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Before I came to the United States, a former exchange student told me to watch out for some U.S. students asking me strange questions about Thailand. “What kind of questions?” I asked. “Something like ‘Do you ride an elephant to school,’” he said. And I thought he was just kidding.

An elephant walking on the street in Bangkok. Credit: ournewoffice.com

Just for a clarification, folks, I do not ride an elephant to school. Yes, we have plenty of elephants in Thailand, but riding them to school is impossible. Especially when I live in Bangkok – a city of 11 million people with the worse traffic jam on earth. Having an elephant walking on the road is illegal. Repeat, illegal. Thus, if you see something like this (picture on the right), call the police.

Aside from that law, Thailand is actually an elephant-loving country. Elephants are the country’s revered symbol. In old times, elephants fought alongside the kings in battles, which is depicted through a famous Thai animation. We love elephants for their strength and cleverness, as we train elephants to play soccer and paint. We set up a special hospital for elephants. And to prove our fondness of elephants, we design a building after them. Ta da:

Elephant building in Bangkok. Credit: neatorama.com

So, to ride an elephant in Thailand is a perfectly logical choice. Chiang Mai is one of the popular places. But for the purposes of new discovery and unique experience, I suggest you go to Surin. This northeastern province of Thailand is famous for its elephants. Here, you will find Surin’s Elephant Village, where the locals are descendant of the Kuay ethnic group. The Kuay are gifted in capturing, training and taking care of elephants. In Surin, unlike Chiang Mai, elephants are considered friends sharing the same house instead of labors. As a bonus, Surin provides you with a plethora of ancient Khmer ruins and ethnic diversity you won’t find anywhere else.

Peace Please: Either the answer to the Palestinian question is one state or two, "If we're going to live in peace, I don't mind."

For Amjad Al-Asmar, it was reality he had been living with for 21 years in the West Bank. And because one morning, he witnessed Palestinians throwing rocks at an Israeli military bus in a flea market, he was beaten until he passed out. Al-Asmar woke up again in jail with both hands tied behind his back, being interrogated.

“Who threw the stones?” a soldier asked.
“I don’t know,” Al-Asmar said.
A punch in the face.

They broke his teeth. After 16 hours without food, Al-Asmar was taken from jail and dropped in the middle of the highway around 1 a.m. At that point, there seemed to be no chance for survival, but he was lucky. A Palestinian firefighter saw him laying helplessly on the road and brought him home.

Similar to other Palestinians, Al-Asmar longs for his right – the “right to be a human being,” which he has never experienced under Israeli occupation. There needs to be an intervention, he says. The U.S., for him, is a father of all nations. And if fathers can provide security for their families, then the U.S. could do the same for Palestinians and Israelis who have been longing for peace all their lives, says Al-Asmar.

(Amjad Al-Asmar works for Sharek Youth Forum, a leading Palestinian organization run by youth for youth. Its mission is to enhance Palestinian society through youth empowerment. Want to help? The Palestine Center for Conflict Resolution and Reconciliation operates in Bethlehem, Palestine, to help the Palestinian community. ANERA also works to improve lives of refugees in the Middle East.)

Iraqi, mostly unknown, food piled up on my plate at the Eid al Fitr Potluck on September 27, 2009

First bite of that pickled veggie, and my mouth twisted. My squinted eyes tried to take a closer look at what it was. Well, it was sort of chewy; actually, more like sticky – rubber sticky. And it was way too vinegary. Which wasn’t unexpected, since it was pickled. But the whole thing was flooded in vinegar – and it was so difficult to bite into. So, despite how much I love sour stuff, I gave up. This particular eggplant-like vegetable just didn’t suit my taste. I raked the rest of it off my plate, thinking of million hungry kids in the Middle East who would die to eat the food. And I swallowed the guilt.

Then, I looked over at the serving tables and thought of my initial experience with Iraqi cuisine. So far, only one disappointment; everything else was great. And I was willing to try more, as long as they were vegetarian friendly. Yet, my impression wasn’t really set on the food. Instead, I was transfixed to the sound of Arabic chatting, the melody of Arabic pop music, and the dynamic in the room. As I looked around, I realized I was the only Southeast Asian, sitting among Arabic-speaking population. And as much as I’d like to talk to them, I couldn’t; Arabic was too foreign to me. I felt left out.

Finally, my Iranian-American friend introduced me to those sitting around the table: a woman wearing hijab was holding someone’s baby, talking intently. Next were two Iraqis – mother and daughter – who used to live in the Kurdish area north of Iraq and had limited knowledge of Farsi. Sitting next to them, though, was an Iraqi who had lived in Iran for four years, so speaking Farsi was her second nature. On my right, a hijab-less lady was sitting quietly, but there was a big smile on her face. Later, I learned that the baby in the hijab-wearing lady’s embrace was hers.

And that the baby wasn’t just any baby.

She was Yara Abdelhasen -  “believed to be the first of a new generation of U.S. citizens in Iowa parented by current Iraqi war refugees.” You can read the Des Moines Register about Yara here. And she was one of the reasons why this Eid al Fitr Potluck happens: to celebrate her birth, along with the end of Ramadan and the receive of new 9 Homes in 9 Days townhouse by one Iraqi family.

As I surveyed to whole room, I realized the differences within the Iraqis. Some women wore hijab. Some didn’t. Some spoke languages other than Arabic but not English. While some spoke English very well. And most importantly, some used to be quite well-off. In Iraq, they used to live a normal middle class life. The used to send their children to school, drove to work, and had dinner together like normal Americans.

But that was before their homes were bombed to shred.

The three musicians performed Iraqi sounds.

And now they were here, being equal as refugees. They watched the traditional music performance featuring the Oud, a guitar-like instrument, and the Domback, an instrument similar to a drum. They sang along. They clapped. Their eyes gleamed with reminiscence – the days when they could meet up with friends on the bustling streets of Baghdad. Some Iraqi men stood up and started Debka dancing. The rhythm went on as Iraqi women watched from the seats; they weren’t supposed to dance with men they didn’t know in public.

I sensed a tense cultural atmosphere. Many unspoken behaviours were expected of me, making me nervous. Because, the last thing I wanted to do was to break the rules. Apart from the language barrier, my anxiety was another reason why I didn’t get as much information about the people as I wanted to. But it was well worth it. I hoped that the Iraqi refugees would be able to maintain their unique heritage in this new environment. I hoped that their children would grow up to be an integrated part of the U.S. society, but would still hold on to their roots. I hoped that, one day, there would be no more Iraqi refugees, and those who come to the U.S. would come because they want to – not because they have to.

مع السلامة Ma’ Alsalam
Peace Out

- Sam

Breaking news for you. Samoa just changed its driving rules. (BBC article here) You now have to drive on the left side of the road – not the right. So, beware of that.

And you’re probably thinking why I’m telling you this. Well, think about the fact that a country – small as it may seem – decides to switch to driving on the left because it doesn’t want to import cars from you anymore. I mean, that’s a big deal right? I’m wondering what GM is going to do now. Crawling to Congress, begging for more money, perhaps?

Oh, and what a good news to Japanese auto industry that is. Japan now has one more client, which means 65,628 more people buying Japanese cars. Did I hear a scream?

That’s quite ironic, really. American Samoa, hello? This country is “an unincorporated territory of the United States,” according to Wikipedia. And it doesn’t even want your cars? Just think about that for a minute.

Now, go tell the Saturn guy on TV that it doesn’t matter how hard he’s trying to convince us (the general population) and how Saturn “builds car America wants.” It doesn’t mean anything. The truth is, American auto industry is in a real horrific decline. And you have to come up with another plan. We all know your auto companies are capable of producing cheap hybrid cars, or hydroelectric cars even. But they aren’t doing that. Now they have to face the consequences, oil suckers!

- Sam

P.S. And my roommate wants to tell you that your cars don’t work. Sorry.