Donut Man.

“I think something’s wrong with him”, she whispers to a friend, watching the man who was sitting by himself, his hand gesticulating. His hair is wild, his beard unkempt, his glasses slightly askew on his face.

“Maybe he’s mad”, her friend says conspiratorially.

I sit back, drinking my coffee, watching the elderly man with his Bluetooth earplug in as he seemingly talks to himself. They can’t see it. I can.

They’re dressed fancily. Maybe fashionably, I don’t know much about such things, but neither one of them seems really attractive.

Maybe it’s their appearance, maybe it’s their behavior. I can’t tell the difference these days as to why someone is unattractive or attractive. I don’t know that it matters anymore, and I don’t know that it ever did.

He’s shaking his hand in the air now, his voice becoming slightly louder yet indiscernible over the noise in the mall. His other hand puts down his donut, a few stray colorful sprinkles left in his beard. He twists and looks at them.

“Oh my god!”, one of them exclaims quietly.

“I’m on the damned phone!”, he says loudly while staring at them.

I break into laughter, coming dangerously close to having my mocha rise into my nasal cavity.

They fall silent, properly corrected by Donut Man who, incidentally, managed to shake those sprinkles free of his beard when he made his exclamation.

Murakami On The Elevator

As I got home, walking to the elevator, I was still pondering the fun, “Which came first, the purse or the lack of pockets?” question in my mind. I don’t really want to know the answer, it’s just fun to consider.

Not everything needs answers.

I’d given up coming up with theories on the ffft-ffft lady.

Not everything has answers.

On the way there, my trains of thought – I never have just one train going – were interrupted by some friendly faces. A newly married couple, I know he sells insurance and is generally a nice guy, while his new wife is still a bit of a mystery to me. She’s nice, polite, and likes coffee, which makes her a better human being than him in my eyes.

He doesn’t drink coffee. That seems sinful after all the wars and empires involved in bringing coffee from Ethiopia to the rest of the world, but what I consider sinful is subjective.

We have polite conversation, and going up in the elevator, he spots my book. I had returned home early because I was thinking of meaning and wanted to get that writing done and didn’t want to get lost in another group of trains of thought, so I had my receipt from the coffee shop sticking out from the pages.

“What are you reading?”, he asks.

“Oh, some Murakami. I haven’t read this book in some years and decided to revisit it.”, I respond.

His eyes blank, he has nowhere to go with that. It’s not something that is standard fare in Trinidad and Tobago, I suppose, so I try to be helpful.

“It’s where that quote about the storm comes from. How when you come out of the storm you’re never the same as when you went in.”

This, according to his facial expression, did not help either, but the idea began to toss around in his head.

“OK”, he says, as I exit the elevator. He never struck me as a reader, but then most of the literati in Trinidad and Tobago have an insane focus on the Caribbean and Caribbean authors, enough so that in some ways Trinidad and Tobago is a tidal pool, where ideas wash in mainly from distilled island authors.

At least that’s my experience, what I have observed, and it’s purely anecdotal. To me, though, if you have not read Haruki Murakami, you’re missing a bit of life.

Suddenly, as I unlocked my door, I laughed to myself.

I had just done an elevator pitch of, “Kafka on the Shore” without even knowing it.

I hate elevator pitches.

Writing Interrupted

It was a good morning, fresh coffee at the left, as I tapped out what I had been thinking about for a week regarding code, law and artificial intelligence. There are important things, I think, that people don’t understand and maybe through exploring the right example they might understand the importance enough to give it a moment in their lives to consider. To discuss. To maybe affect.

We’re too busy, usually, to think about these things. Too busy chasing the red dots of life to consider implications that we think don’t impact us directly. My block of time set, I was engaged, finding things I wanted to reference, connecting the pieces, building a relatively short post…

Image by Tumisu from Pixabay

RING! RING! RING!

The phone, sitting on the charger, glowed and made noises, demanding attention.

Who would be calling me at this hour? They are not in my contacts. They are alien to me. Should I answer it? Should I not? With a sigh, I answered.

A deeply happy and glowing young female voice, too enthusiastic for my mind in the moment, was reminding me of the appointment I had made yesterday that I had today about getting my eyes tested. I knew it yesterday that it would happen but had forgotten that this call was coming. This young woman, who I have met in person, is always way too happy when she interrupts my world. She glows through the phone, and while iridescent in person, over the phone she comes through like a bright neon pink supernova.

It’s not her fault. She’s doing her job. I know that. I can’t exactly tell her that she should be less cheerful, I knew that she would have to call because it’s what the store does – it’s not even a medical practice related to eyeballs anymore, it’s commerce. She just goes right into her lines, well rehearsed over the years I have been having my eyeballs stared at by well intentioned people. She’s a nice person. Bubbly.

But on the phone, interrupting the quiet entanglement of my writing solitude, the ring of the phone, the sheer joy of interrupting me… oh, the poor young woman just doing her job well.

I do not betray these thoughts as I respond to her interruption, getting it over as quickly as possible.

I hang up, staring at the phone a moment as I consider all of this, why I would be upset about her being so happy. Yet maybe she isn’t. Maybe she’s really good at hiding the misery of life, resiliently doing her job in the face of adversity. Maybe she’s secretly angry at the world, shaking her fist through a glowingly happy voice. Maybe this was just her doing her job.

This, I found, made me feel better. There’s just no way people can be so happy in this world I know, it would take a level of consciously strategic ignorance to really make that work and that, I think, is part of our problem as a society.

That, and the fact that people would need to be reminded of an appointment that they made yesterday for today. That speaks volumes to me.

Cobwebs.

_cobwebs_MorningWriting

It starts here in the mornings. Tactile writing, coffee drinking, thoughts becoming notes. A glance to the left reveals cobwebs in the corners.

I need to do something about those cobwebs.

Cobwebs are just abandoned spider webs. They are sticky and everything clings to them, from dust to casual detritus moved by the wind. The etymology of the word ‘cobweb’ is interesting, even mentioning J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit” (1937).

The word ‘cobweb’ persists to this day and yet it doesn’t seem reasonable. We clean ‘cobwebs’, but it would be easier to just say ‘webs’. It lingers like a cobweb itself, passed down from generation to generation and used almost completely disparately from spiderweb. I remember wondering as a child about where they came from, and if someone had just said they were spiderwebs, I likely wouldn’t have gotten into etymology at all – back when we needed books instead of websites.

The etymology of ‘cob’ by itself is interesting:

a word or set of identical words with a wide range of meanings, many seeming to derive from notions of “heap, lump, rounded object,” also “head,” and metaphoric extensions of both. With its cognates in other Germanic languages, of uncertain origin and development.

I use a nearby broom to remove the cobwebs.
I drink my coffee to remove the cobwebs.
I write on paper to remove the cobwebs.

With the cobwebs removed, I write new webs.

The Tales of 3 Beans.

As a followup on ‘Beyond Colonialism’ and a prelude to a few other things to come, we segue into the history of 3 beans: The Coffee bean, the Cocoa Bean, and the Enola Bean. Two, everyone uses daily and is quite familiar with.

We’ll start with coffee, with an overview.

Coffee’s roots started in Ethiopia. There’s a legend that a goatherd by the name of Kaldi found his goats acting funny and decided to try the beans that they were eating, somewhere around 850CE, or AD, whichever makes you happy. From there, it made it’s way to across the Red Sea to Southern Arabia (modern Yemen), purportedly by Sufi Imam Muhammad Ibn Said Al Dhabhani sometime in the 15th century.

Coffee was first exported out of Ethiopia to Yemen by Somali merchants from Somaliland (now a part of Somalia), which was procured from Harar (Eastern Ethiopia) and the Abyssinian interior. In Yemen, coffee became popular with Sufis for their praying, and the Mamluk Sulphate got the bean and it spread to Mocha (a port on Yemen’s Red Sea Coast). Note: nothing to do with chocolate.

In 1511, it was forbidden until 1524, when Ottoman Turkish Sultan Suleiman I overturned it. Coffee houses sprouted up in Cairo and Syria, and in 1532 a similar ban showed up in Cairo.

Meanwhile, it had spread to the Ottoman Empire and the Safavid Empire, and through the Battle of Mohács between the Kingdom of Hungary and the Ottoman Empire. Hungary lost and in 1529, the Siege of Vienna had the same Turks take coffee to Vienna. In the 16th century, coffee made it to Malta by way of slavery: The Ottomans tried to take Malta in the Great Siege of Malta, some were enslaved by the Knights Hospitaller, and they brewed their traditional coffee while there for money. Coffee shops opened.

The Republic of Venice, a thriving port trading with North Africa, Egypt and the East, moved coffee and it became a drink for the upper class there, with a coffee shop opening in 1645 while making it’s way to Europe.

Meanwhile, the Dutch got some hands on some plants in the 1600s and in their colonies began growing – and within the next century, almost all of Europe were using colonies to grow coffee.

The history of the coffee bean involves battles between empires, slavery and sneaking around with coffee beans in the hope they would grow somewhere else. The slaves procured and sometimes prepared, the upper class drank coffee.

Now you, gentle soul, can drink coffee like a Sultan a millennia later. 

The cocoa bean’s use in human society dates back to 1,000 BC as far as we know. Whether the Olmec or Maya first used it is a question since our history of that time is limited – but we do know that the Spanish initially found no interest from the palate of Columbus, where he was gifted some by an Aztec chief in 1502, and who had some cacahuatl prepared from the beans. He did not like it, and so the Spanish Court didn’t hear much about it until after Hernan Cortes showed up in 1519. In the interim, the bloody Spanish colonization of the Americas was already underway in looking for gold, with the Mayans maybe drawing first blood in 1511 when the Spanish aboard a wrecked caravel were sacrificed by a Mayan chief, where 2 of the crew escaped. 

In 1521, the Fall of Tenochtitlan took place, aided by smallpox and technology, and was a decisive event for Spain’s colonization of the Americas. Of course, history tends to forget that areas like Cempoala were vassal states of the Aztec who weren’t too pleased with having to send so much tribute to Tenochtitlan because of the human sacrifices, and so the Spaniards allied with such groups to overthrow the Aztec. There was empire before European empire, and the fragility of that empire was exploited well by Europe. This would not be the last time a European nation would do this, but it was quite likely the first time outside of Europe.

Cortes found value in the cocoa drink over time because colonization is a thirsty business. When he did make it back to Spain in 1544, he explained how the beans were used as currency, how to prepare the drink, and cocoa’s military significance: “One beaker keeps a soldier fresh for the whole day.”

That same year Mayan nobles showed up in Spain – I’m not sure if they were with Cortes or not, but I suspect that they were given sailing times back then – and they brought with them cocoa beans. In 1585, the first commercial importation of cocoa beans arrived in Spain where it became a popular drink, enough so that in 1591 there was some religious question as to whether imbibing it during Lent was allowed. The Jesuits, who were involved in the trade, took the position that drinking hot chocolate during the Lenten Fast was fine. The Dominican Order, or ‘Black Friars’, disagreed – and so this went to the Pope Gregory XIII who said it was fine to partake of the drink during the Lenten period.

The commerce of the cocoa bean thus got the Pope’s blessing, and sugar, another plantation crop of the colonies, was added to counter the bitterness of the cocoa. It made it’s way around Europe, and when the Industrial era hit, Europe’s interest in cocoa caused innovation for mass consumption which has evolved to the present day. Cocoa itself is not grown in Europe, and yet, Europe built a massive industry around cocoa and sugar, born on the backs of those subjugated from as far away as Africa (slavery) and later India (indentured labor) until slaves were freed and the indentured laborers had run their terms and could not get enough space to get back to India.

And this is why you can drink chocolate drinks, or eat chocolate, all over the world now, manufactured far from where the cocoa is grown.  

The Enola bean, made available through a creative commons license per this link.

In 1999, the enola bean was patented, with the only distinguishing feature of the Mexican yellow bean being it’s particular shade of yellow. This was something I followed with great interest at the time because it seemed so ridiculous, and was a great example of biopiracy – something that could be said of the two other beans above, coffee and cocoa, though they had the misfortune of not being appropriated in modern times.

The owner of the patent actually sued anyone who was importing the bean that matched the shade of yellow in their patent, causing a massive decrease in importation from Mexico, impacting around 22,000 Mexican farmers. This was all over the color of the bean, not something as original as coffee or cocoa which were in and of themselves original and exploited. It was a manufactured exploit, one which natural selection and natural pollination would create independently.

The bean itself is not that interesting. Why did I add it in here? The reason I did was because laws were exploited rather than offerings of smallpox, swords and muskets. In the modern age, this is how the laws of nations can be exploited. Fortunately, in 2005 the United States Patent Office ruled in favor of the Mexican farmers and in 2008 they threw out the patent on the Enola Bean.

Such cases, such as like with the neem, caused India to create a database of traditional knowledge to protect knowledge of India from others – an exercise in sovereignty that not many nations have done or could do given their shorter histories of written works.

The Convention of Biodiversity, (CBD) established in 1993, has been criticized for not doing enough – and, of interest, 196 nations have ratified, acceded or accepted the CBD. The Holy See and the United States, noteworthy because of Enola Bean for the latter, have not.

Beans. These are just three beans that show exploitative history. Three beans we take for granted in the modern world.

Go into the kitchen and find something you use every day. I’m sure you can find an interesting history.

Pre-dawn Thoughts.

I see so much of what I used to be in the world, shadows of myself anchored in self-perception. I see very little of what I could be in the world.

The options narrow. We learn things. We decide whether to continue doing things.

Every now and then, we notice a breath we take. More often, we notice we exhale.

We move on – or we stay where we are. If we stay where we are, do we face the same way, happy with the view, or do we look around? Are we circumspect?

Is reality a wave you ride, or does it slam you into the sand and rocks below?

Why am I asking all these questions?

I have no idea.

Why are you trying to answer them?

I need coffee.