Setting Picks | a lesson in offensive (walking)

Intersections are interesting here, to say the least. When approaching one, even with the aid of a perfectly functional light system, one must do so with caution. Everyone assumes the right away, and everyone assumes that everyone else assumes the right away as well. The standard crossing looks something like this: everyone speeds along the road and slams on their brakes a few meters into the intersection. Those on the inner-two lanes (from all four directions) usually want to turn left, while the other lanes want to continue straight (with the occasional outside-lane cars attempting a left turn as well). The cars on the innermost lanes are responsible for protecting the others wishing to turn, thus they set picks. The rest do a little roll and successfully make it through the intersection unharmed, and the inner cars cause a traffic jam. The result of this is cause for a jump-ball, usually settled after minutes of everyone getting out of their cars and yelling at each other. The cars in the outer lanes (presumably going straight) stop and go their way through, then accelerate as fast as they can until reaching the next intersection. Easy enough.

This basic pick-and-roll scheme is also the preferred mode of pedestrian travel. Everyone, cars, buses, motorcycles, donkey carts, and people assume they have the right away and at the same time assume the others are also assuming themselves to have the right away. Sometimes vehicles set picks for people, and sometimes people set picks for other people. It's a sacrifice either way. Just three days ago I successfully set a pick on a bus for four older men to cross the street. Thankfully, I usually just walk away with a bruised shoulder or elbow. I had worse in high school basketball.

Coach did always sarcastically call me quick feet in high school, and he would've been proud of me the other day. Jason and I were in a hurry to get our newly obtained stay permits (al-hamdulellah) and walking safely along a sidewalk beside the wall of a corner building. At the corner of the intersection, which we needed to cross, though out of sight due to the wall, came a speeding motorcycle (of course, driving down the sidewalk and not the road). I quickly held out my hand like a protective mother over Jason's chest and quickly stopped our forward progress, ready to take a charge from the guy driving (the lane). That's right, I had quick feet that day. Take that coach. Unfortunately, I was attempting this quickness in (of course) a pile of sand and instead of stopping for a legal charge I was sliding ever closer to the motorcycle. He swerved, like all good ball-handlers do, to avoid contact, probably said a few choice words about the ignorant khuaja stepping out in front of him, lived, and weaved through the upcoming traffic, taking advantage of other people's picks so he could get to work fashionably late.

Jason laughed at me and never thanked me for saving his life, but we both safely (al-hamdulellah) arrived to receive pretty little blue picture books with fancy new stamps allowing us to stay a lot longer in this place.

There is a fountain...

We got our paperwork!

April fools.

Haha, I haven't missed a beat... I'm still as funny as I was yesterday.

But seriously, we did make progress the other day after having three or so unsuccessful attempts at round one. And here, when you have something to celebrate, even a baby-step, you celebrate. When news of this reached our friends, one of them went the extra mile and reached, I'm guessing, about $10 deep into her pocket to buy us Oreos as a gift. I haven't had cookies and milk in well over a year. So, needless to say, it was a treat.

In other news, today felt really nice. It was only 103 F.

Peace be yours

Morning of the ninth day of March

Three of us boys have moved all our beds into one quaint room where there is an air conditioner. Last summer Biggin Diggin and I saved a lot of money while still living in the costly land of tall buildings because we kept only one light on at a time when we were home and ran only ceiling fans. Well, after a brief and chilly 70 F winter the sudden shock of 110 F a few days ago was just too much to bear. Thankfully we're now living close to the stop next to the shady spot and tea ladies, where we get more bang for our buck, and can now afford to sleep without sweating as long as we snuggle up together in that little mid-section of our apartment. It's nice.

Biggin Diggin is now just a 5 o'clock shadow, however, and since our short-statured friend thinks he has big cheeks we've started a new morning workout club called "Running-in-Place." I was alone in this little joy until recently, and now I'm having visions of Forrest Gump running across the country with zealous followers- only I see the masses gathering "in place," hence the name of course. This has more or less turned into a group of sweaty men in cut off Wal-Mart knockoff underarmor wishing they were singers and drummers for Hillsong United.

Last night after Nicodemus and Puff Daddy left our apartment- which was a pleasant visit- we watched a music video of "Point of Difference" (thank you iTunes). My heart is meant for this mode of present sojourning, while waiting on the dwelling to return, but there are still a few things I miss from the regions surrounding Swampoodle: family, friends, my books, a regular dosage of *bucks, and the encouragement of large and lively corporate gatherings. I wouldn't trade small and intimate on a weekly basis for anything, but sometimes it's just nice to be reminded that on a bigger scale you're not alone. At the same time, many in our family still haven't experienced such a foretaste.

I'm thankful for snacks, but I'm also ready for the wedding feast.

Peace be yours.

We do everything together...

School.
Work.
Living in the Parsonage.
Living with my parents.
Traveling the world.
Always planning the next step.


This time he's on his own.



Peace be

...He was then led

out into the wilderness, for forty days and forty nights, to be tempted. And after fasting he was hungry,

and along came the tempter,

"If you really are...turn these stones to bread..."

Stories are beautiful, especially the ones that are true and truly make sense of all our other stories. One time, after reading a particularly intriguing story, and realizing this for myself, I wrote the following. Now, a year later and re-realizing the same thing, I can't think of any new words. I'm only reminded that sometimes I need to be reminded of stories and other things I might have forgotten. So more for myself than anything, I am re-publishing a post from January 2007 so I can have it readily accessible when my page comes up, I've been tempted to waver throughout the day, and I need to be reminded to retell the stories that have made me, and the power they still have today.

28 January 2007
Lacking eloquent words,

stories fashioned who we are
thus far, we are becoming
what we have heard will come

remaining unknown

to some

a story is given.
A really good story.
Sometimes told by really good storytellers,
and sometimes by the not-so-good.
Yet,
it is only folly to the perishing.

It is wisdom
and power to the powerless.