Like it, don't like it, read it, don't read it. Doesn't bother me. Though I wish everyone could have had someone like this as a youngster.
Much of my geopolitical knowledge began early via a relative that worked all over the world (the $hit holes, that is). The following focusses on Eastern Europe, Saharan and Sub-Saharan Africa. If you want, we can then move to Asia PAC, et al.
Just a little background. My aunt went to work for the UN right out of college about 10-years after it was formed which would make it about 1955. She was a financial whiz and very quickly made her way to one of the top financial women in all the UN. She was charged with rounding up and deploying assets in new project.
Sounds cool so far, right? Nope, her duty stations included Mexico during the 60's uprisings, she was in the Gaza strip in '67 where the Egyptians, Jordanians and Israelis had their 7-day war.
While literally hiding under her kitchen sink with her cat 2-rounds from somewhere came through the wall and killed her cat. She got it in the leg but survived and was rehabbed at my grandparents’ home in eastern Oklahoma county. I was about 12-years old here and suddenly I wanted to know what the heck was going on outside of eastern Oklahoma county.
Her next station was in Djibouti surrounded by Ethiopia & Somalia financing flood control & agriculture infrastructure. Next, she was in Cyprus in 1974 when the Greeks and the Turks went at it. This time she was evacuated out by some friendly Greeks to Sardinia.
Regardless of the political on-goings she always was provided with a driver, a gardener, maid, pet sitter, cook, exec. assistant & what she called a “girl Friday.”
Next, she was "exiled" in her words to Dacca, Bangladesh again working on flood control, agriculture, and insect-born epidemics. She got extremely sick from one of those bugs after being in-country for 2-years.
She returned to her apartment in NYC to rehab and work locally. During 3-of her regular 6-month returns to NYC which she had negotiated she would fly me there for 2-weeks in the summer.
She worked hard to inculcate me with culture at the museums, art galleries, shows, Wall Street, 42nd St. She had what seemed like millions of friends and they all took me to their work venues to see what they did. (My fav was the dancer in the 42nd st. cast.)
On my last NYC visit, out on the fire escape 30-stories up looking down on Central Park she took my chin in her hand, looked me in the eyes, smiled and said, “tell your mother that I tried to scrape some of that red dirt off you but you may be hopeless” Then, she said to me something that I did not exactly understand at the time, but later have embraced it as mine.
She said “young fairdinkem, you know you can lead a whore to culture, you just can’t make her think”. When I asked my 4th grade teacher/mother what it meant she went white and cleared datum.
What was to be her last station was Lome’ Togo pinched in between Benin, Burkina Faso, and Ghana.
During all these times she would always take the time to airmail me a letter each month describing her new local and adventure. Along with each new venue she would send a local trinket native
to the indigenous cultures. I have a closet full of this stuff.
Lastly, she flew everywhere she went. My best memories are at the old east gate storm fence at Will Rogers seeing her come down the steps & onto the tarmac from that beautiful A/A Douglas DC-4.
During her career she met more than I liked the people that I thought were the enemies of the world. Shimon Peres, Muammar Gaddafi, Gamal Nassar, Idi Amin Dada, Robert Mugabe, Mobutu Sese Seko, and the scourge Nicolae Ceaușescu. She had no problems discretely and indiscreetly dropping these names in conversation.
As I had gotten older and even for a while in college, we began to argue the UN’s role & mission more than discuss it. Many times, these “discussions” ended by family intervention. The final blow with “the family UN problem” occurred at the family ranch in Colorado where our ancestors cut up ice blocks to keep the fruits & vegetables on the railroad from the west coast fresh on their way to NY.
Aunt Pollye had invited her Japanese boyfriend to the mountains but did not tell my grandfather who served 3-years in the NAVY in
the pacific theatre. Her boys’ name was Hatsuya.
One night over dinner auntie was regaling Hatsuya’s feats in an Egyptian assignment. My grandfather finally had enough and after quieting the table looked at the little Hatsuya “Son, do you really say your name, or do you have to sneeze it”? After that trip I only saw her one last time.
I realize this is long and I thank you for your indulgence, but as we engage deeper in our discussions, I felt that in the interest of transparency and full disclosure that I confess that my geopolitical bent has been shaped, honed, and dulled by my long history living vicariously through my Aunt Pollye and her selective rose-glasses polarized narcissism. Heck, it might have been Stockholm syndrome for all I know.
I’ll keep it shorter in the future.
fairdinkem
Much of my geopolitical knowledge began early via a relative that worked all over the world (the $hit holes, that is). The following focusses on Eastern Europe, Saharan and Sub-Saharan Africa. If you want, we can then move to Asia PAC, et al.
Just a little background. My aunt went to work for the UN right out of college about 10-years after it was formed which would make it about 1955. She was a financial whiz and very quickly made her way to one of the top financial women in all the UN. She was charged with rounding up and deploying assets in new project.
Sounds cool so far, right? Nope, her duty stations included Mexico during the 60's uprisings, she was in the Gaza strip in '67 where the Egyptians, Jordanians and Israelis had their 7-day war.
While literally hiding under her kitchen sink with her cat 2-rounds from somewhere came through the wall and killed her cat. She got it in the leg but survived and was rehabbed at my grandparents’ home in eastern Oklahoma county. I was about 12-years old here and suddenly I wanted to know what the heck was going on outside of eastern Oklahoma county.
Her next station was in Djibouti surrounded by Ethiopia & Somalia financing flood control & agriculture infrastructure. Next, she was in Cyprus in 1974 when the Greeks and the Turks went at it. This time she was evacuated out by some friendly Greeks to Sardinia.
Regardless of the political on-goings she always was provided with a driver, a gardener, maid, pet sitter, cook, exec. assistant & what she called a “girl Friday.”
Next, she was "exiled" in her words to Dacca, Bangladesh again working on flood control, agriculture, and insect-born epidemics. She got extremely sick from one of those bugs after being in-country for 2-years.
She returned to her apartment in NYC to rehab and work locally. During 3-of her regular 6-month returns to NYC which she had negotiated she would fly me there for 2-weeks in the summer.
She worked hard to inculcate me with culture at the museums, art galleries, shows, Wall Street, 42nd St. She had what seemed like millions of friends and they all took me to their work venues to see what they did. (My fav was the dancer in the 42nd st. cast.)
On my last NYC visit, out on the fire escape 30-stories up looking down on Central Park she took my chin in her hand, looked me in the eyes, smiled and said, “tell your mother that I tried to scrape some of that red dirt off you but you may be hopeless” Then, she said to me something that I did not exactly understand at the time, but later have embraced it as mine.
She said “young fairdinkem, you know you can lead a whore to culture, you just can’t make her think”. When I asked my 4th grade teacher/mother what it meant she went white and cleared datum.
What was to be her last station was Lome’ Togo pinched in between Benin, Burkina Faso, and Ghana.
During all these times she would always take the time to airmail me a letter each month describing her new local and adventure. Along with each new venue she would send a local trinket native
to the indigenous cultures. I have a closet full of this stuff.
Lastly, she flew everywhere she went. My best memories are at the old east gate storm fence at Will Rogers seeing her come down the steps & onto the tarmac from that beautiful A/A Douglas DC-4.
During her career she met more than I liked the people that I thought were the enemies of the world. Shimon Peres, Muammar Gaddafi, Gamal Nassar, Idi Amin Dada, Robert Mugabe, Mobutu Sese Seko, and the scourge Nicolae Ceaușescu. She had no problems discretely and indiscreetly dropping these names in conversation.
As I had gotten older and even for a while in college, we began to argue the UN’s role & mission more than discuss it. Many times, these “discussions” ended by family intervention. The final blow with “the family UN problem” occurred at the family ranch in Colorado where our ancestors cut up ice blocks to keep the fruits & vegetables on the railroad from the west coast fresh on their way to NY.
Aunt Pollye had invited her Japanese boyfriend to the mountains but did not tell my grandfather who served 3-years in the NAVY in
the pacific theatre. Her boys’ name was Hatsuya.
One night over dinner auntie was regaling Hatsuya’s feats in an Egyptian assignment. My grandfather finally had enough and after quieting the table looked at the little Hatsuya “Son, do you really say your name, or do you have to sneeze it”? After that trip I only saw her one last time.
I realize this is long and I thank you for your indulgence, but as we engage deeper in our discussions, I felt that in the interest of transparency and full disclosure that I confess that my geopolitical bent has been shaped, honed, and dulled by my long history living vicariously through my Aunt Pollye and her selective rose-glasses polarized narcissism. Heck, it might have been Stockholm syndrome for all I know.
I’ll keep it shorter in the future.
fairdinkem
