World Social Forum
I’m back in west Africa, and it is pretty much the standard zoo. Last nite in JFK, the plane directly across from our gate was leaving for Accra. I felt like a traitor coming to Senegal–I should be going to Ghana instead.
Navigating TSA is increasingly becoming a real joke. Everyone who flies much has 3-1-1 drilled into their heads, but yet leaving IRK one person went through security with 2 plastic bags and another had a tube of toothpaste that the TSA agent squeezed down to 3 ounces and then said it was ok. The irony of ironies is that unlike the failed shoe and underwear bombers that make us strip in front of TSA, the reason for the 3-ounce limit on toothpaste is because the U.S. government knows how easy it is to make a devastating toothpaste bomb because they helped Luis Posada Carriles do so in his successful terrorist attack on the Cubana airliner in 1976. Changing planes in STL, I had to go back through security. I queued up behind a regular metal detector, but one of the TSA Nazis sent me through the invasive enhanced full body scanner instead. When I asked the TSA how they decided who to send through which scanner they said it was “random.” Random my foot. It’s like going back to the bad old days before the TSA when I would constantly be “randomly” pulled into secondary as if I had the word “random” tattooed on my forehead.
Arriving in Francaphone Africa complicates logistics, with massive confusion trying to change money (turns out it was not having enough money to change, but rather not having it in the proper denominations for what I wanted to change). Norm and Molly’s taxi driver said he would be happy to drop me off for a single agreed upon price, but once he left their hotel the deal changed completely as his price just for me now went through the roof. I hate taxi drivers.
But I found the house where NIGD is staying, apparently the only one who was able to do so, and it is nice to be back with this group of people. This afternoon we plan to go to the university where the WSF begins with a march tomorrow to try get our press credentials.
Navigating TSA is increasingly becoming a real joke. Everyone who flies much has 3-1-1 drilled into their heads, but yet leaving IRK one person went through security with 2 plastic bags and another had a tube of toothpaste that the TSA agent squeezed down to 3 ounces and then said it was ok. The irony of ironies is that unlike the failed shoe and underwear bombers that make us strip in front of TSA, the reason for the 3-ounce limit on toothpaste is because the U.S. government knows how easy it is to make a devastating toothpaste bomb because they helped Luis Posada Carriles do so in his successful terrorist attack on the Cubana airliner in 1976. Changing planes in STL, I had to go back through security. I queued up behind a regular metal detector, but one of the TSA Nazis sent me through the invasive enhanced full body scanner instead. When I asked the TSA how they decided who to send through which scanner they said it was “random.” Random my foot. It’s like going back to the bad old days before the TSA when I would constantly be “randomly” pulled into secondary as if I had the word “random” tattooed on my forehead.
Arriving in Francaphone Africa complicates logistics, with massive confusion trying to change money (turns out it was not having enough money to change, but rather not having it in the proper denominations for what I wanted to change). Norm and Molly’s taxi driver said he would be happy to drop me off for a single agreed upon price, but once he left their hotel the deal changed completely as his price just for me now went through the roof. I hate taxi drivers.
But I found the house where NIGD is staying, apparently the only one who was able to do so, and it is nice to be back with this group of people. This afternoon we plan to go to the university where the WSF begins with a march tomorrow to try get our press credentials.