Ranking the world’s best and worst flags

by Aaron Hotfelder on

Gambia‘s great, Senegal plagiarized, and Libya didn’t even try. So says a fun new evaluation of the flags of every nation in the world. In an admittedly unscientific ranking of the world’s flags, high marks are given for good color schemes and originality, while grades are lowered for the presence of weapons, writing, and “too many stars.”

Here’s the unflattering commentary on Saint Lucia’s flag: “Best corporate logo. Makes me want to invest money there.”

The flag of Turkmenistan is described as vomit inducing, while the lowest-ranking flag, that of the Northern Marianas Islands, “appears to have been constructed from clip art.”

I’ve always been partial to the flag of South Africa, while I find the flag of Guam to be hideous beyond comprehension. In my book, Bhutan’s flag (seen above) wins the award for most bad-ass, barely edging out Mozambique’s, which features an AK-47.

Check out the highly entertaining rankings here, in order from best to worst. The ranking methodology is described here.

Tobaski Feast Day (Eid Al Adha): A cultural sharing

by Jamie Rhein on

One of my Peace Corps friends emailed me a couple days ago. He reminded me that today is Tobaski. That’s what this Muslim holiday is called in The Gambia. Perhaps you’ve heard it called Eid Al Adha–or just Eid. This is the day when Muslims celebrate when God told Abraham not to sacrifice Ismail (Issac)but a sheep instead.

Today every married male is supposed to kill a sheep if he can afford one, if not , than a goat, and if not that –a chicken. The food is cooked to be shared. A portion is to be given to poor people, meaning those without. A portion is shared with friends and family who stop by for a visit and a portion is kept for the family who bought the sheep. Most is given away. When the sheep is killed there is a blessing said to Allah (God).

The build up to this day is enormous. People get new outfits made, clean house, buy a sheep–if they can afford one, and gather coins to give out to children. One reason why the holiday feels so joyous is because the harvest is done, people have money, the mosquitos have largely disappeared and it’s not so hot during the day. It’s hot. Just not so hot.

During my first Tobaski in The Gambia, I must have traveled somewhere because I don’t have any recollection of what I did– By my second Tobaski, I stayed in my village to join in with my best friend, Fatou’s family celebration. I had a Grand Buba made (a traditional women’s outfit that used so much fabric I had a pair of pants and a shirt made out of it later) and gathered coins. I let my friend talk me into visiting various families and accepting money. Since I was a single woman, I was still eligible to receive money.

Okay, you can bet I balked at this one. The idea of taking money from the people whose lives I was there to help seemed not right. But my friend talked me into it saying that people would feel good if I participated. They’d be thrilled. They were thrilled and I had a blast. On this particular day I felt like I belonged–and the sheep tasted great.

About the money, I think in the end it amounted to about $1.20. I tried to give it to my friend, but she wouldn’t take it, so later on I bought something for us to share. The photo is of women in their finest. This isn’t my village, but it sure looks like it could be. Those trees in the background look like they are mango trees. This is not the time of year when they are ripe, though.

Travel experiences via medical care

by Jamie Rhein on

I’ve had a filling replaced in The Gambia, a root canal and a crown put on in Taiwan, a root canal in New Delhi, and stitches taken out in Great Britain. When I was living in Denmark with a family as a college student, I hurt my little toe at a swimming pool and went to the emergency room just to see what a Danish emergency room would be like. It’s not like I was, or I am falling apart–or that I’m one of those people always on the prowl for medical care thrills. But, if you travel and live overseas long enough, going to the doctor is probably a given–even for the healthiest of people. Or, if you don’t go to a doctor, you’ll be hunting down medication for some ailment.

Ask Justin. He found this one out when he trolled the streets on his trip to Poland looking for drugs for his girlfriend. She had a wicked cold and his aim was to help her ease the symptoms. (see his post)

In his column that he writes for the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, Thomas Swick describes his traveling in another country medical experiences. He points out how such traveling interludes offers insight into a country one might not get otherwise.

For the most part, I’ve found medical care good to excellent–and easily accessible wherever I’ve traveled, providing I wasn’t in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps, a doctor’s office has not looked quite as swank as what I have been mostly used to in the United States, but whatever help I’ve needed, it’s been there. Even when I was on a Rotary Club exchange program to Nigeria, when the leader of our group cut his hand, he was given stitches in a very simple clinic. The doctor was a whiz and the resulting scar was minuscule.

Of course, there was that time in Vietnam when my husband had a terrible itchy rash. A pharmacist gave him a collection of pills. One kept making my husband so sleepy he couldn’t stay awake. Since he wasn’t sure which one was the sleeping pill, he quit taking them all. Eventually, the rash went away.

Cultural Sensitivity: It’s Not That Easy

by Jamie Rhein on

When I went through my Peace Corps volunteer training, hours were spent on cultural sensitivity. What to wear and what not to wear. What to say and what not to say. Which hand to eat with–always the right, and what do do when a cultural faux paux is made. Because The Gambia is a Muslim country, albeit with more traditional African influences than traditional Arabic ones, there were nos not to cross in order to not offend. I never showed my knees and learned to eat right-handed out of a common bowl with a spoon even though I’m left-handed. Being culturally sensitive became second nature to the point that, after awhile, I didn’t need to think about my actions when I was in the village. In tourist hot spots, like beach restorts, what was right and wrong became a bit blurred. You can bet I wore a bathing suit.

In tourist areas village life goes away, even thought the people who work at the resorts are often villagers who’ve headed to the city for a job. Tourists often have no idea how they are perceived by the locals. There is the tendency to not follow the adage “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” but the “If it’s okay at home, it’s okay here.” As a westerner, I fluctuated between feeling horrified by the attire tourists wore–itty bitty shorts or bikinis, for example, and feeling bad that the Gambians were probably passing judgment on the tourists’ morality based on what the tourists wore. Women were scrutinized much more than men. Of course, just like with any culture, the people who are from a place have a variety of opinions. Not all Gambians had the same ideas about decorum.

Regardless, as tourists head to countries with different cultural values, there are interesting issues to consider. Does one alter how one dresses to make the locals feel comfortable? And if one is within the confines of a resort, what does it matter? Here is the article, “In Egypt, tourism and Islam live uneasily side by side,” from the L.A. Times that brought about my musings. I found out about this article when I came across it at eTurboNews.

How Many Languages are Spoken in the U.S. Exactly?

by Jamie Rhein on

Every year I find someone to talk with in Wolof, the language I learned when I was a Peace Corps volunteer in The Gambia. Mostly, what I manage to conjure up are the greetings and part of a health talk I used to give. “Today I want to talk with you about the road to good health.” I also know how to say, “Oh, that’s too expensive. Reduce it a little.” I can probably still get my laundry done.

Whenever I run into a Wolof speaker, there is a sense of delight and surprise that we’ve found each other. The first time I met up with a Wolof speaker in the U.S. was about a year after the Peace Corps when I was eating dinner at Boone Tavern in Berea, Kentucky.

My waiter was from The Gambia, something I found out after I noticed his accent and asked him where he was from. When I started rattling off Wolof greetings, he was momentarily thrown off guard, particularly since I had lived near his hometown.

Since Berea is a small town at the edge of Appalachia, I’m sure the last person he thought he would meet when he went to work that day was an American woman who knew Wolof. I was just as excited to find him. Since then, most of the Wolof speakers I’ve run into in the U.S. have been from Senegal.

I don’t know how many Wolof speakers there are in the United States, but I’ve found a Web site, Languages of the World with some interesting U.S language statistics.

Here they are:

  • Number of languages spoken in the U.S.: 311.
  • Those languages indigenous to the U.S: 162
  • Those that are immigrant languages: 149
  • There are 14 million households in the United States where English is not the primary language.