Kids show off their favorite books at The Hope Library, Kibera slum, Nairobi, Kenya

[NAIROBI, Kenya] With a little bit of trepidation I made my fifth visit or so to this city’s Kibera slum – a “city within a city” of an estimated 600,000 to 1 million residents living in very challenging conditions – to check up on the state of The Hope Library. The project was started as an audacious dream after my first visit here, a casual daylong tour by a resident (Reuters photographer Noor Khamis) who introduced me to many facets of life here, including some folks who made it know how great was their desire for books, and how dire was their need. (Read original blog post of that encounter here.)

Sure, I’d returned six months ago and seen a church classroom full of kids enjoying our first shipment of books (about 1,200 at that time), but they were mostly picture books and it was a bit of a photo op. The books were kept in a small corner of a temporary space in the St. George Orthodox Church, but the gratitude of the adults and the enthusiasm of the kids pushed me on, to months of cajoling books out of my friends, as well as donations for shipping and other needs.

So began Phase II. In all, I estimate my social network (mainly via Facebook) accounted for about 2,000 more books (carefully selected to feature categories of most value to this community), as well as donations of about $2,750, to help defray shipping and other costs. (Almost all the books were donated, but it’s extremely expensive to ship them. I lucked out by connecting with American Friends of Kenya, and for a much reduced cost, piggybacked many boxes on a shipping container they successfully sent from the States to Kenya last month.)

I couldn’t thank my Facebook crowd enough when I visited today and saw that the enthusiasm for, and commitment toward, The Hope Library had multiplied by 100 in the past six months. I interviewed both kids and adults about the impact of reading specific books on their lives (video to come later), and enjoyed seeing the adults read to the kids in a program meant to foster not only literacy but stronger parent-child ties as well.

Other highlights of the day:

• the distribution of super cool soccer jerseys, with customized design donated by Antonio Garcia of GoodNightTV.com in Chicago.
• a special hot lunch (with meat!) cooked behind the church by women and men of the community, for about 100 kids. Facebook friends also made this possible. I was told that often, the kids are lucky to get one such hot meal a week.
• brainstorming and strategic planning with the adult steering committee for entering Phase III: the acquisition of permanent land and structure to house the library collection, as well as programs of the affiliated Nicofeli Youth and Kids Clubs.

While enthusiasm about their new library (the first in Kibera!) is running high, the needs here remain great.

The coaches of the boys soccer team expressed great gratitude for the new jerseys, and now of course are keen on getting other luxuries, like … proper shoes (about $12 a pair). A medical kit (maybe $10-15) for their inevitable injuries. Modest funds for transportation to and from matches with other teams in the region (about $12 each way).

The library, as stated, needs a permanent facility, with proper shelves to encourage browsing, and preferably chairs and nice lighting to allow relaxed reading (this isn’t really possible in most residences here, simple huts or shacks that often house 6 family members in a 12×12 ft. area). Eventually, computers with web support will connect them to the outside world, but that takes money as well. A bit of a connection has been made with a local trust, but a firm commitment has not yet been made.

Osir Caleb, Evans Otira,  and other leaders of the kids club and library are diligent in their record-keeping, showing me a growing stack of formal applications submitted to the Kenyan government, NGOs (non-government organizations), and other aid agencies, almost all marked REJECTED, in hopes of getting on more stable footing. But they have made some very modest gains, have garnered some very cool publicity (see this article from Nairobi’s Standard newspaper), and they will get there. As I counseled them: Persistence paid off. I shared my own story of doggedly pursuing internships and college aid many years ago; for every 100 letters of application I submitted, probably 99 were sent back with a “sorry, but good luck” sort of letter. But when the 1 of 100 comes in, BINGO, you are in business!

If you have an interest in contributing to any of the above needs for the library, kids club or soccer program (perhaps have your child’s school soccer team sponsor Nicofeli’s?) please email me at ron@artwithinreason.com and I will fill you in on how you can help. (At the moment all book acquisitions are on HOLD – they have plenty of great stuff to choose from, with the collection at 3,200 titles or more, and need to get on solid footing with their space needs before taking on additional titles. Stay tuned to hear if we are accepting donations in the future.)

To see other photos from this visit, see this photo album at Facebook. To learn more about the origins of Hope Library, and earlier fundraising efforts, go here.

Thanks again to all my Facebook friends (and some Facebook strangers!), as well as many others, who helped bring this crazy scheme this far! Stay tuned to this blog for updates in the future.

[TEL AVIV, 12 June 09] One of the joys of my travels – or perhaps anyone’s – is the serendipity of happening on the unusual, surprising, inspiring, or fun. All four combined when I was able to witness the weddings of five gay couples on the beach in Tel Aviv, part of the city’s month-long Pride festival. An extra bonus was having my photos published in the magazine, Time Out Tel Aviv. (See published spread here, in Hebrew!)

Earlier in the day, Pride kicked off with a parade in which an estimated 20,000 people marched and/or observed (for most it was one and the same). This led to the beach, where a very fun afternoon festival commenced, with live (and lots of lip-synched!) musical acts performed from all over Europe, and the crowd enjoyed dancing when not swimming and sunning. At sunset, wedding bells – or the Jewish version thereof – commenced.

At first dismayed that I hadn’t gotten stage-front access to photograph the action, my response turned to delight when I went behind the stage, where almost no photographers had thought to go, and found some great shots of preparation for the big event – makeup, hair adjustment, posing for family photos, the flower girl awaiting her big moment. Sometimes the hidden view is the best!

From a report by Sara Miller in the Haaretz newspaper:

“Five gay couples wed Friday in a ceremonial marriage on Tel Aviv beach, at the culmination of the city’s 11th annual Gay Pride Parade, which saw more than 20,000 people take to the streets to promote gay rights.

“The ceremony, held at sundown after a boisterous disco on the sand, began with a serenade by gay pop star Ivri Lider as the three female and two male same-sex couples walked up to the Chuppah, the Jewish wedding altar.

“The ceremony was performed according to Jewish marriage rites, with each couple exchanging rings and Hebrew vows before breaking the traditional glass as the crowd erupted in applause.  Nitzan Horowitz of Meretz, the Knesset’s first openly gay parliamentarian, attended the wedding, along with Tel Aviv Mayor Ron Huldai.

“I hope that from this day weddings like this can happen in every place in Israel and not just in Tel Aviv,” Horowitz told Haaretz. “Weddings for everyone – man and woman, man and man, and woman and woman, and this will be the end of the monopoly of the ultra-Orthodox over our lives in Israel.”

“Israeli director Eytan Fox, whose movies “Walk on Water” and “The Bubble” deal with gay issues in Israel, was also there to mark the occasion.

“It’s a very important and historic day,” he said. “It’s very exciting and in the end the good guys won.”

“The parade was sponsored by Tel Aviv municipality as part of the city’s cetennial celebrations. The floats with their dancers, scantily clad youths and blasting pop music started out from Meir Park before winding their way through the city’s streets to the beachfront.

“A small group of right-wing and religious protesters demonstrated against the parade, holding up banners reading: “God hates debauchery.”

“Interior Minister Eli Yishai had called on Huldai and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to cancel the parade. On June 25, Jerusalem will host its own pride parade, an event which has in previous years sparked fierce opposition from Jewish and Muslim clerics and politicians.

Will close with my favorite photo from the event, an emotional one for me, is actually of a spectator with this evocative tattoo:

[Black Rock City, Nevada] I went on a trip. Or was it a dream? On this trip-dream, I pitched a small tent in the middle of a harsh desert. Suddenly, for one week only, 50,000 people appeared from nowhere, to join me. Some were in tents, others in RVs, and many more in elaborate, bedouin-style camps – strewn with couches, rugs, pillows, hammocks, a carpeted merry-go-round, trucked thousands of miles across the world for … what, exactly?

In huge circus tents, trapeze artists juggle flames. At midnight you stumble across a ballet stage where a troupe of 20 pirouettes around an open, arid Carnegie Hall. (Want some free ballet slippers? Try some on and take them home.) A pyrotechnic rock opera is staged on a Mayan pyramid. There’s a roller disco, a mini-golf course, costume shops – why not? You need a costume or two, right? Huge outdoor discos fill with revelers, seemingly round the clock; drinks are free to those who bring a cup, and they groove to world-class DJs, caring not that the floor might be just hard desert dust, or even the deck of a 3-story, animatronic, flame-throwing rubber ducky.

A Thunderdome appears, directly out of Mad Max. (Yes, fights take place at night, as  cheering crowds clamor atop the structure. I didn’t get the night shot I wanted but here’s a cool one I found on Flickr.) Like sets from the Mel Gibson trilogy, Black Rock City (the name of this place that appears only one week a year) is part ragtag kingdom, part psychedelic slum. You are momentarily on another planet. But it’s not just post-apocalypse Australia. Tattooine, maybe? Jabba’s sail barge or a landspeeder or a Jawa sand crawler could come gliding by at any moment and no one would bat an eye … a cantina band could strike up an alien tune. But this Star Wars is a galaxy far, far away, as guest-directed by Dr. Seuss, Felini, Cecil B DeMille, Deepak Chopra and Greenpeace. It’s Cirque du Soleil meets Outward Bound for a Macy’s parade at the Playboy mansion.

Thousands are on bikes, around the clock, but more exotic vehicles steal the show. Elaborate, colorful, customized scooters, cars, lawn mowers, buses, and semis are pimped out as fire-spouting dragons, ducks, sea anemones, spacecraft. Many of them double as party barges, some multi-level. A half-size replica of a 16th-century Spanish galleon comes cruising across the desert at night, floating, ghostly, illuminated, as does a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge. Want a further surprise? Open the door to one and a full-on jazz band is in full swing. They maneuver about the open desert outside the city proper,  touring dozens of art installations, including the six-story sculpture of the Burning Man, whose celebrated immolation will cap off the week on Saturday. Farther beyond, the Basura Sagrada, a wondrous, emotionally moving two-story temple to life and death is made entirely of recycled materials. It will burn the following night.

Miles out, someone has set up a neon-lit diner, where waiters appear to take your order for grilled cheese from sundown to sunrise. A first-time visitor wanders around this strange planet in a daze, exclaiming “what’s this?!” about every five minutes.

“What’s this” is not a dream, but a trip in every sense – it’s the Burning Man Festival, an annual experiment in community, art,  evolution and expression held in the middle of nowhere (3 hours north of Reno, to be more precise). It’s daunting if not impossible to describe the experience sufficiently/accurately – the Wikipedia entry (linked below) says it’s “a bit like trying to explain what a particular color looks like to someone who is blind” – though this desert adventure is no mirage as I found out in a last-minute trip just finished. I had read a bit about it, was a bit perplexed about the weird stew of camping and culture, and when opportunity arose, I said what the heck and dove in to find out for myself.

No cell phones, no texting, no email. A week of this would be a nightmare for some people I know; for many others like me, worn out by “the culture of the always-on,” it’s a fantasy come true. Imagine, actual interactions with human beings who are at the moment connected with you, curious about you, concerned about you, and not monitoring their doings with others, or eager to rush to do so, via the latest trendy gadget. (I’m as guilty of this as anyone, and now home, trying to curb it.) There’s no judgment, no hate, no prejudice, no ageism. Kooks are celebrated. Coloring – and living, dancing, being – outside the lines is encouraged. Generosity rules.

Complete strangers make you delicious French crepes in the morning, serve you snow-cones or margaritas to beat the mid-day heat, and one night invite you to a gourmet sirloin dinner. No payment accepted or expected. You have something to swap? Okay, sure.

You notice a distraught woman in the dark near your tent; you say honey, you look like you need a beer. She tells of a big fight with her boyfriend, something about a punctured air mattress and the prospect of sleeping on hard ground for the week. Your camp-mates give her their spare mattress. The next morning she glides by on her bike, with her boyfriend, thanking you for possibly saving the relationship. She later gives you each a sweet hand-carved Burning Man necklace. Bling!

Wanna practice exotic forms of yoga or massage? Join a band? Volunteer? Take a drawing class? Learn survival skills or circus talents? Hundreds of workshops, lectures, parties take place throughout the week. You can sample them with gusto, or sit and do nothing. You can wander around and chat up strangers or steal away and meditate on it all. Artists, photographers and fans enjoy dozens of mind-blowing installations, many interactive, out on “the playa” (the deep desert where art appears like random ghost towns).

Like life, Burning Man is what you make it, and hard to pigeonhole, label, define, or limit. Not for the faint of heart, it’s described as “a week of radical self-reliance,” and the fact that wimps are weeded out builds camaraderie among those who make it in. You are thoroughly prepped to bring all your own food and 1.5 gallons of water per day, as well as proper clothing and gear for extreme heat and cold, and … sandstorms.

As promised, there were sandstorms. A big whiteout on Monday delayed our entry into the festival for six hours as we, and thousands of others, sat in our cars and stewed, eager to set up camp late at night. Then came Tuesday – sunny, 70-ish (though probably hotter, the lack of humidity made it bearable), breezy. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday too. Huzzah, we lucked into the perfect week!

Then Saturday, mid-day, dust devils appeared in the desert. Sorta cool, in a way. Onward we marched through an impromptu biking tour of the art. We find an outsider-ish sculpture of old drums, cymbals, urns and trashcan lids inviting passersby to stop and join in for an impromptu jam session – which occasionally sounded quite tuneful! There’s a dreamy, 2-story metal birdcage to climb into if (if only that topless woman would get off the swing). In the distance, the amazing Basura Sagrada temple – worth a third visit of the week, to see tens of thousands of more inscriptions and mementos to lost loved ones … so moving. (See my separate blog entry on that.) And then … the big whiteout hits.

We trek back to the tents to make sure they’re not gone with the wind. They aren’t, but things are getting messy. Our cheap tents in no way seal out the fine, relentless sand. We need a rest and though it’s windy, it’s hot as heck; sweat mixing with this fine silicate dust turns to clay-like mud on my sleeping bag. It’s gross and annoying and one wonders, if it keeps up or intensifies, could it be life-threatening?

We pack up the tents and consider bailing one night early, but just in case, chill out with our neighbors Brian and Aaron for a bit. (They have two hammocks and five chairs!) Before sunset, the storms mostly clear. We are excited (with 50,000 others) to gather in mid-playa for the “big burn” and watch the six-story Man fall in a blaze of fireworks and controlled explosions. We are told an artist connected with the event who had recently died was being cremated in the structure as well. (Imagine the laws that must have been dealt with, or skirted, to make this happen.) Overall it’s a solemn, amazing, experience. An international crowd at the world’s biggest bonfire celebrates this weird Halloween, New Year’s Eve and 4th of July … on Mars.

What if real like were more like this? Not the sandstorms (please!) but the generosity, the curiosity, the spontaneity, the involvement and connection of a place not ruled by technology, ego, exclusion, class and race divisions, big government, bureaucracy? People picking up after themselves, being responsible for their survival, not putting foreign objects in the toilet?

It’s all food for serious thought, as is the underlying message of non-attachment and impermanence. Over seven days, life appears from nowhere. Magic takes place. Then it all vanishes with the dust and wind – in some cases, purposely destroyed by its creators. Why? To heighten our appreciation of wonder while it exists … to make room for more great fun in the future … to leave at least a small patch of earth as we found it … and to wipe clean the big metaphorical canvas that anyone attending can imagine putting their own stamp on.

Such is my attempt to describe the undescribable. After hearing some of this, a big question from my friends seems to be: Would I do it again? God! This must be like asking a woman whose given birth if she wants another one. Wait a little bit before you force me to answer! In the meantime, if you have any other questions about this weird week, feel free to toss them at me. Leave them in the comments section (I have to moderate to screen out the spam) and it might make for a fun followup post. And thanks for checking in with the blog!

Burning Man links:

My blog entry on visiting the fabulous Basura Sagrada temple

Considering going? My blog entry with thoughts for first-timers

My Flickr photo album – Burning Man People and Places

My Flickr photo album – Favorite Burning Man Art

My Flickr album – Burning Man’s Basura Sagrada Temple

The Burning Man official site (with beginner’s guide, history, etc)

A Burning Man guide to some of this year’s art (with links to previous years)

A recent New York Times article and slide show on the preparations of an NYC collective headed to the playa

Extremely thorough Wikipedia entry about Burning Man.

Fascinating lecture by founder Larry Harvey,  “A History of Burning Man.”

[Black Rock City, Nevada] Among my favorite sights and sensations of Burning Man 2008 was one of the showpiece art installations, the Basura Sagrada temple. Each year at Burning Man, a temple is constructed as a work of art and architecture and memorial, where the festival participants (or “citizens,” now numbering about 50,000) leave inscriptions and mementos of loved ones lost. The temple, as with all of the art on display in this vast desert, comes and vanishes in a week. This spectacle, like the Burning Man itself, goes down in a blaze of glory and solemnity at week’s end.

Hard to imagine that this construction of recycled tin cans, bottle caps, wood and cardboard and wire can move one to tears (NOT attractive or comfortable while wearing swim goggles and face mask to ward off sandstorms!). But that’s exactly what this place did – much more moving, in its odd way, than the Taj Mahal that I visited exactly a year ago in Agra, India. Perhaps it’s the rawness, the immediacy, the wonder of it coming and going within the week, the instant and furious creation of community and its planned immolation?

We stumble on the site on Tuesday evening while still under construction – cranes lifted workers high in the air, doggedly putting on the finishing touches. We hear sandstorms earlier in the week had delayed things; but by Thursday, a second daytime visit finds the place complete and in full swing. Swarming with “burners,” as festival-goers are called, the structure had within 48 hours been filled with tens of thousands of heartfelt (and a few silly) inscriptions in marker, pencil and pen, and many mementos of loss, love, recovery, regret, covering every banister, stairstep, even the flapping wind chimes.

A few shrines have cropped up; photos are duct-taped to the wall; the odd stuffed animal is here or there. You take it all in as you wander, just as you would Cinderella’s Castle or any attraction at DisneyLand, but this place has meaning.  What do you do? Collapse from the collective impact of 20,000 expressions of grief? Or marvel at the contributions, the beauty, the legacy of all these friends and family who are remembered?

I leave an inscription, then sort of speechless, pause to meditate in one of the vestibules (not sure if that’s the right word but let’s go with it). There I meet and chat with Sergio, an Argentine, maybe 40 years old, who has traveled here for the week, to be moved by this place, take it all in, leave something behind. We each have come thousands of miles, we briefly connect (I share observations about the three months I lived in Buenos Aires, among other things), then we say goodbye and trek off across the desert, and eventually, back to the real world. Ah, life. People come and go so quickly here.

I visit a third time, biking across the plain on Saturday with my travel companion Tom, to find the place a bit more crowded, with visitors as well as remembrance. Again the place is alive. Then the winds pick up. Visibility at times becomes difficult. Even up close, the elaborate and beautiful recycled wind chimes become hazy and start to vanish in the sandstorm, and at times they whip wildly and create a magical, frenetic, industrial sort of song. Though you are standing on solid wood, the place does give off the vibes of a mirage, and the sound of the wind whipping through the silence of the visitors is magnetic.

I leave two more inscriptions, “we love you and miss you,” for Maria and Jose. Why not? I make one last stop on the second floor balcony to look out on an awesome scene. Against logic, sand striking me and my digital camera from all directions, I take photos of some of these irresistible and unearthly scenes. In particular, the view of the Burning Man “faithful” arriving to experience this temple strikes me as wondrous – people, bikes, portions of the site installation come in and out of view with the storm. “Please let this one photo turn out!” I think – just seconds before the lens freezes in place. Dammit! Though shooting is sacrificed for the remainder of the trip, the photo (below) did turn out, and I was able to un-jam the camera once home. Little miracles out of a place of harshness and wonder!

I flew home Sunday, in time to watch the streaming webcast of the ceremonial burning of the temple. A tiny, low-res, choppy video provides a ghostly final image of a place that briefly moved thousands, one last flickering glimpse of my first Burning Man experience.

Why create such a thing? I close this post with the philosophy of the creators of the temple, from their website (linked below):

“We build art out of trash for many reasons. Our goal is to make something amazing and exotic out of materials deemed unworthy, the stuff we throw away everyday. And while it is obvious that making something beautiful out of refuse is a political act, the question we hope to answer with this project is whether it can also be a spiritual act. We believe that it can.

“Basura Sagrada is a temple constructed entirely from burnable trash, recycled materials, and the tossed-off detritus of American society. Meticulously detailed, the temple will be a precious space created from non-precious materials. By replacing the gold and marble surfaces of traditional temples with aluminum can adornments and cardboard spires, we hope to inspire others to see everyday trash as beautiful, to save everyday trash and use it—not because it is responsible or right or necessary to recycle (although that is certainly important), but because people are excited about the materials and medium.

“We believe that the material itself has an inherent value that can be unlocked in the right hands. We will attempt to unlock unprecedented levels of beauty, and do it on a scale that will blow people’s minds and function as a sufficient vessel for the hopes, dreams, memories, and losses of our community. We welcome intrepid visitors to this space to be a part of this grand experiment in trash alchemy.”

Thanks to the amazing creators of this structure for their hard work and vision! Meanwhile, if you had the good luck to visit this place and have an impression or experience you want to share, please do it in the comments section below – thanks!

Links:
My Flickr photo set – Basura Sagrada.
The Basura Sagrada official site.
The official Burning Man site.

[Note: the above is not my sentiment, thank God,
but if I were in this state and able, I'd do it too!]

As someone who decided only 3 days before the event to attend Burning Man 2008, I feel wholly unqualified to offer advice to future first-timers. So, here you go:

1. So you’re an art groupie or fan of oddball vacations in desolate locations. Great. If you think you can handle the daytime heat, nighttime chill, and most of all, sandstorms, proceed … with caution.
2. Take care to read EVERY bit of advice on the first-timers guide available on the Burning Man site. The 2008 version, at least, is here.
3. Don’t overpack. I stressed about it too much in the several days preceding and in the end, didn’t use half the clothes or costumes I took with. Think one or two outfits for potential nighttime chill (though we had very mild evenings -never cold) and really, not much for daytime. Like, a sarong or two could last you most of the week – seriously. And at least four camps had costume shops that passed out wacky clothes for free (which you WILL want – don’t show up in GAP khakis and white tees or you will feel totally out of place). And they accepted drop-offs when done.
4. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.
5. Sunscreen.
6. While the program for the week had hundreds of workshops, lectures, and other group activities, don’t fret about not having time for all you want to do. You won’t. And half the activities I tried to sample never came off (instructor didn’t show, mutant bus never appeared to take us on an art tour). No biggie. You go with the flow and head for Plan B. Improvising is totally fun here.
7. Be social. Say hi to people for no reason. Ask them how they are doing, what’s the highlight, etc. I’ve never seen a place with friendlier people.
8. Do what you can to obtain a bike. Black Rock City has grown so big. My friend Tom went last year without a bike and said the constant trekking was a chore. This year we attempted to buy used bikes in Reno but were a bit too late to the game; by mid-day Monday all were gone. Check around to see if you can reserve in advance. Around 4 oclock we checked out Wal-Mart, which had a decent $99 mountain bike. We got 2 24-inchers, took the wheels off, and crammed them in the back of the compact rental car. Knowing we’d probably not want to haul them back out, we made friends with people who drove a large Ryder rental truck who were happy to take them off our hands. Not a bad investment for about $20 a day, easy transportation. (If I lived within driving distance I might take my bike, but keep in mind, the dessert will chew it up. May want to consider buying a cheapie.) The Kiwanis in Reno, we heard, also take donations at the end of the week, but you have to haul it to Reno when done.
9. We let our trash pile up and despite eating all the food, ended up with more to take home than we brought in. Not sure how this happened, but, they do allow you to burn paper trash on site at BRC, and they have a recycling center that accepts clean aluminum cans. This would have made for a less cluttered car on the way out (though in the end, it wasn’t a big deal to toss it in the Dumpster of the one of the many discount motels that refused us accommodation in Reno late Saturday night!)
10. Think about getting involved with a regional group before attending. If nothing else you can chat with people online or on the phone to get more advice; and who knows, you may be able to share a ride or even join up with a large tent camp. For an additional fee paid to the camp, you may get sleeping accommodations, couches to lounge on, water shipped in, food prepared throughout the day, cleanup afterward. You’ll probably have to pitch in but this is part of the fun. I may consider this in a future visit. Camps can be large and communal – 50 people or more – or they can be small and private. The photo above was from a realistic and fun Louisiana bayou shack that some former New Orleaners created; they had rugs, couches, a sturdy wooden structure (on 3 sides anyway), a porch, and a slamming screen door. Sweet! (Thanks again guys for inviting us in for a beer and some chat.)
11. Think about gifting. If you are handy, you might make cheap bead bracelets or necklaces or buttons or temporary tattoos to share with people. Something with the Burning Man logo is extra cool. (It looks a little like an X with a diamond for the head – you can find it on the top of the BM home page and probably elsewhere.) People gave me magnets, small paintings, a necklace, sunglasses, a page from a completed novel with instructions about where to download the rest. The advice is not to give out crap that you yourself would not want to receive – things that can be used on the playa and contribute to the community spirit seemed to be most welcomed.
12. There are many other ways of giving also. People read tarot cards, predicted fortunes, offered up free advice, performed marriage and divorce ceremonies (permanent and temporary), sang or played instruments or danced, and cooked meals and dispensed free drinks. To LOTS of people. We were offered crepes, coffee, margaritas, beers, bacon and bloody marys, sirloin steak dinners. The generosity is truly impressive. You can also volunteer to sell coffee or ice (the only 2 things sold here) or patrol the playa for pickup of litter (aka MOOP – Matter Out Of Place). Give back!
13. Cameras: This is the best and worst of photo ops. Great content everywhere you look. But, also dust like you wouldn’t believe. Some people put gaffe tape over every crack or opening of their camera they could think of; others tried to tape a plastic bag over everything but the lens. I don’t know how the pros survive this environment but saw some people shooting with some major gear. I had one cheap digital camera jam on me during the final stretch of the trip (obliterating use of that camera), and my nice camera, I was skittish about using after that. (Just shipped it off for a MAJOR cleanup today.) People had disposable underwater cameras, you might consider that. Some people found cases that coulid make a small digital almost airtight. Do some research to protect your gear, but do plan to take pictures of some sort! (Note: video requires filling out paperwork promising not to use it for commercial gain. See this page for more info.)
14. Burning Man is all about the lights at night. If you have a bike or a vehicle, light it up to the max. Same for your person. Something called EL wire was all the rage, and you can peruse that, and other light effects, at this link. Shop before you get there.

That’s it for now. If you have other suggestions, just use the comments section below. I have to moderate but would love to see other first-timers contribute here!

But bag inspections at X-ray stations always give me a special kind of nerves. What did I pack and forget about that will embarrass us all when they paw through it? What item innocuous to me will arouse an interrogation?

Take tonight in Lagos. I thought I was home free since my friend and I were being personally whisked through almost all of the airport’s chaotic check-in and boarding procedure. (He’s one of the top 15 fliers in the world on this airline, and one of only 6 on an elite advisory board whom they treat like royalty.) But no. One of my carry-ons was a relatively ratty shopping bag from two countries ago, in which I had wrapped a piece of “art” in a hooded sweatshirt. It raised flags in the X-ray scanner.

“Open this up please.” I unwrap the piece. “What is this?” Art, I reply. Suddenly I know I am in trouble. The Nigerian security mama seems by no stretch to be an art lover, let alone an admirer of the outsider/street/folk art I have purchased in the Nairobi slums. “Art? What kind of art? What is this made of?” Oh shit. It’s a framed collage made of broken glass. Wire. Shards of slum crap. Among other things. All secured in place, but still. Between my passport photo, and the fact that an al Qaeda alert relating to American interests was issued earlier in the week (this is true), I’m getting nervous.

I make the plea that I’d already made it once through Kenyan airport security, that I am an artist (a stretch, but aren’t we all) and trying to help out destitute folks in the slums of Kenya by sharing their art with the world. I have no idea where our Lufthansa shepherd is, or my friend! A few major suspicious eyebrows and harumphs (and an obvious thumbs-down to my purchase), the agent says “wrap this up” and I get the hell out of there.

I’m not going to show the work here just now, but I will say, after I purchased it in a Kibera studio (shack), I asked the guys to tell me about the artist. I learned it was produced by “Ali Gator” (they all have handles), an erstwhile plumber who currently is in prison for a domestic battery disturbance involving his father and a rent collection. (Hmmm – prison art – bet I can sell this to Intuit.) Now, here is your geopolitical education for the day: Kenya currently is suffering a major prison crisis – overcrowding, understaffing, rioting, dreadful conditions, etc. The plumber part was evidenced by the creative use of a drain-stopper in the mixed-media collage – slightly puzzling since a drain-stopper of any sort would seem an audacious dream in the plumbing-deprived Kibera. But that’s the great thing about art – it makes you think.

* * *

You will be able to view this suspicious piece of art, along with a number of other mixed media works and paintings (I swear they are not all this odd) from the M2 collection of street artists in Kibera, at an upcoming show. I’m happy to announce here the opening of my new studio/gallery, within(Reason): a space for contemporary art and photo, in the Pilsen area of Chicago (south of downtown). The inaugural show will be called “Hope In a Hard Place” and will also feature:

a supersized slide show of my photographs of the kids of Kibera

prints of the beautiful graffiti of the M2 collective calling for justice, peace, and an end to the tribal tensions that flared, fatally, after December’s elections

some funky abstract oil paintings of Kenya’s Masai tribespeople

Fun huh? And my show’s not the only reason to venture out. The opening is held during Pilsen’s monthly “Second Friday” Gallery walk, on Friday June 13, from 6-9 pm, so you can check out the rest of this growing arts district as well. If you can’t make it this night, just call or email to make an appointment to see the show in the week preceding, or for a few weeks after, and/or visit my new website, ArtWithinReason, to preview the art and find information including address and map.

Please note: all profits of any art sold at this event or via the website will be returned to the kids of Kibera for arts programs and/or an after-school club, when I return there later this year (and once I figure out how to reliably funnel proceeds to such a thing). Holler if you wanna help!

Sort of wound up in “work” mode and perhaps after one too many glasses of champagne, I offered this fabulous talk-show diva advice (initially unsolicited, then embraced, with gusto) on marketing, branding, and “taking it to the next level.” (I had spent the day helping the team here invent, name, brand a new newspaper.) If I’ve learned nothing else after two months in Africa, “moving up” is what everyone seems to be trying to do these days, on one level or another. Maybe it’s all anyone has ever aspired to, now that I think about it.

Her show, “Moments with Mo,” has been on national cable for three years, and has just gone regional. The first two years, she says, were stage-fright city. I said fear not, I grew up watching “A.M. Chicago” and Oprah wasn’t always the smooth operator she appears today. She too had to start somewhere on the road to becoming a global megabrand!

Mo – stylish, articulate and energetic – was eager to hear my thoughts on where to go next. Continental expansion of her show! Clothing lines! I told her to go for the gold. My Chicago connection was not lost on her in any way, so she assumed I was the pipeline to Oprahtivity. Here’s some of my advice I shared with la Mo:

• OK, so you too are all about inspiration and empowerment. Forget “Moments with Mo,” I said. Sunset that title, reinvent yourself and the show, and go with “Mo!mentum” (or “Momentum!”) for your new platform.
• Spice up the brand, get a new logo, start that blog! (True, difficult in Nigeria, with the internet working about 5% of the time, but people, we are dreaming the big dreams here.)
• Africa still loves newspapers, so start an advice column. Be the Nigerian of Nigerians and get up in everyone’s face! (In a nice way, of course.)
• So you want to get Oprah’s attention. Don’t think small, woman! Open a girl’s school. In Lincoln Park. In Chicago.
• Further, take your lead from Oprah, and title your production studio your name spelled backward. Forget Harpo Studios – what could be more inspirational, more balanced and centered, than Om Inc.©
• But don’t stop there – demand must exist for “mO – The Magazine©.”
• If you really want to go for it, change your name. Hello, Moprah!

I can’t wait to see what comes next for Nigeria’s Oprah, and look forward to connecting with her on my return travels there later this year. (Warning to my friends Todd and Kristyn at CBS Channel 2 in Chicago – and my Poynter broadcast friends Jill and Al – and probably Kelly, too – you will be asked to review Mo’s programs if I can get them on DVD at some point. Stay tuned!)

Fun links: check out her website here!

Sofitel hotel … fluffy bed (maybe a little too much – bad back in the morning) … concrete wall shuts out the outside world … impossible wi-fi (how on earth do these people blog?) … amazingly weak orange juice … large in-room safe … power goes out (unbelievably inadequate power grid, thanks to corruption of previous regime – everyone’s on generators) … locals along the road balancing stuff on their head like nobody’s business … a client who wants to change the course of an abused nation … nighttime visit to funky boutique hotel/arts colony, wondering, should we stay here on the next visit? visiting Exxon consultants recommend it … sharing of gigantic Star beer (favored here but from Ghana) … chatting about local culture and challenges with the literati, including Kiszo, a Nollywood film producer (their version of Hollywood, or Bollywood, and apparently, huge) who has just returned from time in L.A. and Atlanta … we meet a local musician, who claims to be an inventor of a unique model of square bongos as well as the reincarnation of my colleague Mario … picked up daily and driven to work by client’s drivers, served lunch and picked-up-after by his man-servants – he calls them “stewards” – I’m thinking I need someone like this at home (Erich’s reading this, thinking, “been there, done that”) … dinner companion tells an exotic tale of juju (voodoo), a politician’s naked wife and a severed head on the kitchen floor … afternoon driving tour of the three islands, viewing structures that once were obviously proud and at least middle class, driven to ruin by political anarchy … nice long swim in the hotel pool which is quite nice, like bathwater … we visit the office of the prospective editor, and view a terrific collection of work by a local artist … a nice contrast to some of the scenery on the way there …  fantastic, elegant cocktail party held by our clients, with eclectic mix of piano players, singers, movers and shakers from Lagos and beyond …

(Watch this space for later observations on Lagos, as several visits are scheduled in the coming months …) 

[Kibera slum, Nairobi, Kenya] My second visit to Kibera, May 4 (posting this entry after mulling it over for a week). Being taken in a little deeper this time. I had been to a “drinking den” on my first visit, but my shepherd this time, Osir, takes me to another one (despite my stated focus on reconnecting with some artists I met earlier).

The half-dozen gatherees are socializing, and drinking changaa, the traditional homemade liquor of the Luo people, in a shack with a dirt floor, cardboard wall. A child who might be 2 years old sleeps nearby. (She’s at the far right in the photo below- maybe that’s her pink backpack on the wall above her?) Another boy, about 8, refills the liquor jug when needed, if mom (the proprietress) is otherwise busy.

It’s a funny dance, having the rare mzungu (white guy) in their midst. Do they want to have their photo taken, or not? Do they want to chat, or not? Sometimes it’s both at once.

One guy (in the hat, on the right, in photo above) strikes up a chat. “I love a good book. Do you like to read?” Nonchalantly, he tosses at me his current read – or rather, the ripped-out middle third. The front portion of The Parcifal Mosaic has been passed on to its lucky next reader; the final third, well, he’ll have to get to that when he can find out who has it. It’s all about sharing when it comes to books in Kibera, if it comes to that at all.

“Ludlum does the best stories, but only if you can deal with extremely complex characters. Man, he does characters like nobody can.” The others chime in enthusiastically; maybe they are reading the first third, or the last. I tell them I read 3 or 4 Ludlum stories in high school, not so much since. (Can’t focus on all those characters.)

These guys are readers. Osir, too. When I later mention some books I was reading on my travels, he asks, “do you have any that I might like?” (I wasn’t sure if either of the titles on my nightstand at the Holiday Inn would quite make the best slum reading: Briefing for a Decent into Hell, and Things Fall Apart. People, you cannot make this stuff up.)

Osir tells me Kibera has no library. (No surprise, there’s barely running water, primarily to community pumps.) The adults, with plenty of time on their hands, are more than eager to read, it’s obvious; books for kids in school are hard enough to come by, let alone those for the pure joy of reading.

I think, how sad these kids might not get to read, for example, books like Miss Pickerell on the Moon, one title that oddly sticks in my head as having provided joy and distraction in 4th grade. Sure, it’s the ludicrous, implausible tale of a grandmother exploring interplanetary travel, but who more than these kids needs the message that improbable dreams can come true?

Let me cut to the chase here – it’s midnight and I wake at 4 for an early flight. If you live in Chicago, and you have spare paperbacks lying around the house, especially kids books, let me have ‘em. I’ll be coming back later this year for work, and can load up a big suitcase and share them with folks in the slum (perhaps via Osir’s church or something). I know the argument of some people that you should go through proper channels and let the Red Cross or Unicef deal with this stuff, but obviously, it’s not quite happening. At the end of the day (and it certainly is that here), you gotta believe that small individual acts have a place, too, and can sometimes make a difference.

Hmmm … speaking of Kenyan kids with a dream, here’s an idea – bulk purchase of Audacity of Hope, anyone?

[Decoration inside home in Kibera slum, Kenya]