So this is the scene: An Algerian DJ is performing at a pretty cool club in Quito. The table that holds his turntable and sound equipment is draped with a gigantic Palestinian flag. Late in the night, he plays a techno verison of “Hava Nagila,” and all the Ecuadorians in the club joyously dance to it.

Is this what Tom Friedman would write about if he was still young?

The drug had, to this point, been considered the ‘silver bullet’ for treating malaria. Used in collaboration with other drugs (to prevent resistance), artemisinin was what doctors used to cure otherwise untreatable cases of multi-drug resistant, deadly falciparum malaria. In most patients, the malaria parasites would be cleared out in a few days.

Artemisinin is so valuable because the malaria parasite has outwitted and out-evolved all of our past treatments. More often than not, the process has started in Cambodia. The original Wunderdroge, chloroquine, met its end there in the early 1960s, when the previously invincible treatment simply stopped working.  The sulfadoxine pyrimethamine cocktail that had the tropical medicine field so excited more recently met its match in the Cambodian jungle, as well.

My question is why this happens in Cambodia. Researchers and public health officials have suggested it is because of the way medicine is practiced in the region; doctors and pharmacists prescribe artemisinin monotherapy without any helper drugs that prevent resistance, and that the market is flooded with fake pharmaceuticals that contain only a fraction of the required dosage of artemisinin. Indeed, these would contribute to the creation of resistant strains of malaria. However, and I imagine the researchers must know it, this is also exactly how medicine is practiced throughout most of the regions where falciparum malaria is prevalent. Certainly that’s how things worked in Ghana and Kenya. So I return to my question: if nobody is following the guidelines for proper treatment, why is it that drug resistant seems to emerge most-often in Cambodia?

More recently, Peru bestowed refugee status upon two former Bolivian military officials. They had been involved in the shooting deaths of protesters in 2003, and have been charged with genocide (which carries, incidentally, a 30 year maximum sentence– roughly what we give to big-time fraudsters and drug smugglers in the US). Again, however, the indicted parties claim that they are being targeted for political reasons, and cite as evidence the fact that charges were not brought until Evo Morales took power.

Of course, if the prosecutions are political, so too is the asylum-granting. If a left-wing leader like Alvaro Colom should need to hide out somewhere, Peru will probably not welcome him. Peru’s effort to welcome the prosecuted from Venezuela and Bolivia is mostly about regional politics. It’s not the case that the asylum-seekers were doing Peru’s bidding (unlike the US, which routinely grants asylum in exchange for past favors), but rather that they could, at some point, do damage to Peru’s rivals. Alan Garcia’s centrist regime has been locked in a struggle with the left-leaning governments in Bolivia, Venezuela and Ecuador; Hugo Chavez was instrumental in nearly getting populist Ollanta Humala elected president in Peru a few years ago and may very well succeed in doing so in the next election. Colombia and Peru, meanwhile, have been trying to drive the Andean Community to the right, back towards free trade with the United States; they recently tried to have Ecuador thrown out of the organization for imposing import tariffs.

It’s unfortunate that a story nominally about prosecutions, asylum and legal status has so little to do with justice. This is clearly a case, however, where all of that is subordinated to geopolitical concerns.

Earlier, Rosenberg had submitted  a video to El Periodico and La Prensa, two leading dailies, and asked that it be released in the event of his death. On Monday, the video surfaced on El Periodico‘s website.

In the short clip, Rosenberg chillingly prophecies his death. The truly troubling part, however, is to whom he assigns blame: President Alvaro Colom, his wife and his personal secretary. He then goes on to build a convicing case against the three.

Rosenberg’s most high-profile client was Khalil Musa, a textile tycoon. Musa was a well-respected man, and as a result, Colom asked him to sit on the board of Banrural, a politically well-connected development bank. Musa agreed at first, but then began to have misgivings about associating his name with an entity widely rumored to be laundering money for drug traffickers and corrupt politicians. He told Colom he could not sit on the board because he believed it to be corrupt; a short time later, in mid-April, Musa and his daughter were shot and killed while waiting at a red light. The crime is unsolved, and the police report that two assassins escaped on motorbikes.

Rodrigo Rosenberg did not hesitate to connect the dots. He told everyone he could that Colom and his inner circle were responsible for the death of his client. Did that willingness to speak truth about power seal Rosenberg’s death warrant? That’s certainly what he asserts in the video.

The fall-out, as you can imagine, has been significant. Apparently Colom has been shuttling from foreign mission to foreign mission trying to convince Guatemala’s international backers that he had nothing to do with the murder. He has even requested the assistance of the FBI to investigate. Colom has been arguing that the whole thing has been a plot perpetrated by drug lords and gang leaders to discredit his regime. If that’s the case, they’ve succeeded masterfully.

This is not the first time Guatemala’s democratic credentials have been called into question. Of all the war-torn countries in Central America, Guatemala has had maybe the ugliest transition to democracy. It has flirted with electing a war criminal. The police, army and government have turned to extrajudicial killings. The violence of the civil war has simply become the violence of gang war.

Alvaro Colom was elected as Guatemala’s great hope to fix these problems. He promised a comprehensive approach to solving Guatemala’s gang and crime problems, rather than simply going to war with the maras as past administrations had done. He promised to tackle drug smuggling and corruption, which have poked so many thousands of holes in the integrity of Guatemala’s government. He did not promise to have lawyers shot dead while cycling.

I used to feel left out when people would swap stories like these, but not any longer.

I was walking down 6 de Diciembre around 6:30 this evening, excited about the take-away burrito I was carrying with me. Seis is a major road in Quito, well-lit and busy with pedestrians, except for one dark and strangely-secluded block with a park on one side and the national cultural center on the other. That’s where I ran into trouble, or, more specifically, one really tall guy and one really short guy.

At first, when I saw them, I was struck by what an odd pair they made. As they got close, however, I could see that they looked a little off: cold and mean, neither of which you see very often in Quito. They covered the distance between us quickly, boxed me in and asked for money. I lied and said I didn’t have any coins.

I felt a big hand clamp down on my shoulder. It was the Big Guy, the muscle for this operation. The Little Guy got up right in my face and started threatening me, saying he’d shoot me with a gun we both knew he didn’t have. But he did have the Big Guy, and that was more than enough to get me to comply when he demanded the contents of my pockets. He didn’t give me time to hand over my stuff, however, as he reached his hand in himself and fished out my phone and a few other things I couldn’t make out. This was a mistake on his part; he missed the $20 bill tucked into my lighter pocket, which I certainly would have given him if I’d been asked.

They unsuccessfully searched my back pocket for a wallet, and then there was an awkward silence. I asked for my house keys back, and the Little Guy handed them over to me. Then he demanded my shirt. “Why?” I asked and gave a dubious look. He paused. If he insisted, of course I would have given him my shirt. Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders and he and the Big Guy walked away.

They made off with my phone and $2.45. They missed $20, my burrito, a box of contact lens solution and a Banana Republic shirt that’s seen better days. It definitely could have been worse.

There are other silver linings. Nobody got hurt- not even close. We all parted relatively amicably and fully clothed. And while getting a new phone will be a moderately-expensive pain, I’m excited to get a new phone number. You see, I regret having given my phone number to two particular girls, as there are only so many times one can dodge phone calls and decline invitations, and the robbers unwittingly gave me a non-confrontational out. That is worth a great deal in my reckoning, though I think I’d still prefer to have my phone and $2.45.

Can something be kind of admirable and, at the same time, be enormously, wildly creepy? Yes, it can.

My book will explain how Mike Tyson took the fall for Gauguin, too.

“Vivo en el Limbo” by Kaleth Morales

Kaleth Morales was born in Valledupar, Colombia in 1984. What Detroit was to Motown, Valledupar is to vallenato, a popular musical genre based on the accordion, the hand drum and the guachara (a scraped stick). Kaleth, the son of a successful vallenato singer,  was born right into the middle of this musical millieu, and soon proved himself to be a teenage prodigy, writing songs for some of the most successful acts in the country. He had other talents, as well, and when he was 16 he moved to Cartagena to study medicine. He did not abandon his interest in music while at med school, however, and he balanced his two divergent passions. Playing his songs at parties and tiny clubs in Cartagena and Valledupar, he built a small, loyal following. In 2003, he released a single which proved popular in vallenato circles, and the following year he completed medical school.

It was around this time that buzz started to build around a song called “Vivo en el Limbo”, which he had been performing at parties. By the summer, he had recorded the song as a single, and it sold thousands of copies across South America. The success won him a recording contract with Sony, and by the end of the year he was touring internationally in support of the single. He returned to Colombia to work on his music early in 2005. In August, however, driving home through the rain to Valledupar, drunk, he lost control of his car and crashed. He was taken to the hospital, but his injuries were too extensive, and he died at age 21.

The tributes poured in, and he was given a regal funeral in Valledupar. Musicians raced to record the hundreds of compositions he had put on paper but never on tape. Zona 7 even recorded this incredibly dubious reggaeton version of “Vivo en el Limbo”. Kaleth’s version still holds sway in Colombia and Ecuador, however. You hear it over the bar speakers most nights out in Quito, and if they play it late enough in the evening, you will often hear dozens of voices singing along.

Generally what will happen, when it’s not too crowded, is that a blind man will enter with an accomplice. The accomplice has a boom box, and after the blind man introduces himself, the music starts up. It is tecnocumbia- awful stuff, as you can hear for yourself. The blind man will start singing along to the recording; he is always a few seconds slow or a few keys off, and frequently he will be both. He will keep going for a song or two, then wander up and down the bus with his hand out. The singers actually do pretty well financially, a testament either to the generosity of quiteños or their eagerness to get the buskers off the bus.

It is worth noting, while we’re on the subject, that Ecuador exported its most odious musician. It’s hard to overstate the damage Gerardo did to American music. The Guayaquil native not only graced us with “Rico Suave”, he also (if Wikipedia is to be believed) was responsible for discovering Enrique Iglesias and Bubba Sparxxx, and he got them both signed onto Interscope. Thanks again, Ger.