Happy Birthday, Mom

Today would have been mom's 64th birthday. I wish she were here.

Do any of you have any stories about any of her birthdays?

Linda Kay, born May 23, 2008

Sarah had her second child yesterday. She named her Linda Kay in honor of her mother. I will post more information when I get it.

Happy Mother's Day

Mom never really put much stock in Mother's Day. Or Valentine's Day, or most other Hallmark-inspired holidays.

Happy Mother's Day, mom, all the same.

Egyptian Transvestites, Coed Habitation, and Tolerance

Mom's friend (and I daresay mine) Leif Pareli sent me a very interesting anecdote that not only highlights how interesting my mother's life was, but also how insightful--not to mention how colorful--she was:

I was working at IFAD for several weeks, as part of an international team that had already been working together in Egypt for a month. Rome is prohibitively expensive, so we left our hotel and rented a four-bedroom flat. It was three men, an Australian, a Dane, and an Egyptian, and me. I hadn't known any of them before this trip. The Egyptian was born and raised in Beni Suef, as was his wife, had traveled considerably, but remaining quite conservative. We went to work together every day and returned together every day, and the four of us dined together every day. We were staying near the Termini subway station, in a colorful neighborhood. There were prostitutes on the corner across from the door of the station, starting sometime in the afternoon. Their pimps were down the hill a little bit. The prostitutes were quite beautiful, with amazing outfits, lots of beads and fringe. Ibrahim and I never spoke of them. One day we came along and they were fighting, throwing each other over cars and cursing each other in the most imaginative way, in Arabic. Ibrahim, whose skin is quite dark, became totally white from shock. When he was able to speak, he sputtered, "How can these dirty women talk like this in Arabic?" I said he hadn't understood the whole story, and explained to him that these women were not women at all, but men. He was stunned. Later the earthquake came to Cairo and we went home. He told me that I had to come to his house for dinner within the next two or three days because there would otherwise be problems with his wife. There was nothing at all between me and Ibrahim, but he didn't want his wife to object to me, and so he wanted me to meet her before imagination spoiled everything. I went. She was much less exposed to the world than her husband, and quite conventional. When the kids went to bed, she started asking me about the women on the corner and started going on and on about how Egypt would never have something like this. I said Egypt did have things like that, but more hidden, but not less numerous. She was put out by that and said to Ibrahim that he should tell me there wasn't such a thing in Egypt. He asked her if she remembered some guy who lived down the road from them in Beni Suef, and of course she did, and he explained to her that he used to come to the coffeehouse wearing a flannel gallebeya but under it was a red chiffon nightgown belonging to his mother. Everybody knew this, because he used to lift up the flannel one and show it to the guys at the coffee, but he was from the neighborhood so what the hell. She was shocked, but he was from the neighborhood. I told her that was all over the country, and that the people who do zikr and zar, for instance, are mostly transvestites and/or homosexuals, and nobody says a thing. It was quite a nice conversation, and she adjusted quickly, because, I think, it involved people she actually knew. And, she adjusted absolutely to my staying in an apartment with three men, maybe because I explained to her how expensive it would be otherwise, and how of course everybody wanted to save money so they could take things home to their spouses and kids, and also because I was at her dinner table and basically she thought I was okay even if I had seemed to be a little wanton until she met me.

This is my general experience in Egypt - people may hassle you for one thing or another, but if they know you, they don't care about your peculiarities. And also, I think we have an expectation of constancy - if Ibrahim's wife, for instance, had been very doubtful about my living in a flat with a group of men, she changed quite quickly when she understood. And other things - I was working with a very conservative Moslem factory-owner in the eastern delta, and as I spoke Arabic, he thought I should cover my head. I said I couldn't do that, because I wasn't brought up with it and I would overheat. He immediately picked that up and said well, anyway, what really matters is what's in your heart, and that was the end of that. This goes on absolutely all the time, and it's not bad. I'm not explaining it very well, but I do really feel that people are much more tolerant than they appear to be, so long as there is something personal in the situation, and that's all to the good. Especially compared with the way people talk in America these days, which is superficially very facilitating but in fact has no substance at all, consisting mostly of stock phrases. Conversation in Egypt is much more fun.

The Little Things

As I was driving along in Columbus, Ohio, with my wife Ragia, my son Ali, and my mother-in-law Zakia, Zakia said something about a place that mom had taken her while I was in Bahrain in 2002. Ragia and Farah* had gone to a movie, and Zakia and mom went to get some coffee. Mom took Zakia to a place that is semi-hidden, is small, has all manner of coffee and treats, and is in Durham. That is all she knows.

I don't know what place this might be. For a split second, I caught myself thinking that I'll have to ask mom when I see her next.

Every time I realize that I can no longer ask mom anything, I die a little.


*This was before Ali was a gleam in his mother's eye.

Hare Today, Goon Tomorrow

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest

Scoopin' up the field mice

Bop 'em on the head!

Then the Good Fairy came and said:

'Little Bunny Foo Foo

I don't wanna see you

Scoopin' up the field mice

Bop 'em on the head!

I'll give you 3 chances,

And if you don't behave, I'll turn you into a goon.

The moral of the story is "Hare today, goon tomorrow."

That was one of the stories mom often told her kids. I loved it.

Ali received a bunch of books from Janet today. One of them was "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly," Another of mom's stories.

Nostalgia.

Mom's TV Shows

When thinking about mom, one rarely thinks about the television shows she liked. This is, in part, because she was not terribly "in to" television. She did have some exceptions, however, and it is quite likely that you will be surprised at one or two of them:

- M.A.S.H.
- The Love Boat
- Mystery Movie (Especially Columbo and McMillan and Wife)
- Dallas
- Simon and Simon
- House

I know there are more, but these are the ones that come to mind now. What set me off on this train of thought is hulu.com, which airs episodes of select TV shows for free and, more importantly, legally. I am now watching the pilot episode of Simon and Simon on Hulu.

Her Laugh

I've been dreaming about mom a lot lately. I am sorry to say that the dreams are usually unpleasant. They mostly deal with events that never really occurred during her final days. Perhaps this is a natural part of grief, but I don't know.

She keeps occurring to me at the oddest times. A minute ago I could have sworn that I heard her laugh emanating from downstairs. For a second or two the familiar throaty laughter washed over me with a wonderful sense of reassurance. Then it passed, leaving behind a deep melancholy caused by the sudden certainty that I will never hear that laugh again; we have photographs of what she looked like, and we have stories about her, but we will never again hear her laughter, or the sound of her voice on the phone when she said "Hi, honey."

Man, oh, man.

Mom's Birthday 1986

This, if I recall correctly, was a belated birthday party for Mom, days after Sarah was born. Mom's birthday was the 10th of June, and Sarah was born on the 17th, so this is probably at some point during the fourth week of June, 1996.

From left to right: Osman, Aziza, Mom, Sarah, and Me. Janet might recognize the golden picture frame by the fish-bowl-turned-flower-vase on the mantle. This was at our second apartment at 159 26th July St., Zamalek.

Once I get some rest, I'll be posting a lot more pictures, and I'll be back to the daily post. Watch this space.

Green Tomatoes and Wild Pumpkins

When we lived at 302 Oak Avenue ( Scott Simmons' house; the numbers on the street have changed, but the house is still there) in Carrboro, mom always had something going in her garden. I remember that I, a four-year-old tyke at the time, would pick her tomatoes while they were still green, and eat them off the vine.

Around back, she had a compost heap. She explained that the trash would eventually "cook" into food for the plants. I thought that was wonderful. It probably had a lot to do with how she told the story.

Mom was not always successful with her garden. For one thing, her zucchini, cucumbers, and okra were enormous (I was very proud. I wouldn't eat them, but I was proud).

She told me a story later about what I think must have been our two-week trip to Florida (Disney World. Yay!) She had apparently left the pumpkins untended for those two weeks, and they had spread arms everywhere; into the neighbors' yards, into the streets...everywhere. To hear mom tell it, the Giant Pumpkin Monster took over the neighborhood in a sinister takeover.

She was really good at most things she tried her hand at, and those she failed at..well, she told good stories about them, with grand flair and charm.

Jeez. Here come the waterworks. I though I was over this.

Good night.

When mom put me in jail

When I was four or five, mom took me to the police station. It is possible that this is something that I had asked her to do for me. While there, the officers showed us around the station, including putting me into one of the cells and closing (but not locking) the door. The cell contained two bunks that were basically shelves attached to the wall, and a toilet in between. I thought it was great, but I didn't like the idea of using the toilet without a door.

I am considering doing the same for Ali. Maybe this weekend.

My Apologies

I am getting worse at maintaining this. My apologies to all. In part, it is because I am running out of good stories that are suitable for the open internet. I have stories that are unsuitable because they involve others in a manner that would cause unhappiness, anger, or lawsuits. I have others that cannot be told here because they are too personal. I have ones that would likely only men something to me.

That said, I still have stories that would work here, and God knows I have photographs that could keep this thing running for years.

Right now, though, my main problem is that I am too busy. I have too much on my plate. I will continue to update the blog but, for now, it cannot be at the same original pace.

One thing that can help is if you all share your stories. I need your help. Sylvia, you have never needed this kind of push, and I appreciate your help more than you know. Everybody else, get crackin'.

From my Aunt Elizabeth

I know this is very late, but here is what my paternal aunt, Elizabeth, wrote in response to news that mom had died:

"I have wept some tears for a woman I wish I had known. She was truly amazing and I feel inspired by her. The photo so reminded me of the time I did have the brief opportunity to meet her. As you know, she braided my hair and sat with me on the sofa..very soothing indeed. I know that you came once with Linda and Art as a very young baby. My mother went in the bedroom where ya'll were all sleeping and picked you up..you were crying. Your parents were asleep.

Memories are such treasures when we do discover them deep within us. I am so very glad she had such an amazing son as you in her life. She will rest peacefully knowing her life here had so much meaning. All of you will live on as she would want.

"My heart is touched with love for you and your sisters."

Elizabeth

As for her brother, my father, the Reverend Art Lester, he spake thusly:

"Very sorry to hear the sad news, Jake. On your birthday, almost."

Art

No comment.

Linda in 1947

This one must have been taken in the Summer of 1947. It is strange to think that mom was born during WWII and died during the Iraq war. The moral difference is simply mind-blowing.

Random Linda Photo

This is a photograph I found in Mom's photo boxes. I have no idea who any of the people are, but I would like to. Does anybody know who any of these people are?

Youssef

Sarah's boy, Youssef, is growing by leaps and bounds, and will clearly be a heartbreaker. Here is a link to a video of him showing off his language skills:

Home-made Mayonnaise

Bear with me as I recuperate. For now, here's yet another comment about mom and mayonnaise:

For as long as we lived in Cairo, mom made mayonnaise at home. Although local versions of mayonnaise were completely awful, mom claimed that she made the mayonnaise because purchasing mayonnaise at the prices there was a waste of money.

Is it just me, or was mom ever thrifty in anything else? There was of course, her preference for cheap (horrible) jeans. Otherwise, mom was just a big, generous spendthrift. My theory is that she made the mayonnaise so nobody could monitor exactly how much of it she ate!

Mom's mayonnaise was often very good, although she changed recipes often (did you know there were a lot of them?).

My Behavior on this Blog...

...has been nothing very special of late. I am both sick and overworked. Bear with me.

Love,

Jake/Osama

Beverly

I spoke to mom's friend Beverly today. It was an adventure finding her number, but I did manage to get through to her. I emailed Marty Rosenbluth who gave me her old phone number. I called that number and got Beverly's son Michael who gave the real number.

She is doing well, and seems to be in high spirits. It was good to talk to her. She sends her love to all of Linda's immediate and extended peeps, and promises to write something for and about mom to be put in this blog.

I will probably visit her at some point during the summer. I can't specify when I'll be in NC, but it will be during the summer. Who else of mom's friends should I see when I am in North Carolina?

Dinner at Beverly's

Not long after I returned from my second year in Iraq, mom's friend Beverly invited mom, my wife Ragia, and me to dinner. These pictures were taken that evening in October, 1996. That means that these images were taken almost exactly one year before mom died. At the time, mom was still "there" mentally, and only somewhat challenged physically (she still went to the supermarket on her own, for example). From then on, her decline was swift.



These pictures are not good ones, technically: the lighting is flat, the background is lackluster, and they have no artistic merit (it's OK--I took them). Yet, they brought tears to my eyes when I opened them after I found them on one of my hard drives. The one on the right looks like mom is really looking right at me (Click on the images for larger ones).

God, I miss her.

Mom and the Museum of Feet

Mom went to all sorts of places that most would not only not think of visiting, but places that many people would refuse to visit if given the chance: Somalia, the West Bank of Palestine, Upland Vietnam, the refugee camps of Yemen, to name but a few. The one that really stood out in mom's experience, though, was Rwanda.

When mom went to Rwanda, at some time in the mid-nineties, she had assumed that the conflict there was over, and that the more gruesome signs of the genocide that had occurred there had been removed. She was wrong on both counts.

She told me about the burned houses in the villages, whose owners had been killed. The Rwandans left the houses standing, uninhabited, in order to leave monuments to the evil that happened, so that they will not forget. There are, apparently, many of these houses still standing.

Mom's worst experience was when she went to see the genocide museum at one location. I suppose what she had expected was along the lines of the holocaust museum in Washington, DC; photographs and artifacts of the dead. What she found was something quite different. For example, she told me that there had been a room of feet. The room of feet contained a long table covered in leathery, dried human feet. The display made mom feel so queasy that she nearly fainted. Then she saw the arrow pointing to the room of babies, and fainted dead away.

Now, you surely know that Mom is a strong woman. She had three babies at home, naturally and without anesthesia, because she wanted to. This was too much even for her.

You might ask why I put this story here. The answer is that she told it to me, and I want it remembered.

The Mayo Party - A Letter from Aziza

Osama, I've been thinking about this story lately and thought I'd share it.

When Mom was first hospitalized, back in 2006, she came up with this idea. She thought it would be marvelous to host a "mayo party," and explained to us (myself, Sarah, and Beverly) that we'd provide platters of mayo - and only mayo - and that the invitees would bring whatever tools with which they wished to eat it. I think she suggested crackers and various veggies, but said she'd would leave it up to her guests. We all thought this was a great idea -- very "Linda." Months later, Sarah and I (and maybe Beverly?) were discussing this party idea with mom and she didn't remember thinking it up, but of course she still thought it was a fabulous idea.

A while ago Ahmad suggested that we have a mayo party in her honor... we just might.

love,

Aziza

Aziza's Wedding Photos - 2

Aziza sent me some downloadable photos. Enjoy:

Aziza's Wedding Pictures

My sister Aziza finally sent me a link to her wedding photos. She looks absolutely radiant. Ahmed, her husband, looks very handsome.

Sarah looks very good, and has lost a lot of weight (I notice that she wore mom's necklace, rings, bracelet, and shawl). Mohamed and Youssef looked very handsome. Youssef, of course, is much bigger now.

See the pictures for yourself here. I would have posted the photos, but Shutterfly won't let me download them. Maybe Aziza will send me some to post here.

I wish I could have been there. Even more, I wish mom could have. Mom would have been ecstatic; she really appreciated Ahmed, and rightly so.

I wish them the soppiest, happiest, corniest ever after.

Meet Ali (Linda's grandchildren, part 1)

Ali Ismail Lester is my son and mom's first male and biological grandchild (Farah, my stepdaughter, was the first. But she won't let me publish any photographs of her, so her profile will have to wait until she lets me publish a photo, or I will eventually have to profile her without a photo).

Ali was born in November, 2003, in Arlington, VA. He is a Scorpio (as are Ragia and Farah—Argghh!) If you ask Ali how old he is, he will insist that he is sixteen. He will correct anybody who says that he is four.

Ali loves dinosaurs, elephants, lions, horses (he rides when he is in Egypt), and books.

Ali is fully bilingual in both Arabic and English.

Ali's mother is my wife, Ragia. He has Arab, Berber, Ancient Egyptian, and Turkish blood through his mother. From me he gets English, German, Irish, French, and Native American blood. Because his mother is African (Egyptian from Tunisian and Moroccan descent), he is an African American.

If the stories cherished by my wife's father's side of the family and my father's side of the family are true (I take a pinch of salt with the stories on my side), Ali is descended from both Britain's King George III on my side and from Islam's Prophet Muhammad.* He is also related to William Faulkner through my mother's side of the family.

A few days ago, I told Ali that I miss my aunts, Janet and Carla. I asked him: "Ali, do you miss Janet and Carla?" He said: "Yes, and Linda. I miss Linda a lot."

Good boy.

* From (get this,) both sides of the family! Ragia's father can trace his lineage to the Prophet Muhammad's daughter, and so can Queen Elizabeth II through her ancestor Edward IV (who is, apparently, my ancestor, too), who is descended from the Moorish rulers of Andalusia, who in turn are descended from the Prophet Muhammad (See http://www.juancole.com/2008/02/burkes-peerage-queen-elizabeth-ii.html if you care).

Winter Storm

We are experiencing a blizzard in Dublin, Ohio, and it is still snowing. Some reports say we are under 18" of snow, with drifts up to three feet. This brings to mind a horrible ice storm that struck us in North Carolina in 2002. There was a 1/4 to a 1/2-inch of ice on everything in sight. The ice caused trees to fall on power lines. This caused some 1.5 million homes to lose power, some for up to ten days.

I lived in Carrboro, eight miles away from mom, and I went and saw her afterward. She was cold and angry because she had to sit in the dark, but she was otherwise okay, except for the tree that blocked her driveway!

We all made it through that storm, more or less unscathed. I wish she was here for this one, too. We have power and warmth. All we need is her company, really.

Mom, Aziza, and Osman

This photo was taken in the balcony of our old apartment in Zamalek in what must have been 1986.

Excuse me...

I am extremely exhausted today, so I will not be posting. I am working on a large project for this area, so bear with me.

I'll be back tomorrow, bushy eyed and whatever.

Mommie and me

This is a photograph of mom and me in Chapel hill in 1971.

Random Linda Picture

Here's another random Linda photo. This must have been in October, 2002, after I returned from a brief (7-month) stint in Bahrain as a contract linguist with the US Air Force. From left to Right: My uncle Brad, my aunt Janet Janet, a much thinner me, and mom. I apologize for the poor quality of the photo, but that was the best my digicam could do.

Sylvia: "Linda Would Have Voted for Obama"

"One of the reasons that I think your mother would have supported Obama was her huge regard for Robert Kennedy. As much of a political cheerleader as I can be, (some might use less polite terms like hectorer, bully, etc.) she was truly passionate and vocal about Robert Kennedy. Some of the traits he had, Obama also has like no other political leader since. I never saw her as genuinely positive about another candidate, although she did have her opinions and preferences. I, on the other hand, was pretty enthusiastic about Bill Clinton and then Howard Dean. Her work enabled her to see the foibles and shortcomings of our government on the ground in connection with projects on which she worked. That, no doubt, blunted her passion for any candidate. RFK was both idealistic and pragmatic. She was particularly impressed with his ability to respond rapidly to campaign charges and problems. While Obama was sometimes slow to respond in the early stages of his campaign, he learned, and has been particularly adept and effective recently.

"I would dearly love to talk politics with her now. I know you must have thousands of moments each day thinking you want to talk something over with her or tell her something only to be dashed by reality. I suppose that the greatness of a person corresponds to the size of the loss of the people closest. I don't know whether it helps to remind yourself that you would never trade her for a mother of less talent, wit, and wisdom."

"Love, Sylvia"

Mom as Alan Lomax's Office Manager

Sylvia sent the following as a comment on the last post I made, which was about mom's work with Alan Lomax. As with everything Sylvia sends me, it not only gives me new insights to mom's life, but is easily identifiable as Sylvia's (she doesn't always sign her messages. Why should she? She knows I can tell. That's confidence that I envy and admire).

Here's what she said:

"From my vantage point, Linge was extremely important in Alan Lomax’s work. She was the office manager on his project to study correlation between cultural markers and music. For example, he was studying whether there is there a correlation between cultures with traits of violence or peacefulness, hunting gathering or agricultural traditions and the music of those groups. Lomax had thousands of recordings of music from across the globe and he had a musicologist (maybe two) and an ethnologist coding musical and cultural characteristics, respectively, of these groups. The coding was then keypunched and input to a computer which performed correlations. You can imagine the stage of computing in those days! Linge performed all of the grind work and kept the office running smoothly.

"She was very young but had to have a great deal of poise and organization to do this. Alan and the other employees were more of the artiste personalities and Linge was the calming and prodding voice of efficiency and practicality. Alan was very well known and counted all of the famous folk artists among his friends, requiring Linge to deal with these celebrities, too. She was not stodgy or pious in her methods of herding these cats, though. She was cajoling and practical. And they all seemed to respect her, while holding obviously warm feelings toward her. I think this dual ability to keep people on track with humor and grace probably marked all of her career ventures.

"One example I particularly like reflects her ability to appease Alan’s quirks. Alan had a notion that the office should be open at a puritanically early hour. Eight or eight thirty, I think. No one ever arrived and no work ever started until after 10 am. But Alan would wake up at 8:00 or 8:30, telephone the office to insure someone was there attending to business, and, I imagine, roll over and go back to sleep. Linge would wake up in our apartment 20 minutes before the call, shove her clothes and make-up into a bag, and take off like a rocket for the office to answer the telephone when Alan called. When she had reassured him by crisply answering his early morning call, she would leisurely take a shower, put on make up, and dress. Then she would go down stairs to a deli for coffee and breakfast. She would be back upstairs and working by the time Alan and the others arrived. No one was ever the wiser."

Alan Lomax thanks Linda Oldham

OK. I admit it: I was trawling the "net," (or as W calls it, the Innerwebs), in search of references to mom, publications of hers, anything. It was, and apparently still is, better to prepare oneself when dealing with this woman; I found a mention of her in a Google Books entry for Alan Lomax's book Folk Song Style and Culture (click here). It isn't much, but the book was published in 1968, when mom was 24. Mom is mentioned in the acknowledgments, in which Mr. Lomax says "Linda Oldham saw the data through the punching stage."

For more info on Alan Lomax, see here.
For mom's resume, see here.
For stories about mom and Alan Lomax, click here and here.

A Well-envowelled Woman

Yesterday, in abject boredom, I Googled my name. And then I Googled Mom's. On the second turn, I found myself looking at excerpts from this blog at a web address I didn't recognize. When I clicked on the link (http://www.isthisyour.name/linda_oldham.htm), I found that I was at one of those "gee whiz" websites that do funny things to your name. This one apparently trawled the internet for names, and had found this blog, so it had my name and mom's (yours, if it was mentioned in this blog, is also there somewhere, I think). The site was funny enough with it's comment's on mom's name that I decided to use it for this entry. The following are excerpted directly from the website, and are all comments on the name Linda Oldham:

Etymology: Forename: Origin: Spanish
Meaning: Pretty One

36% of the letters are vowels. Of one million first and last names we looked at, 47.7% have a higher vowel make-up. This means Linda is averagely envoweled.

Backwards, it is Adnil Mahdlo... nice ring to it, huh?

In Pig Latin, it is Indalay Oldhamway.

In ASCII binary it is 01001100 01101001 01101110 01100100 01100001 00100000 01001111 01101100 01100100 01101000 01100001 01101101

Linda Oldham, based on your name and a process known to only three people on the planet, we can tell you that your Power Animal is the Naked Mole-rat.

Your 'Numerology' number is 3. If it wasn't bulls**t, it would mean that you are enthusiastic, creative, optimistic, and fun-loving. You seek self-expression through words or the arts, and enjoy learning through life experiences.

According to the US Census Bureau, 1.035% of US residents have the first name 'Linda' and 0.0053% have the surname 'Oldham'. The US has around 300 million residents, so we guesstimate there are 165 Linda Oldhams.*

* Not anymore. Sigh.

More From Susan

Susan Attermeier wrote back to me today. She said:

Jake-

I'm starting to dig into my memory bank! I think I'll just email you as things come back. But here's one thing - Linda's no-boundries cosmic generosity. One of my favorite possessions is a black scarf from the belly-dancers' warehouse in Cairo. As you know Linda was a scarf person, and I am too. She had regaled me with the description of a pink building filled with belly-dancer supplies and had several items she'd gotten there. On her next trip she brought back a scarf for me. It is the most sensuous thing. It not only falls around my shoulders but caresses them. It is bordered with shiny black bangle bead fringe so the scarf stays put however you put it and can be worn in lots of different ways. I put it on for special events and let people try it on. They always get this "oh my god" look on their face when they feel it!

To me it is symbolic of her.

More later

Susan

Oh yes- she was the only person I know who could grow hollyhocks around here.

I referred Susan to the story about El-Hagg Mahmoud. El-Hagg Mahmoud owns the "belly-dancers' warehouse" that the scarf came from. Click here for the story.

Susan Attermeier

Susan Attermeier sent me an email tonight. Susan is the mother of Julia, who went to school with Sarah:

Jake-

I just found out last night that Linda had passed away. I was shocked and saddened. Linda was a friend form the first time we saw each other at a PTA spagetti dinner at Grady Brown Elementary. My daughter Julia and Sara were already friends. But when I saw Linda with her wild hair and scarf I went over and said hi. Just couldn't relate to all those perky young moms!! The chemistry was immediate. I spent many happy hours in her company. She was always full of unexpected conversation, always cooking up a storm. The recipe she gave me for Bolognese sauce is now legendary among my friends. Imagine three grown men lying on the floor with smiles on their faces after eating too much of it. The women of course were politely seated on the couch but bent over and clutching their stomachs.

In recent years I didn't see her much - Called several times but she didn't respond. I have your blog and will explore it but I wnated to send you a personal message.

Sara emailed Julia about her mom - that's how I knew. If I can figure out how to leave messages on the blog I will do that.

I will always remember Linda's laugh and twinkly eyes.

Susan Attermeier

Susan, this is a wonderful email. Thank you. The sad part is that this confirms that there are others out there who ought to be told who have not yet been informed that mom died. I wish this was all behind us all.

Mom and Sarah in 1987

This photograph must have been taken around the time Sarah was one year old, so mom would have been 43.



Sarah: I scanned this one a little larger than usual, in case you want a larger print.

At the Flamenco Hotel, Cairo

This photograph was taken during what was probably the second or third time that Ragia and Mom had met, and perhaps the first or second that Farah had met mom and Sarah. On this trip, which took place in 2000, I saw Sarah for the first time since mom and my siblings moved back to America in 1993.

Mom and I had parted on somewhat shaky terms in 1993. During this visit, we were both quite anxious to repair our relationship, and our nervousness showed. These were wonderful times for me. A few days later, mom and Sarah attended my wedding.

The Flamenco Hotel, which is part of a Spanish hotel chain, was mom's favorite hotel in the world. She loved the place. She always tried to get a certain room (it may or may not have been 515), because it overlooked the Nile and had a huge arched window.

At this point in time, mom was also quite happy. She even had plans to get married at one point.



Clockwise from far left: Mom, Sarah, Ragia, and Farah.

Linda Oldham, Fashion Designer

Years ago, mom took it upon herself to become a seamstress; in addition to working 8-12 hours every day, she would also make all of our clothes. How this made any sense, we will never know. What we do know is that she became astonishingly good at it. I remember the brown 5-pocket Bermuda shorts she made me.

There are no photos of these creations, but we do have photos of items that not only involve creative seamstressing, but also creative fashion design. The photos here show costumes that mom made for scratch for Aziza and Osman for a school party. It might have been for Halloween, but I cannot be certain.

Aren't they wonderful? Yes, the costumes and the kids both.


Aziza's costume was some sort of princess (or maybe She-ra from Masters of the Universe). Osman's was Superman.

Linda in 1947 or 1948

Cairo, 2000

This is mom when she was a healthy, slim, and gorgeous 56-year-old in August or September, 2000. She was in Cairo at the time, and she and Sarah stayed a few days with Ragia, Farah and Me. I can't quite place the restaurant, but I assure you that the food was great. How do I know this? Well, mom was eating there, right?


If you didn't already know this, you can click on almost any of photos I post here to get higher-resolution versions. Go ahead and save them to your computer, if you wish.

Sylvia Re: Linda in Chador

Sylvia responded to the last post as follows:

When Linge came to visit me in Seattle, she brought a 5 inch stack of photographs. She was planning on visiting her mother after she left Seattle and the photographs were for her mother, but she let me look at them. Interspersed with the photographs were 6 to 8 photos of Linge in chador. She said they were in there to tease her mother who was very concerned that Linge might actually wear chador. She did, however, give me one of them, and I did a small painting of her in chador which hangs in my home studio. Almost everyone who sees it thinks it is me in chador. Linge and I were often asked if we were sisters. We both thought we looked a little alike. Maybe with the mouth and lower face covered we really do. Or maybe, all of my paintings look more like me than the intended subject. I looked for the photograph to send you, but couldn't find it. I will scan the painting and send that.

I, for one, am very interested in seeing the painting You will all see it as soon as I have it, if I have Sylvia's permission.

Sylvia:
1. May I?
2. You paint? I would love to see your work.

Linda in Chador

During the period mom lived in Egypt, a predominantly Muslim country, she wore the full veil...

...for exactly long enough to take a few pictures!

Sudan, 1999

I'm not sure why mom appears to be frowning in consternation, but there does seem to be some sort of argument going on between the driver of the Hantour (horse carriage) she is riding and some other person. It is easy to imagine that the other person is another driver and that they are arguing about who should rightfully drive the foreign woman and get (they think) the higher fare.

I apologize for the quality, but the original is not the best.

Nadir's Masterpiece

This is a photograph that Nadir took of mom in either the late Seventies or early Eighties. He apparently still has this up on the wall of his studio. I would.

Apologies

All, I apologize again for the erratic writing. I am still very serious about this blog, but things have been a little challenging of late. I will resume writing tomorrow, I promise.

Interesting Times

Excuse me for the erratic writing on this blog--I am going through a patch of Interesting Times; yesterday I totaled my car and nearly kicked the bucket. I skidded on a patch of black ice in the interstate and spun around in traffic, hitting the guardrail twice at high speed. I am well, and nobody got hurt, but it was very close and the car is at the shop (the prognosis is not good).

After all the paperwork, I had to go home and take care of some important work. Today I am just extremely exhausted. Call it delayed reaction to shock.

There is a parallel to this situation I am having: mom once participated in a 14-car pile-up in which she had skidded on black ice also. Nobody was hurt in that one either. That butterfly seems quite attracted to mom and her progeny.

G'night.

Random Linda Picture

This photograph was almost certainly taken in Sudan in 1999. I have no idea who the people are, but I wish I did.

If you compare this photo to the one three posts down, taken in 2000, you will see that mom had already begun to lose weight.

A Question

Here's something new: Instead of writing this time, I'm going to ask a question. In part this is because I want to know who's paying attention, and in part because I am really interested in your opinions:

- If mom were here today, who would she vote for in the primaries?

To get you started, Sylvia already said Obama. I think so, too, bt not because she liked him--she didn't. I just think she disliked Hillary more.

So? Who do you think mom would have voted for?

Sylvia Some More

Sylvia, who has to be mom's most faithful friend, continues to write about mom and help me out on this blog with her stories and encouragement. Here's her latest:

Jake, the photographs you've been posting are wonderful.

I go to the blog daily, and am extremely moved by all of it.

I never drove with Linge on the highway. But when I visited her and drove myself, I found the North Carolina interstate completely terrifying. I cannot imagine how many near misses she must have had driving 35 mph when it felt to me as if everyone was driving at least 80.

When we lived in New York, she visited a friend at Wayne State in Ohio. She found a ride by responding to a ride share posting in the student union at Columbia. The driver turned out to be a crazy person. She said that as they drove, he kept slinking lower in his seat and mumbling things that she found frightening. They pulled off at a rest stop in Pennsylvania, and she went into the cafe which was nearly deserted. She started to cry. She approached a seemingly nice truck driver, tearfully explained her predicament, and asked if she could ride with him. He thought about it, and replied that she would probably be safer with the crazy guy. So she went back to the car, and told the driver in no uncertain terms that she was going to drive. The car was a stick shift, and she didn't know how to drive a stick shift. But she drove the rest of the way to Ohio, apparently in first gear, and when the driver complained she just told him to be quiet.

Keep up the great work.

Linda, Sarah and Farah

My wedding evening at my in-laws' home in Cairo, September, 2000. Farah, in case you didn't know, is my daughter (technically, she's my stepdaughter).



Incidentally, this is my 123rd post. I have been doing this for one third of a year so far!

Linda and Sarah

It is hard to believe that this picture was taken more than twenty years ago.

Incidentally, Sarah says she'd be happy to be drenched in mom's coffee (read the last post if you are at a loss as to what I am talking about) if only she were still with us. I agree. I would also be very happy if mom were here to drench Sarah in scalding hot coffee.

Getting There is Half the Torture

Mom was great to go places with; she always had some interesting destination in mind, and she always entertained you on the way there. However, it was an absolute requirement that you drove. This is not to say that she was not a fine driver--to the contrary, she was an excellent driver. She was cautious, alert, and knew where she was going. There were only a few things that were dangerous about being with her in a car when she was driving.

One was road rage. Not hers, of course, but other drivers who objected to the fact that mom NEVER went above 35. Ever. Not on the 70mph highway. Never. Period. When she had her 14 car pile-up, she had been doing 13 miles per hour. I have my theories about why the pile-up occurred, even if the police said it was an act of God.

Another was boredom. You could not actually die of it from the speeds she drove at because a) she always had the most wonderful stories to tell you as you went along and, b) since she had to use both hands at all times on her steering wheel, and because she always had scalding hot coffee with her which she placed on the dashboard in an open mug. Not one of her cars had cupholders. On the plus side, you acquired some novel second degree burns that made you stop worrying about whether the stains would ever come out.

Most of us learned to cope by offering to drive, and she was always willing to let you do that in her car or yours, unless you didn't happen to have a driving license, in which case, God help you.

Lean Times, Good Times!

This is a photograph from July, 1979. At this time:

• Aziza was three months old.
• We lived on Ahmed Sukarno Street in a Cairo slum where the raw sewage never dried up on the street (this has since changed). The photo was taken at home.
  
• Mom was still fighting to keep her business venture, Allied Resource and Consulting Services (ARCS) afloat, so we could hardly afford to live in a decent neighborhood.
• Janet came to visit us for several months with her friend Beth, after they ran a marathon in Athens. Their toenails had fallen off.
  
• I was eight (I turned 9 in October).
• We had one dog and nine cats (mom's friend's cat who was "temporarily" staying with us turned out not to be spayed). Mom was severely allergic to cats.
• My favorite article of clothing was a tee-shirt mom had a friend of hers bring for me from Mothercare, UK at great personal expense to her at her poorest. The tee-shirt had a photograph of a leopard sleeping on a tree branch.

Good times!

Wasn't She Beautiful?

Mom and me, circa 1977.

Sutton's Drug Store

When I was a young child in Chapel Hill, NC, mom was an anthropology graduate student at the University of Chapel Hill (UNC). Across Franklin Street from UNC was Sutton's drug store, where we often ate breakfast. We were quite popular there and, as soon as we walked in, the waitress would begin pouring mom's coffee and my orangeade. The waitress would also make sure that I had more than enough straws (about ten seemed to do it--see the photograph).

I happen to know the name of the waitress. Her name was Margaret Evans Durham. I know this because she wrote a book about Sutton's and the people who ate there. The copy I have is autographed by the author and is annotated by my grandmother, Helen Oldham.

In her book, "Ye Olde Drugstore," Mrs. Durham describes the store thusly:

"In the heart of the old and loveable Hill, is a place where people come day after day. Why? Because it is a drugstore, called Sutton's. I came here a few years back to work as a waitress behind the fountain. People love to come here to relax and talk over their coffee. You can hear almost anything here, it is so close knit. We have three sections to the fountain, so named by our customers. They are Peyton Place, Menopause Manor, and Brady Bunch. We have our regulars each day.

"This place is filled with laughter, gossip, hunger, tears, and let's not forget love. This is my insight and foresight of everyday happenings. People of all walks of life gather here at Sutton's counterfrom early morning until four when we close. It is a good place to let your steam off, laughing all the way. I like people. They are sometimes sad, some are strong, some weak, some lucky, some not. Some of them are searching for something that they will never find."

Mrs. Durham then proceeds to describe quite a few of her customers. On page five she says:

"Another patron is Linda. She is the mother of Little Jake. She is a beautiful person in every way. You can really tell Linda has done a good job with little Jake. She whispers to him and it seems to soothe him so quickly, he gets so calm afterwards."

On page 14, Mrs. Durham published this photograph, which must have been taken at some time during 1975.



Sutton's still exists, and you may visit it at 159 E. Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, NC.

Rebecca Dieckmann

In looking back over my email archive, I found that I had received an email from Rebecca Dieckmann, a high school classmate of mom's, on 7 November 2007. In the mess of things that I was going through at the time, I completely forgot to give this email and its author their due. I apologize, Rebecca.

Here is Rebecca's email:

Dear Jake,

I was a member of your mother’s 1962 U-High graduating class. I just wanted you to know how very sorry I was to learn of her recent passing.

We had not kept in touch, but I did contact her when we were making plans to get together to celebrate our 40^th high school reunion. Although she was unable to join us, she did ask for one of the group photos, as I think she was curious to see us at age 58. I think the most important thing to come from the reunion was the ability for everyone to contact each other and keep in touch after that. I think Linda was appreciative of the fact that her old friends were interested in her life (it was so different from most of the rest of ours) and to want to connect after 40 years. Your mother obviously led a rich and rewarding life. I would love to hear from you to know more of her later years.

Becky Hickman Dieckmann

Rebecca, I promise to contact you. For now, this blog contains some stuff about her later life.

Linda's Camera

When I was in Chapel Hill to help mom to pack for her move to Egypt, Mom gave me her Ricoh XR-2s 35mm film camera and its lens. The camera, which is compatible with the Pentax cameras and lenses I prefer, was a welcome addition to my system.

Farah, my daughter, recently started a photography class that requires an old school manual film camera and lens, so I gave her Mom's camera to use (and to keep, if she promises to take good care of it).

Farah is using her grandmother's camera. It is as if mom has the opportunity to participate in Farah's education and the development of her talent. I love the continuity.

Service Outages

Bear with me, reader(s?), as I get my computers back together again. My main computer crashed, taking with it almost all my photos, my scanning software, and all sorts of other things. This not only prevents me from using the materials and tools, but also occupies much of my time as I attempt to restore everything. Watch this space for updates.

Computer Woes

I am dealing with a serious computer crash, so I have very little to offer today. All I can say is that this ordeal is similar to the issues mom had with her computer all the time. She would write me emails entitled "This Wretched Computer," and I would know that she meant it was time for me to visit her because it had been too long. Many times the computer was just a pretense. She knew I could not turn down a damsel in distress.

Teita Linda

When mom was over at our apartment in 2006, my son Ali started calling mom "Teita," which is what Egyptians call their grandmothers. Years earlier, Sarah had asked mom what she wanted to be called by her grandchildren, and mom said "Nana," so she attempted to correct Ali by telling him that his grandmother should be called "Nana," not "Teita." Mom, always on the side of the weaker party, insisted that she should be called "Teita." Ali could not have been happier.

Ali often brings up mom. He knows she's gone, but he still mentions her. He is a lucky one; he got to meet her.

The Grandkids

When I wrote that last sentence in yesterday's post, "There will be more about the grandkids soon," I had no idea that the statement would be prophetic! This morning, Aziza announced that she and Ahmed are expecting their first child this September. Needless to say, we are ecstatic about the news, and a little sad that mom could not be here to meet the new baby (babies?).

There is even more news on that front, but I will only hint at this until the involved parties give me the go-ahead to talk about it.

Congratulations, Aziza and Ahmed. I, for one, know that you will be ridiculously good parents.

Another Random Linda Photo

I was going through Sarah and Mohamed's old computer with the intention of formatting it and installing a new OS and software on it, when I came upon a group of photographs from spring 2007, apparently taken at the North Carolina Zoo. Here's one of them:

Clockwise from top left: Sarah's mother-in-law, Nadia; Sarah; mom; and Youssef, mom's second grandson. There will be more about the grandkids soon.

Another Random Photo

This is mom in a kitchen in the early 1970s.

Who Knows?

Here is a nice little quote from mom that I extracted out of an email Carol Redmount forwarded to me:

"Look particularly at the bit on Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Then go and bang your head on the wall."

This quote is the entire email, and we have no specific context for the thing. It is weird, wacky, witty, hard to understand, to-the-point, and interesting in a mysterious it-keeps-you-guessing kind of way.

Kinda like mom was.

Saving for Tomatoes

Mom tells me that she was so poor as a student in Chicago that she could not afford to buy tomatoes all the time, especially in the winter. She would save up her money until she could and, because she had waited to get them, she would settle only for the very best--beefsteak tomatoes.

She would take those tomatoes (or maybe just one) back home and sandwiches made with good bread, thick slices of plump, juicy tomato, and LOTS of mayonnaise. To her, that must have been like manna from heaven.*

* I have actually eaten manna of the earthly variety on several occasions. Far from heavenly, the stuff I am talking about is made in Iraq and Iran from the resin of the tamarisk tree which is powdered, boiled in water, and turned into a paste into which are embedded pistachios, almonds, and other nuts. In Arabic the name of this confection is من السما "Heavenly Manna." I purchased the first batch from Baghdad International Airport in 2006.

Random Linda Picture

This blog has a new tradition that has been a while coming: Random Linda Picture!

This will happen whenever I am extremely tired (like now), at a loss for a story, because I found a nice photograph that has no known story, because I hope you will tell me something about a photo, because I am testing to see if anybody is paying attention, or because I just feel like it. I have done this before, but I am now making it official and giving it a name.

Delirious ramblings of the extremely exhausted aside, the above is an honest-to-God, real, official, government ID issued to mom by the Egyptian Ministry of Housing.

Translation:

Cairo Governorate
Civic Development Project #1

Name: Linda Oldham
ID#: Passport #Z4492604

(Illegible signature)

(Official seal of the Egyptian Ministry of Housing)

Good night, Readers, and may all your ID photos come out as good as mom's in this one.

All-Nighter

I have something that is work-related that must be finished by morning so, although I will be in front of this computer all night, I have precious little time to write anything for mom. I think this is something that mom would have understood--she was often in this situation, mostly because she, like me, worked best under pressure (read: I had three months to do it, so I left it to day 89.5).

Back to the salt mines with me.

More from Sylvia

Here's some more from Sylvia's latest email:

When [Linda] visited me in Seattle, she made an Egyptian versions of stuffed grape leaves which were wonderful. I initially called them by their Greek name, “dolmades,” and she called them “dolmas,” She pointed out that “dolmas” is much more pleasing to the ear and thus much better suited to the delicious dish. I didn’t write down the recipe as she prepared it, but I tried to duplicate the dish later, with some success. She sautéed ground lamb in an enormous amount of butter, with onions and garlic. To this, she added chopped tomatoes, coriander (or possibly Italian parsley), raisins, cinnamon, and salt. She stuffed the grape leaves, and then layered them over a steamer lined with grape leaves. She served them covered with yogurt. She told me that they freeze well, so that it is a good idea to make a quantity since they’re labor intensive. If you have the actual recipe, I would love to have it."

Sarah, Aziza, Anybody: Who has the recipe?

More from Sylvia Luppert - Bless Her

From Sylvia:

"Both politics and Linge are very much on my mind these past weeks. We were together at some momentous times in American politics. I think that over the years we were not together, politics was nearly always one of the subjects of our conversations. I was very interested in her viewpoints, which were nearly always identical to min in our conclusions. She, however, frequently had a supporting analysis that I had not thought of. I don’t know whether my analyses were new to her. Although I agree with you that she was pretty disdainful of the American political process, I think she would have been keenly interested in the present political scene. And, I’m quite sure she would have been enthusiastic about Barack Obama, and articulated her reasons better than I can mine."

I agree that mom was always very good at articulating opinions and analyzing political events. I disagree that she would have been enthusiastic about Barack Obama, because she explicitly said that she thought he was "too slick."

"I remembered today that she and I were together at Antioch when John Kennedy was assassinated. The day I moved to Chicago, Martin Luther King was assassinated. We didn’t know about it until a taxi driver picked us up on an unusually deserted street and told us. Later that summer, Robert Kennedy was assassinated, too. She and I were devastated by all three. I had to go back to Washington at the time of the Democratic National Convention that summer, and watched in horror the police riot. Linge was there. When I returned, I went to a meeting with her of some Roosevelt students who had organized in reaction to these appalling events. Someone raised the subject of bombing the student union. There had been other student bombings elsewhere, and thus, I suppose, the idea was not as repugnant as we might imagine today. Linge reacted exactly as you would expect. Her moral compass was right on the mark, and she promptly and firmly rebuked the suggestion. There were a few people who argued with her. Although she was not an organizer of the group, she was very persuasive and the idea died in the birthing. She later claimed that it would have anyway, but I have always thought her unequivocal reaction may have averted a calamity begun with understandable but foolhardy intentions."

Perhaps she really did avert a disaster. It might also be true that she affected the would-be perpetrators so much that they became pacifists. It is also typical of her to understate and underestimate her impact on person and groups and their ideas. For somebody who was as big a show-off as mom was, she was downright humble!

"That fall, the Republican precinct captain called on us. In Chicago in those days, persons of good conscience could not support local Democrats who were all slaves to the Daley Machine. But national elections were another matter. Initially, Linge was very cordial to the Republican, until he said something to the effect, “All the hippies” are voting for Republicans this year, which included Richard Nixon. Linge replied, “All the hippies?” and then went off like a bomb. Poor man. She resented equally the suggestion that she was a hippie as that she would vote Republican!"

Oho! I actually cringed when I read that the Republican precinct captain said "'All the hippies' are voting for republicans this year." Poor guy. I hope she scared the Nixon out of him.

"I hadn’t registered to vote, but Linge had. When she went to the polling place, she asked how to split the ticket. (I don’t know whether this was commonplace throughout the country, but in Chicago, all you had to do was pull one big lever – on the left side - to vote a straight ticket.) The poll worker replied that it couldn’t be done. Linge said that this was too bad, because she wanted to vote for quite a few Democrats, but she would have to pull the Republican lever if she couldn’t split the ticket. The poll worker, suddenly remembered that it could be done and showed her how. "

You hadn't registered to vote? How did she ever forgive you? The type of logic mom used against the poll worker is all her. She pulled stuff like that off all the time, getting her way with a minimum of fuss. I try to emulate her, but it is not easy.

Sylvia Luppert and Missing a Post on the Blog

I missed last night's post. My excuse is that I was extremely tired. Strange that I should do so on the day that Sylvia sent me such a wonderful email. Oh, well. It was bound to happen some day, right? I will endeavor to make sure that I will never miss another again.

I will have more for you this evening. For now, just a little something about mom: I looked in the mirror at my bald and graying head, and thought about the fact that mom, at age 63, had less than 50 gray hairs on her head.

She was too young, dammit.

Catching Ladybugs

Ragia, my wife, tells me that while I was away in Baghdad, mom visited her and the kids quite often. Ragia would make mom her lahma mhammara, which mom always said was the best she ever ate. They would go outside and eat in front of our old apartment in Carrboro.

One such time, when Ali was about to turn two, a ladybug caught his attention and interest, so mom caught it for him. When he was afraid to touch it, mom put it on his little push car. Soon there were two. Mom kept the two in place by repeatedly catching them for him until he lost interest.

Sigh.

Rooty-Toot-Toot

Rooty-Toot-Toot was mom's dog around the time when she was pregnant with me. Mom had found her as an infant puppy lying by the side of the road, emaciated and shivering. Mom adopted her on the spot, and gave her the name "Dana."

When mom took Dana to the veterinarian, the vet told her that she was very ill. So ill, in fact, that the medicines required to save her life might kill her, she was so weak. Mom took Dana home and force fed her with an eye dropper, every few minutes (she could not hold down more than a few droplets at a time). After a few sleepless nights, Dana fattened up nicely and regained her health enough to be treated.

Dana, in her newfound health, developed into a powerful dog and a vivacious, energetic person, earning her the nickname "Rooty-Toot-Toot." She also developed a strong, unquestioning and unconditional loyalty to my mother (mom seemed to have that same effect on almost all the people in her life, with the exception of those men in her life whom I know, more's the pity). When I was born a few months later, Rooty became my first friend and a guardian. I have some vague memories of Rooty, but I am sure I was a cross to bear! Mom told me that Rooty was smart enough to pull me away from electrical sockets and other dangers. She also, allegedly, kept me from going AWOL when she could, and accompanied me herself when she could not.

Rooti had one odd habit; she would chase her tail until she caught it, then she would worry at it until it bled. Other than that, she was a most stable, sand, and intelligent canine being.

Rooti had a litter of puppies when I was five with a German shepherd owned by mom's friend Skip Lance. I remember helping to find the puppies homes. We kept Harry, who was my dog first and then Carla's after we left for Egypt in 1976 (I vaguely remember something about Rooty being Carla's at one point also, but that memory is quite vague and shadowy. Carla: What is the fact of the matter?). When I returned to Chapel Hill in 1990, I got to meet Harry again as an old, debilitated, and utterly wonderful dog.


The photo is of mom and Rooty-Toot-Toot in 1970, a few months before I was born.

All of this reminds me that I asked Sarah a while ago how mom's last dog, Molli, is doing. Perhaps she will get around to answering me soon.

Traces of Her Online

When Googling mom online, I came across a post she had made on AfroNets.org. According to the website, "the African Networks for Health Research & Development (AFRO-NETS) was established in 1997 to facilitate exchange of information among different networks active in Health Research for Development in Anglophone Africa, and to facilitate collaboration in the fields of capacity building, planning, and research."

Mom's post:

Information Technology and Third World
Countries

In none of the developing countries where I work is it true that only the rich and/or educated have access to internet and e-mail. It may be true that for people of middle and old age, only the rich and/or educated have access, but not for the younger people, at least in urban areas, but in many fairly isolated rural areas as well. Wherever there are computers being used at work, or in universities or schools, there are gangs of teenagers and young adults at those computers after office hours, teaching each other to use the technology and communicating with the world. Someone who is officially there has to be present to unlock the door, but most of these people are not connected with the workplaces where the computers are, just dropping in to visit.

There are many cases of people clubbing up to buy a shared computer and pay for access too, or sharing the cost of sessions at urban cybercafes, which are popping up everywhere around the world. And once there are a few computers in offices, suddenly people who know how to use them begin to give training to others on a moonlighting basis -even in tiny villages. And, of course, the fact is that those who do not use computers are already marginalised in the United States, and also that the counties which pay less taxes and therefore have fewer or no computers in the school, are not giving their children an even break. Do we suggest taking computers out of the primary schools of America?

And we must not overestimate our potency - it is not within our power to marginalise or not third world countries. They are already marginalised by poverty, lack of access to many resources, often very bad government, and so on. In any event, one of the hardest things about living in many third world countries is the lack of access to accurate information on what is going on around the world, a state of affairs which has enormous political implications domestically.

One simply has to take a look at any of the Sudan discussion groups, which are participated in by people in and out of Sudan, to see how much this access contributes to [an] understanding of what is actually going on. Or Iran, for that matter, or Egypt, or many other places.

And, in fact, we pour money into these countries for the most incredible projects, often with no demand for such activities at all, but here is an area in which there is a very high level of demand, and in fact computers and internet don't cost much relative to these [other] things.

Perhaps what we should be doing rather than arguing against email and internet in the third world is to work to increase the relevance of what is on the internet to the needs of people working for constructive change within third world countries. It is extraordinarily difficult in most third world countries to know what is going on in one's field elsewhere, and the internet is still very far from sup-porting change in this area. Much more can be done to report to colleagues everywhere things such as what projects were tried, with what inputs, toward what ends, with what results, with what lessons learned, for instance. What is on now has a distinctly commercial flavor, alas, and we would do much better to be more analytic and more collegial.

In sum, I think trying, even unconsciously, to limit the information available to people is not a good recipe for development, nor for growing autonomy, nor anything. I do wish the internet had more to offer.

Linda Oldham

Linda's Cars

Mom had a procession of cars through the years, from the old Saab we crashed in in the 1970s to the antique DKW she bought in Alexandria (pictures to come later). She later had the Erda, a shared Volvo (with Nadir), a Mercedes Benz, and a Honda. Her very last car was a light blue 1992 (?) Geo Prism bought for $2,000 from the wife of Chapel Hill mayor Kevin Foy.

Idris

Mom not only loved her children, she also loved having children. Because of both the former and the latter, she continued to have children until she no longer could (she was 42 when she had Sarah). If she had been able to, she would have had many more.

She believed that she had control over the sex of the babies she carried, and that she decided to have a boy-girl-boy-girl order. So, it was hardly surprising what my mother-in-law, Zakia, told me today. She told me that mom once told her that, had she been able to have another boy, his name would have been Idris (Ed-rees).

Here's to Idris, my imaginary brother.

Kolkasia

Mom was a talented cook who really enjoyed food. She called several recipes her favorite, depending on what she was in the mood for. One of the ones that came up often was kolkasia (a type of colocasia tuber; apparently, and this I have not tested, it is possible to substitute taro for a reasonable outcome). This dish is a traditional Egyptian dish often cooked in winter. The sauce is Green, and it is very different from the regular Egyptian vegetable recipes cooked with meat and tomato. Here is the recipe provided by Wasfa Sahla:

Preparation time: 40 minutes
Cooking time: 75 minutes
Serves 4

1/2 bunch Coriander, chopped
1/2 bunch dill, chopped
1 bunch chard, chopped
4 cups Chicken Broth
1 tbsp Lemon Juice
1 tbsp Ghee, margarine, or butter
1 kg Kolkasia
8-10 Garlic Cloves, medium size

1. Peel and cut kolkasia into bite size cubes. Wash cubes very well under hot running water and drain.
2. In a medium deep pan, heat broth over medium heat and bring to boil.
3. Add kolkasia cubes and lemon juice. Leave to boil for 45 minutes to 1 hour until tender.
4. In a skillet, melt ghee or margarine over high heat. Add garlic, coriander, dill and salk. Stir-fry until vegetables are dark green (3-5 minutes). Take off heat and leave to cool.
5. Pour components of skillet in a blender and blend until smooth. If the texture is too thick, add ¼ cup broth.
6. Add blended mixture to kolkasia and broth in the pan. Leave to boil for 3-5 minutes. Serve immediately with tomato sauce and rice.

Enjoy!

Random photo 'cuz Ah am tahrdٌ

This is a photo of us all at Ras el-Barr, where we went every summer for a few years. From left to right: Me, Hanaa, Osman (yes, Osman), Mom, Nour-el-Din (whose torso does not seem to align with his legs), and Aziza. Aziza and I seem to be afraid of drowning.

Mom and Me (in Orlando, Florida?), Circa 1976

This is a photograph of mom and me not long after we visited Walt Disney World (see the Tee shirt) in 1976.

The Backward-facing House

Mom's first house in the US since her return in the early 90s was the house at 6704 Highway NC 86 South (Kirkland Drive). This house, which has since been demolished to make way for ultra-high-class homes* was Interesting (with a capital I). It had a lot of history; it was the first home that mom, Aziza, Osman, Sarah, Ragia, Farah, Hager, Nout, and I had in North Carolina since we moved to the US, for example.

I don't know how many houses mom looked at when she was looking, but I think I can guess why she selected this one: the house was backwards! The back door opened onto the only access to the house, and the main entrance opened out onto an inaccessible area well enclosed with trees. It is almost like a giant had picked it up to play with and returned it the wrong way around.

Trust mom to find something unique in a land where things are increasingly mass-produced.

* It will be interesting to see how it fares in these days of sub-prime mortgage woes.

Zakia Arrives Today

My mother-in-law, Zakia, arrives today for a long visit. Zakia was hit hard with the news of mom's death; she had spoken to her by phone several times since she moved back to Cairo, and they had plans to meet within a day or two, but mom died suddenly. Mom really liked Zakia, and was very glad to have spoken to her. I know this because, even with mom's serious short-term memory problems at the end, she remembered every conversation they had.

Nobody can replace mom, ever, but Zakia is as close a second as is humanly possible, and my heart sings that she is coming. Maybe I can also get her to tell me a story about mom to post here.

Oh, and I spoke to Sylvia Luppert yesterday. What a wonderful woman! More on this later.