By Ken Haley
He’s been expelled from Syria on suspicion of terrorism, been dragged from the Hungarian parliament in handcuffs and interviewed the editor-in-chief of al-Jazeera, all in the course of a awesome two-year trip by means of wheelchair throughout Eurasia. Walkley Award-winning journalist Ken Haley’s travels soak up forty-one international locations and in Emails from the sting he portrays existence within the heart East because it rather is, no longer because the media painting it, and attracts an fascinating parallel along with his personal existence.
With nice humour, and never a touch of sentimentality, he lays naked his darkest instances, while he plunged over the precipice into insanity, and divulges the wanderlust that led him to the guts of the world’s scorching spots.
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Additional info for Emails from the Edge: A Journey Through Troubled Times
Was once this new officer one of many occupiers? the place have been they going to take me? Questions dripped like beads of sweat via what was once left of my brain. the longer term may display itself sooner or later, i'll make no experience of the current, and intuition used to be the single survival device left to me. It advised me that to invite the place i used to be going will be construed as an indication of weak point. the long run is coming, I instructed myself. persistence. The morning shift should have been advised all in regards to the gibbering fool introduced in in a single day, yet now a self-absorbed silence was once all i'll deal with. Vacantly I stared on the ground, taking a look up just once to the rulers’ photographs above the obligation officer. Yesterday’s tyrants had vanished; occupying delight of position have been the Bahraini ruling kin, yet rather than the accustomed regal pose their eyes exuded worry. not anything is smart any further, I informed myself yet, within the view of these ever-attentive officials, no longer a notice handed my lips. I can’t bear in mind precisely while the hot transportation arrived, might be among nine and 10 am, yet this was once no police van. The tones had replaced too. final evening the voice of officialdom rasped; this morning it cooed. Like a baby on the dentist’s, i used to be guaranteed that every thing will be very well (and, like a toddler on the dentist’s, I knew they have been lying). Hemmed in each side through officials, I clambered into the again of the van, and sat myself down in the course of a bench. A lozenge-shaped pane of glass afforded a view, yet my imaginative and prescient was once nonetheless unsteady so the townscape held no charms for me. by means of this time, not just have been reasons hidden yet our whereabouts and path have been utter mysteries to boot. the motive force appeared to be swerving all around the place—mosques, faculties, retailers swam throughout my sight view, my arms clutched the bench to maintain balance—as if he have been in a film attempting to shake off a pursuer. ultimately, my sole surviving rational mind cellphone concluded that we have been someplace no longer faraway from the outdated city yet in a suburb seldom if ever visited through me prior to. Like a slingshot in sluggish movement, we got here off a roundabout that appeared frequent (but Manama has extra roundabouts than a centipede has legs) and the motive force made a wide-arcing left flip throughout a driveway and into smartly saved grounds ruled via a protracted, low, palm-fringed construction set again from a excessive wall crowned by way of razor-wire. because the remorseless August solar glared down, the officials walked me into the construction, a hand below every one elbow as though I have been going to run away. just one query remained in my crumbling brain: the place in Hell am I? I didn’t need to wait lengthy for a solution. It used to be within the writing at the wall, an indication in Arabic and English. We have been passing throughout the lobby now, earlier Indian guards, going up within the elevate. Ignoring me, a matronly lady in nursing-issue white and gray addressed the police in practised no-nonsense tones. My imaginative and prescient stopped swimming. I observed her, and my new domestic, with scientific readability. My destiny, so agonising in its procedure, used to be now right here, within the Bahrain Psychiatric Hospital—the insane asylum—and there has been no telling while or the place the nightmare may finish.