Saipan, Northern Mariana Islands – Time moves with a stoic certainty in the Northern Mariana Islands, as if that part of the Pacific is so far removed from the rest of the world, that it pulsates to its own rhythm outside the frenzy of manically digital 21st century space.

It breathes slowly with a confidence that belies the ease with which the islanders let life unfold.

Some will say it was that “easy” approach to living that led the native people to be ill-treated. Over centuries, they were colonised, corralled, and displaced. Europeans, Asians, Americans – they all came as “overlords” in varying degrees.

The splatter of islands was in the middle of one of the world’s most important waterways, linking East and West. It was “strategic” and as such was trapped between their battles and power plays.

Paradise for the Haunted

The islands are part of the United States now. They pretty much have been since World War II.

US planes took off from Tinian, the second largest island in the Northern Mariana chain, to drop the first atomic bombs on Japan.

Locals feel it is all they are known for – if their island home is known by outsiders at all.

“Mostly war veterans …,” the mayor told us. “They come to revisit the places that haunt them.”

But the people of Tinian don’t want to be ghosts. There is a life they want to claim as their own that they feel powerless to grasp.

“Yes, great, we are part of the United States, but what does that ultimately serve us?” one islander said.

The US military holds a 99-year lease on two-thirds of Tinian. They were supposed to build a base to develop the island and bring progress.

“Some of us were even just looking forward to the movie theatre they promised!”

The military base was never built, and with half the time still left on its lease, the US now wants to use the island for live firing drills.

“Can you imagine?” one islander asked. “How do we even know they won’t test another nuclear weapon here?”

“We may not number more than 3,000,” offered another. “But there are still people here and this goes against their original intention for Tinian, doesn’t it?”

The native people were relocated by Spanish colonisers centuries ago, but the US let their descendants move back after World War II to “re-populate” and “re-civilise” what had become a painful wound in world history.

“And now what are we good for,” yet another resident said sadly. “Target practice?”

The US government has said it will take the islanders’ concerns into consideration, and that it will review its plans. But many on Tinian remain fearful.

“When has the US ever not got what it wants?” one resident said.

Because they agreed to become a US commonwealth, Tinian residents are US citizens – US citizens, however, without the right to vote in national elections.

‘Humanitarian Crisis’

As if Tinian’s problems weren’t “unique” enough, in Saipan – the largest island, and the capital – local officials say they are facing a potential “humanitarian crisis”.

The federal government took over immigration and border control a few years ago. This after numerous accusations were made of poor labour practices, and abuses, under the local government.

Since then, thousands of long-standing migrant workers risk losing their livelihoods and having their families ripped apart.

Not that it was better before, they say, but at least then, they didn’t have to leave the commonwealth when they had to process the renewal of their work permits.

“It’s as if we are dried leaves fallen from dead trees,” one Filipino migrant said. “We go where the wind blows, and we are stepped on. Either way, we don’t have a choice.”

He has been in Saipan for nearly 25 years, but he is still considered a “guest” with no hope for residency.

Why does he stay?

He said he had no prospects where he came from in the Philippines, and his Saipan-born child – a US citizen – has access to a better future here.

In time, that child can petition for his parents to be granted citizenship too. It’s a far-off dream, but one that thousands of “guests” are willing to make sacrifices for.

If the native islanders feel like second-rate US citizens, their “guest workers” often feel like second-rate residents.

They all share the islands that tourism brochures have called “America’s best kept secret”.

The commonwealth’s own secrets are barely hidden by its facade: the waters that sparkle a transparent crystal blue, the mountains that entice with an emerald lushness pregnant with possibilities and the smiles on its people’s faces that cloak a painful isolation.

The islands can seem paralysed in time, an incongruous 21st century throwback to a decaying colonial age.

But creeping in, unhurriedly, deliberately, performing a very different colonisation – investors and tourists from nearby China, Japan, and Korea.

Many islanders hope the influx will bring opportunities for development that have otherwise escaped them.

It’s easy to feel isolated here. Time still moves slowly, taking steady breaths with a certainty that belies the changes that may be about to unfold.

(first published by Al Jazeera English, September 2016)

It was hard to miss her, even in a crowd.

Standing at about 4ft high, 65-year-old Kong Zhenlan was barely taller than the children in her care, but she was quite a presence.

With a beaming smile, she shone brighter than the sun, which was barely visible through the heavy pollution in Shanxi province.

“Just call me Mama… everyone does,” she offered in Mandarin, shaking my hand vigorously.

Her energy was infectious as she eagerly told us the story of Happy House, as it is now called. Her humble home in Jiu Ji, the rural village in one of China’s largest coal-producing regions and among the most polluted places in the world.

“We have 39 children,” she said. “Well, 33 now. Six have died.” Only four of them are biologically her own. The rest she took in as babies when they were abandoned by their birth parents. “I found the first one on the side of the road,” Mama Kong recalled. “Just left there. How could I do nothing?”

She said it went against her Catholic faith to walk away, to not care for “the smallest of God’s creatures”. Particularly those in such obvious need.

“All these kids, more or less, have problems, either physically or mentally,” she told us. Some had visible deformities from birth, others suffered from internal troubles or had developmental issues.

Cause for Shame

In China, such babies are cause for shame, Mama Kong explained. So their parents would rather “do away” with them and pretend they didn’t exist than have to explain to society why their child was “defective”. That and the one-child policy, Mama Kong stressed, is why there are so many abandoned children.

Research has shown that in Shanxi, many of those abandoned babies are “defective” because of the acute pollution. Toxins produced by burning coal and chemicals that have seeped into the soil and water supply have increased the risk of giving birth to children with special needs by 450 percent. Many with cleft palates, neural tube problems, brain issues, or missing – or indeed extra – appendages.

“It costs a lot of money to care for them,” Mama Kong noted. “But we have managed,” she beamed.

Her family used to live off the 8,000 square metre land they tended. “The government confiscated that, though,” she told us.

Her land was taken, because by raising more than 30 children she was found to have violated the birth control law. But that didn’t faze her. She took on odd jobs – mending clothes, recycling garbage, anything that could earn extra funds to feed the children. And when story of what she was doing spread, people gave her what help they could.

“There is still kindness in the world,” she said not the least bit surprised. “But I worry what will happen to them when I am gone.”

Mama Kong is making sure she is preparing the children for life as best she can, even though sending them to school has been less than easy.

“You need birth records for all that,” she told us. And of course, none of these abandoned kids came with any.

She begged, she pleaded, she charmed and through the seeming force of her will – she managed to get the local government to issue papers for at least most of the children just so they could get an education. One of the children even proudly spoke to us in English to show what he had learned in school.

Happy House

“They’re all good kids,” Mama Kong confided. “Easy really, with good temperaments.”

It wasn’t hard to see they were living surrounded by love. And that seems to have made all the difference.

Happy House is indeed the right name for Mama Kong’s residence. Her children’s laughter could be heard out in the streets.

Her own biological children clearly learning a lot from their mother – one is now a Catholic priest, and another is kindergarten teacher. When asked what it was like to grow up in such a crowded house… without blinking, even with so little, it was clear they felt there was always enough go around.

“It was cosy,” Mama Kong’s daughter told us. She smiled just as brightly as her mother.

But Mama Kong can’t help them all. And though the government is now making moves to limit the use of coal and fight pollution, there are millions already suffering its effects.

“Who will help them?” Mama Kong asks, concerned.

Who will help them indeed.

(first published by Al Jazeera English, November 2013)

For her, a seemingly simple question was hard to answer.

When I asked her what I should call her, she paused, laughing nervously as she looked at her companion.

“I really don’t know how to answer that,” she said.

“Your name?” I tried again.

“Well, I can’t give you my real name, and I’ve used so many aliases I don’t know which one to give you now,” she paused again, a long list of pseudonyms clearly rolling through her head. The issue at hand was a sensitive one, so we understood her hesitation.

“Call me anything you want, ” she eventually offered, good-naturedly.

This was the start of several minutes worth of her vetoing every suggestion I made, replying: “Well except that, I’ve used that one before” to each name I gave.

“Myrna” – which is what we settled on – has been working as a drug trade “fixer” for nearly 20 years. She knows a lot of sordid and sensitive details about many powerful personalities in the Philippines, who she claims are involved in the illegal trade.

She was careful not to reveal their names, only giving out clues. “They’d come for me if they knew I was talking,” she confided.

“There is a lot of money involved,” she added, “and much of it will come into play soon with the elections next year and all… Nothing would happen without the money. How do you think these people get elected?”

Drug Syndicates

Myrna claimed that the biggest drug syndicates in the Philippines have been run by Chinese nationals for decades. The most popular drug is meth – or shabu, as it’s known locally.

She said that, though the syndicates have set up labs in the country, hundreds of kilos of the drug are also “dropped” by foreign ships along designated areas on the Philippine coast, which stretches 36,000km long. The contraband is then taken to shore by local fishing vessels every three months or so, according to Myrna.

Myrna added that the syndicates wouldn’t be able to operate without connections in “high places”.

“Those in positions of power get a piece of the pie,” she claimed. “They are the protectors. Some laboratories are ‘untouchable’, some places are ‘untouchable’. Why? Because so-and-so gets a cut… so-and-so gets a share.”

“I work the syndicates until they trust me enough to get me to the top – and then I turn them in. Whatever I make on the way there is mine to keep. The police won’t catch me because I’m helping them out in the end.”

-Myrna

Myrna then told one story about a provincial cemetery, which was under armed guard because a local politician stored piles of drugs there. According to her, the drugs are moved around for distribution via ambulances, among other channels.

“The sirens come on and they get through traffic unstopped – sometimes, even escorted,” she said.

And many of these “people in power”, Myrna added, operate drug syndicates of their own.

“This is why there will never be an end to this. How can there be when the people who are supposed to be cleaning up society are themselves involved in this?”

Myrna said most of the trade’s kingpins have been in prison for years, but they’re still able to run things from behind bars as they live like royalty, with air-conditioners, flat screen TVs and internet access. Drug lords only need a cell phone to do their work, and prison guards will smuggle these in for around $10.

The authorities are aware, Myrna added; how else would these syndicates be able to function?

“Everyone gets a cut,” she explained. “Like I said, it’s all about money. You have that – you can get away with anything.”

As Myrna sees it, she took a bad situation and found a way to make it work for her. She “fell into” the drug trade through contacts and friends, realising it would earn her more money than if she stuck to a safe, nine-to-five desk job.

“It’s for my children,” she explained. “Through this, I can give them what they want, and the life we lead isn’t one of total hardship.”

According to Myrna, “the job” has allowed her to put her kids through school, and getting an education has given them a better start to life than she had.

“They have good jobs,” Myrna said, beaming with pride. “They’re professionals now.”

They know what she does, but she does not tell them about the dangers she faces.

Police Informant

Yet Myrna believes her role is actually benefiting society, because she doubles as a police informant.

“I work the syndicates until they trust me enough to get me to the top – and then I turn them in. Whatever I make on the way there is mine to keep. The police won’t catch me because I’m helping them out in the end.” She sat in silence for a few seconds. “So you see, I’m doing a good thing.”

Myrna said she’ll retire soon – she doesn’t want to risk fortune turning against her. She’s put money aside, and she’s satisfied that she has done the best she could for her children. Undeniably smart and wily, Myrna said she feels no guilt, or shame.

“You see,” she said, “money is what makes the world go around. It doesn’t matter where it comes from, or how you got it”. Near her final thought, she took care to phrase her last words properly: “As long as you’ve got money, you can live any way you like, and people will treat you like royalty. That’s just the way the world works.”

She chuckled, and then stopped: “Sad, isn’t it?”

(first published by Al Jazeera English, August 2015)

It hasn’t been raining more than 10 minutes when streets begin to flood.

Thick and murky, it falls in corrugated sheets. Water. So coarse it’s opaque. Nothing but grey. And brown. And more grey.

It’s March in Rio.

At Angelica’s house, there’s a splash of red against a wall. She sits in front of it every day teaching her children things they would normally be learning at school. But school’s been closed since December.

Another casualty of the national corruption scandal. Less funding from controversial state-run oil company plus bad management by local politicians equals budget cuts.

A stick. A stone.

They’re calling him a liar now. Lula. The former president. Once revered as the champion of the masses for lifting millions out of poverty. Now, feeling betrayed, they want him behind bars. He’s supposedly benefited from corrupt practices at Petrobras.

“They think we are fools,” Assis says angrily.

Hopeful but uneducated, Assis came to Rio years ago to find work. He now speaks five languages and is a server in a high-class establishment. Married, and owns a house.

“Paying taxes here is a joke,” he says. “Where does it go? We see no social services.”

His mother-in-law was sick and received no treatment for months. She was bumped off a transplant list by someone with more money.

Disdain for Dilma

A flash of light cuts through the grey. The boom of thunder comes moments later.

More than three million people across Brazil come out to protest against corruption. A sea of green and yellow. And black. They want the president out.

They hold her responsible. Not necessarily because she’s done something wrong – she insists she hasn’t – but because, as far as the protesters are concerned, she’s done nothing right.

Not improve the economy, (it’s only been getting worse); not clean up corruption, (the can of worms: the investigation into Petrobras opened is like a circus car from which an endless line of clowns seems to come out); and not even, at the very least – they say – look sympathetic.

Many spit out her name with disdain – as if it were bitter in their mouths. Dilma.

A sting. A pain. (The flesh and the bone.)

In the north, doctors in white struggle to deal with the aftermath of a mosquito bite. At least they think it’s a mosquito bite. They’re still not sure. No one is. Not even the World Health Organization.

All they know is that there’s been an outbreak of Zika – and since then, more babies have been born with malformations and neurological disorders. They’re doing all they can – but they need more help. The head of the state says the federal government is letting them down.

They’re not the only ones feeling let down.

In slivers of blue dashing through Rio’s traffic, Giulia is crammed in with Marta and thousands of other commuters. It’s Rio’s new rapid transport system.

Basically, dedicated buses that run up and down an express lane the way a train might. Had the city opted to build a track.

Class Divide

This was set up in time for the Olympics (yes, the Games are still happening) – just one of the solutions to help ease an already over-burdened mass transport system.

But people here say these are just short-term answers to a long-standing problem.

“They do this all the time,” Xavier says.

“Take short-cuts and then hope for the best. So far, it’s worked and we’ve always managed to pull through,” he shakes his head in resignation.

It’s the mud. It’s the mud.

As the Brazilian maestro Antonio Carlos Jobim sang.

When the sun is out, the beaches are full. It’s the only thing everyone has access to, they say, and it doesn’t cost money. But even on the beaches, the class divide is evident.

Those that have “more” dominate certain areas, and those with “less” occupy others. That division usually intersects with race and ethnicity. Which here – are defined by colour. You are either white, brown, black or yellow.

It’s the Whites, they say, don’t support Lula and Dilma.

The darkness is shattered by a hundred rivers of light. It’s the most brilliant of evenings. The sky is alive, and though cracked open, there is no rain.

Dry thunderstorms are not rare here. And winter is coming.

Brazil gets its heaviest rain in March, but rain is the same the world over.

Water falls in drops that then become cascades. A storm is a storm … the differences lie in the damages caused.

And how one recovers afterwards.

(first published by Al Jazeera English, March 2016)