HAVANA – A Cuban Scientific Research Institute just patented a promising new drug that it says helps terminal lung cancer patients live longer.

In some cases, the drug known as CimaVax EGF extended the lives of participants in the treatment trials by close to a year.

Roberto Leon / NBC News

Dr. Gisela Gonzalez, head of the Cuban cancer research team, holding vials of the new drug.

CimaVax EGF, is classified as a therapeutic vaccine, because it is composed of modified proteins that help the body recognize and destroy cancer cells for those already suffering from lung cancer. It does not prevent lung cancer.

"It is the first lung cancer vaccine to be patented in the world," said Dr. Gisela Gonzalez, head of the team that researched and developed the drug through testing with hundreds of patients over 16 years.

She did point out that other countries are working on similar vaccines, but that they are still in the development stage. 

Gonzalez cautioned that while it is "not a miracle drug," she does believe it is a "breakthrough in treating terminally ill patients." 

While the research team would not identify any side effects of CimaVax EFG, Gonzalez claims it has numerous advantages over traditional treatments alone. Patients breathe easier, experience less fatigue, less pain and increased appetite. It is administered in conjunction with conventional treatments of chemo and radiotherapy.

CimaVax EGF is undergoing testing in other countries.

After Cuba concluded the Phase One study that determined safe dosage and the best way to administer the vaccine, Phase Two trials started in Cuba, Canada and England, said Gonzalez. This August additional ones begin in China and Peru. Already the vaccine is being registered in Malaysia for sale in Europe.

While testing has been approved by the U.S. government, clinical studies may not begin for at least two years.

The Phase Two studies that were conducted in Cuba and elsewhere took a look at how much longer patients lived with CimaVax EGF as compared to other treatments. Those given the vaccine lived on average 11.47 months compared to 5.33 months for terminal patients treated with only chemotherapy and/or radiation. In the best case scenarios, some fortunate patients lived for up to 18.53 months while taking the new vaccine, compared to other patients who lived for just 7.55 months while undergoing conventional treatment.

Given those clinical results, Cuba started Phase Three studies in the hope that CimaVax EGF could become the new standard of care in treating end stage lung cancer.

About 4,500 new cases of lung cancer are diagnosed annually in Cuba while the disease claims over 1.3 million deaths worldwide annually, with the highest rates in the United States, Canada and Europe.

Across the globe, lungs are the most common site of fatal cancers for both women and men. Lung cancer generally affects people over 50 who have a history of smoking, although other risk factors include exposure to second hand tobacco smoke or pollutant emissions from cars or factories.

CimaVax EGF could also prove effective in slowing other cancers, believes Dr. Tania Crombet, the team's chief clinical researcher at Havana's Center for Molecular Immunology. She said that researchers have begun testing CimaVax EGF's effectiveness against breast, prostate, uterus and pancreas cancers.

Crombet also said CimaVax EGF is now available in Cuban hospitals for any patient, regardless of nationality. "We can market the vaccine in Cuba and receive patients from outside."

And that could mean an influx of fresh, hard currency for the struggling island's economy.

With more than 7,000 scientists dedicated to researching new drugs, Cuba has one of the most sophisticated biotech industries in the developing world. Last year the country earned $350 million from exporting 180 different medicines.

Long-renown as the birthplace of pizza, the Italian city of Naples now has a more ignominious reputation: garbage-strewn streets.

As NBC's Ned Colt reports, organized crime and an ineffective local government appear to be behind this smelly crisis. Italy's Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi put the issue on the top of his agenda, but the verdict is still out on whether or not it will be another stinky summer in Naples.

VIDEO: Naples buried under trash

BEIJING – I think the average Chinese is genuinely puzzled when the West, especially the United States, points its finger at China as a gas-guzzling energy hog responsible for driving up fuel costs worldwide and polluting the planet all at once.

After all, in this developing country where hardship is a not a distant memory and where conservation was a learned necessity, the amount of energy consumed by the average Chinese is still roughly one-sixth of the typical American. The majority of pollution comes from industry, not individuals.

VIDEO: Chinese oil consumption vs. U.S.

The problem for China is its population: 1.3 billion people, many of whom are experiencing economic opportunity for the first time and who are working for some of the advantages many Americans take for granted, including owning a car.

In the world's most populous country, it means every day about 1,000 new cars hit the streets in the capital city of Beijing alone. These new cars and the existing ones require fuel, which accounts for some of the reason why China's oil consumption has been increasing by about 9 percent annually.

Shift on gas prices
To be sure, gasoline at the pump has been relatively cheap here. To encourage economic growth, China had set fuel prices well below international prices. To do that the government last year alone forked over $22 billion of its own money to subsidize fuel costs and give motorists and commercial transportation a break.

But no longer. The international community has been pressuring China to set realistic prices in hopes that it would help stabilize world oil prices and without any advance notice, on June 19, China complied. Pump prices were raised by about 18 percent, which almost instantly dropped the worldwide price of a barrel of crude oil by over $4.

With the increase, the price of a gallon of gas here is now $3 a gallon. That may sound like a deal to most Americans, but it's worth noting that multiple federal and state taxes aren't riding piggyback on the price of fuel here – and hence driving up the costs at the pump – as they do in the States. Also, the average income in China is only about $1,200 a year. When we interview Chinese motorists about higher gas prices, their answers sound a whole lot like the ones heard in the United States.

Rising middle class
The fuel price hike may curb some driving habits, but is not likely to significantly slow the purchase and use of cars in China because the standard of living is rising so quickly.

That means at some point in the future, it seems inevitable that the United States and China may be directly competing for the same oil. Hardly anyone wants to speculate what that contest would do to the price you pay for fuel.

Each country theoretically has the ability to mandate sweeping fuel efficiency standards in new vehicles put on the road, if there is the political will.

China, with an authoritarian government and a car culture in its infancy, may have an easier time pulling that off, although they may want to move fast.

Many of China's new motorists want a Western lifestyle and a vehicle that reflects it. Imported SUV sales in China are already up 40 percent this year.

MAINZ, Germany – With nearly 3 million people of Turkish descent living in Germany, it's going to be a night of fierce but mostly friendly rivalry when the two countries play in the semi-finals of the European Soccer Championship. (The match starts at 2:45 p.m. ET).

AFP - Getty Images

Crowds of supporters of the German and Turkish teams wave their national flags in the "Fan zone" in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin on June 25. Â

Hundreds of thousands of soccer-crazy fans from both nations will be flocking to "public viewing sites" in major German cities.

In Berlin alone, up to 500,000 spectators with German and Turkish flags are expected to gather at the "fan mile" in front of Brandenburg Gate.

Many of Turkish origin find their loyalties are split.

"I had been rooting for Germany at the beginning of the tournament, but tonight my heart goes out to the Turks, the underdog, who showed amazing morale in the last two matches," said Cueneyt Goekcoel, a 35-year-old German of Turkish descent.

"In my head, I feel German," Cueneyt said, "but tonight I am Turkish."

Nationality issue

German newspapers and TV stations have been hyping the event with special coverage including extensive reporting on both teams, as well as a number of reports focusing on the situation of Turks living in Germany.

The integration of foreigners in Germany is an ongoing political and social issue which the country has been dealing with for decades, ever since large numbers of foreigners – with Turks being the largest group – began coming to Germany as so-called "guest workers" in the 1950s.

According to a recent study published in Germany's "Die Zeit" newspaper, more than half of the people of Turkish origin living in Germany feel unwelcome.

And for some, there is a sense of irony in the fact that one of the best players for the Turkish team is Hamit Altintop, who was born and raised in Germany. Just recently, one politician from Germany's Greens party questioned why Altintop is not playing for the German team.

Despite the lingering identity issues, though, the football rivalry has been overwhelmingly good-natured. Many of the cars that have been flying small German flags above the driver's door over the past few weeks added a Turkish flag to the passenger side in anticipation of the big match. 

And no matter which nation wins, spontaneous honking of car horns, dancing, screaming and flag-waving are anticipated. "In the end friendship will win," as a full page poster in BILD, Germany's mass circulation newspaper, said today.

MEXICO CITY – Virtually every day now there are disturbing headlines here about the assassination of yet another Mexican official, gangland-style shootouts in broad daylight, the gruesome discoveries of kidnapped and tortured murder victims – many of them beheaded – and police chiefs quitting their jobs and fleeing the country in terror.

Since Mexican President Felipe Calderon vowed a year and a half ago to confront the drug cartels and take back vast areas of the country that these powerful criminals have controlled for years, more than 4,000 people have been killed. The murder victims include some 500 police officers, soldiers, mayors and other officials. 

As the government pushes into cartel territory, the traffickers fight back while at the same time killing each other in internal battles over the remaining turf and smuggling routes – most of this occurring just south of the U.S. border.

VIDEO: Mexico's drug war crosses the border

Borrowing a page from Colombian President Alvaro Uribe's playbook for fighting traffickers and guerrillas, Calderon has deployed 25,000 army troops and federal police forces around Mexico.   

Their primary mission is to regain control, establish peace, rebuild judicial institutions and try to reign in some of the endemic corruption infecting local police departments. 

The jury is still out on whether any of that has been accomplished yet. But the current Mexican government is certainly trying and is paying a horrible price in human lives. Even Mexico's National Police Chief Edgar Millan was murdered in a hail of bullets inside the protective walls of a Mexico City home.

 "We have no choice, there is no alternative here," Mexico's Attorney General Eduardo Medina Mora said, defending the government's crackdown. "If we want to build a sound democracy, a country with a rule of law with liberties, we have to do this and we will."

American officials watch nervously

In the American Southwest particularly, the Mexican drug war is drawing the attention of senators, governors, federal law enforcement officials and sheriff's departments. The White House is also on alert and is urging Congress to approve a $1.4 billion law enforcement aid package for Mexico.

Former U.S. drug czar Barry McCaffrey, a retired U.S. Army general, insists the United States has a lot at stake and must help the Mexican government win this battle.

"The Mexican president, Calderon, is an honest man, a courageous patriot," McCaffrey said.  "If Mexican authorities don't re-establish control in the six [Mexican] border states along the 2,000 mile-long border, we will see this level of violence, corruption, kidnapping, drug organizations on this side of the frontier."

Texas Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison agrees and argues the violence has already spread north. "It's just a pathetic and terrible situation," Hutchison said. "Our Border Patrol agents have seen hundreds of attacks from across the border. These drug cartels have put bounties on DEA agents' heads on our side."

Americans finance Mexican traffickers

In seeking more help from the United States, Mexican officials point out that most of the financing for the Mexican traffickers comes from the American users of cocaine, marijuana, methamphetamine and heroin smuggled across the border.

U.S. law enforcement officials estimate that $12 to 15 billion a year flows from the United States to the Mexican traffickers. And that is just the bulk currency amount, actual dollar bills, and doesn't include all the money sent by wire transfers.

"In that sense, the U.S. is already financing this war. It is just financing it on the wrong side," Attorney General Medina Mora said grimly.

Another problem is that most of the weapons used by the traffickers come from the United States. Typically, the drug smugglers have much more firepower than local police departments, and sometimes can even outgun the federal police and the Army with high-caliber machine-guns and grenade launchers.

"Most of the weapons, I would say around 95 percent of the weapons that we have seized, come from the U.S.," said Mora. "If the U.S. would stop the flow of weapons to Mexico the equation would change very rapidly here. We need the U.S. to stay committed in this war in reducing demand, in stopping the flow of weapons and stopping the flow of cash."

Mexican traffickers throughout the U.S. 

Another trend that is particularly disturbing to federal drug agents and local authorities is the widespread entrenchment of Mexican smuggling organizations within the United States, and not just along the border area.

In fact, agents say, Mexican smuggling groups have taken over drug distribution operations in U.S. cities from coast to coast. Atlanta is now considered a major Mexican drug-smuggling hub. In Chicago, Mexicans have pushed out local drug dealers and are handling the illicit business themselves. Even in rural Tennessee, sheriff's deputies are faced with more and more criminals speaking Spanish, a language most of the officers can't understand.

While declaring that the cooperation between U.S. and Mexican law enforcement officials is at its "best level ever," Mora urged the U.S. Congress to pass the Merida Initiative, the Mexico law enforcement aid package. While the money is important, he argued, the critical component is the commitment it would represent in terms of U.S. assistance in the drug war.

"I have said to my American counterparts that this war cannot be won by neither one of us alone," Mora added.  "If we do not win it together, we will lose it together."

In that argument, the Mexican attorney general is finding U.S. supporters, despite the many detractors who condemn Mexico for its drug-related woes and blame past governments there for allowing the problem to grow out of control.

"We have to be helpful to them, this is not now a thousand miles away. It is right on the border of America and we have to stop it," said Sen. Hutchison.

The former U.S. drug czar, McCaffrey, agreed. "This is the most alarming situation I've seen in Mexico in 15 years," he warned. "Our own interests are at stake. We must stand with these people, they're literally fighting for their lives."

Read more of Mark Potter's reporting on U.S. concerns over the Mexican drug war: 
Border officials fear growing Mexican drug war
Why educate American kids from Mexico?

Despite being too expensive for most of the population, golf is gaining popularity in China and some of the rising stars come from surprising backgrounds. NBC's Mark Mullen reports from Beijing.

VIDEO: Golf tees off in China

In communist China, golf has been looked down on as an elitist pursuit, but as new players are introduced to the game, the sport is begining to change. Sportswriter Dan Washburn discusses the evolution of the game.

VIDEO: Golf in China - a rich man's game

 

JERUSALEM – The truce concluded this week by Hamas and Israel in their ongoing struggle has received generally favorable reaction from both Palestinians and Israelis.

"Gazans are happy and comfortable with the truce," said Dr Naji Shurab, a political scientist from Al-Azhar University in Gaza City. "All what we want is to be able to have food, gas and to travel – no more killing."

The cease-fire would end Palestinian rocket attacks on Israeli targets and would ease Israel's blockade of Gaza, a 144-square-mile coastal strip that it is home to about 1.5 million people. The Israeli pressure began after Hamas won Palestinian elections in 2006 and took over control of the area. (The other Palestinian area, the West Bank, is run by the rival Fatah organization.)

According to Dr Shurab, life for Gaza's people has been miserable. "The blockade has affected all sectors in our life," he said. "We have food shortages, gas and fuel shortages. We are stuck in this jail, dying every day."

A recent poll showed that 83 percent of Israelis believe that Hamas has gotten stronger since the pressure was imposed, 68 percent think that Israel's security has deteriorated, and 79 percent believe that the closure primarily affects the civilian population in Gaza. (The survey was conducted by independent pollster Dahlia Scheindlin and commissioned by the human rights groups Gisha-Legal Center for Freedom of Movement, and Physicians for Human Rights-Israel.) 

If the truce holds, Israel says it will ease its blockade in stages. Negotiations, meanwhile, will resume on release of an Israeli soldier held for two years by the Hamas military wing and on opening the Rafah crossing between Gaza and Egypt.

During the past year Dr, Shurab  hasn't been able to travel to attend conferences or see his family in Egypt. "Without opening the Rafah crossing," he said, "Our life is painful."

Israeli Defense Minister Ehud Barak, in an interview with the French newspaper Le Monde, said he could not predict whether the truce would last "two days or two months."

"Historically, we are on a collision course with Hamas. But it still makes sense to grasp this opportunity," Barak said

Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh voiced confidence that all factions would respect the truce. (Hamas rules Gaza but smaller armed groups have in the past defied its ceasefire calls)

Dr. Shurab, however, is pessimistic. "It will not last," he said. "The truce choice is not an agreement between two political sides, but it is between two enemies."

On the other side of the Gaza-Israel border, Nomika Zion is more positive.

"It is the most happy day since seven years," she said. "People in Sderot were traumatized by Alqassam rockets -- there was no normal life. Our life is back now, we can live normal life."

"During the last year," she added, "many Shabbat dinners were left on tables and children were running away. My mother couldn't succeed in taking her shower."

Still, given the fact that this is the fifth truce she has seen, Zion is not entirely convinced things will work out. "I don't trust Israeli government or Hamas."

HAVANA – Like many who live along Cuba's northern coast, Ivis Gonzalez has been dodging hurricanes her entire life. But in the record-breaking 2005 Atlantic hurricane season, she came close to dying.

Some 28 tropical storms swept the region, with 15 developing into full-blown hurricanes.

That included Hurricane Wilma – a tropical storm that turned into a category five hurricane in less than 24 hours. Wilma never touched Cuban shores, but it did cause a massive storm surge.

As Wilma approached, Cuban Civil Defense evacuated everyone in Gonzalez's small fishing village of Playa Baracoa. Residents spent 36 anxious hours in a high school, where they were given cots, drinking water and a few hot meals.

After the rain passed and with the sun shining, Gonzalez and her neighbors rushed to get home – anxious to see what was left.

Roberto León / NBC News

Ivis Gonzalez was lucky to escape the storm surge of a 2005 hurricane.

They found the town under 2 feet of seawater.

Gonzalez spent the next few hours wading through her home, trying to salvage linens, clothes and her few appliances.

In the midst of this drama, Cuban soldiers and police knocked on doors and insisted that people evacuate for a second time.  High tide was coming, which would swamp the town under Wilma's 20-foot storm surge.

González, one of the last to capitulate, almost lost her life. Just moments after locking her front door and taking a seat on a government truck, a huge wave smashed into her small wooden house and broke it apart like a house of matches.

No money to rebuild

Three years later, she is still struggling to put her life back together.

After Wilma, she quit her job – too distraught to work. She and her 11-year-old son sleep at her sister's house.  They survive on a monthly stipend her ex-husband sends from Miami.

Trying to discourage people like Gonzalez from rebuilding vulnerable housing along the coast, the government gave her a plot of land on higher ground and access to cheap construction material. But the lot stays vacant – she has no money to hire builders.

"Sometimes I think I'll die before my life improves," she sighed.

Other hurricane victims have had better luck.

Wilma also decimated Playa del Cajio, sweeping away dozens of flimsy shacks built from wood scraps and thatched roofing. Once the floodwaters receded, the Cuban government trucked in low-cost building supplies and full-time construction crews who helped the community of fishermen rebuild the supermarket, primary school and homes.

But such aid is more the exception than the rule.

Nearly half of buildings need repair

The National Housing Institute estimates that 43 percent of all residential buildings across the island needs repair, after decades of neglect and harsh weather conditions. The need is especially keen in 13 of the island's most populated cities, built in low-lying coastal areas subject to flooding.

Upgrading Cuba's precarious housing stock is one of the government's biggest headaches. New housing construction consistently falls below plans. Last year the Ministry of Construction promised 70,000 new homes but came in some 20,000 short. This year, the aim is to give new housing to some 50,000 strapped families.

That's just a drop in the bucket.

Housing experts estimate that the island immediately needs more than 10 times that amount of new housing.

Havana architect Miguel Coyula points out that shortages are even more acute in the capital, where 80 percent of all buildings date back to 1959 – and are particularly susceptible to the ravages of coastal weather. Over 190,000 housing units should be overhauled, said Coyula.

"Salt and the heavy presence of iron in the air eat away at building structures, flaking the exterior paint and corroding the steel reinforcements embedded in the cement walls," said Coyula.

The region's heavy rain makes it all worse.

"The old structures soak up all that water. The roof cannot stand the additional load and collapses. Or, after the rain, the sun starts drying the structure. That expands the water in the walls. They explode and that's when the buildings cave in," explained Coyula.

'Already a disaster area'

Ramón Machado lives in one of the 8,000 Havana tenements on the verge of collapse. City inspectors condemned his building three years ago after the roof fell in. After living in a temporary shelter for a few weeks, Machado and about 30 of his neighbors moved back. Legally, they are squatters.

"This is already a disaster area. Imagine if a hurricane comes here," Machado shrugged. "The whole place would come tumbling down."

An unemployed exterminator with no money to fix his leaky roof, Machado strung empty canvas bags along his open ceiling to catch the rain. He also scavenged wooden beams to prop against his roof, hoping to keep plaster from falling during the 2008 hurricane season.

If Cuban forecasters are right, Machado has his work cut out.

"We are embedded in an active season," warned Dr. Jose Rubiera, the island's top weatherman.

But that's as far as his forecasts will go.

After Hurricane Katrina pummeled the Gulf Coast and killed more than 1,300 people, Rubiera decided to keep his general predictions private.

"If I tell you it will be a weak season, you may not be prepared. Everyone needs to stay on their guard," he advised. "Don't get hung up on numbers. Just be cautious. Be prepared."

Plenty of practice

Cubans are generally hurricane savvy. At the start of every season, emergency workers and members of the Civil Defense take a weekend to practice evacuations and first aid.

Days before any hurricane nears Cuban waters, national TV and radio bombard viewers with non-stop weather reports and painstakingly review emergency plans.

Karen Bernard, a United Nations official who helps Caribbean nations tackle climate disasters, would like to see other countries think and act more like Cuba. "The country does a remarkable job at safeguarding human life," said Bernard.

Roberto León / NBC News

U.N. official Karen Bernard says strong planning efforts have helped Cuba avoid hurricane deaths.

In the last two decades, 17 major storms have battered the island – but caused fewer than 40 deaths.

That may be the world's best track record, according to a 2006 study by the UN Development Program. The risk of dying in a hurricane hitting the United States, said the report, was 15 times higher than in socialist Cuba.

Bernard believes Cuba's success lies with its centralized planning and preparation along with its focus on removing people from the path of danger. Often, that begins before the rains start and the sun is still shining.

Learning important lessons

It wasn't always easy convincing people to leave behind all their worldly possessions.

But Cuban authorities have learned two lessons that help people evacuate peacefully.

No one needs to worry about looting while they are away from home. Police are ordered to guard precious personal property like refrigerators, fans and television sets moved to higher ground.

In addition, people can bring their family pets along to government shelters.

"Cuba uses evacuation as a preventative measure. They don't want to see anyone die because they failed to evacuate," Bernard said.

VIDEO: Cuba preps for hurricane season

SODERTALJE, Sweden – "Life is so different here than in Baghdad," Duraid Faraj said of his new, unlikely home of Sodertalje, a small Swedish city near Stockholm.

In a country known for its dark winters, and its seafaring and seafood-loving people, Middle Easterners can feel like fish out of water.

In the center of town, Swedes and Iraqis walk along the lakeside waterfront and watch their children play on jungle gyms, but they never appear to mix or talk with each other.

VIDEO: Swedes views on Iraqi refugees

With around 6,000 Iraqis living in this city, refugees arriving here are welcomed by friends, relatives, and neighbors from back home and can easily get by only speaking Arabic. Although many Iraqis in Sweden are Muslim – especially around the southern city of Malmo – the vast majority in Sodertalje are Christian. Iraqi churches here serve as both places of worship and as informal community centers, offering refugees a sense of belonging.

Talking to Iraqis at Johannes Chaldean Catholic Church and in Ronna Centrum – the heart of the neighborhood nicknamed "Little Baghdad" – most said they would like to integrate into the Swedish community, but that they have had little success given their inability to speak the language.

"I don't have a chance to know Swedes other than my (language) teacher Thomas," said Faraj, a photographer who had worked for the U.S. Army in Iraq and arrived here seven months ago.

He spoke after a recent young peoples' Friday evening meeting at Johannes Church, During the meeting, dozens spoke in Arabic, discussing everything from monkhood to prayers for their homeland. Afterward, they milled around the basement, joking around, eating stuffed grape leaves, cookies, and drinking soda. Outside, at 9 p.m., the summer sun was still burning bright.

Evan Mamo, an 18-year-old with spiky, gelled hair, said he was looking forward to attending a regular high school and making Swedish friends in the fall.

"All my friends come from Iraq," he said, explaining he had to attend 18 months of government-run Swedish language classes before attending "normal school."

With his parents and relatives still living in Iraq, he had made most of his friends through the church, and also played soccer on an all-Iraqi high school team where instructions were given in Arabic.

Attitudes toward life here seemed to be delineated by generations, with older people sticking most closely to their Iraqi heritage and saying Swedes lacked warmth and family values. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the young seemed to be taking to Sweden like fish to water.

In Ronna Centrum – a concrete square with an apartment tower looming over it, a couple basic stores, and another church – 9-year-old Manuela Duraid Hikmat chatted comfortably in Swedish after living here for 2 ½ years.

Her mother, Dina Bior Yousif, said, "My daughters have so many friends here now."

Click here to read more about Iraqi refugees:
'Little Baghdad' thrives in Sweden
One man's efforts to get Iraqis into U.S.

VARADERO – Cuba may be in the grips of political shifts but some things never change.

The Caribbean island continues to turn out world class musicians.

This past weekend no matter where you wandered in the beach resort of Varadero every corner offered up top performers singing their songs and thousands of Cuban fans packed the town for the summer's hottest music festival.

More than 130 artists and groups wove a medley of generations and sounds that ranged from salsa and jazz fusion to the best in timba and hip hop. The music started blaring at noon and didn't stop until the next day. All you had to do was follow your ears.

VIDEO: Carlos Varela sings "Colgando Del Cielo" Â

Artist Carlos Varela, known as the Bob Dylan of Cuba, improvised on a stage set up on an old landing strip, playing free-of-charge before 30,000 fans. He sang energetic lyrics filled with political messages and the frustration of life in contemporary Cuba.

Young audiences went wild when Kelvis Ochoa stepped on stage. Now topping Cuban charts, Ochoa's sound is as unusual as his red hair. It's a made-up blend that is called Habana Abierta. The genre emerged in the 1990s from a street corner – Havana teenagers, having nothing much to do, spent their evenings on park benches, strumming guitars and jamming on lyrics. At 38 years old, Ochoa has come a long way from the days he played the conga on empty tin cans.

VIDEO: Kelvis Ochoa plays La Congo De Juana

Warapo, a college band that turned professional eight years ago, showcased tunes from their two albums, "Mala Vida" (2004) and "Tengo Nada" (2007). Warapo's music is as diverse as its roots – it fuses elements from traditional Cuban rhythms like the cha-cha-cha, guaracha and "son cubano" with some rock and pop.

VIDEO: Warapo plays "Dolor y Pena"

This powerful musical weekend also featured singer Omara Portuondo from the Buena Vista Social Club whose smoky voice reminisced about past loves and golden days. Lively orchestras like La Original de Manzanillo, Aragón and Los Van Van kept audiences dancing until the sun rose over the crystal waters that make Varadero one of the Caribbean's prestige tourist towns.

Heidi Holland, a journalist and author, speaks about her recent interview with Zimbabwe's President Robert Mugabe and what she learned about him while researching her new book "Dinner with Mugabe: The untold story of a freedom fighter who became a tyrant."

VIDEO: What is it like to interview Zimbabwe's President Robert Mugabe? Â

Cuba gets pounded every hurricane season, but so far, Havana has thankfully been spared from a major storm. Although with forecasters already calling for an active season, with up to nine hurricanes sweeping through the Atlantic, evacuation exercises have already started. NBC News' Mary Murray reports from Havana.

VIDEO: Cuba preps for hurricane season

Wu Daifu, a panda keepers, explains how China's famous pandas were protected after the devastating quake struck China on May 12.

VIDEO: Saving China's pandas

By Sohel Uddin, NBC News Producer

When Prince William was made a Royal Knight of the Garter on Monday, the historic town of Windsor once again saw carefully planned pageantry at its height.

As members of the public gathered at the entrance of the castle in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the man who could be the future king emerging with his first major honor, they saw the royal family in its traditional role, meticulously adhering to historical customs and rituals.

It was another step on the journey of grooming William to one day become king, following his father, who has enjoyed a lifetime of such honors. In fact, if one were to officially announce Prince Charles it would be as His Royal Highness Prince Charles Philip Arthur George, The Prince of Wales, Knight of the Garter, Knight of the Thistle, Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, Order of Merit, Knight of the Order of Australia, Companion of the Queen's Service Order, Privy Counselor, Aide-de-Camp, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick and Baron of Renfrew, Lord of The Isles, Prince and Great Steward of Scotland.

VIDEO: Knighting Prince William

Every one of these titles is steeped in historical significance, with the Knight of the Garter, one of the most important, representing the highest level of British chivalry.

The honor dates back 640 years to King Edward III's reign, when a female member of the aristocracy dropped her garter during a dance. Amidst the ensuing laughter, Edward, in an effort to stop the lady from being embarrassed, picked it up and tied it to his leg, saying "Shamed be the person who thinks evil of it."

And, although Great Britain no longer a feudal kingdom and the power that such titles once had has been reduced to symbolism, the sense of fanfare and the fastidiousness with which the ceremony is performed convey the same message.

By Adrienne Mong, NBC News Producer

CHENGDU, Sichuan Province – It wasn't until moving permanently to Beijing that I realized how much of a "shu daizi" the Chinese might consider me. "Shu daizi" literally means "book idiot," and is the Mandarin-language phrase for bookworm.

When the shippers came to take my belongings from my apartment in London before moving to Beijing, one of the first things they did was count the number of books I own – all 998 of them. When I asked why, they told me it was required by Chinese customs.

I immediately sent an email to our Beijing bureau chief, Eric Baculinao, "When was the last time you heard of any one getting their books impounded by the Chinese?"

Adrienne Mong / Adrienne Mong

Boxes of books sealed with Chinese customs inspection tape.

Not that I thought I had reason to be overly concerned.  Of the China-related books, only a handful – a few Tibet history texts – elicit interest from the authorities.  None advocate Tibetan independence.

Nor do any of the books touch on other sensitive subjects like the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown, Taiwan independence, or the Falun Gong, a quasi-religious organization banned in China.

Moreover, the central government had made a noisy show of promising greater press freedoms ahead of the Olympic Games. 

But as my books wound their way across the ocean – literally on a slow boat to China – my skepticism began to grow.

Tightening foreign media access

Since starting my moving process months ago, the Chinese government's openness in the aftermath of the devastating May 12 earthquake has been well documented. In an unusual move, they granted foreign and domestic media the rare liberty to move about freely in the quake zone so the press could report from the scene.   

For the first week, we were all able to jump into jeeps and minivans to scour the countryside for stories. No checkpoints. No local officials to harangue us. No barriers; att least none that couldn't be overcome relatively easily or quickly.

But that liberty was fleeting. Last week, when Meredith Vieira and her team from NBC News' TODAY show tried to visit several sites in the quake zone, they met resistance from local and central officials. In Hanwang, when the team tried to approach the site of a quake-destroyed school, Public Security Bureau (PSB) officers turned them away.

Adrienne Mong / Adrienne Mong

Sichuan authorities require journalists to register for a special pass to travel in the quake zone.

In the instance of Hanwang, the security officers told NBC the school wreckage was a crime scene. An investigation is under way after an estimated 7,000 schools collapsed after the earthquake struck and killed thousands of children. Parents of the victims have demanded an explanation as to why a disproportionate number of the destroyed buildings were schools, accusing local officials of corruption and cutting corners in construction.

Then on Thursday in Dujiangyan, reporters who tried to access another collapsed school were detained and then kicked out of the city.

The tightening of restrictions has come despite guarantees of press freedom from Wang Guoqing, deputy director of the Information Office of the State Council. On Wednesday,  Wang personally delivered those reassurances to me as I was applying for a special press pass to travel around the quake zone in Sichuan province.  http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2008-06/11/content_6753666.htm" target="_blank"> 

But while Wang might appear genuinely concerned about freedom of the press and presenting his country in a more progressive light, officials at the nation's customs agency don't appear to share his outlook.

Book censorship or a bookworm?

A few days after my books finally arrived in China, the shipping agent sent an email, "Please be kindly advised there is a book named Tibet which is confiscated by customs when they are inspecting your books within your shipment. As they thought the content of the book break one China's principle."

Apparently, the customs agents went through every single box of books and turned up one which they suspect promotes Tibetan independence.

A day later, the shipping agent wrote me, "The customs is inspecting the book. They will spend some days reading the book."

And then last week, I received another email from the shipping agent, "I just checked with customs broker, the customs hasn't finished checking your book."

All that effort over one book.

Now, I wondered, who is the real "shu daizi" here?

KABUL, Afghanistan – Behind a metal door on Flower Street, past a courtyard piled with junk, up some steep concrete stairs and along a narrow corridor with ornate metal railings in the style of Stars of David, lives the last Jew in Afghanistan.

His home is a side-room off the synagogue; a thin mattress laid along one wall is his bed. In one corner, there is a small table with dusty prayer books, three folding chairs, a crumbling carpet, and a few pictures on the wall, including one of a bearded Hassidic Jew. In the corner by the door, opposite the guest's chair, there is a small blackboard with his name spelled clearly in chalk: Zebulon Simantov. "So that journalists spell my name correctly," he said. 

"Who do you work for?" Simantov asked straightaway.

"NBC News," I answered proudly.

AP file

Zebulon Simantov, 45, poses at the synagogue in Kabul on Jan. 25, 2005.

"So can you give me lots of money," he said, his tone turning a question into a blunt demand.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Did you bring me whiskey?"

The interview, which I had looked forward to ever since I received the assignment to visit Kabul, quickly became an embarrassment.

"I bring greetings from a friend of yours in Israel," I said.

"That bastard," Simantov said, spitting out a nut, "he's no friend of mine!"

I knew that Isaac Levy, a Jew who lived in another room in the synagogue, making this odd couple the last two Jews in Afghanistan, had died three years ago. I expressed sympathy.

"Huh," Simantov answered, "I was glad when he died. I didn't speak to him for years. He tried to get me killed."

About 5,000 Jews left Afghanistan after the creation of Israel in 1948, and others left after the 1979 Soviet invasion.

No answers
By now, I was squirming, so I decided to get to the questions that had brought me here. "You're the last Jew in Afghanistan, the last in a community of tens of thousands stretching back centuries," I said. "How do you keep kosher? How do you pursue Jewish rituals? How do you maintain your religion and belief? How do your Muslim neighbors treat you?"

Each question to which I had expected a soulful response elicited instead an answer whose only virtue was its honesty.

"He owes me money," Simantov suddenly erupted, stabbing at the piece of paper on which I had written the name of his alleged friend in Israel.

Simantov, stocky and muscular, was clearly a man of some passion, channeled not into religious fervor but fury.

"Where is my money? Because of him Taliban put me in jail for six months! I can show you the papers!" He scrabbled around and produced customs receipts and a long price list of artifacts and carpets he had bought at the request of his former friend. "I borrowed money to buy this, and he never paid me!"

I clucked in sympathy and decided to move to what I considered safer ground.

"You last saw your wife and two daughters in 1986. Today they live in Israel. Do you miss them?"

"No."

"No?"

I had expected a soulful man, and found this clown.

VIDEO: Fletcher reports from Afghanistan on a road less traveled

Still, I persevered, and asked him to show me the synagogue. We put on our shoes and he led me to a room at the end of the corridor. It was quite a large room facing the Haaron Hakodesh, a cupboard containing the holy Torah scroll. He opened its small wooden doors. It was almost empty. I knew the scroll was believed to have been stolen by the Taliban.

Simantov took out the shofar, a curved ram's horn blown on Jewish holidays. He mumbled a prayer and puffed weakly, without making a sound. He offered it to me and I declined. Hebrew inscriptions carved into rock were built into the walls. Dust lined the window sills and covered the floor, and heat wafted in through cracks in the window frames.

"So how much can you give me?" Simantov asked, "A donation for the synagogue." He smiled as he said it. Negotiations ensued, which, to put it mildly, left him unsatisfied.

What a disappointment. But then I thought, we're in Afghanistan, where at roadblocks police routinely demand a bribe and "cigarette money" has always greased the wheels. Foreign aid workers complain that corruption is everywhere and backhanders are a universal irritant.

There was no reason my coreligionist should be different from his countrymen. After all, he had no job beyond maintaining the synagogue, and as he pointed out bluntly: "You make money out of my story, why shouldn't you pay me?"

Still, the last Jew in Afghanistan wasn't what I had expected. Maybe I was naïve.   

As I closed the car door, Simantov's parting shot was: "Come back with whiskey! Two bottles! Johnnie Walker!"

And as we pulled away we heard the muffled, "Black label!"

JERUSALEM – A year since the militant group Hamas engaged in bloody street battles with its rival Fatah and seized control of the Gaza Strip, the group's hold on power in the area is stronger than ever, but the lives of many ordinary Gazans has grown worse.

After Hamas took power in Gaza – one radio announcer described it as "a second liberation," in reference to Israel's withdrawal of military bases and settlements in the Gaza Strip in 2005 – Israel and Egypt swiftly sealed their border crossings with the territory.

The move effectively locked 1.5 million people into the tiny coastal patch and killed off most trade – allowing only humanitarian aid, fuel and a trickle of commercial goods in. Months later, Israel also began restricting fuel further in response to continued militant attacks, prompting shortages that have forced cars off the streets, hours-long power blackouts and an expensive black market trade in gas.

AP

A Palestinian woman sits outside a family house that was destroyed in an Israeli army operation near Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip, on June 5.Â

Hamas' move politically divided the West Bank and Gaza Strip, the two swathes of territory Palestinians want for their future state, which are geographically separated, lying to the north and south of Israel.

'Stronger than ever'

"Hamas a year on is stronger than ever before," said Avi Issacharov, a reporter who covers the Middle East for Haaretz, a major Israeli daily newspaper.

Cash still flows into Hamas coffers from ad-hoc taxes on Gaza residents and Palestinian expatriates, as well as Iran and private benefactors in Saudi Arabia, according to the U.S. State Department. 

And according to the Palestinian Authority and Israeli officials, Hamas uses the tunnels that cross into Egypt from the southern Gaza Strip to bring in weapons, commercial goods and cash. The tunnels are also used as a form of safe passage for militants to leave the territory and undertake training in Iran and Syria.

The militant group has strengthened its grip on Gaza's residents, who rely on the group for fuel rations. According to residents, Hamas seizes the limited fuel rations that Israel provides, and distributes it with little transparency.

Reuters

Palestinian Hamas militants walk after a news conference in Khan Younis in the southern Gaza Strip on April 9.

Meantime, opposition to the group is essentially mute: Hamas has ruthlessly crushed dissent to its rule, harassing reporters, detaining activists from the rival group Fatah and outlawing gatherings without its consent.

Hamas' growing strength has weakened the argument that Israel and the West should not speak with the militant group. Israel has now begun indirect negotiations with Hamas by working with Egypt as a middleman in truce talks trying to halt rocket fire targeting weary southern Israeli communities. 

Despite the fact that Israel refuses to deal directly with the militant group that rejects the Jewish state's right to exist – there is simply nobody else to talk to: Hamas is in charge. "Israel can't deny that Hamas are the only people to deal with there," said Haaretz's Issacharov.

In many ways Israel's siege of Gaza has backfired. Since Hamas has grown stronger, Israel now has to negotiate with two different Palestinian groups – both Hamas and Fatah – at the expense of Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas, who has essentially been left powerless because he can't negotiate a peace deal with Israel without Hamas' approval.

'Collective punishment'

But while Hamas political power has grown, the lives of many of Gaza residents has grown worse because of Israel's lockdown on the area.

Issam Younis, from the Gaza-based human rights group al-Mezan, explained how the crackdown from Israel adversely affects civilians – not just Hamas militants. 

"Smart weapons usually hit specified targets," said Younis, referring to when Israel specifically use airstrikes to attack militants. "But, the closure and collective punishment (of Gaza) is a stupid and blind weapon that harms every person, and every part of life in Gaza."

Ali AbuShahla, a 62-year-old businessman, feels desperate and ruined – his two businesses shut down as a result of the Israeli-led blockade.

He was one of Gaza's leading consulting engineers and employed 800 engineers, but now he has lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in business because of the blockade. Now it's just him and his son with a secretary in the office. "I can't even pay the salary of my son and the secretary," said Abu Shahla. "3,900 factories were closed in one year, including my snack food factory," he said.

Most Gaza residents, some 80 percent, rely on food handouts by international organizations to get by, 97 percent of Gaza's industry has shut down for lack of raw materials and the ban on exporting abroad, leaving 33,000 factory workers out of jobs. Palestinian officials estimate about 100,000 people have lost their jobs since last June, and that is in addition to the 40 percent of Gaza residents who were already unemployed. A ban on cement entering Gaza has also halted all construction, including around $90 million dollars in U.N.-funded building work.

Education has also suffered. Around 500 of Gaza's brightest students, accepted in universities abroad can't leave the territory. Israel was censured for not allowing out seven Fulbright scholars, but even after international condemnation, only four have been able to leave the territory so far.

Fuel shortages have forced some 80 percent of Gaza's registered vehicles off the roads, and there is no electricity in the territory for around eight hours every day. That's meant most Gaza residents don't have more than a few hours of drinking water around three times a week, because there's no power to work well pumps, according to the aid group, al-Mezan.

Then there's the violence: Palestinian militants have been bombarding southern Israel with rockets and mortars for years, but the attacks have grown in strength and frequency since Hamas took over Gaza. According to an Israeli rights group B'Tselem, more than 360 Palestinians have died this year in Israeli attacks – over a third of them civilians and children. According to the Palestinian human rights group Al-Mezan, the number of Palestinians killed by Israeli attacks is as high as 551.

Despite the problems from the Israeli blockade, many Gazans blame both sides for the humanitarian crisis crippling the Gaza Strip. "I blame Israel and Hamas, both are guilty for the suffering," said AbuShahla.

Girls were not allowed to be educated in Afghanistan under Taliban rule, but today as many as 35 percent of school students are female. NBC News' Martin Fletcher reports.

VIDEO: Afghan girls go to school

Dora, in Saddam's time, had it all – a power station and oil refinery provided jobs and its large bungalows hidden in date palm groves drew rich, powerful Sunnis and their families to this southern suburb of Baghdad.

 But Dora fell on hard times at the start of the war in 2003.

When I visited Dora about 18 months ago, it was with the U.S. 1st Cavalry Division, before the surge of U.S. and Iraqi forces into Baghdad began. The once bustling "gateway to the South" was a ghost town. It smelled of cordite, an explosive powder.

NBC Nightly News video: A turning point in Iraq?

Sunni residents were in hiding; Dora's Shiites were dead or had fled to other provinces; its many Christians – doctors, architects and other professionals – had also fled to escape the sectarian killing. The insurgent town had become an al-Qaida stronghold. But that wasn't the only threat: Shiite death squads, masquerading as National Police, had murdered and maimed so many Sunnis that the 1st Cavalry had to force the police out of their precinct and cordon off the area. 

It was a very different Dora that I saw this past week, once again embedded with U.S. forces – this time with the 4th Infantry Division. Life had returned. Dora's famous Friday open market was bubbling with people, produce and color. No one looked afraid.

Working together

U.S. troops, who now live in an outpost right in the middle of town, were not the only force patrolling the streets. So were the infamous, primarily Shiite, National Police, as well as the so-called "Sons of Iraq" – local volunteers, all Sunni, who were mostly former insurgents. It was something quite remarkable I was seeing for the first time: U.S., Shiite and Sunni armed forces cooperating for the general good.

Sunni residents, who wouldn't have dared to be seen talking to members of the National Police a year ago, were now complaining to them about rising food and fuel prices in the market or asking for advice.

"Before we all suffered from a triple threat – al-Qaida, the militias, and sectarian kidnappings," said Alladin Hussein, a former major in Saddam's Army, who I met in the market. "Now we are living in stability and security. It's like a precious gem, something very fragile that you have to take care of."

AP

Iraqi men walk in a church behind a cross in Dora, Iraq, on June 2. About eighteen Christian families have returned to their homes in the neighborhood now that security has improved.Â

Lt. Justin Chalvko could be called "Mr. Dora" as far as Iraqis here are concerned. He is the face of the U.S. presence in the area – he lives in the local U.S. Army outpost and leads daily patrols through the market with his platoon. He knows many residents by their first names, and jokes with them in his broken Arabic.

Chalvko said the changes in Dora since his arrival six months ago are "like night and day." But he's no fool.

"Even though it's good now," he warned, "it's only been good for four or five months. People are starting to move back into the area, but it's like everyone's walking on eggshells still. They want to make sure that it's for real, it's not just something temporary."

Sure, the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of 12-foot high, 10-ton blast walls that now surround – and isolate – Dora help keep al-Qaida at bay. But local Dorans don't seem to care. In fact, most Iraqis I asked about the blast walls said that they actually felt freer these days with the concrete barriers and joint patrols to protect them.

Chalvko walked us past Dora's reopened parks and replanted gardens, past its new library, its primary care clinic, and high school.

Bank open for biz

He explained that, at first, people just wanted security. Now they want services. He then led us to one service that had just opened last week – the Dora branch of the Rafidain Bank. A bank! I hadn't been inside a functioning Iraqi bank in years. The last Rafidain Bank branch I was this close to was burning out of control on Baghdad's Haifa Street during those chaotic days just after the fall of Saddam.

We went inside. There were a dozen or more customers, one in a wheelchair, counting small piles of Iraqi dinars they had just withdrawn or were about to deposit. Tellers, mostly women in head scarves, were busy filling out bank slips and attaching paper clips to deposits. The manager, all the while, was pacing back and forth, smiling nervously, from his office to the tellers and back. I guess that being a bank manager in Dora is not the safest of jobs, no matter how many troops or blast walls surrounded you.

But, it struck me that the very presence of a bank was a symbol of change. Dorans could now avoid traveling through interminable checkpoints, across Baghdad, risking their lives to deposit or withdraw money for loans on houses or cars or new businesses. They could do all their business right here, in their own neighborhood.

"Instead of looking to the Americans to help them out," said Chalvko, "they can come here. It's a sign that things are going in the right direction."

How many Doras are there?

Covering the war in Iraq is often about analyzing the trend lines. We're all looking for the elusive "turning point" – that gauge that ultimately allows us to measure victory or defeat.

One of my Nightly News editors in New York, Robert Dembo, summed it up nicely, "I guess the real question now is: How many Doras are out there?" And I've got my own new question: "I wonder just how long Rafidain Bank will stay open?"

We shall see.

Jim Maceda is an NBC News Correspondent based in London. He has reported on the war in Iraq since the U.S. invasion in 2003 and is currently on assignment in Baghdad.

The U.S. has reinstated the Fulbright scholarships of seven Gaza Strip students who had been blocked from leaving the Hamas-ruled territory by Israel, the State Department announced on Monday.

The students, who had been awarded the scholarships for the upcoming academic year, were informed last week that their scholarships would be deferred because they couldn't get out of Gaza, which Israel blockaded after the Islamic militants seized power a year ago.

The situation turned into an international incident once Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice heard about the scholarship snafu on Friday.

NBC News' Tom Aspell reports on how the visa misunderstaning was resolved.

VIDEO: Palestinian Fulbright scholars allowed into Jerusalem

By Scott Foster, NBC News Pentagon Producer

GUANTANAMO BAY NAVAL BASE, CUBA – Last week, NBC News Pentagon correspondent Jim Miklaszewski and I joined 60 other journalists from around the world on a U.S. military sponsored trip to the isolated Guantanamo Bay Naval Base to report on the much anticipated start of the military war crimes trial of the self-confessed mastermind of the Sept. 11 attacks, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed.

Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the man also known as KSM who had boasted to interrogators he planned the attacks of Sept.11 "from A to Z," hadn't been seen by anyone outside the U.S. government in over five years – not since that notorious photo when he appeared disheveled and confused after his capture in Pakistan in 2003.

This would be the public's first glimpse of Mohammed and four other alleged Sept.11 plotters, who were all being tried jointly. It would also mark the first time anyone directly involved in the Sept. 11 hijackings would face charges in an American courtroom.

The high-stakes drama was in place, but the legal backdrop to these proceedings was sure to be equally as significant.

VIDEO: Alleged Sept.11 mastermind's day in court

This was an arraignment, so legally their cases wouldn't be advanced much, but it was clear the controversial military commission itself would also be on trial.

Legal experts have decried commission rules that prevent the accused and their attorneys from seeing sensitive evidence, some of which may have been obtained from coercive interrogation techniques, which human rights advocates have called torture.

This was the commission's first major test, and the world was watching.

Ferry ride to court

After a five hour flight from Washington to Guantanamo Bay onboard a noisy C-130 turbo-prop aircraft, we circumvented Cuban airspace by flying over international waters and roared to a stop at the Guantanamo Bay airstrip at the southeastern tip of Cuba.

As we were ferried across the two-and-a-half-mile wide bay to the windward side of the naval base where we'd do our reporting from, we had the chance to take in the stunning views of rugged Cuban mountain ranges and rocky coastline and for just a moment it was easy to forget this place houses the most important terror detainees in U.S. custody – and has sparked highly charged international criticism and outrage.

The morning of the arraignment, two dozen reporters were allowed into the courtroom in the newly constructed $12 million "expeditionary" legal complex. There journalists could view the proceedings behind a glass partition in the back of the courtroom. The remaining members of the press, including myself, were allowed to view the session via closed circuit TV in our media workspace. The sterile looking white walled courtroom consisted of rows of mahogany colored tables for both the defense and prosecution.

Our first glimpse of any of the accused was a man dressed in a white tunic, black framed glasses, and white head covering. What stuck out most though and caught nearly all of us reporters by surprise was this defendant's long, bushy gray and white beard. Initially, it took a moment to figure out who it was. It wasn't until I saw he was seated next to defense attorney Navy Captain Prescott Prince that I realized this was Mohammed. In addition to his beard, he appeared much thinner than he was in that disheveled looking photo.

While the defense and prosecution got situated, it became evident that Mohammed and the other four defendants – Waleed bin Attash, Ali Abd al-Aziz Ali, Ramzi Binalshibh, and Mustafa Ahmad al-Hawsawi – were talking to one another and were catching up. This was the first time they had been together since each was captured. Only Binalshibh was shackled to the floor – it wasn't not exactly clear why he was the only one restrained.

Defendants chat

After several procedural questions and statements from chief judge Marine Col. Ralph Kohlmann, the time came for Mohammed to speak. Asked whether he understood English and preferred a translator, Mohammed responded that his English "is not bad," but worried that in some instances when he needed to speak Arabic he could be mistranslated.

When pressed later by the judge whether he would need the assistance of a translator, given his level of fluency, Mohammed responded, "I talk with you 16 minutes already, it's not bad."

Initially, Mohammed appeared to be actively involved in the proceedings, as he looked through various documents and listened intently to his defense counsel.

But, he soon became defiant, rejecting his military attorneys because, he said, they work for the "president who waged a crusader war, killing in Iraq and Afghanistan." He then claimed he'd been tortured for five years, labeled American law "evil," said the commission was an "inquisition," and referred to Guantanamo as "inquisition land."

At one point Mohammed began reciting Koranic verses. When asked whether he realized he could be put to death, he responded coldly, "This is what I wish. I'm looking to be a martyr for a long time."

One after another, each defendant rejected their court-appointed attorneys, despite the repeated warnings from the judge – each seeming to follow Mohammed's lead.

Attorneys blast military commission

Soon after the eight hour session ended, defense attorneys came to the microphones in an old aircraft hangar to blast the military commission, calling it an unfair process which denied fundamental legal rights to the accused.

Binalshibh's lawyer, Navy Cmdr. Suzanne Lachelier, who on several occasions has been involved in testy exchanges with the presiding judge, said the "American constitution was tread on today," adding the military commissions have "sunk to new lows." She even went on to say the proceedings had "tarnished" her uniform.

The defense attorneys complained that the already difficult task of defending some of the most despised men in the world had been made more complicated because of an "undercurrent of intimidation" inside the courtroom. They explained that Mohammed had forced the others to follow him and reject their attorneys. Army Maj. Jon Jackson, lawyer for al-Hawsawi, said that after he and his client spoke, Mohammed mockingly asked his client "What, are you in the American Army now?"

The attorneys expressed frustration that the judge allowed these side conversations to go on uninterrupted, saying their decision to represent themselves gives a significant advantage to the prosecution.

Asked by a reporter whether it really mattered who defended them, given the fact that several confessed to their involvement in planning the attacks and said they wanted to be "martyred," Binalshibh's defense attorney David Durkin answered "in America, even those who want to be executed should receive an adequate defense."

Then the lead prosecutor Army Col. Larry Morris briefed reporters on his observations of the day's events. The contrast between the defense and prosecution's view of the day was like night and day.

Morris defended the commission process – saying the lengths to which the United States went to provide due process to the alleged Sept.11 co-conspirators was unprecedented.

Not a fan of the sketch artist

Among all the back and forth over the fairness of the much anticipated court session, one bizarre episode occurred involving something as innocuous as a courtroom sketch.

According to the official courtroom sketch artist and U.S. military officials, Mohammed apparently personally complained over how he appeared in an artist's sketch of him while in court.

A sketch of Mohammed was shown to defense attorneys during a break and apparently he took offense to the size of his nose in the sketch. According to the artist, Mohammed asked his attorneys to have the artist "take a look at the FBI photo." That is the notorious photograph of the alleged terror mastermind after he was captured. U.S. officials gave the sketch artist an opportunity to alter the sketch, which she did – making the nose smaller.

While prosecutors want to start the trial in mid-September, defense attorneys counter that there's no way they can be prepared in that amount of time, suggesting that the Bush administration is trying to ram the cases through before the next president takes office.

Given the challenges this military commission will likely face, many legal observers here said they believed the defendants may never be tried by this court at Guantanamo.

As this trip came to a close, there was a sense of uncertainty over just when and how those accused of carrying out the worst terrorist attack in American history will ultimately face justice.

By Michele Neubert, NBC News Producer

The last time I was in Ljubljana, Slovenia, was during the mid-1990s. I was there for all of 20 minutes.

I'd flown in with an NBC News cameraman on a U.S. military medivac plane whose mission it was to collect some badly injured victims of one of the Balkan wars. With time very much of the essence, we filmed on the airport tarmac as the wounded were loaded from stretchers to secure cots onboard. The plane then flew them to a U.S. facility in Germany for treatment.

It my first exposure to what would be several years covering the bloodshed of the Balkans – a series of conflicts from which Slovenia, the first of the former Yugoslav republics to declare its independence from Yugoslavia, managed to escape relatively unscathed. After a nearly bloodless 10-day war in June 1991, Yugoslav forces withdrew from the country, leaving it to serve as a safe transportation hub in the midst of the other Balkan conflicts.

Fifteen years or so later, I'm back to cover a visit by President Bush, the first stop on his farewell tour of Europe. I'm eager to check out the city I'd never had a chance to see, which is now the capital of a vibrant democracy, part of NATO and currently presiding over the European Union's rotating presidency.

We landed on the same compact airport. This time, however, sleek commercial jets have replaced the busloads of injured awaiting us back then.

Driving into the city center with a colleague, we were excited by the picture-book countryside – something of a cross between Austria and Switzerland. "It's got a real 'Sound of Music' feel," I suggested, as we sped along in a very comfortable Mercedes Benz taxi-cab past thick forests and chocolate-box villages.

But approaching the edge of town, high-rise concrete structures brought back familiar memories of many other former Yugoslav cities. "I'm a bit disappointed – somehow I expected more," said Heinrich Walling, the very same cameraman who had been with me on that medivac trip years ago.

It was Heinrich's first time back, too. He'd driven from his home in southern Germany, breaking off for a lunch along the way at Lake Bled, a well known beauty spot. "Prices were comparable to Germany; I thought they'd be cheaper," he said. Then he smiled as he pointed out that our hotel still had the symbol "i" – a sign that was traditionally the abbreviation for a tourist hotel chain all over the Eastern Bloc in communist days – peeping through its revamped façade.

After checking into the hotel, we were eager to explore the old city center, renowned for its architecture, cafes and bars. Our walk took us past plenty of evidence of a thriving economy with an impressive variety of designer labels and luxury boutiques. Yet the overall feel was that there still is some work to do. Just two blocks away from a ritzy Dolce and Gabbana storefront were shop windows more reminiscent of Eastern Bloc days.

After meandering down side streets we hit the delightful, if small, historic city center. Buzzing with late-afternoon activity and street musicians, the café crowd just was starting on their first aperitifs. We ate a hearty meal at an old established restaurant offering dishes as diverse as gnocchi with gorgonzola, schnitzels and horse steak. (The home-brewed beer is highly recommended.)

The "Vienna of the Balkans" was a label which had stuck in my mind from a travel article enthusing about Ljubljana soon after its independence.

Not quite yet, but the city is on its way, and is definitely worthy in its role as host to world leaders.

Ali Gul is one of many Afghans who lost his entire poppy crop to a police crackdown trying to stop the supply of heroin streaming out of Afghanistan and on to the world market.

Unable to pay off a $2,000 debt to a drug trafficker, Ali was forced to sell his daughter to the person he borrowed money from – making her one of many young women in Afghanistan becoming known as "Opium Brides." NBC News Jim Maceda reports from Kabul, Afghanistan.

VIDEO: Poppy crackdown gives rise to 'Opium Brides'

Driulis Gonzalez, Cuba's judo powerhouse, is heading to Beijing and hoping to bring home her fifth Olympic medal.

VIDEO: Cuban judo star hopes for 5th medal in Beijing

BANGKOK – One evening I asked my mother how much she would ask for a dowry if I were to get married. (A friend of mine is going to tie the knot this year and it made me curious about what my "bride price" would be.)

"Maybe a million Baht," she said after a pause. A million Baht, or roughly $32,000, should cover a down payment for a 500-square foot condominium in Bangkok or buy me a brand new Toyota Camry.

Unlike India, where the bride's family pays a dowry to the groom to recognize that he will provide for his wife, in Thailand it's the other way round. The Thai groom pays "Sin Sod" (or dowry) to prove to the bride's family that he will be a good provider.

AFP - Getty Images file

A Thai woman looks at bride dresses during a Wedding Fair in Bangkok.Â

The dowry usually comprises cash, jewelry, gold or property. The rate varies according to the social status of the two families. For lower-to-middle-class families the dowry can range from $2,000-$50,000, but in a marriage between two more affluent families, the dowry may reach as high as $100,000-$500,000. 

When a famous Thai pop singer got engaged to a son of a millionaire late last year, her dowry – cash, diamond rings, and a posh Audi sport car – was worth $3 million.

In Thailand, a dowry is sometimes called a "breastfeeding fee" – a symbolic payment for raising a good daughter who hopefully will also become a good wife. A more accomplished bride – such as Miss Thailand – is likely, though not always, expected to be pricier. 

Times have changed

Some Thais loathe the dowry system and many foreign suitors are shocked at it. The usual criticism is that it's dehumanizing and the ultimate rip off. Some parents tend to use the money for their own gain – paying debts, drinking and partying, or buying a new car.

I don't think the dowry would be necessary for my marriage (if I were to ever walk down the aisle). If love alone isn't enough, my marriage should be sustained by my groom's decent character and his full-time job. Still, I can see why we've had the dowry system for so long in Thailand.

One of my theories is that many young Thais in the past did not have the luxury to date and spend much time together. A marriage, even if not necessarily an arranged one, was often the decision of the bride's parents. The dowry, therefore, was a way for the suitor to present himself to the woman's family. And since he was going to be the breadwinner, the dowry was important to prove that he would be a good one.

Modern-day courtship has obviously changed, and so has the idea of a dowry. Young couples now spend years seeing each other and learning about their families. Together they decide and plan the marriage. More and more parents waive or return the dowry to their daughter after the wedding as a gift. Still, some parents like to demand a costly dowry purely to save face or to show off.  

My cousin's marriage to his girlfriend a few years ago was a good example of a modern-day courtship that combined old and new.

Having just spent a lump sum of money on his master's degree and being left with little else, my 30-something-year-old cousin proposed anyway. He had known the family so well, for so long, he felt right to expect a reasonable dowry request or some sort of discount.

But her parents wanted a dowry equal to three years of his salary and he was flabbergasted. The wedding took place as planned – only because he got some help from his family and his bride, who had given him all her savings. 

Of all people at the wedding, her parents were probably the happiest. They never got tired of telling their guests how much their daughter was worth. But it was all symbolic – every cent of the dowry was returned to the newlyweds that very evening and everyone was emotional and teary-eyed because of it.

 "I will give the dowry back to you," my mother assured me when I was quiet in my thoughts. "All of that one million."

Of course I'm grateful for that. But just a million Baht? My mother can be too modest sometimes.