Something I wrote a while ago and never posted...

Yemeni Product Names

I can’t really blame the odd English names on Yemen alone. Anyone who has ever travelled in Asia (probably Africa too, but I only know Asia) will have noticed the many ingenious English product names. I assume that the thought process is that English is cool or at least useful for business and so products named in English are cool or at least make good business sense. I do remember one intrepid entrepreneur from our church in Indonesia who purposefully named his sandals “Konichiwa” and made them look Japanese-ish by placing odd looking cartoon characters with large mouths jumping around the plastic packaging. I remember him saying that people thought that Indonesian-made products were inferior to foreign-made ones and so he would make a better profit with his faux-Japanese flipflops. My mom and I recently purchased matching Konichiwa sandals and they still fill us with a spirit of Hello Kitty and Pikachu. So, Pak Karmen’s desire to present his product as “foreign” and therefore “awesome” might be a motivation for the English monikers attached to random goods I find in the supermarket here.

Laundry soap is a product that you might not think needs an English name to sell it. You would be wrong. Here the favored brands are “FasClean,” “White Cat,” and “Wild Cat.” We’ll take “FasClean” to start with. I am guessing that “FasClean” is supposed to suggest to the fluent English speakers buying laundry soap (no one who does not speak English buys laundry soap of course) that this type of soap cleans with lightning speed. You only need leave your clothes soaking in the water a few minutes and –voila- done. Although, I read the Arabic underneath the English to see if it was translated thus in Arabic, but it was merely transliterated so I can’t be positive that I am indeed understanding the meaning correctly. Still, for people like me who frequently forget that they put their clothes in a bucket of water and need to scrub them, squeeze them, and hang them out on the line, “fascleaning” is not as necessary. I would prefer something like “No-Scrub” detergent, along the lines of “no-rub” contact solution that would take some of the effort out of hand-washing my clothes. But honestly, I am not the most diligent of hand-washers. I tend to throw things in a bucket with soap, swish them around, forget about them for a few hours, come back, dump the water on the floor to mop it, squeeze a bit of the excess wetness out, and then sling the clothes over the line to dry. It’s already hot enough here that it doesn’t matter how much I squeeze out, they’re going to dry anyway. And no, I did not forget to include the step where I rinse the soap out of the clothes because I don’t, in fact, do that. I just leave the clothes in long enough for all the soap to dissolve out.

Sadly, neither “White Cat” nor “Wild Cat” are “no-scrub” detergents, but they both do have horrifying pictures of ferocious-looking cats on them. I’m not sure why a cat was chosen for their mascot. Is the idea that if you can get a mangy, flea-bitten cat who rolls in the dirt and eats garbage to look white with this laundry soap then you can clean anything? Or is the idea that this laundry soap cleans with the power of an insane rabid feline more what the manufacturer is going for? Either way, one should never leave the package lying out unattended. If you glance at it in the dark, say, while you’re on the toilet at night, it can look pretty creepy.

Another thing that brings me joy is the Indonesian on my cleaning solution. This product is tri-lingual, catering to Arabic-speaking Indonesians living in gulf countries where they must communicate with the English-speaking Indians doing all the outside work. My cleaning solution boasts in the fact that it contains “SPF.” At first, I was pleased to know that my countertops in my windowless room would all be protected from sun damage, until I read that, in this case, “SPF” means “spot protection formula.” I suppose it is good to protect the spots on my furniture as well. Al muhim: it is easier to read Indonesian than Arabic, and I was able to see that it is possible to use this fancy “SPF” spray in my kitchen, living room, bed room, and/or bathroom for maximum cleanliness. Cleanliness, it may surprise you to know given my sad reputation as a domestic novice, I appreciate greatly. I appreciate it even more after living with many many girls who don’t realize that garbage disposals have never been brought to Yemen and you can’t throw bits of food in a sink and expect them to just disappear. They only do disappear because that weird foreign girl gets tired of having crap in the sink where she brushes her teeth and cleans them. Also, throwing water on the floor doesn’t keep it as clean as keeping a clean floor dry so as not to track mud all over the bathroom. Random dark thoughts I have…

Another Indonesian thing I use consistently is my Ciptadent toothpaste. This toothpaste informs me boldly that it can “menguatkan email gigi.” I guessed from the context that in this case “email” is “enamel” and the toothpaste is strengthening that not the personal electronic address of my teeth, because I must admit that I didn’t know previously the word for “enamel” in Bahasa and sometimes still when I look at it, it makes me think strange thoughts. Still, that toothpaste is amazing as it is contains “multivitamins and microactive foam.” The foam I have noticed, and recently, after purchasing very expensive vitamins at the local pharmacy in an attempt to balance nutrition with the stress that is making my hair fall out, I considered eating the toothpaste in lieu of purchasing more vitamins. It would be cheaper and more efficient, adding that “two-in-one” value to one of my daily activities.

In conclusion, I will continue to enjoy my “Freshly Peanut Butter” and my “London Dairy” ice cream even if they are Yemen products with fake English names because, while they’re not Peter Pan or Eddy’s, they’re not so bad.

More Somaliland Musings

Dundumo

If I were a photographer, I would travel the world make coffee table books. I feel that it is an important market niche. There are many excellent subjects for coffee table books in Greater Somalia. (I refer to Greater Somalia in an attempt to be politically correct for Somalilanders who are hoping for international recognition as a separate country from Somalia and the state of Puntland which is also Somalia and plans to go back to Somalia if Somalia ever gets its act together. I think Somaliland deserves recognition but I will not write about that because it would take too long and require sources and MLA format and lots of stuff I left behind me when I completed my formal education.) Driving around the countryside visiting ADRA worksites gave me a great view of this strangely beautiful country. While I am always fascinated by camels and flocks of goats, I am also interested in muddy unpaved roads and dry riverbeds, but I recognize that buyers of coffee tables books might not share that interest. But who could possibly not share my interest in the subject of what would be my first coffee table book--dundumo (Somali for ant hill)?

Ironically, in spite of my self-stated desire to coffee-table-book dundumo, I didn't get many photos. While it shouldn't nomally be too difficult to take photos of stationary objects, in my case, I was taking all these photos from the back of a speeding car. Occasionally we'd hit a bump, catch some air, and go flying over several deep holes only to slam on the breaks in order to avoid hitting a wandering camel. I imagine it would be bad to hit a Somali symbol of wealth and future someone's future dowry. In Garowe, someone offered 100 camels for me, but I told him that as an imported women, I was naturally going to be more expensive and I wouldn't go for less than 500 (shipping costs are higher with the pirates). He tried to bargain but then realized that in the end, products imported aren't worth as much as you pay for them-they don't last much longer than those that are domestically-produced and it is often difficult to get used to their systems. Also the owner's manuals are written in so many different languages, it's hard to find the one that you want. Anyway, I don't have many pictures yet. I'll have to make a special trip on somebody's dowry camel so I can go slower and take more photos.

These dundumo are massive. They can be more that 2 meters high. Some are tall and slim and look like how I imagine Lot's wife turned out after she became a pillar of salt. Others look more like funky dirt snowmen. Some, fittingly, are reminiscent of sand castles. I like the ones built around trees that remind me of Angkor Watt temples that have been covered by jungle trees and vines although in this case, I'm pretty sure the trees were there before the buildings, unlike the Cambodian ruins. I also appreciate the dundumo that are right beside a tree. They look like they're in a competition to see who can grow taller. Sometimes the trees win, sometimes the ants pull it off.

I also noticed that dundumo are often found in the middle of a farm with the land cultivated around them. They also aren't removed from their places even if they are right beside a house or tent. I was surprised by this at first, wondering why they weren't cleared away. First I thought that maybe the people were afraid of being attacked by large red ants, angry at the destruction of their homes. Then I was more charitable and chalked it up to Somali respect for hard-working creatures who take weeks (months? years? I have no idea...I'll have to find out before I make my book) to build their elaborate hives (hives? nests? Again, stuff I'll need to know before I publish). But later, when I requested a photo beside a particularly massive one, I was told that Somalis are afraid of them because they are "the house of the devil" which I think means that they think that evil spirits live there. It also meant that the security guard who was already mad at me for a short trip to the beach while everyone else was in the bathroom (The foreign girl will be attacked by gangs with knives! Why did you let her go down to the beach? It's not deserted as it looks! In fact there are many evil people lying in wait for her! Now I have to convince the other fatter guard to go down there and watch out for her because at least he kind of likes her.) and mad at me for stopping for another photo-op picking up a tortoise (I need to get home to chew qat because stupid ADRA refused to pay me extra money for my drug of choice!) was even more furious with me for this last stop I politely requested. He was also mad because we stopped before we noticed a large monkey clan hanging around the tree nearby (They will eat up the foreign girl and then who will get in trouble? That's right, me. The guy who didn't get to chew qat). He didn't have to worry about me going over to the monkeys to get them to pose with me. I know monkeys from childhood days in Indo. They are not nice creatures. Sure the babies are cute and fuzzy and it's so clever how they hang on to their mommies, but they bite, steal food, give you rabies, throw stuff at you, and break your things. I don't mess with monkeys. Unless I am throwing stuff at them. Fair's fair.





So I got my photo, escaped a loud lecture from the guard by feigning ignorance of the Somali language, which is mostly true but I did recognize several new words I'd recently learned (badeed-sea, deen-tortoise, daanyeer-monkey, cun- eat, dundumo-you know this word already if you've been paying attention), and sat demurely in the car for the rest of the journey planning out various titles for my coffee table book, hoping that my qat-deprived guard wouldn't start shooting at our car, trying to get us to go faster. Here are some of the titles I came up with.

My first creative choice: Ant-hills of the Somali Desert. It seems pretty straightforward, but I did struggle with the Somali part (see side note above about Somaliland, Puntland, etc). Genius will come through at the end though, of course.

Then I thought, if I were catering to a more academic group (of course academics make up a huge percentage of coffee table book consumers), I would go for something like: The Architectural Masterpieces of Somali Desert Denizens, subtitled: How Evolution Helped Ants Adapt to Harsh Surroundings that Would Ultimately be Caused by Manmade Climate Change so That When Humans Destroy Themselves and Ants Take Over the World They Will All Have Nice Places to Live.

Naturally, my very popular book would spawn a series for children which I would entitle: Ants are People Too and They Feel Sad When People or Camels Kick Over Their Houses and Usually They Eat People Who Upset Them. I think this could make a very pleasing pop-up book as well.

Sadly, photography is not one of my skills. While I do believe that those super-fancy cameras are a huge part of why many aspiring photographers actually take good pictures, A) I am too poor and too cheap even if I weren't poor to buy one and B) I congratulate myself on taking pictures when my thumb isn't making an appearance in the left corner of the screen, the object I'm trying to shoot is near the middle of the photo, and a casual observer won't find him or herself feeling symptoms of vertigo when looking the picture. Alas, I shall leave my idea to others who agree that coffee and ant houses go together and he or she can reap the rewards, financial and otherwise, thereof. All I ask is that a small donation be made to the charity I happen to be working with at the time made out to "Amanda Stillman's salary" as a way of thanking me for my awesome idea.

Somaliland Musings (one of a few more to come)

Various stories out of chronological order will be added pending my access to computers. Here's the first one:

Las Geel

Not satisfied with their own Lascaux cave paintings, some French archaeologists came to Somaliland a few years ago to check out some ancient cows on rocks they heard rumors about exisiting in Las Geel (pompously translated "The dromedaries' watering hole" by whoever wrote the poster in the guard house/museum). They immediately recognized the awesomeness of these pictures (cows and men, men and cows, cows and calves, and some cow pornography) and stayed to study them. Now the area has become Somaliland's primary tourist destination, which is to say that when we drove off the paved-ish road through the desert for about twenty minutes, we finally found a tiny house with a couple of guides hanging out who were almost as surprised to see us as we were to see them. We then embarked on a lovely hike made awkward by stupid long dresses up the rocky hill/mountain to get to the first paintings marked off by barbed wire which was already broken down. We climbed around to get a better look.

The paintings were colorful and primitive looking, and I tried to get more information from the guide-a charming older gentleman with a wooden cane that he used for hiking and pointing out important details on the paintings. He didn't speak English so we communicated through broken Somali, a bit of Arabic, and some hand gestures. Interestingly, for your future reference, the Somali hand sign for knife is similar to the gesture other people use for "I'm going to kill you." I can see how this could potentially cause problems for future tourists who might misunderstand him.

Since I was small, I always loved ruins, the older the better, even going through a brief "I'm going to be an archeaologist when I grow up" phase. I like to walk on ancient under-water roads and climb up old crumbly staircases, and I generally ignore signs telling me not to go beyond a certain point or not to touch certain objects. Naturally, I touched one of the paintings to see how the paint felt and was immediately gasped at and ordered never to do that again. Not because I might mess up the paintings (I didn't touch it enough to do take of any of the paint and I didn't scratch at it and I didn't write "Amanda was here 2011" either) but because they were unsure what the people used for paint and how that might affect my health and/or state of pureness. I thought that was a good call by the French, letting that rumor spread because I think that many people share my same desire to ignore "don't touch" signs, but if you make people afraid to touch something, they are more likely to leave it alone. Personally, I think all museums should be like the Egyptian museum where you can shake hands with a statue of Ra or tweak the nose of a sphinx. You can pretty much do anything except try on Queen Nefertiti's jewelry, which I think would be an awesome exhibit even though it would probably only last a few hours until all of the Queen's old treasures had found new owners. Anyway, I of course touched another painting, and I am happy to report that as yet none of my fingers have turned black and fallen off.