i take pictures

some pics from my bike ride the other day.

animals sketches

first sketches ziggy has done for the animals comic script. to quote kim deal "i'm amazed."

how cool does a post apocalyptic nashville look?

chanda's french fries

Here is an article Chanda's wrote on making the perfect french fries at home. They were pretty god damn good.

Admit it, you love McDonald’s french fries. And if you have any sense, you prefer a nice, crispy fry over a limp, lifeless potato stick. This is the perfect recipe for delicious tasting AND crunchy french fries AT HOME, without a deep fryer.
Step 1: Cut potatoes up! Preferably into thin pieces, unless you want mushy potato wedges, which, hey, to each thier own – but not recommended. Approx. 1 potato per person will be plenty.

Step 2: Place potato slices into a pot, cover with water (just enough so they float). Squeeze one whole lemon into the pot, and then throw the whole rind in with it! Bring to a boil for 10 minutes or so, or until soft, but keeping their shape.

Step 3: Drain potatoes, and set aside. Bring 2″ or so of vegetable oil (or other) to an almost boil. Carefully drop in some potato slices with a metal spoon, or spatula. Let them fry for 7 – 10 minutes. They will NOT turn brown, so don’t wait for them to.
Step 4: Carefully remove fries with said spoon, and let cool.
Step 5: Wait for oil to heat back up, and place fries back into oil for 1 – 2 minutes. Fries will start to brown quickly.

Step 6: Toss some salt and pepper on them while they’re still hot!
Step 7: eat.

I tested this recipe last night and it was.. um perfect.

bone marrow and chocolate cobbler

I made Valentine's dinner last night. Thick cut fillet Mignon, roasted bone marrow with parsley salad, and asparagus with balsamic vinegar. For desert my mom's chocolate cobbler. The bone marrow is something I've been wanting to try for quite some time and was actually pretty simple and cheap to pull off. Next time I want to try it with lemongrass, cilantro, and maybe some chili past.

Working on an adaption of the short story Animals as a comic book. If anyone knows any illustrators who may be interested.

Here is the recipe for the roasted marrow from last night as well as mom's chocolate cobbler:

The Bone Marrow:

Take your center cut beef bones and place them upright in a cast iron skillet or roasting pan. Place in the one and roast for 20 minute (or until marrow turns to liquid or jelly) at 450 degrees.

Thinly slice one shallot and rough cut about a half cup of Italian parsley( I used a rough cut but you can mince or tear if you like) add one teaspoon of olive oil and one teaspoon of lemon juice and toss.

On your serving plate grind out a table spoon of sea salt. With a spoon add a few drips of water to make a wet salt paste.

Grill or toast some bread (I used some cut up pita.)

See prep was easy peasy! Now how to eat!

With a knife or Very skinny spoon scoop out some marrow from the bone and spread it on your toast. Add a bit of your salad and smear a bit of the salt paste on top. Sub come to meat butter goodness.

OK now on to the Chocolate Cobbler.

In a sauce pan melt down a half cup of butter.

In a largish mixing bowl add three fourths cup sugar, one and a half cups cocoa, one cup of flower, one teaspoon of baking powder, one half teaspoon of sea salt, a half cup of milk, and one teaspoon of vanilla. Mix with your melted butter and pour into nine by nine baking dish.

In a separate bowl mix one cup of sugar one fourth cup of cocoa. Sprinkle this over your batter and pour one and a half cups of boiling over everything. Bake at at three fifty degrees for thirty minutes. Best served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Animals

Martin liked to drink from the tin can. It gave the water a hard metallic back that was pleasing to his palette. He had read somewhere that this meant that he had some type of mineral deficiency, but he had never bothered to see a doctor about it. Now that the war had come and gone, there were no doctors to go to. Instead of worrying about it, he simply allowed himself the pleasure of the tin tasting water, sipping it slowly as he looked out the window at the now unpopulated city in which he lived.

Some mornings he would hunt. Deer and wild pigs had moved into the city, so game was plentiful. He taught himself to cure and smoke meat, and after a few months of trial and error he was making his own salt pork and jerky. He would snare rabbits in box traps, later to be moved to the hutches that he had built on the far side of his roof top garden. He had found an old copy of Julia Child's The Way to Cook, and after some false starts, he was eating much better than he had before the war. Sometimes, as he was tending to his garden he would say out loud, "This new life, it's not so bad. Different, but not bad."

One morning, as he was hunting, he spotted a skinny calf walking down what had once been the city's Main Street. Martin was shocked to see a rope tied loosely around the animal's neck. A rope meant other people. The calf was much too young to be alive before the war and the it certainly hadn't tied the rope. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen another person alive. He could call out, but he didn't want to risk spooking the animal. Instead, he shouldered his rifle and approached the calf slowly. As he grabbed the rope the calf licked his hand much like a dog. Martin couldn't help but be pleased. He looked into the calf's eyes and asked, "Where did you come from?"

It took him the better part of the day to lead the calf up the three flights of stairs to the garden. "Well, I suppose you're thirsty." said Martin. He filled a pan with water and pulled up three carrots to feed the animal. For the first time since laying eyes on the beast he wondered how he was going to feed it. Maybe he could grow a plot of grass, but that would take too much time. He would have to sacrifice the wheat he had been growing. Martin had been looking forward to making his own flour and bread, but the prospect of fresh milk, butter, and cream was too tempting. He gave the calf the an affectionate pat on the head and headed off to bed for the night. Tomorrow would be a busy day. He would need to gather material to make a shelter for the calf and also search the area for any signs of the animals original owner. That rope made him wonder.

Martin awoke to an unearthly scream from the garden above. It was the rabbits. From time to time a fox or a wild dog would find its way up the hutches and the shrill scream from the rabbits always gave him a fright. He pulled on his pants, grabbed his rifle from the corner, and rushed up the stairs. What he saw when he reached the roof shocked him. A hooded figure was holding one of his rabbits by the throat with a gloved hand. The rabbit was struggling for its life, scratching and biting at it's attacker with a viciousness Martin didn't know the animal was capable of. It was then that he noticed the lifeless bodies of several of the other rabbits laying at the feet of the figure. Martin raised his rifle and with a thunderous crack the rabbit's attacker dropped to the ground. Slowly he approached the crumpled form It wasn't until he got closer that he noticed how small it was. With the his foot he turned the body over. A girl still alive but breathing heavily. Her blue eyes betrayed no hint of fear just contempt. "You stole our cow!" she spat. Blood trickled from both sides her mouth. Martin could only stare in horror although his mind was racing. Who was this? What had he done? "They will come for you! They will crush you! They will gnaw your bones!" she growled at him. Then with a scream, not unlike the rabbits, the life went out of her. He looked over to the calf. It stared back at him blankly.

Martin buried her that night, a few yards away from his building. He wrapped the tiny body in the hood she had been wearing and began to dig. The work was long. Every time he heard a noise in the distance he would put down the shovel and pick up his rifle.He would force himself to count to two hundred before placing the gun down and resuming his work. The sun began to rise as he threw on the last shovelful of dirt. He said, "I'm sorry", aloud before heading back to his home. When he finally laid back in his bed he could not keep his head from racing. What had she meant by "They"? Were there more like her? The cruelty in that little voice and the slaughter of his rabbits led him to believe if there were, that they would be hard to reason with. For the first time in many years Martin's feeling of isolation was gone, replaced now by fear and guilt.

That afternoon he cleaned and prepared the rabbits the girl had killed for curing. Three does and one buck, the biggest of the does Cass, had been pregnant. After skinning and gutting the animals he treated each with salt and left them to hang in the smoke house. Upon exiting the smokehouse door he saw something move underneath one of the hutches. It was the other rabbit. The one the girl had been strangling when he had shot her. "Hello." He said to the rabbit. Martin got down on both knees and reached for the animal. The rabbit hissed and scratched Martin like a cat. "Son of bitch!" Martin yelled pulling his hand back. The rabbit darted past him to hide in some other corner of the garden. Martin inspected his hand. Three deep gashes were welling up with blood. "What did you do that for?" he yelled to the long gone rabbit. Removing his shirt he wrapped his hand to stop the blood flow. The wound need stitching. Martin went downstairs to gather supplies for the unavoidable. He prepared the supplies he would need for the surgery on the desk next to his bed. Surgical thread, peroxide, bactine, scissors, and a sharp curved needle that Martin had once hoped he would never have to use. He removed his belt, with his good hand, doubled it, and placed it his mouth biting down hard. Unwrapping the hand was painful. They blood had already started to coagulate and was sticking to the shirt. "Fuck!" Martin yelled through the belt clenched teeth. He doused the wound first with peroxide then with the bactine. While letting the cut dry he threaded the needle and then held it over the flame of the candle for a moment. "And now the hard part." he said through belt clenched teeth before making the first stitching. He saw red as the needle punched through his calloused skin but the second stitch wasn't nearly as bad. As he was finishing the first scratch he noticed a boy was standing in the doorway to his bedroom. He wasn't much older than the girl and he was gripping a pistol in his right hand. "Hi." said Martin.

"Hello." said the boy back and then after a pause asked, "Did you kill my sister?"

"Yes. I believe so." said Martin.

"Why?" Asked the boy.

"She was killing my rabbits..." Martin tried to explain. "I think she thought that I stole her cow but I just found it." The words didn't even make sense to him so he just said "I'm sorry."

The boy looked at Martin. His eyes were so sad. "Does that really matter?" He asked."No, I suppose it doesn't." Replied Martin.

The boy fired the gun once hitting Martin in the stomach. Martin looked at the blood welling from his body in disbelief. "You killed me."

"Yes." Said the boy. He was now crying. "I'm sorry."

Martin pressed his hand against the wound but the blood would not stop. The boy was watching him, still crying. "Do you think I'll be the last person?", asked the boy.

"I don't know." Said Martin. He was beginning to get sleepy and the pain was becoming a dull throb. It wouldn't be long now. "What happened to the rest of family? You're sister...when it happened she mentioned a they."

"My sister wasn't right sir. Our family died when we were younger. It was just me and Nalla." The Boy had stopped crying now and was now looking at ground with a blank expression.

"Nalla... What's your name?" Martin asked the boy.

"Jacob." Said the boy still looking at the ground.

"Jacob, my name is Martin and I will be dead very soon. I have a hutch of rabbits on the roof. Will you let them out before you leave this place?" Martin coughed twice projecting a fine pink mist in the candles light.

"Yes." Said Jacob.

"Thank you. Now will you end this? It will take hours otherwise." Martin laid back in the bed slowly and closed his eyes.

Jacob nodded and approached the bed hesitantly. He raised the gun to Martin's head and closed his eyes.

Later on the roof Jacob set the rabbits free. He was surprised to see one was already loose. His sister Nalla's calf was tied to one corner of the rabbits hutch. Jacob looked into the animal's eyes. "You are the only thing my sister ever loved." He left the calf on Martin's roof and set off back into the city alone.

insanity in nigeria

this is one man's story of being jailed in nigeria for helping two children abused and abandoned by their families for allegedly being witches. i think it's important to remember how crazy other parts of the world still are and how lucky we are here to be where we are. from butterflies and wheels.

p.s. still working on my short story.

On Tuesday January 11th around 5pm, I was arrested along with my driver and a photographer in front of a bank in Uyo Akwa State in Southern Nigeria . I arrived in Akwa Ibom on Sunday, January 9 to rescue two alleged witch children abused and abandoned by their families. One of the kids, 8 year old Esther Obot Moses, was living with a mad man who raped her several times. On that ‘fateful’ Tuesday, around 5.40 am, I stormed a dilapidated building in Nsit Ubium where the lunatic lived with two police officers and successfully rescued the poor girl. We went to the police station, made an entry and got a police extract.

Esther started vomiting on our way back. I took her to a children’s hospital in Uyo where she was treated for malaria. I later handed the children over to the Ministry of Women’s Affairs and Social Welfare. I ran short of money in the course of doing this and rushed to a nearby bank to collect some cash. On leaving the bank, I couldn’t find my driver and the photographer who were waiting for me outside. I was accosted by a police officer who led me to where they were being held and questioned. I identified them as those who accompanied me to the bank, and the police forced me to sit on the ground. The police officers were asking us questions indiscriminately in their effort to implicate us or to confess to crimes we never committed.

They accused us of planning to kidnap someone. All my explanations as to our mission at the bank fell on deaf ears. Later a bus with some gun-throttling and fierce-looking police officers arrived. They removed our shirts and used them to tie our hands at the back. They pushed and kicked us into the bus and took us to the Anti-Kidnapping Unit at the state police command in Uyo.

Meanwhile we were in pain due to the way our hands were tied. On getting to the police station we urged the officers to untie our hands. But they refused. After a while one of the officers came and untied the hands of my photographer and replaced it with chains. I asked him to replace my own too. And he retorted “Don’t you know they are for sale?” Of course I didnt know and didn’t bother to ask him how much the handcuffs were sold for.

Another police officer said my hands were not properly tied,so he brought another shirt and tied my hands the second time. The pains increased. I literally lost all the sensations in my hands down to my fingers. I felt as if I had no hands or fingers at all. My hands were just dangling at my back as if they were lifeless.

At this point the Officer in Charge (O/C) of the anti-kidnapping unit, a middle-aged man who is fair in complexion, came in and started interrogating me. “Who are you? And where do you work?” he asked.

I told him that I worked with the International Humanist and Ethical Union (IHEU), an that I was in Uyo for an ongoing campaign against witchcraft accusations and to rescue victims.

“Where is your organization based?” he inquired. I said, London . As soon as I mentioned “London” he hit me several times with a baton on my head and my legs. He said I was among those who used fake NGOs to make money in the name of campaigning against witchcraft accusations in the state. He asked other officers to move me to another room for further interrogation. On getting to the other room, the officer started beating and kicking me. The O/C later arrived and asked him to stop. He ordered them to untie my hands.

I made a statement narrating how we were arrested. The O/C ordered us to be detained.

The next morning the O/C invited me to make another statement on IHEU. He asked me to state where it was based, whether it had an office in Nigeria, how it raised its funds etc., which I did. They kept us in a squalid building where we were held incommunicado – without food, water or access to our telephones. But we managed to smuggle out the telephone numbers of our family members and friends through some visitors who helped us contact them.

We were detained along with 50 other persons suspected of kidnapping in a room with one door and four windows all on one side.

The apartment had no fan or electricity. It used to be hot in the night so most inmates slept naked, packed like sardines. Most of them slept on the floor, a few slept on plastic bags. I couldn’t sleep and spent the night massaging my swollen head by pressing it against the floor.

All the detainees urinated, defecated, bathed and ate in the same room. Most of them had rashes, wounds and sores all over their bodies. They had no access to any medical care, and the police did not allow their families to bring them drugs.

The police did not care a hoot about the welfare of the detainees. They only opened the gate by 6 am and closed it by 6 pm, and of course extorted money from visitors who came to see their loved ones. Even animals are treated than the way detainees at the anti-kidnapping unit of the Uyo Police Command are treated. The police only arrest suspects and throw them into detention to languish and die slowly. Most of the detainees have been there for months awaiting trial. I had no doubt that some of the detainees were innocent citizens like us who were going about their business but were arrested and framed as kidnappers.

In the morning of Thursday, January 13, news reached us that the O/C had agreed to release only my driver and the photographer. I was a bit relieved.

Shortly after the news came, a humanist friend, Barrister James Ibor, arrived and we were all released without charge, after a short meeting with the assistant commissioner of police. It appeared that there had been some pressure on the police authorities to release us. I still experience pains on my head, hands and legs. My left hand is still not functioning properly.

But I am undeterred by the arrest, torture and detention – whether it was politically motivated or not. I will continue to work and campaign against witchcraft accusations and related abuses in Akwa Ibom state and beyond.