My First Published Work... Building A Better You: Being Real, Letting Go, and Moving On

Please check this book out. It's now available in electronic format and will be in paperback soon.

http://www.amazon.com/Building-Better-You-Letting-ebook/dp/B00EVVO3UW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1377891959&sr=1-1&keywords=building+a+better+you

Connecting through Disconnection (or) Disconnecting to Connect (you choose)

Is the combination of the internet, smart-phones, and social media really bringing us together or giving us another avenue to barricade ourselves apart from one another?

Here's the scene; I was in a train riding between Yokosuka and Tokyo, Japan--about a 45 minute ride give or take. Japan is still very new to me so I am taking everything in as much as possible. This was back during the end of winter (it was still so very cold) in early 2010. I noticed that just about every Japanese person on the train had very similar phones. Most of them were either this Pepto Bismal shade of pink or a just as hideous butterscotch beige. I watched them do more than talk on these phones. Not only did they surf the internet and watch TV on them, they also swiped them across sensors at various stores and restaurants and paid for different products and services. These particular phones seemed to be a major part of many peoples' lives in Japan. They provided them a means of communication, entertainment, money transfer, and even a momentary escape. Escape? Yes.

You see, I took a long look around the train and most of these people were seriously immersed into their phones. Some were talking, some were watching TV, others were surfing the internet--but most were texting. It was simply amazing. This jam-packed train was filled with these people who had isolated and insulated themselves from the outside world. Each seemed to be within some sort of invisible force field and did not want to be disturbed and awaken from their momentary journey into cyber-cell-phone land. In a way I was on an almost silent train full of mobile-zombies.

Well, this was my second trip to Asia. The first time I was a young college student in my early 20's studying Modern Chinese History and Comparative Criminal Justice (the US and China) at Capital Normal University in Beijing, China during the summer semester of 2000. Mobile phones hadn't engulfed the world at that time so people were forced to deal with one another on the trains. I remember the trains well in Beijing that hot, blistery, humid summer. The constant hum of a thousand conversations filled the dank air of the subway. As a foreigner of my particular outward appearance, I, of course, attracted a normal number of stares and inquiries. Fortunately, many of the Chinese were extremely friendly and bold enough to come and introduce themselves with a warm smile and hearty handshake. I even got lots of offers to take photos with some of the locals. However, in Japan, the people were genuinely polite--but just about as cold as the outside weather that their sweaters, scares, and leather boots were intended to shield them from. There was such a difference. And no, before you think it, I did not expect the Chinese and Japanese to share culturally much in common (other than the writing system that Japan "borrowed" from China) like some ignorant Westerners normally do. I knew that there would be a number of sharp distinctions, but as far as genuine outgoing friendliness went, you could not have chosen two more polar opposites. Maybe the difference of a decade between me landing in Beijing and traveling to Japan explained it. Maybe it really was a difference in culture. Maybe people are more friendly during the summer than in the winter. I don't know for sure.

However, as I ponder this scene in my mind, I think it had much to do with the mix of smartphones, the ease of accessing the internet virtually anywhere, and the enormous growth and development of social media. When you mix all of these ingredients together, you have a phenomenon unlike anything the world has witnessed thus far. Think about it, you can reach out and communicate and exchange different forms of media literally at your finger tips (with touchscreens we no longer use the "touch of a button" version of this phrase). I can now do stuff with my smart phone that I only saw done on an episode of The Jetsons (for all you young heads, this is an old school cartoon about the future filled with flying cars and robot maids). I can talk to someone using video on the other side of the world. I can do the same thing with text messages and emails. I can go on youtube and watch episodes of my favorite childhood TV show--then share it on Facebook. Speaking of Facebook, I can chat with, email, and otherwise keep tabs on literally hundreds of friends around the world--or annoy them with my highly opinionated stats updates. I remember I was once stuck in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. As usual Ethiopian Airlines had us a few hours late waiting for an incoming flight. Well, I am in East Africa and I had no sim-card to call the US. Plus, even if I did, it would cost a fortune to do so in credits (in this part of the world, pretty much everything telecommunications wise is on a prepaid basis). OK, what to do? The only internet cafe was closed and even of there was a way to send an email, there was no guarantee the person I need to get it to would be online. Thank God there was wi-fi, I simply turned on my Samsung Galaxy S (yes, that dinosaur of a phone is still kicking), connected to the wi-fi signal, signed onto Skype and called the US for one penny a minute. I was also able to assist others in doing so. If Skype did not work, I also had the option of using OOVOO, or Google Talk. See, the integration of the internet and smartphones to the rescue.

In the eyes of many, such wealth of cheap and easily accessible technology is a godsend. One would think that this type of innovation brings the world closer. In many ways it does. It enables the whole world to connect and exchange ideas and information. However, has it brought us closer to those closest to us or given us a way to build electronic cyber fortresses, thus pushing us apart from these people? Have you seen the modern day families at the airport? Let's look at a family of four; a father, a mother, and a son and daughter. The mother is on her mobile phone talking to relatives where they are headed. She is planning shopping trips and trying to figure out who to dump the kids onto when they arrive. The father is busy doing work from his laptop. He is remotely logged into his computer at work and is busy sending and receiving job related emails. The daughter is busy sending text and photo messages back and forth to her friends. Meanwhile, the son, using a tablet, is busy on Facebook checking out a youtube video that his friend posted about sports. When it's finished they will debate over the contents using the comments section. This family is on vacation, yet each is electronically engaged with someone else. So, when they board the plane, will this cease? No, they will either have to use the wi-fi provided on the airplane or simply turn off the internet portion of their various devices, pull out a set of headphones and zone-out by either watching a movie, reading a book, playing a video game, or listening to music. Well, maybe the father will work offline looking at some reports. Can you get the picture now? This same scenario plays itself out when the family drives together and and even when they are in the house. With smartphones and tablets, a person is no longer tethered to a PC or laptop. They can tune out by tuning in virtually anywhere. Now, take this family and multiply it by millions and then spread it around the globe. At this point, you must ask yourself, "Where is our society headed?" It gives new and broader meaning to the old school Zapp and Roger song, Computer Love. A portion of a verse from the song goes like this, "... need a special girl, to share in my computer world, I no longer need a strategy, thanks to modern technology..." It's amazing how prophetic and thus, ahead of its time this song actually was. Then it goes on to state that computer love is digital love, and being so, is "beautiful love." To think, this song was released almost three decades ago in 1985. I doubt Roger (RIP Roger Troutman) envisioned Facebook and Skype.

But, it's not about what Mr. Troutman envisioned, but about what we envision. As technology continues to evolve, its evolution does not guarantee that we (as humanity) will continue to do so (in a more positive sense that is). Will this hybrid of social networks, fast developing technology, and mobile devices that perform more and more functions, continue to lengthen our reach to the ends of the Earth at the expense severing our ties to those next us? Or will we somehow wake up from this cyber-coma and learn to touch one another again? It's so funny how in many ways we as people undertake these journeys that promise to unify and civilize us but they usually turn into the very catalysts of division and strife. Think about how nuclear technology, genetic science, and global commerce have all done as much (and maybe even more) damage as they have done good. Is this just another example?

I can't help but think of some of the themes in George Lucas's classic 1970's film, THX 1138. In this film, society was totally mechanized and controlled by the state. Religion, work, and even sexual gratification was all mechanized and mass produced. Humans were not allowed to touch and were daily medicated. Children were created in labs and everyone was under constant surveillance. This seems so crazy and far-fetched right? How can we have such a disconnected society you may ask? Well, I felt the same way when I would watch stuff on The Jetsons that is now so commonplace. I leave you with a piece I wrote a while ago (yes, for those of you that don't know, I dabble in poetry) about this same subject.

Oh what a tangled world wide web it be,
When the internet is our soul source of company,
“S-O-U-L” not “S-O-L-E,” because that’s what you sold,
 A human life is more precious than gold,
See, the situation became much more critical,
As soon as we moved from analogue to digital,
They tout the strength of the network,
All I see is that this “big net” works,
Don’t be fooled—you need to watch your back,
The main purpose for a net is to trap,
Where’s the location of your favorite website?
Webs and nets perform the same functions—right?
The network connects us? No, it divides us,
Handles & screen-names really just hide us,
Twitter murdered my voice, Facebook hid my eyes,
Email killed the pen, Photoshop provided disguise,
I can now work from home—no coworker distraction,
I can now learn online—no classroom interaction,
My phone is a GPS, camera, and TV,
Put these glasses on and see everything in 3D,
Seeing someone in person—don’t believe the hype,
I don’t have to come over—let’s just Skype,
I can be who I want within the web’s domain,
Any photo, any lie--just need a username,
Who needs the real world? It’s much too complex,
We all know there’s none safer than cyber-sex,
Which side have you chosen in the battle?
Do you use Android—or are you down with Apple?
Can’t leave the home without my i-phone,
Without it—I’m naked and truly alone,
The newest i-pad—you know I gotta have it,
Either that or the newest, smallest, fastest, tablet,
I know how to escape this world without a doubt,
I pull out my device and i-tune society out,
After I push pause on my i-pod,
I then bow down and pray to my i-god.

2 Chainz, Barak Obama, Kobe, & My Quest for a Phone Cover

        So I got up the other morning—I was on a mission. You see, recently a good close friend of mine--near and dear to my heart, gave me a new cell phone as a gift. New cell phones in most of Africa aren’t that big of a deal. The majority of them are Chinese-made knock-offs and only look like the real thing. The stores are flooded with them. What’s even funnier is that these fake phones are often more expensive than the real models that you can find in the US and Europe. Yes, another pathetic facet of living here—paying more for fake, substandard electronics. For example, I recently went to an electronics store and asked (just out of curiosity) how much he wanted for a “new iphone 5.” This fool told me he wanted about $950. I said, “Dude, you can order a brand new one for $700 in the states.” He goes on (like every other dishonest merchant here) to shrug his shoulders and tell me that the government import taxes on such things forces him sell such items at these unrealistic prices. However, upon further inspection of this phone—I could clearly see it too was fake. To the lying store owner—GO TO HELL WALALKEY (“my brother” in Somali)! These guys ought to be one of the first ones to be executed, should this nation ever have a revolution. They prey on everyone, especially the poor by selling items at outrageous prices when they know that not only are they fake, but the price they paid for them is far below what they are asking. Anyway, back to my mission; I had to find a rubber or silicone cover for my phone. So, I take the bus into downtown Djibouti…

Who wants to ride the "USHER" bus? "I wanna make love in  this bus--HEY--in this bus!!!"

I took one of Djibouti’s many buses. With so much poverty, not everyone can afford a car (you won’t believe how much gasoline is in this country). Also finding a safe taxi with an honest driver here

 is like trying to find an honest politician or street corner without one of those rickety wooden green khat stands. So, I walked to the curb and waited for a bus. Here, one thing that is cheap is riding the bus. And unlike taxis, I don’t get that “foreigner discount” (I call it a Muzungu discount when I am in Kenya). What I mean by this is that whatever locals pay for taxi fare, Americans pay at least double, but most of the time, triple that. Yes, they even charge the French, their colonizers, less than us. Therefore, whenever I can hop on a bus I will. It can mean the difference between paying 40 francs (less than 25¢) and 1,000 Djibobutian francs (about $6). The buses here are a story unto themselves. Normally, they come in two types; actual large buses and nine-passenger Toyota vans. Most of the large buses are in good shape. However, the Toyota vans are about as safe as the taxis. These vehicles are for the most part on “car life-support.” The shocks are shot. The widows are cracked or shattered. The consoles are taken apart or empty with wires reaching out like some electronic octopus. Sometimes the ignition is gone and the van is actually set up to be hotwired—don’t ask. The seats are ragged and the carpet has been replaced with the cheapest and gaudiest linoleum type of material. Please, for you own peace of mind, never look at the tire treads on any taxi or bus here—it’s enough to make you want to walk. I can count at least four tire blowouts I have endured here while riding in a taxi. Thank God none resulted in an auto accident. You may ask why these vehicles are in such unsafe and poor condition… one word: khat. Some of you know what this is. For those of you that don’t, look it up in Wikipedia. I don’t have time to “go there” today.

A larger bus named "Welcome"

Another interesting feature of these buses are the decorations. I mean, they may look horrible on the inside—but nobody has buses decorated like they do in Djibouti. These buses are often painted with nice designs and color schemes. But what’s interesting is that most of these buses have names printed on them. Yes, names. Now, most of these names come from American culture. Sure, some of them have Somali and Arabic names on them. I have seen Doualeh, Ismael, Hodane, or Yahya. Some of them have religious themes in Arabic like Marsh-Allah, Alhum-du-Illah, or Illahi-Mahadi. But for the majority of them, they have names like Tupac, West Coast, Biggie, John Cena, The Rock, Obama (there are many "Obamas"), Nike, Usher, Welcome, Chris Brown, etc. Please, I have no idea how they come up with these names. Anyway, I once saw one during the 2008 presidential campaign that actually said, “Obama… Sorry Hillary.” Well, later that day wandering downtown, I actually saw a bus with the name “2 Chainz” written on the back and “Obama” on the front. Yes, nothing says American culture these days like 2 Chainz and Obama. It makes me cringe to think that these two people are thought of together, let alone mentioned in the same sentence when someone thinks of America. AMERICA, something is wrong if this is what we export. Well, I ran a couple blocks after this bus to get a photo of it. When it finally stopped, I let the driver know I was going to take a picture of it—this clown immediately gives me the universal hand signal for “pay me some money.” I looked at him like he lost his mind, said “whatever” and proceeded to snap my photos.

Here is the rear of the "Obama/2 Chainz" bus.

Here is the front of the "Obama/2 Chainz" bus.

OK, riding the buses is interesting. Most foreigners here from the US don’t ride the buses. So, when I get on, there is usually a stare or two.  I am used to it. People stare for one reason or another everywhere I go (smile). If the bus is packed, the locals will be polite enough to make room or point me to a suitable spot. “Suitable?” you may ask. Yes, you see there is a segment here that is very religious and usually a religious woman will not want to be seated next to a male Westerner as myself—especially being a “Kafir American.” Most people here are not even like that, but you run into that on the bus more often than not. And, unfortunately at times when I have to sit by a religious woman, she openly glares at me in disgust (like I am leper or something) and may mutter something like, “Astaghfirullah”—apparently she assumes my ignorance of both the Arabic language and Islamic religious terms. I just pop in my headphones and ignore it. I mean hey, the root word of IGNORANCE is IGNORE, right? Moving on… sometimes the bus rides are interesting. You meet nice and cool people. And if you know anything about me, I can start a conversation with an iceberg and have it talking for hours. One day I remember meeting a young woman who was veiled to the point where I could only see her eyes. I assumed she was pretty religious and kind of kept my distance.  Well, she noticed I was kind of lost, so in very eloquent and smooth English she asked if she could help, moved next to me, and started a conversation. In the brief time we spoke she shared with me that she was schooled Dubai and a few other things. Unfortunately, I had to get off the bus soon after we started speaking. I guess I learned about assuming that day too. Back to last Sunday. I finally made it to the market area and thought about a few comical things on the way. You see, I have been here for over five years now and whenever I am on a bus full or in a crowded area of Somalis, I think of things. I let my imagination go:

• You want to see something funny? Go into a crowded area of Somalis and yell “Warya! Abdi!” You’ll immediately see at least 40% of all the men there turn around and look your direction. It seems to me that here, whoever is not named Mohamed is called Abdi. You see, Abdi is short for so many Arabic names.  You will know someone either named Abdo-Kalder, Abdi-Rachid, Abdul-Kareem, Abdurrahman, or maybe Abdullah (or the Somali version, “Abdillahi”).  
• I have not made up my mind—do Somalis “speak,” “yell,” or actually “scream” the language of Somali? It is definitely not a quietly spoken language.
• As I wander through the market, I hear the conversations of many people vie against one another to be heard… and every other word is either “walah?” or the usual response of “walahi!” (of course accompanied by the appropriate hand gesture).  Well it’s more like “WAAAHLLAHEE!!!” (Arabic for “I swear to God!). If you sit and listen to Somali’s carry on a normal conversation (after you get past the loud volume—even indoors) you will hear this term being tossed back and forth countless times. It’s probably the most used term in this language. I guess lying is so common, unless you “swear to God” about it, it cannot be accepted as truth.

Market shot

bags and what not at the market

                Anyway, walking through the old market in Djibouti under the towering green and white mosque is always interesting (well, unless of course it has just rained—then it sucks so bad because this place sits in a depressed lowland type of area and there really is no drainage system so the mud sits there for hours under the humid conditions and a smell arises along with bugs which then get mixed with trash and other debris and well—you can imagine the rest). Yes, the old Djibouti market; the constant sound of haggling, gossip, arguments, greetings, the horns of the taxis and buses, little transistor radios pumping out traditional Somali music (which I absolutely love listening to), and the smell of a thousand different dishes from the makeshift outdoor “restaurants” intermingled with the fragrance of automobile exhaust—ah, a delight to all the senses. Now about the merchandise… this is a relatively small market compared to others I have been to—like Mercado in Addis Ababa. However, there is just about everything you can imagine here in hundreds of small shops and stands thrown together in menagerie of informal commerce.  You have stands where you can buy food products like coffee, fruit, vegetables, places to buy new and used clothing along with fabric to make your own, there are even tailors outside to take your order or make repairs, there are cell phone repairmen (don’t ask me where they got certified or if the work is actually guaranteed), shoes of all types (however just about all the athletic shoes—i.e. Nike, Adidas, Puma, etc. are clearly fake), hair care products, electronics to include satellite dishes (we are getting ripped off in America), radios, cell phones, TV’s, video game consoles (again, just about anything in this category with a name brand—i.e. Sony, Samsung, Toshiba, etc.—is fake also), places to buy religious materials like Qur’ans and the white caps you wear after you return from Hajj, toys of all types with kids clothing and baby materials,  and on and on and on. One of the more comical types of stands is the lingerie stands. The bras (of all sizes and colors) simply hang like strips of dried meat from atop a wooden plank with other products like panties (again of every pattern, design, and color) stacked like bricks in the remaining space. It kind of sucks for the women here when it comes to this; I mean what woman wants to rummage through bras and drawls in front of some dude who operates the stand? Furthermore, how can she possibly be sure that bra is her size or if the way it is made will be comfortable? If anyone would ever open a real lingerie shop in Djibouti with quality merchandise—they would me a millionaire overnight! (HINT!)

Victoria's Secret--Djibouti Style

Shoes at the market

Another lingerie stall, notice the hanging bras.

Well, right on the outside of this area you have the tourist traps—errrrr, I mean “souvenir” shops (ironically, the “African” merchandise sold here is also mass produced in.. yep, China). Here’s where suckers (like I was when I first arrived) are swindled constantly.  If you are French they speak French to you and tell you stuff like “viva la France!” and perform other shameless displays of Francophile @$$-kissing (yes, when I see it, it makes me nauseous). If you are a White American you are usually greeted with, “Welcome to Djibouti, please come into my shop. Just to look is free. I have a special price for you today.” If you are a Black American they will hit you with the old, “My brother, my brother we are the same color. You are my brother. Please my brother I have a good price for you—a special price.” Yeah, the price is special alright—like the taxi cab rates—you’ll pay AT LEAST triple what the locals pay. A “special price” indeed; and if you don’t fall for this crap and come into the shop, they resort to a tactic invented back in 2008—“I love Obama! Obama good!” So, I reply, “Well why don’t you call him and tell him to come into your shop.” On a side note, I remember when all my local friends here were so excited about President Obama’s initial election. Aside from the historical significance of it all, I did not get caught up in the hype and hysteria. Then I was pulled aside and asked by one of the locals, why wasn’t I so happy that America finally had a Black president. To this ridiculous assumption I countered, “When you got a Black president, did it help you any?” Yeah, you can probably guess what kind of facial expression I got in return. Then you have the dudes that are walking around balancing t-shirts, post cards, fake cologne, steering wheel covers, electronic fly-swatters, etc. asking you if you need any of their items—half of which you never knew existed. I just look at them in the eye and with a loud voice yell, (in broken Somali) “Madooneyo walalkey!” (Somali for “I don’t need/want it my brother”). Usually this is enough to work—but sometimes they remain persistent. For some reason, dude is convinced that if he keeps pestering me and following me, I will capitulate and buy some medium wrinkled up t-shirt with a cartoon of two camels kissing with the words “bisous de Djibouti” (French for “kisses from Djibouti) written on it.

clothing and fabric at the market

Dried tobacco at the market

Nonetheless, after making my rounds to just about every electronics shop, I could find no cover for my phone. Just my luck, out of every fake phone bought and sold in Djibouti, I get the one nobody has accessories for. It’s funny, the fake phone given to me (with two sim-card slots) costs about $180. When I look on Amazon.com at the real thing, it goes for so much less than that. This is the curse of the African combination of restrictions and high taxes on the import of authentic merchandise and basically no regulations regarding imitation products. The markets are flooded with low quality Chinese goods that break easily, work like crap, and in the process provide huge profit margins for the dealers. So why should the government change things? As usual, “Screw the citizenry!” Life here sucks—sometimes--well, MOST of the time. Anyway, I finally find a guy who swears to me he can get the cover for my phone (yeah, I know better—there’s always this guy that promises big and produces little—if anything). So, I show him my phone and tell him I will be back in an hour.

Fake perfume, nick-nacks, and other feminine stuff

Another market shot.

OK, to kill time I go and visit an old friend of mine and we spend an hour talking, insulting each other, and reminiscing. Before I leave, I spot a life-sized cardboard cutout of Kobe Bryant advertising for Turkish Airlines. If you know me, you know that if I am anything in this world, I am a huge LAKERS and KOBE BRYANT fanatic. Therefore, I snapped a couple photos next to it and went back to see “that guy.” Of course he didn’t have the right cover for my phone. Hell, not having what you ask for never stops them from promising it. The hope is that when they return with whatever item that they know is not the correct one, you will be so frustrated from looking all day that you will just give in and pay them for it anyway. If you refuse, then they will go into how they searched so far and wide for you and to please give them something for their journey. My point is, “Fool, you promised me you had it and I trusted you. It’s not my fault you were full of BS!” Nevertheless, I was “so frustrated from looking all day” that I took the ill fitting merchandise and figured I would make it work anyhow. And that’s Djibouti in a nutshell. Everybody is searching for what they want and need. However, it’s rarely found. So, you take what you can get and you make it work somehow. That’s why no matter how angry I get at this place—I’ll always fit in. 

"TWINS"??? OK

"JA RULE"??? Are you serious? And why "White House" in French is on the bottom, I don't know.

Why would anyone want to paint "VOVLO" on a Toyota van?

My 2nd Near Death Experience Here, My Long Lost Djiboutian Flower, and the Beginning of My Goodbyes

What an eventful day the day before yesterday was. I wanted to sit and write about it while it was fresh on my mind. But here at about 430 in the morning, a couple days later, is my first real chance. There is something about stopping and writing about something right after it happens that captures the raw emotions and impulsive thoughts about it. Then again, after you let something sit and stew for a while, you trade freshness for more introspection and detailed opinion on the matter(s). Well, for some reason I was feeling pretty negative when I woke up. You know how it is. It seems like just about everything (and everyone) you see and hear irritates you to some degree. It was like that. And when you are walking the streets of Djibouti in the daytime—with all the noise, crowds, and commotion that go with it—there is so much to be negative and irritable about. And if you are a foreigner—especially a Westerner—it gets worse; taxi drivers gouge you for more money, street salesman are incessant about your need for bootleg sunglasses or t-shirts that are two sizes too small, and little children or women (that actually “rent” infants to produce more sympathy when begging) surround you with their hands out feigning starvation (who strategically hang around ATM’s) to compel you to reach into your pocket—all become targets of your frustration.

Therefore, my negative mood got me thinking about so many things I have witnessed here on a daily basis that angers me. I don’t say this from a judgmental perspective. Every nation, just like every family, has its own set of problems. When we are on the outside looking in, it’s so simple to sit and identify (not JUDGE—there is such a huge difference) them. Then after identification comes analysis—which is where I like to spend my time. However, my foul morning mood dictates that I just complain in my mind about the things I see that really burn me up; for example, a brand new multi-million dollar parliamentary building near downtown that I wonder how many “qualified” appointed officials and other “democratically” elected ones will use—not to create policy to help so many that are in need here—but to use as a giant luxurious office to discuss deals, create new ways of stealing money, and sit together to conjure up any and every form of practicing corruption. I think about the cost and labor to put such an edifice up and can’t help but wonder how many schools, clinics, roads, public housing areas, or other ways the public could have benefited from such. After all, isn’t the government elected/appointed to serve the governed? Well, maybe so—after they steal “their share” of aid money, finish their commercial building projects, ensure that political opponents and openly opinioned citizens are dealt with,  make their backroom deals to protect local monopolies (in the case of the beloved President here, this includes the lucrative khat trade) and hand out businesses and positions to friends, family, tribe/clan members, and/or the highest bidding foreigner. 

Front view of the new Parliament Building. Constructing this was more important than so many other needs here.

Another view of this massive structure.

This alleged $600 MILLION, Chinese built 2nd port facility was built a few years ago. Sure, it brings in lots of commerce and generates untold millions in cash--but for who? Usually priority to given to massive money making projects like this while the poor and their needs are seldom addressed. Meanwhile, money from outsiders (yes, outsiders care more than their own government) that is intended to help is usually stolen before it reaches its intended recipients. See > http://www.themarknews.com/articles/3841-corruption-plagues-aid-agency-backed-by-bono-world-leaders/#.UQkkZL919Lo  "Two-thirds of funds for an anti-AIDS program in Mauritania was siphoned off, 30 per cent of funds audited in Djibouti had been misappropriated (the majority of it to buy motorcycles and cars), and tens of millions of dollars worth of anti-malaria drugs bought by the organization were being sold on the black market."

So, with all this negativity on mind, while I was walking down one of the narrow streets with vehicles parked on each side and people going every direction, I suddenly see about two to three people about 5-8 feet in front of me telling me to watch out (with the accompanying hand signals that animate and exaggerate verbal communication here). I’m thinking maybe there is some stray mad dog about to bite me or something. But before I can even turn to see what the commotion is about, I feel a slight push on my left calf and see the plastic bumper of a car appear. Yep, I was this close to being hit, clipped, or worse—run completely over by a car in the midst of my mental list of criticisms about this country. I am all of a sudden in a “WFT?!?!?!” mode. In pure Djiboutian tradition, the guy does not at all offer apology nor seek to know if I am alright—he leans over to the passenger side and blames me for this near miss/hit scenario. I am well aware that in this country, traffic laws (and even now the newly installed traffic lights), pedestrians, safe speeds, narrow roads, dark areas, and potholes mean very little to the average driver. Nonetheless, also in Djiboutian fashion, he could have at least used his horn while dangerously barreling down this crowded narrow street. I say to him, “Dude, you can’t use your damn horn?” He, an older gentleman, who I am sure is filled with stubborn pride, yells some collaboration of French and Somali at me (of course with the accompanying hand signals) which I cannot really hear nor understand and then proceeds to mean mug me like he wants to step out and do something. Well, there are two women in the car and I am sure he cannot afford to admit guilt on front of them. So he must insult the young foreigner even though it is clear that his idiocy and carelessness could have killed me. The women in the car also look at me in disgust and I think for a minute about inviting him out to mop the streets with his ass. But the swelling crowd and the potential legal consequences convince me otherwise. After a few more words back and forth that I am sure neither of us understand, I say to him, “You need to roll the fuck on out of here, and do not get out of that car!” I am sure all he understood was that his confrontation was over and he sped off in the same reckless manner that created this mess.

As I watched his car zoom away, I was then hit (yes, “hit”)with the reality that had things been a bit different, that car could have killed me. With clinched fists of anger but a heart pumping in shock, I began to wonder why this happened in the midst of me being in such a nasty mood. Did they have anything to do with one another? Then, I moved from being angry to thankful. The truth is, it could have been a lot worse. So, I went to eat lunch and afterward found myself in another restaurant sipping on some tea. To me, this is the second near death experience I had since moving here over five years ago. The first one is recounted here: http://ramonsreality.blogspot.com/2011/01/about-night-my-buddy-and-i-almost-got.html.

While I was sitting in the local eatery I frequent now and then, I was immediately grabbed and hugged from behind and turned to see an old friend—little Oubah. My mood became a joyous one and I asked her how she was. Oubah is one of many children you see in the downtown area walking the streets either begging or selling things out of cigar boxes like cigarettes, chewing gum, facial tissue, etc. Whenever I see her, she always has the same line—“Hey, you remember me? Oubah—flower.” I always say, “Yes, of course, ‘Flower’ I know. How are you?” She always flashes her beautiful innocent smile and in pretty good broken English shares small talk with me. If I have money, I give it to her. If not, I promise her some the next time I see her. She always smiles and replies, “Thank you” or “Okay, next time.” I remember a few years ago when I first met her at the market (errr—local tourist trap) that sells souvenirs. She was so excited to tell me her name and explain to me its Somali meaning—hence “flower.” Since then, whether I am in the downtown area day or night, she usually finds me. On a side note, my heart goes out to such kids here, especially the young girls. At any given time—even 4am, you can see children running up and down the street selling things and begging for money. Sure, my first question is, “Where are your parents?” or “Don’t you go to school?” But this ain’t the US and I already know the answers so I don’t even waste time letting these inquiries leave my brain to form the questions with my mouth. The kids are raising themselves. They learn how to look sad and destitute. But it’s hard to hold in a laugh when a chubby kids point to their mouths and tell me how hungry they are. Truth is, the kids all eat. But they beg for money and take it straight to an adult waiting somewhere. In any third world country it’s the same. I first ran into this in China. There the begging street children even smear dirt and grime on their faces to add dramatic flair. Of course, as pretty much every Westerner, when I first encountered this slew of begging children and women with infants in Djibouti I would quickly empty my pockets. But as time went on, I learned to funnel such charity to the ones I know and some personal friends of mine whose children I know belong to them. Yes, some of the begging mothers here are holding their actual infants—while others hold onto babies that they paid the mothers to use all day. Nothing garners sympathy like a destitute looking woman with a whimpering infant—right? What angers me now as I write this, is that sometimes the heat here is so intense (well over 100° F), and you can see these women out there using these babies to make money exposing them to the heat. Sometimes the poor babies aren’t even awake. They’re out there under the blazing sun sleeping in the sweltering heat on the back of these women with their little heads dangling to one side. Anyway, back to the children. The boys as they grow out of this lifestyle will one day realize that begging and selling small goods will not get them very far. So, what are their choices? The girls, well, you see it all the time. They start out innocent wandering the streets looking for money, helping people find places, even translating—but as they grow into teens and young women, we all know that there are few choices that await them with regards to survival. So, they end up going in and out of nightclubs—and well, you know the rest. Another tragic thing is that while they are still young and prepubescent they also have to ward off the ill intentions of the European perverts that love to travel to 3^rd world countries and take advantage of such children. Yes, some of my local friends here tell me that such vile acts do occur here in Djibouti.

As I think about young Oubah, who according to her is now 13 years old, I wonder where life will take her. So, at the table I asked her where she learned English. She said she just picked it up from the streets. Truth be told, young kids like her can actually employ on average 3 to 4 languages. They have to learn—survival will do that to you. You can stop and speak to any one of these kids in English, French, Arabic, Amharic (the main Ethiopian language), Somali, and maybe even Afar. But when you walk these streets and one of the kids say “akuna matata” please don’t try your best Kiswahili, they don’t speak it. It’s a testament to the dumb Americans that only know this phrase (and no other spoken in Africa) from watching the Lion King (gotta stop and laugh here if this describes you). Anyway, I know that for whatever reason, she does not attend school. But there are plenty of small inexpensive English schools here. I mention this because in talking about her ability to speak English, she told me that she wished to attend such a 6 week course but she had no money. I asked her she what wanted to eat and drink, ordered it for her, and then enquired about the fees for the school. She told me it cost 1,500 Djiboutian francs (about $9). I reached in my pocket and pulled out 5,000 francs (almost $30) and gave it to her. Will she actually take some of this money and go to the English school in her neighborhood? Who knows? I hope so, but at the least I guess she didn’t have to run the streets so much that day.

While Oubah ate her pasta, I noticed an old gash near her elbow. I asked her what happened and she uttered one word, “Police.” I clearly understood. You see, the children here that beg, as well and the young ladies toting the rent-a-babies, are constantly harassed by police. Now when I say harass, I don’t mean how it is used in the US. I mean the police, who are armed only with a club, (and occasionally about a half a bushel of khat) believe in using it to beat away beggars of all ages—apparently they are seen as a nuisance. I have witness this in action. If you suddenly see begging children and women holding infants disperse at top speed, chances are that someone spotted a local policeman. I have seen this too many times. After she told me how she received this injury, my mind drifted back to a scene involving another little girl a few years ago. I had given another little girl some change from my pocket only to see her return to me a few minutes (and a few blocks) later in tears. From what I could gather through her sniveling and my small understanding of Somali, someone hit her and took her money. I was furious. So I asked her to show me who did it. Ready to knock out some young punk, she walked a few paces and pointed to a wiry old woman who had to be at least 65-70 years old. Though she was old, she was feisty and mean—like a rattlesnake. I confronted her and asked about why the child was crying. In the meantime (as always when there is any type of commotion) a huge crowd on onlookers encircled us and I’m wondering if I should even be here now. The old lady tried to convince me that the little girl is lying while at the same time giving her a dirty look, raising her hand as if she is going to slap her, and telling her to shut up every time the little girl looks at me and protests. It was obvious the old lady jacked her for her money and expected the little girl to just shut up about it. Soon others start to join the ruckus and I know it’s way past time for me to leave. I fished out a few more coins, put them in the girl’s hand as her tears magically dry up, and walk away as fast as I can leaving the old lady arguing and raising her hands threateningly at the crowd of people. Ahhhh, there is no sound in this world quite like hearing people argue in Somali. I don’t know what is more violent—the screaming or the hand gestures?

Where the "lucky" reside. This is also near the same area where I had my first near death experience. 

Where the "unlucky" are forced to live

Some of my local friends get upset at such photos, but this is the reality of those that are neglected so that the government can further enrich itself

Back to little Oubah—well, I then told her I wish her the best and asked where the school was. She told me that it was in “quartier quatre” or roughly translated “neighborhood/section four.” In Djibouti, they call some of the poorer areas (in some estimates, slums) “quateirs.” Though I have been to this particular one many times to visit local friends with no problems, some of the other numbered sections are in very bad shape in terms of the condition of the housing and safety at certain times of night. But, I have never, and will never be hesitant about visiting someone because of where they live. Some of the best times I have had here have been in some of the worst places. But my friends live in these places—so it doesn’t matter. My mother raised me not to see the world in such an arrogant way. Thanks mom. I remember once when I was visiting a good friend in this area, I got lost and was wandering around and actually ran up on this school she spoke of. I hope she gets enrolled. It’s one little option she has to make a small improvement to her life. Many—no, most--here are just not fortunate. And it’s funny how the only “lucky ones” are the rich and upper middle class. Beauty is nice. But it can often be a curse (or temptation for “easy” ways out) for young women born into poverty. I can see that Oubah will be a beautiful young woman someday and hope with all of my heart she is given opportunities to make good and beneficial decisions. However, the reality of this place with what I have witnessed during my five plus year stay here tells me different. If something does not happen for her, she’ll be speaking good English at some bar or club to someone not fluent in French or Somali.

What breaks my heart most about these areas is the constant presence of children.

Such housing projects are going up fast all over the place. Sure, they suit the rich and create money, but housing for the poor is low on the list of things to address.

More shots of the other side.

Well, this day was also about me coming to grips with the fact that I must leave soon—for good. It has been such an amazing ride here for me. I have lived, learned, loved, and laughed so much in Djibouti as well as the other 8 nations I have visited here on this wonderful continent. I hope to return to Africa one day and visit more. Of course, as with so many things about life, I have mixed feelings about Djibouti. I care for people so much. That’s why I get so frustrated by some of what goes on here. But then, there are times when I have hope and am inspired by what I see. Then other times, I can only just sit back and shake my head—like one time when I was walking at night with a buddy of mine and in the dark a local screams out, “Hey, fuck you nigga!” Wow, how do I take that? Or when I had a huge neglected beard on my face and I was once standing on a street corner and two of the local youths stopped and asked me if I was from Afghanistan. When I told them no, they doubted my answer, pointed at me and yelled, “You Al-Qaeda!” But the one of the funniest of all is when I was walking down the street one night and a young lady on her way to work, at one of the bars presumably by the look of her uniform, says to me, “Welcome to Djibouti, where every day is a holiday!” When I first heard this I almost suffocated from the laughter but after over five years, I have to agree; it’s been quite a holiday for me.

My "Afghanistan" beard that got so much attention

Don’t Focus So Hard That You Can’t See Anything Else

            We’ve all marveled at some of those beautiful close-up photos; you know, the ones of magnificent detailed objects that we may pass over daily but never took the time really examine. Maybe it’s a photo of a dew drenched blade of grass, the petal of some exotic species of flower, or even a shot of luminous rays of sunlight bursting through a sharply cut precious stone. But take the time to look closer. Though the subject of the photograph is quite clear, everything that surrounds it is blurred and unrecognizable. That’s how our vision in life can be at times. We can become so focused on our brilliant plans, our lifelong dreams, what we are expected or have been raised to become, or even the latest goal we have that we can lose sight of other opportunities that present themselves. Sure, it’s important to have a plan. The old saying states, “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.” This is so true. Yet, let’s embrace reality for a few moments; how many of our well thought out and even well funded plans actually panned out to what we originally envisioned? At the end, it wound up along the lines of some hybrid of Plan A, Plan F, and some other crap we didn’t even think of but glued it together anyway so that we would not be completely empty-handed. Then, we just prayed and hoped—and prayed again—and cursed—and wondered if it would work. Does this sound like your business idea, the house you’ve been building, that car collecting dust in your garage you’ve been pouring money into—maybe your marriage?

 No matter what, we’ve all been there. What we plan and what we get are oftentimes not even distant cousins. But that is part of the beauty and blessings of life. How many times have we been travelling on the path to our self-appointed destiny and then we serendipitously “stumble” into that idea, that job, that class, or even that person that changes the direction and purpose of our lives? Then, once we relax our focus a bit and see the new opportunity, we then have to muster the courage to release the old thoughts and make changes. So, once we do this, we realize that what we thought was a vision that we were carrying was actually a burden. Sometimes these types of burdens are the expectation of parents, family, society, friends, or even a case of us tenaciously clinging to the ambitions of our youth—that we long ago outgrew. We don’t want to disappoint those around us or have to come home halfway through college and explain to everyone that we decided to do something else and appear a failure. Therefore, we just focus harder, and the misery begins.

It’s all about focus—you can focus too much. Have you ever tried to thread a needle? Of course. You must close one eye, focus intensely on that small hole at the top of the needle (the “eye” ironically), and then somehow work the frayed end of it through. Once you finally accomplish this feat after many tries, you feel that scaling Mount Everest is next—OK, maybe not, but you feel victorious nonetheless. Anyway, you noticed how the task at hand forced you to focus so intensely that the only thing clear within your field of vision was the eye of the needle and the end of the thread—everything else became a blurred mesh of colors. This is what happens in life. We can become so focused on our goals or ambitions that much better opportunities—life altering opportunities--become lost in the blurred background. And the sad part is that we often only notice these long gone opportunities when they are permanently out of reach.  I would even venture to say that some of the best opportunities are the ones that challenge our original plans. They are the ones that suggest we adjust, deviate, or even change directions completely. I am not proposing that you drop everything and move to a remote part of the Earth to go dig wells for the rest of your life or that you leave the office right now and find the nearest military recruiter. I am saying that even though you have plans and you are intent of reaching those goals—always keep your options open and don’t be afraid to seize new opportunities, even if those opportunities require you to put your preset plans on hold for a while, or even abandon them altogether. Don’t be afraid to try something new or expand your limits and redefine your expectations of yourself. Be honest with yourself if something is not working or fulfilling you.

Besides procrastination, fear is one of the greatest thieves in the universe. Many people allow fear to dictate to them what they can and cannot do. How many people rejected opportunities for promotion, ran from potentially great relationships, or avoided situations that demanded more responsibility because they were scared of failure, pain, rejection, etc. This is tragic. The truth is, the world needed these people and they permitted their personal fears to rob us all. Imagine if Martin Luther King Jr. allowed fear to limit himself to become just another Black American pastor, or if Barak Obama was satisfied being another law professor because he was convinced the American Presidency was reserved for privileged Whites, or if Hillary Clinton simply believed that being a former President’s wife carried enough advantage and influence in and of itself. None of these people limited themselves, and when opportunity was presented, when the spark of possibility erupted, they seized it. Michael Jordan was cut from his High School varsity basketball team, Bill Gates dropped out of college (Harvard), and Oprah Winfrey was told that she didn’t have what it took to become successful in television—yet none of these people limited themselves or their options. Yes, they were focused on their goals and they all achieved success. However, in each case they all exceeded their original plans because they all noticed other opportunities and pounced upon them. MJ made more money from shoes and merchandise than he did playing basketball—he even starred in an animated movie (though his acting was horrible), Oprah herself acted in movies and did a bit more than host a daily TV show (if you know what I mean), and Bill Gates has moved way beyond building personal computers and he’s even involved in trying to make enormous impacts in the lives of the less fortunate the world over. Put simply, they kept their options open.

Do the best with the opportunities that you do have and you will see other doors open for you. Remain committed to your plan, but don’t let your focus become so strong that it blinds you from other potential things placed in your life. Never let fear rob you of taking chances to walk through life-changing doors. Tyler Perry started out simply writing plays and performing them to empty auditoriums, as a child Cassius Clay (AKA Muhammad Ali) learned to box from a policeman because someone stole his bicycle, and a man by the name of Malcolm X found his calling while languishing in a Massachusetts state prison while serving time and after living life as a drug addict, common thief, and numbers runner. In life, it’s not all about what you can see, because what you don’t see is usually where your destiny is found.

It’s Not Where You Fell, It’s Where You Started Slipping

“Never let me slip, cuz if I slip, then I’m slipping.” Dr. Dre – Nuthing But G Thang (1992)

Falling down, or failure, is a part of life. There’s an old Biblical proverb that says, “for a righteous man falls seven times, and rises up again…” This reinforces the fact that all of us, from the perfectionist to the free-spirited, are not in any way immune to making mistakes—or falling down. And yes, the most important thing about falling down is getting back up. You must get up, dust yourself off, and try again. But let’s be real here; falling down really sucks. No one wants to make those huge mistakes in the first place—let alone over and over again. Let’s take it a step further; some falls are permanent. Life is not always as easy as realizing you have fallen and simply deciding to get back up. Sometimes it’s a case of either you not being able to get back up, getting back up is a lot more difficult that you think, or even the time, energy, and cost of getting back up may not be worth it. Yes, that’s the reality of life. We all know that to a certain extent, falling down is inevitable. When you were an infant, how many falls did you have to endure before you finally mastered walking? So it is in life in general. Yet, I would venture to say that a significant amount of falls, and for some of us the majority of falls, were avoidable. Let’s examine this closer…

Generally, unless you are pushed or dropped, there are basically two ways to fall: slipping or tripping. Though they are pretty much the same thing, one usually trips over something (the front of the foot) and slips upon something (the heel). For the sake of simplicity, we will just label the act preceding a fall as “slipping.” Well, what does it mean to slip? To slip means to suddenly lose stability or the ability to balance oneself while standing, walking, climbing, running, etc. In terms of the act of falling, this is the crucial starting point. In other words, if you don’t slip--chances are--you are not going to fall. Unfortunately, this point is commonly forgotten when we look back over our lives and try to understand our mistakes and failures. Guilt, from within and those that surround us, often times compel us to focus so much on the mistake that we overlook or minimize the importance on what caused it. The quick and easy way to relieve ourselves of the guilt and shame is to quickly blame someone or something else. However, how many times have we done this and again find ourselves falling for and upon the same things? We even try to remove who or what we blamed and the same thing occurs again and again.  I suggest that if we are to minimize our falls through understanding the cause—we much look past the falls themselves and intensely scrutinize when, how, and where we slipped.

However, the issue with slipping is that slips don’t always amount to falls. Therefore, when we slip and quickly recover our balance, we usual fail to note how that slip occurred. This is where the prelude to a huge fall commences. In other words, just because you slipped and recovered today, does not mean that you have sufficiently addressed the issue. You were fortunate to be able to keep from falling—but that does not mean you will be so fortunate tomorrow. If you do not stop and take a look at what made you slip—that same thing will have you fall later. In the immortal words of Dr. Dre; “Never let me slip, cuz if I slip, then I’m slipping.” Obviously, even he understood this concept.

To make this easy to digest, let’s use three rules your parents (mainly “mom”) had you live by in order to keep you from falling when you were a kid and see how we can apply these in a greater sense to our lives:

1. Watch Where You’re Going!

2. Slow Down And Stop Running!
3. Tie Your Shoelaces!

These simple, but vital rules that were exclaimed multiple times into our ears (sometimes into one and right out of the other) throughout childhood can serve to help us better our lives and avoid many pitfalls as we can look at them from a different perspective.

Watch Where You’re Going

This is easier said than done. On the surface, this makes sense. No one wants to just wander into places of danger and failure. But every one of us has had that moment where we are sitting in a corner with our head in our hands, staring into space (sometimes accompanied by tears) asking ourselves, “How did this happen?” Sound familiar? Well, a better question to ask is, “How did I get here?” This is not as much of a question of geographic location as it is a question of how did you arrive into this situation. Yes, some stuff in life just happens. But coincidences are not normal. You know you messed up no matter how much you feign innocence, victimhood, and/or ignorance of the circumstances. Most of the time it is only you that gets yourself into these debacles--whether you saw them coming or not. How? Because you did not take the time to look at where you were headed. You let emotions cloud your judgment, strong desires cause you to disregard the true dangers associated with taking such risks, impatience compel you to act impulsively, or you trusted someone freely when you should have investigated the situation first. For some reason you let dreams, visions, anger, wants, etc. cause you to keep your head in the clouds to the point where you neglected to open your eyes and really take time to study the path you were travelling. In other words, you were so caught up with where you wanted to go and what you wanted to do that you kept yourself from seeing how you were getting there. Or even worse, you had no idea (or cared about) where you were going at all because you just wanted to enjoy the moment. Whether you realize it or not, we are always in motion—always headed somewhere—even if that somewhere is nowhere at all. We are either set in a purposed direction and at the helm of life trying our best to arrive at a specific destination or we are aimlessly floating around wherever the wind and waves of time and chance carry us. When you don’t watch where you are going, you are going to fall.

Watch where you spend your time. Watch who you spend your time with. Watch what makes you emotional. Watch who makes you weak and emotional when around. Watch what makes you disregard all personal rules and parameters associated with your behavior. There’s always that one friend that can convince you to go wild. When you two were in college, that was cool. But if you have a career and family now—he/she may need to be cut off—sometimes completely. I’m being real here. Your eyes are for watching and if you do not use them, you might as well wander in darkness. Take time out from the journey and really study where you are headed. You may think you are moving in one direction, but the results of your life and efforts (or lack thereof) may testify to something different.

Slow Down And Stop Running

                We all remember one or both of our parents yelling this cautionary command to us as children (especially when we had a pair of scissors in our hands). Why were we running? Why were we in such a hurry as to ignore the possibility of falling and hurting ourselves—or even worse--breaking something that belonged to mama? Excitement, impatience, playfulness, etc. Being a child, we were accustomed to being dictated by our impulsive excitability, being heavily influence by our lack of patience, and of course virtually controlled by the innate desire to play at every given opportunity. Though this is a natural part of growing up and learning—it does not translate well into adulthood. How many decisions have we made in the midst of emotional excitement? Maybe we fell when we allowed the impulse for revenge to take over. Or perhaps the excitement of getting something new before we could really afford it convinced us that taking out a loan was a good idea. Young love is also often the culprit in manifesting excitability, impatience, and playfulness. Whatever the cause, such actions must be avoided or a fall is surely on the way. In life, we must take time to gauge our speed. Similar to travelling down the highway at high rates of speed, we could be rushing through life without really being aware of how fast we truly are going. Just as when we look down at the speedometer and adjust accordingly, we need to find ways to pace ourselves when making decisions. Again, if we have not fallen yet from living such a life—just wait a while. It is bound to happen. And please understand, desperate and hastily made decisions, with regards to temporary circumstances, can easily transform into something that brings lifelong consequences. The old saying, “Haste makes waste.” comes to mind here. Haste can make you waste time, energy, money, opportunity, health, relationships, etc. Please, before you endure a nasty fall, slow it down and take time to access the situation. Going too fast only decreases your amount of control over your life and increases the chances of you falling and crashing hard. Do not let impatience from within and the opinions and pressures of those on the outside force you to make rash decisions that you and only you must pay for—sometimes even with your very life.

Tie Your Shoelaces

                 Now this particular one may seem a little silly. Nonetheless, it is just as relevant and the two that preceded it. Let’s look at the purpose of shoestrings. They are there to help tighten a pair of shoes to your feet so that the protection and stability that the shoes offer are maximized and stay intact. Unless you are wearing slip-ons or sandals, a shoe without a shoestring actually becomes an impediment to walking—even a potential hazard. Go on, take your best sneakers and remove the strings and go play basketball or run for a half hour… You see what I am saying? Now, walking around with untied laces in your shoes isn’t the same thing as having no shoelaces at all, but as time goes on, the stability provided by the shoes decrease. This is surely something that your parents hated to see—you walking around with untied shoes. They would say, “Tie your shoelaces before you trip and fall and hurt yourself.” We all know that keeping our shoes tied provides the best amount of safety and stability when we walk in our shoes. Yet, all of us through laziness or carelessness have spent lots of time walking in such a way. A lot of us have a pair or two of those “lazy” shoes with the heel pressed down and the tips of the laces sticking out to the sides. They started out as a nice pair of shoes and ended up as raggedy slip-ons or “house shoes” over time because we got tired of crouching down and taking the time to secure the laces on them. Sure, we only wear these in the house or maybe on a quick trip to the grocery store or gas station. But God forbid we get robbed while in them because we cannot chase the thief for too long in these shoes.

In a similar way, there are things we do in life where we get used to skipping the necessary steps even when it involves important processes or decision making. Carelessness and laziness are reasons why we place our feet into untied shoes and trust our natural sense of balance to keep us from falling. But, when we walk around like this—we only increase our chances of falling and trusting too long in ourselves when we have the tools to better equip ourselves and the knowledge to better prepare ourselves is foolish. It’s far better to walk barefoot than to walk around with untied shoes. In the same sense, it’s better not to use something at all than to use it incorrectly. Also, don’t get accustomed to skipping steps and details in life—they will sooner or later be the cause of a major fall. Take time to do the small things even if you have been able to get by without doing so. Don’t skip steps no matter how insignificant they may seem. They are there for a reason—just like your shoestrings.