and had fallen over several times, as evidenced by a small bit of blood around A’s nose. This concerned Robb, thinking that it was internal bleeding. As the girls were helping him up the stairs they said he had had a nosebleed earlier in the day, but that he had hit his head on concrete. They propped him in front of his door and then left, back out again into the night. Robb and I looked down from the balcony and asked, “What do we do?” The girls looked up and said non-chalantly, “Oh he’ll be fine, just lay him on his side and put some water and crackers next to him. It’s not a big deal. He’s a little guy and he just drank a bit too much”

We looked back at A and he was trying to open his door, slumped against it and trying to get his door open with his camera in place of his key. We approached A and said, “A where is your key?” A few moments passed and he looked up droopily at us and said, “Right here” and held up his camera which he then proceeded to drop and then he slumped over again. Robb and S, a CIE girl who had been sitting with us, checked his pockets for the key. There was none to be found. We then went down and checked the front desk. Still no key. “I have to get in my room, I have to pee”, A said very slowly. We began to panic . “Does anyone have their key on this floor? We need to get him to a bathroom!” However it was too late, A stood still next to his door and urine began to sprinkle down from the crotch of his shorts and the dribble down his legs to make a large yellow puddle separating the rest of the corridor from the upper lobby. “OH SHIT!” Several people exclaimed. A slouched down against the pillar by his door in his own pee. Robb went to help him up, with the Vietnamese roommates helping him. S and I went to look for a bucket and mop and some cleaning materials. We found some on the first floor and brought them back up. At the same time A’s roommate returned with the key, opened the door, and then left again to return drinking elsewhere.

Robb moved A into his room with the help of our Vietnames roommates as S and I brought up the cleaning supplies. They were especially needed as things would get much messier within moments. “Get a bucket!”, Robb yelled. A was lurching and gurgling on the floor. One of the roommates grabbed the small pink pot when Robb had meant the large green bucket. They went back to get the green bucket from the bathroom but it was too late, A was vomiting all over the floor of his room, with Robb holding up his head so he wouldn’t choke. Things were looking serious. I had never seen someone look so bad before. Nghiem, my roommate grabbed the bucket, the cleaning solution, and grabbed some water from our room. He then began to clean up the pee in the hallway, very fast and efficiently I might add. Meanwhile Hoang, Alex’s roommate, grabbed some rags and toilet paper and began to clean up the large amount of vomit that covered the floor by the doorway and A’s bed. I was really impressed, surprised even, that he did this because he didn’t even know A and was really getting his hands dirty. Nobody even asked him, he just did it. A few moments later A threw up again and the splatter hit a broad section of the chest of Hoang’s shirt. In the face of it all he kept cleaning and didn’t complain, how many people do you know who would do that?

Things seemed to not be getting any better, and Robb was positioned behind A on the bed, holding him up straight and keeping his head up so he would not choke on the vomit he seemed to be constantly spewing. A was looking rather flushed and his eyes were rolling around in his head that Robb kept propped up. Robb began to get even more concerned as A began to foam at the mouth, yelling, “Shit he’s going into shock”. A’s breathing and heart rate were slowing incredibly and he had been unconscious and unresponsive for some time. With all of the combined factors, I figured things were going to spiral out of control. I decided it would be best to call Rylan, our program director and go to guy. After trying several times and no answer I stopped trying and went back to A’s room to see what help I could be.

Luckily within a few minutes Rylan called, he seemed a bit sleepy (which is to be expected, it was late at night and he had been caring for his sick baby for the past week) but I told him the situation and then passed the phone to S and then to Robb. Rylan said the situation was serious enough to call an ambulance, so Rylan said he would give the CIE program director a ring and that we should call an ambulance, even though A wasn’t our responsibility. Rylan was obviously irritated at the irresponsibility of some of the members of the CIE program.

So after we hung up the phone with Rylan, several of the CIE students who had come back from their night out called an ambulance, and Robb told them the address because most of them forgot. He kept on holding A’s head as the vomit kept coming in spurts. A CIE student said an ambulance was on the way. While we were waiting a few of the Vietnamese in the guesthouse curiously poked their heads into the room. I grew somewhat frustrated with them crowding around like it was a spectacle, and even more so that several of the pot bellied forty year old men were heavily smoking. Not conducive to the situation in my opinion. Robb continued to hold up A’s head and I supported his side to keep him from falling over.

Eventually the ambulance arrived and pulled up through the gate to the front doors. Four paramedics came up the stairs and prepared a stretcher for A. During the process Robb used his lifeguard and camp counselor training to accurately describe the situation and A’s symptoms to the paramedics, which they duly noted. In the process they hooked him up to a machine to check his heart rate and put little gelled electrodes on his chest. They then stuck an IV in him which our Vietnamese roommate Giang held up as the paramedics continued their work. Then there was a hitch- “We need identification to take him to the hospital. Driver’s license, passport, anything,” said a paramedic looking around and scanning our faces seemingly expecting one of us to have the said documents at the ready. A tense feeling arose in the room because A’s wallet had been missing since earlier in the evening. I immediately began to think, “Will they turn him away? What is going to happened.” Thoughts rolled in my mind of an Australian Aid worker I had met who thought he was having a stroke, and the hospital he went to here in Vietnam turned him down because he did not have the right papers. Luckily within moments A’s roommate had thrown around all the clothes in their shared closet and found A’s passport, which was promptly given to the questioning paramedic who pocketed it and then began the next phase of the operation.

“We need to put him on the stretcher and carry him down to the ambulance. Americans please help,” said the paramedic. So Robb gently put A’s head on to the stretcher as the paramedics lifted his body off the bed and onto the stretcher. A was secured to the stretcher with straps to keep him from rolling around and several people began to pick him up… But just as things seemed to be going well, A began to violently choke on his vomit and Robb yelled, “Stop, undo the straps!” The paramedics seemed intent on hurrying to the ambulance but Robb stopped them and undid the straps and turned A’s head to the side so he could project some vomit into the green bucket once more. After that the paramedics left his last few straps on the upper side of his body loose and they began, along with a few students, to carry him down to the ambulance. Once inside, C, a CIE student volunteered to ride with him as did Thom, Gabe’s Vietnamese roommate since he spoke Vietnamese and could effectively translate for the two parties. We watched the ambulance drive away with a sigh of relief.

Robb however was still curious as to how A was and understandably wanted some closure to the event. Hoang also wanted to see what happened, and I wanted to see how A was as well since I myself had been to the hospital earlier in the trip and wanted to provide some comfort because I knew it could be a lonely place. So the three of us began to walk the few blocks to Family Medical, Hoang still covered in A’s puke and Robb still with sweat and A’s pee on his pants. Our motley crew passed the French embassy and arrived at a very quiet Family Medical where a few CIE students had arrived on their Vietnamese friend’s motorbikes a few minutes ahead of us. We were greeted by the CIE program director, Brian, in the lobby of the clinic.

Brian told us not to worry and to go home. “These things are normal. Sometimes people drink too much. He is stable and they’ll release him In the morning.” Robb challenged him, “Don’t you want to stay? He is your students and he is all alone.” Brian responded, “I live close by. If there is a problem I can rush over.” So with that we walked home to give everyone the status report.

Robb confided in me later, “Man that was really scary. I’m literally still shaking right now that was so intense. That kid could have died.” I smiled, “But he didn’t because you were there” and then gave him a good pat on the back before heading off to bed.

I have to give much respect and credit to Robb DeGraff. His leadership, first response skills, and quick thinking may have saved a life. Scratch that, it DID save a life. If Robb hadn’t stepped up and taken charge of the situation A would have surely died in the night from chocking on his vomit. So good job Robby DeGraff. In my book you are a hero. Rylan commented later, “This shows what kind of students Loyola is producing: Leaders who step up when the rest are unwilling. You guys were not responsible for him, but you lent a hand anyway. That shows great compassion. Very respectable and impressive.” Good job also to the Vietnamese roommates who really stepped up when they didn’t have to. Finally thanks to everyone who helped out that night. We did good work.

Makin’ Friends and Drinkin’ Juice

Makin’ Friends and Drinkin’ Juice

This week we are on an excursion to the Unviersity of Nizwa, about an hour and a half west of Muscat. The interior region is more conservative than the more cosmopolitan Muscat, so the males and the females are having very different experiences.

The girls are staying with another homestay family somewhere in Nizwa, and the guys are lodging with some Omani college students in a dorm-eque hostel. So for this week it’s me and the boys stoopin’ it with some Omanis. It’s pretty cool. Living with Omanis my age has given me a better idea of the dynamics of this culture. There a few students from Bedouin family who are always getting ragged on for their accent. And another guy is from Sohar (thie city which had the protests), and they were joking that he lived in the supermarket that got burned down.

I lived one of my (more conservative) dreams last night, which was explaining to foreigners what English swear words meant. Although the conversation was juvenile, I though it was hilarious.

Nizwa is a little different from Muscat. It’s hard for me to gauge it because I’m living with guys from all over the country, but people here seem to be much more welcoming. Now, Muscat is already welcoming to begin with, so here it’s like – overkill welcoming.

Last night we were trying to hail a cab to get to the Hungy Bunny down the street from the University, and a guy we had never met before stopped and gave us a ride (generally not uncommon in Oman). But after that he gave me his phone number and is going to give us a tour of the School of Applied Sciences. Also, earlier today we were in a small town called Bahla, and the owner of a small halwa stand invited us in for coffee and dates, showed us how he makes halwa, gave us a big bag of dates, and then took my phone number so he could drive to Muscat to bring us fresh halwa next week. It’s a little bit too much, honestly. Anyhoo this week is going well and I’ll give a more complete overview once it’s over.

Laid up for Spring Break

Laid up for Spring Break

Since I’m a bit laid up, I haven’t had energy to blog (I’ll explain real soon) Here is a post from my other blog, since I started this blog late. Enjoy!

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

012 – Vive il Papa

If you know anything about the Italian language you probably guessed what the title says/is referring to. For the rest of you it means “long live the father” (aka The Pope).

That being said, let’s dive right into blogging shall we?

Pretty uneventful start to the week. You know the whole “having class” thing. But they call it study abroad for a reason. I gotta say I’m really getting used to life over here. It’s still wayyy different than in America. I still prefer the hustle and bustle, but this is a welcome break from all of that. Lately I find myself staying up quite late and waking up early, so basically the typical life of a college student. As for missing my American tv shows you may ask? It’s not so bad. I have my ways of watching them if necessary, but again, this is a nice break from all those distractions, though now I’m finding that this blog/uploading pictures is a new distraction. Don’t worry, exploring comes first…the pictures and updates some second. I really can’t wait for spring break in Greece. That is going to be super amazing. Wait, I’m going to Paris on FRIDAY. Let’s enjoy that first!

Alora, oggi andiamo visitare il papa! Today was our semi-private audience with the Pope. So a number of us got up and left at 6:30am (for a 10:30am start time) in order to get good seats. We got 2nd row, so it was worth it to get up that early. It took place in an audience hall just to the left of the basilica, a pretty cool room if you ask me. After what seemed like forever of sitting there, Bennedetto XVI came out to a pretty rousing applause. Various bishops then welcomed everyone in various languages. Next was Bennie’s speech, in what I think was latin/italian(?), he was kind of mumbling. Then the same bishops came back up and announced the various groups in attendance. Some groups, when announced, sang a song (like the group of Polish school girls, who kind of looked Amish with their weird get-ups). We at the Rome Center had no song prepared. We just clapped and he gave us what I like to call the “Gary Zilavy Three-Finger How You Doing (C)”

It was pretty incredible to be that close to such a worldly figure. Even if you aren’t Catholic or whatever he’s still a famous and commendable person. Then to wrap up the audience, he sang the Our Father in Latin (thought it was a dead language, but we’ll go with it) and then proceed to generally bless the items we had, and I mean everything. Yes, if you had a pack of gum in your pocket, it is now blessed. Mother if you are reading this. I had picked up a pack of a dozen rosaries, yes a dozen. And I will be distributing them to family and friends. I also had picked up a St. Michael necklace charm and chain on the super cheap, figure I’ll be a necklace guy for a while.

On a slightly less exciting note, the calico (soccer) teams were announced. I’m on team Green, which means nothing really for you people. But just know Team Green is going to dominate this calcio league.

Right then, hope everyone is safe and sound on account of the Blizzard of 2011. Send me some pictures! I’m a little upset. I love snow. But then again, I’ll take 55 and sunny.

I’ll post again after this weekend in Paris. Also GO PACK GO!!!!

Well this is one way to spend a spring break.

Well this is one way to spend a spring break.

Hello all.

You are probably wondering why you haven’t heard from me in a while. Then again maybe you aren’t, as I said I would be going to Greece. Well I had planned to write a fair well post last Wednesday night, boy did that plan change.

I will spare some of the details otherwise this could become a very long post, and it’s a bit personal and hard to talk about. But I did want to update all my followers on what has been going on, so they need not worry but rather just keep me in their thoughts and prayers.

Now that I may have freaked you out a little I will explain myself.  Wednesday afternoon I started to feel real iffy. I can’t recall if I’ve mentioned before but I have been diagnosed for almost 3 years with ulcerative colitis, a form of IBD. I was having some symptoms of what those in the medical biz like to call a ‘flare’, meaning when the disease rears its ugly head. As the evening went on I was taking a turn towards the worse. I sought some help from Christina one of the student life assistants. And in the process of calling the local clinic to get me an appointment I fainted for the first time in my life. An ambulance was called and I was taken to the hospital. I was told I’d have to stay the night just to be monitored. My parents were called, just so they wouldn’t worry. I’d probably be back the next day. I was wrong.

I was feeling a lot better the next day and into Friday, and after some tests they said if my next blood test was good I’d be sent back to the Rome Center. That was until the results of my chest x-ray came back. Apparently I showed inflammation in my lungs of some kind. Now a quick note about IBD, it can cause inflammation not only in the digestive tract but literally anywhere it seems. Plus the meds I am on are also known to cause weird side effects. Funny thing is that my sister was just in the hospital for a similar inflammation in the lungs situation and it turned out to be nothing of concern. So I am very positive that is the case for me.

So today is Monday, this morning my Dad arrived. This has helped my mood greatly, plus he has been very business like and trying to do what he can to help my cause. They still need to run two more tests, a CT scan and something where they go down and check out the lungs (yikes). The problem is, this is an Italian public hospital. They do everything one at a time, and very slowly. For instance they took blood this morning with the full results coming in Wednesday, just in time for my scheduled CT scan. In talking with the various doctors, it sounds like if we get these tests done, the results will be very quick and I can get out of here soon. They are telling me at the earliest that will be Wednesday. So I’m really praying, but I’m also confident that it’s nothing but a side effect of my meds or scar tissue or something. Because I should also mention I have no other symptoms; no cough, chest pain, congestion. I’m other wise a healthy kid, so that is what is most frustrating.

I am nearly going insane here, if I did not now have access to the internet and movies and if my dad was not here, I would be a lot worse. I should also note that Mike Beazley and Cindy Bomben, two JFRC staff have been incredibly helpful in so many ways; translation, bringing me stuff from my dorm, etc. I cannot thank them enough, I could never possibly fully repay them for all their time an effort. I’m really trying to remain positive in light of this really crappy situation. I’d appreciate all the readers to keep myself and my family in their thoughts and prayers; it’s been a tough situation so far.

So this is a very roundabout way of saying I was not able to go to Greece as planned, but there are really more important things in life. And we are not always in control of what happens. C’est la vie….wait that’s French, and I’m in Italy, so maybe I am going crazy.

University of Nizwa Students Save the Day!

University of Nizwa Students Save the Day!

Yeah not really – this is just a reference to Jimmy’s crazy post about Vietnam. Like I said in my last post, I was at the University of Nizwa in the interior region of Oman last week (Oh yeah – weeks here are Saturday to Wednesday, just in case anyone is thrown off – I know I am). While we were there we witnessed a rare but increasingly common student march. They had the standard assortment of demands – job guarantees, higher pay, and cancelling loans – but they also had one I hadn’t heard before: access to more English instruction.

So, I suppose I should preface this by saying that all the classes at the University of Nizwa are taught in English – all of them. And these kids take some hard classes – microbiology, petrochemical engineering, calculus. And they are given absolutely no leeway in terms of language flexibility. From the conversations I had with my roommates they are seriously working their butts off not only to learn the course material, but also to learn it in English. I was talking to one student and he was lamenting how he got a B- in a class – when I asked him what it would’ve been if the class were in Arabic he unequivocally said A. For the 7000 students on the campus there is a small little annex on the far side of campus which houses a few staff who provide tutoring services. That’s it.

Now try to imagine this. You just graduated high school. You’ve done well on your mandatory huge graduation exams and made it into a good school. You’ve taken English for a few years but – you know – you don’t pay much attention to language classes in High School. You can “get by”.

Now fast forward to your first class on your first day at College. It’s philosophy 101 or something. Your instructor starts speaking in English as he hands out the syllabus. You can catch certain words, you know he’s talking about something in the future – but you’re struggling to keep up. A month later you have a test – you’re still trying to English-Arabic dictionary your way through the first day’s readings – it sucks. After my time in Nizwa I feel like, as a student who lucky enough to learn in his mother tongue, has no excuse to get any grade lower than an A.

Anyway – later that same night we the Sultan made several new Royal Decrees. I don’t think it’s directly because of the Nizwa student march (at all actually) but in response to protests around the country. Several ministries were reshuffled and without a doubt the biggest change was the abolishment – the abolishment – of the Ministry of the National Economy. The whole bloody thing! So yeah – that was last week. Stay tuned.

A Press Release

A Press Release

So I was asked to write a piece for a Loyola Press Release about the Vietnam Center, so here it is on my blog. Hopefully it will perk up people’s interest in the program!

It is simply amazing being on this one of a kind program. I feel like a trailblazer, being part of the inaugural ‘class’ at the Vietnam Center. That is part of the reason I rushed to sign up, as well as the fact I would actually save money going abroad in Vietnam as compared to other programs where I would burn through my savings quickly, explore Southeast Asia, and the fact I would be doing a lot of service. I think other students will consider coming to the Vietnam Center in the future for these same reasons. Off the beaten path compared to other study abroad programs, this gives students opportunities for exciting new experiences. For example: I got the chance to spend Tet, the Vietnamese Lunar New Year, with my roommate’s family up in rural central Vietnam on the coast of the South China Sea. I was fed delicious Vietnamese delicacies at home, dined on simple bowls of rice with Buddhist monks and nuns at a pagoda in the mountains, told my roommate’s family I that like dragonfruit and was then promptly handed a bag of thirty dragonfruit from their plantation, explored the ruins of ancient Hindu hill temples, saw parades of acrobats and dragon dancers amidst fireworks and beating drums, swerved through intense traffic on the back of a motorbike, and went swimming in the South China Sea. That was all within the course of a week!

During actual school weeks I spend most of my time in Green Bamboo, a shelter for boys living on the street that helps provide them with education, vocational skills, and eventually reunites them with their families. I am the new ESL teacher, and also simply a big buddy for the boys who range in age from eight years old all the way up to boys who are eighteen, only two years younger than me, and holding part time jobs. These boys love to play and learn about America and the English language. Their hearts are so large and after the older boys challenge me to friendly wrestling matches, the younger ones like to curl up on my lap for a nap. Working at the shelter is rewarding for both me and the boys. This service that I am doing is a component of our Development class, one of our two required classes along with Vietnamese. There are several interesting electives to choose from, and I even got to create my own class. There was no Theology class listed for the program, and as a Theology major I requested one be made, so Fr. Julio Giulietti worked together with the Theology Department and Office of International Programs and I had my class: Religion in Vietnam, taught by Fr. Julio himself. Fr. Julio has set up meetings with several local religious leaders, and is planning trips to Buddhist centers to compliment our readings. Classes themselves are also very small and that gives each student a more personal and engaging experience. Classes range from being held in the Vietnamese University, at the Loyola Center, on site somewhere, or even in a café with some Vietnamese coffee, or ca phe, to stimulate discussion. We also have done several fieldtrips, such as a trip we did with our Environmental Studies class today to explore the mangrove forest we covered yesterday in our lecture or the fieldtrip we did last week to see how Ho Chi Minh City is improving its infrastructure by upgrading its canal system. This program is truly hands on. It is unmatched in the immersion you experience. The center is so small that everyone is very close: the five Loyola students, our Vietnamese roommates who have quickly become our best friends and guides to this beautiful country, Trinh our secretary, Vien our Coordinator, Mr. Ky Nguyen our Administrative Assistant, Dr. Rylan Higgins our main professor and Program Director , and Fr. Julio Giulietti the Vietnam Center Director. It is a very personal environment where the whole Loyola community can meet for dinner and tea and then head out for an evening of karaoke, which is good change of pace from Loyola back in Chicago where it is impossible to know everyone. Ho Chi Minh city itself is very dynamic, with many rural Vietnamese flocking for jobs, Vietnamese living in the West returning to re-unite with their families and open business in the booming economy, foreign investors arriving in the emerging market, a trickle of tourists from across the world, and now us: five Loyola students seeking to explore a new place on the other end of the globe. With everything I have said, I truly mean it when I say this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Plus the program isn’t even halfway over. We still get to travel to the Mekong Delta, Northern Vietnam, Cambodia, and a smattering of smaller trips to compare these locals to Ho Chi Minh City. There are bound to be many more exciting happenings before this program concludes. If you are an undergraduate I strongly recommend you apply for this new program.

The Little Things

The Little Things

So I’ve been reading some Thich Nhat Hanh recently for my religion class with Fr. Julio, and to tell the truth it is quite interesting. One of the things the book mentions is to live in the moment and enjoy the little things. Instead of worrying about the future or dwelling in the past, be mindful of the present. Mindful living helps to relieve stress. This isn’t saying do random things spontaneously, but it is saying to live in the moment, because that makes the moment more meaningful than being absent minded. So I the past week before my trip to Cambodia, I’ve tried to practice this along with meditative breathing exercises, and I feel a lot more calm than usual, probably because usually I’m always planning ahead/worrying about the future. With my mindful exercise I did two things: do laundry and dance in the rain.

I had been putting off doing laundry for some time. It was high time I did it, because I was running low on clean clothes, and to recycle clothes was not an option. I was thinking about taking my clothes to a nearby shop, but then I read a line from The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching which said something along the lines of, “Every chore done should not be done with monotony, because that chore is a miracle. Every moment is a miracle because you are simply alive. So breath deeply and rejoice for every dish you wash or floor you scrub.” With that, I put my book down and walked over to my overflowing hamper. “It is time” I thought to myself. I picked up the hamper and waked into the bathroom carefully (the first day I walked in casually and slipped because the bathroom is always wet because there is no separate shower, just a showerhead a few feet from the toilet and sink). I walked up to the large green bucket under the dripping faucet under the showerhead and began to run the water. As the water flowed I took the bag of detergent from atop the toilet and sprinkled some in. A few moments later I turned off the faucet and looked at the full bucket. The water reflecting my image amidst bubbles would not last long. It was time to get dirty.
I poured my clothes in from the hamper to the bucket and then ripped off my tshirt to join the mix. Now bare-chested I sat cross-legged on the floor and plunged my hands into the bucket and began to slosh around joyfully. About halfway through Nghiem came home from his class and approached me in the bathroom, “Do you want my help?” “Sure,” I said and gestured him to come over. He sat down and I sprung up, “I have an idea”, I walked over to my laptop and put on some American 80’s pop music. After that the laundry dance party commenced. Nghiem and I washed, wrung, rewashed, slapped, mashed, and hung a large amount of laundry while belting out vocals to high for us and bobbing with synth beats. It was so much fun. Bubbles flew and dirt was pounded and thrashed from clothes that had endured blistering days in Ho Chi Minh city and rural Viet Nam. Taking a simple chore and making it fun. Celebrating the mundane. I’m glad to have been reading that book, otherwise I wouldn’t have had this experience and would probably be sitting in stinky clothes.

My second instance of living in the moment was dancing in the rain. It went a little something like this:

It was only a few days before we would depart for Cambodia. It was a hot and lazy afternoon. Classes were over for the day and I had already visited Green Bamboo shelter. Most folks were sitting around. Nghiem and I were out on the upper lobby balcony reading: I was reading more about Buddhism and he was reading cultural anthropology (in English mind you). Between the two of us we were sharing a dragonfruit and some rice crackers. We were happily reading when Robbie came up the stairs, his shirt a little wet. “Is it raining?” I asked with a puzzled face. Sure there had been some breezes foretelling a storm, but that had happened so many days in a row followed by no rain I felt like the people in the boy who cried wolf story. It hadn’t rained yet in Vietnam and because it was still the dry season, I didn’t have much hope. However Robbie responded, “Yeah it was raining over near Koto (his volunteer organization), and its heading this way.” He walked past us and Nghiem as I looked excitedly at each other. It was going to rain. We both had smiles on our faces as we rushed back to our room to put away our things in preparation for the rain.
As I was putting away my books, my mind drifted away to India. Last summer during my stay in India was dominated by the dry season. I was living in Jaipur which is on the edge of India and Pakistan’s Great Thar Desert. Only in the last few weeks did the rain come, and when it came did it feel good. I remember the first rain in India. Boy was it special. It was an ordinary hot dry day and my Hindi classes had finished. I was sitting around Raja park at the local thread store run by two Hindu brothers Ramesh and Suresh, and helped by their attendant Faizal Khan, a seventeen year old Muslim from nearby Ajmer. I was practicing my Hindi and listening to a Punjabi MC song drifting over from a nearby barber shop. Suddenly, a fierce wind whipped up the sand and then the rain began to fall in huge sheets. Without even thinking, I ran out from the shop’s awning and began to dance in the rain in the middle of the street as camels and pedestrians ran for cover. My kurta became soaked and stuck to my body but I kept dancing. I kicked off my shoes and danced in the muddy sand. It was complete bliss. I hadn’t felt rain in months, so I extended my arms and just danced around. Just when I had had enough, Faizal threw me the key to unlock his bicycle. In a heartbeat I was on that sucker and peddled barefoot up an down the deserted streets as the rain kept beating down. I threw up my legs and yelled out whoops of joy as I sloshed threw puddles. I felt like a child. The store attendants smiled, holed up in their shops. It was such a great moment. Something I will not forget in my lifetime.

But back to the present! Live in the moment, right? So I snapped back from Jaipur and threw on some shorts. I ran back down the stairs as the rains began to roll in. The other American students cheered as thunder clapped and lighting hit the sky. Leon, a CIE student, asked, “First Viet Nam rain?” All the Loyola students replied with a resounding, “Yes!” “I can tell. It’s an experience huh?”
Everyone was gathering at the balcony to watch the rain. Within minutes the power went out and Ho Chi Minh City went dark. It was a cool feeling. But enough with watching, I had to go dance. Monica, a Cambodian-American, Emily, a Chinese-Americam, and myself ran out into the rain and began to dance around, hop up and down, and slosh in puddles. It was great. Like Jaipur, I lost myself in the moment and just smiled in the rain, something I take for granted back stateside, but something to be valued in pre-monsoon season Asia. Gabe, another Loyola student soon joined us and we continued to dance in the downpour. I had a big smile on my face. It was so nice to have all that water just pouring over everything, to hear the thunder rumble, and see the Vietnamese enjoy watching us silly Americans making fools out of ourselves. But hey it was worth it. Soon the other Americans grew tired and went to go dry off, but I kept going. I left the alley and went out onto the main street where traffic was at a standstill and the street vendors had disappeared. I ran up and down, with the cool water falling over my body, arms outstretched and head cocked towards the heavens. Vietnamese students across the street in the University smiled and waved. The little things in life can be the best. You don’t need fancy things if you can find joy in life’s simple things, like rain or doing laundry. Everything we have is a miracle from God, so love the little things. Life is a gift, one that won’t last forever. Don’t let precious time slip by, live in the moment. Be PRESENT! So next time it rains, consider dancing, and when you can, share a smile!

Gettin’ Rich in Oman: A Users Guide (for Americans)

Gettin’ Rich in Oman: A Users Guide (for Americans)

So in 2006 the creation of a US-Oman free trade agreement was approved. It finally came into action in January 2009 in addition to all the amenities that come with traditional FTAs (no tariffs and trade barriers), it also created certain – perks to help facilitate American foreign investment in to Oman.

Because of the FTA, American-owned businesses that are started in Oman are given the same treatment as Omani-owned businesses. Also – the standard initial investment need to start a business in Oman is like OMR 60,000 ($150,000 about) but for American businesses this amount is reduced to only OMR 20,000 ($50,000 about).

So here’s what you do. Just because you are an American you immediately have explicit advantages over other nationalities looking to invest in Oman. So you find a foreign company – tell ’em, “hey, I’m an American, I can get a market for your product started in Oman right quick. Plus – I know the culture, speak the language, and can find my way around the city and the government – just give me 5% and you’ll have three million new potential customers”

After my time in Oman I plan to study at the Beijing Center in China. My goal at graduation is too be an expert in the Middle East, East Asia, Economics, and local languages (I speak French, I’m learning Arabic now, and soon will know Mandarin). If I can find a Chinese corporation looking to expand, and can give them the inherent advantages of my nationality in Oman as well as my knowledge of the region – boom. I’ve done it.

So there’s that. Insha’allah.