Blogs

When as a teenager in 1979 I got a chance to visit London for the first time ever, I turned blissfully bliss.  Why, slap me silly! London?!  My entire childhood, elementary and high school bias was for the very Great Britain.  Sister Mary Fabian, the headmistress nun who would never smile but easily turn a…

Port Au Prince (PAP), Haiti is not a nice place.  The city is grimy, filthy, mosquito ridden, potholed roads abound, snarled traffic rule and noxious fumes from cheap gasoline can make you instantly nauseous.  It is also a very threatening city, her people on the move, exceedingly belligerent, constantly hustling, looking to score; this brings…

It is a beautiful morning outside my house here in Sanford, FL; clear blue sky, not a cloud in the sky and comfortable 70F. I hear birds chirp friskily outside; hear thuds and hammering of final homes being completed in the subdivision. We could do with some rain however, the grass, although still lush green,…

The area around Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport in Mumbai is not very pedestrian friendly; certainly not a place to unnecessarily walk about. With snarled traffic most times, drivers intent on out-hooting each other, metro and overpass construction, decibel levels that render blood pressure medication useless and a stink that can curl up toenails, it is…

I got an avalanche of protests from several about the link to photographs on this writeup not working. It’s now fixed; click here. Pole saana. Ali YusufaliSanford, FL

Sirsi is in Uttar Pradesh, India, some six hours drive east of New Delhi. It is a poor mid-size village, mostly Shia Muslim, mostly farmers. When I was first driven there in the company of Aliakberbhai Ratansi of NF some five years ago, I complained nonstop. It was a hard drive, very bad roads; the…

I meet Habeeb at Dubai Airport Terminal One Lufthansa lounge; we begin chatting, killing time before flight call. The conversation develops to be extremely intense and dramatic over the course of about seven hours it takes us to get to Frankfurt, Germany. Habeeb (can’t remember his last name, something ending ‘pour’?) was born in Isfahan…

This saga is of nineteen-year-old Saira Ashrafi who CAI donors sponsored towards software programming courses sometime in 2010. Daughter of a clerk earning less than US$200 per month, Saira contacted CAI for help continuing her education. When she did not submit 2nd year progress and exam reports, I wanted to know why. She remained elusive…

With 2 weeks to kill before a (very uncomfortable) foot long stent can be removed below my kidneys in Mumbai India, I decide to visit CAI projects in Tanzania, specifically construction of a completed modern physics / chemistry laboratory at Jeffery School in Bukooba. You may find the following narrative (and accompanying photos) informative. Dar…

As part of her charitable activities, CAI donors help very poor girls beat India’s dowry scrooge by paying up to US$500 in marriage assistance. When I lived in India, Mir Mohammed Mirza, a father of two girls seeking such help approached me. His application was rejected, as he did not meet CAI threshold of ‘poverty’.…

Saifi Hospital located at Maharshi Karve Marg in Mumbai is a grand, regal and handsome building, outstanding amidst her neighbors that show age, torment and scars from Mumbai’s infamous monsoons. Built by the Bohri community of India, the hospital, unlike Leelavati in Bandra or Kokilaben in Andheri where the stiff upper lips of Mumbai’s recouparate,…

I am near to finishing a nine-mile run about a month ago when, with about one mile to go, when I slow down considerably for the mandatory cooling off stretch, I realize something is amiss. At about this time in the run, the good feeling hormones in my system get released and I cherish the…

‘Hair,’ my marhoom friend Shafiq Allaina, who was blessed with thick, almost unmanageable mane of wiry hair once disclosed at a Banyani saloon in Tanga, Tanzania, ‘is everything. Without hair, a person is inadequate, almost like a man without manhood.’ The Hindu barber, with a pate as shiny as a simmering desert wasteland, nodded his…

I seem to have kicked up a Minnesota style blizzard regarding my latest Blog – Baby Sultana’s Eyes. Some people, mostly ‘family members’ imply, no, accuse me of fabricating a fairy tale, ha! Some say I used ‘unpalatable’ words like prostitute and brothel while others opine my description of (possible) Sultana’s beauty excessively vivid. A…

Continued… I encourage her to leave the brothel, but she is scared of Khaala and the consequences; Zulaikha might have her face disfigured by acid by Khaala’s goons. I accompany her to a local but foreign affiliated and funded NGO for battered women who refuse help initially, but quickly change their minds when I assert…