To be continued....

Forgive me father, it has been two years since my last post.  Much has changed, much has stayed the same, and I feel a great change is imminent (my wife's fortune cookie this week agrees with me).

I have opened a restaurant on South Street, had a son (Charlie, 8 mos.), and have moved twice.  The One Legged Chef took a hiatus, but something inside me stirs.  It is as if something has re-sparked, and it is a good feeling.  It's as if something new is evolving, but I already know what it is.  Born again?  Not really.  Wouldn't that imply that something has died?  Nothing has died.  There is only new life, and this is what I want to give to The One Legged Chef.  A new life.

I will leave this post short, with a promise to return quickly.  I also will begin more posts on my facebook page, which I encourage all of you to check out.

Peace,

Charles

Thanksgiving with our nephew

I had two days off in a row for the first time since my honeymoon, and my wife and I traveled to Connecticut to see our nephew James (and of course the rest of the family). Part of me loves seeing James, as infrequently as I do, just to see family! But another part helps my wife and I look into the future world of parenthood. Smiles, toys, dribbling, medication administering, and lots and lots and lots of reading.
Looks fun!

Join the Free World

I caught an Associated Press article in the Philadelphia Inquirer today. Lawyer Peter Erlinder, infamous for taking on unpopular sides of the law, was in Rwanda helping Victoire Ingabire's legal team. If you recall, President Paul Kagame declared his opposition running man (Ingabire) an agitator and a promoter of genocidal ideology during his campaign against Kagame in the Presidential elections last year. Simply by association, Erlinder was jailed last Friday for "conspiring" with Ingabire. Erlinder is a professor of law and stands that the genocide of 1994 was instigated by both sides.

President Kagame has now sat as Rwanda's President since 2ooo when President Pasteur Bizimungu was deposed. Re-elected in 2003, his seven year term was coming to a close at the beginning of the year. Unfortunately, Ingabire's campaign was crushed and Kagame continues as President. That is the short story.

The longer version stems from Kagame's humble beginnings as a guerilla who studied Che Guevara and fought in public and private wars in Congo, Uganda and the former Zaire. It was also claimed by several of his former intelligence officers that it was Kagame who ordered the plane to be shot down in 1994 (the spark that lit the genocide).

Rwanda is full of life today: economic, social, technological, touristic and agricultural. Kagame sits behind a large steering wheel; one with lots of power, but hard to turn off its path. The racial issues of the past (Belgian made, of course) still loom, but it should not prevent such an ally to turn its head on democracy and justice. The American Bar Association has directly spoken out to Kagame demanding that lawyers not be condemned for their clients actions (or lack thereof, in this case).

Erlinder tried to take his own life a couple of days ago by swallowing and overdosed amount of pills in his Rwandan cell. Is this really worth it? I understand genocide is unacceptable, but allowing this lack of freedom to continue is the Western world sympathizing with a "poor, uneducated, simple African country". Hey Rwanda! Is that what you are? Join the free world and set an example. Free Erlinder, and call for a new election!!!

Peace,
Charlie

God's Creatures

Yesterday in the kitchen, we got news that tonight they would be bombing. This means that the exterminator is coming for his monthly visit, as they should in all food service facilities. It requires that the stewards cover and wrap any utensil used in food production: pans, plates, silverware, etc. It is a long a tedious job, but kind of breaks up the monotony of a dishwasher's daily chores.

I reminisced of the kitchen in Djibouti. It is a dream for a professional chef to open brand new kitchens. Everything is clean, new equipment, fresh menus and ideas; it's absolutely wonderful and inspiring. After a couple of months in Djibouti, I was checking over the Kitchen Department's finances, and came across two monthly bills from low and behold, an exterminator. This would not have caused me to pause except for the fact that I realized I had not seen a roach since I arrived! I quickly went out to the hot line where the cooks were busy with the lunch service, and called for the chef de partie on duty.

"Ali Abdullah! Viens ici!" He dropped his tongs and rag and jogged over. "Oui, chef." I asked him if he had seen any cafard? "Non, non chef. Qu'est ce que c'est des cafards?" My gosh, he didn't even know what they were. Amazing. So why were we spending money on an exterminator, you might ask? What is the most common household insect? What do you see on all of those misleading and misguided Sally Strothers commercials on dying African children? Flies. Flies were everywhere. So much, in fact, that we needed a bloody exterminator. I remember when we opened the hotel, there was a lot of excess trash including staff meals and packaging from unwrapped equipment. It had all been piled up in the loading dock awaiting removal. As I pulled up in my pickup, the entire pile, literally the size of an elephant (I should know), was black and moving, covered in flies.

The most interesting thing, socially, is the acceptance of the flies that occurs after a couple of months. Waving them away just becomes SO tiring, that one gives up. The land on your hands, legs, arms, hair, face and eventually, they fly away. All the swatting and smacking and frustration is a waste of time. They're God's creatures. (However, if you are in Djibouti and bored in the hot afternoon, sit down, have a cold beer and buy a cheap fly swatter. I think Charbel, Cedric, Djibrine and I counted 47 in 20 minutes. Beat that.)

Peace,
Charlie

Plans for Philly's Kids

Michelle Obama's campaign against obesity in American children led her to invite several Philadelphian youth to the White House to help plant the Kitchen Garden. Teaching children where their food comes from is not a new idea. Jamie Oliver has been pushing food and nutrition education for the past decade, and school food is on every parent's proverbial dinner plate.

Regan's school vegetable "ketchup" showed us that we had better not leave the future of our children up to politicians, although the Obama's have so far proven to be champions of children's futures. I just hope any education reform goes more smoothly than his recent Wall Street reform. The biggest difference, instead of lobbyists for credit card companies, we face the soft drink lobbyists and the like. Will the mythical 5 cent/ounce sugar tax ever kick in?

I have my own plan. Along with my book, I have been sitting on a steering committee of s school to open in North Philly called St. James the Less. Last year, the diocese along with Father Mullen of St. Mark's Episcopal Church ran a City Camp for the local children. In the Western Clearview area, this is considered a vulnerable community and is in need of education reform. We are hoping to open a middle school on the property in the next year or so, but in the meantime, we are working on other projects such as afterschool programs in the meantime. I am opening a children's garden.

I will use this garden to instruct planting of seeds, maintaining the herb's and vegetable's growth, the harvesting, the cooking, and of course, the eating! My goal is to show children that food comes from the earth and not a McDonald's bag. That you can eat something green and have it still be delicious! This is the beginning of a new adventure for the One Legged Chef. Wish us luck!

Peace,
Charlie

The New Rwanda

Dear Readers, I am sorry its been awhile.

In last weekend's Saturday New York Times, a fascinating story on Rwanda appeared front page. Under the headline photo read "Hundreds of young adults and minors suspected of petty crimes have been rounded up and sent to an island in Lake Kivu." It later explains that those brought to the island in the middle of the huge western lake were being taught basic skills such a patriotic songs, marching, motorcycle maintenance, bricklaying and hairdressing. This is a classic social re-structuring format used in many pro-socialist African regimes, but in Rwanda, there are clearcut goals and clearcut problems.

The rebel buildup of genociders in Uganda and former-Zaire are a constant border problem. I myself was friends with the Lieutenant Colnel of the western RPF guard whose daily job it was to send guerilla patrols into the jungles in search for these militias. Rwanda is in constant need of trained military personnel and what better than a bootcamp for petty thieves and young male citizens already inclined towards danger or nefarious activities. Therfore, on one hand, the island on Lake Kivu could be a feeder into the RPF armies. A problem I see however is with the infrastructure of the prgram. One boy interviewed by the New York Times coorespondent begged to tell his father that he was alive. The boy was literally picked up off the street and sent west without any contact with the boy's family by telephone or otherwise. In African countries where a majority of families live without a phone or other telecommunication, it is atrocious to think that the government would practice such behavior.

Paul Kagame has pushed for a brighter and bigger future for his country. In fact, in the midst of the post economic global downslide, Rwandan businesses grow as does there business abroad. His love for his country is clear, and it has taken some strict policy, but has nonetheless been effective. This most recent (and internationally publicized) move on petty street criminals is not a step in the right direction. Too long Kagame has ignored the sound advice of European and other Western powers, but he must put the differences aside. It does not make sense to continually bad mouth and ignore countries who unfortunately were not there during the genocide. But they are there now, and deserve a voice. Kagame was a great general, but now must learn to be a great President.

You can read the story yourself at this link: www.nytimes.com/2010/05/01/world/africa/rwanda01.html

Peace,
Charles

Polish mission

Preface: a Dutch couple mentioned a beautiful Polish mission orphanage in northwest Rwanda. Their description: "totally amazing, but the trip is a little dangerous." Just the thing to spark my interest.

A few days after my GM left me in the mountains with the gorillas, I went into Ruhengeri (the second largest city in Rwanda), to chill out. I stopped by with a friend to a local bar/night club hangout called the White Gorilla and ordered a small bottle of Waragi (Ugandan "war gin")n and a coke. Some girls were dancing on the patio outside, and the guys at the bar were giving me the "white man" look-over. After the war gin started working, I got up and strolled over. "What's up fellas?" "AhHH! You are American! You see the gorillas?" "No, I'm just working up here at the Nest hotel. Say listen, do you guys know of a Polish mission northwest of here? Maybe near the Congo border?" One of the guys stood up and told me to wait. He got up, left the bar compound through the large white gates. I sat there drinking with the others, not saying much, until the kid returned close to 20 minutes later. A man in military fatigues with a RPF symbol sewed to his arm followed him. "This is my uncle Joseph. He knows the mission."

Its funny, one bottle of Waragi followed an adventure of border jumping, a gunfight with interamwe (Hutu killing squads of the genocide), gorilla infested jungle treking and a weekend with orphans dispersed by the events of 1994. But it is definetely not a PG story. You'll have to buy the book....

Peace,
Charlie

Djiboutian Khat Flight

One of my responsibilities as Purchasing Manager at the Djibouti Palace Kempinski hotel was to ensure that all air and sea freight deliveries pass customs upon entry. Although this sounds bureaucratic, I can assure you it was just as physical. Being at the airport with the proper ID, paperwork, and trucks were a weekly event, and the timing of the flights were essential. It would mean, sometimes, a hit or miss when trying to recover a pallet of frozen food product from Amsterdam from the belly of a Emirates 727 cargo plane (usually arriving at 2:30 pm ETA).

What became perhaps the biggest nuisance was the daily flight from Ethiopia (1 pm ETA)which brought the khat. You might be asking, what is khat anyway? Khat is the narcotic leaf of a tree that, when chewed, gets you high. I would say a clear majority of the population either chews daily or at least every other day. In muslim countries, it is very popular as the majority of chewers can personally and politically reconcile it as not haram (forbidden) in the Q'ran. Ismael Guelleh, the President, loves the stuff. The delicacy of the situation is that after 24 hours of being picked, the khat begins to lose its potency. This is why a delay in the flight from Ethiopia screwed us. If the khat was being unloaded, all of the custom guards and police would abandon their posts and stand by the khat trucks waiting for a hand out.

Waiting behind the wheel of one of the trucks, I would anxiously watch the Emirates flight land, unload and take off within the time that locals were unloading the khat from, yes, a smaller plane. I would sit and watch my pallets not 200 yards away baking in the mid afternoon sun which, during the summer, could easily reach 130-140 F. But one thing I learned working in Africa was patience. There was nothing I could do, so I waited. Once in, I would load up into my refrigerated truck as quickly as possible, and take the product back to the hotel. If it was damaged beyond use, I would take digital photos, send them to purveyors and try to squeeze some credit. The problem was Emirates' efficiency: as they did not want to be blamed, they took their own photos, and occasionally the reponse from the purveyors was a big "no way"!!

Eventually it took a little bribe to the Belgian airport director to get special passes. Its Africa!

Peace,
Charlie

A Kigali Evening

I arrived in Rwanda via Ethiopia in the begininng of May 2007. I was sent by Kempinski hotels to assist in the takeover of two properties, and was excited to further my travels in Africa. We landed in the early afternoon and I was met at the airport by the General Manager and an Indian accountant from our hotel in Jordan who would become a close friend in the months to come. But I wasn't thinking about friends that night. I was thinking about Rwanda.

More than 800,000 deaths following the coup 13 years before had left a blood stained countryside and a global emotional stain on the inaction of powerful nations watching the massacre from afar. We jumped into a rented 4x4 and began the drive up to our hotel sitting on a hill overlooking the city. We were staying at the Hotel Mille Collines, or as the rest of the world knew it, Hotel Rwanda. There are many emotions I experienced being in the presence of this hotel, but it wasn't Rwanda's past that most moved me.

After a wonderful dinner at the French restaurant on the top floor, I took off to the pool and sat down with a pack of smokes and a couple Mutzig beers. Overlooking the lights of the city, I came to a revelation. I was about to experience a nation, people, and adventures that were beyond my emotional stretch. It was an exciting feeling, but I stopped by the hotel boutique and picked up a history of the genocide. I felt like I needed to prepare myself. The worst thing to do would be to experience Rwanda's future without knowledge of its past.

Peace,
Charlie

Mediterranean tour of Philly, PART ONE

This past weekend brought both my mother and future mother-in-law, Pat, to Philadelphia (not to forget Mimi, Meredith's aunt), which meat we were eating out. Osteria on Friday night was great. Our table was perfect: central, but not too close to bathrooms, the kitchen, or waiter stations. To start, we shared a parma style pizza with mozzarella, prosciuto and baby arugula. The dough recipe is tasty and the in-house stone pizza oven delivers a consistent finish. Having worked in Osteria's kitchen for about a week, I had wanted to taste the chicken liver rigatoni. The liver is cooked down with aromatics and finished with a little cream (Lombardy style), and comes out to look like a dry bolognese. Pat and I both love chicken livers, and this presentation made it easy for Meredith to try this delicious offal.
Pat lucked out with the entree. She ordered the grilled lamb saddle with fava puree and mint. Absolutely wonderful...moist and fragrant. Meredith ordered the rabbit "casalinga" and I the spit roasted pork (various cuts). Although the flavors were there, both cuts were dry. Unfortunate. The wine, a medium bodied Sicilian, was fantastic after a moment to breath. Price points were great, but then again, it is Italian country style. I had a Taylor LBV port, and Meredith got the Blood Orange and Meyer Lemon gelati. The gelati were tasty, but WAY too sweet. Osteria is a great place in a great space, but if it ever wants its hands on another James Beard award, it needs to step up the details.

Peace,
Charlie

The Magic of the Mother Sauce

The five French mother sauces as described by Auguste Escoffier are Tomato, white (Bechamel), brown (Espagnole), Hollandaise and Veloute (seasoned thickened stocks/jus). It takes time, discipline and practice to create these masterpieces. However, once completed, you have opened up a world of flavor pairings and creative thinking in your kitchen. Adding to each of these sauces, you can create deeper sauces. If you add an orange reduction to Hollandaise, you have Maltaise sauce (oranges grown on Malta) which goes very well with roasted duck. If you add a chopped tarragon and white wine vinegar reduction, you have the classic Bearnaise!

Using these disciplined backgrounds with some personal creativity, you can have a lot of fun. Tonight, an Italian friend and I experimented with Alfredo (Bechamel+parmegiano) and added a little chopped black truffle and white truffle oil. We made some fresh ricotta gnocchi and added diced lobster. We loved it so much that we sold it as a special in the restaurant....for $29 an entree. These are all simple ways to take basic cooking methods and giving them a little lift. Another great lobster dish would be Butter Poached Lobster with a champagne vanilla beurre blanc. Start with a simple beurre blanc by reducing white wine and finely diced shallots, only this time use cahmpagne instead of white wine and throw a vanilla bean (sliced the long way in half) in the reduction. This will draw out the flavor of the vanilla bean. Once you "monte la beurre, remove the vanilla bean and remove the "speckled" interior (add this back to the sauce). This is a sure way to create an innovative to your dinner party.

Peace,
Charlie

Children of the Church

This week's Economist contains a brief article demanding the Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, declare paedophilia not only a sin, but a crime. Many priests accused of such disgusting acts (as well as the bishops who covered them up) are still practicing and "remain free to abuse boys" long after their misconducts were enacted. The Catholic church maintains that it is being singled out; that many other groups such as orphanages and other care centers (mostly in despotic and authoritarian areas of the world) are also inflicted by this outrageously filthy practice. The reponse of the writer was simply that "if [the church] preach[es] absolute moral values, [it] will be held to absolute moral standards.

However, the quote that sparked my interest was the following. "The church now has exemplary child-protection rules - so strict, in fact, that they sometimes stifle healthily affectionate behaviour." Growing up in the church (albeit Episcopal), I have fond memories of my priests in the past. I served as an altar boy and in the choir for the majority of my childhood and was never mishandled. On the contrary, several of my priests (even now) were important and affectionate people to me. They continue to comfort me when I'm upset, advise me when confused, celebrate with me when I am happy, and are not afraid to show (appropriately) their love for a member of their flock...all the while leaving their frocks on. Part of my love for the church is the friends, mentors and confidants I have gained within its care. It is very necessary to personalize the clergy in order for trust and respect to gain full ground with parishoners.

Therefore, if children in the Catholic church are not allowed some sort of close friendship, it risks losing followers and therefore its own future. There is not a fine line between friendship and abuse. It is a BIG CLEAR LINE. Anyone who can't understand those parameters and abuses them deserves immediate defrockment and serious mental help. The children are the future of our churches. They need to be welcomed as genuine lamb of God and need to be treated as such. Children need guidance in the church so they may be able to grow into strong believers and future peacemakers. I pray that His Holiness will set records straight and begin a path towards openness and affection in his ministers of faith so that the powerful Catholic church might go from the bottom of the moral barrell to a leader in fair treatment of our precious children. He needs to criminalize paedophilia no holds barred.

Peace,
Charlie

Sushi Theory

When I was cooking with Chef Gray Kunz in New York City, I was given the opportunity, after a few months of the opening, to dine in the restaurant and ate, as part of the chef's tasting menu, a lobster dish paired with a French sparkling rose from the coast of Brittany. The grapes were grown up the hill from the ocean and you could taste the sea in the vintage. This pairing was an eye opening experience for me. It showed me that the perfectly paired glass of wine can uphold the theme of the dish, while, if truly, truly well matched, allows for every bite to taste like the first bite on your palate. It gives you the opportunity to savor each bite at height the chef intended.

Tonight, my girl and I went to Moshi Moshi, a small sushi restaurant on 18th. We sat at the bar upon my request, because I like to be where the fish is. Sushi is definetely cook's food. The fresh, meaty and briny pure taste of raw fish, mollusks and crustaceans is something those of taste (respectfully) can't resist. Now many drink sake with sushi, but tonight I had a couple of Sapporos. Served with our sushi (I had eel, soft shell crab and scallop), came the standard wasabi and pink pickled ginger. The wasabi allows the diner to attain the level of spicy-ness he or she desires, but the ginger serves the less obvious. DO NOT PUT GINGER ON YOUR FISH!!!!! God did not mean for these beautiful cuts of the sea to taste like sugar water, and that's all your doing when you combine the flavors. Pick up the piece of sushi, put it in your mouth and savor that fresh flavor. After it is finished, take a little piece of the ginger and put it in your mouth. It will clear it like the "backspace" button clears a sentence. Put another piece of that same sushi in your mouth, and you will understand why. It will taste like the first bite.

Friends, maximize your dining experience, palate, and your wallet. Clear your taste buds, and eat again. Whether it is a $17 glass of wine or a small piece of pickled ginger. If paired properly, they will change your eating experience.

Peace,
Charlie

Contemporary Ladies

Tonight Meredith and I were invited to dinner by our close friends Kevin and Ashley. Ashley is one of those rare young modern women who, like my beautiful fiance, contains a rare yet distinguished sense of class, style and grace bragged about by parents and grandparents everywhere with phrases such as "when I was a child" or "there was a sense of etiquette, blah, blah, blah". Upon arrival, Kevin (like a gentleman), picked us up from the train station, and delivered us safely through the rain. We were greeted by an open (literally) door, drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Marinated mushrooms, grilled eggplant, prosciuto, cheeses, and a mini caprese well arranged on a platter. The table had already been set, and we enjoyed each other's company in the living room before eating. The ladies retired briefly to the kitchen to finish the meal while the gentlemen finished a drink (I like not cooking once and a while!). When sitting at the table, Ashley, the hostess took the end closest to the kitchen, I on her right, and so forth in proper form.

Dinner was a beautiful pork chop seared and cooked with tomato, capers, fennel and lemon essence. It was served with crushed new potatoes seasoned nicely, and a couple of bottles of Merlot from Tuscany (well paired, I might add). It was a wonderful evening guided by friendship, a great cook, terrific conversation, and yes, etiquette. Not "in your face" etiquette, but assumed and natural. Even in 2010 there exists young ladies and gentlemen who appreciate social form and manners. You don't need to be at a fancy dinner party with "adults" (I'm obviously still a kid:)) to enjoy this. Ladies such as Meredith and Ashley emerge from the post-extreme feminist past and bring a sense of traditional feminine charm to an equal and free future. It is an honor to marry a lady of this upbringing, and to be in the presence of many the same. Thanks for a wonderful evening!

Peace,
Charlie

Gelato, an Italian Art found in Philly!

When I was a young boy growing up in Rome, my mother would take my brother Jamie and me to the Borghese Gardens to walk, play, ride the merry go round and inevitably grab a gelato on the way. In Italy, grabbing a gelato is almost as commonplace as an espresso or, in some places, a slice of pizza. Now espresso and pizza are amazing Italian culinary inventions, but have been replicated all over the world from Beijing to New York. And everywhere seems to have their own "favorite joint". Well, after a trip to Capo Giro in Philadelphia, I have a new gelato spot.

Gelato is Italian for "ice cream", but the method is different. There is not as much air incorporated in the churning process, so the effect is a denser, and as my fiance described it, "custardy" texture. "Charlie, do they put eggs in it? Isn't that what makes it a custard?" It is true. One of the main ingredients to a custard is egg, but this is not so in gelato. The finest artisanal gelatos attempt to perfectly recreate the flavor element in an iced form.

My favorite thing about gelaterias is the chance for the customer to join in on the creative experience: making your own combination. Whether you have the palate of Escoffier, or that of Cassie my terrier-mix, gelaterias make you the chef. Last night, mine was Nocciola Piemontese e Cioccolato (Italian hazlenut and chocolate). This combination sparked memories of Italian Christmases eating those little Ferrero Rocher arancini. Meredith mixed cinnamon and Thai coconut milk...a reminder of summer nights in Bangkok?!? Maybe we should go there to test that theory. Whatever your thoughts crave, use your palate and your instincts. Visit a gelateria and become a chef. Spark a memory like a childhood madeleine!

Peace,
Charlie

Cognac and beer

When I took myself out of the confines of the beautiful New England prep school world of Hotchkiss and moved to Gambier, Ohio, I stumbled on something new. The education was superb, and I am to this day ever grateful for the preparation Hotchkiss gave me (as well as meeting the future Mrs. Reinhardt), but Kenyon College was something different. Sure, there were New England prep schoolers, but there were mid west public schoolers, west coast montessori grads, and everything in between. I was not thrown off...quite the opposite in fact. I was drawn to the diversity. I thrived in it! I was so interested in learning about different students, their backgrounds, and their experiences. It was part of my education.

I think I had an advantage growing up abroad, getting the chance at an early age to meet people from different nationalities, language backgrounds, and general walks of life. But the thing that was most inherent of this education was not the quantity but the quality. When I graduated college, my father and I sat down for a heart to heart as we sometimes do. I was preparing to leave for my first job out in Chicago, and we were talking about the world.

He himself had grown up abroad, the son of a diplomat, and his father had said the same thing to him. "Charlie, it is important to be able to sit with the President for a glass of fine cognac and talk of the world. But it is just as important to share a beer and talk the same with a White House gardener. It's in the vernacular, and its what makes you a well rounded man."

This lesson is one that I try to live by. It becomes extremely important as a chef. You must know how to speak comfortably with the dishwashers, immigrant workers, and fellow chefs from different persuasions. But it is just as important to put on a fresh white apron and hob nob with the clientele. Being a chef is the perfect balance between blue and white collar work. I love the diversity and I love my father's message.

Peace,
Charlie

Welcome to Your Motherland

During my travels in East Africa I was fortunate enough to spend time in Addis Ababa, the thriving capital city of Ethiopia. The Rift Valley, which runs up the center of the nation is what many anthropologists believe to be the Cradle of Civilization. It is where Lucy (Austrapenthicus Afarensis), the earliest full humanoid skeleton, was found and is believed to be the area where we evolved into the upright (and upstanding!) people we are today. I spent four vacation days in Ethiopia en route to Rwanda in early May 2008.

Ethiopian Airlines is probably the best airline in Subsaharan Africa, and it is what I flew time and time again while in the continent. The airport in Addis is a modern, fully functional operation rivaling those in the West. Walking through the dark airport terminal after a 10 pm. arrival, I approached the customs officer with the same caution that I had in every other African airport. The man took my passport, looked up at me, and with a big smile said, "Welcome to Your Motherland". I was awestruck.

Growing up in America and around American culture, there is an underlying sense of difference. Whether it is race, culture, creed, social standing, or religion, Americans (and plenty of other nationalities) are very aware of these differences. But in Ethiopia (yes, I realize the generalization) I experienced something new. I was treated like I belonged there. During the four days of that particular vacation I made friends, went on car trips into the countryside, visited churches older than the Vatican (including an amazing Easter service in Axum), and all the while I stopped looking over my shoulder.

When I met locals, they offered to take me to restaurants, pizzerias, to the Palace where Haile Selassie kept his lions, to the National Museum, and to see the bones of Lucy. They didn't expect gratuity, as in most African cities. They were not "paid" friend/tour guides for the week, but real people. We discussed politics, women, the best places to buy a beer, everything. Except for the fact that they were (obviously) very poor, black, Orthodox Christian, whatever. It didn't matter.

They did not have to attend these "culture awareness" clinics that major companies sponsorfor their employees, and they didn't need an "I have a dream" speech. Its true, there are so many differences between the two, and Martin Luther King Jr. turned the direction of America out of a blinding darkness of fear. But nonetheless, in Ethiopia, it was just different. You didn't need to be forced or coerced from any point of view. Everyone was equal, everyone from the same place. Mother Africa.

Peace,
Charlie

How To Introduce Oneself at a Party

I attended an amazing Adult Forum this morning before my regular Sunday 11 o'clock church service. Amazing because its had me thinking all day. A wonderful professor, whom I'll call Beverly asked the question: "How do you introduce yourself at a party?" Quickly, a friend of mine replied "my name is Kent, and I am a carpenter." He is in fact not a carpenter, but he clarified the point by adding "Americans always say their name and what they do". Americans are obsessed with wealth and how much money other people make. After learning ones profession, the American automatically figures out the next logical question...how much the person makes. Another parishoner offered it might be easier to skip the name and job and just give people a number!

I know its uncomfortable to hear this simple insight into American pop culture. But is there other ways to introduce yourself more clearly? If you are a Christian do you way, "my name is Charles and I am a child of God and a forgiven sinner?" Well there is nothing wrong with it, but its funny that the latter question makes people more uncomfortable than some 26 year old blond Hollywood leach asking "I my name is Barbie, what kind of car do you drive?"

I prefer to allow people the benefit choosing how they wish to introduce themselves, but be careful when the next guy who comes up to you at a party with "hi I'm Jeremy! Want to see my new Rolls?" I recommend getting more punch instead.

Peace,
Charlie

Beverly and my fellow parishoners have inspired my blog today.

Tentative Mission: Haiti

Through sources and friends of my co-author, (and originally a great idea of my father), I have begun to think about a trip to Haiti. One of the most common injuries during the earthquake were crush wounds delivered by falling debris, including mostly buildings. These do not leave simple fractures or simple breaks, but bones are crushed and, in many cases, irreparably. This of course leads to amputations.

After two years in French-speaking Africa, I can communicate pretty well. Well enough, I think, to talk to people about their lives, past and future. More importantly, I was a child amputee. Granted, I was not caught under a falling apartment building without warning, but I understand these things: poverty, pain and hopelessness. I am interested in spending time in Haiti for this reason. I can have the opportunity to show children that they have a future. In a poverty stricken and politically hopeless situation like that in Haiti, it is extremely important that the new generations learn from the mistakes of their elders. I am not blaming the government for the earthquake, but I do blame them for attempting to tax entire plane shipments of aid from the US and others.

With the formation of the Community of American and Caribbean States (sans United States) during the summit in Cancun, our neighbors in the southern hemisphere are becoming more united in the hopes of a stronger political and economic future. Haiti needs to get back in the politcal sphere. It is understandable that after close to 300,000 deaths, such a poor country needs time to recuperate, but I believe that any bit of help pushing hope will help to give a positive example future Haitian leaders.

The children of the world are everyone's first priority, or they at least should be. I want mine to include those I can help with my background: amputee and mediocre French speaker. I am still waiting to hear, but this would be a excellent chance to witness this tragedy and allow me to do something positive for children who deserve it. Let's wait and see!

Peace,
Charlie

Diving into History

When I was growing up with a prosthetic leg, I could do almost everything. Ride a bike, climb mountains, play sports and swim... but I could never swim with the leg on. Swimming pools were not a problem, but the beach was a total nightmare. I would get sand in my prosthetic irritating the skin, and I needed assistance getting from my towel into the water. And boy, did I hate assistance. I hated depending on someone else to do simple things. It drives me crazy, honestly, to this day.

I had heard when I was younger about something called an aqualeg: a leg for the water. I asked around and came to the conclusion that, because it was unnecessary, that I would have to pay out of pocket. Obviously, at the going rate of $10,000-14,000 a leg, this was out of the question. And so life continued. I traveled the world and its beaches. From Bali to Africa, Europe to the Caribbean islands, West coast to East, I technically swam in 3 oceans (Pacific, Atlantic and Indian), 3 gulfs (Mexico, Aden and Persian), and 6 seas (Caribbean, North, Mediterranean, Tyrrhenian and Bali).

We have been planning our honeymoon, and we finally have decided on Turks & Caicos, which is supposedly not as rainy in the summer as other islands. We have looked at beautiful pictures on the net of the hotel, the island, and of course, the beaches. But this time, it will be different. While procrastinating on the internet, I came upon a prosthetic cover, which you slip on over, remove the air with a valve, and allows the wearer to shower, bath, walk in the water and (they claim) to swim! I couldn't believe it! I went to the order page.... $68!!!!! It hasn't really sunk in yet, but can you imagine how this makes me feel? Finally, I can take the last little piece of physical dependency and throw it out the window. On my honeymoon, I will walk out of the hotel onto the beach, run full strength, and dive into the water by myself. I am smiling uncontrollably as I write this. I will take a video of it for my blog followers. It will go down as a day I will never forget, especially because I will be doing it with my new bride at my side.

Peace,
Charlie