With the air-conditioning rushing out like a vacuum cleaner in reverse, Mohamed and I trade tips, quips, and gripes about modules, nodes, and frameworks. The lethargic waters of the Persian Gulf slap lazily along Doha’s empty concrete boardwalk. Across West Bay, the skeletal ambitions of New Doha’s vacant skyscrapers reflect blindingly on the water. It is Ramadan. It is 40 degrees celsius. There is not a soul outside. For your viewing pleasure, from Adrian Lazar:

It probably says something about Mohamed and me that, after not having seen one another for almost a year, we spent our first 15 minutes of rendezvous talking about Drupal. You might recall that the last time this faithful web log checked in with Mohamed, he and I were both planning on making our millions from Apple’s slow entry into the global market. Things didn’t quite go as planned.

Since our Santa Monica cup of coffee with Gilad, both Mohamed and I have been busy bees. He’s been giving the keynote address at iSummit and coming up with a new media strategy for the Arab world’s most important media company. I’ve been desperately trying to reach the Dopplr speed of cheetah. (As of today I am a chicken.)

But more importantly - and yes, disappointingly - Mohamed has switched his personal blog from WordPress to Drupal. What can I say? Two steps forward, one step back. (Where art thou search bar dear Mohamed?)

When I told a few of my friends that I’d be spending a day in Doha before coming to Europe, I had already anticipated their reaction: “da what?”

Doha, the capital city of Qatar, one of a handful of small countries that sit atop the arch of the Persian Gulf. These city-states are awash in oil. Which, is to say, cash. So much money that they don’t know what to do with it. Perhaps you’ve heard of the 300 private islands shaped like the world map? (Rod Stewart owns Britain; there is no Israel.) Doha, most recently, has been in the media spotlight for the failed trade talks of the “Doha Development Round” which hammered a few more nails in the coffins of multilateral trade negotiation. You might also remember that it was in Qatar where President George Bush famously told US troops in 2003 “mission accomplished.” Oops.

In the Arab world, however, if you ask anyone what they think of when they think of Qatar, without any doubt they will respond “Al Jazeera.”

Al Jazeera got its start in 1996, just a few months after the Saudi-sponsored BBC Arabic Television was shut down when the BBC and the Saudi government fell out following a news program which was critical of the Saudi Arabian government. (BBC since revived its Arabic Television channel in March of this year. Ian Richardson, who was behind the launch of BBC’s first attempt at reaching Arab viewers, has a piece on how that failure led to one of the most popular satellite news channels in the world.)

When Egyptian President and frequent Al Jazeera critic Hosni Mubarak first saw Al Jazeera’s headquarters he famously quipped “all this trouble from a matchbox.”

That’s pretty close to my own impression. There is no equivalent in the English-speaking world for what Al Jazeera is in the Arab world. Neither the BBC nor CNN have the influence over English speakers that Al Jazeera does among Arabs. Which is why, though Al Jazeera is often portrayed as the voice of the Taliban in the United States, Tony Blair, Colin Powell, and Condeleezza Rice all rushed to make appearances on the network immediately following the US bombing of Afghanistan.

In fact, Al Jazeera has truly been a revolutionary force in the Middle East. Prior to its launch no Arab media outlet dared question government decisions or instigate debate about taboo subjects like religion, women’s rights, and homosexuality. Al Jazeera has changed all the rules. Shows like “The Opposite Direction”, hosted by the ever-controversial Faisal Al-Kasim, routinely criticize politicians on all sides of the political and secular spectrums. In a telling example of Al Jazeera’s reach and power, on a cold January night in 1999 electricity was cut in all of Algiers when Al Jazeera broadcasted a program discussing the Algerian Civil War. Talk about going to far lengths in the name of censorship.

This past year, whether in Kenya, Europe, or Bangladesh, I have watched Al Jazeera English more than any other channel. If it were available in the United States, that would still hold true.

Let’s face it, headline news is headline news - the first 15 to 30 minutes of any news program are pretty much identical. But I prefer Al Jazeera English to BBC, CNN, or any other news channel/program because of the mini-documentaries shown during the second half of the news hour. While pundits on CNN and MSNBC debate Obama’s bowling, Al Jazeera broadcasts in-depth reports on force feeding in Mauritania and the battles of the ethnic Tuaregs in Niger. Like Global Voices, Al Jazeera English tries to reverse the North to South flow of information. Its correspondents are often from the countries where they are reporting from unlike the parachute reporting of most other news networks.

Mohamed invited me to give a presentation about Rising Voices and Global Voices at Al Jazeera during my 12 hour stopover in Doha. For all the innovation that Al Jazeera English has done in terms of its broadcast news, its website is relatively old school compared to the features that have been put in place by the BBC and New York Times.

The website is a place where viewers can go to if they missed a program on TV. But, as it currently stands, it is not a resource where Al Jazeera viewers can interact with and contribute to the news process as is beginning to take place effectively on more and more news sites. In fact, Al Jazeera English might very well be the only major news site today without the word ‘blog’ on its home page. I showed Al Jazeera’s reporters and producers how the New York Times and Reuters are using Global Voices feeds on their websites to provide more diverse perspectives of their coverage. They were all aware that the Al Jazeera website needs to become more interactive if it wants to be a major player on the internet. By becoming an oft-cited resource for bloggers, Al Jazeera English can also help repair its misrepresented reputation in the United States.

Even greater than getting the inside tour of Al Jazeera was having a full day to hang out with Mohamed and Abdurahman and also meeting new friends like Moeed, Morad (the first Korean-Arab I’ve ever met!), Muhammad Basheer, and Ammar Mohammed.

It had been a long time since I had a guys’ night out. We broke fast (well, they broke fast … I just ate) at an amazing Turkish restaurant, stopped by a mosque for some evening prayer, and then pulled out our cameras for some photo-hunting in the Souq. Abdurahman knew all the photogenic spots. (Make sure to check out his Flickr page.)

After the photohunting we rewarded ourselves with some gelato. It was a great day and I hope I can repay their hospitality soon.

Greetings from Ars Electronica in Linz. I’ve got about a million emails to write, a couple presentations to give, and an opportunity to hang out with some friends that I only see once every … well, actually, at this point I see them more than my friends back in the States.

Check it: here is Booger writing Booger:

Cool huh? It’s called lightpainting. Amit seems like a master. Check out all the pictures on Kristen’s flickr page.

A thick stack of posts is desperately trying to escape my cluttered mind. Sooner than later I hope.

It’s difficult to believe that it’s that time again. Looking around my hotel room, all my stuff strewn about, and knowing that somehow, someway, it will all fit back into my little suitcase. Early tomorrow morning I will head back to the one place that has been more consistent than any other over the past year: the airport.

Before we go any further, let’s put a soundtrack to this post, shall we? Here’s a song from Habib:

I came to Bangladesh to witness first hand what I’ve been reading about almost every day: the work of the Nari Jibon project. I came in with high expectations and they surpassed even those. Here are some pictures of Nari Jibon’s students and staff:

And here is a video I put together:

Did you catch Asia Afrin “Anni” describe how she wants to be a lawyer and how she feels that women deserve just as much respect as men? Get this, Anni is only 14-years-old. At 14 I think my main concern was figuring out how to use my parents’ car without them knowing. And here is Anni filling me with hope for the future. Thankfully she is at Nari Jibon where she can continue to flourish and find success.

In addition to Rafiq, Sujon, Bipa, Taslima, and all the wonderful staff at Nari Jibon, there is someone else who really deserves much more recognition than she receives for the tremendous success of the project and that is Nari Jibon’s founder, Kathy Ward. Kathy, a professor of Sociology and Women’s Studies at Southern Illinois University, first came to Bangladesh to study “The Effects of Global Economic Restructuring on Urban Women’s Work and Income-Generating Strategies in Dhaka, Bangladesh.” (For more on this, have a listen to the introductory podcast to the Nari Jibon project.)

There is a thinking in academia that researchers should be completely detached from what they are studying. That the goal of academic research is to establish causes and effects, not to come up with solutions or policy. And especially not to try to implement those solutions.

It doesn’t take a Ph.D. to come up with the same conclusions as Kathy and her colleagues: most urban Bangladeshi women are restricted to either garment work or sex work as a way of earning income because they don’t have the skills for other types of labor. But rather than just publishing the obvious in scholarly journals, Kathy set up the Nari Jibon center as a place where all classes of urban women could gain technical skills for a nominal fee. Shawn of the Uncultured Project has a great homage to and video with Kathy.

Update: Special thanks to Marc Fest for his donation to Nari Jibon. You can also donate from here.

What’s this? You need more music. Alright, here’s another Habib song:

Walking through Dhaka’s dusty streets can be oppressive. Everywhere are young tokai, ripe for the brochures and press releases of aid organizations. They grab at your arms, gesturing hunger, pleading for the equivalent of half the cost of a cup of coffee in the US. Traffic and the honking of horns are constant. On the sidewalks amputees sleep on cardboard boxes with flies circling around their eyes and mouths.

At times it gets to be so much that, ridden with guilt, I seek refuge in the air conditioned lobby of a five star hotel and pay more money for a croissant than most Dhaka street kids will see all month.

There is no shortage of research, articles, and photographs about poverty in Bangladesh. But I’m much more interested in those who are focused on how Bangladesh can become a fully developed country (hopefully while maintaining its own unique culture) during the first half of this century. Like residents of other developing countries (especially poor Muslim countries), Bangladeshis often look to Malaysia as an example of a poor country that was able to fully develop itself without pandering to the West and without relying heavily on foreign investment.

Which is why it was so fascinating to read Marina’s impressions of her recent visit to Bangladesh. Marina (a friend from Malaysia who has appeared on this blog before) is the daughter of former Malaysian prime minister, Mahathir Mohamad who, with some controversy, is credited for Malaysia’s economic boom. During her visit she visited the Asian University for Women in Chittagong, which seems to share Kathy’s belief that educating women is the path toward development. She also visited a rural village to better understand the Grameen bank’s microlending revolution. And she got to know the workers of several NGO’s in Dhaka - incuding BRAC, the world’s largest NGO.

But your best source for getting a better understanding of Bangladesh comes from my good friend Rezwan and his blog, The 3rd World View. Rezwan is a Bangladeshi currently living in Berlin. (Remember his adorable daughter?) He has both an insider’s and outsider’s view of Bangladesh and his posts are a mix of fun, fascinating, and intellectual.

Now I’m about to head to Nari Jibon to say my goodbyes. Next stop: Doha.

Because my timezone is ahead of your timezone, I get to wish Cindylu a very happy birthday before you do. Suckas! I know I talk about a lot of blog homies around here, but Cindylu is my OG blog homie. Serious.

Here we are just a couple hours before I threw up all over her car. (I don’t remember exactly what happened, but in hindsight, I’m pretty sure chicken sandwiches were involved.)

If you, like so many, have been a secret admirer of Cindylu’s blog for a long time, but have never said what’s up in real life (the place away from the computer), then you’re in luck: party at Cindylu’s! And if you think Cindylu only wears crazy hats for birthday invitations, think again:

I have personal experience of crashing parties at Cindylu’s family’s house and I highly recommend that everyone try it at least once. In conclusion:

Georgia and I are compiling a list of our favorite words, phrases, and concepts as we travel around and meet more of our Global Voices colleagues. Among our favorites are “take my salam” which leads every email written by Taslima and “are you in integrity?”, which is Kevin’s much kinder and more philosophical way of asking, ‘are you bullshitting me?”

One of the things I will miss most about Bangladesh isn’t quite a phrase, but rather a gesture. Here after two men shake hands, they briefly and sincerely cover their heart with their hand. It doesn’t feel cheesy at all like some old white-dude Buddhist monk trying to gauge your chakras. It is brief, it is subtle, and it is a very intimate way of connecting with someone when you are greeting or saying goodbye. I just might try to spread it around.

We’ll see what interesting phrases and greetings Georgia and I are able to dig up in Madagascar next month. Judging from the country’s rich culture, we should have plenty of fodder.

In addition to struggling through Amartya Sen’s The Argumentative Indian, I’m also reading Lawrence Lessig’s Free Culture. I first encountered Lessig in an international political economy class in college. This was before I was blogging and before Lessig became a minor deity for half the Internet. His book The Future of Ideas was an assigned class reading. A great book, but definitely not what I was expecting from a class on international economics. (Same class, by the way, where I examined the intellectual property of a patented fart catcher. No wonder all my TA’s hated me.)

So why am I reading Free Culture? No, not because I’m unsure about where I stand on issues of copyright and intellectual property - Lessig has had my heart and mind on those issues for many moons now. In a way, me reading another book by Lessig is as silly as if a conservative like HP were to only read conservative blogs and books … oh, wait a minute …

No, I’m reading Free Culture because Lessig is a great storyteller and has buckets of interesting anecdotes. In this book most of them revolve around the lone inventor who comes up with a superior technology but is pushed back by the powers that be. (Unlike the movies, the inventor doesn’t succeed, he commits suicide.)

So it all fit together too nicely when yesterday morning I read an article in Bangladesh’s Daily Star with the headline “Mobile banking rattles banks.”

“Banks, the traditional leader in payment systems, see mobile banking as a new threat if private telecom operators are allowed to use their outlets for money transfer without law,” writes journalist Sajjadur Rahman. I don’t know what he means by “without law”, but I do know what’s behind this quote by a government official: “We won’t let anything, which hurts the banking industry, happen.”

It is a classic example of powerful lobbyists delaying a new technology to protect their industry interests. Mobile banking allows any mobile phone customer to deposit money into his or her phone account at any mobile phone outlet (which are everywhere in countries like Bangladesh) and transfer that money to any other mobile phone user. M-PESA in Kenya has shown how this can bring basic banking services to millions of rural residents who would otherwise never open a traditional bank account.

Mahmud Sattar, president of the Association of Banks of Bangladesh, offered this line to the Daily Star: “We have given our opinions at the meeting and told the central bank that banks have no objection to using modern technology as a tool of expanding delivery channels.” The problem is that banks aren’t in the position to introduce mobile banking whereas phone companies are. If mobile banking services are not introduced, it is the rural poor who are denied the services.

Just ten days ago Mark Pickens wrote an article at CGAP, which says that traditional banks in Kenya are irked that Safaricom is able to operate its M-PESA mobile banking service with so few regulations in place. With 2.7 million clients, it may be that M-PESA became too successful too fast and, having learned their lessons, banks in other developing countries won’t allow mobile phone companies to dig into such a large market share.

An eBook version of Kalam’s annual anthology of poetry from marginalized communities in Calcutta is now available on Rising Voices. A $5 PayPal donation is suggested.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never been the biggest fan of poetry, at least compared to novels and short stories. Maybe I’m too lazy or not imaginative enough, but I get annoyed with the gaps, the white space, the ambiguity. I love descriptive language, but I want it to make sense. Art that is completely left to interpretation usually leaves me shrugging.

That’s one of the things I like so much about the poems in Open Box - the poets’ descriptions of people and places aren’t masked behind impossible-to-understand metaphors. They are just very well put.

Here is Rahool Goswami’s The Lazy Afternoon Tale, translated into English from its original Bengali:

Till yesterday, my afternoons were not as lazy.
It’s be the regular routine of college or work
Or adda or the collage of dust on the street.
Busy life - it never stopped, not for a moment,
But today …
The afternoon is endless;
After a long time, I am alone in my room today,
On a lonely afternoon.

Nupur, the neighbour’s daughter,
Comes to the veranda to pick up clothes she’d hung up to dry.
On seeing me she bursts into an innocent smile:
‘Oh Rana-da, you’re home? At this hour?’
Before I could respond,
Nupur’s mother calls her into her house:
She scrambles trying to arrange the dried clothes as she runs.

A slice of the veranda appears beyond the door curtain:
A few little birds twitter, fly around and settle in my vision;
I lie down on the bed,
And I remember how I would lay my sleeping head on my
father’s hands.

In the house opposite ours, Aunt Mitali abuses a customer:
I guess, the man’s done what he wanted to do, but doesn’t want
to pay up …
I’ve heard this so many times since childhood that I feel nothing now.
Earlier, when neighbours cussed around,
Father would say,
‘Don’t listen to all that - just keep yourself busy’
I remember those words a lot,
Today.

The poems in the eBook are printed alongside the wonderful photographs of Bishan.

You can get a glimpse of Rahool introducing himself, ever so briefly, in the first video of this post. If the visa gods are on our side, then Rahool will be joining me in a couple weeks in Brussels for the Youth Summit of Interdependence Day. Also present will be Deneiber, Diego, Taslima, and Pati. That’s right, I will be playing the role of responsible adult chaperone. Álvaro has penned a nice post about the conference in Spanish.

Once these kids finally have their visas in hand, I will be feeling 200% less anxious.

A Californian woman named Bernann McKinney paid a South Korean scientist nearly $50,000 to clone her deceased pit bull, Booger. How much would I pay to clone my very own Booger? That’s right, $51,000. Though I’d make her miniature and stuff her in my suitcase and carry her around with me so she could make me laugh all the time just like her emails always do.

We actually have one of the greatest email threads Of All Time going on right now. Does that ever happen to you? Where you read back over the whole thread and you’re like, damn it we’re hilarious. In fact, I’ve recently received several queries from loyal readers as to the fashion statusness, geographic location, mental stability and general well-being of my dear little sister, The Boogs. So here’s your update, my dear Internet: she is living in a pink victorian house in San Francisco while working at a hipster coffee house and taking classes with titles like ‘cosmic evolution’ (I shit you not) at a nearby community college. Latest update: she watched Jaws in 3D in Dolores Park (!) and this weekend is seeing the following bands in concert: devendra banhart, broken social scene, regina spektor, radiohead, manu chao, stars, black keys, beck, m.ward, bon iver, andrew bird, wilco. How does she feel about this? In her own words, or that is, word, “EPIC”. Does she wear purple tights and play dodge ball? I am afraid, as I know you are, that all the evidence points to an unwavering ‘affirmative’.

What is the greatest part of being involved in a community like Global Voices? Oh, loved ones, there are so many perks. But the best perk of all is seeing a friendly face - that is, a face belonging to a friend - at just about every airport in the world. So after the lazy one-toed sloths at SpiceJet finally deposited my sweaty freckledness into the baggage claim of Calcutta’s Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport, there were the smiling faces and waving hands of my dear friends Aparna and Ramesh. Aparna has been my virtual homegirl for years now. Which means, of course, nothing much. We first met In Real Life back in December 2006 in Delhi, but that too was limited to a couple nods and waves of recognition.

At this year’s GV Summit in Budapest we had much more time to talk and … (is there a phrase somewhere in between “catching up” and “getting to know one another”?). Then, one morning, in fact, the morning after the summit, hella early, when all the rest of Budapest was still happily asleep, I run into this Indian dude with an air of royalty and a perfect moustache. How is this? Why do I know a tall Indian in Budapest? Then it clicked, this was Aparna’s debonair husband, Ramesh. The man’s voice? Succulent. And though future hospitality might be revoked for committing this to google’s forgetless cache, here is an anecdote: he once called up a hotel to make a reservation and the woman taking the reservation actually called him back … just to say what a lovely voice he has. Now that is pimp.

Did I mention that Aparna is hilarious?

Fast forward 10 days, after some bizarre treatment from my frenemies at the Bangadeshi consulate in Calcutta, and one very noisy airplane belonging to GMG Airlines (their fish curry is about as good as their website) dropped me off onto the tarmac of Zia Antorjatik Bimanbôndor International Airport. Waiting for me right outside: the tranquil and kind face of Mr. Ripon. Here is a picture of Mr. Ripon with his ever faithful rear-view-mirror-hanging, safe-sex-smart bunny named, appropriately enough, Mr. Bunny.

For those of you who, like me, are too lazy to click on links, let me tell you that Mr. Ripon stopped going to school in grade five to help support his mother and now speaks some of the dopest English in all of Bangladesh. For some reason, I especially like how he says “sure”. Come by and meet him and you’ll know what I mean.

Thursday was a day like any other. Me writing a gazillion emails. Me reading a gazillion emails. Me pulling my hair out about said gazillion emails. Then there was a conference call with grant auditors (fun!) and miscellaneous logistics about this and that. Finally it was time to close the laptop and open the book and get some shuteye. Then the phone rings.

But what a lovely surprise. It turned out to be Kira, a wonderful Venezuelan blogger with a heart the size of Jupiter (1.43128×1015 km³). She’s been visiting the Nari Jibon project every Friday for the last few months and helping the young women there open their own individual blogs and start using Flickr more.

She has also been living in Bangladesh For Five Years. And before that? Uganda … For Five Years. So imagine all the emotions she must be feeling right now as, in just one day, she heads back to Venezuela. Better yet, read her post about it. Also highly recommended: her bi-lingual post about Nari Jibon.

Some people are so easy to fall into conversation with from the very first second. Kira explained how the young women at Nari Jibon made her last few months here bearable, how she cried when she had to say goodbye to Taslima, and how they will all stay in her heart forever. She laughed when she told me that the mother of Zannat and Jesmin said that Kira was already like her third daughter. (”And I’m older than their mother!” she exclaimed.)

The grave grave error? After getting off the phone with Kira I ordered room service. Just a snack. When a chicken sandwich goes for about a dollar, how can you resist?

Four hours later and, clutching my stomach, I stumbled toward the toilet and threw my head in like a cheap date. And that is more or less how the following 30 hours would ensue. Usually when people say ‘food poisoning’ they’re being a tad dramatic about the poison part. Not this time. I collectively vomited and sweated out over 8 liters of water.

The hotel staff tried their best to be helpful. Which is to say that they called my room Every Single Hour to ask how I was feeling. My response? “I think if I could just sleep a while, I’d feel better.” And then I’d go to the toilet to vomit.

Finally, in the afternoon, a good twenty hours without consuming anything but water, I tried to be brave. Anything not spicy. There it was: spaghetti. Imagine my heartbreak when I made the herculean effort to get to the door, only to receive … my masala chow mein. Or, as the smiling hotel employee referred to it, “your spaghetti, sir.”

And then I went to the toilet to vomit.

Two new songs from Oakland artists:

Via Revaz, The Grouch’s ARTSY (Give that man a Wikipedia page!):

Via Britt, Michael Franti’s Say Hey:

This post is for the new Rising Voices blog carnival which Rezwan is organizing every month. This month’s topic is to write about your favorite holiday. Today I was at the Nari Jibon center with Nasrin, Rabaya, Sonia, and Zannat while they wrote about their favorite holidays here in Bangladesh. Sujon also has a great post about which shows how Eid is celebrated in rural towns in Bangladesh. Taslima told me that she’ll be writing her post soon about the first day of spring. The Nari Jibon citizen journalists made an outstanding documentary video about the first day of spring last year.

My favorite holiday in the United States is the Fourth of July. It commemorates the independence of the United States from the Kingdom of Great Britain.. It also celebrates the world’s oldest consistent democracy. I like democracy. We celebrate this by eating too many hamburgers and hot dogs and watching fireworks in the sky. Some people also like to drink lots of beer.

My favorite memories of July 4th are from when I was living in San Diego, California with three of my best friends. We lived very close to the beach and so many people came to our neighborhood on July 4 that it was impossible to leave because there was so much traffic. In fact, the traffic in Dhaka today reminded me of the traffic in San Diego on July 4th.

Around 10 in the morning we would walk to the beach to look at all the people and talk to our friends. One year my friend brought his drums to the beach and a big crowd circled around him to listen to him play, but then the police came and told him he had to leave. He was very sad.

A picture of me and my friend Dave on 4th of July when he brought his drums to the beach. I don’t remember why we were laughing.

Another year I was having so much fun that I decided to jump in the ocean with all my clothes on. But I forgot to take my mobile phone out of my pocket and it broke. I was very sad. That same year my friend fell asleep on the beach and spent the night there. The next morning he knocked on our door and we laughed and laughed.

My friends and roommates waiting for the BBQ on our front porch in 2001.

My favorite part of 4th of July is when we have a BBQ in the afternoon. Most people BBQ hot dogs and hamburgers, but my friends and I like to cook BBQ salmon and carne asada. I think that I make the best salmon, but maybe my friends disagree. I add lemon and dill and some olive oil. Mmmmmmm, it’s delicious. I must admit that during our BBQ we drink some beer too and we listen to our favorite songs.

After our stomachs are full and we are happy, we walk back to the beach to watch the fireworks. Some of the best fireworks are over Sea World, a famous park in San Diego which is like a zoo for sea animals.

A picture of the fireworks above Sea World. This photo was taken by “Ryan-o”.