By Adrienne Mong, NBC News Producer

Long before I returned to Beijing this week, I knew winter had turned bitter in the Chinese capital when everyone's Facebook status entries started bemoaning the subzero temperatures.

So and so was "so thrilled to be freezing in Beijing."

Such and such cameraman wanted to know why his producer couldn't schedule shoots at noon, the (barely) warmest time of the all-too-short day.

EPA/STR

Two migrant workers walk past an overturned truck on a blocked road following a snowstorm in the village of Maoba, Youyang country, south-western China, on Jan. 30.Â

Another joked that ten below zero was nothing: "Bring it on!"

But what we have seen in Beijing is nothing compared to what's swept across the country hundreds of miles south of us.

Several provinces in central and southern China have been hit with the worst winter in half a century, according to Chinese officials. Heavy snowfall and icy conditions have blacked-out cities, immobilized trains, planes, and automobiles, shut down expressways, and killed more than 50 people.

And all this is happening as the world's biggest mass migration of people is underway. Millions of Chinese are trying to get back to their home villages in time for the Chinese New Year celebrations, also known as Spring Festival, which begins Feb. 7. 

VIDEO: Deadly winter storms hit China

Rail ministry authorities estimate as many as 180 million people (more than half the U.S. population) will be on the move – by train alone. But since the weather took a turn for the worse, most of these would-be travelers have been stranded and increasingly are unlikely to make the journey home to ring in the New Year with their loved ones.

As if all that weren't bad enough, reports are on the rise that China is facing its worst-ever power shortage.

Power lines were knocked out a week ago in south and central China, plunging at least a dozen cities into dark and coldness, and supply lines of coal have been severely disrupted. (Coal is China's major energy source, and 70 percent of it is delivered by road.)

Also, officials admitted the country may be facing its worst-ever power shortage due to the unexpectedly high demand for power to keep homes heated. The state-run news agency, Xinhua, reported that 13 regions had begun rationing energy supplies and that coal reserves were perilously low, in fact, close to emergency levels.

Then last Friday, the government banned coal exports for two months in order to conserve energy resources.

The London Times described the shortage in startling terms: "China is experiencing an acute power shortage with a nationwide electricity shortfall at 70 gigawatts, the equivalent of almost Britain's entire generating capacity."

On Tuesday, the central government in Beijing announced a decision that could make it tougher on those regions already in short power supply. Officials at China's economic planning agency said they would push ahead this year with energy conserving plans to shut down small, coal-fired power stations across the country in their efforts to clean up China's environment.

One thought came to my mind amidst all this news: Could the weather – once considered the enemy of Beijing Olympics officials determined to present picture-perfect and clean Summer Games – now become an unexpected ally?

That was a question that came up a couple of times Wednesday at a Beijing Weather Bureau press conference where officials were discussing some of their preparations for the Olympic Games. Given the fact that there is a shortage of coal this winter and the crackdown on inefficient coal-burning power plants some of the journalists wondered if the air may end up a little cleaner by the time the games begin in August?

KHAN YOUNIS, Gaza – Yusuf Tayem is a victim, yet he is ultimately a story of inspiration. In some ways, he's a victim of his environment – both Palestinian rhetoric and Israeli occupation – which encouraged him to throw stones at Israeli soldiers. All the kids did on the way back from school. In America, kids may ride a skateboard home. In Gaza in 2001, kids threw stones.

One day, the stone-throwing turned especially nasty and an Israeli soldier fired back, shooting Yusuf, who was 12 years old at the time, through the neck, leaving him paralyzed below the waist. That's when we first met him – lying in his bed, pale and weak, saying, although I didn't believe him, that he was glad he could make this sacrifice for Palestine.

VIDEO: Revisiting Yusuf - a young man in Gaza

That was then. Today, he's also a victim of the Hamas government. He told me that because his family supports secular Fatah, Hamas refused him batteries for his electric wheelchair, although they gave them to their own disabled people.

And that's why Yusuf wasn't able to join the fun at Gaza's border with Egypt, which Hamas fighters blew open a week ago. As many as 700,000 Gazans, half the population, crossed to breathe some freedom, and to go shopping, but Yusuf wasn't among them. He couldn't propel his wheelchair through the sand of the Khan Younis refugee camp.

He's got five wheelchairs, one a donation by an American businessman, another given by a charity organization. They're silver and shiny and very recent models. But Yusuf doesn't have any batteries. So he uses one of his three manual wheelchairs.

His biceps are pumped, but his legs are thin and white. His father took out a tape to measure his calves. He does that often, and tries to persuade Yusuf to get up and try to walk. It is futile. Yusuf has given up on his legs, and doctors have told him it is pointless to try.

A survivor
But he hasn't given up on life – far from it. Every day, Yusuf, who is now 20 years old, wheels himself across 20 yards of sand and dirt to reach the tarmac road that runs through the refugee camp. There he puts his head down and wheels himself two miles to the university, where he studies sociology. His goal is to get his degree, then go to Cairo for his Masters.

Another goal has been to get married, and he pestered his father for two years. His father, Muhammed, who sets a new standard for parents devoted to their challenged children, set about this latest challenge.

Two months ago he found a bride and Yusuf fulfilled his dream. He and his father proudly showed off the wedding video on the computer. Luckily we visited during one of the few hours when they had electricity in their home. In the video, his friends dance and sing and laugh and hoist him in the air as he clings to his wheelchair. His father smiled with pride as we watched the video.

As his father accompanied us to the street, back to our car, he asked us to visit again, because we made Yusuf smile, and he said that doesn't happen often.

RAFAH, Egypt – I will never look at bread the same way again. When we were driving through the Egyptian border town of Rafah on Sunday, the pouring rain had turned the street into muddy, water-filled ruts. 

A bent old man in a thin white gown and a ragged jacket slogged with difficulty through the cold rain, along the line of idling cars in his overlarge plastic sandals. He stopped at our window and asked for bread. One of the people in our group hastily prepared a bag of sandwich makings and bread and handed it to him. The old man turned red-rimmed eyes on us, and asked, "How much does it cost?" 

He was not alone. The sidewalks were filled with Palestinian boys and men huddled under metal awnings. They had crossed the broken border between Gaza and Egypt looking for whatever they could buy due to the almost complete absence of the most basic goods in their own cities. But these stragglers, driven to Egypt by sheer need, were greeted by rain and shuttered shops. 

Egyptian police, worried about the security threat posed by thousands of unmonitored visitors, have tightened the cordon around Rafah. One shopkeeper explained that Egyptian security officers ordered them to close their shops to discourage Palestinians from crossing the border. Shipments of Egyptian goods to the border town have been stopped.  The attendant at a gas station packed with dozens of Palestinian trucks and cars complained that authorities had turned off the electricity so they couldn't pump gas.

On Saturday, hotels were ordered to turn away Palestinian guests. Our Palestinian colleague was forced to spend a cold night in the car because the hotel refused to accept him. "I am Palestinian. I am used to it," he said wryly.  And policemen now chase after Palestinian boys who had managed to circumvent checkpoints on foot, rounding them up and sending them in metal-sided police trucks back to Gaza. 

Although the border is still officially open, the welcome mat has been yanked away. But even with no apparent reason to come, they still come, victims of a cynical political power struggle in Gaza, and no longer welcome in Egypt after a chaotic five-day shopping spree that saw people buying everything from Sinai-bred camels to Chinese-made motorcycles. Now only a relative handful of stragglers are left, braving the cold and looking to buy something as simple as a few loaves of bread.

Nearly half a decade since the big bangs of "Shock and Awe," the United States and the Iraqi government are about to start writing a plan for U.S. forces to exit the war in Iraq, but not the country.

Senior U.S. and Iraqi officials will soon begin negotiating a strategic agreement to answer critical questions about the future role and commitment of U.S. forces in Iraq. 

The agreement, being tentatively called the U.S.-Iraq Friendship and Cooperation Agreement, could be the most important bilateral arrangement since the war, setting up U.S.-Iraqi relations for years, if not decades, to come.

VIDEO: U.S., Iraqi troops near agreement

 
American and Iraqi negotiators so far seem to have similar visions for the agreement. Both sides see a long-term U.S. military commitment to support, equip and train Iraqi forces. 

On Thursday Iraq's foreign minister, Hoshar Zebari, one of Iraq's four principal negotiators, told NBC News the agreement should be finished by July and calls for a new mission for U.S. troops.

"What kind of role does Iraq want the U.S. forces to play?" I asked.

"I think to continue the role of building, supporting and arming the Iraqi security forces, and also to provide support, let's say, on request in the future because we want our forces to be self reliant to stand on their own," said Zebari. "We cannot continue to rely and depend on the U.S. support indefinitely.  I think we can, and we know how, to defend ourselves and how to stand up – provided we are given the means."

"So you would like U.S. forces to stay on bases to come out and provide support when they're asked to do?"  I asked.

"I think that's the idea. Instead of carrying out these daily patrols, exposure, and combat missions, you see, this would be changed. And this is a plus really both for Iraqis and for the American soldiers," he said.

The timing is critical and somewhat controversial. Both U.S. and Iraqi negotiators want to finish the agreement while the Bush administration is still in office. It's reasonable. They don't want to start from square one with a new administration. 

But critics say the Bush administration is trying to lock the United States into an open-ended military commitment in Iraq before leaving office.

On Thursday, Iraq was putting down markers. Zebari said Iraq wants the agreement to include:

- A U.S. commitment of military support and protection

- Clarification of the legal status of U.S. troops and private security contractors, including Blackwater USA, both currently immune from Iraqi prosecution

- A counter-terrorism partnership

- Continued U.S. training and supplies of military hardware

A senior American negotiator told NBC News that Washington wants the agreement to be flexible and said it will not include details about specific troop levels or permanent U.S. bases in Iraq.

When I asked a senior Iraqi official if the agreement means there will be long-term American bases in Iraq, he said, "This is an agreement of enduring military support. The soldiers are going to have to stay someplace. They can't stay in the air."

RAFA, EGYPT -- Egyptian authorities tried to control the thousands of Palestinians flooding from the Gaza Strip into Egypt on Thursday through the breached border brought about by an explosive attack on Wednesday.

With a bird's eye view on the Rafah crossing, NBC News' Martin Fletcher reports on the scene of thousands of Palestinians racing across the border to escape Gaza and buy everything from cigarettes to cooking oil in Egypt.

VIDEO: Martin Fletcher reports from the Rafa border

Wajie Abu Zipra, a Palestinian who lives in the Gaza Strip and is an NBC News employee, describes why life is so unbearable in Gaza and why so many Palestinians are jumping at the chance to escape the area and get a taste of freedom in Egypt. 

VIDEO: 'Life in Gaza is not a real life'

 The other day at a coffee shop in Beijing, I noticed a group of college students in line in front of me sharing stories of a fun night out. The students were all Westerners and, as one told me, they were here for a year of study in China.

The presence of Western students reminded me of the inverse: The large number of Chinese students on U.S. campuses, such as those at the University of California, Berkeley, many of whom I met when I lived in the Bay Area.

But there's one big difference between these two groups of students: Since 1978, according to the Chinese government, more than 70 percent of all the Chinese who studied abroad – in the U.S. and elsewhere around the world – chose not to return home.

According to a report by the Chinese Academy of Social Services, between 1978 and 2006, about 1.06 million Chinese went to study overseas – but just 275,000 returned home during that period. Of those who stayed overseas, many proceeded to graduate, find work, and become citizens of their adopted countries.

The trend often had mutually beneficial results: for example in the U.S., employers had access to many of China's top students, and the graduates had better, more lucrative job prospects without having to compete for work in China's employment system, which some accused of being influenced too much by nepotism and corruption.

But things now are changing.  A reverse brain drain is underway. With China's economy on fire – it's growing at a double-digit rate each year – and the prospects of a better lifestyle available, many of China's best and brightest are starting to return home.

And China is helping to lure them. China's labor department has created a plan targeting 200,000 students based overseas. Specifically, the government plans to offer preferential policies when it comes to income, welfare, housing, and even education for job holder's children.

Perhaps the biggest draw has nothing to do with new government initiatives: The prospect of economic opportunities here are even greater than those once imagined in the West. According to many economic forecasts, China is poised to overtake the United States and become the world's biggest economy in a little more than 20 years. With little inherited wealth, this is a country of self-made millionaires, a fact not lost on Chinese living in the West.

If returning Chinese think they won't find Western bling in this communist country, they should think again.  For those who can afford it, there are plenty of BMWs and Mercedes for sale here. One can live in a million dollar home, shop at Prada, and if they miss American fast food, go to a McDonalds. And because labor costs are so low, one can have two full-time servants working six days a week for a relative bargain – so the quality of life for someone returning can be very good.

But for the Chinese government, luring their best students back, who would otherwise be lost to other countries, is about more than saving face.

Officials now contend that "the lack of first class scientists and research pioneers is the main thing hindering China's innovation capability." That declaration shows that Chinese officials now have the sobering belief that retaining the best students is crucial to the country's economic and social security.

As the Chinese New Year approaches, the journey home to visit loved ones begins. For some, it's the only time of the year to visit family. NBC's Mark Mullen reports from China.

VIDEO: Reuniting for Chinese New Year

 
NABLUS, West Bank – It is hard for me to describe Ahmed Sanakreh as a terrorist, although I know it's true. Hard, because I got to know him and his family quite well, and when you understand people, it's hard to hate them: Twenty-year-old Ahmed, baby-faced with black hair sticking up in gelled spikes, and a passion for his Nokia 90 cell phone; and his elder brother, Alaa, the intense, hollow-cheeked leader of the Palestinian al-Aksa Martyrs Brigades in the Balata refugee camp in Nablus. They are the hard core of the hard core.

Although Alaa was the leader, Ahmed was the one Israel most wanted dead. I often asked Alaa why his younger brother had so many bodyguards, and Alaa would only smile mysteriously. But one day he confirmed Israel's claims: that Ahmed blew up an Israeli officer, and was the bomb-maker behind other suicide bombers.

Samir Bazbaz / NBC News

The last photo of Ahmed Sanakreh, right, with NBC's Martin Fletcher, center, and his older brother, Alaa, left, taken in his home in December 2007. He was killed by Israeli Army forces on Jan. 18.

Alaa, Ahmed and their friend Nasser abu Aziz were my de facto guides to the Palestinian side of the second Intifada (uprising). They were terrorists to the Israelis, freedom fighters to their neighbors, and sources to me.

I quizzed them often about the latest developments. My NBC colleagues and I met them in their safe houses, hid with them in the alleys, sat in their home with their parents, and listened as their mother cried that she did not want her boys to die.

I wrote about my relationship with this band of gunmen in my book, "Breaking News," which comes out in New York on March 4. Now I'll have to update it.

Ahmed was the cat with nine lives. He prowled the dusty alleys of the refugee camp by night and slept by day. Nine separate times the Israelis shot him. He had more than thirty bullet holes in his body. He was shot in the head, the jaw, the chest, the back, the stomach, both legs, both arms and one hand. Once he was left for dead, buried under tons of concrete rubble when the Israelis bulldozed the Palestinian headquarters in Nablus. After two days of digging, Alaa and Nasser found him, barely alive. Two fingers were shot off.

Once we were in his parent's living room, sipping sweet tea, when Ahmed stumbled in, supported by his bodyguards, with four bullets in the stomach. Alaa had stolen him from the hospital minutes before Israelis soldiers raided the place, hunting Ahmed. 

Jeff Riggins / NBC News

Alaa Sanakreh helps his younger brother, Ahmed, after he was shot four times in the stomach in April 2007.

But Ahmed's luck ran out after shooting number nine on Jan. 18. Alaa phoned him, as usual, at night to make sure he was OK. "I'm fine, I'm with my friends," said Ahmed. He was sleeping in one of his usual safe houses, with three bodyguards.

At 5 a.m., Alaa's phone woke him. It was Ahmed again. "He said, 'I'm wounded, they've surrounded the house,'" Alaa told us at the funeral. "I said to him, 'Listen to me, you must surrender!' But he said, 'I can't, they will kill me.' And then the phone went dead."

A neighbor of the house where Ahmed was killed said that all four Palestinians in the safe house were wounded. Three were arrested. She said that the soldiers went into Ahmed's room, where he was lying on the ground. They spoke to him and then, she said, they killed him. The Israeli Army says he was killed in a shootout.

 No way out
Either way, Ahmed always knew he would die in the end. Alaa, the commander of the al-Aksa Martyrs Brigades in the refugee camp, had already accepted Israel's offer of an amnesty before his brother was killed.

He is now a member of the Palestinian security forces with a salary of $400 a month, and is also a student at Nablus University. For two years Alaa had been telling me that he had had enough, that he just wanted to live at home, get married and study. Since he was a boy he wanted to be an engineer, but he is studying sports. "There's too much tension for me to study hard," he said. "Sport is the easy option."

Ahmed wanted to stop fighting too, but the Israelis wouldn't give him an amnesty. He made the bombs and sent the suicide bombers. There can be no peace with people like him: that's Israel's logic.

Now that his brother is dead, Alaa is devastated, but helpless. He gave up his gun months ago. "Arafat built us up," he said, "but Abu Mazen destroyed us," (referring to Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas). 

Jeff Riggins / NBC News

Ahmed Sanakreh takes a rest on a bed after being shot in the stomach four times while his brother Alaa (standing on far right) and a body guard look on.

Yesterday's men
Alaa, Ahmed and their friend, Nasser, are yesterday's men. They served a purpose when the Palestinians needed a deniable hit team to fight the Israelis. But now the Palestinian leaders have destroyed the militias on the West Bank, their own as well as Hamas, and are building up their official security services as a first step towards peace talks with Israel. About 80 former al-Aksa fighters in Nablus are now policemen.

We left Ahmed's mother, Jamileh, wailing by the graves of Ahmed and his even younger brother, Ibrahim, who was shot dead by Israeli soldiers a year ago. "Bury me here," she cried, "next to them. My darling," she called to Ibrahim, "your brother has come to you, he is only sick, look after him. I don't believe it. This is my home now, I want to be next to Ibrahim and Ahmed. I will sleep here with you tonight."

A neighbor, whose son was also killed, said, "Israel took my home in Jaffa, now they come and kill us here, and they say WE are the terrorists."

I thought, yes, but Ahmed sent the suicide bombers, he made the bombs. What else would you call him? It's confusing when you get too close to the story. My own children use the same buses and go to the same clubs that Ahmed and his men wanted to blow up. Alaa, Nasser abu Aziz and the late Ahmed Sanakreh were abandoned by their own leaders, sad young men, fighting for their land, hung out to dry. Knowing both sides so well makes it hard, painful, to witness this tragedy without end. 

Click here to read related stories:
Palestinians breach border, pour into Egypt 
Palestinians excitedly buy cola, goats, phones
Slideshow: Gaza border rush

UNICEF released its annual report on the state of the world's children on Tuesday. NBC's Richard Engel takes a look at how children in Iraq are coping with the effects of violence and poverty.

VIDEO: Iraq's children of war

Cubans voted Sunday in national parliamentary elections — the first step toward determining whether Fidel Castro will continue as the country's president or retire after almost 50 years in power.

The ailing Cuban leader — who has not been seen in public for about 18 months — is running for one of the 614 seats on the national legislature, making him eligible to run for president.

That presidential vote takes place Feb. 24, when the newly-elected Parliament holds its first session to elect the executive Council of State and then ratify the president.

If Fidel Castro is again elected president, his term runs for five years — making him 86 years old when his mandate would end in 2013.

VIDEO: Some want Castro to stay. Others say it's time to move on.

Some Cubans want to see him re-elected president.

"He should die with his boots on," said Rodney Garcia, who pushes a cart up and down Varadero Beach, selling tourist trinkets. "Fidel means stability."

Others think like Alexis Betancourt, an unemployed high school dropout who supports radical change to both Cuba's political and economic systems. "It's over. We need to move on." To Betancourt, that means an end to one-party rule and a state-controlled economy.

Last month, in a letter to the nation, Castro promised he would not cling to office.

''My basic duty is not to cling to office and even less to obstruct the path
of younger people," wrote Castro, "but to pass on my experiences and ideas."

And last week, in an editorial published in the Granma newspaper, the 81-year-old leader admitted that he remains too physically weak to campaign in public for his re-election to the National Assembly.

While Castro does seem to be on the mend, he has undergone at least three surgeries for an intestinal disorder that almost killed him in August 2006. He and his government have refused to disclose specific details about his condition — claiming it ranks as a state secret. The Cuban public still remains in the dark about the exact nature of Castro's illness, where he is convalescing and his prognosis.

People believe that if Fidel Castro decides to step down, his younger brother Raul, who is running the country during this interim period, would become Cuba's next president. But he, too, faces the challenges time itself poses: He turns 77 in July.

Speaking to the press after casting his ballot, Raul Castro admitted that a lot is at stake. "This is an important step," he said. "We have to face different situations and make important decisions."

With Fidel Castro's unexpected illness, the Cuban leadership has sought to present a united front to the world, sending the message that their socialist system can stand the test of time. "It's business as usual," insisted Ricardo Alarcon, president of the Cuban Parliament, shortly after Castro took to his hospital bed.

Sunday, more than 90 percent of the Cuban electorate is expected to cast ballots. Cuba traditionally has an extremely high voter turnout despite the fact that candidates in the national elections run uncontested. In the eyes of the U.S. government, the Cuban election is a charade, falling short of democratic standards.

Five years ago, Ian Padrón made a documentary about Cuban baseball and ran afoul of government censors.

He took government money from the Cuban Film Institute and told a story about Cuban baseball, "Out of this League" ("Fuera de Liga").

In his daring piece of work, Padrón touched on a number of taboo subjects. He looked at the tough conditions players face on the island and included interviews with athletic icons who defected to the United States to play Major League Baseball.

No surprise, government censors considered it too controversial for the Cuban public. So it ended up on a shelf – barred from playing in state-run theaters or on television.

Which can often backfire in communist Cuba – anything censored often becomes an overnight success. Cubans love nothing better than passing around forbidden material.

In fact, "Out of this League" became one of the hottest pieces of contraband circulating on Cuba's underground market. Lots of people here in Cuba saw the 68-minute film.

Still, Padrón was frustrated.

AFP/Getty Images

Cubans play baseball in a park in Havana.Â

"My work deserved a wider audience. I always argued that the Cuban public is more than capable of debating our reality," said Padrón.

Finally, someone in authority seemed to agree with him.

Out of the blue, "Out of this League" aired on Saturday night primetime TV – making television history here.

It's not often government censors change their minds.

It also marks the first time state-owned television ran images of defectors, considered turncoats by the Cuban government.

Baseball fans are delighted by the change of heart, especially loyalists who follow the career of Havana pitcher Orlando "El Duque" Hernandez, who fled the island in 1997 for fame and fortune in the United States.

"This documentary is about baseball, our lives, our passion. It never should have been banned," said Karel Breto, a 27-year-old maintenance man. "El Duque belongs to us!"

That sentiment echoes what Hernandez said in the film.

"I am not a traitor. I am an Industrial," said Hernandez, referring to "Los Industriales," Havana's champion team."I've had the opportunity to play for the two best teams in the world: Cuba's Industriales and the Yankees." (Since the documentary was filmed, Hernandez signed on with the New York Mets and now plays for them).

Roberto Leon / NBC News

In Havana's Parque Central, Alex Medina (left) and Rafael Betancourt (right) passionately debate which Cuban baseball team is the best.Â

At the time of his defection, Hernandez had posted a 129-47 career record for the national team but was under suspension. Sports officials had accused Hernandez of being in contact with U.S. agents who had helped other ballplayers leave the island to chase major league dreams.

Some of them appear in the documentary too: first baseman Kendry Morales, now a Los Angeles Angel; Rene Arocha, who pitched with the St. Louis Cardinals; and Euclides Rojas, who played for the Florida Marlins before becoming a bullpen coach for the Boston Red Sox.

Official censors never managed to discourage baseball fans here from continuing to follow the American careers of the men they consider true Cuban athletes.

In fact, for many Cuban fans, politics has no place in baseball. The game surpasses government.

"Forget politics. Baseball is my passion and I spend my time rooting for El Duque and our other players in the major leagues," said Ulises Alvarez, a Havana construction worker who commended Cuban TV for broadcasting "Out of this League."  

Some Cubans see the broadcast as proof that times are changing in Cuba, a trend of greater tolerance and deliberate debate that began when Fidel Castro fell ill and his brother Raul became acting president some 18 months ago.

"TV has begun to tackle some harsh realities: housing shortages, problems in some hospitals, and in food production. Topics no one dared to touch before," said Ismael Sene, a retired diplomat and Cuba's baseball historian. "I see this as part of the general policies of the last few months. It's the only way I can explain why they aired the documentary."

But others think that may not be the case.

"Nothing has changed here," said a Western diplomat who asked not to be identified by name. "You still get chastised for telling unpopular truths."

No matter what, in a nation where the government maintains strict media control, "Out of this League" was not broadcast by accident. And while it's too soon to tell if this is an isolated event or heralds a new artistic opening, fans here agreed with El Duque when he described the showing to the Miami press as "a breath of fresh air."

Since Benazir Bhutto's assassination, and well before, Pakistan has been a nation battered by all sides. The frequent scene of suicide bombings, it has also been suffering under its worst energy crisis ever, often enduring blackouts in its major cities, frequent unrest on its streets and a worrisome shortage of flour and basics.

For all of its problems, it is a beautiful country, the people especially.  

Michelle Kosinski/ NBC News

One of the many colorful trucks rolling down Pakistan's streets.

If there is one image that seems to keep returning to mind whenever I think about Pakistan, it is something that is utterly unique to this place, in a world where such peculiarities are ever more rare: the eye-popping, elaborately painted trucks that suddenly jump out from the dusty brown roads like exotic birds in the sand.

The trucks are riotous explosions of color, motoring along drab city streets.

At first, they cause a double-take. They are just regular trucks: haulers, dump trucks, generally dingy work vans and the like. But here, they are not at all "regular." Each truck is a colorful masterpiece in itself. Every square inch is covered in a rainbow of colors from top to bottom and around every curve.

As if that weren't enough, many are built up high in the front, huge facades propped up on metal arms and extra parts – all the more surface area to drape with paint.

Can you imagine if the countless construction vehicles on U.S. roads were suddenly plastered with images of flowers, goats, and geometric designs?

Mike Terrel / NBC News

A truck driver sits on the bumper of his work of art.

Some have panels painted in splendid pastoral scenes, or incredibly intricate designs unique to certain cities and towns. Others have eyes painted on them, philosophical phrases, electric colors, mythological figures, smatterings of dots, stripes, waves, you name it. The more closely you look, the more you realize how mind-bogglingly complex the patterns and artistry can be. 

In the mundane work and endless traffic of daily life, they are an unexpected party on wheels. They give people something to gaze at, besides the old car bumper ahead of you.

It is a tradition believed to date back thousands of years, to when merchants painted their carts along ancient trading roads. Other surrounding countries, like Afghanistan, do a little of this but not to the same extent as in Pakistan.

Some of these trucks take months to paint in specialized workshops. And it's expensive! Some jobs are worth more than the trucks themselves – some costing thousands of dollars, or more than two years of a driver's salary.

But even in times of trouble, truck owners are all for it. Why? It's part art tradition, part business. These trucks go to market and are made to attract attention and stand out from the pack. Part of the hope is that they show customers that they take pride in their products. Some drivers think, who would want to ride my bus or buy my goods if my vehicle looks boring and dusty?

Michelle Kosinski

Some of the artistic detail seen on the side of a truck in Pakistan.

Funny, there are so many that after a while they really don't stand out from one another. But they always amazed me and made me smile, especially thinking of the reaction the same trucks might get in some other faraway place. If my car was suddenly painted like that on the streets of New York, it might actually cause an accident!

It's just a happy custom here that will not surrender to the uniformity of modern life, and makes the world a bit more colorful – even in the darkest of times.

By Adrienne Mong, NBC News Producer

We were on our second pass of the eastern edge of Beijing National Stadium, aka the "Bird's Nest," in the Chinese capital.

"What? Which gate?" Lao Guan, our driver, shouted into his cell phone as he reversed the minivan a second time. "This whole street has changed the past month!"

I could understand his frustration. A native who can count back to at least three family generations born in Beijing, Guan knows this sprawling city inside out. But these days he finds himself regularly stumped by its wholesale physical changes.

Adrienne Mong/NBC News

Construction around the Bird's Nest stadium.Â

Our contact at the Bird's Nest construction site had arranged entry for us through the northern gate. But the northern gate Guan knew was no longer there. Instead, there were several other entrances buried in the morass of fences, upended pavement, piles of rubble, temporary workers' housing units, earthmovers, and trucks.

The swift construction of the Bird's Nest is emblematic of Beijing's sprint towards the Summer Olympics.

It's impossible to know how many building sites exist in Beijing right now, but consider how many there are just for the Olympics: 31 stadiums and 45 training centers are being built for the Summer Games, according to the 2008 Project Construction Direction Office.

Adrienne Mong/NBC News

The construction site of the CCTV headquarters building in January 2007.Â

The resources required for all the construction is almost as much a feat as the building and rebuilding. A conservative estimate, according to the China Business News, puts the total demand for steel for Beijing's makeover at 3 million tons – that could build the equivalent of 50 Empire State Buildings. 

The Bird's Nest stadium alone required 110,000 tons. The steel towers that make up the splashy new headquarters for CCTV, China's state television network, weigh somewhere around 50,000 tons. 

Adrienne Mong/NBC News

The CCTV headquarters building seen here in October 2007.Â

A steady supply of manpower also underpins this boom town. Municipal authorities said in December that Beijing's population is now more than 17 million,  a big jump from the population of nearly 15 million in 2005. 

Of that total, more than 5 million are considered "migrants" by the Ministry of Public Security – many of whom are energizing the capital's construction boom. They can be found all over Beijing's construction sites. On a quick visit to the Bird's Nest stadium alone we met people from the surrounding provinces of Hebei and Henan.

This is not the first time Beijing has been remade.

The "northern capital" has had more than its fair share of makeovers over the centuries, but the parallels to the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) are especially notable.

According to the book "Beijing: From Imperial Capital to Olympic City," that era saw incredible growth with parallels to the city's current transformation.

"After 1421, Beijing more than ever became a magnet for people, goods, and services. Population increases during the Ming era, reach[ed] near one million at its highest point in the mid-fifteenth century....  The surplus entered the market. Growing commercialization fostered greater social mobility and a less tightly controlled population."    

Sounds mighty familiar, no?

Adrienne Mong/NBC News

CCTV's nearly completed new headquarters seen in December 2007.Â

"The impulse to remake the city and to use all possible resources to project the image of power and authority…that was a motive the Mongols had, and of course, quite a lot of the Ming emperors," explained Alison Dray-Novey, professor of history at the College of Notre Dame of Maryland, who co-authored "Beijing" with Lillian Li and Haili Kong.

Of course, there's one key difference.

"In the present context, you have competing forces of the state and globalization and economic interests," noted Dray-Novey, as opposed to earlier times when the government truly controlled the city's destiny. Now, "whether the state can actually control the outcome is more in question."

I became a British citizen last week. During the official ceremony in the town hall of Camden Council, one of London's 32 councils, sat several dozen people, the sorts I see every day in my adopted home.

Some women were dressed in headscarves and long skirts, others tight jeans and leather jackets.  One man wore an expensive-looking pinstripe suit, while another trudged in with a knitted cap and a long t-shirt. Nobody really stood out, except maybe the young woman with electric blue dreadlocks and thigh-high moon boots.

The CD player balancing precariously on a chair in the corner lent the event an unfinished feeling, a surprise in a country that practically invented pageantry.

Nevertheless, after we listened to a welcome speech, pledged our loyalty and stood for 'God Save the Queen,' the woman to my right held up her new nationality certificate.

Brinley Bruton/ msnbc.com

Brinley Bruton takes her official photograph with the Mayor of Camden after becoming a British citizen.

"I'm going to hold onto this and I'm not going to let go," she said, smiling broadly.

Most of us 'queued' (that's the term for lined-up here) for an official photograph alongside a portrait of the queen and the real life Mayor of Camden, who wore a lace collar and a fur-trimmed red cloak.

Outside the hall after the event, another woman hugged an older companion, her long pink veil trembling, whether from laughter or tears I couldn't tell. 

Versions of this event, which the government initiated in 2004 and describes as "rather like a wedding," occur throughout the country. The initiative is part of a struggle to integrate Britain's growing population of immigrants – about 160,000 were naturalized in 2006, representing a fourfold increase over ten years. 

Britain is trying to assimilate a population that is growing more and more diverse. Like the United States, people are literally dying to get into this country, and whether the small island's economy and society can support the influx is constantly debated.  Just to give you an idea, more than 100 languages are spoken in Camden's schools alone. 

So at first I didn't question the need to go through a slightly forced ceremony – having been born an American, the idea that a country would formally welcome and guide its newest citizens made sense.  It should be as simple as embracing certain traditions, abiding by the laws and declaring yourself British, right?

Not necessarily.

?
Many come here to escape poverty and oppression. Others come because they have hit professional glass ceilings at home.  Some surely come here for love. But what I've learned is that actually becoming 'British' may not factor that high on many people's lists. 

Take my reasons (I'm keeping my American passport), which are a combination of practicality and emotion.  I have come to love the country that I moved to extremely reluctantly six years ago because of what I perceive to be its citizens' almost kneejerk tendency to question authority, tolerate eccentricity, and remain loyal to friends.

At the same time, I recognize the practicality of having a passport that allows me to work throughout much of Europe, and return here after long absences. I have also noted Britain's excellent consular services while working in difficult countries.

'Becoming British,' whatever that is, isn't among the reasons I've done this.  

And I now know that many long-standing citizens aren't too sure that I or any of the newcomers will ever actually be British. In fact, I've walked into a storm over what it means to be British, and whether these ceremonies, which many believe are modeled on similar ones in the United States, are in fact downright un-patriotic.

"One point of being British is that you don't really talk about it," said a good, and very British friend.

That's putting it politely. 

"If I were to go to one of these events I would probably kill myself laughing," says Alan Sked, another Briton and an expert in international history at the London School of Economics.

The ceremonies, and citizenship tests that precede them, he says, are part of a "propaganda drive by the government that has made possible the breakup of Great Britain."

They are an attempt to paper over the country's ongoing identity crisis, he says.  This crisis was brought on by the current Labour government, which has ceded control to both the European Union, and helped set up regional parliaments and assemblies in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, Sked adds.

So the citizenship ceremony "is not a traditionally British thing, it is an invention, artificial – this is just not a flag-waving nation. From a traditional point of view, these people would be simply assimilated," Sked says.

One new citizen I met at my ceremony agreed with Sked's last comment at least.

"Identity does not develop overnight," says an Egyptian academic who has been in the country for over a decade.  "A 20-minute ceremony doesn't change a single reasonable person's life."

The reasons this man gives for becoming British are practical – mainly, he is tired of the grilling he withstands every time he travels.  He says that visas are very hard to get with an Egyptian passport, and when he returns home he is treated like "a criminal."  This has gotten much worse since the September 11, 2001, attacks on the United States.

Who he is, and how he identifies himself, will not change at all, he says, adding: "The question that needs to be answered is, what does it mean to be British?"         

RIYADH, Saudi Arabia – It's no secret that President Bush is a man who follows the adage, "Early to bed, early to rise ... " He likes to be in bed by 9:30 p.m. and is so particular about sleeping that during the 2000 presidential campaign he was known to travel with his own pillow.

In her famous 2005 monologue at the White House Correspondents' Association Dinner, First Lady Laura Bush joked: "I said to him the other day, 'George, if you really want to end tyranny in the world, you're going to have to stay up later.'"

He appears to be following her advice.

Monday's palace meeting with Saudi Arabian King Abdullah – an 83-year-old night-owl who often does business after midnight – is scheduled for the unheard (for Bush) hour of 9:05 p.m. In another departure from the president's usual pattern, the meeting is after dinner, not before. White House officials say the schedule was set at the king's request.

"You know, this is a matter of great sensitivity," a senior administration official said with a smile.

SLIDESHOW:  Bush's Middle East trip

National Security Advisor Stephen Hadley was asked if it was the latest meeting Bush has ever scheduled.

"I don't know," he said. "It sort of depends on which time zone – are we on Washington time? Are we on Saudi time? I don't know."

Scheduling official meetings late in the day is an Arab custom – the tradition stems from the fact that is so hot during the day for most of the year.  Monday's meeting with the Saudi king will be the latest night during Bush's eight-day Mideast trip which has included stops in Israel, the West Bank, Kuwait, Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt.

"Wake up, it's snowing! Don't miss the view!" Those were my 13-year-old niece's words when she called me early this morning.

I felt pleasure and joy in her words, jumped out of my bed and ran to the window. It was much more beautiful than can be described; a scene I have not seen before in my lifetime in Baghdad.

My family used to call my niece Snow White because she has pale skin, very blue eyes, and dark hair – plus she was a fan of the cartoon. So today she was especially pleased, because for the first time she felt what the taste of snow was really like.

AP

An Iraqi man and his child enjoy light snow fall in Baghdad on Friday.Â

Then one of my colleagues called and said, "It's snowing, dear." I answered, "Yes, it's awesome." 

We started our day at work on the balcony holding a hot cup of tea in one hand and stretching the other hand into the air to catch snowflakes. My colleagues and I were breathing in the cold air while chatting. In Baghdad, it rains, it hails, it storms, but it almost never snows.

I thanked God for granting Iraqis the chance to watch the snow falling and I prayed that God will bring peace, happiness, success, and love in each white pure piece of snow.

* The names of local journalists are not used to protect their identity.

It stands to reason that China, spending a staggering $40 billion to stage the 2008 Summer Olympic Games, wants to use the international spotlight to show how it is quickly becoming a strong, modern and sophisticated player on the world stage.

But activist groups from virtually everywhere also want a piece of that spotlight to remind the world what they think China is doing wrong – especially on issues related to civil rights, free speech, religion, its annexation of Tibet and its controversial oil trade with Sudan.

But truth be told, the prospect of demonstrating during the Olympics is nothing new. Politics, controversy and even tragedy, history shows, have often punctuated the Games regardless of the host.

In 1968, as Mexico City prepared to start the games, a student uprising and military crackdown resulted in the deaths of up to 300 people when troops opened fire on demonstrators. And when the Games started, American sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos made more headlines when they raised their hands in a Black power salute as the U.S. national anthem played during their medal ceremony.

The 1972 Summer Games in Munich witnessed the hostage-taking and murder of all 11 members of Israel's Olympic team by the so-called "Black September" Palestinian terrorist faction.

There were charges of financial mismanagement surrounding the 1976 Summer Games in Montreal, boycotts during the 1980 games, and Salt Lake City bid officials were accused of bribing Olympic officials to win the 2002 Winter Games. 

Then, in the 1996 Summer Games in Atlanta, one person was killed in the Olympic park bombing, to which anti-abortion extremist Eric Rudolph later confessed, citing political motives.

China says it is taking strong, but undisclosed, measures to address security threats. And in this Communist country, the government could enforce some public gathering laws here to discourage demonstrations. So how will activists get their message out at these Games?

Already, Internet campaigns criticizing China's human rights are beginning to spam out across the Web, some pledging to ramp up for the Games.

A group of Tibetan exiles is planning a Free Tibet demonstration march from Dharamsala, India, where the Dalai Lama resides, into Tibet.

Some groups like actress Mia Farrow's Dream For Darfur, an awareness outfit that tries to rally action against the ethnic killings in Sudan's Darfur region, are now turning their sights on China and the Olympics' corporate sponsors – including NBC's parent company General Electric – because of China's heavy investment in the Sudanese oil industry.

It would not be surprising that many Olympic sponsors who are spending tens of millions of dollars for a positive association with the Games are not looking to add politics and criticism into the mix – especially against this host country, which is home to 1.3 billion consumers.

But the messages of some of the activist groups may be delivered in a way so extreme that corporations – and even some ordinary folks – may not feel comfortable aligning with them, no matter how legitimate the cause.

For example, Dream for Darfur has labeled the August games the "Genocide Olympics."

The message is that China's purchase of oil from Sudan is contributing to genocide there. The group extends responsibility for Darfur's atrocities to Olympic corporate sponsors who would presumably profit from their sponsorship of the Games. The group even blasts producer Stephen Spielberg for helping, in their words, "to sanitize Beijing's image" after he agreed to help craft the opening ceremony.

What can't be forgotten is that many of these groups have worthy causes and are frustrated, even desperate for change – which can inspire drastic rhetoric and dramatic photo opportunities. That can make great pictures and can generate publicity for the evening news – but it remains an open question as to whether the method will achieve change, which is the stated goal.

Three things are certain. First, China seldom bows to outside pressure. Second, corporations these days would rather talk of going green than of genocide. Finally, the principal Web sites selling Olympic tickets have already crashed at least once from the extraordinary demand and interest surrounding these Games.

Taken together, all of that means the greatest sport spectators may see this Olympics may be activists working to find a new and more effective way of getting their message through while a stronger, more sophisticated and popular China strenuously defends itself.

After meeting with Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas in Ramallah, President Bush made a bold prediction Thursday about a solution to the decades-old Israeli-Palestinian conflict: "I believe it's possible – not only possible, I  believe it's going to happen – that there be a signed peace treaty by the time I leave office. That's what I believe."

It is a goal that has been so elusive for so many of Bush's predecessors for so long, most recently when the President Clinton-hosted Camp David summit in 2000 collapsed without agreement.

VIDEO: Bush says 'Now is the time' for Mideast peace

And as if to remind Bush of the obstacles to Middle East peace, the president's morning was full of snags.

As their news conference began in the West Bank, the two leaders couldn't even hear each other's translated remarks.

"I'm not getting it," the president said as Abbas spoke in Arabic.

Navigates checkpoints
Even reaching the meeting was difficult. Heavy fog prevented Bush's helicopter from making the less than 10-mile flight from Jerusalem, forcing his motorcade to drive through the Israeli checkpoints that anger and frustrate Palestinians by limiting their movements every day.

VIDEO: Bush predicts Mideast peace

Bush said he understood both the need for the checkpoints to protect Israelis from attacks and the disruption they bring to ordinary law-abiding Palestinians.

"My motorcade of 45 cars was able to make it though without being stopped," he said. "I'm not sure that's what happens with the average person."

At home, it seems it is the rare politician who wants to embrace President Bush.

Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee assails his foreign policy. Huckabee's GOP rival, Mitt Romney, says Bush has not done enough to cut spending.

But in Israel, Prime Minister Ehud Olmert practically tried to drape Bush, who is enormously popular among Israelis for his staunch support of the Jewish state, around his shoulders.

Thursday morning, an Israeli newspaper columnist described the display as an "embarrassing amount of obsequiousness, flattery and sweet talk."

Speaking in English, Olmert turned to his American counterpart and said: "When I look at you, and I know what you have to take upon your shoulders and how you do it, the manner in which you do it, the courage that you have, the determination that you have and your loyalty to the principles that you believe in, it makes all of us feel that, you know, we can also – in trying to match you, which we can't – we can move forward."

In Hebrew, Olmert said: "Thank God I can conduct political discussions with George Bush at my side, as one of my partners."

Olmert would no doubt like some of Bush's popularity among Israelis to rub off on him.

The former Jerusalem mayor's popularity has plunged since the 2006 Israel-Hezbollah war.

Later this month, a commission headed by a former Israeli Supreme Court justice is expected to blast his conduct of the war.

Polls show his centrist Kadima party would lose to the right-wing Likud Party led by former Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, a strong opponent of conciliation with the Palestinians.

It was only a few months ago that Maulana Fazlullah, a 33-year-old firebrand Muslim cleric, was galloping through the villages and over the hills of Pakistan's scenic Swat Valley in the Northwest Frontier Province.

Astride a white horse, sporting his trademark black turban and a black beard which engulfed the entire lower half of his face, he seemed to some at first, more of a modern day Zorro, than a deadly terrorist. But that was then. Today, the Pakistan army is at war with Fazlullah, and he is in hiding.

Maulana Fazlullah, seen in a photo exclusively obtained by NBC News.

NBC News has received this photo; the first picture of Fazlullah that revealed a clear image of the face of one of Pakistan's most wanted terrorists.

'Mullah Radio'
The young cleric, also known as "Mullah Radio" for his fiery anti-western, anti-Musharraf speeches broadcast from an illegal FM radio station, has developed a large following among the Pashtun tribes straddling the border areas between Pakistan and Afghanistan. (Pashtuns are an ethnic group comprising 15 percent of Pakistan's population, mostly in the Northwest Frontier Province and in Pakistan's southwest Balouchistan Province. They have an ancient culture, speak their own language and abide by their own tribal codes of honor and hospitality called Pashtunwali.)  Most of the Pashtuns on both sides of the border would like to split from the Pakistan federation and from Afghanistan to form their own independent state.

A large majority of the Pashtuns are unhappy with what they consider U.S. influence on their tribal lands and are unhappy with the governments of  both President Pervez Musharraf in Pakistan and President Hamid Karzai in Afghanistan for their support of U.S. policies in the region.

Fazlullah has had an eager audience. America was bombing them, he screamed from astride his white horse and on the airwaves of portable FM radio transponders. America was killing innocent women and children. The locals listened.

His message grew worse.

The entire valley, he said, would now be governed by Islamic laws known as Shariah. And what's more, taking his cue from Osama bin Laden, he wanted to restore the caliphate, the Muslim dynasties that ruled the known world for centuries after the death of the Prophet Mohammed in 632 AD.

Fazlullah's interpretation of Shariah was rigid. Most of the locals had no choice but to go along. The Swat Valley, known as the Switzerland of Asia for its breathtaking mountains, forests and lakes, was a haven for tourists. Pakistanis referred to the Valley as "just one step short of Paradise." But not any longer.

Local population terrorized
Fazlullah banned TV and music in the Swat Valley. He threatened barbers who shaved their customers' beards and ruled that girls could not go to school. Women stayed home, too afraid to walk the streets.  He then ordered his men to destroy the ancient images of Buddah, carved into the mountains of the Swat Valley -- reminiscent of when the Taliban destroyed the Buddah statues in Bamiyan, Afghanistan. The historic images were un-Islamic, Fazlullah said.

The local population was terrorized. The Taliban from the tribal areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan joined forces with Fazlullah and all sorts of foreign and unsavoury characters moved into the Swat Valley.

The Swatis, as they are known, are not particularly politically motivated; they are more business-minded, interested in commerce and trade, and of course tourism. But still they are religious, and they were afraid. They listened intently to what Fazlullah had to say. Whoever would not go along with Fazlullah's conditions was killed. What's more, their entire family would be killed too. Fazlullah had enlisted hundreds of young militants to fight with him. The Swatis complied; they had no choice.

The government of President Pervez Musharraf did nothing for months. The situation in Swat deteriorated by the day.

Fazlullah became emboldened. The local and foreign media screamed that the Taliban had left the border areas and moved into Swat and now held sway in the so-called "settled areas" of Pakistan. The Taliban had indeed moved into Swat, and al-Qaeda came with them.

The pressure mounted on President Musharraf and finally last November he ordered two infantry brigades of the Pakistan Army to retake the Swat Valley from Fazlullah. As of this writing, the Pakistan army now controls about 90 percent of the Swat Valley.

Rumors of demise premature
But the army still has not been able to capture or kill Fazlullah. Rumors surfaced Wednesday that he had been killed. Fazlullah, upon hearing the reports, called some local media in Peshawar, capital of the Northwest Frontier Province, saying he was alive and leading his men in the battle for the Swat Valley. 

"We will continue our fight until our goals are achieved," Fazlullah said from an undisclosed location, somewhere in Paradise.

JERUSALEM – Whenever a president participates in an event, he's carefully briefed on what's planned. No doubt President Bush was told that when he went to call on Israeli President Shimon Peres at his official residence in Jerusalem, there would be a "children's performance," which was the guidance that was given to the press.

But from the look on Bush's face Wednesday, it seemed he didn't quite expect what he got. Outside the residence, a line of children waving U.S. and Israeli flags sang what sounded like a club remix version of the Hebrew celebratory folk song "Hava Nagilah."

VIDEO: Bush grooves to Israeli beat

Â

At one point, both Bush and Peres stepped behind the singers. The two men started swaying slightly to the music, but stopped themselves before getting fully carried away. As they moved out of the group, Bush had to duck to avoid a waving flag.

That seemed to be the end of it.

But after the two men moved inside, a young girl appeared and sang "Over the Rainbow" in Hebrew and English. She gave each leader a red rose. Then back-up singers appeared to sing more verses. Then came a dance troupe.

At one point, Peres rid himself of his rose, handing it to one of the performers. Bush tried to follow his lead, but it was too late – the troupe had turned its back to him. So there he stood, looking a bit awkward, blushing deeply and holding the flower.

All in a day's work.

Maj. Andrew Olmsted was shot and killed by a sniper in Diyala province on Jan.3.  His was a dangerous job in a still-dangerous place in Iraq.

Before he left for this tour, Olmsted knew he might not make it home. As an avid blogger for the "Rocky Mountain News" paper, he prepared for his own possible death by writing a final entry to be posthumously posted on his own Web site should he be killed. 

He wrote, "This is an entry I would have preferred not to have published…" 

The 3,000-word blog thanks his friends and family, quotes Plato and the sci-fi show "Babylon 5," and urged his readers not to politicize his death.

"If you think the U.S. should stay in Iraq, don't drag me into it by claiming that somehow my death demands us staying in Iraq.  If you think the U.S. ought to get out tomorrow, don't cite my name as an example of someone's life who was wasted by our mission in Iraq," he wrote.

Hilary Bok, a philosophy professor at Johns Hopkins University met Olmsted online through the website "Obsidian Wings" in July 2006 where they quickly became friends. 

Bok agreed to answer NBC's questions about her role in Olmsted's final blog, but asked if she could reply over e-mail.

"I still seem to be given to bursting into tears," she wrote, "and e-mail makes that easier to deal with."

In March 2007, Olmsted approached Bok and asked her if she would post a final blog for him should he be killed in Iraq.  He was heading back for another tour in three months. 

"I was honored that he would ask me," Bok said, "and agreed immediately. He sent me the first draft of the post early in June 2007, and kept working on it until mid-July."  

Military blogging
In the last few years blogging within the military, or milblogging, has soared.  Milblogging.com a website that indexes soldier's blogs, lists over 1,800 contributors. Once limited by hand-written accounts to family and friends, U.S. troops at war have taken advantage of the opportunity to share firsthand experiences in the blogosphere.

"I think [Olmsted] wrote partly because he liked it," Bok wrote, "but partly because he thought: even if you don't know that anyone will read what you write, all you can do is try your best to put reasonable arguments out there, in the hope that somehow, somewhere, they might do some good."

In July, Olmsted returned to Iraq as part of a Military Transition Team, or MiTT team, a small U.S. unit that embeds with the Iraqi military to help support and train their forces. 

On Jan. 3, Olmsted confronted three suspected insurgents on the streets of Sadiyah, Iraq, trying to get them to surrender. When a sniper took aim, Olmsted was the first to fall. Capt. Thomas J. Casey went to help him and was gunned down as well. They were the first U.S. troops to be killed in 2008. 

"I died doing a job I loved," Olmsted wrote, "when your time comes I hope you are as fortunate as I am."

And fellow soldier or not, Olmsted reminded all his readers to take stock.

"I'm dead, but if you're reading this, you're not, so take a moment to enjoy that happy fact."

NAIROBI, Kenya –  I was drinking lemon tea in the Bambara lounge of the Serena Hotel in Nairobi on Tuesday, as two conflicting images kept tripping over each other in my mind.

Earlier, on the way into the hotel, I had passed a long line of drivers standing by their black sedans – Mercedes, Chrysler, and SUVs of all kinds, all gleaming clean. Once inside the hotel, I was surrounded by their passengers – laughing, excited Kenyans in dark suits and ties and shiny shoes. I sat and listened and watched.  They stood and hugged each other, laughed uproariously, and slapped and shook hands vigorously. I understood immediately: These are the politicians who won the elections that sparked a week of mayhem and murder.

That's one image.

I witnessed a very different spectacle earlier in the day at the agricultural fairground, where tea with milk was all a group of refugees had to consume. An angry young man in a black shirt had pulled at my arm and jostled me, not in a hostile way, but in a bitter way, and shouted that his home was burned, his business looted, his neighbor killed, and he had nowhere to go. There were hundreds like him scattered around the benches inside the stadium sitting on the grass outside, staring blankly.

Handshakes and laughter
Back in the hotel lounge, one man seemed to be the center of attention. He laughed the loudest, the longest, and shook the most hands. A kindly looking gentleman of medium build and height, he was wearing gold spectacles and gold cufflinks with a starched white shirt. They all seemed to have starched white shirts. A telephone rang with a jolly jingle, and it was his. I was sitting at the next table, so I could hear him clearly. That was easy as the room instantly hushed with his first words: "Yes sir..."

"Yes sir, this is Professor ..." He was silent for a moment, listening intently, just as he was watched intently by the others in the room. His face stiffened in concentration and then broke into a huge grin and he nodded abruptly to his friend.

"Yes sir, thank you, yes sir, of course Mzee, I am honored to be appointed your minister, Mzee. It is a great honor for my community and for me. There is a large number of people to call, yes sir, thank you sir..." and so on. (Mzee is a term of respect for an older man in East Africa). Then he added, "Can I see you tomorrow?" Pause. "Yes, I will phone you tomorrow. Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you," and he slowly folded the phone.

He stood there, silent, looking at his phone, and sat down slowly, satisfied, expanding almost in his suit. The room stayed hushed. Everyone looked at him. He didn't look up. He leaned forward and whispered to his friend. "You heard? I asked to see him tomorrow." He said it proudly, as if it was an achievement.

Then he began to dial, talk, dial again, talk again, dial another number and so on and on. The room was silent; in respect, I think.

SLIDESHOW: Kenya in crisis

Winners and losers
I thought to myself, "I bet he isn't calling anyone in the fairground. There are winners and losers in everything, and these are the winners and the losers are sipping their tea for dinner."

I wandered off, dejected. It isn't fair. There has been so much violence this week in Kenya, so much looting and burning and raping and hacking people to death and police shooting at rioters, and for what?

One of the local newspaper columnists asked the same question a few days earlier. Roughly: Why are we simpletons fighting when the leaders wear their black suits and are driven in their limousines and their families are not even in the country, and we kill each other? For what? Because two rich men can't decide which one will run the country?

The angry man in the fairground told me: "The leaders, the elephants, they don't care, we must make peace, among ourselves. Back in Kibera [Nairobi's biggest slum], we are dying for nothing. It's all about rich men wanting more of everything. What do they care about us? Why should we fight for them?"

VIDEO: Kenya struggles to confront crisis

I stood up and walked to the raised floor of the lobby seating area. There were dark suits everywhere, all excited, slapping hands, laughing loudly.

One big man had his arm around the shoulders of a white-shirted waiter, who wore a fixed smile, and the big man pointed and shouted: "Meet the new member for...and here is the leader of..." And I heard another group erupt in laughter and hand-slapping and heard the word "Vice-president."

Clearly President Mwai Kibaki, the man who one newspaper kept referring to as "the man who calls himself president," was appointing his cabinet, although many had advised him against this, because it would be seen as a provocation to the opposition, which still disputes the election result. 

I thought of a little girl, about three-years-old, with tears flowing down her face, that we had seen in the stadium of refugees, all slum-dwellers who had almost nothing to begin with, and now had nothing at all. She just looked at the camera and silently cried.

"It's been a rough week in Kenya," I thought. "But it looks as if things are getting back to normal."

Martin Fletcher is an NBC News Correspondent and Tel Aviv Bureau Chief. He is on assignment in Kenya.

Scores of members of the international press corps descended on a west London hotel on Tuesday for the political coming out of the new leader of the Pakistan's People's Party, 19-year-old Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, the son of assassinated opposition figure and former Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto.

But surprising as it may seem just weeks after his mother was killed by a gun and bomb attack Dec. 27 during a campaign stop, little obvious security surrounded Zardari, an Oxford student who now finds himself heir to a Pakistani political dynasty.

I was only assigned to cover the event in Kensington at the last minute. Our bureau was told not to worry about accreditation but rather just to show up at the site of the press conference and we could gain access.

VIDEO: Bhutto's son calls for U.N. probe

We arrived at the hotel and immediately knew we were at the right place due to all the satellite trucks parked on the street.

We walked up to the door just 30 minutes before the beginning of the event and entered the venue at the same time as a couple of other journalists.

No questions were asked.

Full house crowd
I stayed on the stairs at a good level to take some digital photographs while our camerawoman fought her way to the front.

I have not seen that many cameras at a press conference in a very long time nor have I seen that many journalists in a room that small. Ever.

As the room filled up, claustrophobia began to set in. There could not have been room for one more person.

Zardari entered sat down at the table at the front. After issuing a few statements, he opened up to questions – some of which were quite barbed. Ultimately, Zardari pled for his privacy while he completed his studies in Britain and said that "at the moment" he intends to take over the party's leadership mantel fully upon graduation.

Spice Girls get more security
But, throughout the press conference, I could not get the near-total absence of security out of my mind. It was the main topic of conversation among several other journalists as we broke up after the end of the session.

Here in this tiny room was the new chairman of the opposition Pakistan People's Party, the son of the party's recently assassinated former leader, his mother. And they are from a county – Pakistan – that the venerable newsweekly The Economist recently labeled "the world's most dangerous place."

I was not searched once, nor did I see anyone else inspected. I have been to a fair number of these types of press conferences over the years, and nearly always have I been asked to present credentials.

But not today.

I even faced closer security checks when attending the Spice Girls reunion tour press conference a few months ago.

Although it is possible that there was some covert security in the hotel that journalists could not see, it all seemed very lax on the surface.

And it is not that I know of anyone seeking to harm this personable teenage college student.

But since some observers have said that Benazir Bhutto was assassinated as a result of insufficient security, one would think party officials would ensure tight security around her son, the new party leader.

If I were in that position, I would surely opt for a least a modicum of security.

Markets are brimming, business is brisk and schools are full in Fallujah as a result of a highly restrictive security plan being enforced by the U.S. Marines. Not everyone is happy with the checkpoints controlling movement within the city, but many agree that the increased security has helped usher in a dramatic drop in violence in the city. NBC News' Stephanie Gosk reports from Fallujah.   

VIDEO: Fallujah comes back to life