aric with an a

so, I’m staying in England for a bit.

maybe a month.

on the coast, in a place you might not know.

since the African ‘trip’, I’ve not been writing much,

call it being blue,

or just tired.

but since I’m here for a bit,

thought I might show you around.

with…

a weymouth photo of the day!

isn’t that exciting?

you check in every once and a while,

see a few things,

learn a few tidbits,

and I get back into taking some piccies,

and writing some things in my head.

cool?

cool.

here’s the first:

that in the background is an old something,

from WWI, or, so they say.

bunker? could I call it a bunker?

it’s next to the harbo[u]r entrance.

the only accessible one.

in the other entrance, an old ship was sunk.

speaking of ships, this is the only harbor where a prison ship was berthed.

free photos and free knowledge!

hurrah.

in a town about 50km north of Damascus, I found an old camera store.

there weren’t many monies in my pocket, but I wanted a 35mm back-up,

[for Africa, ha ha - ugh]

so I bought one of his cheaper models.

turned out it was a yashica electro 35 rangefinder,

apparently a very good old camera.

nice - I paid $15 for it.

obviously, I didn’t know how to work it,

but kind of like the first set of shots that it produced.

this is the 3rd entry about photographs.

hmmm.

I’m not a huge museum guy.

Smithsonian? sure - could spend days in there.

and anything with photos.

but paintings? nawwwwww.

a few, once a year…maybe.

my quota for guys with bangs and moleskines ain’t much.

but the contact sheet for robert frank’s ‘the americans’ is somethin’.

seen it three times in the past 12 months.

I’d never read the book, seen the photos.

still don’t own a copy.

should, probably.

but to watch his eye around the country,

especially the one’s with numerous takes.

and the Tate Modern’s free.

so, you know,

go.

or something.

…there are only 8 of them, but they’re here.

Africa kicked my bottom.

no way around it.

I went with an idea, a good idea,

but no money.

no visas.

and not understanding how things work.

it wasn’t SE Asia.

and I wasn’t prepared.

that’s all it is.

it scared me, but to not have been shaken would be strange.

but I still tasted African soil.

which is what I wanted.

I wasn’t ready.

I most certainly wasn’t ready.

so, with barely enough to afford the airport taxi,

the bank of parents were called - even though they don’t have any money.

33 and calls his parents.

at 33, my Mother was taking care of a 9 year-old me,

at 33 my Father was providing for a family of 4.

something to think about.

dinner in Addis, breakfast in Cairo, lunch in London.

it sounds great, no?

but I was ready for something familiar.

2-3 months I can do - haven’t I already said that?

Nat Geo - here’s where I stand with them,

and here’s how it went.

they had an idea, much like mine.

we traded emails and calls,

they ’shut down’ during the blizzard in D.C.

said we’d reconvene as soon as they were back to the office.

and that was it.

I’m not upset, it was a compliment to be called.

but I’m disappointed, as they know what a call like that does to someone.

and so, the rainy south of England.

I’ll stay here for a month or so,

make a few pennies to get back Stateside.

and then…

oh, f- it.

I’m done planning.

tea - that’s as far as I’ll scope.

a nice cuppa tea.

let me tell you about my day.

I woke up and took 3 beer bottles back to the lady in the shop - she gave me 30birr back and I felt like quite the guy. look at me! I can both pick out the best Ethiopian beer [there's quite a few to choose from, actually] and even know how to get some pennies back.

jumped online to make sure I hadn’t been awarded some sort of prize and then said hi to ______, my contact at ______ [we'll keep both names out for obvious reasons]. he was optimistic which made me optimistic. if they wouldn’t give me the permit at the Ministry of Labor, then I could try the Ministry of Communications. and if not them, then the Ministry of Immigration could give me a business permit which I could then take to the US Embassy who could facilitate the application - not the acquisition, mind you - of the filming permit.

all of this to work for free? helping NGO’s who have all jumped at the idea? yes. to both.

so optimistic was ______ that he even had a driver take me to Ministry #1 in a nice white Land Rover [all NGO's here have nice white Land Rovers - soap in the bathrooms? no. but nice white Land Rovers] - oh, it was to be a good day, I thought, riding in the back and pleased that I turned down the free coffee which has proven to be good, but, well, restless.

- The Ministry of Labor:

‘you must have a visa to apply for a filming permit. but it will be difficult, with the upcoming election, everyone is nervous of outsiders’.

‘no problem!’ me, still chipper from the optimism of ______, ‘but I’ll be working for free? do I still need the visa?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘who knows?’

‘I don’t know.’

[this was to go on, in different forms for about 3 minutes, finally, a man in line behind me told me that the Ministry of Immigration, so off I went...not as chipper, but still chipper enough.]

Ministry of Immigration [after a stinky 40-minute wait]:

‘You must have the working visa before you come to Ethiopia, why did you not do this before?’

‘I don’t know’ I said, the chipperness now turning into something…less chipper. ‘I just want to help, is there any way I can get a visa just to volunteer?’

‘yes! no problem.’

‘here?’

‘no, out of Ethiopia.’

fuck it - if there’s one people pragmatic to a fault, it’s us Americans - we have answers, we know ways, if there’s not a way, we’ll tell you, but there’s always a way.

not at lunch, though, and of course I got there 10 minutes before lunchtime. and Ethiopians, like all countries with gorgeous cuisine, don’t dick around with lunchtime.

so I sat across from the embassy, eating my $0.80 injera and laughing at the men who wanted to beg me for money, but openly admitted that anyone loitering outside the embassy walls were ‘photographed and then questioned.’

a sandblaster held by a man intent on letting you know he was sandblasting blasted all the dirt off of the street - and onto anyone walking by. it was so strong it blew a kid over and I would have felt bad about this had it not gotten dust in my 7-up. I took a few photos of him but was kindly reminded by the guard who came running across the street that photos outside the u.s. embassy probably weren’t a good idea.

I drank my dusty 7-up in silence.

back to the embassy.

they let me go first in line, bless them.

I walked up to the window, the only window that wasn’t packed seeing how this window was for Americans. see? we get shit done, in order - no matter where we are.

‘let me call a guy’ the friendly blonde-haired kid from Iowa winked.

he had a guy! told you - we’re pragmatic.

‘my guy says that no way can you get a visa in Ethiopia. and probably couldn’t get a filming permit, there’s an-’

‘election, yes I know. so I’m screwed.’

‘no!’ [pragmatic] ‘all you have to do is fly to Kenya and wait there a week while it processes!’

‘funny you should mention that, I’m also here about a loan to get back to London.’

‘ah. okay, fill these out’

and with that, he hands me 8 pages of some of the scariest messages you’ve ever seen.

I’ll refrain from listing them all, let’s just say, they really mean it when they say ‘last resort’.

‘I couldn’t get you to London anyway, what we’d have to do  is called ‘re-expatiate you’, meaning we buy the next ticket, around $2000, and then basically take your passport, giving you a new one to fly home one, but not use again’.

which means I just don’t know what to do.

it might be a flight back to London, and then trying to sort it out from there. with how much the umbrella NGO said they were spending on one film, paying for my flight back would be nothing. but there’s the permits. and the upcoming elections.

but on the flip side, I just got here. I’ve got loads of ideas. a friend was coming to meet me. I only got a taste of you, Africa!

oh, adventure, you wear me out.

’silly boy’ I wrote in my diary, trying not let the secretary see the angst in my head, ‘did you really think it would be that easy?’

apparently, I did.

or there’d be no angst.

I’m sitting in the ground floor of a large 4-story building. there is sunshine coming in, but it’s making it hard to see the computer screen. it’s only twelve-thirty, but I’m on my 4th cigarette. I’m nervous. and nowhere in my handy little backpack is that usual ‘at least it’ll make good book fodder!’ that I’ve become accustomed to reaching for.

what was a creative and promising meeting on Friday, me telling them to feed and house me in exchange for free films, films they had previously paid top-dollar for, and films I saw - films that weren’t good. so here’s a guy willing to give them 5, 5! free ones. what’s not to like? people with titles were brought in and we brainstormed some more - could I film this? yes! did I need a sound studio? no! and my price is free? absolutely. that’s why I’m here.

it was a Friday and that sucked, as nothing kills a creative buzz like two days rest, but still I waited, paid a little more for a hotel room with a window, ’cause shit was working out. brother, I had all sorts of ideas - a book about me doing this all the way down, a website that could put other people in touch with NGO’s to film for free - oh! the things that could be done with this.

and then, within 3 minutes of walking in the office that so recently perspired of opportunity.

‘you must have permits from the gov’t to film’.

‘there is an upcoming election, it could be dangerous’.

‘we are worried.’

poop.

‘we will need some time, some days to discuss this’.

to which I finally spoke up: ‘I don’t have any time. I can’t afford to wait.’

and so, I found myself selling what I could do, how it could be done, hell, I wanted to help, so if it was any sort of volunteering, I’d do it.

there is nothing more humbling than trying to talk someone into you.

and so, I was sent to print off a quick bio, which I did. a few people stopped by my little waiting couch and asked if I was willing to _______. I left it blank because my answer was the same for each.

there’s a lot going against this idea, this entire idea of Africa, I’m coming to realize. there’s a lot that could have, probably should have been done prior.

but I don’t plan well.

I show up well.

and now, I sit in this scary seat, not thinking about what to do if they come back and say ‘no’ - although I should. see, that’s a certain type of planning and we can see how that goes.

I’m just gonna sit here.

with my two bags.

and maybe have another cigarette.

update

‘helping out is hard’  the lady at Oxfam sighed, the first person I spoke to after my large first day.

I hadn’t forgotten about that, but in a whirlwind that only showing up in East Africa on a whim can provide, it got lost to larger emotions and things remembered.

my meeting began with his hands pressed in front of him like a prayer - he had made numerous calls and done everything he could ‘I know the cost of making these films and I know how much you could help us - all of us.

‘but there is no way to even volunteer without a permit.’

so, as all good travel dramas go, this NGO and the 300+ it represents, my idea and calling I’ve had ever since first hearing my Aunt tell me about Ethiopia at age 6, the larger project this could be, everything…

will depend on the mood, not state regulations, of whoever calls me from the line tomorrow at the ministry of labor - that word ‘ministry’ always making me think of an Orwell backdrop.

the mood.

‘you know’ my friend here said, ‘I will talk to someone different before having a coffee, than I will after’. this was his answer to my question about the success rate of being granted a permit to film.

the mood - it all comes down to the mood.

his mood.

or her mood.

all that stands between this being somethin’ good.

or me taking a cab straight to the u.s. embassy…

‘funny story, guys.’

if you were have to told me that my first time I landed in Ethiopia,
it’d be interesting, I would have laughed at your obviousnessity.

if you were to have told me just how interesting it was going to be, I would have laughed at your over-dramatics.

but brother, trust. it was everything and nothing like I had expected. on
my computer are 7000+ words of those first 12 hours - the 4am arrival
after a flight of no sleep, being detained at customs, the bored lady
at the tiny ‘bank’ inside telling me that my Egyptian currency, all the
money I had and had forgotten to change, was ‘worthless’ and ‘would not
be changed in this country’. oh, there were police escorts out to the
ATM and back from the ATM and somehow, my card worked for $40 giving me enough for the visa and a cab ride in, but not enough for a room, so I
was driven past the intersection where prostitutes arms reach into the
cab and my driver just laughed at my recoiling. there was nowhere for
me to sleep and I had to beg for 30-minutes to sleep on the couch in
the foyer. 13 banks - 13 banks! a black market and kind stranger who
took me to a place where I could get about 50% of the only money I had
left, I celebrated by taking him to lunch and he celebrated by taking
me to a brothel, where, by the time I figured it out, was cornered by
the pimp and his ‘associate’. I pushed and I eyed and spoke in a quiet
but stern tone and we agreed on $20 instead of the $80 he suggested -
this, just for a few beers and lunch. I ran out, still drunk on
betrayal and fatigue and foolishly walked back to the house, waiting on
my ‘friend’ to have a word with him. silly, silly boy - two others came
out and asked me why I was still there. I left. I went back to the
hotel. I felt silly, but I also had to chuckle.

these were my first 12 hours in town.

and now I sit in a cafe whose power has gone on twice now and so I cut/copy with every line. the generator has kicked on and we all coughed but kept on typing. the women outside with their tale-tale features, the men without. cakes and coffee - Chuck Norris coffee, pizza joints and ‘ciao’ - who knew? there’s a strange sound they make when agreeing, almost a quick breath in - I guess I’ll find out what that’s about. it’s a despondent, but beautiful place, I’ve yet to take a photo because everywhere there’s some sad, but I want to. I have about $150 left and a meeting with an NGO on Monday.

‘it’s Africa, though’, I wrote last night over a few $0.80 beers, probably adding more exclamation marks than my cool attempts at exterior try and fool you with.

but I made it - it damn near did me in, that first 1/2 day, but if I’m honest - it was all in user error - but I made it.

Africa…

hello.

that’s it, then.

all packed.

it might look like a little,

but it’s more than I planned on.

the fake croc’s ’cause I can’t stand wet socks.

the leather backpack in case I’m photographed.

the sleeping bag I might need,

[I secretly hope it's out of choice.]

and that blue vest I should give away,

although it’d feel like cutting off dreads.

somewhere in there’s a ticket,

I bought with money that’s gone missing.

a few cameras,

some clothes,

a computer and other things.

I probably won’t need many of them either,

but just don’t know what to expect.

this feeling I’ve had a few times before,

leaving first for Europe as a ‘baby’ - a mindful of boxes to check and a one-way ticket,

again when China called, albeit 10 hours before the flight.

‘it always works out’ again-and-again,

sometimes by you, sometimes by me.

so, goodbye to this wonderful little hostel,

I rarely link to things like this but you deserve it.

there’s a plane that’s gonna take me farther away from home than I’ve ever been,

in all senses of the word.

the sadist in me who barely made it out of India,

back for a little bit more.

Africa.

Africa.

I know nothing about you.

nor you me.

[although I could be wrong about that.]

but for some reason,

it’s been made possible to meet.

I’ll be cool, collected

but inside I’m a bit scared,

I’d say ‘go easy on me’,

but why should I be the exception?

instead,

I’ll just ask,

[nicely, of course]

that you let me hang around.

…at least for a while.

it’s been a while since I prayed,

but last night I did.

it’s scary and exciting,

sitting here in the bed I came to know,

but won’t be sleeping in again.

goodbye bed, and goodbye free wireless.

too many cigarettes I smoked,

while wondering out your window.

I needed reassurance, but more than that,

guidance.

look, it might come across at times,

with me and my need for adventure,

that I’m adventurous.

maybe.

but it’s also scary.

friends back home,

with their wives,

and their jobs,

and a television remote,

that’s usually in the usual place.

could never be me,

but I long for the familiarity.

so yes, I needed something,

and I asked for it.

finished with the standard ending,

got up and smoked again,

came back to see there was a project 9 hours west,

wayyyyy out in the desert if I wanted it.

no pay, but room-and-board.

I was tempted, taking that as a sign,

but in the end,

kept packing my mental bag for Ethiopia.

got up this morning,

thought ‘what the heck’

and tried the ATM once more.

and once more, it gave me $200.

taking my grand total to $250.

thank you banks, for not speaking in real-time.

I promise to pay it all back, at some point.

but, as many have said before,

‘this isn’t Africa’.

and I want to get to Africa.

and, funnily enough,

I’m heading there tonight.

what a wonderful thing to be able to say.