Meaning of Thanksgiving

All over the USA it is a very special day today – one that has a meaningful concept, one that brings families together, one that makes many to pause and count their blessings. For some it’s just another day off, a day to eat turkey with stuffing, corn bread, cranberry sauce, pecan pie to their heart’s content and to watch football. Ever since my first Thanksgiving in America (seems like eons ago) I have come to appreciate the true significance of Thanksgiving more and more as time passes.

Many people only lament about what they don’t have, but never really appreciate what they have. Some folks never have enough. Somewhere I had read, “I complained I had no shoes till I saw person with no legs”. That was an eye opener for me as a little boy growing up in a poor family. Even back then we were much better off. There were beggars and lepers at our door for a little almsgiving and my mother had shown the meaning of “giving”.

No, there is no Thanksgiving celebration, no turkey dinner in Angola, but it is still my favorite day. I have been blessed beyond imagination. I have a loving family, a house, a well paying job, eyes/ears/arms/legs, good health. I can’t ask for anymore, nor am I competing with the Jones. I have seen people who would love to be in my shoes. Right here in Angola I have seen the slums where children are growing up with nothing. Many of them won’t live to be forty. This scenery is no different than the slums of Sao Paulo, or Mumbai, or Jakarta. I see people on the streets of Luanda maimed by war, people with no legs, people dragging their body across the street with the power of their hands. I see poor street vendors selling stuff trying to make a living.

So, we have lot to be thankful for. The Native Americans had shown compassion to a starving bunch of colonists offering what they had. Obviously, the same folks were treated with injustice and unfairness. America is still going through a process of cleansing its soul. Now we take this day to pause and be thankful for everything we have, thank those who helped us to get to where we are, pray for those who are less fortunate and pray to give us the wisdom to avoid greed, injustice, and unfairness so that we can some day truly treat every life as precious and equal. So, in that sense the concept of Thanksgiving should be a universal ideal (and not just an American thing) and people all over the world have something to be thankful for.

Another Hash run

I almost sprained my ankle running down a steep ravine full of trash with other Hashers yesterday. On the other side we climbed up into a slum world. I managed to hobble through the trash, the open swear, the flies, and the narrow alleys through the slums with little black kids cheering us, giving high five. Somewhere some one was picking through the garbage. The place was filthy, the smell was horrible, and the open swear had black stuff flowing where my running shoes got wet as I tried to jump across it. The scenery was more painful than my sore ankle. Then suddenly our trail took us through a soccer (football) stadium where a game was going on. The spectators were perhaps surprised to see a weird bunch, mostly a white group running through their territory. (We were told later that it was an unsafe area). Then we ran through a big, dirty flea market as the crowd loudly cheered in Portuguese (and we had no clue what they had uttered). Somewhere along the way we did our song and dance (“Father Abraham had seven sons…”), we bowed to our “Cuca” God (a beer bill board), and finally returning to the starting point where the “virgins” (1st time Hashers) were doused with beer. I am a veteran now. I lost count of how many Hash runs I have done now. Obviously, more people recognize my face now and so do I, although I still have difficulty remembering names. I think the sights, sounds, and smell of Luanda are beginning to grow on me. Have I been here too long?

Dining in the dark

Lights went out at the staff house as I sat down for dinner a little while ago. There was absolute darkness. The cable bringing power to the house was on fire. The emergency generator did not come on. There was a commotion. All rushed outside. A fire extinguisher hanging outside the house was picked up by someone. A co-worker and I walked inside a neighbor’s shack in the shanty town all around us. It was closer to the location of the fire. There was a crowd. A local young man got up on his roof with a bucket full of sand to douse the fire. Instead I handed him the fire extinguisher with hand gesture showing how to operate. He did exactly that. Powder spewed out and doused the fire. I said to him - “mais” (more). The fire was gone. I never had the occasion to use or see in use a fire extinguisher in my life. There is a first for everything.

I finished my dinner with the little flash light my wife had given. Many more flash lights showed up. We were able to put the transfer switch in manual mode and flip the switch to the generator side. Generator started and the lights came back. Who knows how many days it will take for the commercial power to be restored to the house? TIA (This is Angola).

Back to my Ilha house again

After three hectic weeks in Houston (sweet Home), after saying final Good Bye to Tigger, after an emotional reunion with the rest of the family (two daughters came down as well to bid fare well to Tigger), after some home cooked meal, I arrived back at my Ilha house in Luanda on Saturday. The memory lingers as I try to get used to the time change, the summer of southern Africa, the dirty side walk. The airport immigration area was reverberating with chaos and noise of a huge Chinese crowd coming to build this land. The oil field workers like me are the minority who are not so used to such chaos. Again, our coming here is by choice and I must not complain. So, here I am. The other expats had organized a barbeque on our balcony on Saturday night. So, I was treated to a savory hamburger. This morning I started my routine – breakfast w/ omelette, a run along the dirty street of Ilha by the sea to Pointe Final, fixing lunch, skype w/ the family. In less than six weeks I will be united with my family again – this time in Delhi, India.