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The global shipping industry is a ferociously competitive business, and the Transpacific route — from Asia to the West Coast seaports of the U.S. — is considered one of the most lucrative routes. Normally, cargo ships carrying everything from fruits and vegetables to cars and electronics can count on getting into a berth at one of the 29 West Coast seaports in a reasonable time.

Now it can take up to two weeks to berth the enormous cargo ships, thanks to contract disputes between the shipping lines and the union representing 20,000 dockworkers. About 50 cargo ships are anchored offshore, waiting to be unloaded.

"Ships are just stuck doing nothing, they're just losing money and at the same time schedules are going to pot," says Janet Porter, an editor with Lloyds List, a shipping industry news provider.

The ongoing disruptions at the West Coast seaports are forcing companies to put on more ships and re-route them. That includes heading north to ports in British Columbia, Canada. Stephen Brown, the president of the Chamber of Shipping of BC, says shipping companies already began diverting to ports in western Canada in May when negotiations between West Coast dock workers and ship owners first began. He says that tailed off for awhile when it looked like the negotiations were going well.

"And then about 3 months ago when the slowdown began, and ships became significantly delayed, then we saw another round of diversion to Canadian ports, to Vancouver and Prince Rupert," he says.

The problem is Vancouver and Prince Rupert can't handle the volume of ports such as Los Angeles and Long Beach and so get congested. Canada also doesn't have the rail and road networks like those along the West Coast of the U.S. so it takes longer to move cargo once it's unloaded. There are other alternatives, such as ports in Mexico and along the Gulf Coast.

Brown says the U.S. East Coast ports are very busy with ships coming in from Asia via the Suez Canal. He says it take a bit longer in terms of sailing distance. Also, freight rates — the cost to ship a container — are now higher on the East Coast because of the demand.

"But in terms of the costs that are being incurred in the delays, that additional freight rate doesn't seem to be the issue, it's more one of trying to get some sort of reliability out of the supply chain," he says.

Timothy Simpson, a communications director with shipping giant, Maersk Line, says shipping companies have to try to take in every variable, such a bad weather or work slowdowns, that could affect the supply chain. He says it can be a guessing game.

"You have to look at what's happening today and how we're going to adjust. you know that's really the best way that we found to manage it," he says.

Still, Simpson says Maersk Line has a team that meets daily to review all those variables that can affect the shipping industry.

global trade

shipping

trade

Canada

After Sept. 11, President George Bush made a speech about America's enemies — Iran, Iraq and North Korea — in which he referred to them as the "Axis of Evil." At first, that name worried Iranian-American comedian Maz Jobrani. But then he decided to do what he always does: laugh about it. He and some friends even started the Axis of Evil Comedy Tour, which featured comedians of Middle-Eastern descent.

I'm Not A Terrorist, But I've Played One On TV

Memoirs of a Middle Eastern Funny Man

by Maz Jobrani

Hardcover, 225 pages | purchase

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TitleI'm Not A Terrorist, But I've Played One On TVSubtitleMemoirs of a Middle Eastern Funny ManAuthorMaz Jobrani

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In I'm Not a Terrorist, But I've Played One on TV: Memoirs of a Middle Eastern Funny Man, Jobrani shares his story of growing up Iranian in America. He tells NPR's Kelly McEvers about how his family came to U.S. and taking his Axis of Evil Comedy Tour to the Middle East.

Interview Highlights

On moving from Iran to the U.S. when he was 6 years old, just before Iran's 1979 revolution

My father was on business in New York. And at the time nobody, I think, in Iran realized that the revolution was actually going to happen. So my father sent for my mom to bring me and my sister during our winter break. And I always say we packed for two weeks and we stayed for 35 years. ... This was late [19]78. I'm staying at the Plaza Hotel in New York across the street from FAO Schwarz and I'm like, "This is great." I'm like, "This revolution's really working out for me." ...

I feel guilty a lot of times because I talk to a lot of my Iranian friends who are my age and ... one of my friends was like: I had to escape through Pakistan, and, you know, be away from my family for a year. And then this and that, you know — smugglers. ... So I feel guilty all the time of the way I came out here.

On growing up outside San Francisco and how his family stood out

It's a very rich place but a lot of the affluent people are — they're not as showy. So like they might have like a Saab or a Volvo. And then here comes my dad from Iran and he buys a Rolls-Royce. And I'm like, "Dude, what are you doing? We're supposed to lay low." And this is like during the hostage situation and he's driving me around in a Rolls-Royce and I was mortified. And I'd be like, "Kids are teasing me at school for being this rich Iranian with an oil well." ... My dad ... made a lot of money. He had an electric company in Iran, so he brought a lot of money to America and then he lost all of it in real estate investments.

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Jobrani has appeared in several TV shows, including Better Off Ted, True Blood and Shameless, and serves as an occasional panelist for NPR's Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! Ben Bernous/Courtesy of Simon & Schuster hide caption

itoggle caption Ben Bernous/Courtesy of Simon & Schuster

Jobrani has appeared in several TV shows, including Better Off Ted, True Blood and Shameless, and serves as an occasional panelist for NPR's Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!

Ben Bernous/Courtesy of Simon & Schuster

On the pressure he faced from his parents to become a lawyer or a doctor

I would tell my mom, I'd say, you know, "I want to be an actor or a comedian." And she'd be like, you know, "Just become a lawyer and then on weekends you can tell jokes." ... I think immigrant parents have this. They come from another country; they set up shop; they're like, "We worked hard. We got away from a revolution for you to come to America not to be a comedian, OK?" ... She was like, "Listen, let me tell you something: At least, learn to be a mechanic." I was like, "What?" She goes, "Yes, you need to be a mechanic because people need mechanics. Nobody needs actors. People need mechanics."

On what his parents came to think of his career

My mother was very wary at first and now she's come around 180 degrees. She's like one of my biggest fans, now. Like, she'll come over to my house and she'll be like, "OK, listen: I need two t-shirts from the comedy show and give me three DVDs. The neighbors are asking for them." ...

My father, you know, he lived the last years of his life in Iran. And I don't know if he quite understood what I was doing. ... I'd be like, "Dad, my acting is going well." ... He's like, "Very good, very good. So when this is all done and you go back to school and you get your Ph.D., then you can come work with me." And I was like, "No, but Dad, this is professional — this is real." And he's like, "I get it. But when you get the degree, then we can talk." I had to tell him how much I was getting paid on the TV show and he's like, "Ohhh! OK. So this is a real job." And I was like, "Yeah!"

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On taking his Axis of Evil Comedy Tour to the Middle East

About six months after we came out on Comedy Central and it ended up on YouTube, we got some people from Jordan [who] called us and they said, "Yes, we would like for you to come do your show here in Jordan." And I was like, "Bro, I'd love to, but the show's in English." And he's like, "Yeah, I'm speaking English to you right now, you idiot." And I was like, "Oh, yeah." And it hit me that there's a whole world out there that understands American culture [and] speaks English. I mean, like, you could go to Saudi Arabia and do a joke about Lindsay Lohan and they'd be like, "Oh, that Lindsay, always in the rehab." So it's amazing because, over the past seven years, there has been a birth of stand-up comedy in the region.

Read an excerpt of I'm Not A Terrorist, But I've Played One On TV

Patel had been in the U.S. for a couple of weeks to help with a new grandson in Madison, a suburb of Huntsville in northern Alabama, when he was stopped by two officers responding to a call about suspicious activity.

The police video reveals a language barrier.

"He don't speak a lick of English," an officer says, complaining that Patel was walking away. Patel's arms are then restrained behind his back, and Madison policeman Eric Parker slams Patel to the ground, face down. He was hospitalized earlier this month with a spinal cord injury and is undergoing rehabilitation.

Bentley says that state officials will investigate; an FBI probe already is underway.

"Please accept our sincere apology to your government, Mr. Patel and the citizens of India who reside and work in our state," he wrote.

Patel's lawyer, Hank Sherrod, says the family is grateful for the Indian government's support, and welcomed the governor's response.

"They really appreciate the governor making such a public apology," he said.

Nevertheless, Patel has sued the Madison Police Department. The police chief has also apologized and is firing officer Eric Parker, who has been charged with assault.

The Two-Way

Alabama Police Officer Arrested Over Severe Injuries To Indian Man

Parker's attorney, Robert Tuten, says the officer will fight both the dismissal and the charge.

Anupreet Singh, the president of the Huntsville India Association, says his group met with Madison city leaders Monday to talk about ways to improve communication and cultural understanding.

Police stopped Patel after a neighbor called to report "a skinny black guy" with a toboggan hat, thought to be peering into garages.

"I don't want to blame that person for making that call. But I do want to say that people have to know their neighbors — get around, meet them, see what they are about, learn their culture," he says. "That's what should come out of this incident."

Alabama

police brutality

India

Every day, 17-year-old Kaday goes to school by turning on the radio.

She's one of the million school-age children in Sierra Leone who've had no classroom to go to since July. That's when the government closed all schools to curb the spread of Ebola.

But that doesn't mean the kids have stopped learning. In October, the government launched a radio education program, partnering with UNICEF and several development organizations. Teachers write and record hourlong lessons that are broadcast on 41 government radio stations, as well as the country's only TV channel. Younger children listen in the morning; older ones tune in during the afternoon and evening.

"This is to ensure that children's rights to education is not disrupted even when schools have been closed," says Wongani Grace Taulo, UNICEF's education chief in Sierra Leone. "It's been more than half a year of school closure. The implications can be devastating when children just stay home [and] lose out on their academic gains."

UNICEF's partner organizations visit around 2,000 households of school-age children each week to see how many children are listening. At first, fewer than 20 percent were tuned in. Gradually the numbers picked up. At its peak, more than 70 percent of students were listening. The average rate, Taulo says, is about 50 percent.

The radio lessons could be critical in a country where the decade-long civil war had weakened the education system even before Ebola struck. Fewer than 45 percent of adults are literate, and the secondary school attendance rate among adolescent boys and girls is 40 and 33 percent, respectively. The Ebola outbreak has threatened to reverse any progress Sierra Leone and its neighbors Guinea and Liberia have made in rebuilding its schools.

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Angela Kamara, 6 years old, takes a lesson from the radio. Tolu Bade/Courtesy of UNICEF hide caption

itoggle caption Tolu Bade/Courtesy of UNICEF

Angela Kamara, 6 years old, takes a lesson from the radio.

Tolu Bade/Courtesy of UNICEF

Listen to one of the radio lessons4:03

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Listen to one of the radio lessons

When schools finally reopen in Sierra Leone, Taulo adds, the radio program will be adjusted to serve as a complement — rather than an alternative — to classrooms.

But school by radio isn't a perfect solution.

Radio is by far the most common way Sierra Leoneans get their information, with studies estimating that between 70 and 90 percent of the population tune in daily. But the number of people who actually own a radio is only about 25 percent, the country's education minister told Agence France-Presse.

And that's a "generous estimate," says Chernor Bah, a girl's rights advocate from Sierra Leone. He's been helping make sure the radio program reaches as many underserved children as possible.

"With adolescent girls, there's an even greater challenge," he says. "Girls tend to face the additional burden of providing for their families. So instead of being home listening to the radio, most girls will be outside selling food."

Even if students do listen, says Bah, the radio program doesn't give them a chance to interact with teachers and other students. The government encourages students to send questions via text message, but many of the poorest students can't afford a phone.

That's where organizations like BRAC, one of the world's largest education organizations, have stepped in. With support from the Malala Fund, the nonprofit has bought radios for 1,200 of the most marginalized girls in Sierra Leone. It's also created 40 informal classrooms, where six or seven girls get together with a mentor up to four times a week to discuss the day's lessons, learn about Ebola and discuss personal challenges.

Bah particularly remembers Kaday, the 17-year-old, whose mother was one of the first health care workers in Sierra Leone to die of Ebola. "This is a story of a girl who has gone through too much," Bah says. Before Ebola struck, her parents sent her to live with an aunt in the city, hoping Kaday could get an education there. But the aunt tried to persuade her to have sex with an older man for money. Another aunt treated her as a housemaid.

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School may not be in session, but there are special clubs for girls to talk about their radio lessons and just have fun hanging out. Alison Wright/Courtesy of BRAC hide caption

itoggle caption Alison Wright/Courtesy of BRAC

School may not be in session, but there are special clubs for girls to talk about their radio lessons and just have fun hanging out.

Alison Wright/Courtesy of BRAC

"This girl, now 17, is only in grade six because of all this back and forth," Bah recalls. "The [school club] is the place she feels normal again."

Kaday had just taken her sixth-grade exam when schools shut down. All she wants, Bah says, is to go back to class. "You don't forget a girl like that."

Sierra Leone

ebola

Education