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Let's cheer for something else
Jeff Todd
Posted: April 19, 2013
The last few days in Boston have brought terror back to America.
There are so many possible reasons why it happened. Perhaps the two Chechen brothers were intrinsically disgruntled and a bit unhinged, not so unlike U.S. citizens shooting up movie theaters or schools. Speculation will be rife with potential links and funding from foreign terrorist organizations or governments. And of course, the endless references will be made to their Muslim heritage and alleged extremist and Islamic points of view.
Finding the root cause is important. But even more important, in my humble opinion, is changing the culture that causes it to grow.
As the police engaged in a kind of military parade, flanked by hundreds if not thousands of cheering residents, I couldn't help but hear a familiar chant:
"USA! USA! USA!"
I remember first time I heard that cheer in Montreal. McGill is a rather popular university of Americans, and during particular times of year, they descend on mass and engage in nationalism and bravado. It bugged me then, too.
I am happy for the people of Boston. I'm happy for America. I'm glad one of the suspects is alive and the victims may receive answers.
But at a time of such trauma and hardship, which reminds us of the distance between us, why must we chant: "USA! USA! USA!"
It seems like a simple enough phrase. Just three little letters. To others, it's an ideology and way of thinking. It is arrogance and creation of "the other".
Did you notice that the suspects complained of having no American friends? How they will never understand them?
Perhaps I'm just being a Canadian. We've always had an understated sense of nationalism. One day, however, I hope Americans cheer for something else.
Posted: April 19, 2013
The last few days in Boston have brought terror back to America.
There are so many possible reasons why it happened. Perhaps the two Chechen brothers were intrinsically disgruntled and a bit unhinged, not so unlike U.S. citizens shooting up movie theaters or schools. Speculation will be rife with potential links and funding from foreign terrorist organizations or governments. And of course, the endless references will be made to their Muslim heritage and alleged extremist and Islamic points of view.
Finding the root cause is important. But even more important, in my humble opinion, is changing the culture that causes it to grow.
As the police engaged in a kind of military parade, flanked by hundreds if not thousands of cheering residents, I couldn't help but hear a familiar chant:
"USA! USA! USA!"
I remember first time I heard that cheer in Montreal. McGill is a rather popular university of Americans, and during particular times of year, they descend on mass and engage in nationalism and bravado. It bugged me then, too.
I am happy for the people of Boston. I'm happy for America. I'm glad one of the suspects is alive and the victims may receive answers.
But at a time of such trauma and hardship, which reminds us of the distance between us, why must we chant: "USA! USA! USA!"
It seems like a simple enough phrase. Just three little letters. To others, it's an ideology and way of thinking. It is arrogance and creation of "the other".
Did you notice that the suspects complained of having no American friends? How they will never understand them?
Perhaps I'm just being a Canadian. We've always had an understated sense of nationalism. One day, however, I hope Americans cheer for something else.
Dr Arthur Porter speaks
March 2, 2013 - Interview with Nassau Guardian and NB12 - Nassau, Bahamas
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Lord help us
Jeff Todd
Posted: January 12, 2013
In case you didn't know, The Bahamas is a rather religious society. And that's somewhat of an understatement. It is a "Christian" nation. (listen to above clip)
Bahamians go to church on Saturdays and Sundays. There are no visible synagogues or mosques.
What the Christian Council says on any given topic matters. Bishops are kingmakers in any political election.
I'm not against religion. Far from it. While I'm not a religious man, I come from a long line of ministers, and I respect those with faith.
What I can't stand is intolerance - and The Bahamas has plenty of it.
There is a reason that most modern civilizations have divided the church and state. One day The Bahamas will truly get there. But not today.
Posted: January 12, 2013
In case you didn't know, The Bahamas is a rather religious society. And that's somewhat of an understatement. It is a "Christian" nation. (listen to above clip)
Bahamians go to church on Saturdays and Sundays. There are no visible synagogues or mosques.
What the Christian Council says on any given topic matters. Bishops are kingmakers in any political election.
I'm not against religion. Far from it. While I'm not a religious man, I come from a long line of ministers, and I respect those with faith.
What I can't stand is intolerance - and The Bahamas has plenty of it.
There is a reason that most modern civilizations have divided the church and state. One day The Bahamas will truly get there. But not today.
Meet the characters - Benjamin Moody
Jeff Todd
Posted: Nov 10, 2012
"They, the others, were just waiting for their moment to strike. They missed me the first time, he thought. But they will be back."
Moody plays a small but important role in Storm of Hate. He watched the flood rise in his appliance store, stooped on a dishwasher with a shotgun clutched tight. And then there was silence. It was silent for hours until he heard the others. They smashed their way into shops along the busy thoroughfare. But they missed me, he brewed, two barrels point at the door. He hated them and feared them.
So quiet, he thought. There was a breeze that pushed the surface of the water peacefully in interconnected rings. The sun was shining on his face. But he didn’t linger. Instead he turned with a grimace, an ugly curl in his lip, and popped the top of the spray can; he wrote like a child, with large, irregular blocks of letters.
Moody stood back from his work and felt safer. It was then he heard a sound.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Posted: Nov 10, 2012
"They, the others, were just waiting for their moment to strike. They missed me the first time, he thought. But they will be back."
Moody plays a small but important role in Storm of Hate. He watched the flood rise in his appliance store, stooped on a dishwasher with a shotgun clutched tight. And then there was silence. It was silent for hours until he heard the others. They smashed their way into shops along the busy thoroughfare. But they missed me, he brewed, two barrels point at the door. He hated them and feared them.
So quiet, he thought. There was a breeze that pushed the surface of the water peacefully in interconnected rings. The sun was shining on his face. But he didn’t linger. Instead he turned with a grimace, an ugly curl in his lip, and popped the top of the spray can; he wrote like a child, with large, irregular blocks of letters.
Moody stood back from his work and felt safer. It was then he heard a sound.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Everyone loves (and hates) a storm As Sandy approaches, immerse yourself in new hurricane fiction:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256
Eye on the Storm
My backyard 9am, Oct 26
My backyard at 7pm, Oct 25
My latest story: http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jxlHwPAWo-rEgFJcD1g1WV-8kKQQ?docId=38f99ab4d00846d79e55ce1426227ff7
Meet the characters - Eva Finn
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 20, 2012
“Each other. You. Me. Everyone. I’ve seen it. We’re afraid of each other. Isolated. Disconnected. We’ve stopped caring. We’ve forgotten that we’re all united in this disaster. Hundreds walk in here, defeated, distraught and desperate. And they’re entitled to these feelings. Lives ruined. But this storm has done more than that. It’s stripped off that polished, scented gleam. Those fragile things that make us civilized, like we are reduced to something less, unnatural, yet decidedly natural at the same time.”
Pretty and petite, Eva Finn is the daughter of a wealthy developer, Ronald. She drives into New Orleans to visit him while he's on a business trip. Eva has never wanted for anything in her life, except a meaningful relationship with her father.
Nothing could have kept her from this reunion.
Through a horrid twist of fate, she finds herself in the Louisiana Superdome. In more ways than one, she couldn't be more of a misfit among the thousands
of evacuees. But when the storm hit, at that moment, there was a feeling of resiliency, she thought. Like things were going to be okay. It felt like, even as we cowered in private worlds, there was still something that held us all together.
We shared in our fear, she thought. We were united in it. And now, things are getting desperate. There is a new kind of fear.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Posted: Oct 20, 2012
“Each other. You. Me. Everyone. I’ve seen it. We’re afraid of each other. Isolated. Disconnected. We’ve stopped caring. We’ve forgotten that we’re all united in this disaster. Hundreds walk in here, defeated, distraught and desperate. And they’re entitled to these feelings. Lives ruined. But this storm has done more than that. It’s stripped off that polished, scented gleam. Those fragile things that make us civilized, like we are reduced to something less, unnatural, yet decidedly natural at the same time.”
Pretty and petite, Eva Finn is the daughter of a wealthy developer, Ronald. She drives into New Orleans to visit him while he's on a business trip. Eva has never wanted for anything in her life, except a meaningful relationship with her father.
Nothing could have kept her from this reunion.
Through a horrid twist of fate, she finds herself in the Louisiana Superdome. In more ways than one, she couldn't be more of a misfit among the thousands
of evacuees. But when the storm hit, at that moment, there was a feeling of resiliency, she thought. Like things were going to be okay. It felt like, even as we cowered in private worlds, there was still something that held us all together.
We shared in our fear, she thought. We were united in it. And now, things are getting desperate. There is a new kind of fear.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Meet the characters - Ronald Finn
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 13, 2012
"Ronald Finn wore three rings. All on the same hand, there was one on his thumb, another on his index finger and a third on his middle finger. When Finn pulled up to the hotel in a black limousine he was clicking them together incessantly. It appeared as if he pinching an invisible figure, or quietly giving himself a round applause."
Finn is a wealthy developer who finds himself trapped in a posh New Orleans hotel in the French Quarter. A business meeting gone bad. While he is very much a man of privilege, he brings to the novel his own set of emotional baggage. Finn has a very low tolerance for other people. He expects complete and undivided attention and submission. And he genuinely believes his perspective is always the correct one.
For the most part, that's true. He is right about many things and he has impeccable judgment and taste.
He always picks the best clients and most suitable projects. And this intuition extends to home life. Finn is excellent at choosing restaurants, knowing what to do on holidays, how to design a room, even what music to play as company sips his preferred vintage of Barolo.
When the storm hits, Finn cannot help but feel terribly inconvenienced. The only silver lining is the prospect of redevelopment projects in New Orleans following the disaster. But there is something else on his mind. His daughter.
She's supposed to meet me for the weekend, he thought, knitting his worm-like eyebrows. I'm sure she had more sense than me. I'm sure she stayed away.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Posted: Oct 13, 2012
"Ronald Finn wore three rings. All on the same hand, there was one on his thumb, another on his index finger and a third on his middle finger. When Finn pulled up to the hotel in a black limousine he was clicking them together incessantly. It appeared as if he pinching an invisible figure, or quietly giving himself a round applause."
Finn is a wealthy developer who finds himself trapped in a posh New Orleans hotel in the French Quarter. A business meeting gone bad. While he is very much a man of privilege, he brings to the novel his own set of emotional baggage. Finn has a very low tolerance for other people. He expects complete and undivided attention and submission. And he genuinely believes his perspective is always the correct one.
For the most part, that's true. He is right about many things and he has impeccable judgment and taste.
He always picks the best clients and most suitable projects. And this intuition extends to home life. Finn is excellent at choosing restaurants, knowing what to do on holidays, how to design a room, even what music to play as company sips his preferred vintage of Barolo.
When the storm hits, Finn cannot help but feel terribly inconvenienced. The only silver lining is the prospect of redevelopment projects in New Orleans following the disaster. But there is something else on his mind. His daughter.
She's supposed to meet me for the weekend, he thought, knitting his worm-like eyebrows. I'm sure she had more sense than me. I'm sure she stayed away.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Meet the characters - Janna
Jeff Todd
Posted: Sept 29, 2012
Writing a female character, particularly one with a strong voice, was no easy task. I often wondered if I possessed the right frame of mind to faithfully put down
on paper her thoughts, insecurities, tendencies and idiosyncrasies. So I drew on women I knew. I even drew on past relationships. But certainly, in terms of placing Janna within the New Orleans context, one person stood out. And for that I'm grateful.
Janna grew up in the Lower 9th Ward. Her father worked in construction. In her early twenties, her parents died in a car accident and left her the home.
Living in this area of New Orleans as a single woman was no easy task. Janna entered her adult years with wariness, almost bitterness, and an intense need for control in most situations.
Someone must hold the power in every situation in life, she muses. A relationship is no different. It’s only natural; no, it’s necessary. How else does anything ever get done?
Perhaps that's what makes Nate so appealing. His vulnerability and simplicity, stooped in the back of the seafood restaurant on cartons of iceberg lettuce and waiting for the sink to brim with dishes.
The big decisions would fall to her, while Nate sucks on his cleaved index finger. Ultimately, she considers Nate to be mostly within her power. But not in a bad way, she believes. Not in a bad way. Janna needs to be loved. And Nate just needs.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Posted: Sept 29, 2012
Writing a female character, particularly one with a strong voice, was no easy task. I often wondered if I possessed the right frame of mind to faithfully put down
on paper her thoughts, insecurities, tendencies and idiosyncrasies. So I drew on women I knew. I even drew on past relationships. But certainly, in terms of placing Janna within the New Orleans context, one person stood out. And for that I'm grateful.
Janna grew up in the Lower 9th Ward. Her father worked in construction. In her early twenties, her parents died in a car accident and left her the home.
Living in this area of New Orleans as a single woman was no easy task. Janna entered her adult years with wariness, almost bitterness, and an intense need for control in most situations.
Someone must hold the power in every situation in life, she muses. A relationship is no different. It’s only natural; no, it’s necessary. How else does anything ever get done?
Perhaps that's what makes Nate so appealing. His vulnerability and simplicity, stooped in the back of the seafood restaurant on cartons of iceberg lettuce and waiting for the sink to brim with dishes.
The big decisions would fall to her, while Nate sucks on his cleaved index finger. Ultimately, she considers Nate to be mostly within her power. But not in a bad way, she believes. Not in a bad way. Janna needs to be loved. And Nate just needs.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Meet the characters - Nate
Jeff Todd
Posted: Sept 15, 2012
Nate was not only the original character from Storm of Hate - he was also what got me writing.
I had him in my head for a long time. Damaged. Estranged. Existing on the edge of civilization. And yet beneath it all, he possesses an intense need to please his fellow man. He has a feeling of what's right and what's wrong. He desperately wants to be normal. But somewhere along the way, his radar got scrambled.
Nate Dalton is Janna's husband. While he is utterly dedicated to her, he is haunted by ghosts from his past, which are represented physically on his body.
On his forehead, in front of his receding hairline, Nate has a "U" shaped scar. His right index finger is sliced down the knuckle - a disfigurement he constantly hides by keeping that hand in his pocket.
In some respects, Nate is the personification of every man. He is driven by insecurities and fears. He reluctantly teeters on social convention. Janna, the woman of his dreams, is very much his balance and stabilizing force. But some changes are too much for an already troubled mind.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Posted: Sept 15, 2012
Nate was not only the original character from Storm of Hate - he was also what got me writing.
I had him in my head for a long time. Damaged. Estranged. Existing on the edge of civilization. And yet beneath it all, he possesses an intense need to please his fellow man. He has a feeling of what's right and what's wrong. He desperately wants to be normal. But somewhere along the way, his radar got scrambled.
Nate Dalton is Janna's husband. While he is utterly dedicated to her, he is haunted by ghosts from his past, which are represented physically on his body.
On his forehead, in front of his receding hairline, Nate has a "U" shaped scar. His right index finger is sliced down the knuckle - a disfigurement he constantly hides by keeping that hand in his pocket.
In some respects, Nate is the personification of every man. He is driven by insecurities and fears. He reluctantly teeters on social convention. Janna, the woman of his dreams, is very much his balance and stabilizing force. But some changes are too much for an already troubled mind.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE NOW AVAILABLE!
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
BARNES AND NOBLE:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-hate-jeff-todd/1111375856
Midnight in the land of plenty
Jeff Todd
Posted: Sept 13, 2012 -- 12:12am
**Pardon the interruption on the character profiles, my friends. It will return next week.
Have you picked up Storm of Hate? Read the synopsis, check the reviews ...**
Why is there more choice for the consumer in one 24/hour pharmacy in Orlando than the entire Bahamas?
It's a fair question, don't you think?
After breaking my back for two days at Solar Power International, I went out for dinner in one of Orlando's more popular areas for restaurants and entertainment. I had stars in my eyes. I was positively gitty in my glorious return to consumerism. My return to choice. Where anything is possible with a little cash in hand. And what better way to cap off a night on the town than a trip to a 24/hour pharmacy down the road from my hotel?
"More than Words", by Extreme, was playing in the background. I felt like grasping the bags even tighter to my chest.
It stands so subtle in the moonlight, quiet and assuming, bellied by those neon lights. As the doors opened before me, sensing my movement, I might as well have been on a space shuttle disembarking to Mars, compared to where I came from just a few days ago.
Or perhaps I'm sentimental from visiting rocket scientists in Cape Canaveral this week. The point is, in this huge, 24-hour store, there is quite literately more choice and convenience than in any outlet in the country of The Bahamas. This store in Orlando has a drive-through. A drive-through, people, and yet, in many respects, The Bahamas has difficulty stocking even the most basic of modern products.
As a tourist you wouldn't know. Atlantis, for example, holds adequate provisioning for such things. But as a resident, it's an entirely different story.
Of course, what I say is nothing new to the Bahamian consumer. The sacred ritual of heading to Florida and stuffing your bags with merchandise, strategically ripping off the tags, is nearly second nature for Bahamians. It has descended into near farce and comic relief. But why?
The Bahamas has the highest GDP in the Caribbean. The third highest GDP in the Americas. And in one store in Orlando, there are arguably more products and overall diversity of choice than in a country just a few dozen miles off its shore.
Why is there more choice in this one pharmacy? My mistake. It's not a fair question at all.
Posted: Sept 13, 2012 -- 12:12am
**Pardon the interruption on the character profiles, my friends. It will return next week.
Have you picked up Storm of Hate? Read the synopsis, check the reviews ...**
Why is there more choice for the consumer in one 24/hour pharmacy in Orlando than the entire Bahamas?
It's a fair question, don't you think?
After breaking my back for two days at Solar Power International, I went out for dinner in one of Orlando's more popular areas for restaurants and entertainment. I had stars in my eyes. I was positively gitty in my glorious return to consumerism. My return to choice. Where anything is possible with a little cash in hand. And what better way to cap off a night on the town than a trip to a 24/hour pharmacy down the road from my hotel?
"More than Words", by Extreme, was playing in the background. I felt like grasping the bags even tighter to my chest.
It stands so subtle in the moonlight, quiet and assuming, bellied by those neon lights. As the doors opened before me, sensing my movement, I might as well have been on a space shuttle disembarking to Mars, compared to where I came from just a few days ago.
Or perhaps I'm sentimental from visiting rocket scientists in Cape Canaveral this week. The point is, in this huge, 24-hour store, there is quite literately more choice and convenience than in any outlet in the country of The Bahamas. This store in Orlando has a drive-through. A drive-through, people, and yet, in many respects, The Bahamas has difficulty stocking even the most basic of modern products.
As a tourist you wouldn't know. Atlantis, for example, holds adequate provisioning for such things. But as a resident, it's an entirely different story.
Of course, what I say is nothing new to the Bahamian consumer. The sacred ritual of heading to Florida and stuffing your bags with merchandise, strategically ripping off the tags, is nearly second nature for Bahamians. It has descended into near farce and comic relief. But why?
The Bahamas has the highest GDP in the Caribbean. The third highest GDP in the Americas. And in one store in Orlando, there are arguably more products and overall diversity of choice than in a country just a few dozen miles off its shore.
Why is there more choice in this one pharmacy? My mistake. It's not a fair question at all.
Meet the characters - Darren
Jeff Todd
Posted: Sept 2, 2012
It occurred to me recently that I'm being quite rude. Here I am promoting my book, and yet I failed to make some crucial introductions.
Here is the first in a series of such introductions to characters found in Storm of Hate.
Darren doesn't have a last name. I gave nearly all my characters a full name in Storm of Hate, but he's an exception. At first, this omission wasn't intentional.
I only noticed it after going over the manuscript. And then I realized, Darren doesn't need a full name. In the chaos and confusion of the Louisiana Superdome,
he is just Darren, no more and no less. While he might be a SWAT officer, he is just another man trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Darren is tall, muscular and handsome. He wears black cargo pants and a black sleeveless shirt. These clothes are basically all he has; he washes them in a bucket filled with dish-washing liquid. The SWAT officers, forced out into the parking lot, sleep between the cars for protection. They take shifts surveying the situation in the Dome and handing out MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat. Darren was based on interviews with an actual SWAT officer at the Dome. For this reason,
I consider him to be one of the best realized characters. I also think the events at the Dome are some of the strongest in Storm of Hate.
There is much controversy surrounding what happened there. An element that is abundantly clear, however, is chaos. Order and discipline is very much a fine line, if not an illusion. The sheer gravity of the situation takes its toll on everyone, including Darren.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE IS NOW AVAILABLE! TWO COPIES LEFT BEFORE RESTOCKING!
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER:
http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html
You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com
Posted: Sept 2, 2012
It occurred to me recently that I'm being quite rude. Here I am promoting my book, and yet I failed to make some crucial introductions.
Here is the first in a series of such introductions to characters found in Storm of Hate.
Darren doesn't have a last name. I gave nearly all my characters a full name in Storm of Hate, but he's an exception. At first, this omission wasn't intentional.
I only noticed it after going over the manuscript. And then I realized, Darren doesn't need a full name. In the chaos and confusion of the Louisiana Superdome,
he is just Darren, no more and no less. While he might be a SWAT officer, he is just another man trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Darren is tall, muscular and handsome. He wears black cargo pants and a black sleeveless shirt. These clothes are basically all he has; he washes them in a bucket filled with dish-washing liquid. The SWAT officers, forced out into the parking lot, sleep between the cars for protection. They take shifts surveying the situation in the Dome and handing out MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat. Darren was based on interviews with an actual SWAT officer at the Dome. For this reason,
I consider him to be one of the best realized characters. I also think the events at the Dome are some of the strongest in Storm of Hate.
There is much controversy surrounding what happened there. An element that is abundantly clear, however, is chaos. Order and discipline is very much a fine line, if not an illusion. The sheer gravity of the situation takes its toll on everyone, including Darren.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE IS NOW AVAILABLE! TWO COPIES LEFT BEFORE RESTOCKING!
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER:
http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html
You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com
Review by Sonia Farmer
Read the full version here: http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=33802:revisiting-katrina-seven-years-later&catid=38:arts-a-culture&Itemid=59
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE IS NOW AVAILABLE!
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER:
http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html
You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE IS NOW AVAILABLE!
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER:
http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html
You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com
Interview - Star 106.5FM
I joined the morning crew this morning to discuss Storm of Hate and Hurricane Isaac hitting New Orleans on the 7th anniversary of Katrina. Listen in!
All boarded up for Isaac
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 25, 2012
I'm in my second year in The Bahamas, and for the second time, the windows are boarded up.
Andros, the closest island to the capital, is now under hurricane watch. The rest of the country is on "tropical storm watch". And nobody seems to be taking any chances.
I tend to be a rather deep sleeper. But the incessant nailing of boards to my bedroom window wakes up a man on a Saturday morning. Stumbling into the living room, all natural light has been extinguished. My landlord has been busy. What used to be an exquisite view of the beach is now a depressing wall of dark wood.
I maneuver around my patio furniture, tucked here and there among my living room furniture, in search of my morning coffee. You try and maintain normalcy.
I want to make an egg sandwich, maybe read my book, or perhaps, start writing. But it's difficult. Isaac might only be a tropical storm right now (although it's changing constantly, so by the time you read this, who knows). However, when a storm is coming your way, status quo quite literately goes out the window. People make for the supermarkets, stocking up on extra food and water. You glue yourself to the 24/hour news channels and listen to the updates, again and again, watching that blob as it slowly consumes countries. Hurricanes are exciting yet terrifying. Intriguing yet despised.
The fact is, a hurricane is an complex emotional experience. We lose control of what's normal. I love what it does to the human condition.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE IS NOW AVAILABLE!
(please note, while it says "temporarily out of stock" hard copies can still be ordered through Amazon. The system is updating and you will receive your book. The e-book version is also readily available)
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER:
http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html
You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com
Posted: August 25, 2012
I'm in my second year in The Bahamas, and for the second time, the windows are boarded up.
Andros, the closest island to the capital, is now under hurricane watch. The rest of the country is on "tropical storm watch". And nobody seems to be taking any chances.
I tend to be a rather deep sleeper. But the incessant nailing of boards to my bedroom window wakes up a man on a Saturday morning. Stumbling into the living room, all natural light has been extinguished. My landlord has been busy. What used to be an exquisite view of the beach is now a depressing wall of dark wood.
I maneuver around my patio furniture, tucked here and there among my living room furniture, in search of my morning coffee. You try and maintain normalcy.
I want to make an egg sandwich, maybe read my book, or perhaps, start writing. But it's difficult. Isaac might only be a tropical storm right now (although it's changing constantly, so by the time you read this, who knows). However, when a storm is coming your way, status quo quite literately goes out the window. People make for the supermarkets, stocking up on extra food and water. You glue yourself to the 24/hour news channels and listen to the updates, again and again, watching that blob as it slowly consumes countries. Hurricanes are exciting yet terrifying. Intriguing yet despised.
The fact is, a hurricane is an complex emotional experience. We lose control of what's normal. I love what it does to the human condition.
PICK UP A COPY - STORM OF HATE IS NOW AVAILABLE!
(please note, while it says "temporarily out of stock" hard copies can still be ordered through Amazon. The system is updating and you will receive your book. The e-book version is also readily available)
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER:
http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html
You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com
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Storm of Hate - an "odd" coincidence
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 23, 2012 There are few things that excite me more these days than the release of my debut novel - Storm of Hate. I've been looking forward to this day for years. I often thought about what this day would be like; I mean, you only debut your first novel once. It feels like you're losing your literary virginity. I'm exposed, for better or worse. It's only 10am, and I'm already encountering my fair share of surprises. Sitting in the newsroom, sipping coffee and preparing my strategy for tomorrow's paper, someone mentioned how Hurricane Katrina formed in The Bahamas, today, on the exact release date of my novel. Does it mean anything? Is it a sign? What are the odds a Canadian would write a novel about Hurricane Katrina? And what are the odds he would move to The Bahamas? And what are the odds that book would be released on the very day the hurricane formed? I like those odds. PICK UP A COPY HERE: (please note, while it says "temporarily out of stock" hard copies can still be ordered through Amazon. The system is updating. The e-book version is also readily available) http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0 ORDER THROUGH THE PUBLISHER: http://thekeypublish.com/index.php/homepage.kph.html You can also place your order with Jeff Anderson at - sales@thekeypublish.com |
Routines are just that
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 18, 2012
Famous writers tend to have reputations on when they were most creative.
Virginia Woolf had a small writer's lodge in the backyard of her home in Sussex, overlooking the garden. She wrote most of Mrs Dalloway there. Victor Hugo, so the legend goes, wrote Les Miserables while standing up on the rooftop of his house in Guernsey, staring across the English Channel towards his homeland while in exile. Some writers get buzzed on coffee; others drink rum or an entire case of soda. They write in the morning. They write at night.
The truth is, you can find a million varied examples of how novelists brought pen to paper. And it probably changed throughout their career.
We often revel in the legend and eccentricity of writers more than the body of work. How many people know how Hemingway met his demise? I would wager a good number. And how many have read more than one his books?
I've had my fair share of routines. Storm of Hate was written mostly in the morning. But then you go through periods in the evening, over rum and chocolate-flavored coffee beans. Sometimes you wake up in in the middle of the night to hammer out a chapter.
And then there are other moments when you rush into the bathroom at a restaurant and scribble notes on a napkin. An idea struck you while having dinner with friends and acquaintances, and it just had to come out then and there.
Routines are all very interesting, but ultimately, quite irrelevant. Famous or not, writers have an inch in the mind that's begging to be scratched. The world is just there to facilitate. I'm not saying routines aren't important. They are, in the sense they provide a sense of structure and discipline.
But it's the world that relents and evolves around the creative mind, not the other way around.
The release is five days away. Pre-orders of e-book and hard copy now available
You can also read a free sample on Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256
Posted: August 18, 2012
Famous writers tend to have reputations on when they were most creative.
Virginia Woolf had a small writer's lodge in the backyard of her home in Sussex, overlooking the garden. She wrote most of Mrs Dalloway there. Victor Hugo, so the legend goes, wrote Les Miserables while standing up on the rooftop of his house in Guernsey, staring across the English Channel towards his homeland while in exile. Some writers get buzzed on coffee; others drink rum or an entire case of soda. They write in the morning. They write at night.
The truth is, you can find a million varied examples of how novelists brought pen to paper. And it probably changed throughout their career.
We often revel in the legend and eccentricity of writers more than the body of work. How many people know how Hemingway met his demise? I would wager a good number. And how many have read more than one his books?
I've had my fair share of routines. Storm of Hate was written mostly in the morning. But then you go through periods in the evening, over rum and chocolate-flavored coffee beans. Sometimes you wake up in in the middle of the night to hammer out a chapter.
And then there are other moments when you rush into the bathroom at a restaurant and scribble notes on a napkin. An idea struck you while having dinner with friends and acquaintances, and it just had to come out then and there.
Routines are all very interesting, but ultimately, quite irrelevant. Famous or not, writers have an inch in the mind that's begging to be scratched. The world is just there to facilitate. I'm not saying routines aren't important. They are, in the sense they provide a sense of structure and discipline.
But it's the world that relents and evolves around the creative mind, not the other way around.
The release is five days away. Pre-orders of e-book and hard copy now available
You can also read a free sample on Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256
Logic in my chaos
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 5, 2012
Marketing is hard work. In some respects, writing Storm of Hate was far easier.
People that know me well, know that I am not a planner. I can be quite organized when it comes to my professional life. But when I'm off-duty, I'm the sort of person who lets the chips fall where they may. I believe in the redemptive nature of chaos; it can be scary sometimes, and yet ultimately, life has a way of working out, if you let it.
That was my approach to marketing in New Orleans. After all, Storm of Hate was written in creative bursts over the course of seven years, meeting different people, traveling to different places. The first words I composed in 2005 have absolutely no resemblance to those pressed onto pages today.
So when I spotted a worn, wooden door, half ajar, not far from the steps of St. Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter, I walked through it. I met a man there with glasses perched on the end of nose, literately buried in stacks of antique tomes, swimming in that old book smell. I flipped through a few pages of Confederacy of Dunces, trying to look deeply interested in the long-written words staring me in the face. The words I was really interested in, however, were mine.
I finally gained the courage to tell him why I was really there. Before I knew it, he scrawled a few letters on the back of his card, and I was off to see what he described as "the man" for book distribution in Southern Louisiana. I traveled to Reserve, Louisiana, to be exact.
It felt like the end of the world. And it didn't do my pocket book any favors.
It is this kind of thinking, spontaneity and openness to new experience, that makes me love writing so much. I ended up following the same route the evacuees took when they fled the city for Baton Rouge. And the exorbitant cab fare was worth the look on the distributor's face.
It was a technique I employed throughout the trip. It doesn't always work. Sometimes you find yourself in a stunning new book store, far from downtown, trapped and waiting for the owner to arrive during a torrential rainfall. Sometimes the owner never shows up. Sometimes you get a little wet.
Nevertheless, I find that life is riddled with disappointments despite the best-laid plans. Don't you?
So I shook a few hands; I struck up conversations with the locals around me; I handed out a few preview editions to deserving individuals.
I'm not saying we should apply a similar "chaotic" approach to all things in life. But for me, in New Orleans, I swept in like a storm.
The release is nearly three weeks away! Check it out, and pass it on ...
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256
Posted: August 5, 2012
Marketing is hard work. In some respects, writing Storm of Hate was far easier.
People that know me well, know that I am not a planner. I can be quite organized when it comes to my professional life. But when I'm off-duty, I'm the sort of person who lets the chips fall where they may. I believe in the redemptive nature of chaos; it can be scary sometimes, and yet ultimately, life has a way of working out, if you let it.
That was my approach to marketing in New Orleans. After all, Storm of Hate was written in creative bursts over the course of seven years, meeting different people, traveling to different places. The first words I composed in 2005 have absolutely no resemblance to those pressed onto pages today.
So when I spotted a worn, wooden door, half ajar, not far from the steps of St. Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter, I walked through it. I met a man there with glasses perched on the end of nose, literately buried in stacks of antique tomes, swimming in that old book smell. I flipped through a few pages of Confederacy of Dunces, trying to look deeply interested in the long-written words staring me in the face. The words I was really interested in, however, were mine.
I finally gained the courage to tell him why I was really there. Before I knew it, he scrawled a few letters on the back of his card, and I was off to see what he described as "the man" for book distribution in Southern Louisiana. I traveled to Reserve, Louisiana, to be exact.
It felt like the end of the world. And it didn't do my pocket book any favors.
It is this kind of thinking, spontaneity and openness to new experience, that makes me love writing so much. I ended up following the same route the evacuees took when they fled the city for Baton Rouge. And the exorbitant cab fare was worth the look on the distributor's face.
It was a technique I employed throughout the trip. It doesn't always work. Sometimes you find yourself in a stunning new book store, far from downtown, trapped and waiting for the owner to arrive during a torrential rainfall. Sometimes the owner never shows up. Sometimes you get a little wet.
Nevertheless, I find that life is riddled with disappointments despite the best-laid plans. Don't you?
So I shook a few hands; I struck up conversations with the locals around me; I handed out a few preview editions to deserving individuals.
I'm not saying we should apply a similar "chaotic" approach to all things in life. But for me, in New Orleans, I swept in like a storm.
The release is nearly three weeks away! Check it out, and pass it on ...
http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hate-Tales-Hurricane-Katrina/dp/1926780256
Dreaming in the Big Easy
Jeff Todd
Posted: July 24, 2012
It's a cliche to say I'm following my dream, but exquisitely exciting, yet nerve-racking, when you can say it without hesitation or hyperbole.
Tomorrow I'm traveling to New Orleans just prior to the release of my first novel, Storm of Hate. The fictional tale is based on the city before and during Hurricane Katrina, yet I've never been there. The story exists only in my mind, brought to life through imagination, research and the stories of others.
I have no idea what to expect. I'm flying there at my own expense to promote this first novel, but also to drink it all in.
Will it be as I imagined it? Will I be intoxicated, or let down?
Whatever the case, it feels like a rare moment when a world of the mind comes face-to-face with reality.
As I said, I'm quite literately following my dream. After all, I only write first thing in the morning.
Stay tuned.
Posted: July 24, 2012
It's a cliche to say I'm following my dream, but exquisitely exciting, yet nerve-racking, when you can say it without hesitation or hyperbole.
Tomorrow I'm traveling to New Orleans just prior to the release of my first novel, Storm of Hate. The fictional tale is based on the city before and during Hurricane Katrina, yet I've never been there. The story exists only in my mind, brought to life through imagination, research and the stories of others.
I have no idea what to expect. I'm flying there at my own expense to promote this first novel, but also to drink it all in.
Will it be as I imagined it? Will I be intoxicated, or let down?
Whatever the case, it feels like a rare moment when a world of the mind comes face-to-face with reality.
As I said, I'm quite literately following my dream. After all, I only write first thing in the morning.
Stay tuned.
Hypocrisy by Numbers
Jeff Todd
Posted: July 18, 2012
In The Bahamas, there is no national lottery. Bahamians play something known as "numbers".
In essence, it's a secondary market for the lottery in South Florida, run by organizations called "web cafes". I've never played them myself, but I do know the owners of these web cafes are more like celebrities. The businesses are well advertised on the street. You'd never know it's illegal.
In fact, Bahamians aren't even permitted to gamble in any of the nation's many casinos, let alone play an alternative version of Lotto 649.
The religious influence is considerable here; it's believed by many that legalizing gambling will tear down the very fabric of society, although a few rips are already showing. The new government has pledged a referendum to decide whether these Web Shops should be made legal.
The hoopla surrounding the issue is considerable. It's making the national election that occurred earlier this year seem dull. Web Shop bosses have joined together to form a "We Care Campaign" (I'm not kidding, that's what it's called) to educate the public on the benefits of legalizing the service. The argument, and the reason the government is considering it, is the potential for taxation. The country is in desperate need of cash.
The need for revenue is one thing. I won't even comment on the morality of gambling. What I find frustrating, however, is the extreme hypocrisy.
I was willing to let the celebrity status go. I don't even care about the signs on the street.
But when this jingle came out, courtesy, of the "We Care" campaign, I've really had enough (check it out above - and listen to the lyrics!).
Do we really need a referendum to confirm what we already know? It's almost comical. Why is it so hard for society to be honest with itself?
Posted: July 18, 2012
In The Bahamas, there is no national lottery. Bahamians play something known as "numbers".
In essence, it's a secondary market for the lottery in South Florida, run by organizations called "web cafes". I've never played them myself, but I do know the owners of these web cafes are more like celebrities. The businesses are well advertised on the street. You'd never know it's illegal.
In fact, Bahamians aren't even permitted to gamble in any of the nation's many casinos, let alone play an alternative version of Lotto 649.
The religious influence is considerable here; it's believed by many that legalizing gambling will tear down the very fabric of society, although a few rips are already showing. The new government has pledged a referendum to decide whether these Web Shops should be made legal.
The hoopla surrounding the issue is considerable. It's making the national election that occurred earlier this year seem dull. Web Shop bosses have joined together to form a "We Care Campaign" (I'm not kidding, that's what it's called) to educate the public on the benefits of legalizing the service. The argument, and the reason the government is considering it, is the potential for taxation. The country is in desperate need of cash.
The need for revenue is one thing. I won't even comment on the morality of gambling. What I find frustrating, however, is the extreme hypocrisy.
I was willing to let the celebrity status go. I don't even care about the signs on the street.
But when this jingle came out, courtesy, of the "We Care" campaign, I've really had enough (check it out above - and listen to the lyrics!).
Do we really need a referendum to confirm what we already know? It's almost comical. Why is it so hard for society to be honest with itself?
Starved for choice
Jeff Todd
Posted: June 24, 2012
The Double Down has arrived in The Bahamas. I'm shocked it has taken this long.
Bahamians love their fast food. They especially love KFC. "You can't spend the day at the beach without a bucket of KFC", as the advertisements goes. "SO GOOD."
Personally, I can think of more enticing food than greasy, hormone-infused, quasi-Chicken on a hot, sunny day. But there you go. Who am I to judge culinary tastes? But what I can judge is the bigger picture. Like the U.S., Bahamians struggle with weight. Heart disease is the biggest killer. And certainly, introducing a burger without a bun, bacon and cheese smacked between breaded pieces of chicken, won't do much to improve the health of Bahamians.
But there is always choice, right? Well, I beg to differ.
It's not easy to bring a foreign franchise here. You won't find an Olive Garden, Outback, Chilli's, or any of the other mainstream, family eateries. You know, a restaurant that might serve you vegetables? Not that these places are the pinnacle of health ... but you got to start somewhere.
I'm told there were a few in the past. They failed because quality couldn't be maintained to the franchise's specifications. Perhaps that's true. The other factor, however, is competition on the island won't allow certain businesses to set up shop due to monopolies.
This is an aquarium, not the ocean. Anything you drop in will have a profound impact on the climate, and not everyone will like it.
The point is, Bahamian consumers are starved for choice. You have endless choice when it comes to cheap fast food. And there are plenty of "fine-dining" restaurants that are within the range of the middle class. But there is very little available to the "poor", which, let's face it, make up the majority of the population.
People say Bahamians love their fast food. I disagree. Bahamians love the choices they've been given.
Posted: June 24, 2012
The Double Down has arrived in The Bahamas. I'm shocked it has taken this long.
Bahamians love their fast food. They especially love KFC. "You can't spend the day at the beach without a bucket of KFC", as the advertisements goes. "SO GOOD."
Personally, I can think of more enticing food than greasy, hormone-infused, quasi-Chicken on a hot, sunny day. But there you go. Who am I to judge culinary tastes? But what I can judge is the bigger picture. Like the U.S., Bahamians struggle with weight. Heart disease is the biggest killer. And certainly, introducing a burger without a bun, bacon and cheese smacked between breaded pieces of chicken, won't do much to improve the health of Bahamians.
But there is always choice, right? Well, I beg to differ.
It's not easy to bring a foreign franchise here. You won't find an Olive Garden, Outback, Chilli's, or any of the other mainstream, family eateries. You know, a restaurant that might serve you vegetables? Not that these places are the pinnacle of health ... but you got to start somewhere.
I'm told there were a few in the past. They failed because quality couldn't be maintained to the franchise's specifications. Perhaps that's true. The other factor, however, is competition on the island won't allow certain businesses to set up shop due to monopolies.
This is an aquarium, not the ocean. Anything you drop in will have a profound impact on the climate, and not everyone will like it.
The point is, Bahamian consumers are starved for choice. You have endless choice when it comes to cheap fast food. And there are plenty of "fine-dining" restaurants that are within the range of the middle class. But there is very little available to the "poor", which, let's face it, make up the majority of the population.
People say Bahamians love their fast food. I disagree. Bahamians love the choices they've been given.
Riding the airborne subway
Jeff Todd
Posted: June 16, 2012
Island hopping. It's easily one of my greatest pleasures these days.
This week, I jumped over to Grand Bahama for a few hours. They say the flight is an hour, but in reality, if all goes well, you're door-to-door (at the airport, I mean) in 45. The planes are small, the security is minimal, the flight is relatively inexpensive ... it feels more like an airborne subway service.
My meeting in Grand Bahama fell behind at the hotel. I had to scramble to write the story in time.
Sprinting to this corner and that, my bag flying wildly my shoulder, my laptop and notebooks juggled precariously in my hands, I searched with abandon for a strong enough wireless connection so I could send my golden nugget into the newsroom.
By the time it was said and done, I had 30 minutes until flight time. Hopeless, right? That's about the time you start to board a typical flight, after spending two hours or so snaking through lines and having a body cavity search at security.
My trusty Bahamian cab driver didn't bat an eyelash. He drove like a madman ... and there was barely anyone on the streets. Grand Bahama is gorgeous, with big, wide, pristine streets ... but it has suffered of late, and there is barely anyone on these boulevards. Within 10 minutes I was at the airport.
Naturally, there was also no line at the check-in desk. The clerk, a woman in her mid-30s with too much green eye shadow, gave me a disapproving look. She called me by name, because I was the only person left to check-in, and having finished the flight register, she wasn't pleased that she'd have to do it again. But she forgave me. I smiled and thanked her, saying I needed to be home for supper. And off I went. I was airborne within minutes. It's that easy.
It made me consider The Bahamas as a collection of islands. So many people forget, or don't realize, that the country goes well beyond Nassau. And that ignorance extends far beyond the sun-burnt tourist.
I'm well aware, having been to several of the islands, that I'm now in the 2-5 percentile among residents here. Put simply, Bahamians don't explore their own country. I believe this government needs to institute an educational campaign, whereby each grade in high school, across the country, engages in a school trip to a different island. Tests and presentations. You would breed an entirely different citizen. One that appreciates his or her country, and truly understands what it has to offer. It would open their minds. Some men are islands, unfortunately. Sorry, John Donne.
You want social and economic diversity? That's how to do it. After all, it's only an airborne subway ride away.
Posted: June 16, 2012
Island hopping. It's easily one of my greatest pleasures these days.
This week, I jumped over to Grand Bahama for a few hours. They say the flight is an hour, but in reality, if all goes well, you're door-to-door (at the airport, I mean) in 45. The planes are small, the security is minimal, the flight is relatively inexpensive ... it feels more like an airborne subway service.
My meeting in Grand Bahama fell behind at the hotel. I had to scramble to write the story in time.
Sprinting to this corner and that, my bag flying wildly my shoulder, my laptop and notebooks juggled precariously in my hands, I searched with abandon for a strong enough wireless connection so I could send my golden nugget into the newsroom.
By the time it was said and done, I had 30 minutes until flight time. Hopeless, right? That's about the time you start to board a typical flight, after spending two hours or so snaking through lines and having a body cavity search at security.
My trusty Bahamian cab driver didn't bat an eyelash. He drove like a madman ... and there was barely anyone on the streets. Grand Bahama is gorgeous, with big, wide, pristine streets ... but it has suffered of late, and there is barely anyone on these boulevards. Within 10 minutes I was at the airport.
Naturally, there was also no line at the check-in desk. The clerk, a woman in her mid-30s with too much green eye shadow, gave me a disapproving look. She called me by name, because I was the only person left to check-in, and having finished the flight register, she wasn't pleased that she'd have to do it again. But she forgave me. I smiled and thanked her, saying I needed to be home for supper. And off I went. I was airborne within minutes. It's that easy.
It made me consider The Bahamas as a collection of islands. So many people forget, or don't realize, that the country goes well beyond Nassau. And that ignorance extends far beyond the sun-burnt tourist.
I'm well aware, having been to several of the islands, that I'm now in the 2-5 percentile among residents here. Put simply, Bahamians don't explore their own country. I believe this government needs to institute an educational campaign, whereby each grade in high school, across the country, engages in a school trip to a different island. Tests and presentations. You would breed an entirely different citizen. One that appreciates his or her country, and truly understands what it has to offer. It would open their minds. Some men are islands, unfortunately. Sorry, John Donne.
You want social and economic diversity? That's how to do it. After all, it's only an airborne subway ride away.
Legacies to forget
Jeff Todd
Posted: June 9, 2012
.... Hubert ALEXANDER Ingraham ... Perry GLADSTONE Christie ... The PEOPLE of the COMMONWEALTH of The Bahamas .... it goes on and on.
I'm closing in on a year here. So far I've seen my fair share of all things Bahamian.
I was greeted by a hurricane, and since then, I've been pummeled by more stories than I know what to do with, stories that are more like seismic shifts, including downgrades to the economy, an upheaval at Atlantis, a blistering murder rate, and the oil drilling saga that grows more intriguing (and confusing) by the day.
That's just to name a few. Oh, and then there was the national election. Like I said, it has been quite a year.
And if there is one thing that's abundantly clear, The Bahamas has some serious economic and social challenges. After 10 years in power, the previous government was decisively defeated. The pressure is on, because as most Bahamians would agree, things have never been worse.
But so far, as weeks give way to months, all I see is political posturing.
It's a soap opera, really. Long, drawn out titles. Ambitious, lofty statements on the change that's coming. Bickering and personal scores to settle. Finger pointing on how and why we got here.
Talk, talk, talk ... The Bahamas is certainly not special, I suppose, when it comes to the political game. Maybe because this place is so small, by comparison, that the pomp is so much more palatable.
I've watched and listened an endless array of ministers "rise on the behalf of their constituents". They provide long-winded tales of how they went into politics, the reasons for their vocation. What their father did. What their mother did. They thank the incoming prime minister endlessly. They thank their families. They thank God. They thank their dog. The House of Assembly feels more like the Oscars.
The people don't care about these things. They care about change ... don't they? That's the line, anyway.
We in the media, and by extension, the PEOPLE of the COMMONWEALTH of The Bahamas, need to be careful how we treat, perceive and enable our politicians. To what extent do we feed the frivolity, revel in it, as we revel in legacy and drama?
Forget the legacies. Forget who did what. It's time to move forward.
Posted: June 9, 2012
.... Hubert ALEXANDER Ingraham ... Perry GLADSTONE Christie ... The PEOPLE of the COMMONWEALTH of The Bahamas .... it goes on and on.
I'm closing in on a year here. So far I've seen my fair share of all things Bahamian.
I was greeted by a hurricane, and since then, I've been pummeled by more stories than I know what to do with, stories that are more like seismic shifts, including downgrades to the economy, an upheaval at Atlantis, a blistering murder rate, and the oil drilling saga that grows more intriguing (and confusing) by the day.
That's just to name a few. Oh, and then there was the national election. Like I said, it has been quite a year.
And if there is one thing that's abundantly clear, The Bahamas has some serious economic and social challenges. After 10 years in power, the previous government was decisively defeated. The pressure is on, because as most Bahamians would agree, things have never been worse.
But so far, as weeks give way to months, all I see is political posturing.
It's a soap opera, really. Long, drawn out titles. Ambitious, lofty statements on the change that's coming. Bickering and personal scores to settle. Finger pointing on how and why we got here.
Talk, talk, talk ... The Bahamas is certainly not special, I suppose, when it comes to the political game. Maybe because this place is so small, by comparison, that the pomp is so much more palatable.
I've watched and listened an endless array of ministers "rise on the behalf of their constituents". They provide long-winded tales of how they went into politics, the reasons for their vocation. What their father did. What their mother did. They thank the incoming prime minister endlessly. They thank their families. They thank God. They thank their dog. The House of Assembly feels more like the Oscars.
The people don't care about these things. They care about change ... don't they? That's the line, anyway.
We in the media, and by extension, the PEOPLE of the COMMONWEALTH of The Bahamas, need to be careful how we treat, perceive and enable our politicians. To what extent do we feed the frivolity, revel in it, as we revel in legacy and drama?
Forget the legacies. Forget who did what. It's time to move forward.
A Bad Sign
Jeff Todd
Posted: April 29 2012
What's more important? Free speech?
Or damaging to the economy?
While it might be tempting to immediately chose free speech, in The Bahamas, the answer isn't quite so simple. The election is just over one week away. Posters of the party in power, the FNM, really got the jump on others.
The smiling visage of Hubert Ingraham is everywhere to be seen. And curiously, there is not a single photo of Perry Christie, former PM and opposition leader.
Instead, this party recently put up posters broadcasting some grizzly statistics - and none more eye-popping than the number of murders in the past five years. 409+.
That's an awful lot in a country with 350,000 inhabitants. And it's rising. Last year, the country hit a new record - 127. And this year we're on pace. The situation really heated up when FNM supporters, apparently under orders from someone in the government, started ripping down the posters last week. A debate spread across the television and radio waves.
Can you really tear down election posters? On the other hand, some of the posters were placed in tourism hot-spots ...
Do Joe and Jill American want to see the murder count? It's somewhat of a let-down before slipping in the ocean with dolphins.
Not let me be clear - tourists are very much insulated from these problems. Right now, it's not really an issue in terms of their safety.
Nevertheless, in my mind, these signs bring to the fore a crucial question.
Can a tourism hot-bed have a festering crime issue? In the end, can you really have it both ways?
Posted: April 29 2012
What's more important? Free speech?
Or damaging to the economy?
While it might be tempting to immediately chose free speech, in The Bahamas, the answer isn't quite so simple. The election is just over one week away. Posters of the party in power, the FNM, really got the jump on others.
The smiling visage of Hubert Ingraham is everywhere to be seen. And curiously, there is not a single photo of Perry Christie, former PM and opposition leader.
Instead, this party recently put up posters broadcasting some grizzly statistics - and none more eye-popping than the number of murders in the past five years. 409+.
That's an awful lot in a country with 350,000 inhabitants. And it's rising. Last year, the country hit a new record - 127. And this year we're on pace. The situation really heated up when FNM supporters, apparently under orders from someone in the government, started ripping down the posters last week. A debate spread across the television and radio waves.
Can you really tear down election posters? On the other hand, some of the posters were placed in tourism hot-spots ...
Do Joe and Jill American want to see the murder count? It's somewhat of a let-down before slipping in the ocean with dolphins.
Not let me be clear - tourists are very much insulated from these problems. Right now, it's not really an issue in terms of their safety.
Nevertheless, in my mind, these signs bring to the fore a crucial question.
Can a tourism hot-bed have a festering crime issue? In the end, can you really have it both ways?
"Papa" knows best
Jeff Todd
Posted: April 19 2012
Is it healthy to have a pet name for the leader of a country?
I suppose names can't hurt. Can they? Here in The Bahamas, the current Prime Minister is known as "Papa". It's a name even his rivals use. The editorial in The Nassau Guardian always depicts him barefoot, wearing a flowing robe, and a hat with PAPA written loud and clear.
There has been a lot of talk lately about the dictatorial nature of the current Prime Minister.
That might have something to do with the election now heating up - just two weeks away.
Hubert Ingraham, the current leader, served as PM for 10 years from 1992 - 2002. He was reelected back in 2007, and if he wins this time around, that's be what .... 20 years with the highest office in the land? Each term here is five years. For a small island nation, that's sorta a big deal.
Now I'm not taking sides. Far from it. Here, politics is practically a religion, and I'm not a religious man.
In The Bahamas, there aren't too many swing voters. You're either with us or against us - that seems to be the mentality for an awful lot of people. Before Ingraham, opposition leader Perry Christie served as PM form 2002 - 2005, and he is running again as the leader of his party in this year's election. And then there is the fledgling third party - the DNA.
So odds are, the office of the PM will likely be occupied by a familiar face. History will continue to repeat itself.
In fact, since independence in 1973, this democratic nation has voted in just three different Prime Ministers.
I'm not saying how people should vote. But I can see why leaders are being seen as father figures, not politicians.
Posted: April 19 2012
Is it healthy to have a pet name for the leader of a country?
I suppose names can't hurt. Can they? Here in The Bahamas, the current Prime Minister is known as "Papa". It's a name even his rivals use. The editorial in The Nassau Guardian always depicts him barefoot, wearing a flowing robe, and a hat with PAPA written loud and clear.
There has been a lot of talk lately about the dictatorial nature of the current Prime Minister.
That might have something to do with the election now heating up - just two weeks away.
Hubert Ingraham, the current leader, served as PM for 10 years from 1992 - 2002. He was reelected back in 2007, and if he wins this time around, that's be what .... 20 years with the highest office in the land? Each term here is five years. For a small island nation, that's sorta a big deal.
Now I'm not taking sides. Far from it. Here, politics is practically a religion, and I'm not a religious man.
In The Bahamas, there aren't too many swing voters. You're either with us or against us - that seems to be the mentality for an awful lot of people. Before Ingraham, opposition leader Perry Christie served as PM form 2002 - 2005, and he is running again as the leader of his party in this year's election. And then there is the fledgling third party - the DNA.
So odds are, the office of the PM will likely be occupied by a familiar face. History will continue to repeat itself.
In fact, since independence in 1973, this democratic nation has voted in just three different Prime Ministers.
I'm not saying how people should vote. But I can see why leaders are being seen as father figures, not politicians.
Maverick planes gamble with future
Jeff Todd
Posted: March 25 2012
There are more than 3,000 islands in The Bahamas.
The way to really get around here is through quick plane rides, and it generally takes 15 - 40 minutes to reach these islands, often serviced by an airstrip rather than an "airport". I've been on more than a few vacuum-cleaner-sized contraptions since I arrived.
Today, a private aircraft bound for the U.S. crashed shortly take-off in Abaco. Four people died. Bodies brunt beyond recognition.
The situation is particularly troublesome because Abaco's second-home market is exploding. New communities are springing up at a blistering pace. Millions upon millions are being spent. And you can see why. It's a gorgeous place.
This latest plane crash is the second to occur in as many years. Eight people died in 2010. Also just after take-off. Also a private plane.
The problem is, like so many things in this country, regulation is lacking.
Now to be clear, I don't know every detail on the Abaco crash. it's possible they were properly registered, regulated and cleared for take-off.
That said, I routinely speak with aviation leaders in this country, and one major grievance that often comes up is the maverick aircraft roaming these skies. I'm told it's partly a legacy of the drug trade, when The Bahamas was a common thoroughfare for runners coming up through South America and into the U.S. While the drugs might have dried up somewhat, the system remains.
It's common knowledge you can slip into the airport in Andros, slip a pilot $50 and get a 15-minute shuttle to Nassau, or elsewhere.
It doesn't mean you're going to have problems every day. Or every year.
But if this country's flight regulations fail to keep up with the development on the Out Islands, beauty won't be enough to keep people here.
Posted: March 25 2012
There are more than 3,000 islands in The Bahamas.
The way to really get around here is through quick plane rides, and it generally takes 15 - 40 minutes to reach these islands, often serviced by an airstrip rather than an "airport". I've been on more than a few vacuum-cleaner-sized contraptions since I arrived.
Today, a private aircraft bound for the U.S. crashed shortly take-off in Abaco. Four people died. Bodies brunt beyond recognition.
The situation is particularly troublesome because Abaco's second-home market is exploding. New communities are springing up at a blistering pace. Millions upon millions are being spent. And you can see why. It's a gorgeous place.
This latest plane crash is the second to occur in as many years. Eight people died in 2010. Also just after take-off. Also a private plane.
The problem is, like so many things in this country, regulation is lacking.
Now to be clear, I don't know every detail on the Abaco crash. it's possible they were properly registered, regulated and cleared for take-off.
That said, I routinely speak with aviation leaders in this country, and one major grievance that often comes up is the maverick aircraft roaming these skies. I'm told it's partly a legacy of the drug trade, when The Bahamas was a common thoroughfare for runners coming up through South America and into the U.S. While the drugs might have dried up somewhat, the system remains.
It's common knowledge you can slip into the airport in Andros, slip a pilot $50 and get a 15-minute shuttle to Nassau, or elsewhere.
It doesn't mean you're going to have problems every day. Or every year.
But if this country's flight regulations fail to keep up with the development on the Out Islands, beauty won't be enough to keep people here.
A taxing endeavor
Jeff Todd
Posted: Feb 11 2011
I had been hearing about this package for weeks.
Months even, come to think of it.
First notice. Second notice. By the third notice the threat of "destroying" the package finally made me give in. Honestly, I just didn't have the time in the morning to drive all the way downtown, through the maze of narrow twisty streets, and search for a tiny little parking space near the post office.
So I planned my excursion. I planned it like the Normandy Invasion.
I timed it all so I would be there the moment the post office opened and I could race back to the newsroom.
Everything was going according to plan. I was first in line. I gave my ticket to the woman and she disappeared into the warehouse, strolled up and down the aisles trying to match the number on the ticket. When it was finally placed in front of me I expected to be on my way. But no. She pointed with a long painted nail to another line, at the end of which was a young gentlemen in a police uniform.
"Open the box," he said.
I did as he instructed. I had nothing to hide. Inside was a shirt. And as I picked it up and looked at it, I quickly realized one of the companies I tend to write about on occasion decided to send me a belated Christmas gift.
The company logo right smack in the middle. Just what I always wanted.
"That'll be 10 bucks," he added.
"10 bucks? Why?"
"Duty."
"Duty? But I don't even want it."
"Well, you can send it back if you want."
I wasn't going to do that. And risk losing my contact? I don't think they'd appreciate me scoffing their gift.
I was a rude awakening of how this place really functions. It's not just the shirt ... it's everything that comes into this place. It's all taxed, down to the hangers and family pictures you might ship in with you. True story. I'm not kidding. That actually happened to someone I know.
Sure, there are no taxes in The Bahamas. None that are obvious, anyway. In some cases you'll pay double the price for goods and services, but mention the conventional idea of taxation and someone is likely to string you up for heresy.
People don't want to pay taxes on anything. Not even garbage collection.
Someone once told me the duties and import taxes harken back to the pirate days. Now the pirates just wear ties.
I wonder if the people who refuse to pay a tax so their garbage is collected properly realize why other societies tax their citizens.
I wonder if it would improve schools, hospitals and roads.
Although I guess I can't complain. At least I now have a new workout shirt. I might as well get something out of it.
Posted: Feb 11 2011
I had been hearing about this package for weeks.
Months even, come to think of it.
First notice. Second notice. By the third notice the threat of "destroying" the package finally made me give in. Honestly, I just didn't have the time in the morning to drive all the way downtown, through the maze of narrow twisty streets, and search for a tiny little parking space near the post office.
So I planned my excursion. I planned it like the Normandy Invasion.
I timed it all so I would be there the moment the post office opened and I could race back to the newsroom.
Everything was going according to plan. I was first in line. I gave my ticket to the woman and she disappeared into the warehouse, strolled up and down the aisles trying to match the number on the ticket. When it was finally placed in front of me I expected to be on my way. But no. She pointed with a long painted nail to another line, at the end of which was a young gentlemen in a police uniform.
"Open the box," he said.
I did as he instructed. I had nothing to hide. Inside was a shirt. And as I picked it up and looked at it, I quickly realized one of the companies I tend to write about on occasion decided to send me a belated Christmas gift.
The company logo right smack in the middle. Just what I always wanted.
"That'll be 10 bucks," he added.
"10 bucks? Why?"
"Duty."
"Duty? But I don't even want it."
"Well, you can send it back if you want."
I wasn't going to do that. And risk losing my contact? I don't think they'd appreciate me scoffing their gift.
I was a rude awakening of how this place really functions. It's not just the shirt ... it's everything that comes into this place. It's all taxed, down to the hangers and family pictures you might ship in with you. True story. I'm not kidding. That actually happened to someone I know.
Sure, there are no taxes in The Bahamas. None that are obvious, anyway. In some cases you'll pay double the price for goods and services, but mention the conventional idea of taxation and someone is likely to string you up for heresy.
People don't want to pay taxes on anything. Not even garbage collection.
Someone once told me the duties and import taxes harken back to the pirate days. Now the pirates just wear ties.
I wonder if the people who refuse to pay a tax so their garbage is collected properly realize why other societies tax their citizens.
I wonder if it would improve schools, hospitals and roads.
Although I guess I can't complain. At least I now have a new workout shirt. I might as well get something out of it.
Paradise Sold
Jeff Todd
Posted: Jan 14, 2012
I don't own my home. I decided to rent, and as such, I can accept certain unpredictability.
If the water shuts off or the laundry machine breaks, I'll have to wait and have the landlord fix it. I don't really get a say in what the landscaping looks like. And if my landlord turned around and sold the property, perhaps I'd have to move out and find a new place.
It must be difficult to feel that way when it comes to your own country. Unfortunately, in The Bahamas, that isn't too far from the truth.
Now to be fair, there are plenty of influential and esteemed Bahamians behind many successful companies.
But on the whole, this county doesn't own its two economic pillars - tourism and financial services.
The major resorts are owned by foreigners. The banks ... well, there are a few local ones, but the largest are certainly not Bahamian.
I'm not sure how it happened exactly. I would imagine history has something to do with it. The mentality of this country requiring foreign investment and intervention to get things done it deeply embedded in the national psyche.
They don't grow anything here; there is a bare minimum of manufacturing and industry.
All of this comes at a cost, and the recent legal battle for Atlantis, I think, is the perfect example. The conglomerate that purchased Atlantis from the founder is now being sued by the other entities that had also lent the resort an awful lot of money. I won't go into the specifics here.
Suffice it to say, large multinationals and hedge funds are punching it out in U.S. court to see who gets control of the biggest employer in the entire country. The primary engine of the whole economy. None of them are tourism operators. They answer to shareholders, not the guy with the fanny pack. And it's generally believed, whoever wins, will likely flip or carve up Paradise Island once the worldwide economy recovers.
In a nutshell, the fate of this economy, or a large chunk of it anyway, rests in the hands of a few foreigners in a boardroom.
Now it's all well and good to point out the problem. Many have done that before me, and many more will.
The real question is - how do you change it? It's so systemic now. Who has the money? The government probably doesn't.
No, cash won't make a difference. Not now. What this place needs is a change in psyche.
This place is more than capable of running itself. The Bahamas doesn't need a landlord. They just need to believe it.
Posted: Jan 14, 2012
I don't own my home. I decided to rent, and as such, I can accept certain unpredictability.
If the water shuts off or the laundry machine breaks, I'll have to wait and have the landlord fix it. I don't really get a say in what the landscaping looks like. And if my landlord turned around and sold the property, perhaps I'd have to move out and find a new place.
It must be difficult to feel that way when it comes to your own country. Unfortunately, in The Bahamas, that isn't too far from the truth.
Now to be fair, there are plenty of influential and esteemed Bahamians behind many successful companies.
But on the whole, this county doesn't own its two economic pillars - tourism and financial services.
The major resorts are owned by foreigners. The banks ... well, there are a few local ones, but the largest are certainly not Bahamian.
I'm not sure how it happened exactly. I would imagine history has something to do with it. The mentality of this country requiring foreign investment and intervention to get things done it deeply embedded in the national psyche.
They don't grow anything here; there is a bare minimum of manufacturing and industry.
All of this comes at a cost, and the recent legal battle for Atlantis, I think, is the perfect example. The conglomerate that purchased Atlantis from the founder is now being sued by the other entities that had also lent the resort an awful lot of money. I won't go into the specifics here.
Suffice it to say, large multinationals and hedge funds are punching it out in U.S. court to see who gets control of the biggest employer in the entire country. The primary engine of the whole economy. None of them are tourism operators. They answer to shareholders, not the guy with the fanny pack. And it's generally believed, whoever wins, will likely flip or carve up Paradise Island once the worldwide economy recovers.
In a nutshell, the fate of this economy, or a large chunk of it anyway, rests in the hands of a few foreigners in a boardroom.
Now it's all well and good to point out the problem. Many have done that before me, and many more will.
The real question is - how do you change it? It's so systemic now. Who has the money? The government probably doesn't.
No, cash won't make a difference. Not now. What this place needs is a change in psyche.
This place is more than capable of running itself. The Bahamas doesn't need a landlord. They just need to believe it.
The Smoker
Jeff Todd
Posted: Dec 17 2011
Today was easily one of the nicest days, weather wise, since I arrived in The Bahamas.
It wasn't too hot; it wasn't too cold. And the sun was big, beautiful and warm in the open, blue sky.
Pardon the eye-rolling language, but com'on, that's what you live for down here. I don't get to enjoy it nearly as much as I should, so I'll take what I can get. With my morning cup of coffee, I walked out my front door, saluted the salamanders scurrying up the walls, and boom, there I was face to face with the beach.
There is a private island owned by Sandals, one of my closest neighbors, and I stood there for a while as a cruise ship tucked in behind it on its way to Nassau's port.
As the waves came crashing in, it didn't take long for a plastic jug to come surfing in on the crest of a wave, taking its place among the clumps of weeds that had snarled garbage like a spider web.
Plastic forks, blankets, pants, underwear, cans and an empty bottle of oil.
I'm not kidding - you really do find these items on the beach in Nassau on any given day.
Don't get me wrong - this place is gorgeous at times. Resorts do an excellent job keeping their beaches clean. But on the public side of things, there is a real problem - and it doesn't help just ignoring it. I once jumped down on the beach with a couple garbage bags, a few weeks back.
I filled them up, and let me say, you can't fit too many soaked clothing and blankets in a garbage bag before it tears and ends up as a disheveled mass at your feet. I felt good afterwards ... although someone later told me, why bother?
More will just wash up on the beach. You can't stop the cycle.
This morning, as these thoughts drifted through my head, an older gentleman who lives in the complex (actually, just below me) came out for a smoke. We traded pleasantries and spoke about what a lovely Saturday it was.
"Too cold now for swimming though," he said. "Most of us won't swim until May or June. It differs though for those who come from up North."
"I noticed there is a lot of garbage on the beach. Do people ever come along and clean it up?" I asked.
"Yeah ... sometimes," he considered, smoking his cigarette. "But you know, we'll get a good tide come in and it'll all wash away."
I suppose that's true. The problem may go away for a day or two. It'll wash away and then reappear.
"Yup," he said, sucking in the last drag. I watched as he flicked the cigarette into the ocean. "This sure beats working."
Posted: Dec 17 2011
Today was easily one of the nicest days, weather wise, since I arrived in The Bahamas.
It wasn't too hot; it wasn't too cold. And the sun was big, beautiful and warm in the open, blue sky.
Pardon the eye-rolling language, but com'on, that's what you live for down here. I don't get to enjoy it nearly as much as I should, so I'll take what I can get. With my morning cup of coffee, I walked out my front door, saluted the salamanders scurrying up the walls, and boom, there I was face to face with the beach.
There is a private island owned by Sandals, one of my closest neighbors, and I stood there for a while as a cruise ship tucked in behind it on its way to Nassau's port.
As the waves came crashing in, it didn't take long for a plastic jug to come surfing in on the crest of a wave, taking its place among the clumps of weeds that had snarled garbage like a spider web.
Plastic forks, blankets, pants, underwear, cans and an empty bottle of oil.
I'm not kidding - you really do find these items on the beach in Nassau on any given day.
Don't get me wrong - this place is gorgeous at times. Resorts do an excellent job keeping their beaches clean. But on the public side of things, there is a real problem - and it doesn't help just ignoring it. I once jumped down on the beach with a couple garbage bags, a few weeks back.
I filled them up, and let me say, you can't fit too many soaked clothing and blankets in a garbage bag before it tears and ends up as a disheveled mass at your feet. I felt good afterwards ... although someone later told me, why bother?
More will just wash up on the beach. You can't stop the cycle.
This morning, as these thoughts drifted through my head, an older gentleman who lives in the complex (actually, just below me) came out for a smoke. We traded pleasantries and spoke about what a lovely Saturday it was.
"Too cold now for swimming though," he said. "Most of us won't swim until May or June. It differs though for those who come from up North."
"I noticed there is a lot of garbage on the beach. Do people ever come along and clean it up?" I asked.
"Yeah ... sometimes," he considered, smoking his cigarette. "But you know, we'll get a good tide come in and it'll all wash away."
I suppose that's true. The problem may go away for a day or two. It'll wash away and then reappear.
"Yup," he said, sucking in the last drag. I watched as he flicked the cigarette into the ocean. "This sure beats working."
Dec 4 2011 - My interview with Rob Walton, chairman of Walmart
Read the full story!
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=18252:walmart-chairman-sees-potential-for-speed-week&catid=40:business&Itemid=2
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=18252:walmart-chairman-sees-potential-for-speed-week&catid=40:business&Itemid=2
Culture reduced to ashes
Jeff Todd
Posted: Dec 3 2011
I have been here long enough to appreciate the significance of the straw market and its merchants.
In a country that often struggles with its national identity, these vendors represent a tradition stretching back to the very origins of The Bahamas.
But how serious is this piece of history, really?
Last week, the temporary straw market located under a white tent burnt to the ground, taking with it two buildings - including one of the country's most important landmarks, The Pompey Museum.
Hundreds of merchants had sat huddled under that tent since 2001, after the original straw market ... wait for it ... burnt to the ground.
They screamed and coaxed customers from their tiny stalls, guarding cheap,machine-made merchandise, knock-offs and counterfeit crap.
If you spend more than a few moments there, and someone will whisper Cuban cigars in your ear, or drape beads around your neck and then ask for $10 for the "school children".
The fire last week was the second one along that downtown strip this year, and as I said, the original straw market was also burnt down. Another market, located on Cable Beach, met a similar fate years ago.
So what's going on here? Are the fire codes out of whack?
Are the merchants all chronic smokers that have taken to selling Tiki Torches on the side?
A prevailing theory is the most recent fire was arson. Surprise, surprise. Why?
Well, keeping the straw market vendors "happy" has been an issue here.
They wield, I'm told, considerable political clout because of their supposed page in history. Many are upset because the new, $11 million straw market, located just down the street, has been finished for months, and nobody has yet moved in.
Personally, I don't care who or what started the fire.
What I do care about is the irony that the most recent fire burnt down the county's most sacred museum. Pompey was a slave that petitioned the ruling government of the time for freedom, and won. It was filled with artifacts and elements of this country's history.
But how many tourists, stepping off those cruise ships, ever went there? How many circulated among the cheap crap instead?
In my opinion, the fire and destruction of the Pompey Museum is a reflection of a lost sense of self. The sad part is, culturally, The Bahamas actually has a tremendous amount to offer. There is, in fact, an investors group looking to revive this valuable identity.
With the fire and ash comes a chance for renewal. Like the phoenix, right?
But will that happen? Who knows ... at least the new $11 million market has a sprinkler system installed. Let's just hope it works.
Posted: Dec 3 2011
I have been here long enough to appreciate the significance of the straw market and its merchants.
In a country that often struggles with its national identity, these vendors represent a tradition stretching back to the very origins of The Bahamas.
But how serious is this piece of history, really?
Last week, the temporary straw market located under a white tent burnt to the ground, taking with it two buildings - including one of the country's most important landmarks, The Pompey Museum.
Hundreds of merchants had sat huddled under that tent since 2001, after the original straw market ... wait for it ... burnt to the ground.
They screamed and coaxed customers from their tiny stalls, guarding cheap,machine-made merchandise, knock-offs and counterfeit crap.
If you spend more than a few moments there, and someone will whisper Cuban cigars in your ear, or drape beads around your neck and then ask for $10 for the "school children".
The fire last week was the second one along that downtown strip this year, and as I said, the original straw market was also burnt down. Another market, located on Cable Beach, met a similar fate years ago.
So what's going on here? Are the fire codes out of whack?
Are the merchants all chronic smokers that have taken to selling Tiki Torches on the side?
A prevailing theory is the most recent fire was arson. Surprise, surprise. Why?
Well, keeping the straw market vendors "happy" has been an issue here.
They wield, I'm told, considerable political clout because of their supposed page in history. Many are upset because the new, $11 million straw market, located just down the street, has been finished for months, and nobody has yet moved in.
Personally, I don't care who or what started the fire.
What I do care about is the irony that the most recent fire burnt down the county's most sacred museum. Pompey was a slave that petitioned the ruling government of the time for freedom, and won. It was filled with artifacts and elements of this country's history.
But how many tourists, stepping off those cruise ships, ever went there? How many circulated among the cheap crap instead?
In my opinion, the fire and destruction of the Pompey Museum is a reflection of a lost sense of self. The sad part is, culturally, The Bahamas actually has a tremendous amount to offer. There is, in fact, an investors group looking to revive this valuable identity.
With the fire and ash comes a chance for renewal. Like the phoenix, right?
But will that happen? Who knows ... at least the new $11 million market has a sprinkler system installed. Let's just hope it works.
Poking the Sleeping Giant
Jeff Todd
Posted: Nov 6 2011
This weekend I traveled to Andros, the largest island in The Bahamas, which is all of about 12 minutes away by air.
Filled with fresh water and forests, the vast majority of this sleeping giant is uninhabited. There is no library on the island. One bank. I never saw a food store, although I'm sure there is one. The island mostly consists of scattered, hidden, bare-bone developments.
I drove down expansive, largely abandoned roads ridden with pot holes, down isolated lane-ways flanked by half-finished, abandoned buildings.
Every once in awhile I stopped and met some locals who literately live in the middle of nowhere. Dozens of men and women hanging out in front of dilapidated hovels with no concept of the outside world.
I have been to India, Thailand, Jordan, Nepal ... poverty isn't an unusual sight. I suppose what made this weekend unusual was the fact we were so close to Nassau...to the U.S., for that matter. At night, you can see the lights of the capital on the horizon.
It made me appreciate how much potential The Bahamas holds in terms of expanding its own horizons. Here we have a vast landscape right in the backyard, and yet it's largely untouched and unappreciated. The residents there feel invisible.
One local told me, gazing at the glowing horizon, you could throw a rock at Nassau - but they would never notice.
Posted: Nov 6 2011
This weekend I traveled to Andros, the largest island in The Bahamas, which is all of about 12 minutes away by air.
Filled with fresh water and forests, the vast majority of this sleeping giant is uninhabited. There is no library on the island. One bank. I never saw a food store, although I'm sure there is one. The island mostly consists of scattered, hidden, bare-bone developments.
I drove down expansive, largely abandoned roads ridden with pot holes, down isolated lane-ways flanked by half-finished, abandoned buildings.
Every once in awhile I stopped and met some locals who literately live in the middle of nowhere. Dozens of men and women hanging out in front of dilapidated hovels with no concept of the outside world.
I have been to India, Thailand, Jordan, Nepal ... poverty isn't an unusual sight. I suppose what made this weekend unusual was the fact we were so close to Nassau...to the U.S., for that matter. At night, you can see the lights of the capital on the horizon.
It made me appreciate how much potential The Bahamas holds in terms of expanding its own horizons. Here we have a vast landscape right in the backyard, and yet it's largely untouched and unappreciated. The residents there feel invisible.
One local told me, gazing at the glowing horizon, you could throw a rock at Nassau - but they would never notice.
Don't lose your rhythm
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 29 2011
I'll never forget that young man pounding on a giant drum.
You'll see him at the end of the video above; he has a whistle in his mouth, and my God, how the sweat poured down his face.
It was especially hot today. In the sticky heat of the afternoon I wandered over to an arts and crafts fair. Behind that was this marching from one of the local high schools. They went on and on. A large crowd watched and stomped their feet.
And while they all were putting in a full effort, the ring leader with a drum and whistle clearly drove them forward through the square.
He possessed a spirited seriousness that made him stand out.
Perhaps I'm being overly sentimental (now there would be a change), but it made me consider how passion, dedication and focus on something constructive really can lead you down the right path - and others will follow. The Bahamas is so full of problems. The other day I was on my way to dinner, and a cop car did a rapid three-point-turn right in front of me with lights barring.
Moments later, as I waited for the light to turn green, I'm certain I heard a gunshot.
Until now, I've only seen the murder count climb with every edition of the newspaper we put out; I had never been so close to the real thing.
But this weekend, and watching this passionate drummer, it made me realize that good things can happen when you stay in rhythm.
Posted: Oct 29 2011
I'll never forget that young man pounding on a giant drum.
You'll see him at the end of the video above; he has a whistle in his mouth, and my God, how the sweat poured down his face.
It was especially hot today. In the sticky heat of the afternoon I wandered over to an arts and crafts fair. Behind that was this marching from one of the local high schools. They went on and on. A large crowd watched and stomped their feet.
And while they all were putting in a full effort, the ring leader with a drum and whistle clearly drove them forward through the square.
He possessed a spirited seriousness that made him stand out.
Perhaps I'm being overly sentimental (now there would be a change), but it made me consider how passion, dedication and focus on something constructive really can lead you down the right path - and others will follow. The Bahamas is so full of problems. The other day I was on my way to dinner, and a cop car did a rapid three-point-turn right in front of me with lights barring.
Moments later, as I waited for the light to turn green, I'm certain I heard a gunshot.
Until now, I've only seen the murder count climb with every edition of the newspaper we put out; I had never been so close to the real thing.
But this weekend, and watching this passionate drummer, it made me realize that good things can happen when you stay in rhythm.
A small world after all
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 22 2011
The Cultural International Festival was in full gear here in Nassau this weekend. Make no mistake - it's quite the event in New Providence.
There are well over 100 booths run by Filipinos, Americans, South Africans, Cubans, Sri Lankans, Chinese, and of course, Canadians.
I swear, half the island was there. Thousands upon thousands. I felt sorry for the snaking line leaving the place where they were giving out Monster energy drinks as people waited and pushed their way through.
It was an interesting contradiction, I found.
The more time I spend here, the more I realize how small and interconnected everything is - particularly in business, which is a rather important focus of mine.
It's easy to forget sometimes that the population of this country is around 400,000 - and that's probably on the generous side. In terms of those who call the shots? Geez ... that's even more difficult to estimate. I won't even try, let it be said.
But it's small. And that's not a bad thing, don't get me a wrong. It's a function of a small, contained environment.
It's a reality of doing business in The Bahamas.
'You see that guy over there?" someone says, nudging me in the stomach. "Oh, he knows this and that. And knows this guy that owns that."
I like to think of it as an added challenge. Quite stimulating and intense, in fact.
It's rare here for one person to own one thing, or have significant interests in just one particular area. And amid the endless corporate signs and fanfare, the people circulating this way and that, you come to realize it's a small world after all. In more ways than one.
Posted: Oct 22 2011
The Cultural International Festival was in full gear here in Nassau this weekend. Make no mistake - it's quite the event in New Providence.
There are well over 100 booths run by Filipinos, Americans, South Africans, Cubans, Sri Lankans, Chinese, and of course, Canadians.
I swear, half the island was there. Thousands upon thousands. I felt sorry for the snaking line leaving the place where they were giving out Monster energy drinks as people waited and pushed their way through.
It was an interesting contradiction, I found.
The more time I spend here, the more I realize how small and interconnected everything is - particularly in business, which is a rather important focus of mine.
It's easy to forget sometimes that the population of this country is around 400,000 - and that's probably on the generous side. In terms of those who call the shots? Geez ... that's even more difficult to estimate. I won't even try, let it be said.
But it's small. And that's not a bad thing, don't get me a wrong. It's a function of a small, contained environment.
It's a reality of doing business in The Bahamas.
'You see that guy over there?" someone says, nudging me in the stomach. "Oh, he knows this and that. And knows this guy that owns that."
I like to think of it as an added challenge. Quite stimulating and intense, in fact.
It's rare here for one person to own one thing, or have significant interests in just one particular area. And amid the endless corporate signs and fanfare, the people circulating this way and that, you come to realize it's a small world after all. In more ways than one.
Island time
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 16 2011
It's official - I am now a resident of The Bahamas.
And it's not because I have a house and a few things on the walls.
I have given in to "Island Time", as the locals would say. For those who don't know, Island Time refers to a different pace ... a different state
of mind, in fact. Take it easy. It'll get done ... in the meantime, sit back and smell the ocean breeze.
If you pay attention, my blog has appeared a day late for two weeks in a row. In my world, that's unheard of - an onyourtodd.com first, no doubt.
So as I was saying, it's official. I have been indoctrinated.
But not entirely, I assure you.
It's an interesting state of affairs, being a journalist in a country that has a specific term which essentially condones procrastination.
Not exactly conducive to deadlines - and deadlines are part of my everyday life.
I'm still getting used to be excruciatingly early for my appointments, or as I might say, right on time.
I like to think of it as a challenge more than anything else. But the more time I live here, the more I do appreciate the concept behind "Island Time". In this high-octane world, where we take life so seriously, and we're so bent self-interest, Island Time also makes a whole lot of sense.
However, does it jive with creating an efficient, 21st-century, first-world society? Probably not.
Like so many things in life, it seems a great strength is also a great weakness. But why worry? Relax. I'm on island time now.
Posted: Oct 16 2011
It's official - I am now a resident of The Bahamas.
And it's not because I have a house and a few things on the walls.
I have given in to "Island Time", as the locals would say. For those who don't know, Island Time refers to a different pace ... a different state
of mind, in fact. Take it easy. It'll get done ... in the meantime, sit back and smell the ocean breeze.
If you pay attention, my blog has appeared a day late for two weeks in a row. In my world, that's unheard of - an onyourtodd.com first, no doubt.
So as I was saying, it's official. I have been indoctrinated.
But not entirely, I assure you.
It's an interesting state of affairs, being a journalist in a country that has a specific term which essentially condones procrastination.
Not exactly conducive to deadlines - and deadlines are part of my everyday life.
I'm still getting used to be excruciatingly early for my appointments, or as I might say, right on time.
I like to think of it as a challenge more than anything else. But the more time I live here, the more I do appreciate the concept behind "Island Time". In this high-octane world, where we take life so seriously, and we're so bent self-interest, Island Time also makes a whole lot of sense.
However, does it jive with creating an efficient, 21st-century, first-world society? Probably not.
Like so many things in life, it seems a great strength is also a great weakness. But why worry? Relax. I'm on island time now.
Life in the Bubble
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 9 2011
Apologizes for the delay, but you see, I was trapped in the tourist bubble.
This weekend I stayed at the Sandals resort right down the road.
It was my first experience at the all-adult venue. And my oh my, they certainly know how to show people a good time.
It''s a Disney world of booze, sex and food.
Couples wade in the pool, looking into each others' eyes on side either of a floatation device with a beer or fruity drink in hand. I suppose I drank the Kool Aid ... not to mention a few beers ... but it's hard to resist, because they get you hook, line and sinker the moment you enter the joint.
Nevertheless, when you're a resident instead of a tourist, the walls of this bubble become that much more visible.
I feel like telling them about all the problems they have in this country and the need for change. How this isn't the whole story when it comes to The Bahamas ... we might as well be on the moon, in terms of the resort's relevance to the outside world. But I don't, because this is probably their honeymoon or first vacation in years.
The smiling lady with the video camera probably doesn't want to hear about the murder rate, the power outages or the poverty and unemployment. I can't blame her. She just wants her time in the sun - and then leave. She probably has no intention of seeing what's beyond these walls.
Which is a shame, because if she did, maybe more people would be aware of the reality. Maybe things would change.
Or perhaps it wouldn't make a difference at all. The pool is awfully comfortable.
Posted: Oct 9 2011
Apologizes for the delay, but you see, I was trapped in the tourist bubble.
This weekend I stayed at the Sandals resort right down the road.
It was my first experience at the all-adult venue. And my oh my, they certainly know how to show people a good time.
It''s a Disney world of booze, sex and food.
Couples wade in the pool, looking into each others' eyes on side either of a floatation device with a beer or fruity drink in hand. I suppose I drank the Kool Aid ... not to mention a few beers ... but it's hard to resist, because they get you hook, line and sinker the moment you enter the joint.
Nevertheless, when you're a resident instead of a tourist, the walls of this bubble become that much more visible.
I feel like telling them about all the problems they have in this country and the need for change. How this isn't the whole story when it comes to The Bahamas ... we might as well be on the moon, in terms of the resort's relevance to the outside world. But I don't, because this is probably their honeymoon or first vacation in years.
The smiling lady with the video camera probably doesn't want to hear about the murder rate, the power outages or the poverty and unemployment. I can't blame her. She just wants her time in the sun - and then leave. She probably has no intention of seeing what's beyond these walls.
Which is a shame, because if she did, maybe more people would be aware of the reality. Maybe things would change.
Or perhaps it wouldn't make a difference at all. The pool is awfully comfortable.
Easy being green
Jeff Todd
Posted: Oct 1 2011
I usually schedule meetings on Fridays. You know your presence is growing when the meetings start coming to you.
Randy Butler shook my hand, scooping in with fingers parted. Then he took a knee in front of my chair and spoke with conviction, glasses perched on the end of his nose.
He's the Chairman of the largest renewable energy conference in the region, being attended this month by high-level politicians, the head of utility companies, investors and bankers.
He came to me because of all the stories I've been doing on renewable energy here in The Bahamas. Really, I can't take the credit. Sure, it's a hot topic that I'm happy to cover, but it's the Bahamians that are making this frontier a reality. I'm just recording it.
Leading politicians and businesses here believe this place will be a revolutionary testing ground for ocean thermal and solar energy.
It's not just talk - it's actually happening ...
Ample access to sunshine all year round, strong ocean currents and the lack of major industry that requires great amounts of power make this country an ideal test tube. And the Americans know it.
It's already begun - just last month, the local utility company signed on with a corporation from Hawaii to deliver ocean thermal power to the general public. A first for the world, by the way.
Residents throughout the island are installing solar panels on their roofs, the government has reduced tariffs on green materials and forward-thinking business are training electricians, engineers and contractors in the industry to get more people off the grid.
Check out what they're doing on isolated islands here in The Bahamas: http://outislandenergy.com/
I feel privileged to cover this unexpected sector.
One day, I think it's entirely possible the history books will say Caribbean society was the first to truly go green.
Posted: Oct 1 2011
I usually schedule meetings on Fridays. You know your presence is growing when the meetings start coming to you.
Randy Butler shook my hand, scooping in with fingers parted. Then he took a knee in front of my chair and spoke with conviction, glasses perched on the end of his nose.
He's the Chairman of the largest renewable energy conference in the region, being attended this month by high-level politicians, the head of utility companies, investors and bankers.
He came to me because of all the stories I've been doing on renewable energy here in The Bahamas. Really, I can't take the credit. Sure, it's a hot topic that I'm happy to cover, but it's the Bahamians that are making this frontier a reality. I'm just recording it.
Leading politicians and businesses here believe this place will be a revolutionary testing ground for ocean thermal and solar energy.
It's not just talk - it's actually happening ...
Ample access to sunshine all year round, strong ocean currents and the lack of major industry that requires great amounts of power make this country an ideal test tube. And the Americans know it.
It's already begun - just last month, the local utility company signed on with a corporation from Hawaii to deliver ocean thermal power to the general public. A first for the world, by the way.
Residents throughout the island are installing solar panels on their roofs, the government has reduced tariffs on green materials and forward-thinking business are training electricians, engineers and contractors in the industry to get more people off the grid.
Check out what they're doing on isolated islands here in The Bahamas: http://outislandenergy.com/
I feel privileged to cover this unexpected sector.
One day, I think it's entirely possible the history books will say Caribbean society was the first to truly go green.
Convenience at a Drizzle
Jeff Todd
Posted: Sept 24 2011
It's amazing how weather can ruin the best laid plans.
During the rainy season, it pretty much rains every day, but you still hope beyond hope it won't happen on the weekend.
So much for golf at the Ocean Club this morning.
But putting the Beer Festival out of business this afternoon? Now that's just wrong.
Not that it would have been all that great, anyway. When I arrived, amid the overcast skies and drizzle, they were resiliently setting up shop - but none of the booths offered anything I couldn't get at the bar.
Abandoning the scene, and sitting at a local pub drinking the local beer and watching American Football, it made me consider how limited the retail scene here is in The Bahamas. I mean, you don't live like a monk, but the variety isn't there.
Sure, you have the very basics - and then you have the designer strip over in the tourist areas.
But a Gap, Target, Zara or even a Walmart? Good luck. I don't particularly subscribe to these stores, but nevertheless, you come to appreciate the kinds of products they offer. The Bahamas is devoid of middle of the road, essential products. No wonder everyone shops in Miami.
You think about how standard retail would do great here; and then you wonder why it doesn't happen.
Is it corruption? High customs duties?
Or perhaps laziness ... I don't know the answer, and maybe a few years from now, I can say more.
What I do know is the standard of living in some areas is needlessly low.
In other words, the retail scene is incredibly immature. Inefficient. Short-sighted. It's a disservice to the people who live here.
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=13055&Itemid=2
Murder by numbers - it doesn't add up
Jeff Todd
Posted: September 17 2011
A couple days ago The Bahamas logged its 96, 97 and 98th murder. At least I think it did. Trust me, it's hard to keep up.
The morning after a supposed triple homicide, reports came in that there had been a miscommunication between the hospital and the police department. The 98th murder victim was MOSTLY dead ... hanging onto life. So wait, lets drop the number back to 97.
That's more or less how it went. Like I sad, I was confused. Only in a country such as this, a tiny place where you can drive from one end to the other in an hour, can you have a miscount of life, as the bodies pile up.
To give you a means of comparison, the Toronto Police Department has recorded 33 murders this year - a city with a population seven times that of The Bahamas. See below:
http://www.torontopolice.on.ca/statistics/ytd_stats.php
The number of people killed is all the more important these days - maybe the police were anxious to add one more to the country's march towards 100 murders for the year - a first ever, I might add. With a few months to go, the overall record for the year was long shattered.
I was listening to a well-known politician pontificate about this "scourge" of society.
He said the saddest thing is many of the murders were innocent, ordinary people.
That weird - it's generally believed among Bahamians that the majority of victims are related to drugs and crime.
The fact is, it appears that The Bahamas doesn't seem to know what to make of the murder rate.
Many question whether there is even a will to even change it.
I was swimming in the ocean earlier with goggles on and watched a school of fish swim by. I followed them for awhile. It truly is amazing to see them swim in such dedication coordination. Sometimes they would hit a bit of an undercurrent and be forced to stop, suspended, and yet they maintained the exact same spacing somehow, and their tails curled, as if in the wind, in an effort to steady their bodies.
I'm quite sure it sounds sentimental to compare our disarray with the precision of schools of fish. Far too idealist for most people, I'm sure.
But it still makes me wonder, in their frailty and simplicity, how do they do it? Maybe humans just need more frailty.
Posted: September 17 2011
A couple days ago The Bahamas logged its 96, 97 and 98th murder. At least I think it did. Trust me, it's hard to keep up.
The morning after a supposed triple homicide, reports came in that there had been a miscommunication between the hospital and the police department. The 98th murder victim was MOSTLY dead ... hanging onto life. So wait, lets drop the number back to 97.
That's more or less how it went. Like I sad, I was confused. Only in a country such as this, a tiny place where you can drive from one end to the other in an hour, can you have a miscount of life, as the bodies pile up.
To give you a means of comparison, the Toronto Police Department has recorded 33 murders this year - a city with a population seven times that of The Bahamas. See below:
http://www.torontopolice.on.ca/statistics/ytd_stats.php
The number of people killed is all the more important these days - maybe the police were anxious to add one more to the country's march towards 100 murders for the year - a first ever, I might add. With a few months to go, the overall record for the year was long shattered.
I was listening to a well-known politician pontificate about this "scourge" of society.
He said the saddest thing is many of the murders were innocent, ordinary people.
That weird - it's generally believed among Bahamians that the majority of victims are related to drugs and crime.
The fact is, it appears that The Bahamas doesn't seem to know what to make of the murder rate.
Many question whether there is even a will to even change it.
I was swimming in the ocean earlier with goggles on and watched a school of fish swim by. I followed them for awhile. It truly is amazing to see them swim in such dedication coordination. Sometimes they would hit a bit of an undercurrent and be forced to stop, suspended, and yet they maintained the exact same spacing somehow, and their tails curled, as if in the wind, in an effort to steady their bodies.
I'm quite sure it sounds sentimental to compare our disarray with the precision of schools of fish. Far too idealist for most people, I'm sure.
But it still makes me wonder, in their frailty and simplicity, how do they do it? Maybe humans just need more frailty.
Chaos, calm and what's in between
Jeff Todd
Posted: September 10 2011
There is a political rally happening in my front yard. The horns are incessant and jarring.
Approximately 12 - 14 people, both men and women, run frantically across a roundabout [that is just beyond my front gate] handing out flyers, stopping cars as if it's Tiananmen Square, handing out bottles of water and bags of small green fruits that look like grapes, except it has a hard exterior like a banana, and a core like a peach. You suck the flesh off, which i find to be quite bitter and meager.
The protestors are also wearing green with the words DNA written across them - the Democratic National Alliance.
A rogue new party. The leader is purported to have said he has been chosen by Jesus, although I'm told that's not terribly unusual here.
There is an election coming, and like the weather, things are heating up.
That all sounds excellent - but do they have to make quite so much noise? It is, after all, my Saturday. I'm trying to get some writing done.
Before me, in my back yard, I look out onto the ocean through a thin thicket of three palm trees in a crooked row. Not an unobstructed view, but pleasant. A privilege, I suppose. There is a crest of waves I would say about 60 - 70 meters out, and I wonder why that happens and what is snagging the ocean's usual flow. I want to find out, perhaps by kayak, but unfortunately time is at premium since arriving in The Bahamas.
You see, surprisingly, I have never been so busy as I have been in Nassau.
The chaos behind me and the calm before me is a poignant reminder of oxymoron I now face. It's excruciating, really. If you're not staying at Atlantis, or Sandals, or some other all-inclusive proposition for two weeks in the sun, this is a very different place.
But on the plus side, I think I may have found a new title for my first book.
Posted: September 10 2011
There is a political rally happening in my front yard. The horns are incessant and jarring.
Approximately 12 - 14 people, both men and women, run frantically across a roundabout [that is just beyond my front gate] handing out flyers, stopping cars as if it's Tiananmen Square, handing out bottles of water and bags of small green fruits that look like grapes, except it has a hard exterior like a banana, and a core like a peach. You suck the flesh off, which i find to be quite bitter and meager.
The protestors are also wearing green with the words DNA written across them - the Democratic National Alliance.
A rogue new party. The leader is purported to have said he has been chosen by Jesus, although I'm told that's not terribly unusual here.
There is an election coming, and like the weather, things are heating up.
That all sounds excellent - but do they have to make quite so much noise? It is, after all, my Saturday. I'm trying to get some writing done.
Before me, in my back yard, I look out onto the ocean through a thin thicket of three palm trees in a crooked row. Not an unobstructed view, but pleasant. A privilege, I suppose. There is a crest of waves I would say about 60 - 70 meters out, and I wonder why that happens and what is snagging the ocean's usual flow. I want to find out, perhaps by kayak, but unfortunately time is at premium since arriving in The Bahamas.
You see, surprisingly, I have never been so busy as I have been in Nassau.
The chaos behind me and the calm before me is a poignant reminder of oxymoron I now face. It's excruciating, really. If you're not staying at Atlantis, or Sandals, or some other all-inclusive proposition for two weeks in the sun, this is a very different place.
But on the plus side, I think I may have found a new title for my first book.
Domestic, unpredictable bliss
Jeff Todd
Posted: September 3 2011
Not every moment in life is exciting. I suppose that's not an incredible revelation, but considering my past month, it feels like one.
With the hurricane gone, I can see a routine slowly starting to form.
The first item has been nailed up on the wall - a sure sign that the house or becoming a home. I spent my Saturday in a crowded furniture and appliance store buying nick-nacks for the apartment.
Knives, cutlery (the ones that came with the place were rusty), blankets, Swiffer Wet Jet, a hammer ... are you bored yet?
You should be. I certainly was ... I absolutely hate spending time in department stores and taking care of domestic, everyday duties.
I know it's necessary, but it always feels like I'm wasting time.
Fortunately, I was jolted back to my reality when I tried to use the credit card. You see, I didn't have enough cash, so I decided to put the remaining $50 on my credit card. Declined. For $50? How embarrassing.
It turns out someone copied my stripe, placed it on a fraudulent credit card and flew it to Florida. Then the recipient went on a $1,500 spending spree at gas stations and Walmart. Classy.
As I called the credit card company, she had more than a little trouble identifying me, mostly because my information was totally outdated.
It's bad enough I have four first names, and I always forget whether I referred to myself as Jeffrey or Thomas on applications.
I suppose I should develop some consistency there.
In any event (are you bored yet?), my phone number was different. They had an address I hadn't used in years. You live where? Bahamas? Why do you live there? What's that like?
I quickly realized, as we continued through the list of corrections, how scattered my life has been over the past few years.
In other words, even when buying a Swiffer, I don't ever have to be worried about being bored.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: September 3 2011
Not every moment in life is exciting. I suppose that's not an incredible revelation, but considering my past month, it feels like one.
With the hurricane gone, I can see a routine slowly starting to form.
The first item has been nailed up on the wall - a sure sign that the house or becoming a home. I spent my Saturday in a crowded furniture and appliance store buying nick-nacks for the apartment.
Knives, cutlery (the ones that came with the place were rusty), blankets, Swiffer Wet Jet, a hammer ... are you bored yet?
You should be. I certainly was ... I absolutely hate spending time in department stores and taking care of domestic, everyday duties.
I know it's necessary, but it always feels like I'm wasting time.
Fortunately, I was jolted back to my reality when I tried to use the credit card. You see, I didn't have enough cash, so I decided to put the remaining $50 on my credit card. Declined. For $50? How embarrassing.
It turns out someone copied my stripe, placed it on a fraudulent credit card and flew it to Florida. Then the recipient went on a $1,500 spending spree at gas stations and Walmart. Classy.
As I called the credit card company, she had more than a little trouble identifying me, mostly because my information was totally outdated.
It's bad enough I have four first names, and I always forget whether I referred to myself as Jeffrey or Thomas on applications.
I suppose I should develop some consistency there.
In any event (are you bored yet?), my phone number was different. They had an address I hadn't used in years. You live where? Bahamas? Why do you live there? What's that like?
I quickly realized, as we continued through the list of corrections, how scattered my life has been over the past few years.
In other words, even when buying a Swiffer, I don't ever have to be worried about being bored.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Forget the U.S. - the real suffering from Irene is here
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 27 2011
Yesterday was a long, tiring and in some ways frustrating day.
I sat down at my desk for no more than a few minutes before an e-mail came through, inviting me to join a search and rescue mission to the remote islands to the southeast.
I jumped on a small plane with two members of the Associated Press, and we landed on Cat Island, a small community of no more than 1,500 people, about 80 miles from Nassau.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that these people have hit rock bottom. Many have lost their homes entirely. The roofs have been town off, the ocean surge swept through and carried away their possessions, and in most cases, what's left of the structures will have to be demolished because of the mold.
The young man in this photo couldn't have been more than 20. He lives in a seaside hovel with two cousins. No parents.
The house has no roof (see below - also more photos and video in Dark Room) and the walls have been eaten away by flooding. What's left of his possessions, including a mop and a basketball, were tossed randomly on the muddy ground.
Cat Island, along with others, bore the brunt of the Cat 3 hurricane. When I got home late last night, I watched with irritation as journalists back home moaned about the Cat 1 hitting the U.S. coast. Every conceivable angle deconstructed.
Mass evacuations. Contingency plans. Get off the beach.
Well, I'm sorry people will miss out on their tan.
Not I'm not saying the hurricane making landfall in the U.S. isn't important. Clearly it carries significance.
But much of the world, it seems, has forgotten about The Bahamas, and the real suffering going on here. Most won't even know it happened.
I drank a full bottle of Sweet Malbec on the couch and changed the channel.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: August 27 2011
Yesterday was a long, tiring and in some ways frustrating day.
I sat down at my desk for no more than a few minutes before an e-mail came through, inviting me to join a search and rescue mission to the remote islands to the southeast.
I jumped on a small plane with two members of the Associated Press, and we landed on Cat Island, a small community of no more than 1,500 people, about 80 miles from Nassau.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that these people have hit rock bottom. Many have lost their homes entirely. The roofs have been town off, the ocean surge swept through and carried away their possessions, and in most cases, what's left of the structures will have to be demolished because of the mold.
The young man in this photo couldn't have been more than 20. He lives in a seaside hovel with two cousins. No parents.
The house has no roof (see below - also more photos and video in Dark Room) and the walls have been eaten away by flooding. What's left of his possessions, including a mop and a basketball, were tossed randomly on the muddy ground.
Cat Island, along with others, bore the brunt of the Cat 3 hurricane. When I got home late last night, I watched with irritation as journalists back home moaned about the Cat 1 hitting the U.S. coast. Every conceivable angle deconstructed.
Mass evacuations. Contingency plans. Get off the beach.
Well, I'm sorry people will miss out on their tan.
Not I'm not saying the hurricane making landfall in the U.S. isn't important. Clearly it carries significance.
But much of the world, it seems, has forgotten about The Bahamas, and the real suffering going on here. Most won't even know it happened.
I drank a full bottle of Sweet Malbec on the couch and changed the channel.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
 Open roof and what's left of his clothes. |
 A pit bull loiters outside of the house. |
Interview with CTV
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 25 - 1:03pm
Shortly after noon I had a phone interview with Dan Matheson for CTV News. You can view it here:
http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/TopStories/20110825/hurricane-coast-north-carolina-110825/
I have a blanket over me now because it's getting pretty cold. Wind still roaring through the walls. Looking forward to getting out of here -
hopefully tonight.
My hurricane hangover
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 25 2011 - 9:12am
It was a restless night on the floor. And it didn't help the cat became increasingly panicked and irritable as the storm approached. I'll have to make up with him for pounding the floor and screaming more than a few times.
My back is aching. My eyes are puffy. I did not enjoy sleeping with Irene.
Over my morning cup of instant coffee, here is the latest:
The eye of Hurricane Irene is directly East of Nassau. It seems we missed the brunt of the storm, although we're still getting whipped around pretty thoroughly - to give you an idea, I can actually hear the roar of wind through the walls, and there's plenty of space between my desk and the outside world ... and are no windows in here. Irene is fierce, I assure you.
Tons of trees are down, plenty of damage to houses, the streets are flooded and power is out to many areas.
I have no idea how my apartment did. It could be bad, considering it's right on the beach.
That said, I know things could have been much worse.
The Family Islands, I'm told, weren't quite so lucky. Check out this story from one of my neighbors in the newsroom for more:
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12390&Itemid=27
Outside, as another colleague just uttered, it "ain't friendly". We might take a gander in a little bit. There is also word that some of us might get the opportunity to check out the Family Islands, if the air stripes are in good enough shape. Not THAT would be amazing.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: August 25 2011 - 9:12am
It was a restless night on the floor. And it didn't help the cat became increasingly panicked and irritable as the storm approached. I'll have to make up with him for pounding the floor and screaming more than a few times.
My back is aching. My eyes are puffy. I did not enjoy sleeping with Irene.
Over my morning cup of instant coffee, here is the latest:
The eye of Hurricane Irene is directly East of Nassau. It seems we missed the brunt of the storm, although we're still getting whipped around pretty thoroughly - to give you an idea, I can actually hear the roar of wind through the walls, and there's plenty of space between my desk and the outside world ... and are no windows in here. Irene is fierce, I assure you.
Tons of trees are down, plenty of damage to houses, the streets are flooded and power is out to many areas.
I have no idea how my apartment did. It could be bad, considering it's right on the beach.
That said, I know things could have been much worse.
The Family Islands, I'm told, weren't quite so lucky. Check out this story from one of my neighbors in the newsroom for more:
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12390&Itemid=27
Outside, as another colleague just uttered, it "ain't friendly". We might take a gander in a little bit. There is also word that some of us might get the opportunity to check out the Family Islands, if the air stripes are in good enough shape. Not THAT would be amazing.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
My walk - photos and videos
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 24 2011 - 10:23pm
Posted: August 24 2011 - 10:23pm
When I first arrived on the beach, it was all fun and games. Sure, it was the biggest storm I had ever witnessed. But I never felt in danger.
|
|
|
Things changed. In the first video, on the left, you can definitely appreciate the strength of the winds (turn up your volume). Nothing I can't handle, I thought. And as I filmed the video on the right, in excitement and awe, Hurricane Irene quickly humbled me. It's hard to explain, except that you feel scared. The sheets of rain pick up and whip your face, the wind is so powerful you feel anything can happen.
When the video ends, I ran behind a small cabaña on the beach for shelter, soaked to the bone.
When the video ends, I ran behind a small cabaña on the beach for shelter, soaked to the bone.
Filming behind the cabana - you'll notice I have to clean the lens at one point. The storm let up somewhat a few minutes later, so I took the opportunity to drive back to the newsroom.
Someone else took cover behind the cabana. His name is Kevin Bannister, and he's an entertainer/singer, so he said. He performs at this place called the Cricket Club, and that he's the brother of the last PM of The Bahamas. Was it he full of it? Who knows. But I'll find out, because I told him I'm going to see his next show on Tuesday.
It's tempting, but I WILL NOT be going back out. Well, probably ....
Considering a walk
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 24 2011 - 8:27pm
It's getting pretty windy around here. It rains hard, off and on. At this point, in Nassau, the situation is simply really bad weather - not quite a hurricane. For that, I'm told we'll have to wait a few hours yet.
The lights flicker sometimes, but overall the generator seems to be holding up. I spoke with the Chairman of Bahamas Electricity Company a few hours ago. He said power is out to pretty much all of the surrounding islands.
I bet plenty of those people don't have back-ups. Most people in Nassau don't have generators, for that matter.
I just caught wind of a small excursion out to with a film crew to check out the ocean ... that might be too tempting to resist.
After all of this waiting, all this lethargy, I feel as if I need to experience some hardship.
I'm tired of all these distant phone interviews and pumping out stories. I need some action.
It's too cushy here in the newsroom. There are no windows, it's inland, and I'm surrounding by buckets of fried chicken, platters of sandwiches, bags of chips and several boxes of Dominos pizza.
I'm on a horrible hurricane diet. Perhaps it's time I get out there and shed a few pounds.
Posted: August 24 2011 - 8:27pm
It's getting pretty windy around here. It rains hard, off and on. At this point, in Nassau, the situation is simply really bad weather - not quite a hurricane. For that, I'm told we'll have to wait a few hours yet.
The lights flicker sometimes, but overall the generator seems to be holding up. I spoke with the Chairman of Bahamas Electricity Company a few hours ago. He said power is out to pretty much all of the surrounding islands.
I bet plenty of those people don't have back-ups. Most people in Nassau don't have generators, for that matter.
I just caught wind of a small excursion out to with a film crew to check out the ocean ... that might be too tempting to resist.
After all of this waiting, all this lethargy, I feel as if I need to experience some hardship.
I'm tired of all these distant phone interviews and pumping out stories. I need some action.
It's too cushy here in the newsroom. There are no windows, it's inland, and I'm surrounding by buckets of fried chicken, platters of sandwiches, bags of chips and several boxes of Dominos pizza.
I'm on a horrible hurricane diet. Perhaps it's time I get out there and shed a few pounds.
The rain begins ...
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 24 2011 - 11:24am
Well, that didn't take long. The lights just went out and the generator kicked in. I'm told it's raining outside and some big clouds are rolling in. I might have to take a peak in a minute ...
I got off the phone with people on the Family Islands, which will be hit hard first as the storm moves up from the southeast.
People seem to be coping pretty well, although the vast majority have evacuated, it seems. The main concern is the lack of supplies and medical facilities. I did a quick hit for the web after speaking with a couple of people on the islands:
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12360&Itemid=27
I'm glad to be in Nassau.
Patience is a virtue, except during hurricanes
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 24 2011 - 11am
They say most of war is waiting - waiting to fight, to live, or to die.
I have no idea if that's true, but I do know how a hurricane feels. It's an awful lot of waiting.
You slowly see things around you change.
More and more businesses are closing their doors; options for last-minute supplies are becoming pretty limited.
The wind has picked up. You can feel the weather changing. Down at the beach, waves are pounding the beach.
It's subtle, but in my mind I'm visualizing the satellite image of a giant storm creeping towards this speck of an island, ready to envelope me.
Will it hit us head on? Is it a Cat 2 or 3? I heard it could be a Cat 4. Is it shifting away? No, it's coming right for us. The speculation is endless.
I swing between hoping it will pass us by, to feeling ripped off if it does.
And here, sitting in the windowless newsroom, with food, water, pillows and a cat, I just want the waiting to end.
Cappuccino before the storm
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 23 2011
Is this what people mean by the calm before the storm?
When I stepped out of the house this morning, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. What did I expect? Swirling dark clouds above me? A menacing foreshadowing of impending doom? Apparently, hurricanes don't know what pathetic fallacy is.
Maybe I'm overly sentimental because I'm revising my upcoming novel, which ironically, takes place during a hurricane.
Or perhaps I'm just nervous - it's my first hurricane, after all, and it continues to strengthen as it sweeps towards us from the southeast.
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12310&Itemid=27
But the signs are all around me. I'm not totally nuts. My house, located right on the beach, is all boarded up. The bags are stuffed with water and granola bars. My computer and BlackBerry are all charged up.
I probably won't be home for a day or two, because frankly, the newsroom is far safer than home.
Still, as I drove into work, I managed to stop for my precious hazelnut cappuccino at Starbucks. I saw joggers huffing and puffing along their usual ocean-side route down Cable Beach. Bulldozers and construction crew were still busily excavating on he other side of the street, paving the way for the much anticipated Baha Mar development.
And of course, the guy on the side of the road was there when I screeched to a halt to buy the competition's newspaper.
That said, you can still feel a tension in the air. It's a strange mix. Trucks roll with giant water canisters in the back or generators with the cord swinging off the back, nearly touching the cement. Residents chuckle and laugh nervously as each report comes in.
There's a feeling of futility. Inevitability, worry, yet acceptance that life goes on. I suppose it has to.
Call it what you want. Either way - Hurricane Irene is coming.
***STAY TUNED FOR UPDATES***
Posted: August 23 2011
Is this what people mean by the calm before the storm?
When I stepped out of the house this morning, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. What did I expect? Swirling dark clouds above me? A menacing foreshadowing of impending doom? Apparently, hurricanes don't know what pathetic fallacy is.
Maybe I'm overly sentimental because I'm revising my upcoming novel, which ironically, takes place during a hurricane.
Or perhaps I'm just nervous - it's my first hurricane, after all, and it continues to strengthen as it sweeps towards us from the southeast.
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12310&Itemid=27
But the signs are all around me. I'm not totally nuts. My house, located right on the beach, is all boarded up. The bags are stuffed with water and granola bars. My computer and BlackBerry are all charged up.
I probably won't be home for a day or two, because frankly, the newsroom is far safer than home.
Still, as I drove into work, I managed to stop for my precious hazelnut cappuccino at Starbucks. I saw joggers huffing and puffing along their usual ocean-side route down Cable Beach. Bulldozers and construction crew were still busily excavating on he other side of the street, paving the way for the much anticipated Baha Mar development.
And of course, the guy on the side of the road was there when I screeched to a halt to buy the competition's newspaper.
That said, you can still feel a tension in the air. It's a strange mix. Trucks roll with giant water canisters in the back or generators with the cord swinging off the back, nearly touching the cement. Residents chuckle and laugh nervously as each report comes in.
There's a feeling of futility. Inevitability, worry, yet acceptance that life goes on. I suppose it has to.
Call it what you want. Either way - Hurricane Irene is coming.
***STAY TUNED FOR UPDATES***
Dark intentions
Casino at Atlantis - lights never go out here ...
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 20, 2011
I remember eating in a restaurant in Nepal called The Third Eye when the lights went out.
Sitting in a corner, eating some rather delicious food, it was more like a flash of lightning. The rumble of generators kicked in right away.
Power was restored and we went on with our dinner.
We laughed. It was lark, back then. Isn’t that a novelty? I thought. They have power issues. How droll.
As a tourist, I never really appreciated the burden of not having reliable electricity in the 21st century.
But I appreciate it now, because The Bahamas has a similar problem – and I live here. Not that I’ve ever experienced it first hand.
The outages here tend to happen in the poor areas.
Bad maintenance and a lack of government funding means their generators can’t handle the capacity, especially in the summer, so every so often, they pull the plug in an area here known as “over the hill”. It’s where Nassau’s poor resides.
Most of the murders happen there. I wouldn’t go there at night, that’s for sure, even in a car.
It would never happen where I live. The area is relatively lush, the streets are clean, and there are plenty of bars, restaurants and beaches. And it especially wouldn’t happen on Paradise Island. I visited Atlantis this weekend, the grandiose resort on the exclusive isle.
It goes on and on, and eventually, past the aquariums with sharks, I found myself in the casino.
It was after winning 50 bucks on the slots (seriously), just beyond the blinking lights, the twirling symbols and numbers, and the sweet noise of victory, in the Atlas Bar and Grill drinking a Mojito, that it hit me.
The money running through here is so strong - so much stronger than the integrity of those who make decisions.
How is it, in the 21st century, entire communities go without electricity? People who pay bills, have families and scrap by to put food on the table?
I don’t know what’s more incredible – the fact, they treat their citizens this way, or the fact the poor in this country put up with it.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: August 20, 2011
I remember eating in a restaurant in Nepal called The Third Eye when the lights went out.
Sitting in a corner, eating some rather delicious food, it was more like a flash of lightning. The rumble of generators kicked in right away.
Power was restored and we went on with our dinner.
We laughed. It was lark, back then. Isn’t that a novelty? I thought. They have power issues. How droll.
As a tourist, I never really appreciated the burden of not having reliable electricity in the 21st century.
But I appreciate it now, because The Bahamas has a similar problem – and I live here. Not that I’ve ever experienced it first hand.
The outages here tend to happen in the poor areas.
Bad maintenance and a lack of government funding means their generators can’t handle the capacity, especially in the summer, so every so often, they pull the plug in an area here known as “over the hill”. It’s where Nassau’s poor resides.
Most of the murders happen there. I wouldn’t go there at night, that’s for sure, even in a car.
It would never happen where I live. The area is relatively lush, the streets are clean, and there are plenty of bars, restaurants and beaches. And it especially wouldn’t happen on Paradise Island. I visited Atlantis this weekend, the grandiose resort on the exclusive isle.
It goes on and on, and eventually, past the aquariums with sharks, I found myself in the casino.
It was after winning 50 bucks on the slots (seriously), just beyond the blinking lights, the twirling symbols and numbers, and the sweet noise of victory, in the Atlas Bar and Grill drinking a Mojito, that it hit me.
The money running through here is so strong - so much stronger than the integrity of those who make decisions.
How is it, in the 21st century, entire communities go without electricity? People who pay bills, have families and scrap by to put food on the table?
I don’t know what’s more incredible – the fact, they treat their citizens this way, or the fact the poor in this country put up with it.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
 There's a cop on every corner in the tourist areas of downtown Nassau ... |
 quietly protecting the tourist industry, which matters most. |
A blissful ignorance
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 13 2011
The moment I enter the tent, I'm trapped.
"Cuban cigars! You want Cuban?"
I sort of want one. A big part of me doesn't believe it'll actually be Cuban. But I'm compelled to follow him. And before I know it, I've bought a "Cuban" for 25 bucks. He sees a one-dollar bill dangling between the two tens and five.
"Tip, boss?" he asks. I hand it over in an instant. What am I thinking? A tip for giving him business?
It didn't help that a few seconds later another guy offered me the same cigar for five bucks. What a sucker I am, and I'm not even a tourist.
I'm a resident. But inevitably, I have to give the tourist stuff a try. It's pretty hard to avoid. If you follow the main drag along the ocean, you come to a market buzzing beneath cruise ships that make Titanic look like a tug boat.
I continue through the tent, trying to ignore the endless sales pitches until I spill out the other end. I feel pretty good about myself for not buying anything else, until I turn the corner and find a Bahamian whittling away on a piece of wood, making idols. Not I gotta get me one of those. I spent another $20, and $10 more when a woman places a necklace around my neck, saying she needs a donation for "the school children".
I know I'm probably being ripped off. Clearly I'm having some kind of outer-body experience.
I also want to support them, because you come to realize how important this industry really is. It's their life blood.
Beyond the merchandise, I see something else - on each block, without fail, there's a police car with the red, yellow blue sirens blazing, but without the screeching. A silent reminder to would-be criminals. Security guards are at every shop - even the bookstore.
Most people don't know that the Bahamas has a huge crime problem. It was the subject of one of my stories this week:
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12084&Itemid=2
I walk by women with Louis Vuitton fanny packs, past the shirtless men with glassy eyes and arms around girls in cowboy hats.
And I wonder - do they know that July set a new record for murders in the month?
That the Bahamas suffers from rising unemployment, and struggles with poverty?
There is actually a blog here that looks at the ballooning murder rate. There are even tips on how to avoid being murdered.
Check it out: http://www.straighttalkbahamas.com/2010/09/3-tips-to-reduce-your-risk-of-being-murdered/
Of course, the tourists have no clue. They disembark from their ships, buy the t-shirt, and hop back on.
Not that I'm any better. I bought my Cuban cigar, and I'll smoke it tonight on the beach, safe in my rather cushy bubble.
The question is - will you be there when it bursts?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: August 13 2011
The moment I enter the tent, I'm trapped.
"Cuban cigars! You want Cuban?"
I sort of want one. A big part of me doesn't believe it'll actually be Cuban. But I'm compelled to follow him. And before I know it, I've bought a "Cuban" for 25 bucks. He sees a one-dollar bill dangling between the two tens and five.
"Tip, boss?" he asks. I hand it over in an instant. What am I thinking? A tip for giving him business?
It didn't help that a few seconds later another guy offered me the same cigar for five bucks. What a sucker I am, and I'm not even a tourist.
I'm a resident. But inevitably, I have to give the tourist stuff a try. It's pretty hard to avoid. If you follow the main drag along the ocean, you come to a market buzzing beneath cruise ships that make Titanic look like a tug boat.
I continue through the tent, trying to ignore the endless sales pitches until I spill out the other end. I feel pretty good about myself for not buying anything else, until I turn the corner and find a Bahamian whittling away on a piece of wood, making idols. Not I gotta get me one of those. I spent another $20, and $10 more when a woman places a necklace around my neck, saying she needs a donation for "the school children".
I know I'm probably being ripped off. Clearly I'm having some kind of outer-body experience.
I also want to support them, because you come to realize how important this industry really is. It's their life blood.
Beyond the merchandise, I see something else - on each block, without fail, there's a police car with the red, yellow blue sirens blazing, but without the screeching. A silent reminder to would-be criminals. Security guards are at every shop - even the bookstore.
Most people don't know that the Bahamas has a huge crime problem. It was the subject of one of my stories this week:
http://www.thenassauguardian.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=12084&Itemid=2
I walk by women with Louis Vuitton fanny packs, past the shirtless men with glassy eyes and arms around girls in cowboy hats.
And I wonder - do they know that July set a new record for murders in the month?
That the Bahamas suffers from rising unemployment, and struggles with poverty?
There is actually a blog here that looks at the ballooning murder rate. There are even tips on how to avoid being murdered.
Check it out: http://www.straighttalkbahamas.com/2010/09/3-tips-to-reduce-your-risk-of-being-murdered/
Of course, the tourists have no clue. They disembark from their ships, buy the t-shirt, and hop back on.
Not that I'm any better. I bought my Cuban cigar, and I'll smoke it tonight on the beach, safe in my rather cushy bubble.
The question is - will you be there when it bursts?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Jeff vs tropical storm Emily
Jeff Todd
Posted: August 6 2011
It was raining hard when I left the house this morning. Not torrential. But hard.
I wasn’t worried. How bad could it be? There were several Bahamians out for an early morning jog. Even the newspaper stands were open.
The situation, however, changed quickly.
It was soon pelting, pounding, pulverizing, and before long, the street started to look more like a plunge pool for my tiny Tiida.
I never thought my first round of golf in the Bahamas would be played in a hurricane.
OK, not a hurricane. But a tropical storm is still pretty intimidating.
Fine, not quite a tropical storm, but according to the radio, “Emily”, that pesky tropical storm they’d been tracking all week, had suddenly changed course, and it now seemed as if a modest rage would hit Nassau.
I’m not totally insane; I did text the guy who invited me before leaving the house.
He said that golf is a go. What do I know? I’ve only been in the Bahamas for a few days. Maybe storm golf is perfectly normal in this archipelago. Plus, am I really going to turn down a chance to play the Ocean Club on Paradise Island?
They filmed 007 Casino Royale here. This is where Michael Jordan holds his yearly celebrity invitational.
In the end, we indeed played our round of golf, in the ripping rain, palm trees blowing this way and that, wiping our clubs off with our shirts less we fling them in the ocean after another feeble swing. Nothing was going to stop us.
It reminded me of something my real estate agent said a few days ago while house hunting.
Originally from Scotland, he said if there is one thing that makes the Bahamas special, it’s the sense of freedom.
You can really do anything here, he said, running a hand through beach blonde hair. He told me a story of some American friends he was visiting in Miami. On a road trip, he wanted to pull to the side of the road to relieve himself, and his companions were appalled at the idea.
For their sake, he decided to wait for a restroom, but according to my agent, he wouldn’t think twice in the Bahamas.
Bit of a crass example, I suppose. His point, however, rings true.
There is an intense feeling of freedom here - and the newspaper culture seems to be at the heart of it.
The Guardian, where I'm now working, was founded in the late 19th century by a slave abolitionist.
It enjoys a strong, grass-root readership and fierce competition with The Tribune.
There are real issues here, real wealth, real poverty, real beauty and real problems.
Beyond the beaches and turquoise water, the thing most tourists see, there is a spirit, vitality and complexity.
It’s full of surprises – as I write, the rain is just beginning to clear, but last I heard, Emily may have some fight in her left.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: August 6 2011
It was raining hard when I left the house this morning. Not torrential. But hard.
I wasn’t worried. How bad could it be? There were several Bahamians out for an early morning jog. Even the newspaper stands were open.
The situation, however, changed quickly.
It was soon pelting, pounding, pulverizing, and before long, the street started to look more like a plunge pool for my tiny Tiida.
I never thought my first round of golf in the Bahamas would be played in a hurricane.
OK, not a hurricane. But a tropical storm is still pretty intimidating.
Fine, not quite a tropical storm, but according to the radio, “Emily”, that pesky tropical storm they’d been tracking all week, had suddenly changed course, and it now seemed as if a modest rage would hit Nassau.
I’m not totally insane; I did text the guy who invited me before leaving the house.
He said that golf is a go. What do I know? I’ve only been in the Bahamas for a few days. Maybe storm golf is perfectly normal in this archipelago. Plus, am I really going to turn down a chance to play the Ocean Club on Paradise Island?
They filmed 007 Casino Royale here. This is where Michael Jordan holds his yearly celebrity invitational.
In the end, we indeed played our round of golf, in the ripping rain, palm trees blowing this way and that, wiping our clubs off with our shirts less we fling them in the ocean after another feeble swing. Nothing was going to stop us.
It reminded me of something my real estate agent said a few days ago while house hunting.
Originally from Scotland, he said if there is one thing that makes the Bahamas special, it’s the sense of freedom.
You can really do anything here, he said, running a hand through beach blonde hair. He told me a story of some American friends he was visiting in Miami. On a road trip, he wanted to pull to the side of the road to relieve himself, and his companions were appalled at the idea.
For their sake, he decided to wait for a restroom, but according to my agent, he wouldn’t think twice in the Bahamas.
Bit of a crass example, I suppose. His point, however, rings true.
There is an intense feeling of freedom here - and the newspaper culture seems to be at the heart of it.
The Guardian, where I'm now working, was founded in the late 19th century by a slave abolitionist.
It enjoys a strong, grass-root readership and fierce competition with The Tribune.
There are real issues here, real wealth, real poverty, real beauty and real problems.
Beyond the beaches and turquoise water, the thing most tourists see, there is a spirit, vitality and complexity.
It’s full of surprises – as I write, the rain is just beginning to clear, but last I heard, Emily may have some fight in her left.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Time well spent - My UAE farewell
Jeff Todd
Posted: April 9 2011
This time next week I will have left the Emirates. And somewhere amid the endless paperwork, bureaucracy and farewells, I have managed
to reflect on what role this crazy country has played in my life.
One of things swirling around in my head, for better or for worse, is a recent article by A.A. Gill in Vanity Fair called Dubai on Empty.
If you haven't already done so, I would suggest reading it:
http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2011/04/dubai-201104
Here are the Coles Notes - Over the course of several pages, Gill blasts (rather humorously and eloquently, I must admit) Dubai on all the usual points: it's superficial, chaotic and lacks any kind of identity.
Dubai, he argues, is what happens when a society is built purely for the sake of money itself.
After reading it, I snickered to myself, showed it to a few friends around the newsroom and we nudged each other with our elbows and said:
"Ain't that the truth." But the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. As I begin to leave the UAE, I positively hate it.
Ironically, Gil is the one being superficial.
The article is irresponsible, bitter and narrow minded. It's fiction - tiny grains of truth buried somewhere deep, perhaps.
Here is the reality - he doesn't have the faintest idea what he's talking about.
Or maybe he does, but the byline, the controversy and the $2 per word Vanity Fair offered him was simply too enticing to pass up.
The fact is, Gill is painfully unoriginal.
It's popular to rail on Dubai. The world loves doing it. All the major publications have done it.
Hell, during my three years in the UAE, I have often scoffed at all the usual shortcomings so painfully evident in the UAE.
It's practically the expat's favorite pastime.
Inefficient. Unorganised. The customer service is terrible. Emiratis are lazy. The society is hypocritical and superficial.
But as I prepare to leave this place, the truth has to be told, at least how I see it.
The UAE has been good to me - personally, professionally, financially. At a time when much of the world is falling apart, it has provided a young and ambitious professional with a great deal of exposure, experience and opportunity.
Does it have its problems? Of course. You can poke holes in UAE society all day long, pointing out the contradictions, issues and hypocrisy. I don't condone any of it for a minute. There is plenty wrong here - but there is also plenty wrong with the rest of the world.
At the end of the day, like any experience, life is what you make of it.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
** This is not the end! I will be living in Canada for a few weeks before flying off to the Bahamas, where I'll be the Business Editor of the Nassau Guardian. Look for 'onyourtodd - in the Bahamas" in the near future ...
Posted: April 9 2011
This time next week I will have left the Emirates. And somewhere amid the endless paperwork, bureaucracy and farewells, I have managed
to reflect on what role this crazy country has played in my life.
One of things swirling around in my head, for better or for worse, is a recent article by A.A. Gill in Vanity Fair called Dubai on Empty.
If you haven't already done so, I would suggest reading it:
http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2011/04/dubai-201104
Here are the Coles Notes - Over the course of several pages, Gill blasts (rather humorously and eloquently, I must admit) Dubai on all the usual points: it's superficial, chaotic and lacks any kind of identity.
Dubai, he argues, is what happens when a society is built purely for the sake of money itself.
After reading it, I snickered to myself, showed it to a few friends around the newsroom and we nudged each other with our elbows and said:
"Ain't that the truth." But the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. As I begin to leave the UAE, I positively hate it.
Ironically, Gil is the one being superficial.
The article is irresponsible, bitter and narrow minded. It's fiction - tiny grains of truth buried somewhere deep, perhaps.
Here is the reality - he doesn't have the faintest idea what he's talking about.
Or maybe he does, but the byline, the controversy and the $2 per word Vanity Fair offered him was simply too enticing to pass up.
The fact is, Gill is painfully unoriginal.
It's popular to rail on Dubai. The world loves doing it. All the major publications have done it.
Hell, during my three years in the UAE, I have often scoffed at all the usual shortcomings so painfully evident in the UAE.
It's practically the expat's favorite pastime.
Inefficient. Unorganised. The customer service is terrible. Emiratis are lazy. The society is hypocritical and superficial.
But as I prepare to leave this place, the truth has to be told, at least how I see it.
The UAE has been good to me - personally, professionally, financially. At a time when much of the world is falling apart, it has provided a young and ambitious professional with a great deal of exposure, experience and opportunity.
Does it have its problems? Of course. You can poke holes in UAE society all day long, pointing out the contradictions, issues and hypocrisy. I don't condone any of it for a minute. There is plenty wrong here - but there is also plenty wrong with the rest of the world.
At the end of the day, like any experience, life is what you make of it.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
** This is not the end! I will be living in Canada for a few weeks before flying off to the Bahamas, where I'll be the Business Editor of the Nassau Guardian. Look for 'onyourtodd - in the Bahamas" in the near future ...
A historical deficit
history for sale: run-down Portuguese property
Jeff Todd
Posted: April 3, 2011
Old and isolated, the Portuguese city of Marvao sits on a hill near the Spanish border.
The ancient walls surround a few dozen buildings, tucked on narrow, cobblestone pathways. On the mound's highest point there is a castle with parapets, prisons and cisterns.
The air here is cold, crisp and clean. Waves of fog seem to hide this place from the world.
There are only 110 inhabitants, according to the fellow I met with 10 minutes of entering one of the local cafes. Thirty minutes later I'm invited to his home. I met his mother, who smiled warmly and kissed my checks while clutching a hot water bottle to stay warm.
At the inn I eat steaming plates of lamb and drink grainy, local wine right from a wooden barrel.
It feels so rich - physically, culturally, spiritually.
But the signs in many of the town's windows tell a different story.
"Vende-se", for sale, can be found beside cracked glass or worn, chipped walls. The man I meet in the cafe laments how his property value keeps declining.
You might think that a piece of this history - this peace, so genuine, rare and detached - would cost a fortune. And yet prices continue to fall. More signs appear on doorways.
By the end of this month I will be leaving the UAE - permanently. And perhaps it's just good old fashioned nostalgia, but my visit to Marvao made me reflect how we assign value. How can the cost of history, of culture, of character, be so low?
Why do bland, poorly built, hole-in-the-wall apartments, on the side of a highway, in the middle of a desert, command such value?
Of course, we all know the cold, calculated reasons - that sticky, smelly, dirty substance in the ground, being the big one.
But one night in Marvao, wrapped in its silence, forces you to ask these questions twice.
It forces you to realise just how much our priorities have changed.
Culture, history and perspective are among the first casualties of a crisis, and more is being lost than just money.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: April 3, 2011
Old and isolated, the Portuguese city of Marvao sits on a hill near the Spanish border.
The ancient walls surround a few dozen buildings, tucked on narrow, cobblestone pathways. On the mound's highest point there is a castle with parapets, prisons and cisterns.
The air here is cold, crisp and clean. Waves of fog seem to hide this place from the world.
There are only 110 inhabitants, according to the fellow I met with 10 minutes of entering one of the local cafes. Thirty minutes later I'm invited to his home. I met his mother, who smiled warmly and kissed my checks while clutching a hot water bottle to stay warm.
At the inn I eat steaming plates of lamb and drink grainy, local wine right from a wooden barrel.
It feels so rich - physically, culturally, spiritually.
But the signs in many of the town's windows tell a different story.
"Vende-se", for sale, can be found beside cracked glass or worn, chipped walls. The man I meet in the cafe laments how his property value keeps declining.
You might think that a piece of this history - this peace, so genuine, rare and detached - would cost a fortune. And yet prices continue to fall. More signs appear on doorways.
By the end of this month I will be leaving the UAE - permanently. And perhaps it's just good old fashioned nostalgia, but my visit to Marvao made me reflect how we assign value. How can the cost of history, of culture, of character, be so low?
Why do bland, poorly built, hole-in-the-wall apartments, on the side of a highway, in the middle of a desert, command such value?
Of course, we all know the cold, calculated reasons - that sticky, smelly, dirty substance in the ground, being the big one.
But one night in Marvao, wrapped in its silence, forces you to ask these questions twice.
It forces you to realise just how much our priorities have changed.
Culture, history and perspective are among the first casualties of a crisis, and more is being lost than just money.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Men need to pick up a broom
Jeff Todd
Posted: March 19, 2011
Over the past week or two I have spoken with some rather impressive women who have become major players in the UAE business community.
It has been a refreshing change of pace.
Typically, when I meet with chief executives, wealth managers or the heads of conglomerates, the person across from me is a man.
I have always known there is an enormous disparity between the number of men and women in senior business positions, particularly in the Middle East. But when I recently met with these female executives, and listened to their stories, it struck me why there are so few women in the upper echelons of power - they simply don’t have the time.
It’s not from a lack of education.
In Canada, where I grew up, I remember being a minority during most lectures. The same is now true all around the world, including the UAE, with recent government reports estimating as many as three-quarters of Emirati university students are women.
It’s not from a lack of ability.
From world leaders to billionaire entrepreneurs, there are few positions and industries that haven’t been graced by the fairer sex.
No, both of these explanations hold little water.
The real issue of the day is liberation from domestic life. The fact is, female leaders are still expected to be mothers, in the traditional sense of the word. They are expected to take care of the children, raise them, manage the home and do all the little things that makes a family tick.
When I spoke with these business leaders, sacrifice was the buzz word.
Many of them knew someone who took a less senior job because they she wanted to take care of the family. Those that "made it" had to make a choice to cast off these societal expectations - which is easier said then done. Unfortunately, there is an equally powerful stereotype at play.
Namely, that men should be the primary breadwinner. His place isn’t in the home.
Vacuuming, taking care of children and driving them to football practice is “women’s work”.
In my mind, women have arrived when it comes to equality and rights. The path is clear for them to enter elite spheres of the corporate world.
Men just need to pick up a broom.
**Note - As it appears on the fledgling National Blogs, which can be viewed here:
http://172.17.100.231:18080/thenational/national-blog/your-money?vgnextrefresh=1&vgnextnoice=1
Check out the main story for this week's issue of Personal Finance:
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/women-business-leaders-offer-vision-with-no-excuses
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
The alien named "queue"
My fellow commuters finally learn how to queue
Jeff Todd
Posted: March 12, 2011
The line, or as the Britons say, the "queue", is surely one of the more sacred institutions in the western world.
It reflects so much of what society stands for: equality, order, respect.
However, anyone who has lived in this area of the world knows it's somewhat deficient in this area. It has happened to me personally so many times - you are waiting in an orderly line, but someone, totally oblivious, cuts in front of you.
The rudeness is only matched by the fact they have no idea they've done something wrong. I've had more than my fair share of arguments, sometimes with well-perfumed individuals in a suit and tie, who would normally pass for cultured and reasonable.
Some people here simply don't get it.
They would prefer huddling around the full length a desk, muscling and pushing, stretching and clawing to get the attention of a hapless employee.
One interesting social experiment I have observed is waiting for the bus each morning on my way to work in Abu Dhabi. The bus, near Battuta Mall, used to be utter chaos in terms of getting a ticket. Everyone was so desperate to be first on the bus, even when there are plenty of seats. It's strange, isn't it?
This seemingly illogical desire to be first at the trough, even when there is plenty of food to go around? In any event, I must give the attendant credit at the bus stop.
Over the past few weeks I've seen him turn a hoard of rampaging pigs into a well-ordered machine.
Oh, they still try to cheat and pretend the line doesn't exist. But at the wee height of 5 feet, the tiny attendant springs to action and restores order.
Overall, there is no question in my mind that people in this area of the world can learn about the alien named queue, just as you'd learn to say excuse me after burping, or wiping your mouth if a piece of food is hanging.
For me, the real question is -- is the persistent refusal to acknowledge the line cultural, or just plain rudeness?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
The issue lacks direction ... and a director
Jeff Todd
Posted: March 5, 2011
I decided to write about consumer rights with the best of intentions.
Best place to start? Why not interview the director of the Consumer Protection Society in Dubai - the man behind the government's initiative
to help change the lackluster customer service so many of us expats have become accustomed to.
If you live in Dubai, you've certainly seen the posters and stickers, declaring: "Know your rights."
So after making an appointment one week in advance, I headed off to Deira to meet the director.
Anyone who knows Deira is aware that the civilized world ends here. It's nothing like Abu Dhabi or the rest of Dubai, and instead you're greeted by obscene traffic, sprawling streets and total chaos and disorder.
The photographer and I spent more than an hour skipping between dilapidated buildings trying to find the director.
One time, we were told we went to the "old building" for consumer rights. And after each mistake, and pleading for help, we would receive disinterested glances and exasperated, vague finger pointing in some other direction.
"It doesn't seem like they really know what to tell us," I said, turning to the photographer in the elevator.
"No, it's not that," she said. It's apathy. They just don't care."
Is that true? Perhaps she's on to something here.
As much as this "campaign" seeks to "educate" people on consumer rights, what we're really talking about here isn't something you learn in a pamphlet or book. It's common sense and decency. It's taking the time to genuinely care.
Finally, the photographer and I arrive at the office. I introduce myself to the reception and he looks at my blankly.
Apparently, the director has forgotten about our appointment. Or blown it off.
I'm permitted to speak with someone else at the department, but we wait so long the photographer has to rush off for another job.
The story gets out on consumer rights - appearing today.
But has the UAE turned the corner in terms of improving the situation? I'm not convinced.
Read the story:
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/uae-throws-book-at-consumer-rights
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: March 5, 2011
I decided to write about consumer rights with the best of intentions.
Best place to start? Why not interview the director of the Consumer Protection Society in Dubai - the man behind the government's initiative
to help change the lackluster customer service so many of us expats have become accustomed to.
If you live in Dubai, you've certainly seen the posters and stickers, declaring: "Know your rights."
So after making an appointment one week in advance, I headed off to Deira to meet the director.
Anyone who knows Deira is aware that the civilized world ends here. It's nothing like Abu Dhabi or the rest of Dubai, and instead you're greeted by obscene traffic, sprawling streets and total chaos and disorder.
The photographer and I spent more than an hour skipping between dilapidated buildings trying to find the director.
One time, we were told we went to the "old building" for consumer rights. And after each mistake, and pleading for help, we would receive disinterested glances and exasperated, vague finger pointing in some other direction.
"It doesn't seem like they really know what to tell us," I said, turning to the photographer in the elevator.
"No, it's not that," she said. It's apathy. They just don't care."
Is that true? Perhaps she's on to something here.
As much as this "campaign" seeks to "educate" people on consumer rights, what we're really talking about here isn't something you learn in a pamphlet or book. It's common sense and decency. It's taking the time to genuinely care.
Finally, the photographer and I arrive at the office. I introduce myself to the reception and he looks at my blankly.
Apparently, the director has forgotten about our appointment. Or blown it off.
I'm permitted to speak with someone else at the department, but we wait so long the photographer has to rush off for another job.
The story gets out on consumer rights - appearing today.
But has the UAE turned the corner in terms of improving the situation? I'm not convinced.
Read the story:
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/uae-throws-book-at-consumer-rights
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
One proud son
My mom, Lesley
Jeff Todd
Posted: Feb 23 2011 **early edition**
It's not every day you get to brag about your parents.
In less than 24 hours I'll be in Goa, India, soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying some R&R on the beach.
Although I'm meeting my parents there, their experience will have been somewhat different from mine.
For the past two weeks, they (and 4 others) have been traveling around the area giving out bed kits filled with clothing, and of course, beds, to under-privileged children in remote villages.
I know plenty of parents who are reluctant to stay in a 3-star hotel.
It wasn't always this way. I remember, when I was quite young, we attended a "soup kitchen" night put on a the local church we attended in Toronto. My mother had arranged for the whole family to leave our comfy suburban existence to make small-talk with the homeless as enjoyed a hot meal.
Unfortunately, what I remember most what was how uncomfortable most of us felt, particularly my father, as I recall. It's not always easy to face what is unfamilar. Likewise, it's not always easy to face what is difficult, sad or inconvenient.
And in times like these, I think it's especially important to acknowledge that life isn't always convenient.
Here is a link to the charity they are supporting, Sleeping Children: http://www.scaw.org/
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Feb 23 2011 **early edition**
It's not every day you get to brag about your parents.
In less than 24 hours I'll be in Goa, India, soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying some R&R on the beach.
Although I'm meeting my parents there, their experience will have been somewhat different from mine.
For the past two weeks, they (and 4 others) have been traveling around the area giving out bed kits filled with clothing, and of course, beds, to under-privileged children in remote villages.
I know plenty of parents who are reluctant to stay in a 3-star hotel.
It wasn't always this way. I remember, when I was quite young, we attended a "soup kitchen" night put on a the local church we attended in Toronto. My mother had arranged for the whole family to leave our comfy suburban existence to make small-talk with the homeless as enjoyed a hot meal.
Unfortunately, what I remember most what was how uncomfortable most of us felt, particularly my father, as I recall. It's not always easy to face what is unfamilar. Likewise, it's not always easy to face what is difficult, sad or inconvenient.
And in times like these, I think it's especially important to acknowledge that life isn't always convenient.
Here is a link to the charity they are supporting, Sleeping Children: http://www.scaw.org/
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
 Children wait to get new clothes |
 My nephew's class is following the team's progress as they continue to different villages, thus the sign my mom is holding |
The modern cannibal
Jeff Todd
Posted: Feb 19 2011
The first time I heard about an online betting service that places odds on the next toppled government / regime in the Middle East, I thought it was mildly amusing. Unfortunately, given my proximity in the world, I can't access Paddy Power or bookmaker.com. It's blocked.
However, after reading up on the subject, I've got a pretty good idea the game. Here are some of the odds:
15/8 Yemen
4/1 Algeria
8/1 Bahrain
8/1 Libya
12/1 Iran
20/1 Saudi Arabia
The leader must step down directly because of the protests, and it must be reported on Sky News before the payout.
In general terms, I have no problem with gambling.
But as I thought more about the whole idea, I have to say, in my mind, it has grown increasingly less funny.
There is clearly another moral dimension here - namely, the fact there is a way to financial prosper through the sacrifice and misery of millions of people fighting oppressive regimes. It's extremely sad, but not surprising.
Ironically, this spit in the eye isn't so different from the very reasons these protestors are seeking change in the first place.
Power for the sake of power. The amoral pursuit of money. Mubarak's billions stashed away in bank accounts around the world. Royal Families who are happy to fire upon their own people, send tanks out on the street and keep their grip onto the country's wealth as the rest worry about their next meal. Corporations and big business which systematically seek greater profit, lobby and power at the expense of society and the environment.
I saw a segment on the BCC this week in which scientists claimed they discovered that, whether we like it or not, cannibalism has been a part of various civilisations dating back thousands of years. Some scientists actually said it may be part of human nature.
Well, in the modern age, we might not be literately eating each other. But close enough.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
The space between
Jeff Todd
Posted: Feb 12 2011
"Come on in, the water is warm."
Those were Kevin Spacey's first words when I sat down beside him for an interview this week.
It should have caught me off guard. But heck, I was far too nervous for banter. I had a game plan. Keep it professional, give him my card (with my website scribbled on the back ... so if you're reading Kevin, welcome) and stick to the questions.
I was interviewing him regarding a recent extension of his foundation to Dubai - an academy that will provide workshops and lessons in acting, writing and directing for under-privileged Arab youth. A noble cause, I would agree. And I told him so.
But what I didn't tell him is what a big fan I am. That he is the star in two of my all-time favorite movies (American Beauty and The Usual Suspects).
Honestly, I didn't want to be "one of those fans". I'm not one of those people who drool over celebrities. I don't read trashy celebrity magazines (unless I'm getting my hair cut and need something to read) and I don't watch Entertainment Tonight.
And most importantly, I often differentiate between "actors" and "celebrities."
Actor - Daniel Day-Lewis
Celebrity - John Travolta
It's an important distinction, and it reminded me of a recent comment made to me by a multimillionaire at a business retreat in Bahrain:
"You are not in the business to make money," he said
"You are in business because it is your role in society. If you do it properly, you will reap the rewards."
Now, I'm sure Kevin Spacey is by no means perfect. But he is also by no means a "celebrity", as evidenced by his exodus from Hollywood, his work with the Old Vic Theatre and now the foundation.
Nevertheless, I still got drawn in to the old celebrity feeling. Perhaps it was the aide that kept looking at his watch and striding by the couch. Or maybe it was the cameras snapping around us every two seconds.
Either way, yes, the water is indeed warm around Mr Spacey.
It's a glow, really. And before I knew it, it was over. I stuck to the questions so faithfully that I felt like a robot.
I missed out on a genuine human encounter with an artist and professional I admire.
And as Verbal Kint at the end of The Usual Suspects would say - "And like that ... wwwooshh ... he's gone."
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Check out the full story on The Kevin Spacey Foundation:
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/in-dubai-kevin-spacey-gets-into-the-business-of-show
The Royale ... with cheese
This credit card has no limit and comes with a personal lifestyle manager
Jeff Todd
Posted: Feb 5 2011
At what point is extreme wealth insulting to the common man?
This week, one of my more interesting interviews was with a CEO of a Dubai company. I was there to learn about the Royale card, which is touted as the most "exclusive credit card" in the world.
Well, it's only intended for royalty and those in the "ultra-high-net-worth" category. You have to be invited to join.
And it doesn't have a credit limit - meaning, yes, you can buy a $20 million dollar mansion and the transaction will go through.
Oh, and there is a diamond in the middle of it.
So, when the CEO slipped it out of his wallet and crisply snapped it on the table in front of me, needless to say I was impressed.
I felt the power as I cradled it in my hands.
But I became less and less impressed in the days that followed.
One friend of mine was disgusted when I regaled him of my tale, appalled that such extravagance and wealth could exist when there are so many people that cannot feed themselves, not to mention the impact of the financial crisis on most households.
It's a valid comment - in this world, what place does a diamond-embedded credit card really have? The rich will always be rich. But do they really need to rub it in? Are we really that shallow?
The answer is yes. And then some. The aptly-named Royale is more like a Royale with Cheese, the Parisian version of a Big Mac discussed in the film Pulp Fiction by two hit men.
Being shallow is like junk food for the soul. It's terrible for us, but we can't get enough of it. That sinful buzz. We all have our own versions
of the diamond-embedded credit card, don't we? Especially in the UAE, which is often criticised for opulence, over-indulgence and flash.
It's the Louis Vutton bag you take to the supermarket to get a carton of milk. That over-priced hunk of metal on your wrist, otherwise called a watch. Or the used, banged-up BMW you still can't really afford.
As I handed the credit card back to the CEO, releasing it from my grubby hands, I watched as he started rubbing it fiercely with the sleeve of his dishdash, polishing it like the lenses of his Prada sunglasses. It was then I realised the Royale card is just like any other commodity.
It's a statement. No better, no worse. Well, maybe a little bit better.
Read the review: http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/the-dubai-first-royale-card-is-a-millionaires-best-friend
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Feb 5 2011
At what point is extreme wealth insulting to the common man?
This week, one of my more interesting interviews was with a CEO of a Dubai company. I was there to learn about the Royale card, which is touted as the most "exclusive credit card" in the world.
Well, it's only intended for royalty and those in the "ultra-high-net-worth" category. You have to be invited to join.
And it doesn't have a credit limit - meaning, yes, you can buy a $20 million dollar mansion and the transaction will go through.
Oh, and there is a diamond in the middle of it.
So, when the CEO slipped it out of his wallet and crisply snapped it on the table in front of me, needless to say I was impressed.
I felt the power as I cradled it in my hands.
But I became less and less impressed in the days that followed.
One friend of mine was disgusted when I regaled him of my tale, appalled that such extravagance and wealth could exist when there are so many people that cannot feed themselves, not to mention the impact of the financial crisis on most households.
It's a valid comment - in this world, what place does a diamond-embedded credit card really have? The rich will always be rich. But do they really need to rub it in? Are we really that shallow?
The answer is yes. And then some. The aptly-named Royale is more like a Royale with Cheese, the Parisian version of a Big Mac discussed in the film Pulp Fiction by two hit men.
Being shallow is like junk food for the soul. It's terrible for us, but we can't get enough of it. That sinful buzz. We all have our own versions
of the diamond-embedded credit card, don't we? Especially in the UAE, which is often criticised for opulence, over-indulgence and flash.
It's the Louis Vutton bag you take to the supermarket to get a carton of milk. That over-priced hunk of metal on your wrist, otherwise called a watch. Or the used, banged-up BMW you still can't really afford.
As I handed the credit card back to the CEO, releasing it from my grubby hands, I watched as he started rubbing it fiercely with the sleeve of his dishdash, polishing it like the lenses of his Prada sunglasses. It was then I realised the Royale card is just like any other commodity.
It's a statement. No better, no worse. Well, maybe a little bit better.
Read the review: http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/the-dubai-first-royale-card-is-a-millionaires-best-friend
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
An ode to Bahrainis
Jeff Todd
Posted: Jan 29, 2011
As I emerged from Bahrain International Airport this week, my first order of duty, predictably, was to hail a cab.
An old, bearded gentleman in a dishdash spotted me immediately. He abruptly ended his conversation with a fellow cabbie with an off-hand wave, and sprang to relieve me of my bag. Later, sitting in the back of the cab, I remember his reflection in the rear view mirror - long, yellowed teeth with several missing in the middle. But he had a kind smile.
"Where are you from?" I ask.
A long tooth bites down on his lower lip. "Why, Bahraini, sir," he responds, as if I just asked about the colour of the sky.
Conversation flowed naturally on the way to the hotel. I felt welcomed. I felt at ease.
Where are you from? Where are you from? It's a question I just kept asking during my recent trip to Bahrain, where I attended a Family Business Retreat focused on succession planning at the Ritz Carlton.
I asked the tiny bellhop at the hotel as he showed me to my room, placed my bag beside the closet and showed me how to work the archaic TV.
I asked the second cab driver who drove me over the Ritz for the reception that night, and the store clerk when I bought a bottle of water.
And the answer was always the same - "I am Bahraini."
You see, after living in the Emirates for nearly three years, meeting locals on a regular basis is, shall we say, a novelty. In other words, after 24 hours in this country, I had already interacted more Bahrainis than Emiratis.
In the UAE, it's the Indians, Pakistanis, Nepalis, Filipinos and Bangladeshis that drive the cabs, serve the food or do anything else that doesn't require a tie. White-collar jobs are also filled by these nationalities, but predominantly by westerners from the UK, Canada, America and Europe. And the Emiratis? Well, the vast majority, if they do work, have positioned in the government.
This is, of course, is nothing to anyone who has lived here.
It's often commented, both by expatriates and Emiratis, that education, qualifications and the low number of locals are only part of the problem.
The other issue, is that most locals expect certain payment and prestige, and are thus reluctant to do "normal" jobs.
This reaction is predictable. If you've grown up in a society where everything is done for you, and few of your family and friends want to be teachers, doctors or journalists, then why should they?
But there is a greater issue at stake here, and my trip to Bahrain really drove it home - there is the social component.
Emriatis and locals, for the most part, do not socialise and mix. I have always felt a certain tension there. It's not a friendship or kinship. Rather, we feed and exist off each other, like fat and well-compensated parasites.
There are exceptions of course, but in my view, it's an awkward and unnatural relationship.
I look forward to the day there is an Emirati cab driver.
Not because it signals a progressive change in the country's workforce. Rather, it's because I want to see that kind smile in the rear view mirror.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Jan 29, 2011
As I emerged from Bahrain International Airport this week, my first order of duty, predictably, was to hail a cab.
An old, bearded gentleman in a dishdash spotted me immediately. He abruptly ended his conversation with a fellow cabbie with an off-hand wave, and sprang to relieve me of my bag. Later, sitting in the back of the cab, I remember his reflection in the rear view mirror - long, yellowed teeth with several missing in the middle. But he had a kind smile.
"Where are you from?" I ask.
A long tooth bites down on his lower lip. "Why, Bahraini, sir," he responds, as if I just asked about the colour of the sky.
Conversation flowed naturally on the way to the hotel. I felt welcomed. I felt at ease.
Where are you from? Where are you from? It's a question I just kept asking during my recent trip to Bahrain, where I attended a Family Business Retreat focused on succession planning at the Ritz Carlton.
I asked the tiny bellhop at the hotel as he showed me to my room, placed my bag beside the closet and showed me how to work the archaic TV.
I asked the second cab driver who drove me over the Ritz for the reception that night, and the store clerk when I bought a bottle of water.
And the answer was always the same - "I am Bahraini."
You see, after living in the Emirates for nearly three years, meeting locals on a regular basis is, shall we say, a novelty. In other words, after 24 hours in this country, I had already interacted more Bahrainis than Emiratis.
In the UAE, it's the Indians, Pakistanis, Nepalis, Filipinos and Bangladeshis that drive the cabs, serve the food or do anything else that doesn't require a tie. White-collar jobs are also filled by these nationalities, but predominantly by westerners from the UK, Canada, America and Europe. And the Emiratis? Well, the vast majority, if they do work, have positioned in the government.
This is, of course, is nothing to anyone who has lived here.
It's often commented, both by expatriates and Emiratis, that education, qualifications and the low number of locals are only part of the problem.
The other issue, is that most locals expect certain payment and prestige, and are thus reluctant to do "normal" jobs.
This reaction is predictable. If you've grown up in a society where everything is done for you, and few of your family and friends want to be teachers, doctors or journalists, then why should they?
But there is a greater issue at stake here, and my trip to Bahrain really drove it home - there is the social component.
Emriatis and locals, for the most part, do not socialise and mix. I have always felt a certain tension there. It's not a friendship or kinship. Rather, we feed and exist off each other, like fat and well-compensated parasites.
There are exceptions of course, but in my view, it's an awkward and unnatural relationship.
I look forward to the day there is an Emirati cab driver.
Not because it signals a progressive change in the country's workforce. Rather, it's because I want to see that kind smile in the rear view mirror.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Don't go green - just get real
An empty Aldar Headquarters with lights blazing
Jeff Todd
Posted: Jan 22, 2011
The World Future Energy Summit is in town, and my oh my, how the fanfare is flowing.
Billboards in and around Abu Dhabi heralded its arrival. The local newspapers and magazines splashed "go green" across every front page. Hillary Clinton arrived in the capital just a few days before it kicked off, praising the UAE for its "commitment" to renewable energy, green solutions and, of the course, the much talked about Masdar City - the supposed carbon-neutral development being built somewhere in the desert.
But anyone who lives in the UAE knows this place is anything but green.
In fact, the Emirates has the highest carbon footprint, per capita, in the world. Everyone (and I mean, everyone) drives a car here. And we're not talking at a Prius.
No, we're talking about big bad SUVs, Hummers and luxurious sports cars.
Dubai has a ghostly and eerily-clean metro, but in Abu Dhabi public transportation is practically non-existent.
There is no formal or comprehensive recycling programme in this country, no tax breaks or incentives to buy a hybrid car, for example.
The economy is driven by oil - one of the great arch-enemies of the green revolution.
Meanwhile, the much talked about Masdar City, owned by a conglomerate dependent on oil revenues, is riddled with delays and cutbacks, with questions arising as to whether it will even be carbon neutral.
Now, let's be clear. Am I glad the World Future Energy Summit is taking place? Yes.
Is Abu Dhabi the best place for it, given its contradictory ways? Perhaps - I do, after all, love irony.
I also appreciate there have been advances, that the Zayed Prize gives away more than a million dollars to whoever comes up with the most promising green solution, that the summit provides a platform for the eco-conscious.
However, on the way home last night, I also see the new (and empty) Aldar Headquarters (one of the top developers in the land), in the shape of a shiny coin, lights blazing on the side of the highway in what seems like a declaration of waste.
I also see the Abu Dhabi Golf Championship going on this weekend. All the top pros are here. It's great for business.
But how is it, in a desert country, we have dozens of lush and swanky golf courses open all year around?
Why do they spill millions upon millions of litres of desalinated water on the fairways just to keep them a perfect green?
Is that what everyone means when they say "go green"? I expect not.
I'm tired of all the praise, pomp and fanfare. Do what you say. Say what you mean. At the moment, it's all just window dressing.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Jan 22, 2011
The World Future Energy Summit is in town, and my oh my, how the fanfare is flowing.
Billboards in and around Abu Dhabi heralded its arrival. The local newspapers and magazines splashed "go green" across every front page. Hillary Clinton arrived in the capital just a few days before it kicked off, praising the UAE for its "commitment" to renewable energy, green solutions and, of the course, the much talked about Masdar City - the supposed carbon-neutral development being built somewhere in the desert.
But anyone who lives in the UAE knows this place is anything but green.
In fact, the Emirates has the highest carbon footprint, per capita, in the world. Everyone (and I mean, everyone) drives a car here. And we're not talking at a Prius.
No, we're talking about big bad SUVs, Hummers and luxurious sports cars.
Dubai has a ghostly and eerily-clean metro, but in Abu Dhabi public transportation is practically non-existent.
There is no formal or comprehensive recycling programme in this country, no tax breaks or incentives to buy a hybrid car, for example.
The economy is driven by oil - one of the great arch-enemies of the green revolution.
Meanwhile, the much talked about Masdar City, owned by a conglomerate dependent on oil revenues, is riddled with delays and cutbacks, with questions arising as to whether it will even be carbon neutral.
Now, let's be clear. Am I glad the World Future Energy Summit is taking place? Yes.
Is Abu Dhabi the best place for it, given its contradictory ways? Perhaps - I do, after all, love irony.
I also appreciate there have been advances, that the Zayed Prize gives away more than a million dollars to whoever comes up with the most promising green solution, that the summit provides a platform for the eco-conscious.
However, on the way home last night, I also see the new (and empty) Aldar Headquarters (one of the top developers in the land), in the shape of a shiny coin, lights blazing on the side of the highway in what seems like a declaration of waste.
I also see the Abu Dhabi Golf Championship going on this weekend. All the top pros are here. It's great for business.
But how is it, in a desert country, we have dozens of lush and swanky golf courses open all year around?
Why do they spill millions upon millions of litres of desalinated water on the fairways just to keep them a perfect green?
Is that what everyone means when they say "go green"? I expect not.
I'm tired of all the praise, pomp and fanfare. Do what you say. Say what you mean. At the moment, it's all just window dressing.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Turn down Santa
Jeff Todd
Posted: Jan 15 2011
I'm thinking seriously about changing the photo on my homepage.
And the Thai boxing experience in the Dark Room. And that blog wrote I couple months ago about Thai street food in Bangkok.
All of these additions were, clearly, in response to my trip to Thailand a couple months ago.
I certainly didn't expect the email I received from a woman named "Santa", who offered me a free trip to Thailand. For four nights and five days I would be treated to a personal escort around the country, taking in all the tourist attractions.
What a generous offer! Here are the provisos:
• A minimum of 25 entries based on various facets/themes based on their visit to Thailand.
• To allow maximum coverage these entries need not be made all at once, but over a continuum of 1 year ensuring that readers are constantly reminded of Thailand.
• Bloggers with Twitter options, to also twitter about Thailand during their stay in Thailand.
• A minimum of 4 Tweets a day
• Hosted bloggers to post a linked banner on their blog to invite visitors to become a member of “Friends of Thailand” club.
• Hosted bloggers to publish up to 6 information notices that are relevant to their blog of various TAT Middle East promotions.
• Short write-up with an image for the 2 hosting hotels individually and one tweet per day during actual stay for each hotel
I do thank the Tourism Board of Thailand. And I genuinely enjoyed my prior trip to their country.
However, I must confess that I'm baffled by a proposition that essentially buys my website, and in effect, my voice.
Most people sell out at some point.
It's amazing though - in a world such as this - when we invite propositions such as these without even trying.
I turned down their generous offer. Is it so easy to be bought?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Get in the swing of things
Jeff Todd
Posted: Jan 8 2011
This weekend I met up with a few friends. But unlike the usual routine of meeting up with fellow expats - from the US, Canada, UK or perhaps Australia - the company was a bit more unusual. She is a Saudi and he is a local from Abu Dhabi.
They're lovely people. But this was no ordinary social occasion.
You see, after a series of group encounters with chaperons, these star-crossed lovers secretly met at a Dubai hotel for the weekend. In fact, I first met up with them in the lobby of a swanky hotel in the Dubai Marina area, striding across the marble floor of the lobby as they settled the bill.
Nobody else, except perhaps a very small handful, know they met at this hotel for the weekend.
Both are in their late 20s or early 30s. And both have full-time careers.
But in their cultures, coming from conservative and respectable families, it would be completely unacceptable to openly meet under these circumstances. Unless they were married, of course. Following my friend's black BMW to our trendy lunch spot in Jumeirah, I couldn't help but feel as if I was in the middle of some bizarre, alternative, contradictory time warp to the Victorian era. I'm fully aware of the social order still in place for many families in the Middle East, but to see it in practice between two mature and consenting adults was nevertheless striking.
Sitting across from me behind designer shades, and munching on organic salads, sandwiches, and the largest brownie I've ever seen, it was clear this couple was in love. This "illicit" meeting is just one step towards marriage.
Do their families honestly believe this encounter, shared between adults, wouldn't take place?
And yet, to stare the reality in the face would be blasphemous. Unacceptable.
The situation hit me again as I picked up a free, tabloid newspaper in the lobby of my building. Nestled among the "relaxing massage" ads, unbelievable enough, there was a promotion for a product dubbed the "Happy Couple Swing".
Of course, in the West, we all know this rather usual apparatus as a sex swing.
The advertisement featured a photo of the red and black swing.
On the left is a pleased gentleman in a suit, grinning ear to ear, while on the right is an attractive woman striking a pose in skin-tight jeans.
And I quote:
"No more family problems."
"The swing that enhances family relations."
"Capable of heavy weights."
'The swing that creates happiness and satisfaction to more than 80% of the European families."
Now, I respect propriety, modesty and traditional values.
But, I wonder, at what point does the hiding, the deception, and the innuendo, become more ridiculous than it's worth?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Silence the speakeasy
The entrance of a local 'speakeasy' in Abu Dhabi
Jeff Todd
Posted: Jan 1 2011
Tucked behind a cluster of darkened buildings is a door filled with light.
Anyone who craves a drink knows where it is.
Western expatriates park their cars and stride confidently through it. A group of 20 Indian and Pakistani labourers clump hesitantly around it, waiting for their appointed representative to return with that opaque, black plastic bag filled with clanking bottles.
And men in white robes fly up in super SUVs and tap their horns.
Within moments, a tired employee staggers from the light with a pen and paper to take their order.
Perhaps some of Arabs don't want to be seen here. You can understand why.
This shop is just one of many "speakeasys" in the Emirates.
You see, it's legal to buy and drink alcohol in the UAE. But only if you have a "liquor license". Or so they say. There are many places you can purchase a 40 of Grey Goose and a 24 of Stella Artois without any documentation whatsoever.
Not to mention the fact that there are hundreds of hotels in this country, all containing bars and nightclubs, none of which will ever ask you for a license when you order a beer.
Of all the people I know in this country, well under half have this license. It's seen as more of a joke - a concept that makes you smile and nod whenever someone mentions it or wags their finger.
Of course, for those who have been here for years, this is nothing new.
But an article we ran in the newspaper a few days ago got me thinking about it again. A prominent Emirati lawyer, complete with a photo of him looking sternly into the camera, is warning the public that, this New Year, we should all have liquor licenses. Including tourists. If we're caught without one, the penalty could be several years in jail, he says.
The story reminded me of an incident about one year ago when a couple from the UK came to Dubai for their honeymoon. The wife, who was intoxicated, allegedly went to the bathroom and was raped in the bathroom stall by a waiter. After the reporting the crime, authorities not only charged her with sex outside marriage, but slapped both the man and wife with illegal consumption of alcohol.
Are tourists even aware of this? I'm sure it's not mentioned in the promo video.
Now, I think Dubai and Abu Dhabi are interesting cities, and in some ways an example to the region.
But I can't help but wonder when the next shoe will drop.
Will some poor expat be charged with "illegal" drinking this New Year? Will they make an example of him and her and throw away the key?
I'm all for regulation. However, if you truly want to impose these laws - commit to them.
Silence the speakeasys. Have each and every bar ID their customers. Impose the licenses and stop paying lip service.
Alcohol licenses shouldn't be a joke among residents. When someone's life is miraculously ruined, it's far from funny.
Happy New Year.
To see the story on liquor licenses, recently published in The National, visit:
http://www.thenational.ae/news/uae-news/tourism/lawyer-warns-liquor-licensing-laws-apply-to-all
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
It's time to make up with the Canadians
Jeff Todd
Posted: Dec 25 2010
I remember when the story hit the press about Canadians and how tourists will have to get visas to enter the UAE in the New Year.
Indeed, according to the UAE government, as of January 1, 2011 Canadians visiting the Emirates will need to formally apply for visas before leaving the country, rather than simply receive the stamp and smile at the airport upon arrival.
It's an unprecedented regulation among Western nations. And it's just one in a series stinging slaps between the two nations.
Poor relations began more than one year ago when Pearson Airport limited the number of flights for Emirates Airline into Toronto. It caused the UAE government to kick the Canadians out of Camp Mirage, a not-so-convert military base supporting the war in Afghanistan.
At one point, rumor has it Peter McKay, the Canadian foreign minister, had to turn back around to Afghanistan because they were refused landing.
The Canadians recently abandoned Camp Mirage, refused more flights to Pearson, and then the UAE announced the visa rules.
I'm not going to say who is right and who is wrong. At least not in this blog.
What I can say is the entire affair reminds of me a fairly similar episode regarding the BlackBerry just a few months ago.
With the popular (and Canadian) telecommunications provider offering an encrypted network, which the UAE government couldn't monitor, authorities here decided it was time to ban the device. It created an enormous outcry both in Canada and the UAE.
Will they really do it? I mean, EVERYONE has a BlackBerry. Sure enough, you couldn't buy them in stores in the lead up to the "ban". Companies even offered an exchange service whereby you couldn't trade in your BlackBerry for an iPhone.
But as the deadline came and went, a "compromise" was reached.
No details were given. The whole incident just went away, and the newspapers haven't reported on it since. It was widely speculated that the UAE simply gave in. They jumped before looking - I mean, people WANT the BlackBerry. It's an excellent product. And the company was prepared to call their bluff. After all, the UAE market is a drop in the bucket - not enough to compromise their encrypted network.
I wonder -- will another last-second reversal happen with the visas?
People WANT Canadians in the UAE. No, they NEED Canadians. There are more than 20,000 of us here, working as CEOs, journalists, bankers, political advisers and surgeons. There is a direct flight from both Abu Dhabi and Dubai to Toronto every other day.
It's time to get serious. We aren't talking about phones anymore.
Merry Christmas.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Christmas with Casanova
Jeff Todd
Posted: Dec 18 2010
For the second year in a row I'll be in the UAE for Christmas.
Of course, it's not easy being here this time of year.
The fact that I'm writing this from a friend's house, who has left for the holidays to snowy New York, and entrusted me to take care of a pink parrot named Casanova, only makes my situation more poignant.
Same goes for the Santa with an English accent who drives around the mall in a little car, or the US$11.5 million Christmas tree they just put up at the Emirates Palace. While this Middle Eastern Sheikdom has certainly got the commercialism right, something's still missing.
As the youngest of four children, with four (and counting) nieces and nephews, I hate being that gaping hole in the festivities.
While it's terribly sweet of the them, there is always that expected phone call from ground zero (my parent's house). With clinking glasses and screaming children in the background, I'm passed to each and every relation, whereby I'm told again and again how much they wish I was there.
It's a pleasurable pain, I can tell you that.
Indeed, this time of year reminds all of us expats of the sacrifices we make for a good job, great weather and a tax-free salary.
Sometimes, I wonder: how did I get here? Where did three years go?
I won't try to answer those questions now (I'll save it for the book), but what I do know is it's time to go home. Soon.
Posted: Dec 18 2010
For the second year in a row I'll be in the UAE for Christmas.
Of course, it's not easy being here this time of year.
The fact that I'm writing this from a friend's house, who has left for the holidays to snowy New York, and entrusted me to take care of a pink parrot named Casanova, only makes my situation more poignant.
Same goes for the Santa with an English accent who drives around the mall in a little car, or the US$11.5 million Christmas tree they just put up at the Emirates Palace. While this Middle Eastern Sheikdom has certainly got the commercialism right, something's still missing.
As the youngest of four children, with four (and counting) nieces and nephews, I hate being that gaping hole in the festivities.
While it's terribly sweet of the them, there is always that expected phone call from ground zero (my parent's house). With clinking glasses and screaming children in the background, I'm passed to each and every relation, whereby I'm told again and again how much they wish I was there.
It's a pleasurable pain, I can tell you that.
Indeed, this time of year reminds all of us expats of the sacrifices we make for a good job, great weather and a tax-free salary.
Sometimes, I wonder: how did I get here? Where did three years go?
I won't try to answer those questions now (I'll save it for the book), but what I do know is it's time to go home. Soon.
Head in the clouds
View from the hot tub on the 76th floor
Jeff Todd
Posted: Dec 11 2010
Gaining access to see the apartments in the world's tallest building,
the Burj Khalifa, wasn't easy.
But this week, it happened.
It didn't help that the last time I was supposed to see them, about five or six weeks ago, the Business section at The National printed a story about how the "exclusive" apartments had slashed their rent prices because of the extreme vacancies.
Apparently, nobody wanted to live there.
I immediately got a phone call from a representative at the Burj Khalifa, telling me that management was "disappointed" and won't be allowing any further coverage. Fair enough - I can't fault Business for jumping on a great story.
So I waited, waited, and finally, once the dust had settled, and after some persistence, I was back on the list to see them.
They were rather impressive, in a way. You feel awfully important driving up to the main foyer. There are waiters and waitressing serving complementary mongo and orange juice on silver trays.
And on the 76th floor is the highest pool and hot tub in the world, complete with an incredible view of the Dubai skyline.
Throughout the tour my guide was very concerned about my review. He kept insisting that the Burj Khalifa would soon be the heart of a "Manhattan of the Middle East", as he called it. The word "exclusive" was uttered more than once. As I walked between the apartments on the 93rd floor (yes, the 93rd) with the photographer, there was an Arab gentleman there showing around a few other guests.
My tour guide suddenly whispered in my ear:
"He is a millionaire and owns an entire floor."
I think that I was supposed to be impressed.
My review of the apartments appears in Personal Finance today, and good thing, because from what I understand sales and rentals in the world's tallest tower have yet to improve. I must admit that the building's vacancy problems surprise me - and that's not because of the quality of the apartments. Rather, in a city where flash and exclusivity are so important, you'd think people would be clamoring for a piece of the Burj.
It makes me wonder - did the billion-dollar bailout from Abu Dhabi to Dubai permanently mar the protege and reputation of this great address? Local media (and to an extent, international as well) was quite amazed when the name "Burj Dubai" was suddenly changed to "Burj Khalifa" at the opening ceremony, in recognition and in "honour" of the president and ruler of both Abu Dhabi and the UAE.
Or, perhaps. maybe the Dubai consumer is more discerning than one might think.
As we all know, the tallest, the biggest and the most exclusive, isn't neccesarily the best.
Read my review of the highest apartments in the world:
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/going-up
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Dec 11 2010
Gaining access to see the apartments in the world's tallest building,
the Burj Khalifa, wasn't easy.
But this week, it happened.
It didn't help that the last time I was supposed to see them, about five or six weeks ago, the Business section at The National printed a story about how the "exclusive" apartments had slashed their rent prices because of the extreme vacancies.
Apparently, nobody wanted to live there.
I immediately got a phone call from a representative at the Burj Khalifa, telling me that management was "disappointed" and won't be allowing any further coverage. Fair enough - I can't fault Business for jumping on a great story.
So I waited, waited, and finally, once the dust had settled, and after some persistence, I was back on the list to see them.
They were rather impressive, in a way. You feel awfully important driving up to the main foyer. There are waiters and waitressing serving complementary mongo and orange juice on silver trays.
And on the 76th floor is the highest pool and hot tub in the world, complete with an incredible view of the Dubai skyline.
Throughout the tour my guide was very concerned about my review. He kept insisting that the Burj Khalifa would soon be the heart of a "Manhattan of the Middle East", as he called it. The word "exclusive" was uttered more than once. As I walked between the apartments on the 93rd floor (yes, the 93rd) with the photographer, there was an Arab gentleman there showing around a few other guests.
My tour guide suddenly whispered in my ear:
"He is a millionaire and owns an entire floor."
I think that I was supposed to be impressed.
My review of the apartments appears in Personal Finance today, and good thing, because from what I understand sales and rentals in the world's tallest tower have yet to improve. I must admit that the building's vacancy problems surprise me - and that's not because of the quality of the apartments. Rather, in a city where flash and exclusivity are so important, you'd think people would be clamoring for a piece of the Burj.
It makes me wonder - did the billion-dollar bailout from Abu Dhabi to Dubai permanently mar the protege and reputation of this great address? Local media (and to an extent, international as well) was quite amazed when the name "Burj Dubai" was suddenly changed to "Burj Khalifa" at the opening ceremony, in recognition and in "honour" of the president and ruler of both Abu Dhabi and the UAE.
Or, perhaps. maybe the Dubai consumer is more discerning than one might think.
As we all know, the tallest, the biggest and the most exclusive, isn't neccesarily the best.
Read my review of the highest apartments in the world:
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/personal-finance/going-up
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Same old story
Jeff Todd
Posted: Dec 5 2010
This weekend I went to see the final installment of the much-exulted Harry Potter saga. Oh wait, my mistake, PART ONE of the final installment.
As a very casual fan of the movies, and having never read the books, it was impossibly hard to follow for a tale designed for children.
But this blog isn't intended to be a movie review.
Rather, I'm more interested in what nobody else has talked about in reference to the rich, famous and beloved J.K Rowling.
Has anyone noticed how remarkably similar the story is to Lord of the Rings?
First off, we have a fantasy world with all the same races, albeit some of them have a different spin. We have wizards, goblins, elves and humans. But I'm willing to let that one go, as plenty of other books have copied and played off these popular conventions.
Next, we have a dark lord as the arch villain and in both instances they have magical powers. Their main goal, apart of domination, is to to achieve some kind of resurrection or return after being previously destroyed. Now that's a biggie .... but this is even bigger - both dark lords have their life force attached to inanimate objects. In the case of Lord of the Rings, this hallowed object is of course the ring.
In Harry Potter, Rowling calls it something else - Horcruxes. Instead of just one object, we have several (although one of them is a ring, naturally) and it's the duty of the heroes to destroy these objects to subsequently defeat the villain.
Giant spiders in caves, unlikely protagonists who must save the world and a legendary sword they must wield to defeat evil.
I could go on, but again, honestly, I'm not interested in a movie review.
What I'm interested in is the concept of copying. Replication. And how we as intelligent beings are more or less OK with it. Actually, we relish it in a way. We love the familiar. We love a hit and listening to the same record or song again and again. What happens when a movie does well in the box office? Well, often there is a second ... and a third ... and a seventh, often with disastrous consequences. But hey, they make money.
Rowling has made money. Billions and billions of dollars in fact, with an entire economy swirling around her. Now don't get me wrong - she is a smart lady who had some good ideas. But I don't for a minute think she is original.
It made me consider life here in the UAE. In this country there's pretty much every "world's tallest", "world's longest", "world's biggest" record you can imagine. World's tallest building (Burj Khalifa), world's biggest mall (Dubai Mall), world tallest flagpole (in Abu Dhabi). Last week our newspaper put a gentleman on the front page who threw a sword the highest ever in the air before catching it.
Meanwhile, everything here is a copy of something else, from the museums being built to Big Ben at Dubai International Finance Centre.
I wonder, are we we're doomed to copy and copy? As the old saying goes, has it all been done and seen before?
Or is humanity more boring than we'd like to admit?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Dec 5 2010
This weekend I went to see the final installment of the much-exulted Harry Potter saga. Oh wait, my mistake, PART ONE of the final installment.
As a very casual fan of the movies, and having never read the books, it was impossibly hard to follow for a tale designed for children.
But this blog isn't intended to be a movie review.
Rather, I'm more interested in what nobody else has talked about in reference to the rich, famous and beloved J.K Rowling.
Has anyone noticed how remarkably similar the story is to Lord of the Rings?
First off, we have a fantasy world with all the same races, albeit some of them have a different spin. We have wizards, goblins, elves and humans. But I'm willing to let that one go, as plenty of other books have copied and played off these popular conventions.
Next, we have a dark lord as the arch villain and in both instances they have magical powers. Their main goal, apart of domination, is to to achieve some kind of resurrection or return after being previously destroyed. Now that's a biggie .... but this is even bigger - both dark lords have their life force attached to inanimate objects. In the case of Lord of the Rings, this hallowed object is of course the ring.
In Harry Potter, Rowling calls it something else - Horcruxes. Instead of just one object, we have several (although one of them is a ring, naturally) and it's the duty of the heroes to destroy these objects to subsequently defeat the villain.
Giant spiders in caves, unlikely protagonists who must save the world and a legendary sword they must wield to defeat evil.
I could go on, but again, honestly, I'm not interested in a movie review.
What I'm interested in is the concept of copying. Replication. And how we as intelligent beings are more or less OK with it. Actually, we relish it in a way. We love the familiar. We love a hit and listening to the same record or song again and again. What happens when a movie does well in the box office? Well, often there is a second ... and a third ... and a seventh, often with disastrous consequences. But hey, they make money.
Rowling has made money. Billions and billions of dollars in fact, with an entire economy swirling around her. Now don't get me wrong - she is a smart lady who had some good ideas. But I don't for a minute think she is original.
It made me consider life here in the UAE. In this country there's pretty much every "world's tallest", "world's longest", "world's biggest" record you can imagine. World's tallest building (Burj Khalifa), world's biggest mall (Dubai Mall), world tallest flagpole (in Abu Dhabi). Last week our newspaper put a gentleman on the front page who threw a sword the highest ever in the air before catching it.
Meanwhile, everything here is a copy of something else, from the museums being built to Big Ben at Dubai International Finance Centre.
I wonder, are we we're doomed to copy and copy? As the old saying goes, has it all been done and seen before?
Or is humanity more boring than we'd like to admit?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Something to munch on
Jeff Todd
Posted: Nov 28 2010
During my recent trip to Thailand I was in culinary heaven. And it wasn't just because I love Thai food.
Correction - I love STREET FOOD.
Fresh Pad Thai, satay, sausages, noodles in a tangy broth and a medley of spicy vegetables that nearly brought me to my knees - I didn't deny myself at any time. During the day you can find these vendors everywhere, but at night, they come out in force and dominate the side streets.
Many of them put out tables and chairs, and suddenly, the city is alive with eating, drinking, smells and chatter.
The food isn't necessary what makes it memorable; it's the environment in which it's presented.
I have often heard that food is at the heart of culture, and I believe this genuine identity isn't found on white linen.
You'll find it heaped on a disposable plate or grasped steaming in your hands. In Paris, you have thousands of street-side cafes. In Rome, you can stop for a quick espresso, or perhaps a cheesy slice of pizza. And in Toronto or New York, the options are endless - including "Street Meat", those thick, beautiful sausages in a warm bun.
Returning to the UAE, it inevitably made me consider the culinary scene. Or the lack thereof, I should say. Sure, I can head to any of the hotels and have an Italian gnocchi, an English bangers and mash or a Japanese wooden boat filled with sushi.
However, where can I go for Emirati food? (I heard an "Emirati food" restaurant opened up in the Emirates Palace ... but that sounds more like invention than reality) Where are the street vendors? It simply doesn't exist, and I think the UAE suffers for it.
Meanwhile, plans for the new Zayed National Museum were unveiled to mark Queen Elizabeth II's state visit. Saadiyat Island will also include renditions of European institutions, such as the Louvre and Guggenheim. Billions of dollars are being spent.
But if the UAE really wants to define itself as an interesting player on the cultural scene, it should start with a three-dollar kebab on the street.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Nov 28 2010
During my recent trip to Thailand I was in culinary heaven. And it wasn't just because I love Thai food.
Correction - I love STREET FOOD.
Fresh Pad Thai, satay, sausages, noodles in a tangy broth and a medley of spicy vegetables that nearly brought me to my knees - I didn't deny myself at any time. During the day you can find these vendors everywhere, but at night, they come out in force and dominate the side streets.
Many of them put out tables and chairs, and suddenly, the city is alive with eating, drinking, smells and chatter.
The food isn't necessary what makes it memorable; it's the environment in which it's presented.
I have often heard that food is at the heart of culture, and I believe this genuine identity isn't found on white linen.
You'll find it heaped on a disposable plate or grasped steaming in your hands. In Paris, you have thousands of street-side cafes. In Rome, you can stop for a quick espresso, or perhaps a cheesy slice of pizza. And in Toronto or New York, the options are endless - including "Street Meat", those thick, beautiful sausages in a warm bun.
Returning to the UAE, it inevitably made me consider the culinary scene. Or the lack thereof, I should say. Sure, I can head to any of the hotels and have an Italian gnocchi, an English bangers and mash or a Japanese wooden boat filled with sushi.
However, where can I go for Emirati food? (I heard an "Emirati food" restaurant opened up in the Emirates Palace ... but that sounds more like invention than reality) Where are the street vendors? It simply doesn't exist, and I think the UAE suffers for it.
Meanwhile, plans for the new Zayed National Museum were unveiled to mark Queen Elizabeth II's state visit. Saadiyat Island will also include renditions of European institutions, such as the Louvre and Guggenheim. Billions of dollars are being spent.
But if the UAE really wants to define itself as an interesting player on the cultural scene, it should start with a three-dollar kebab on the street.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Heart and soul
Jeff Todd
Posted: Nov 13 2010
Are you going to the Formula 1?
Do you know anyone who has a ticket?
What connections do you have?
How do I get on one of those fancy yachts?
This time of year, all conversation inevitably drafts to the same subject - The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.
Why? Well, for starters, nothing else happens in the sleepy UAE that's even close to this scale. And this year the race is especially in the spotlight because the F1 champion will be determined at this all-important finale.
How many of us really care about that? Not many. Sure, people get caught up in the fanfare of it all. But how many of us have ever watched a race before, or know anything about the sport apart from the fact that expensive machines zoom around a track?
Few. Very few. The fact is, the vast majority of the people could honestly care less.
And yet we'll do almost anything to get a ticket. Colleagues around the office relentlessly schmooze for freebees. They call up sources, acquaintances and "friends" after weeks or months of silence because maybe, just maybe, they know someone who knows someone who can hook them up. I listen to people who go on about how they managed to score an invite to one of the coolest parties or entry onto one of the yachts.
In other words, we'll go to tremendous lengths to be part of the hype, and of course, be seen.
In my mind, it's not so unlike the idea behind F1 itself. The teams themselves don't tend to make much money on winning races. That's not where the money is. The real beating heart behind it all is advertising and marketing.
It's the drivers, cars and billboards covered head to toe in advertisements for motor oil and airlines. It's about image.
This mentality might be the beating heart behind Formula 1 weekend in Abu Dhabi. But I'm not convinced it has a soul.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: Nov 13 2010
Are you going to the Formula 1?
Do you know anyone who has a ticket?
What connections do you have?
How do I get on one of those fancy yachts?
This time of year, all conversation inevitably drafts to the same subject - The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.
Why? Well, for starters, nothing else happens in the sleepy UAE that's even close to this scale. And this year the race is especially in the spotlight because the F1 champion will be determined at this all-important finale.
How many of us really care about that? Not many. Sure, people get caught up in the fanfare of it all. But how many of us have ever watched a race before, or know anything about the sport apart from the fact that expensive machines zoom around a track?
Few. Very few. The fact is, the vast majority of the people could honestly care less.
And yet we'll do almost anything to get a ticket. Colleagues around the office relentlessly schmooze for freebees. They call up sources, acquaintances and "friends" after weeks or months of silence because maybe, just maybe, they know someone who knows someone who can hook them up. I listen to people who go on about how they managed to score an invite to one of the coolest parties or entry onto one of the yachts.
In other words, we'll go to tremendous lengths to be part of the hype, and of course, be seen.
In my mind, it's not so unlike the idea behind F1 itself. The teams themselves don't tend to make much money on winning races. That's not where the money is. The real beating heart behind it all is advertising and marketing.
It's the drivers, cars and billboards covered head to toe in advertisements for motor oil and airlines. It's about image.
This mentality might be the beating heart behind Formula 1 weekend in Abu Dhabi. But I'm not convinced it has a soul.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Expats receive failing grade
Jeff Todd
Posted: November 6 2010
Learning Arabic seems like a responsible thing to do.
It’s so easy to live in the UAE and float by without a single word. Driving around the city, every sentence in Arabic immediately has its translation right under it. And in many cases, English comes before Arabic.
But I don’t want to take the easy way out. So when I first arrived in the UAE, about two-and-a-half years ago, myself and three friends decide that we’ll be responsible expatriates, nay, decent human beings, and take the time and money to learn the language.
We embark on our noble quest by taking two hours out of our busy schedules every week. Our teacher lives in an area of the city I’d never been to before, or at least I’ve never stopped here in a taxi or car and walked around.
The building is run down and the group crams into a rickety elevator.
Soon we're confronted with our teacher - a balding, chain-smoking Sudanese fellow, who leads us barefoot into the make-shift classroom in his living room. The rectangular table has several chairs around it, covered with pencils and paper. Before us is a white board and markers.
After a short introduction, he begins by writing symbols on the white board, and we go through them twice, slowly sounding out the letters as a group. The third time things start to get serious. He strikes the white board with the end of his marker with a soft “click” and points to his victim.
“What is this?” he asks urgently.
“A .....lif?” I squeak.
He shakes his head slowly with disapproval. “A-LAF. A-LAF.” He says loudly, articulating the sounds as he reaches for his cigarettes and lighter.
He takes a massive inhale and expels plumes of smoke. Once again, the group repeats, re-learning the letter “A”.
“A-LAF. A-LAF,” we chant.
We go on like this for weeks - learning our ABCs, pulling together a few sentences, feeling the occasional triumph. But before long, our group slowly dwindles. Interest wanes, and "more important things" crop up in our lives.
This scenario is as predictable as the alphabet. Of all the expatriates coming and going through the Emirates, darting in from corners of the globe and banking their tax-free dirhams, I would say less than 1 per cent actually learns Arabic with any kind of success.
Less than half will even use the basics - hello, goodbye and thank you - with any kind of frequency.
The fact is, the vast majority of us all go through the same predictable cycle. Why should we learn, if everything is in English?
We try and learn Arabic - sounding off the awkward words as if hacking and spitting. But ultimately, we fail.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: November 6 2010
Learning Arabic seems like a responsible thing to do.
It’s so easy to live in the UAE and float by without a single word. Driving around the city, every sentence in Arabic immediately has its translation right under it. And in many cases, English comes before Arabic.
But I don’t want to take the easy way out. So when I first arrived in the UAE, about two-and-a-half years ago, myself and three friends decide that we’ll be responsible expatriates, nay, decent human beings, and take the time and money to learn the language.
We embark on our noble quest by taking two hours out of our busy schedules every week. Our teacher lives in an area of the city I’d never been to before, or at least I’ve never stopped here in a taxi or car and walked around.
The building is run down and the group crams into a rickety elevator.
Soon we're confronted with our teacher - a balding, chain-smoking Sudanese fellow, who leads us barefoot into the make-shift classroom in his living room. The rectangular table has several chairs around it, covered with pencils and paper. Before us is a white board and markers.
After a short introduction, he begins by writing symbols on the white board, and we go through them twice, slowly sounding out the letters as a group. The third time things start to get serious. He strikes the white board with the end of his marker with a soft “click” and points to his victim.
“What is this?” he asks urgently.
“A .....lif?” I squeak.
He shakes his head slowly with disapproval. “A-LAF. A-LAF.” He says loudly, articulating the sounds as he reaches for his cigarettes and lighter.
He takes a massive inhale and expels plumes of smoke. Once again, the group repeats, re-learning the letter “A”.
“A-LAF. A-LAF,” we chant.
We go on like this for weeks - learning our ABCs, pulling together a few sentences, feeling the occasional triumph. But before long, our group slowly dwindles. Interest wanes, and "more important things" crop up in our lives.
This scenario is as predictable as the alphabet. Of all the expatriates coming and going through the Emirates, darting in from corners of the globe and banking their tax-free dirhams, I would say less than 1 per cent actually learns Arabic with any kind of success.
Less than half will even use the basics - hello, goodbye and thank you - with any kind of frequency.
The fact is, the vast majority of us all go through the same predictable cycle. Why should we learn, if everything is in English?
We try and learn Arabic - sounding off the awkward words as if hacking and spitting. But ultimately, we fail.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
A Fur Ball
Jeff Todd
Posted: October 30 2010
"You're everything I need and more. It's written all over your face.
Baby I can feel your halo. Pray it won't fade away."
Nobody in the ballroom is touching their seared tuna.
Beyonce is blasting through the ballroom as we watch slide after slide of skinny and diseased cats.
Last Friday I attended the "Kitten Ball" fundraiser for Feline Friends, the charitable organisation that gets homeless cats off the streets, treats them and finds them new owners.
It's a touching and worthwhile cause, but I find myself staring at the rare tuna more than diseased cat number 10. So I decide to dive in, and let me tell you, it was delicious.
The whole evening was quite the affair. Most of the men were in tuxedos and the women in long gowns. Each ticket was Dh450, which includes a rather nice three-course meal and an open bar until midnight. There are more than 300 of Dubai's expat movers and shakers, including businessmen, lawyers, doctors and journalists. Part of the night included an impressive silent auction and raffle, and I was extremely impressed with the connections and support surrounding Feline Friends.
But as I ordered yet another bottle of complementary wine, and licked my lips after an equally delicious main course, I couldn't help but wonder why we're really here.
The abandoned cats, of course. And don't get my wrong, it's a problem here in the UAE. Just outside the newsroom there is a steady hoard of whining and mangy cats.
However, is a ritzy ball really the best way to solve the problem?
Owning a pet is a considerable responsibility, and I have never understood why it's so easy to buy one. Quite a few people i know the Emirates have chips embedded in their cats containing their registration and medical records. It's not so unlike the tags and collar all animals must have back in the West. Rather than serve us seared tuna and give away flat-screen televisions, why not use their money, influence and considerable lobby to bring about a meaningful change in the system? Why not enforce registration, so if an abandoned cat is found, it can be scanned, and the owner subsequently fined or reprimanded? In other words, why not make people accountable?
By the end of the night the room is a blur of tuxedos and gowns as people hit the dance floor.
The drinks and flowing, there are firm handshakes and light kissing on cheeks, contacts are made and someone walks away with a free trip for two to Kenya. A tipsy woman in high heels staggers from the ballroom with a gift certificate for the spa.
It made be think: is this ball for the cats, or their owners?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: October 30 2010
"You're everything I need and more. It's written all over your face.
Baby I can feel your halo. Pray it won't fade away."
Nobody in the ballroom is touching their seared tuna.
Beyonce is blasting through the ballroom as we watch slide after slide of skinny and diseased cats.
Last Friday I attended the "Kitten Ball" fundraiser for Feline Friends, the charitable organisation that gets homeless cats off the streets, treats them and finds them new owners.
It's a touching and worthwhile cause, but I find myself staring at the rare tuna more than diseased cat number 10. So I decide to dive in, and let me tell you, it was delicious.
The whole evening was quite the affair. Most of the men were in tuxedos and the women in long gowns. Each ticket was Dh450, which includes a rather nice three-course meal and an open bar until midnight. There are more than 300 of Dubai's expat movers and shakers, including businessmen, lawyers, doctors and journalists. Part of the night included an impressive silent auction and raffle, and I was extremely impressed with the connections and support surrounding Feline Friends.
But as I ordered yet another bottle of complementary wine, and licked my lips after an equally delicious main course, I couldn't help but wonder why we're really here.
The abandoned cats, of course. And don't get my wrong, it's a problem here in the UAE. Just outside the newsroom there is a steady hoard of whining and mangy cats.
However, is a ritzy ball really the best way to solve the problem?
Owning a pet is a considerable responsibility, and I have never understood why it's so easy to buy one. Quite a few people i know the Emirates have chips embedded in their cats containing their registration and medical records. It's not so unlike the tags and collar all animals must have back in the West. Rather than serve us seared tuna and give away flat-screen televisions, why not use their money, influence and considerable lobby to bring about a meaningful change in the system? Why not enforce registration, so if an abandoned cat is found, it can be scanned, and the owner subsequently fined or reprimanded? In other words, why not make people accountable?
By the end of the night the room is a blur of tuxedos and gowns as people hit the dance floor.
The drinks and flowing, there are firm handshakes and light kissing on cheeks, contacts are made and someone walks away with a free trip for two to Kenya. A tipsy woman in high heels staggers from the ballroom with a gift certificate for the spa.
It made be think: is this ball for the cats, or their owners?
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Touching experience
First things first: selecting my cloth and sandles
Jeff Todd
Posted: October 23 2010
I have never been bathed by a man before.
I'm sitting upright on a large marble platform, elevated about half a metre from the ground. The slab is warm and the room is steamy. Around my waist is a thin cloth with white and green strips. My palms are planted firmly on either side of my body.
In front of me is the washer.
He's Jordanian, about 25, with a small mustache tracing his lips. He's also shirtless and wearing a cloth. I know a Turkish bath is entirely normal. I know that I'm the one with the hang up.
But in my experience, physical contact was never really common among my male friends. We shake hands and smile after long absences, or perhaps slide into a quick embrace. I never kiss my father or brothers on the cheek or forehead.
Coming from Canada, at least in my experience, affection among males was more felt than physically explored.
Since moved to the Middle East I have always been intrigued by how Arab and Subcontinent men interact. They walk down the street hand-in-hand, sometimes arms dangling across necks.
I see Indian and Pakistani laborers sprawled on the grass late at night after a long day's work, sandals to the side, and one man's head resting on the other's stomach. And I watch Emiratis touch the tips of their noses in greeting.
In fact, when in public, they are often more affectionate among male friends than they are with their own wives.
I hate being nervous in a Turkish bath. The truth is that I admire this secure intimacy between men. It feels liberating. Where do these hang ups come from, anyway? In the two corners of the bathing platform are two small sinks. My bather reaches in one of the sinks and produces a large bowl filled with warm water. He takes a circular piece of soap and begins to rub it vigorously. Before long its boiling over with froth. The bath is about to begin.
He lifts his hands and signals for me to extend my arm. He starts with the top of my hand, rubbing above the knuckles, then he washes each finger, pulling them gently. He moves up and down the full length of my arm in great swooshes, followed by plunges back into the slippery froth. I flip over and the washer works my legs. He attacks the soles of my feet, making me wince.
He lifts my calves and stretches the muscles. I feel pinches down my spine, on the muscles on either side of the bone, probing in mini rapid semi-circles. Finally, the washer takes fistfuls of skin in his hands, pulling and squeezing as if my back is flour in a mixing bowl.
I'm in pain, but surprisingly, I don't scream or feel uncomfortable. Instead, I say thank you.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: October 23 2010
I have never been bathed by a man before.
I'm sitting upright on a large marble platform, elevated about half a metre from the ground. The slab is warm and the room is steamy. Around my waist is a thin cloth with white and green strips. My palms are planted firmly on either side of my body.
In front of me is the washer.
He's Jordanian, about 25, with a small mustache tracing his lips. He's also shirtless and wearing a cloth. I know a Turkish bath is entirely normal. I know that I'm the one with the hang up.
But in my experience, physical contact was never really common among my male friends. We shake hands and smile after long absences, or perhaps slide into a quick embrace. I never kiss my father or brothers on the cheek or forehead.
Coming from Canada, at least in my experience, affection among males was more felt than physically explored.
Since moved to the Middle East I have always been intrigued by how Arab and Subcontinent men interact. They walk down the street hand-in-hand, sometimes arms dangling across necks.
I see Indian and Pakistani laborers sprawled on the grass late at night after a long day's work, sandals to the side, and one man's head resting on the other's stomach. And I watch Emiratis touch the tips of their noses in greeting.
In fact, when in public, they are often more affectionate among male friends than they are with their own wives.
I hate being nervous in a Turkish bath. The truth is that I admire this secure intimacy between men. It feels liberating. Where do these hang ups come from, anyway? In the two corners of the bathing platform are two small sinks. My bather reaches in one of the sinks and produces a large bowl filled with warm water. He takes a circular piece of soap and begins to rub it vigorously. Before long its boiling over with froth. The bath is about to begin.
He lifts his hands and signals for me to extend my arm. He starts with the top of my hand, rubbing above the knuckles, then he washes each finger, pulling them gently. He moves up and down the full length of my arm in great swooshes, followed by plunges back into the slippery froth. I flip over and the washer works my legs. He attacks the soles of my feet, making me wince.
He lifts my calves and stretches the muscles. I feel pinches down my spine, on the muscles on either side of the bone, probing in mini rapid semi-circles. Finally, the washer takes fistfuls of skin in his hands, pulling and squeezing as if my back is flour in a mixing bowl.
I'm in pain, but surprisingly, I don't scream or feel uncomfortable. Instead, I say thank you.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Peeping behind Pradas
Jeff Todd
Posted: October 16 2010
It’s around 5pm and the day is beginning to fade.
As I walk along the barren side-streets, on my right is a giant construction yard with several skeletal buildings towering precariously above.
The entrance to the construction yard is barred by a massive sliding gate, and as I get closer, I see hundreds of Indians and Pakistanis pressed desperately against its hot metal.
I stop in my tracks and find myself actually staring at these men as they paw at that sliding metal gate. Shopping bags dangle from my hands as I peep behind Prada lenses, tinted green. And I hate myself for it, but I can't look away. I soon understand why the are huddled at the gate.
It’s past 5pm now - the end of their work day. They’re desperate to leave.
A few men in collared shirts stroll back and forth in front of the gates like wardens. Why don’t they just let them out? Why are there gates at all? I don’t understand. Behind me, about 10 buses are waiting to take them to the labour camps. The time it takes for the men in the collared shirts to flip the heavy bar and release them seems to drag on forever. I feel their restlessness, their urgency.
Finally, one of the men in a collared shirt lifts the thick metal bar. And there I am, frozen in my designer sunglasses. Hundreds of Indians and Pakistanis rush towards me in a giant tidal wave of bodies. I think to myself - this is it. I’ll be swarmed, robbed and beaten - such are my Western biases, my snobbery. But as the wave falls upon me, they splash off like water falling on rocks. They could care less about my existence.
What they really care about are the buses. I see them sprinting, many of them smiling in happiness as they reach the doors and clammer onto the 10 buses, pushing, shoving, desperate.
It’s my first intimate brush with these labourers, but it wouldn’t be the last.
After that day I’d make a point of taking the long way home. I want to see the world for as it is, not as I’d like it to be.
And each time I do, a particular, re-occurring advertisement comes to mind.
It’s of a white couple in a high-rise condominium in Abu Dhabi with a giant, floor to ceiling window in front of them.
On the couch sits a young man, the husband assumably, in a white-collared shirt and jeans. He’s cross-legged, appearing nonchalant. His wife, meanwhile, is standing in front of the floor-length mirror, arms out-stretched at her husband with a pissed-off expression on her face. Looking at the view, you can see why. While located on the 35th floor, their view is obstructed by newly-sprouted, rival condominiums. Just a stitch of ocean can be seen through the dominating steel, hinting at the view they once had.
The advertisement is for a development company. “Live with us, and you’ll never lose your view,” it seems to be telling readers. To attract buyers, the developer guarantees that future construction projects won’t get in the way of your view - or your dreams.
These poor workers are what make this “dream" possible.
I wonder, are our lives here in UAE just the pursuit of an advertisement? A life built on false pretenses? Perhaps we’re the real slaves.
Do you have an opinion? Have a contribution? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: October 16 2010
It’s around 5pm and the day is beginning to fade.
As I walk along the barren side-streets, on my right is a giant construction yard with several skeletal buildings towering precariously above.
The entrance to the construction yard is barred by a massive sliding gate, and as I get closer, I see hundreds of Indians and Pakistanis pressed desperately against its hot metal.
I stop in my tracks and find myself actually staring at these men as they paw at that sliding metal gate. Shopping bags dangle from my hands as I peep behind Prada lenses, tinted green. And I hate myself for it, but I can't look away. I soon understand why the are huddled at the gate.
It’s past 5pm now - the end of their work day. They’re desperate to leave.
A few men in collared shirts stroll back and forth in front of the gates like wardens. Why don’t they just let them out? Why are there gates at all? I don’t understand. Behind me, about 10 buses are waiting to take them to the labour camps. The time it takes for the men in the collared shirts to flip the heavy bar and release them seems to drag on forever. I feel their restlessness, their urgency.
Finally, one of the men in a collared shirt lifts the thick metal bar. And there I am, frozen in my designer sunglasses. Hundreds of Indians and Pakistanis rush towards me in a giant tidal wave of bodies. I think to myself - this is it. I’ll be swarmed, robbed and beaten - such are my Western biases, my snobbery. But as the wave falls upon me, they splash off like water falling on rocks. They could care less about my existence.
What they really care about are the buses. I see them sprinting, many of them smiling in happiness as they reach the doors and clammer onto the 10 buses, pushing, shoving, desperate.
It’s my first intimate brush with these labourers, but it wouldn’t be the last.
After that day I’d make a point of taking the long way home. I want to see the world for as it is, not as I’d like it to be.
And each time I do, a particular, re-occurring advertisement comes to mind.
It’s of a white couple in a high-rise condominium in Abu Dhabi with a giant, floor to ceiling window in front of them.
On the couch sits a young man, the husband assumably, in a white-collared shirt and jeans. He’s cross-legged, appearing nonchalant. His wife, meanwhile, is standing in front of the floor-length mirror, arms out-stretched at her husband with a pissed-off expression on her face. Looking at the view, you can see why. While located on the 35th floor, their view is obstructed by newly-sprouted, rival condominiums. Just a stitch of ocean can be seen through the dominating steel, hinting at the view they once had.
The advertisement is for a development company. “Live with us, and you’ll never lose your view,” it seems to be telling readers. To attract buyers, the developer guarantees that future construction projects won’t get in the way of your view - or your dreams.
These poor workers are what make this “dream" possible.
I wonder, are our lives here in UAE just the pursuit of an advertisement? A life built on false pretenses? Perhaps we’re the real slaves.
Do you have an opinion? Have a contribution? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Abu Dhabi Dance
Jeff Todd
Posted: October 9 2010
“Tell me how to win your heart, because I haven’t got a clue.
“But let me start by saying: ‘I love you’.”
In a faded and smoky room, a man and a woman swing lethargically on a tiny dance floor before a three-piece band. The burly Briton with a white mustache rests his head on a slight African woman’s shoulder, squeezing her thighs tightly, his eyes closed. Meanwhile, fat white dots cover the walls and ceiling from the rotating disco ball above the stage. It spins the dots across the bar, fainting illuminating obscured figures smoking cigarettes in dark corners. They drink and intently watch each other from across the room.
Two of the band members are women. The singer has a long red wig that crawls down her back towards seven inch stilettos. She wears a busty blood-red dress, one side running down to her ankles to match. The other is a curly brunette with a short black dress, prettier than the first. Behind them, sitting on the sill of a small window, is a man with a grey pony tail playing his guitar. With his eyes closed, he rocks back and forth as he launches into a slow, melancholy solo, filled with longing, which sounds like heaven but feels like hell. He’s my favorite, and I find myself mimicking this motion. Sitting on a stool, facing the band, I bow my head and let it hang carelessly, my Abu Dhabi dance, taking quick, desperate sips.
As the song ends, the man and woman look at each other with glassy eyes, as if suddenly realizing the other is there. The two strangers return to where they sat before this ballad began. Perhaps they’ll find each other later. I say ballad because it doesn’t seem to matter how many Bulgarian bands circulate through this bar. They all play this song. And yes, they are almost always Bulgarian, or at least Eastern European. Some bands stick around longer than others, maybe a couple weeks, or even a month. But none stay here for long.
Smoke is thick in the air, and I watch people, through the haze, shuffling about the bar or sitting at heavy wooden tables. On the walls are steel lanterns that, along with the fat white dots, cast a pale light. The men mostly sit alone, staring at their drinks as if they can see a tiny version of themselves drowning. The women are on the outside looking in, waiting, casting their nets. Directly to my right, in a corner next to the stage, I see a tall African woman with large breasts in a leopard top, one strap over the left shoulder, belly exposed. She waits with bright red lipstick and tight black pants. I’ve seen her before.
Ordering another drink, I sense at least 10 sets of eyes watching. They are calmly surveying, assessing the business, assessing their chances. Handing over my blue, 20 dirham note, my gaze drifts, and meets that of the African woman. The look is held for more than 5 seconds. That’s all it takes. To them, it is a clear sign, an open invitation. Her red lipstick spreads across her face in a smile, and her heels click the wooden flooring. I avert my gaze and stare across the bar. But it’s too late. Suddenly I feel long green nails, three inches long, scratch far down my back, beginning at my neck and ending at my underwear. Then she swings into view. Looking at her face I realize she might actually be pretty, with full cheek bones and long dark hair. She says something I don’t understand, and I extend a kind but disinterested smile, looking away. But she stands beside me anyway, swaying to dead air, and we watch as the band rises from their table, filled with bottles, to claim the stage once more.
The singer in the blood red dress enters the spotlight, and the bar releases a muddled, strained cheer. She opens her mouth and flashes her upper-row of teeth, showing irregular and pointed fangs. Some in the audience, sitting in the dark, let out a gasp at the sinister effect it has in the stage’s white light. But the shock is soon replaced by laughing. They start to play.
“And I don’t know why I came here tonight…..
“I got the feeling that something ain’t right.”
We now watch the band, I decide to make a move. I slide off the stool and walk across the bar, making a sharp left towards the back. I pass the manager, a portly woman in an oversized navy blue suit, and she gives me the usual, tired smile. Straight ahead on the wall, before I make another left for the bathrooms, is a wooden clock that no longer ticks, with a big, white face and long dark hands, resting at 2:20am. Ironically, it’s not too far off the actual time. But then again, it’s not like anybody ever comes here for lunch.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
Posted: October 9 2010
“Tell me how to win your heart, because I haven’t got a clue.
“But let me start by saying: ‘I love you’.”
In a faded and smoky room, a man and a woman swing lethargically on a tiny dance floor before a three-piece band. The burly Briton with a white mustache rests his head on a slight African woman’s shoulder, squeezing her thighs tightly, his eyes closed. Meanwhile, fat white dots cover the walls and ceiling from the rotating disco ball above the stage. It spins the dots across the bar, fainting illuminating obscured figures smoking cigarettes in dark corners. They drink and intently watch each other from across the room.
Two of the band members are women. The singer has a long red wig that crawls down her back towards seven inch stilettos. She wears a busty blood-red dress, one side running down to her ankles to match. The other is a curly brunette with a short black dress, prettier than the first. Behind them, sitting on the sill of a small window, is a man with a grey pony tail playing his guitar. With his eyes closed, he rocks back and forth as he launches into a slow, melancholy solo, filled with longing, which sounds like heaven but feels like hell. He’s my favorite, and I find myself mimicking this motion. Sitting on a stool, facing the band, I bow my head and let it hang carelessly, my Abu Dhabi dance, taking quick, desperate sips.
As the song ends, the man and woman look at each other with glassy eyes, as if suddenly realizing the other is there. The two strangers return to where they sat before this ballad began. Perhaps they’ll find each other later. I say ballad because it doesn’t seem to matter how many Bulgarian bands circulate through this bar. They all play this song. And yes, they are almost always Bulgarian, or at least Eastern European. Some bands stick around longer than others, maybe a couple weeks, or even a month. But none stay here for long.
Smoke is thick in the air, and I watch people, through the haze, shuffling about the bar or sitting at heavy wooden tables. On the walls are steel lanterns that, along with the fat white dots, cast a pale light. The men mostly sit alone, staring at their drinks as if they can see a tiny version of themselves drowning. The women are on the outside looking in, waiting, casting their nets. Directly to my right, in a corner next to the stage, I see a tall African woman with large breasts in a leopard top, one strap over the left shoulder, belly exposed. She waits with bright red lipstick and tight black pants. I’ve seen her before.
Ordering another drink, I sense at least 10 sets of eyes watching. They are calmly surveying, assessing the business, assessing their chances. Handing over my blue, 20 dirham note, my gaze drifts, and meets that of the African woman. The look is held for more than 5 seconds. That’s all it takes. To them, it is a clear sign, an open invitation. Her red lipstick spreads across her face in a smile, and her heels click the wooden flooring. I avert my gaze and stare across the bar. But it’s too late. Suddenly I feel long green nails, three inches long, scratch far down my back, beginning at my neck and ending at my underwear. Then she swings into view. Looking at her face I realize she might actually be pretty, with full cheek bones and long dark hair. She says something I don’t understand, and I extend a kind but disinterested smile, looking away. But she stands beside me anyway, swaying to dead air, and we watch as the band rises from their table, filled with bottles, to claim the stage once more.
The singer in the blood red dress enters the spotlight, and the bar releases a muddled, strained cheer. She opens her mouth and flashes her upper-row of teeth, showing irregular and pointed fangs. Some in the audience, sitting in the dark, let out a gasp at the sinister effect it has in the stage’s white light. But the shock is soon replaced by laughing. They start to play.
“And I don’t know why I came here tonight…..
“I got the feeling that something ain’t right.”
We now watch the band, I decide to make a move. I slide off the stool and walk across the bar, making a sharp left towards the back. I pass the manager, a portly woman in an oversized navy blue suit, and she gives me the usual, tired smile. Straight ahead on the wall, before I make another left for the bathrooms, is a wooden clock that no longer ticks, with a big, white face and long dark hands, resting at 2:20am. Ironically, it’s not too far off the actual time. But then again, it’s not like anybody ever comes here for lunch.
Do you have an opinion? Write me at onyourtodd@gmail.com
