There is a literary device used by Rudyard Kipling (eg, Gunga Din), and others, that I am going to try here. It is a prefatory whimsy, which has nothing to do with the main story. It is the ginger before the spider roll.
I decided to take up yoga. Someone loaned me a book on the subject, and I gravitated immediately to the section on supine postures. The first one, Shavasana, was pretty straightforward – lying with my back on the floor. The second one - Ekapada Uttanasana – built on the Shava by pointing the toes and stretching the upper muscles of one foot, followed by a six second leg lift. On the first Eka, I pulled a foot muscle, and I’ve been limping around for the last two days. People inquire, but I refuse to confess that it is from a supine exercise. I am reminded of my mother, who complained once that she had pulled a muscle in her neck while reading in bed. I was pretty ruthless for a couple of weeks with jokes about pillow-related injuries. Pretty ironic - karma got to me through Yoga.
My postings of late have been spare; looks like the most recent one, in July, promised a Part 2 follow up on the subject of social responsibility. This is probably not the right time for that, inasmuch as I had to fire an employee today for his role in smuggling copper cable out of the compound, and the recycling contractor that I had gone to great lengths to select from a pool of his peers based on his demonstrated professionalism and sterling character, was also implicated. Also, yesterday the US Embassy was attacked, again, which means we are back on orange alert, which stuffs my ability to move around within the local area. And lately the Yemenis workers have been getting rattled. Maybe it’s related to Ramadan. I don’t know. Almost every day there is some kind of a demonstration or protest of some kind, some involving violence, although, so far, it has been minor.
To be fair, it’s not just the Yemenis. Yesterday the Bangladeshis trashed their cafeteria at the SKS camp. SKS, a Korean firm, has four kitchens: Chinese, Bangladesh, Yemeni, and Korean. The Korean kitchen is actually quite good, not surprisingly, but the Bangladeshi is awful. I upbraided the SKS camp boss a while back about hygiene lapses in the kitchens and he told me that the different cultures have different standards (hinting that the problem was a figment of my cultural ignorance.) I asked him which of the cultures sought out dysentery and salmonosis. Anyway, regarding the Bangladeshis, you don’t usually think of them as outspoken or violent. I remember hearing an NPR radio report once about a Bangladeshi gang in LA, and imagined the futility of “please to hand over your wallet.” [truth in advertising – it is a PH punchline, gotta give credit.]
Earlier, I had to deal with about 100 Yemenis working for Gama, a Turkish firm, over a frivilous complaint about water quality. For clarification, most of the complaints from laborers about living conditions in the subcontractor camps are well grounded. I mean, I've seen things you wouldn't believe. But it is not unusual for laborers to vent their frustration about working conditions by making up a lame-o complaint about something unrelated. Water is a volatile issue; we're in a desert, right? Since I am in charge of water quality, I drew the short straw to go talk to the Gama Yemenis. I had seen the latest test results, so I was able to quell the complaints about "Gama is trying to poison us" by gulping down 750 mls right out of the tap while they watched. It was one of those minor victories that rarely presents itself, at least to me, involving an accusatory loudmouth surrounded by psycophants braying about an alleged atrocity, the rancor escalating with each breath. To nuke him in front of his peers with incontrovertibilia; the ridiculousness of his argument crystallized into a single, robust and punctuating belch. I didn't even need a translator. Mostly there was a bit of fidgeting, some looking around, and at length they wandered off when someone mentioned the Premier League match on satellite pitting Cheltenham against Coldchestershire.
People have been asking me whether the embassy attack has had any effect on this project here in Balhaf. We have a lot of fence and military protection, much more so than at the embassy. The surrounding terrain is impassable volcanic rubble that even the camels avoid, so I think we are adequately protected against any outside threat. It is the conditions inside the fence that probably present the greater danger, especially as we begin the reduction in forces and they start escorting people to the gate. Sometime during the next 12 months, this project will demobilize 8000 construction workers, leaving behind “the chosen” 500 permanent operating employees. Some of the more outspoken laborers, and the local tribes have begun protesting that no Yemenis should be laid off until all of the HVEs are sent home (semi-skilled Indians and Phillipinos.) We’ll have to see how that bad idea resolves itself. In the meanwhile, we continue to prepare for the imminent arrival of the pipeline, which is snaking its way across the desert towards us.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Social Responsibility
I ran into Social Responsibility again at BP, which is where I landed after Enron crashed. BP’s SR mission was more results-oriented. They were emphatic about documenting early compliance with the Kyoto protocol. My job, a 3-month contract position, was to calculate greenhouse emissions from its San Juan Basin coal bed methane operations. In talking with my counterparts from the other business units, it was clear that, although the calculations were legitimate, the comparisons with the base case were flawed, resulting in exaggerated claims of greenhouse gas reductions, which, of course, were trumpeted by the annual reporters.
These two exposures to Social Responsibility flavored my initial impression of this new and growing corporate mandate. Fast forward to Yemen, 2008.
As environmental manager for the YLNG construction project I am on the front lines. Gone are the slogany SR platitudes, the flowery vernacular, the business suits. I work in close quarters with 5,000 Yemeni workers, every one of them two generations removed from the 14th century, the cream and the crud of Yemen’s future: the clueless losers, opiated by religion, who resent the fact that their job is not an entitlement; and the up-and-coming laborers, foremen and professionals who see this project as a stepping stone to a better life for themselves and their families. I also have a somewhat unique position within Yemgas in that I interact with the local community in developing contracts, specifically for transportation and waste recycling services. Social Responsibility, seen from ground level, is real and pregnant with opportunity, for both sides – the developer and the developed.
The obvious example is teaching Yemenis basic skills that allow them to work efficiently. I’m talking basic skills, like, to begin with getting up every day and going to work. This ethic is ingrained in the western mind, whether we are employed or looking for employment, the lifelong struggle for compensation is a routine that occupies most of the daylight hours, most of the days of most of the weeks. The Yemen mind does not think this way, and by enlightening them, they can go out and share this insight with friends and relatives, and it will incrementally improve the competitiveness of an abysmally uncompetitive workforce.
Labor force development is not reported per se in any annual report as a social responsibility achievement, but the better managers at Yemgas are aware of the impacts they are making on peoples lives, and they go out of their way to teach their employees things that are useful, but are not necessarily applicable to the job at hand.
In recruiting contractors from the local communities, we initially tried the bid process; it was a disaster, resulting in contractor liens when the low bidder didn’t pay his employees and his equipment rental companies. So we adapted a procedure I learned at TxDOT: qualification-based selection. This was a zinger to the tribal mentality predominant here in the Shabwa Governate, a backwater even by Yemeni standards. We issued a Request for Qualifications along with a disclaimer stating that submitting an SOQ would not guarantee a contract. Most of the 12 proposals that we received were unreadable, or worse. When asked what was their proposal for disposing of non-recyclable waste, most answered something like “we’ll do whatever you ask us to do.” We selected a firm that had some experience with municipal garbage hauling.
Many competing firms couldn't grasp the concept of competition. They thought that the selection should be based on tribal status, and then once selected, the firm would figure out how to provide whatever service was needed. We had to blacklist one of the tribal heavies from entering the jobsite because he threatened our Community Relations manager. The government-privilege faction barraged us with angry visits from Ministers of this and that whose son or nephew was not selected. But we offered a contract debriefing to the 11 unsuccessful firms to explain where their proposal fell short. My expectation is that the next round of contracts in 12 months will yield to Adam Smith’s invisible hand: the tribes and government fatcats will tone down their bloviating and instead focus on giving the client what it asks for. This concept is the basis of every western business model; but it is, or was, until now, utterly foreign to the movers and shakers in Shabwa, Yemen. In a self-serving way we expect that this enlightenment will promote a better local contractor pool to support the upcoming 20 years of YLNG operations, but, one hopes, the ripple effect will penetrate into the broader business community as south Yemen continues to develop its natural and human resources.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
World Safety Day 2008
I saw it coming about 6 weeks in advance - the client instructed us that we would participate in this cheese bag UN-sponsored harmonic convergence. It was sold as an opportunity to raise world-wide awareness about worker safety to address the 2 million work-related fatalities each year. (Our project is not immune - 2 deaths so far, both Koreans.)
What I saw coming was that the planning was going to languish until the last minute, and then there would be a mad rush to schlep together a program. I also premonitioned that I would draw the short straw to do the slave work as event organizer.
And that is, in fact, what happened.
The math worked out like this: YLNG and Yemgas ponied up a $100K budget for booths, poster competitions, t-shirts, rescue demonstrations, fire drills, interactive educational software, exhibits, awards ceremonies (several of the EOs from Total and from Technip came from Paris to hand out prizes), and - this part actually didn't suck - live music as a capper at the end of the day. We moved about 70% of the 9,000 workers through the training and recreation centers in five waves of 1,500 at a time. There were 6 jillion details including road closures, bottled water, shuttle busses, security, translations of educational material, development of the drill scenarios, hiring and logistics for the live music. We had to build a stage and run a power line to it in order to get around using a noisey generator, and mobilize cranes to redirect the high mast lighting from the soccer fields to the concert area.
Amazingly, it all came off like competitent people were in control. The best part, of course, was the music, which started after the 7 pm prayers and went on until about 11 pm. The dancers were OK; I'm not much on all guy dancers, but the locals got a kick out of it. It was telling to see the grounds the morning after: thousands of pink strings - very recognizable: they are the binders used for packaging Qat. The show came off suprisingly well; the ex-pats enjoyed it (almost) as much as the Yemenis.
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What I saw coming was that the planning was going to languish until the last minute, and then there would be a mad rush to schlep together a program. I also premonitioned that I would draw the short straw to do the slave work as event organizer.
And that is, in fact, what happened.
The math worked out like this: YLNG and Yemgas ponied up a $100K budget for booths, poster competitions, t-shirts, rescue demonstrations, fire drills, interactive educational software, exhibits, awards ceremonies (several of the EOs from Total and from Technip came from Paris to hand out prizes), and - this part actually didn't suck - live music as a capper at the end of the day. We moved about 70% of the 9,000 workers through the training and recreation centers in five waves of 1,500 at a time. There were 6 jillion details including road closures, bottled water, shuttle busses, security, translations of educational material, development of the drill scenarios, hiring and logistics for the live music. We had to build a stage and run a power line to it in order to get around using a noisey generator, and mobilize cranes to redirect the high mast lighting from the soccer fields to the concert area.
Amazingly, it all came off like competitent people were in control. The best part, of course, was the music, which started after the 7 pm prayers and went on until about 11 pm. The dancers were OK; I'm not much on all guy dancers, but the locals got a kick out of it. It was telling to see the grounds the morning after: thousands of pink strings - very recognizable: they are the binders used for packaging Qat. The show came off suprisingly well; the ex-pats enjoyed it (almost) as much as the Yemenis.
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Friday, April 18, 2008
Strange Day in Mukulla
I traveled to Mukulla on Thursday to deal with a recalcitrant contractor. The owner, Abdullah, is clueless. The contract that we have with him is to transport mixed waste to his facility, sort it into recyclable and non-recyclable components, and then haul the non-recyclable part to a legit final resting place. (hint: "legit" does not include the nearest hole in the ground in the desert)
Clueless.
Instead of hauling this guk to a landfill, Abdullah has, instead, accumulated 3 months worth of it at his hell-like facility on the east side of Mukulla, and I am in the skittish position of wanting to revoke his contract, but not wanting to do it before he follows through on the sort-and-dispose routine. In fact, I don't want him to get a sniff that that is my intention, otherwise he will abandon many many tonnes of crap in his fenced place in the desert, said crap strobing with identification with a certain largest construction project in Yemen.
So I spent the day visiting landfills with Abdullah, explaining to him that this is the most important part of our contractual relationship, not hiring armed guards to greet me with abundant fanfare whenever I visit his facility.
OK. All that background info was just to set the stage for the strangeness of the place I wandered into during the afternoon.
We drove to the Mukulla municipal landfill, if you can call it that. Otherworldly is my name for it. I'll skip the elaboration: in a word - strange. We extracted the necessary information from the resident (literally) landfill workers (tipping fees, etc) in order for me to map out a solution to the Abdullah issue. Then, as we were leaving the landfill, my assistant pointed out a very crowded market place, which, he explained, we needed to inspect. So we parked and went in.
Turns out, it was a Qat market. On a Thrusday late morning at 11 AM it was a mob scene - hundreds of people milling around in an open air market sprawling with vendor booths selling nothing but Qat.
For the uninitiated (and for the record, I am uninitiated) Qat is a natural narcotic similar to cocaine. It is EXTREMELY popular in northeastern Africa and the Saudi peninsula. It is so pervasively used by Yemenis that the workers at the Balhaf project cannot comprehend the prohibition against using it. Backhoe operators at the Balhaf project, who have been told a million times not to chew it while at work, are dumbfounded when they are ordered to be removed from their jobs by Ex-Pat managers. The president of Yemen chews it while in conference with members of his cabinet.
I think it would be an interesting study to compare Qat with some of the other well-known drugs in terms of effects on motor control, addictiveness, long term health effects, etc. These things I know: it gobbles up a lot of the Balhaf employees income and there is no remorse - on payday, these guys make a beeline to the Qat dealers. I have read reports that its most incidious effect is that much of the arable land in Yemen (hint: there ain't much) has been converted to Qat crops. This, in spite of increasing rioting because of inflating food prices.
Pretty strange. Anyway, here is an insightful article from Yemen Times. The last couple of paragraphs touch on the Qat issue http://yementimes.com/article.shtml?i=1152&p=view&a=1
Also, here are some photos of the Qat market and landfill.
My assistant, Hussein, squeezing the tomatos, so to speak. My guard, not guarding me. My contractor, Abdullah, in black.
Hundreds of people buying and selling Qat. The market area is huge.
Beggar woman working the parking lot outside the Qat market. I haven't seen any men beggars, but there are many women beggars, mostly at places where discretionary spending is occurring, like a Qat market. This is the first woman that I have seen wearing any color. Every other woman I have seen wears uniformly undistinguished black robes
Mukulla Municipal Landfill
Clueless.
Instead of hauling this guk to a landfill, Abdullah has, instead, accumulated 3 months worth of it at his hell-like facility on the east side of Mukulla, and I am in the skittish position of wanting to revoke his contract, but not wanting to do it before he follows through on the sort-and-dispose routine. In fact, I don't want him to get a sniff that that is my intention, otherwise he will abandon many many tonnes of crap in his fenced place in the desert, said crap strobing with identification with a certain largest construction project in Yemen.
So I spent the day visiting landfills with Abdullah, explaining to him that this is the most important part of our contractual relationship, not hiring armed guards to greet me with abundant fanfare whenever I visit his facility.
OK. All that background info was just to set the stage for the strangeness of the place I wandered into during the afternoon.
We drove to the Mukulla municipal landfill, if you can call it that. Otherworldly is my name for it. I'll skip the elaboration: in a word - strange. We extracted the necessary information from the resident (literally) landfill workers (tipping fees, etc) in order for me to map out a solution to the Abdullah issue. Then, as we were leaving the landfill, my assistant pointed out a very crowded market place, which, he explained, we needed to inspect. So we parked and went in.
Turns out, it was a Qat market. On a Thrusday late morning at 11 AM it was a mob scene - hundreds of people milling around in an open air market sprawling with vendor booths selling nothing but Qat.
For the uninitiated (and for the record, I am uninitiated) Qat is a natural narcotic similar to cocaine. It is EXTREMELY popular in northeastern Africa and the Saudi peninsula. It is so pervasively used by Yemenis that the workers at the Balhaf project cannot comprehend the prohibition against using it. Backhoe operators at the Balhaf project, who have been told a million times not to chew it while at work, are dumbfounded when they are ordered to be removed from their jobs by Ex-Pat managers. The president of Yemen chews it while in conference with members of his cabinet.
I think it would be an interesting study to compare Qat with some of the other well-known drugs in terms of effects on motor control, addictiveness, long term health effects, etc. These things I know: it gobbles up a lot of the Balhaf employees income and there is no remorse - on payday, these guys make a beeline to the Qat dealers. I have read reports that its most incidious effect is that much of the arable land in Yemen (hint: there ain't much) has been converted to Qat crops. This, in spite of increasing rioting because of inflating food prices.
Pretty strange. Anyway, here is an insightful article from Yemen Times. The last couple of paragraphs touch on the Qat issue http://yementimes.com/article.shtml?i=1152&p=view&a=1
Also, here are some photos of the Qat market and landfill.
My assistant, Hussein, squeezing the tomatos, so to speak. My guard, not guarding me. My contractor, Abdullah, in black.
Hundreds of people buying and selling Qat. The market area is huge.
Beggar woman working the parking lot outside the Qat market. I haven't seen any men beggars, but there are many women beggars, mostly at places where discretionary spending is occurring, like a Qat market. This is the first woman that I have seen wearing any color. Every other woman I have seen wears uniformly undistinguished black robes
Mukulla Municipal Landfill
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Visit to Maifa
Sheik Bahnjah and William of Arabia
Most times when I have work outside the compound, it is in the direction of Al Mukullah, towards Oman to the east. Today I visited a small village named Maifa, about 100 miles to the west in the direction of Aden. The mission: a contract interview with Sheik Abdullah Ahmed Bahnjah, tribal elder and businessman. That’s what his business card says: tribal elder and businessman. Actually it says: auk geek hawlyk. Just kidding. Couldn’t resist.
While I am digressing, I’ll mention that there are no correct spellings of Arab words or names. Al Mukullah is variously spelled Mukalla, Mukulla, or Mukalluh. The Koran can also be spelled Quran or Qoran. The actual spelling is: squiggle with upstroke, two dots, backwards c with curly cue, vertical dash with hat. And you read it from right to left. When you ask a Yemeni to spell his name he looks at you like you’re kidding.
Anyway, I and an entourage of clients (ie, Total, Inc.) and soldiers, visited the village of Maifa to wheel and deal with Sheik Bahnjah. I was the lead negotiator, and I had translators straining to hear my every word, which I can get used to. And soldiers following behind me at all times. I don't think I will ever get used to that.
Abdullah’s qualifications in business lean more to the client relations side; I guess he leaves the technical details to others, who apparently had comittments elsewhere. By tradition, Sheik Bahnjah exrcises absolute control over contracts in his part of Shabwah. There really is no competition. It is not unusual for a tribe to set up a roadblock and stop competitors’ trucks going to and from the YLNG project. So, Abdullah had limited patience with my insistence on visiting his place of business, which was an open patch of desert surrounded by a cinder block wall. I recited a list of prepared questions, which he laughed at. Stuff like, what do you plan to do with 20,000 liters of waste oil per month? He assured me that he would deal with it, and all his sycophants nodded in agreement. I was really looking for something more like it will be accumulated in a bunded storage tank pending transfer to a blended fuels program in Dubai. But I could tell that Abdullah was more interested in showing us his farm, so I relented. Good move.
The best I can figure, Maifa is positioned over a huge sand lens that is underlain by impervious volcanic rock. The rock is an inclined plane and it drains water like an underground river through the sand lens from the mountains many miles to the north, where it actually rains occasionally, to the lower desert elevation, where it doesn’t.
While I am digressing, I’ll mention that there are no correct spellings of Arab words or names. Al Mukullah is variously spelled Mukalla, Mukulla, or Mukalluh. The Koran can also be spelled Quran or Qoran. The actual spelling is: squiggle with upstroke, two dots, backwards c with curly cue, vertical dash with hat. And you read it from right to left. When you ask a Yemeni to spell his name he looks at you like you’re kidding.
Anyway, I and an entourage of clients (ie, Total, Inc.) and soldiers, visited the village of Maifa to wheel and deal with Sheik Bahnjah. I was the lead negotiator, and I had translators straining to hear my every word, which I can get used to. And soldiers following behind me at all times. I don't think I will ever get used to that.
Abdullah’s qualifications in business lean more to the client relations side; I guess he leaves the technical details to others, who apparently had comittments elsewhere. By tradition, Sheik Bahnjah exrcises absolute control over contracts in his part of Shabwah. There really is no competition. It is not unusual for a tribe to set up a roadblock and stop competitors’ trucks going to and from the YLNG project. So, Abdullah had limited patience with my insistence on visiting his place of business, which was an open patch of desert surrounded by a cinder block wall. I recited a list of prepared questions, which he laughed at. Stuff like, what do you plan to do with 20,000 liters of waste oil per month? He assured me that he would deal with it, and all his sycophants nodded in agreement. I was really looking for something more like it will be accumulated in a bunded storage tank pending transfer to a blended fuels program in Dubai. But I could tell that Abdullah was more interested in showing us his farm, so I relented. Good move.
The best I can figure, Maifa is positioned over a huge sand lens that is underlain by impervious volcanic rock. The rock is an inclined plane and it drains water like an underground river through the sand lens from the mountains many miles to the north, where it actually rains occasionally, to the lower desert elevation, where it doesn’t.
Abdullah owns a vast spread of land in the valley where he runs a profitable farm raising bananas and papayas to sell in the markets in Mukullah and Aden. The village that he lords over, and provides for, is perched on the hillside nearby, but we drove instead to a small hill next to an irrigated crop of banana trees, where a tent had been set up and cushions spread around with ornamented pillows, just like in the movies. It was totally comfortable and inviting, and I took off my shoes and moved in. While the servants attended to grilling the goat and lamb over the open fire, I sipped on sweetened tea and watched the banana leaves do the herky jerk in the light midday breeze, the first green I had seen in 30 days.
We ended up spending most of the afternoon feasting, joking and loafing. Very little business was discussed. Abdullah was gracious and in good humor. He wished us the peace of Allah if he won the contract, and the peace of Allah if he didn’t. Everyone laughed and nodded in agreement.
We ended up spending most of the afternoon feasting, joking and loafing. Very little business was discussed. Abdullah was gracious and in good humor. He wished us the peace of Allah if he won the contract, and the peace of Allah if he didn’t. Everyone laughed and nodded in agreement.
Friday, April 11, 2008
What I did on my spring vacation
I attended my 21st South by Southwest music festival in Austin. This has become a reflex – I don’t even think about it, I just go. It is one of two favorite weekends of the year. The other being the Harvest Moon Regatta: 250 sports yachts beat themselves up for 2-3 days racing offshore from Galveston to Corpus Christi, and then cap it with a day or two of intensive bragging and (ideally) victory celebrations on sandy Padre Island.
SXSW is as good, but different. The annual music event has grown to superlative proportions; it may be the largest music festival in the world for all I know. Some years ago it expanded to include a 3-day interactive conference and trade show, and there is also a SXSW film festival rolled into the mix. I understand from people who care about such things that the interactive and the film festivals are well regarded in their respective industries, and you hear about this or that movie star who was seen shooting tequila shots at the Driskill Bar, etc. But for me, the music is the draw of SXSW.
Actually, the music is one of the draws. Strategically slotted in the middle of March, the festival waits for 50,000 UT students to leave town on spring break to free up space for the out-of-towners who jam the nightclubs and concert venues in and around downtown Austin. The weekend coincides with the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament. So here’s the drill: music and partying at night; catch the games during the day; repeat three times. It’s a heady cocktail: the NCAA players and the SXSW musicians all know that this is their 15 minutes of fame. For someone who enjoys live music (check) and basketball (check) it’s heaven.
St. Patrick’s Day also falls in there, which ratchets the party up still more.
1700 bands played over the four nights of SXSW 2008, up from 1300 the year before, and for the first time, I sensed an emphasis on quantity over quality. There was less of the cohesiveness and inclusiveness that has always been one of the charms of SXSW. It was as if the band count was a metric that the promoters were shooting for in order to earn some kind of a favorable consideration – similar to the way a newspaper’s circulation drives its advertising rates. That part didn’t bother me. The folks at the Austin Chronicle who created SXSW, for whom I have tremendous respect, have made no secret that the festival is intended as an industry event, with a collateral benefit to the casual wristbander who just wants to drink beer and listen to music. The downside of the SXSW super sizing is that the overall quality of the music has taken a hit. Everyone knows that SXSW is a matter of trial and error. Listen and walk on, listen and walk, until you stumble upon a gem that you’ve never heard of – like that reggae band from Monterrey at Sholtz’s, the Swedish pop trio last year, Norah Jones eight years ago. Seems like this year’s gem-to-walk ratio was low. Maybe I’m getting old.
Technology continues to make inroads, with lots of bands using sampling, sequencing and pre-recorded tracks to enhance their sound. There are pros and cons to this: the music is often better for it, but the performance isn’t. I am curious whether the SXSW band selection committee makes any attempt to determine how much of the demo CD they base their decision on will be performed live at the gig in Austin. This year I heard a lot of quartets with only 2 or 3 people on stage. Part of it may be economics. The only compensation for playing SXSW are wristbands for the band members and a $100 stipend. Recorded bass lines and drum parts must be a powerful temptation for an undiscovered techno pop band from Iceland. But for the random listener who has never heard of the Four Thors, there is a fine line between techno art and karaoke.
The other area where technology enters in is real time MIDI performance. This is where one or more performers push previously created sounds through a variety of computer effects, all to the repeating beat of digitally perfect, but un-live drum and bass. A semi-nauseating example of this was the 11 o’clock band on Japanese night: three guys grooving out behind stacks of Sony (of course) equipment, each of them continuously adjusting knobs and slide switches without eliciting any noticeable effect on the sound. All of this was layered over the only listenable component: canned drums and bass.
But there was plenty of good stuff. The gem for me was Brooklyn – a rock band from Paris playing their first show in the US. Their songs were three minute bursts of pop harmonies with interesting, short guitar hooks. It is definitely music you would play in your car. A beautiful girl playing bass doesn’t hurt. They were the midnight show on Friday at Maggie’s Upper Deck, which turned out to be one of the good venues this year. I saw British Sea Power there the following night.
SXSW is as good, but different. The annual music event has grown to superlative proportions; it may be the largest music festival in the world for all I know. Some years ago it expanded to include a 3-day interactive conference and trade show, and there is also a SXSW film festival rolled into the mix. I understand from people who care about such things that the interactive and the film festivals are well regarded in their respective industries, and you hear about this or that movie star who was seen shooting tequila shots at the Driskill Bar, etc. But for me, the music is the draw of SXSW.
Actually, the music is one of the draws. Strategically slotted in the middle of March, the festival waits for 50,000 UT students to leave town on spring break to free up space for the out-of-towners who jam the nightclubs and concert venues in and around downtown Austin. The weekend coincides with the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament. So here’s the drill: music and partying at night; catch the games during the day; repeat three times. It’s a heady cocktail: the NCAA players and the SXSW musicians all know that this is their 15 minutes of fame. For someone who enjoys live music (check) and basketball (check) it’s heaven.
St. Patrick’s Day also falls in there, which ratchets the party up still more.
1700 bands played over the four nights of SXSW 2008, up from 1300 the year before, and for the first time, I sensed an emphasis on quantity over quality. There was less of the cohesiveness and inclusiveness that has always been one of the charms of SXSW. It was as if the band count was a metric that the promoters were shooting for in order to earn some kind of a favorable consideration – similar to the way a newspaper’s circulation drives its advertising rates. That part didn’t bother me. The folks at the Austin Chronicle who created SXSW, for whom I have tremendous respect, have made no secret that the festival is intended as an industry event, with a collateral benefit to the casual wristbander who just wants to drink beer and listen to music. The downside of the SXSW super sizing is that the overall quality of the music has taken a hit. Everyone knows that SXSW is a matter of trial and error. Listen and walk on, listen and walk, until you stumble upon a gem that you’ve never heard of – like that reggae band from Monterrey at Sholtz’s, the Swedish pop trio last year, Norah Jones eight years ago. Seems like this year’s gem-to-walk ratio was low. Maybe I’m getting old.
Technology continues to make inroads, with lots of bands using sampling, sequencing and pre-recorded tracks to enhance their sound. There are pros and cons to this: the music is often better for it, but the performance isn’t. I am curious whether the SXSW band selection committee makes any attempt to determine how much of the demo CD they base their decision on will be performed live at the gig in Austin. This year I heard a lot of quartets with only 2 or 3 people on stage. Part of it may be economics. The only compensation for playing SXSW are wristbands for the band members and a $100 stipend. Recorded bass lines and drum parts must be a powerful temptation for an undiscovered techno pop band from Iceland. But for the random listener who has never heard of the Four Thors, there is a fine line between techno art and karaoke.
The other area where technology enters in is real time MIDI performance. This is where one or more performers push previously created sounds through a variety of computer effects, all to the repeating beat of digitally perfect, but un-live drum and bass. A semi-nauseating example of this was the 11 o’clock band on Japanese night: three guys grooving out behind stacks of Sony (of course) equipment, each of them continuously adjusting knobs and slide switches without eliciting any noticeable effect on the sound. All of this was layered over the only listenable component: canned drums and bass.
But there was plenty of good stuff. The gem for me was Brooklyn – a rock band from Paris playing their first show in the US. Their songs were three minute bursts of pop harmonies with interesting, short guitar hooks. It is definitely music you would play in your car. A beautiful girl playing bass doesn’t hurt. They were the midnight show on Friday at Maggie’s Upper Deck, which turned out to be one of the good venues this year. I saw British Sea Power there the following night.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Volcano
Call it a boondoggle if you want. I knew that I needed to get out of the compound for the day to do some.. reconnaissance. We had heard reports that our waste recycler was dumping the non-recyclable part of his waste shipments in various ditches along the paved road to Al Mukullah. I figured I better go investigate before things got out of hand. So armed with my trusty armed guard and a driver, I set off in search of windmills.
OK, it was a bit of a BD.
We didn't find any Yemgas garbage dumps, and I'm pretty sure that my companions still have no idea what we were doing out there. They eventually came to understand that we were looking for something, but even if I knew the Arabic words for "large amount of garbage from the construction project" I don't think they would have understood the purpose of our quest. Garbage goes on the ground in this part of the world. Where else would it go? Spending time and resources trying to track down some discarded trash so that it could be picked up and hauled off somewhere else is more than foreign, it's like moving a pawn sideways. I am reminded of the story about an Arab man who visited California. He had fallen in love with a movie star, I think it was Farrah Faucett or someone like that. Anyway, he saw her one day walking on the beach with her dog. He was awestruck: here was this larger-than-life image of a famous, rich, radiantly beautiful woman. But what was it in the plastic bag she was carrying that appeared to be, yes, he was quite certain of it now, it... was... dog poop?? Knights pawn to Bishops pawn.
Anyway, Abdul, Ahmed and I enjoyed the break in the routine, and we got to do some exploring, which was pretty cool. Among the nifty places we found was a volcanic caldera, which was filled with water. I took some photos, but I couldn't capture the unnatural greenish tint of the water. I later learned that the color was from volcanic sulfuric acid.
OK, it was a bit of a BD.
We didn't find any Yemgas garbage dumps, and I'm pretty sure that my companions still have no idea what we were doing out there. They eventually came to understand that we were looking for something, but even if I knew the Arabic words for "large amount of garbage from the construction project" I don't think they would have understood the purpose of our quest. Garbage goes on the ground in this part of the world. Where else would it go? Spending time and resources trying to track down some discarded trash so that it could be picked up and hauled off somewhere else is more than foreign, it's like moving a pawn sideways. I am reminded of the story about an Arab man who visited California. He had fallen in love with a movie star, I think it was Farrah Faucett or someone like that. Anyway, he saw her one day walking on the beach with her dog. He was awestruck: here was this larger-than-life image of a famous, rich, radiantly beautiful woman. But what was it in the plastic bag she was carrying that appeared to be, yes, he was quite certain of it now, it... was... dog poop?? Knights pawn to Bishops pawn.
Anyway, Abdul, Ahmed and I enjoyed the break in the routine, and we got to do some exploring, which was pretty cool. Among the nifty places we found was a volcanic caldera, which was filled with water. I took some photos, but I couldn't capture the unnatural greenish tint of the water. I later learned that the color was from volcanic sulfuric acid.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Random photos
The winter weather in south coastal Yemen is just about ideal: cool nights and very pleasant daytime temperatures. Only one problem: occasional windstorms in the "empty quarter" up north stir up the desert dust which diffuses its way to us (not blown to us, it has been windless here in Balhaf). The empty quarter is a huge, empty desert occupying about 1/4 of the Saudi peninsula, where the wind has been blowing the sand around for so long that the particle size is like tobacco smoke. It acts like ink if you touch it. And it doesn't settle very fast once it becomes airborne, which is why it eventually diffuses here even in the absence of wind.) We have been shrouded in a haze of this dust for a couple of days (Feb 3, 08). This photo is taken in the still of the morning on an otherwise cloudless day. Dust is a way of life throughout large parts of the Middle East, and it goes a long way towards explaining the popularity of the scarf thing that people wrap around their heads. At the first hint of dust conditions, the Yemeni men cover their face with them like a surgical mask. They don't even think about it; it is a reflex. Of course, the women are perpetually prepared for a dust storm.
I spent one day doing an environmental baseline assessment of this beach to determine whether it can be safely used as a recreational outlet on Friday afternoons for 10,000 recreation-deprived workers. The beach is in the next cove east of the construction site. Nobody owns it, nobody goes there, it is a hundred miles from nowhere. My job was to evaluate the potential vulnerability of the coral and to determine whether there were any nesting turtles who may object to human encroachment. In the background is a volcanic island, one of hundreds along the coast. It is safe to guess that no human has ever been on it. Pretty inhospitable basalt boulders, why would anyone want to go there. Still you don't normally think that there are desolate places like this outside of the Antarctic.
Wild (ferrel?) camels are common sights while driving around the countryside. Nobody really owns them as far as I can tell. Apparently they are easily rounded up when someone needs a pack animal, then they are let loose again.
Photo of Balhaf Harbor. By the end of 2008 there will be a long pier completed which will allow deep draft ocean vessels to dock and load product.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
nationalities personalities
I am in Yemen, thousands of miles from the nearest political correctician, so I get to offer some observations about some of the nationalities that are here, with a disclaimer that these generalizations are based on non-representative cross sections. Everyone knows that all generalizations are incorrect.
Still, there may be something to this notion of a national personality; I kinof think there is. Mostly though, these musings hit on my American funny bone.
Americans: There are only 12 of us, engineers for the most part. Fairly predictable demographic: mostly ex-military, most have spent time in Iraq. Mostly white, although there are a couple of black guys - managers like everyone else, well paid. There is a color blindness here in Asia, and I doubt that the 7,000 Arab Muslim laborers notice that these guys are black so much as they notice the Yemgas shirt which identifies them as ex-pats, which means they're about to be told to do something. As far as acceptance by peers, performance expectations, assignment of accomodations, etc. the racial issue is irrelevant. If the Sharia zealots decide to revolt, the black guys will be subject to scimitar death just like everyone else.
Brits: Except for the lowest levels of Yemeni, Turkish and N. Korean labor, the Brits and Americans are the only monolinguists on this project. Everyone else speaks at least two languages. The reason for this is fairly simple: English is the world language. There isn't really as much need to learn an additional language. If you are French and live in France, which is the size of Oregon, you will eventually want to explore new countries. You may want to learn Dutch so you can visit Amsterdam, but your Dutch would be lame, and everyone would respond to you in English anyway. So if you are French, you learn English, and then condescend on Brits and Americans for not being bilingual.
French: Safe to say that most of the career oil industry folks on this project are politically conservative, but even the most conservative Frenchman on this project is well to the left of the moderate American Republican. It would be nice if the French would adopt George Bush like that zany nincompoop Jerry Lewis, but helas, the overwhelming consensus is "E is stupeed, non?" It would be trite to go into the French stereotype; suffice it that there is a kernal of truth to it. I will cite an example of what may be quintessential french, but may be just a simple case of aro/ignorance: The senior managers on this project are French. There is a level of disorganization from the top which affects everyone on this project. For mid-managers, it manifests itself in the way that they plug into ones' projects - supplementing, countermanding, rejecting, whatever - without bothering to tell the task manager. Example: yesterday there was an epileptic seizure in one of the camps, and when the Yemgas doctor showed up and called the ambulance he was informed that the ambulance contract had been cancelled by the Resident Construction Manager as a cost control measure. As a sidenote: the non-euro mid-managers are treated worse in this regard than euros. It is fairly clear that the French managers have retained a residuum of colonial attitude that shows up in their interactions with non-euros. It is not blatant, but in this theater, devoid external distractions, it is hard not to notice. I hasten to add that this foible is only evident in a select few senior managers. In fact, I tend to associate with the French engineers more than others, even Americans - partially so that I can practive speaking French. Every so occasionally, someone will come up with some bourbon and a few of us will hold talks in a private setting away from the milleu. It's fun to flop between English and French during these moments of detente (c'est a dire: relaxation).
Yemenis: Felix Arab is what the Romans called them - friendly arabs. And they are. Somewhat innocent, really. They are only a generation or so removed from the 14th century. It's fun to observe the learning curve. For example, they still coming to grips with cell phones; there is some posturing when they get a call in a public setting. Also, Arabic does not have a "P" sound; they pronounce "p" as "b." One of my employees is forever informing me that the bump went out. It's like he has a permanent cold. I taught him about Peter Piper, and force him to recite it occasionally - for his benefit, really. There's probably some Muslim stricture against the "p" sound and I'm scarring him for life.
Other Arabs: I have access to a spreadhseet that is updated weekly, which breaks down the nationalities represented on the project. Surprisingly, there are very few other Middle Eastern nationalities represented. There are reasons for this. The Saudis don't need work in Yemen; they have plenty going on back home. Plus I think there is a bit of a condensention thing going on with Yemen's big brother. Some of the other Arab nationalities, for example, Iran, are not allowed because they are Shite. One of the larger Subcontractors - PetroJet - is Egyptian, with 400 employees. There is a national pride among the Egyptians that seems to be missing in other Middle Eastern nations. Not hard to imagine why, when you consider most of them were created over cocktails by some Brit with a map and a magic marker. This detail was lost on Mr. Bush, who thought he could coalesce a nation into a single identity with a shared vision. "E plurabis unim" tatoos would appear in the tonier cafes. Olympic dogsled team. National anthem. A flag.
Lebanese: Essentailly a southern European country as far as I can tell. There are a fair number of Lebanese within Yemgas and among the Subcontractors. Most of them are exceptionally cool. Like the Egyptians, all of them speak glowingly of their country, and seem to accept the political strife as a way of life. One of the hipper guys is Palestianian - he may as well be from LA. He hangs out mostly with a Maronite (Christian) guy and they get along well, although they rib each other ruthlessly for the entertainment of the Euros. If you talk to them separately, you find that their opinions on the hot button issues are polar opposites, for examples the influence of Syria, the ethics of Hezbollah, etc. But it doesn't affect their friendship. They enjoy bourbon, and seem to have access to a supply train.
Indians: Face it; they are square by western standards. Mirth is not part of their makeup. Penchant for bad glasses; like the Koreans, but with the Koreans you get the idea that they aren't hip because they don't want to draw attention to themselves as they quietly learn, accumulate, prepare... The Indians just don't care. Most of them speak a hundred languages, including English. But their English can be a challenge to understand, as their consonant projection comes from somewhere around their back molars. They love to end sentences with "only." Like "They will do what their supervisors say only." Generally speaking, they are competent and quiet. There seems to be an inner peace that they are not interested in explaining unless you press them, and even then you can't quite figure out what makes them tick. Anyway, the Indians are worse drivers than the Yemenis. Neither of them understand driving concepts that are second nature in the west. For example, they will drive up close behind a stopped car that obviously is going to need to back up. The Yemenis don't yield right of way to pedestrians, but the Indians apply a caste system approach whereby an Ex Pat pedestrian is yielded right of way, but a laborer knows better than to walk in front of a Hindu driver. It's a toss up when an Ex-pat and Laborer are walking together. The same curious phenomenon occurs with Indians and Pakistanis as with the Maronite and Palestinian. They hang out together. My theory - I have to have a theory - is that living and working in this environment is kindof a mutual adversary, which is more real than the blood struggle that goes on back home. I'm pretty convinced that Patel and Abdula won't be exchanging Christmas cards once the project is over, but at least while they are here, there's an easy familiarity that glues them together.
Still, there may be something to this notion of a national personality; I kinof think there is. Mostly though, these musings hit on my American funny bone.
Americans: There are only 12 of us, engineers for the most part. Fairly predictable demographic: mostly ex-military, most have spent time in Iraq. Mostly white, although there are a couple of black guys - managers like everyone else, well paid. There is a color blindness here in Asia, and I doubt that the 7,000 Arab Muslim laborers notice that these guys are black so much as they notice the Yemgas shirt which identifies them as ex-pats, which means they're about to be told to do something. As far as acceptance by peers, performance expectations, assignment of accomodations, etc. the racial issue is irrelevant. If the Sharia zealots decide to revolt, the black guys will be subject to scimitar death just like everyone else.
Brits: Except for the lowest levels of Yemeni, Turkish and N. Korean labor, the Brits and Americans are the only monolinguists on this project. Everyone else speaks at least two languages. The reason for this is fairly simple: English is the world language. There isn't really as much need to learn an additional language. If you are French and live in France, which is the size of Oregon, you will eventually want to explore new countries. You may want to learn Dutch so you can visit Amsterdam, but your Dutch would be lame, and everyone would respond to you in English anyway. So if you are French, you learn English, and then condescend on Brits and Americans for not being bilingual.
French: Safe to say that most of the career oil industry folks on this project are politically conservative, but even the most conservative Frenchman on this project is well to the left of the moderate American Republican. It would be nice if the French would adopt George Bush like that zany nincompoop Jerry Lewis, but helas, the overwhelming consensus is "E is stupeed, non?" It would be trite to go into the French stereotype; suffice it that there is a kernal of truth to it. I will cite an example of what may be quintessential french, but may be just a simple case of aro/ignorance: The senior managers on this project are French. There is a level of disorganization from the top which affects everyone on this project. For mid-managers, it manifests itself in the way that they plug into ones' projects - supplementing, countermanding, rejecting, whatever - without bothering to tell the task manager. Example: yesterday there was an epileptic seizure in one of the camps, and when the Yemgas doctor showed up and called the ambulance he was informed that the ambulance contract had been cancelled by the Resident Construction Manager as a cost control measure. As a sidenote: the non-euro mid-managers are treated worse in this regard than euros. It is fairly clear that the French managers have retained a residuum of colonial attitude that shows up in their interactions with non-euros. It is not blatant, but in this theater, devoid external distractions, it is hard not to notice. I hasten to add that this foible is only evident in a select few senior managers. In fact, I tend to associate with the French engineers more than others, even Americans - partially so that I can practive speaking French. Every so occasionally, someone will come up with some bourbon and a few of us will hold talks in a private setting away from the milleu. It's fun to flop between English and French during these moments of detente (c'est a dire: relaxation).
Yemenis: Felix Arab is what the Romans called them - friendly arabs. And they are. Somewhat innocent, really. They are only a generation or so removed from the 14th century. It's fun to observe the learning curve. For example, they still coming to grips with cell phones; there is some posturing when they get a call in a public setting. Also, Arabic does not have a "P" sound; they pronounce "p" as "b." One of my employees is forever informing me that the bump went out. It's like he has a permanent cold. I taught him about Peter Piper, and force him to recite it occasionally - for his benefit, really. There's probably some Muslim stricture against the "p" sound and I'm scarring him for life.
Other Arabs: I have access to a spreadhseet that is updated weekly, which breaks down the nationalities represented on the project. Surprisingly, there are very few other Middle Eastern nationalities represented. There are reasons for this. The Saudis don't need work in Yemen; they have plenty going on back home. Plus I think there is a bit of a condensention thing going on with Yemen's big brother. Some of the other Arab nationalities, for example, Iran, are not allowed because they are Shite. One of the larger Subcontractors - PetroJet - is Egyptian, with 400 employees. There is a national pride among the Egyptians that seems to be missing in other Middle Eastern nations. Not hard to imagine why, when you consider most of them were created over cocktails by some Brit with a map and a magic marker. This detail was lost on Mr. Bush, who thought he could coalesce a nation into a single identity with a shared vision. "E plurabis unim" tatoos would appear in the tonier cafes. Olympic dogsled team. National anthem. A flag.
Lebanese: Essentailly a southern European country as far as I can tell. There are a fair number of Lebanese within Yemgas and among the Subcontractors. Most of them are exceptionally cool. Like the Egyptians, all of them speak glowingly of their country, and seem to accept the political strife as a way of life. One of the hipper guys is Palestianian - he may as well be from LA. He hangs out mostly with a Maronite (Christian) guy and they get along well, although they rib each other ruthlessly for the entertainment of the Euros. If you talk to them separately, you find that their opinions on the hot button issues are polar opposites, for examples the influence of Syria, the ethics of Hezbollah, etc. But it doesn't affect their friendship. They enjoy bourbon, and seem to have access to a supply train.
Indians: Face it; they are square by western standards. Mirth is not part of their makeup. Penchant for bad glasses; like the Koreans, but with the Koreans you get the idea that they aren't hip because they don't want to draw attention to themselves as they quietly learn, accumulate, prepare... The Indians just don't care. Most of them speak a hundred languages, including English. But their English can be a challenge to understand, as their consonant projection comes from somewhere around their back molars. They love to end sentences with "only." Like "They will do what their supervisors say only." Generally speaking, they are competent and quiet. There seems to be an inner peace that they are not interested in explaining unless you press them, and even then you can't quite figure out what makes them tick. Anyway, the Indians are worse drivers than the Yemenis. Neither of them understand driving concepts that are second nature in the west. For example, they will drive up close behind a stopped car that obviously is going to need to back up. The Yemenis don't yield right of way to pedestrians, but the Indians apply a caste system approach whereby an Ex Pat pedestrian is yielded right of way, but a laborer knows better than to walk in front of a Hindu driver. It's a toss up when an Ex-pat and Laborer are walking together. The same curious phenomenon occurs with Indians and Pakistanis as with the Maronite and Palestinian. They hang out together. My theory - I have to have a theory - is that living and working in this environment is kindof a mutual adversary, which is more real than the blood struggle that goes on back home. I'm pretty convinced that Patel and Abdula won't be exchanging Christmas cards once the project is over, but at least while they are here, there's an easy familiarity that glues them together.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Balhaf Recreation
what a motley crew, the Yemgas Globe Trotters. At least the name is accurate. From left to right, we have French, Hong Kong, Austin, College Station and Italian. Not pictured are Venezuelan, Lebanese and a couple more French.
The Yemgas Green team is Yemeni.
The TDD Tankers (they are constructing the cryogenic tanks) are Korean.Other recreational stuff to do in the very limited off-hours is swim at the beach, jog the perimeter road on the inside of the fenceline. Occasionnally the Euro Ex-pats will organize a Friday afternoon drive to Bir Ali, which is an oasis, literally - you've heard the term, this is really one of them - up the coast to the east. There is nothing there by way of amenities, but the security people have deemed it safe, kindof, and it is an excuse to leave the fenced compound. Actually, as of this writing - Jan 18, 2008 - it is not safe. I have heard rumblings about some kindof of weirdness outside, which has suspended Bir Ali visits for the time being. Didn't pay it much attention, but should have, if only to be more informed-sounding in writing about it. Death was involved, so I'll try to remember to ask the security guys, who work down the hall from me about it. Stay tuned.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Return to Balhaf for Rotation #2
The most profound impression from my three-week Christmas vacation was its brevity. I’m reminded of the old-timey Hollywood depiction of the passing of time where the calendar pages curl and drop to the ground like falling leaves.
I learned something about myself during the time off: although I didn’t really have many demands on my time, I still managed to fall back into that familiar lifestyle of being rushed. I am perpetually rushing whether in Austin or in Yemen: here rushed, there rushed, everywhere rushed rushed. I’m the old MacDonald of poor time management.
I got back to Balhaf in the early hours of New Year’s Day and stopped by my cabin to unpack suitcases and take a shower before heading into the office. The transition from vacation mode to work came while in the shower, when I noticed that the soap did not rinse very well and I made a mental note to check the CaCO3 metering pumps at the RO plant.
The project remains a fascination for me. There are new and different things every day. The human interest stories are enough to keep me engaged. This afternoon, at management’s insistence, I accompanied security in an investigation of an illicit still that was in operation at the Hawk (a heavy equipment contractor) bakery. They made a wine by fermenting fruit and sugar with bread yeast, then they distilled the resultant ferment using a crude but ingenious still, involving double boilers and ice. The word I got was that the moonshine was respectable, but, unfortunately, they had dumped it by the time I got there. The human interest was the fall guy. Hodji or something, from Bangalore. He was shaking in his boots. It was pretty clear he had been set up as the sacrificial lamb. He told the security guy – Keitel, a stern Lebanese ex-military police - that nobody else knew about the operation, and that he drank all of the product himself. Keitel wanted to implicate management for duplicity, but I kindof cooled him down. It is tough for me to see someone punished for something I would have done, if I has thought of it. I kept Keitel from dragging down the kitchen management, even though it was clear they were partners in crime. But I couldn't do anything for Hodj, who was on the next flight to Bangalore. The problem was that by late afternoon, all 3 thousand mostly Yemenis at Hawk knew that Yemgas knew about the still. The Shariat has a problem with alcohol, and consequently under the circumstances, Yemgas/Hawk had to sacrifice someone in order to avert another uprising.
I learned something about myself during the time off: although I didn’t really have many demands on my time, I still managed to fall back into that familiar lifestyle of being rushed. I am perpetually rushing whether in Austin or in Yemen: here rushed, there rushed, everywhere rushed rushed. I’m the old MacDonald of poor time management.
I got back to Balhaf in the early hours of New Year’s Day and stopped by my cabin to unpack suitcases and take a shower before heading into the office. The transition from vacation mode to work came while in the shower, when I noticed that the soap did not rinse very well and I made a mental note to check the CaCO3 metering pumps at the RO plant.
The project remains a fascination for me. There are new and different things every day. The human interest stories are enough to keep me engaged. This afternoon, at management’s insistence, I accompanied security in an investigation of an illicit still that was in operation at the Hawk (a heavy equipment contractor) bakery. They made a wine by fermenting fruit and sugar with bread yeast, then they distilled the resultant ferment using a crude but ingenious still, involving double boilers and ice. The word I got was that the moonshine was respectable, but, unfortunately, they had dumped it by the time I got there. The human interest was the fall guy. Hodji or something, from Bangalore. He was shaking in his boots. It was pretty clear he had been set up as the sacrificial lamb. He told the security guy – Keitel, a stern Lebanese ex-military police - that nobody else knew about the operation, and that he drank all of the product himself. Keitel wanted to implicate management for duplicity, but I kindof cooled him down. It is tough for me to see someone punished for something I would have done, if I has thought of it. I kept Keitel from dragging down the kitchen management, even though it was clear they were partners in crime. But I couldn't do anything for Hodj, who was on the next flight to Bangalore. The problem was that by late afternoon, all 3 thousand mostly Yemenis at Hawk knew that Yemgas knew about the still. The Shariat has a problem with alcohol, and consequently under the circumstances, Yemgas/Hawk had to sacrifice someone in order to avert another uprising.
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