A Few More Photos From Sri Lanka

Feel Something Real

Question: What do you give teenagers who have everything?

Answer: An experience that will stay with them forever.

I've just returned from a 12-day school trip to Sri Lanka, where our team of ten students and five adults volunteered with Habitat For Humanity to build homes for needy families. Ladies and gentlemen, as we begin our ascent into an authentic, character-building two weeks, please ensure all electronic devices are switched off...

We were in Negombo, a small beach town 30km north of the capital, Colombo. Unexpectedly, this is a highly Catholic area; churches and shrines are a common sight. Tucked back a few kilometers from the beach and strip of tourist shops is a village area referred to by the locals as Fisherman 4. As the name suggests, most of the families there earn their living by the sea. And many of their homes are shockingly small and ramshackle.

During our stay, we set about helping a number of families improve their lives. In each case, the family has taken out a small loan to pay for the improvements and they participate in the work (Habitat is not a giveaway program; it's motto: "A hand up, not a hand out."). We did the grunt work. In 96% humidity and an often blazing sun, we dug trenches for foundations, mixed and poured concrete, carried seemingly infinite bricks and roof tiles, and moved giant piles of dirt.

All the while we had some wonderful interactions with the local villagers. The families were heavily involved in the labor and once school let out each day the children were found swirling about, curious about the latest group of volunteers. As best we could and in our own ways we communicated. Learning to count to ten in Singhalese. Playing cricket with the boys. Drinking tea in the shade with the masons.

My students worked their butts off. Near the end of the trip, one of the kids implored the others to keep up the hard work: this wasn't one of those I-was-here-so-that's-good-enough trips; they made a real difference. Along the way I could see the impact that the genuineness of whole experience was having on them. This wasn't an iPhone app or channel 231 on the satellite. This was real life, and they could feel it.

A sincere thank you to all who supported this trip. Without your generous contributions this trip would not have been possible. Not only have you had on impact on the lives of those students who volunteered, but also a profound and lasting impact on the families who benefited from this program. It was a real success.

One of the homes we helped improve

A few of the local children 

Long road to hoe

Finally...Sri Lanka

Tomorrow morning a group of students, teachers, and parents from our school will set off for Sri Lanka, where we'll be helping to build a house for a needy family. We'll be working with Habitat For Humanity.

I've written about this project before and I'd like to thank all of you in Oman and beyond who gave the donations that made this trip possible. We're all about to get a very rare opportunity to step outside of our comfort zone and learn something about the world and ourselves. I'm especially excited for the students, who are the age when their world view is really beginning to take shape.

Check back again soon to see how the trip went!

On the Fringe

Recipe for Fringe Party (serves 50):

1 part hippie commune
1 part brave souls
3/4 part school in the desert
1/2 part poetry slam
1/2 part of that Music Appreciation class you meant to take at uni
1/4 part that place you and your friends drank in high school
1/4 part amateur rock climbing
dash of Weimar Republic
dash of Sasquatch (Burning Man substitute ok)

Directions: Gather a convoy of four dozen of your closest friends. Drive 25 minutes into the desert. Unpack tents, coolers, and folding chairs. Mix ingredients in natural amphitheater at base of enormous rock. Enjoy.

We arrived in time to catch a great sunset

A group of children took an entrepreneurial opportunity

One of the organizers had an authentic gramophone...and it works!

The moon rose as the performances began

Puppet theater in the dark

Don't Fear the Beard

I can remember the last time I pulled a razor across my face. It was September 30, 2006. I awoke that morning giddy in the knowledge that the beard was finally a go. It was my last day in the military.

It’s simply human nature. From our toddling years until the retirement home, when we’re told we can’t have something, that something becomes just what we want. Whether it’s a toy for our collection, a dog in our new apartment, or pork in the Middle East, everything off-limits has a way of becoming awfully alluring. With all deference to Mick Jagger, in today’s society you can pretty much always get what you want. Except there’s always that one thing…

For me, for six years, it was hair, or rather, the freedom to do what I liked with mine. Out of college I joined the Navy, where beards are most definitely out, and short, “smart” haircuts are the style of the day, every day.

From virtually the moment I was sworn in as a young ensign, my facial hair began planning its escape. On weekends and on leave (vacation), it would make brief, euphoric appearances, only to be shaven back into oblivion in time for work again. Once, while out to sea, my captain exercised an old Navy tradition by authorizing a beard growing contest until out next port call. For two weeks we felt like pirates, standing watch over the seas with grizzled faces, imagining life in a bearded Navy.

Normal length. Wife-approved.

Such episodes were short-lived, however, and for the most part I spent the entirety of my Navy stint dreaming of the beard I was going to grow. I would pass men on the street, men about my age, sporting all varieties of facial hair and I would envy them. “Wipe that smug, beard-adorned look off your face!” I wanted to yell.

Then the day came. October 1, 2006. I was discharged from the Navy and the dust officially began to collect on my razor. Like a woman who has just committed to a total hair makeover, I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror. To my own, long-anticipating eyes, the beard seemed to arrive immediately, virtually overnight. After a few weeks of shameless self-admiration, I asked my wife for her opinion.

“You look homeless,” she said.  

It wasn’t long before I started catching double-takes from our friends, followed by remarks like, “Whoa, when did you grow this?” and the first of many, “Hey, Grizzly Adams!” 

I had also stopped cutting my hair and before long my head began to resemble a blinking, talking Chia Pet. It was around this time that my family got a really good look at me. My mother was noticeably stunned. “You look so different” was about all she could muster. My dad—who in recent years has begun sporting what I can only describe as “reverse sideburns”—remarked, “You look like one of these guys from the Sixties.”

Lumping me in with Crosby, Stills, Nash, et al, was really the best line any family member delivered. By this time my wife and I had been accepted into the Peace Corps, so I imagine my newfound look only confirmed some things in their minds. Most of them just laughed, including my grandmother, before she remarked, “I like you better without the beard.”

For most of these past five years, I've been regularly trimming it, keeping the beard quite short. But somewhere around July I got lazy, in August I got busy, and by September the whole thing was just funny. It's now October and let me skip all pretenses of humility: my beard is freaking awesome.

Current length. Wife-abhorred.

Seriously. It just keeps growing, bushier and thicker every day. More than a couple strangers have commented on its burliness. Besides "imam" remarks, the most common thing I get is, “Isn’t that beard hot?” Well, I’m not really sure, I didn’t grow it over night, so there’s not much to compare it with. I do know that were I to shave this thing off right now, the tan line would be something to behold.

And I get a lot of double takes from Omanis, both men and women. Their looks are curious and incomprehensible. Are they startled? Confused? Amused? Beards are a big part of Muslim culture, but the heat makes them pretty unattractive, I suppose, and most men here just wear short, neat, facial hair. Is the Whitey going native?

And how long will I let it go? Who knows. For now I’m content to just see where it takes me. Ok, so maybe I am a little warmer than normal, maybe shampooing the thing doubles my showering time, maybe I'm beginning to scare small children. I’m fine with these minor details. 

Cash or Credit?

That's Macguyver demonstrating just how useful a debit card can be. In America, no one--well, no one I know at least--leaves the house without a debit card. That's because aside from gumball machines and strippers, everybody takes debit cards. I'm puzzled when I see someone paying with cash. My wallet rarely contains it. It was briefly a pathetic fad to refer to dollars as "dead presidents" (referring to the the faces on the notes). Now it should just be "dead notes."

And don't even get me started about people who still pay with checks.

But here in Oman it's quite the opposite. This is mainly a cash economy and it's a bit of a rarity to see someone paying with plastic. Well, at least up here in Sohar. And, funny enough, it's equally irritating to see someone pull out their card as it is in America to see someone pull out the checkbook. That's because it never seems to work. I've been behind no less than a half dozen people at Carrefour or Home Centre who have had to resort to cash after their Visa wouldn't go through.

Of course, not using a card means huge trips to the ATM. Who doesn't enjoy walking around with $800 dollars in their wallet? A very relaxing experience.

So please, HSBC and Bank Muscat...get in on reliable debit cards and encourage your vendors to do the same. Then I can start leaving my house at night.