Away

(I'll be on home leave for several weeks but will soon be back blogging from Africa. SB)

Better late than never

OK, so not every Bush administration policy is unpopular in the Muslim world:

SOMALIA: MILITANTS GLAD TO BE ON U.S. LIST

Associated Press

Islamic militants in Somalia welcomed being added to the United States' list of terrorist organizations, saying they wished only that the designation had come sooner.

The State Department announced Tuesday that it added to its list the military wing of the Council of Islamic Courts, called Al Shabab, or the Youth, because it is affiliated with Al Qaeda, according to American officials.

"We are happy that the U.S. put us on its list of terrorists, a name given to pure Muslims who are strong and clear in their religious position," Sheik Muqtar Robow, Al Shabab's spokesman, said. "We would have been happy to be the first, but now we are unhappy that we are the last," he said.

Mogadishu, the Somali capital, has been engulfed in violence involving movement fighters, who controlled much of southern Somalia for six months before being driven out in December 2006 by the country's Western-backed government and its Ethiopian allies. On Wednesday, heavy fighting in Mogadishu killed at least eight people, including three Ethiopian soldiers, witnesses said.

Name-calling

How genteel is the American political arena, by world standards. Or at least by Zimbabwean standards, where the three main presidential campaigns have come up with some funny, piercing and downright insulting nicknames for rival candidates -- stuff you'd never get away with in the U.S.

The three candidates are Robert Mugabe, the incumbent; Simba Makoni, the ex-Mugabe ally now running as an independent; and Morgan Tsvangirai, the longtime opposition leader. To the uninitiated like me, it can be difficult to keep track of all the monikers. Here's a handy glossary of terms I learned in just a few days (you'll notice that the choicest ones come from Mugabe):

Frog
Refers to: Makoni (left)
Used by: Mugabe
Etymology: Mugabe says Makoni jumped from his party, also that he jumps from position to position instantly, like a frog

Little man
Refers to: Makoni
Used by: Mugabe
Etymology: To diminish Makoni's standing, even though he served three years as Mugabe's finance minister and was a member of the governing politburo when he broke to announce his run

Mr. Cheek
Refers to: Tsvangirai (left)
Used by: Makoni supporters
Etymology: A rough translation from the Shona, it basically means that Tsvangirai, a former union leader, has grown a little round in the face since he became a political figure

Prostitute
Refers to: Makoni
Used by: Mugabe
Etymology: Perhaps the most quoted line of the campaign so far, Mugabe said that his rival a political prostitute, but then said that a prostitute was better off, because at least she has clients

Vampire
Refers to: Mugabe
Used by: Tsvangirai supporter
Etymology: OK, so only one person in Harare said this, because he said Mugabe, 84, just doesn't seem to die, but still worthy of inclusion

Jing-jong
Refers to: Makoni
Used by: Mugabe supporters
Etymology: Makoni himself told me this (and pronounced it as such), but I got someone else to explain it to me. It refers, crudely, to something Chinese -- a product that doesn't last very long

Old man
Refers to: Mugabe
Used by: Pretty much everyone else
Etymology: The man is 84. As a 23-year-old Harare woman named Patience told me, "My grandmother is younger than him, and sometimes she gets confused. We don't understand what she's saying. I think that's what's happening to him."

Talking 'bout a revolution

Deep in southern Zimbabwe the other night, I sat in a hotel bar and watched a happy hour that seemed extraordinary. Men in the bright yellow shirts of an opposition political campaign stood two and three deep at the bar, ordering round after round of beer and boasting of their candidate’s chances in the upcoming presidential election.

We were in Masvingo, a four-hour drive south of Harare, the capital. The men had come from a rally at the fairgrounds nearby that had gone off peacefully and uninterrupted. A young guitarist in a blue visor belted out a succession of classics including “Let it Be” and “Talking ‘Bout a Revolution.” Outside, the opposition candidate, Simba Makoni, sat in a courtyard with his aides, chewed on fish and plotted campaign strategy.

I had to remind myself that I was in Zimbabwe, which Robert Mugabe has ruled with a clenched, unforgiving fist for 28 years. The hotel is owned by a member of Mugabe’s all-powerful ZANU-PF party, from which Makoni defected last month. His candidacy poses perhaps the most serious challenge ever to Mugabe’s rule, because as recently as 2002 Makoni served in the Cabinet as finance minister.

Not long ago, the Zimbabwean guys I was traveling with told me, such a scene would have been unthinkable. But no matter what happens on election day March 29, I felt that I was witnessing the death throes of a dictatorship.

After a catastrophic few years that have seen the economy crumble and inflation soar to 200,000 percent, Mugabe's most powerful political weapon – fear – appears to be eroding. To understand what 200,000 percent inflation means, a journalist friend I was traveling with, N., said that on Friday, he had lunch at a hotel in Harare , where a local beer cost 2 million Zimbabwean dollars (less than $1). He passed by the hotel after work the same day and the same beer was going for more than 4 million.

J., a public relations manager and Makoni supporter, came up to me at the hotel bar. "People are fed up," he said. "People used to be afraid to vote against Mugabe, but now they feel they have nothing to lose. Life has become too difficult."

There's no chance that Mugabe wins a fair election. But no one knows whether he will rig the result to stay in power, as most people believe he's done in the past. Still, there's a distinct going-through-the-motions feel about this once fearsome dictatorship. In Masvingo today, authorities briefly tried to force the main opposition leader, Morgan Tsvangirai, to move his rally to 8 a.m., saying that the ground was needed for a soccer match. This was a classic Mugabe technique to stifle and intimidate his opponents in the past. But the government apparently relented, and the rally (pictured above) went off as planned at 10 a.m., with a few thousand white-clad supporters in attendance.

Late Saturday night in the hotel, N. identified the government spy that Mugabe's dreaded intelligence service, the CIO, had assigned to watch the Makoni people. A stout, middle-aged woman with arms like sausages, she sat in a corner of the lobby looking bored for much of the night. When N. struck up a conversation, she confided that she was annoyed at having been transferred from Harare, and that she hadn't had sex in three years. It seems that even being a Mugabe spy isn't what it used to be.

Drug free

The customs officer at Harare International Airport in Zimbabwe eyed me warily. I was a lone traveler on an American passport, young-looking, dressed in cargo pants and running shoes, and had just disembarked a flight from Kenya.

To the officer, this combination could mean only one thing.

"Are you carrying drugs?" he asked.

I was somewhat relieved. Getting questioned by authorities in Zimbabwe, if you're a foreign visitor, can often involve something more uncomfortable. Secure in the knowledge that I was in fact not here as an international drug smuggler, I nearly smiled as I unlocked my duffel bag for the beady-eyed customs agent.

While I did that, he began rifling through my backpack. "Any pornography here?" he said. "Um, no," I replied. I began to wonder what kind of reputation Americans had acquired here -- or had been assigned by that well known hater of the West, President Robert Mugabe.

Satisfied that my dog-eared copy of Lonely Planet Southern Africa didn't contain any pornographic images, the agent busied himself with my duffel bag -- specifically my bag of toiletries. He grunted at the Alka-Seltzer and snorted at the Tylenol -- surely these weren't the drugs he was concerned about -- but when he came upon a pharmacy vial of Cipro whose label had fallen off, he was gleeful.

"I have found the Ecstacy," he said.

I chuckled nervously. "For the stomach," I said. He laughed out loud. "So you don't have anything like what I am looking for."

Apparently Kenya has developed a reputation in southern Africa as a popular origin point for drug smugglers. As I zipped up my bag, the customs agent told me they'd made several arrests out of Kenya this year, although he wouldn't tell me what kind of drugs the alleged perpetrators were carrying. Nor would he tell me what happened to the suspects. I would have to be satisfied merely to be on my way, my reputation intact.

The agent couldn't resist some parting words. "You've disappointed me," he said. "I really thought you would be carrying drugs."

The Eldoret Club

So far, so good on Kenya's peace deal. Raila Odinga and Mwai Kibaki met yesterday and according to Raila, who spoke with the foreign press last night at an off-the-record meeting in Nairobi, the two rivals prepared to work together in a coalition government. Kenya's tourism board has launched an ad campaign saying Kenya is "back to normal" and urging folks to spend their Easter holidays at one of the country's vacation spots. After hiding in their homes on New Year's Eve as violence flared, people are going around greeting each other with "Happy New Year." The country is breathing normally again.

To gauge the mood, a colleague and I took a drive through the Rift Valley on Friday, the day after the deal was signed. (The story is posted here.) We spent the night in Eldoret, site of some of the worst post-election violence, at the Eldoret Club, a long-in-the-tooth relic of the colonial era with chipped wood paneling everywhere and rules barring mobile phones in the dining room.

Steve Bloomfield of the Independent offers a snapshot of the club's history:

Membership was once limited to whites. Black and Asian Kenyans were only allowed to join in 1969. Two wooden boards hanging in reception list the club's chairmen, and it is not until 1987 that a Kenyan name appears. But now, the majority of the club's members are middle and upper-class Kenyans. Senior political figures in the region are members, including the opposition politician William Ruto and Nicholas Biwott, a long-time business associate of the former president, Daniel arap Moi.

After a 14-hour day, Barney and I decided to get in a half-round of golf at the club before heading back to Nairobi on Saturday. The caddies couldn't have been happier for our business. Robert, a 2-handicapper who pays his club dues by caddying for wealthier members, said fears of violence had kept most people off the course for several weeks.

It had been days since he caddied for anyone, and he hadn't been able to scrape together the 1000-shilling entry fee (about $15) for the next day's club tournament. "First prize is a TV," he said. Robert often represents Eldoret in tournaments, and he figured he had a decent shot at winning.

But there wasn't much money for golf these days. His wife, who runs a small cafeteria out of their tiny shack in a clearing off of the third green, was also struggling for customers. Their three kids -- including a 12-year-old boy who's already been swinging his dad's clubs for years -- sometimes went without meat for several days.

Just over the hill from their home is Kiambaa, site of one of the worst episodes of violence -- the Jan. 1 burning of a church that was sheltering dozens of Kikuyu families. "There are no Kikuyus remaining. They have all left that place," said Robert, who is a member of the predominant Kalenjin group. It was a Kalenjin mob that allegedly set the church ablaze. Like many moderate Kenyans, Robert, who estimates he has caddied for golfers from most of Kenya's 42 tribes, worries that Kikuyus will never want to return to Eldoret and the scene of such a horrific attack.

Still, he was hopeful for the peace deal. An Odinga supporter, he was pleased that his man will now have a seat at the table. But mostly he wants to see visitors return to the club and hire him as a caddy. Robert can pitch and putt circles around the rest of the club membership, but most days he's the one holding the bag and tending the flagstick. At the end of our round, when I paid him, he suddenly had a dilemma: does he enter the tournament and try for the TV, or save the money, because what if the club doesn't recover right away? When Barney and I headed home, I don't think Robert had yet decided what to do.