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Algeria/Tunisia Border Crossing
I waved at Maleyka and her cousins once more before throwing my bag in the taxi. “Sahha, Merci,” I said, knowing this was the last time I’d see familiar faces for a while. Goodbyes are countless when one travels this way for months on end. As travelers, we forge meaningful connections during our time with…
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Desert Discoveries
I wasn’t supposed to be out here in the desert. The plan was to take a simple 1-hour flight from Algiers to Tunis, with the worst of the bumps coming from some light mid-air turbulence. To grant my visa, Algeria required both arrival and departure flights to be booked in advance, but I hated this…
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Profile in Kindness
Slap! The first kick landed on the outside of my shin as he tried sweeping my leg. Slap! Another attempt at the same move. A minute passed as we circled each other, searching for grips. Slap! Goddammit!, I thought. Slap! Slap! Come on! I grabbed the back of his neck with a collar tie and…
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Algerian News Report on my Travels
Here’s a 10 minute report by El Bilad TV on my journey to Algeria to train jiu jitsu. A journalist thought my writing project carried merit and spent a day with us shooting the above. It’s in Arabic, but the gist is that any chance for human connection is a beautiful thing, and we should…
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Algerian Air
We buzzed through streets, splitting lanes and taking shortcuts. It was 7:00 p.m. and the Algerian air was still hot. Exhaust fumes billowed black smoke into our faces as we tore past buses and old Renault beaters. I held the camera in one hand and clutched the back of the motorbike with the other. I…
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A Heavy Ride
*Note: The main character in this story speaks limited English, and I speak nearly no Arabic. As such, I’ve adjusted the dialogue to refrain from using fragmented language or tawdry colloquialisms. I’m unsure of what to do with this experience, so I thought I’d write about it. Presently, I’m sitting in an aging bus terminal…
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Time to Grind
His forearm ripped across my jawline as he went hunting for my neck. I tucked my chin to protect my throat, knowing he’d attempt a face crank next. And here he was, on my back, squeezing my mandible with every remaining ounce of strength. Like a shovelhead being driven into the dirt, I felt the…
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Moment on a Train
I’ve been here before; I know this place. Not the physical patch of earth, per se. Morocco is fresh: my first glance, a new flavor. The multiple flights getting here, sprinting to catch a departing train, the strain of pack straps as they dig into the front of my shoulders; this place—I know it well.…
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The Plan
For the next 3 months, my wayfarer spirit has been given carte blanche to run amok. I’ll start in the Maghreb–a region in Northwest Africa–where I’ll explore Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. Each country promises distinct Saharan flavors, unique in their folds of culture and history. Next, I’ll traverse the rich landscape of Ethiopia within the…
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Why “Stirring Point?”
My great-grandfather loved coffee. He’d reheat it on the stove several hours after it was first brewed, often drinking a cup before bedtime. If some remained in the pot from the day prior, he’d warm it up and slurp that down too. He once consumed week-old coffee he found in a percolator, resting on the…
Stirring Point 