May 04, 2009
My home base in Tunisia is Hammamet, a popular hub for European tourists seeking sun and sand. A common sight in Hammamet is what Tunisians call "business," or young men, often from the countryside, who immigrate to coastal cities during the tourist season to find a foreign woman (and sometimes a foreign man) with whom to have a fling, and from whom to extract discretionary income.
You could call business prostitutes, but they are less deliberate with their aims. They straddle the line between valuing relationships as a means to an end, and as an exploration of their own sexuality. Business target foreign tourists because they are relatively affluent and can fund their discretionary expenses. Business also target tourists because through them they can experience sexual intimacy, an area that is strictly taboo, pre-marriage, in the rural Tunisian villages which business call home.
Business in Tunisia are on the rise. A growing number of European tourists travel to Tunisia explicitly in search of business for a sexual escapade. Rural Tunisians are also increasingly turning to business, as an economy with high unemployment, coupled with an increasingly aggressive consumer culture, drives a thirst for easy money. To break the trend, Tunisia recently deployed anti-business police (no joke), trained by Moroccan security forces, who apparently have a proven track record of combating this shadow economy.
I wanted to capture an image of a business who I spotted on the side of the road while driving home after a late night out.
A poem.
Ahmed The road slick from the searing press of tires His white branded shoes reflect dimly on the asphalt on which he walks Stop, cigarette, lighter, puff He sees the stamp of his sole on a nearby spill of dirt, and smiles. Converse.
Click click, click click, click click Behind him, near him, beyond him Past his legs runs a feral dog Its paws nervously disconnecting from the ground As it roves through a tangle of power lines Ahmed hates it
Its tense muscles, its plastic smile A worn ribcage propelled forward in search something Always in search of something A vivid and stubborn mirage A prize without a claimant Reward eludes another day.
The road is hard. Ahmed's bones are heavy. A fresh escapade launched while tourists were collecting beachtowels Has yet to conclude long after tourists have slipped under bedsheets. Strands of hair hardened by gel, eyelids squatting on a rocky nest of sleep The cologne in his stiff denim jacket loses ground To the fine yellow soot that adorns it early morning.
There are few sights sadder than that of a business Traipsing in to a cafe at the crack of dawn Pupils entangled in wispy veins of blood, cheeks flush with the stench of stale hope Ahmed's story is worn on his face. As it was in the washroom mirror of the cafe he visited yesterday morning In front of which he finds himself again today.
April 16, 2009
Everything is already recycled. Creation is a restatement. A fresh arrangement of old matter. Matter so old its years are counted in light.
The cycle of life as it pertains to the physical is something I managed to grasp early on. Take some vegetation, compost it, water it, and out it springs into new life. It's an easy process to understand, partly because it gives itself away. Smell anything in the lifecycle of, say, a log, and it's easy to trace it to its other forms. It's the mossy freshness. The earthy funk.
What has been less clear to me is how the intangible is recycled. What is the process of recycling the human spirit? Where is the soul's funk? For me that one's a bit harder to sniff out, but every once in a while its essence bubbles to the surface. For me it's hard to watch this video and not see a constant resonance across everyone captured in its lens. In the street performers I see the energy of a musician, as timeless, tattered, and true as the instruments they've worn down with their bodies. Young and old, black, brown, red, and white, they are the fresh arrangement of old matter. Their energy is the funk.
Judge for yourself:
February 15, 2009
Left to right, back and forth. Post-meeting hoppery in Philadelphia. Thanks to Audrey T for playing iPhone photographer.
February 08, 2009
From Jonathan Ive's one-button iPhone, to Haiku poetry, I'm inspired by the beauty of, and intellect behind, simplicity.
In my mind simple is what you get when you boil down a product or an idea to its essential elements. It means stripping an interface (in the case of the iPhone), or a language (in the case of the Haiku) to its most basic form. It means relying on my audience to draw on its life experience to understand what it is that I'm trying to communicate. This is really, really hard, and somewhat risky. Hard: it requires a deep understanding of my audience. Risky: strip my idea / product down too far and nobody will know how to use my gadget / understand my advertisement. (Good example? Perfectly round hockey-puck mouse that came with the original iMac -- I never knew which was way up!).
The reward for striking the right balance, however, is a concept that resonates deeply with those who engage it. Below is an example of a pretty complicated advertisement that saves itself with a really simple tagline (at 1'16"): She arrived as Ms K Mathieson, Executive VP of Sales. She departed as Kate.
Having worked in the corporate sector for a few years, I totally get it. Simple, powerful stuff and, was the rest of the advertisement even necessary?
Watch the ad:
November 26, 2008
Hey folks-
With the cell networks jammed it's hard to get in touch with friends and family in Mumbai. I'm pulling together a list of who's been confirmed as safe. If you've spoken to anyone and know for sure that they're okay, please head to the link below and update their information. DO NOT INCLUDE SPECIFIC WHEREABOUTS, just an update on whether they're okay. Please forward to your friends.
May 20, 2008
Last Friday, on the way to the Mumbai-Kolkata Indian Premier League cricket match, Beth and I had the good fortune of riding the train to Churchgate Station during rush hour. Watch Bombay commuters of every size, shape, and generation leap onto the train, before it stops, to secure a seat for the long ride home:
May 04, 2008 Controversial psychologist Phillipe Rushton developed the head test: ethnicities with smaller heads, he stated, are less intelligent. Apartheid South Africa developed the pencil test: if a pencil placed in a person's hair stays put, it was thought, the person is racially inferior. Not to be outdone, Hindustan Lever, India's largest consumer products company, recently developed a "Fairness Meter."
In a society where a darker complexion indicates lower caste, the Fairness Meter brings a new level of accuracy to the time-honored tradition of judging people by the color of their skin. Part of the Fair & Lovely line of cosmetics, the Fairness Meter helps Indian men and women to accurately track the bleaching effect of Fair & Lovely's skin-whitening cream. The lower the number - the logic goes - their fairer the person and thus the more beautiful. Says the mother of Apoorva Satish, an early adopter of the Fairness Meter: "My daughter Apoorva Satish studying in 10th Standard was some dark chap. After seeing the advertise of Fair & Lovely I encouraged her to use this multivitamin cream. The result is 15 number to 10 number according to fairness meter. We are all very happy..."
Read more testimonials on Fair & Lovely's website.
May 02, 2008
After suffering heavy losses in the sub-prime mortgage crisis, the 158-year-old financial services firm Lehman Brothers has decided to fundamentally refocus its corporate practice. Says CEO Dick Fuld: "Lehman Brothers has a fine tradition of brokering high-quality transactions between corporate bosses over dinner at the world's finest restaurants. Given the historically unprecedented and relentless downturn in the global economy, Lehman Brothers is left with no choice but to liquidate its assets and refocus its corporate practice on its strong suit: eating."
Click this link to download the Lehman Brother's restaurant guide to Mumbai. I hope you'll find it as useful as I do. Bon appetit!
April 28, 2008
Plainclothes police officers. Riot squads. Heavy-handed force against students protesting human rights abuses. Beijing's Tiananmen Square? Try London's Trafalgar Square. Or Paris's Trocadero.
As the Olympic torch relay makes it way around the world, cities hosting the torch are eagerly acting out a scripted, elaborate, ironic theatrical performance of the Chinese security regime. In Seoul - where its 1988 bid for the Olympic Games lead to a call for democracy - city officials released thousands of security forces to quell protests. In New Delhi - capital of the world's largest democracy - the local government preemptively called up 15,000 police to dash dissent. In Paris - where theater is a sacred art - city officials said "non, merci" to imitation and went for the genuine article, deploying authentic Chinese security forces to do the kicking and shoving for them.
Sears and Wal-Mart introduced Chinese products to democracies long ago, but this year's Olympic torch relay is introducing them to a new import: China's security apparatus - a key element of its "harmonious society." Initial demand is strong. As the torch continues its journey to cities such as Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, one looks forward to the local interpretation of China's security theater. One city where no interpretation is needed? Pyongyang, North Korea. The torch relay reached there today; initial reports claim it went off without a hitch.
August 01, 2007 Postcard from Mumbai -- As published in the Indian Express
A secret you discovered about Mumbai? If you walk with your arms extended you won't drop into the open manholes.
An Indian product or service you can't do without? Home delivery -- the service is pretty unbelievable and the kids pretty poorly paid. I order often and try to tip well.
Any fashion tips? Wear shorts in the summer -- your body deserves it.
Dared to try street food? Street food is the porn of the culinary industry. Cheap, flashy, and made to please. No matter where I travel I find that street food is what I end up missing most when I leave. Spiced corn, pani puri, all fantastic in my book.
A phrase you're bound to hear? More a sound than a phrase -- part whistle, part mouse being squeezed to death. I hear it most often in crowded shops when I'm in somebody's way and they're telling me to move.
Your road experiences? If riding a rickshaw were a videogame it'd be a best-seller. Just 10 rupees to play, fast-paced, and fully-interactive. I've realized that it's my responsibility to warn the driver of oncoming traffic. I've been involved in two crashes and that's only because I wasn't paying enough attention.
What is sexy about Mumbai? You don't come to Mumbai for the parks, for the beach, for the monuments or for the restaurants. You come for the sweat, for the people, for the spirit of the city. It's standing on a train at 5pm seared to a half a dozen people. It's watching the sweat collect and slide off the brow of those around you. It's knowing you're in it together and it's worth it. 'Nuff said.
Have you been conned yet? Does a 1 Lakh rent deposit count?
Truly, madly, deeply, Mumbai... My friend and I were stuck in traffic when she tried to light a cigarette with her last match. The taxi jerked forward and the match was extinguished. As she searched in vain a matchbox appeared in front of her face. She followed the arm that held it aloft to discover that it came not from within our car, but from the car idling to our left. A fellow driver noticed her misfortunate and decided to help. He gave her a nod and told her to keep the rest of the pack. Only in Mumbai.
What are the similarities or differences between Mumbai and your hometown? I was born in North Africa where the first step onto the tarmac brings dust, heat, and a wall of noise that's difficult to escape. I've been told that Cairo is Bombay 40 years in the past and I can see it. The main difference is Mumbai's energy -- it's a people-magnet whose pull gets stronger every time someone moves into the city. It gives the city an electricity on par with New York and London. It's a great place if you're interested in seeing a city take shape.
Mumbai, the cultural capital? Most definitely. A walk down my street brings an Islamic call to prayer, a group of neighbors conducting a Pooja, and a candle-lighting at the local Catholic altar. Mumbai is a city of immigrants. Many city dwellers are deeply steeped in tradition, having brought with them an ancient and rich tradition from other parts of the country. To become a recognized cultural capital Mumbai needs someone with the will to bring out what's been hidden in the woodwork for so long. Maybe even someone who's reading this interview?
March 07, 2007
India is a pickle. It is to a vegetable deeply rooted in the earth, extracted, diced up, and added to meals for its nutritious value. It is organic. It is dirty. It is a garnish slipped atop a beef patty to stimulate the palate. It is a process by which things are made to be sour. It is a problem, a quandary for which there is no clear solution. India is all of the above - minus the beefy patty. They don't eat beef here.
I came to Bombay (also called Mumbai) with an uneasy smile. As I walked out of the airport I took stock of my new roommate, employer, wife. It was an arranged marriage: I had committed to spending a good portion of my life with someone I barely even knew, had never met before. Sizing her up on the way home she seemed well, okay: I liked the palm trees, good weather, stray wafts of spicy cuisine... I could do without the chaos, mosquitoes, dirt-choked streets...
Several months in I'm proud to say we're still in it for the long-haul. It wasn't love at first sight but like a good arranged marriage we've found a way to make it work. It's a mixed bag: my shower only works for 8 seemingly random hours of the day. My apartment is fully cleaned and dinner cooked daily for a few dollars a month. I can get anything, including groceries, prescription medication, housing supplies, and laundry delivered to my doorstep for free. Nothing is done right the first time. The street food is first-rate. The lack of civic responsibility is so ingrained in my housing society that a small tree is literally sprouting from a concrete hole outside the fourth floor of my building.
Bombay, much like New York, is a city of immigrants. It's a city of 13 million stacked on a string of seven islands that were recently connected by rock, garbage and dirt trucked in from the east. Those who come to Bombay do so driven by a desire to move up in life, more so than any other city in India. As you walk the streets you're passing those who've consciously chosen to gamble their fate, and the results are mixed. In some cases you run across tremendous wealth, proudly displayed in the spit and polish of luxury sedans and modern high-rises. More often you run across several generations of previously rural families, roughing it out within a shack smaller than a McDonald's bathroom. There are few motions to go through for those living here, few paths set out for them - instead there is opportunism, desire, creation - a constant series of choices that adds to the city's intensity.
So am I happy to be here? Mosquitoes aside absolutely yes. Between work and personal trips I've had a chance to see some incredible parts of the country (snapshots at www.laoudji.com/photos; click "India"), including a French colony (Pondicherry), Mother Teresa's mission (Calcutta), the spiritual home of the Sikh faith (Amritsar), and the country's political center (Delhi). At work I'm helping TechnoServe India to manage an entrepreneurship development program -- we're working to train and scale up small enterprises in the agro-industry and renewable energy sectors. I'm supporting those who are weaving the story of an unprecedented economic revolution. I'm learning in new ways and stretching myself. Life is beautiful.
If you're getting this email know that so long as I'm here you have a place to crash at in Bombay. Between now and when I see you next, look forward to staying in touch-
December 01, 2006
So I recently decided to take a post in Mumbai India. I'll be heading over in a couple of weeks to support an organization called TechnoServe where I'll support the development of industries that provide an economic lifeline to underprivileged communities. Please continue to stay in touch, esp. if you have plans on making it my way-
November 19, 2006
Dear Friends,
As of last Thursday, the follicles directly beneath my nose and above my upper lip have been sprouting hair in an unprecedented act of charity. These hairs, which together form a mustache, represent my support for Mustaches for Kids < http://www.m4kdc.org/ >, an annual mustache-related charity event whose proceeds benefit the Children's National Medical Center.
I will continue to grow my mustache until December 16, at which point a month will have passed and I will re-assimilate into the cleanly shorn masses. Between now and then, however, I offer myself as a free target of ridicule, voluntarily subject to your snide remarks and Borat-inspired pranks, especially so if you care to donate to a good cause while you're at it.
If you'd like to offer a hand with helping me to raise money for some very special kids (no minimum donation -- I even accept change!), please do so in one of the ways outlined below. Thanks for hearing me out -- wishing you a warm and relaxing holiday-
Cheers, Nabil
HOW TO DONATE Step 1 - Pull together some cash or write a check made payable to the Children's National Medical Center.
Step 2 - If you're on campus at Booz Allen, inter-office mail your donation to Allen 451, or let me know where you'd like for me to pick up your donation - Make a donation online via PayPal < http://www.m4kdc.org/donate.html >. (Once you've done so kindly shoot me an email to confirm) - Mail it to me at my home address: 1908 Florida Avenue NW, Apt 229 Washington, DC 20009
Step 3 - That's it! You're done! Go off and enjoy a great holiday, knowing that your donation means a lot to me and the thousands of sick children that the Children's National Medical Center assists every day.
January 16, 2006
Lan Tran. Billy Jean. New Year's Eve. The Music Video.
December 08, 2005
I'm back from my well-documented jaunt in North-Eastern Africa -- pictures of Egypt may be found here.
July 20, 2005
On Sunday July 17 Amee and Sean got hitched in Livingston, NJ. Here's to Uncle Jared.
April 22, 2005
Orioles/Yankees at Camden Yards. Thanks Joshbeen.
March 26, 2005
Early afternoon in the Shenandoah, at the summit of Hawksbill Mountain. Picture taken by Eric, whom I ran into by accident on the trail. Thanks Eric. Cigar furnished by Ty Heineken. Thanks Ty.
February 26, 2005
These days Dubai, an important economic center in the Middle East, will do just about anything to put itself on the map. Here are several pictures of their latest stunt. Also turn your sound up and follow this link for a good laugh.
