6 Years Gone: Myanmar woman escapes brutal China captivity

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In this March 21, 2018, photo, wearing a T-shirt with words which read "I am not a commodity to sell," Marip Lu sits in her family's shelter in a refugee camp in northern Kachin State, Myanmar. (AP)
Updated 08 September 2018
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6 Years Gone: Myanmar woman escapes brutal China captivity

  • In the darkness on the bed that first night, Marip Lu felt like a caged animal
  • When she entered China surreptitiously in September 2011, there were no border guards, no checkpoints

GUCHENG, China: They were the first photos Marip Lu had ever taken of her son, and it broke her heart to think they might be the last.
The little boy was standing in their living room in rural China with his tiny chest puffed out, brown eyes beaming as he watched cartoons on TV. She wanted to remember him this way — smiling, playful, innocent.
Just three years old, he had no idea his mother was facing a heart-wrenching choice that would change their lives: stay with him and the family holding her hostage, or leave him behind and be free.
Six years earlier, Marip Lu had been drugged, kidnapped and trafficked to this place far from her native Myanmar. She had been beaten and abused, forced to “marry” a mentally disabled man, and repeatedly raped, she said.
Now the people organizing her rescue had warned it was too dangerous to take her son. But how could she go without him?
“What if he never has someone to call ‘mama’?” Marip Lu kept asking herself, as the clock ticked down to her escape. “What will they do to him if I’m no longer there?“

As a girl growing up in northern Myanmar, Marip Lu had spent most of her youth in school, in church, and farming her family’s rice fields. But in June 2011, fighting erupted between the army and rebels from an ethnic minority called the Kachin. Marip Lu’s family, who are Kachin, fled to the home of relatives in Laiza, on the Chinese frontier.
The move brought new dangers — from human traffickers who are increasingly luring teenage girls with the false promise of jobs. Once inside China, the girls are kidnapped, then sold to men looking for “brides” for between $5,000 and $10,000, according to the Kachin women’s association, Myu Shayi.
Nobody knows how many have been trafficked, because most are never heard from again or too ashamed to report the crime. However, the US State Department said in its latest report that numbers from Myanmar are rising, and Myu Shayi says the average number of known victims from rebel-held Kachin state — a tiny sliver of Myanmar — has jumped from about 35 annually to 50 last year. Myanmar’s government has reported over 1,100 cases in the country since 2010.
Human Rights Watch’s Heather Barr, who interviewed 37 victims this year, said those figures “are only the tip of the iceberg.”
The phenomenon is a direct consequence of China’s one-child policy, which grossly skewed the nation’s gender balance for decades before the government ended the practice two years ago. Chinese men, though, still outnumber women by more than 30 million, fueling a huge demand for foreign brides that has sucked in countless girls from neighboring Vietnam, Laos and North Korea.
Although Chinese authorities have broken up trafficking rings, rights advocates say anti-trafficking enforcement is weak, and the practice continues.
The Associated Press pieced together Marip Lu’s story through interviews with her, several family members and the women’s group that orchestrated her rescue. Some details were corroborated by 195 photographs on her cell phone. In an effort to ensure Marip Lu’s safety, AP is not using her full name.
The AP also traveled to the village of Gucheng, in Henan province, to interview the couple Marip Lu accuses of buying her — Li Qinggong and his wife, Xu Ying. Both denied all allegations of abuse, but neither was able to explain how Marip Lu had ended up in their faraway village, or how she allegedly met and “married” their mentally disabled son, Li Mingming. When the AP visited their home, Li Mingming was only able to mumble incoherently; his foot was chained to a bed, a practice sometimes employed by families in rural China to keep mentally disabled relatives from wandering away.
Still, Li Qinggong insisted that “we did not abduct her or buy her. ... It’s not true.”
Xu claimed they treated Marip Lu like a daughter, and tearfully accused her of neglecting her son and abandoning them. But she acknowledged knowing Marip Lu wanted to leave and said without explanation that “in some families, they run away after several months — some don’t even last a single month.”
At one point, the couple got into a screaming match as they discussed whether to talk to AP. Li Qinggong hurled his phone at his wife. “You’re asking for trouble,” he told her. “Why don’t you go die?“
“These are all family affairs,” Li Qinggong later said, explaining his reticence. “It’s sad to talk about family affairs, and we don’t bring it up.”

When Marip Lu heard about a job at a barbecue restaurant in Yingjiang, a half-hour’s drive away from Laiza, she had every reason to believe it was real. The offer came from a woman who had lived next to her family for years and attended their church.
After Marip Lu told her parents the news, her mother, Tangbau Hkawn, begged her not to go.
“You’re too young,” she said. “You’ve never traveled out of Myanmar. You’ve never been anywhere alone.”
“Don’t worry mama,” replied Marip Lu, who was just 17 at the time.
When she entered China surreptitiously in September 2011, there were no border guards, no checkpoints. They walked across a shallow creek in broad daylight.
In Yingjiang, after eating a bowl of noodles for breakfast at a local restaurant, Marip Lu began to feel dizzy.
Soon, her vision blurred. Then everything went black.
When Marip Lu regained consciousness, she was slumped on the back of a red motorcycle racing down a highway, a chubby Chinese man holding onto her with one hand.
Rubbing her eyes, she saw rivers and flower parks flashing by. Then things she’d only seen in movies: twinkling skyscrapers with vast crowds walking between them like ants.
When she reached for the phone in her purse, she noticed it was missing along with her Myanmar identification card and the handful of Myanmar kyat — worth only a few US dollars — that she’d brought.
Suddenly, she understood. She’d been tricked, then drugged. And now, she was being trafficked.
Marip Lu began to scream, but she was too weak to resist.
She was handed over to an older man who pulled her aboard a public bus. The night turned into day, then night again, and she was forced into a car that drove into a small village with no paved roads. The car stopped in front of a bland, two-story home made of cement, where a middle-aged couple greeted her excitedly with huge smiles as if she were a long-lost relative.
Li Qinggong, who had dark hair and bushy eyebrows, spoke rapidly and loudly. His wife, who had high cheekbones and a wide face, sat with him, alongside a thickset younger man in his 30s — their son.
The woman offered sunflower seeds, and later, dinner. But Marip Lu was nauseous and frightened. The last thing she wanted to do was eat. She could even not communicate with her captors, who only spoke Chinese.
“Please, dear God,” she prayed, closing her eyes. “Please don’t let anything bad happen to me.”

In the darkness on the bed that first night, Marip Lu felt like a caged animal.
The couple, through hand gestures, had made it clear she was to sleep in the same room as Li Mingming. He had ripped off her clothes, and when she had tried to run they had pushed her back inside and slammed the door shut.
Li Mingming began heaving his naked body against hers, she said, grunting as she recoiled in disgust.
But then, unexpectedly, he stopped. For some reason, he had not raped her, and in the days that followed, she began to understand why: he was mentally disabled in some way.
Sometimes he would mumble or talk to himself, or scream unexpectedly. Sometimes he would stare blankly at the television, his eyes just inches away.
For months, Marip Lu said, her captors never left her alone. The windows upstairs were blocked by dirty white bars. Whenever the couple left, they locked the iron front door — from the outside.
One winter’s night, four weeks into her captivity, Marip Lu said, the couple burst into her bedroom, dragged her into the kitchen and tore off her clothes.
As she lay curled in a ball on the hard marble floor, they kicked and slapped and cursed her. Li Qinggong then poured buckets of ice water over her shivering body.
When the mother sat down, Marip Lu crawled forward and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“Please don’t do this!” she begged in Kachin — a language only she understood. “Oh God! What did I do wrong?“
The next night, the couple barged in again as she slept, according to Marip Lu. This time, they forced her into their bedroom. As Xu sat in a chair barking instructions, Li Qinggong pushed Marip Lu onto the bed and raped her repeatedly, she said. The couple later insisted she had never been raped.
When Marip Lu retreated, shaking with fear, she found her “husband” hiding in their room under a blanket like a child. It was the same thing he did when his parents fought.
As the weeks turned into months, then years, she began following a grim routine. During the day, they made her wash clothes, clean the house and cook — and beat her if she did not. At night, the couple would often drag their “daughter” into their room — or their son’s — and rape her as she cried, she said.
They called her Baobei — “baby.”
One day, Marip Lu looked into the mirror at several bright red imprints on her cheeks where she had been slapped. It was hard to recognize the girl looking back.
She wanted more than anything to escape, but there was nowhere to run. The sheer vastness of China, combined with the fact that she could not speak Chinese, had created the perfect prison. And even if she could get out, she had no money and no way to contact home.
The hardest part was the loneliness.
Marip Lu wanted to tell someone what was happening, but there was nobody to talk to. The first time she tried to wave down a neighbor, she said, Xu yanked her away by the wrist and cursed them both. Even those who entered their house tried to avoid making eye contact.
The neighbors may not have suspected anything was wrong. Foreign brides are not uncommon in rural China, and many women come voluntarily. Marriages are also sometimes seen as transactional events in a country where the traditional practice of paying dowries still exists.
Two years after her arrival, Marip Lu seemed to fall ill. She began throwing up each morning, and for the first time, Xu took her to a clinic.
She was five weeks pregnant.
Xu was overjoyed. But Marip Lu felt numb. The new life inside her belly was the product of the hell in which she existed.
The rape and the beatings came to a halt. Then, on Sept. 23, 2013, Marip Lu gave birth to a healthy boy. She called him Erzi, which means son.
The first time she looked into his eyes, she was overwhelmed by something she had not felt in a long time: love.
She melted when she saw his pouting lips smile involuntarily as he slept. Even his cries were soothing.
Although Marip Lu insists Li Qinggong is the father, she said the couple referred to the boy as their “grandson,” proudly telling everyone in their village he belonged to their son and their “daughter-in-law.” In conversations with the AP, Li Qinggong never replied to the question of whether he was the father.
When the beatings and the rape resumed months later, Marip Lu felt different. The baby was a profound source of comfort; she no longer felt alone.
The day her son turned one, Xu took her and the boy to a photo studio for a souvenir of the moment. The glossy image they received was embossed with a tiny smiley face and a digital slogan written in English: “Happy Day.”

Marip Lu had all but given up on ever returning home when she spotted something strange in the trash: an old, beat-up cell phone.
It was missing a SIM card. But she knew how to get one: by skimming cash from the money the couple gave her to buy food.
It took several weeks. When she inserted the card, she was shocked. It worked.
Immediately, she tried to dial friends or family in Myanmar. But nothing went through.
She began calling numbers at random in Yunnan, a province that borders Myanmar. The idea was simple: try to reach anyone who spoke Kachin.
For weeks she dialed in secret, again and again, number after number. Until one day a woman answered in Kachin — a language she had not spoken or heard in years.
“Who are you? What do you want?“
Marip Lu said she was working in China and had lost contact with her family back home.
“I’m desperate to speak to them,” she said. “Can you help?“
Miraculously, the woman lived in Yingjiang, the same place Marip Lu had been kidnapped from four years before. Even more stunning: one of the woman’s relatives was planning to make her first trip to Myanmar — to Laiza for a wedding.
Marip Lu passed on her brother-in-law’s address, and when the woman crossed the border she knocked on his door.
Numbers were exchanged. And several days later, Marip Lu made a call she thought she’d never be able to make again.
“Marip Lu?” her mother asked.
“Yes, mama. Yes,” she said, and wept into the phone.

In Laiza, Myu Shayi, the women’s association affiliated with the rebel administration, immediately took up the case.
“I want you to be patient,” a case worker named Ja Ring told Marip Lu by phone. “We will get you out as soon we can.”
For months, the two stayed in touch, agreeing that only Marip Lu would call. Then Xu discovered the phone.
“Who are you calling? You have no friends here,” she screamed, her face red with anger as she snatched it away. “You should not be talking to anyone. Your family is here.”
The loss turned out to be a blessing. With money she got to celebrate her son’s second birthday in 2015, and more skimmed cash, Marip Lu secretly purchased a low-cost, Chinese-built smartphone.
Another woman from Myu Shayi told her to install the popular Chinese messaging app WeChat. The woman, Hkawn Shawng, then asked her to send a message by clicking on an icon that looked like a balloon.
When Marip Lu pressed “send,” a digital map appeared on Hkawn Shawng’s phone with a red flag on it. For the first time, it indicated precisely where she was — a house about 2,700 kilometers from Laiza.
Following protocol, Hkawn Shawng wrote a letter to Chinese authorities requesting a rescue.
Then they waited, for months.
Marip Lu was outside her home with her son when a pair of police cars suddenly pulled up months later, red and blue lights flashing. One of the officers turned and asked: “Are you Marip Lu? Is that your name?“
“Yes, yes, yes,” she said, barely able to contain herself.
When the officers said they were taking her down to the police station, Li Qinggong tried to intervene.
“We take good care of her in this house. She’s happy,” he said, smiling meekly. “Just look around, do you see any problem here?“
Marip Lu, frozen, dared not say a word. But when the police took her away, she told them everything.
“Someone sold me to this Chinese family,” she said. “I’m terrified of these people.”
The officers recorded her testimony solemnly. Then they took her photograph.
“Do you want to go home?” one asked.
“Of course,” Marip Lu pleaded. “Very much.”
But hours later, inexplicably, they called the Chinese family to come pick her up. They said they would come back to get her when they received orders from their bosses after the Chinese New Year holiday.
“Don’t be afraid,” one of them said. And “don’t be in a hurry ... Don’t you know there is war in Myanmar? Aren’t you worried about that?“
The next day, Marip Lu called Hkawn Shawng in tears.
“Why didn’t they send me home?” she said, her voice trembling. “When are you going to rescue me? Am I going to die here?“
“You must stay strong,” Hkawn Shawng replied. “Keep praying to God ... we will get you out.”
A few weeks later, Hkawn Shawng received a letter from the police. It claimed Marip Lu had told them she did not want to return.
It was unclear what had happened, but Hkawn Shawng speculated police had either been bought off, or didn’t care. Police in Gucheng declined to speak to AP about the case when contacted by phone.
There was a Plan B. Myu Shayi had surreptitious networks of its own in China that rescue trafficked girls. Hkawn Shawng would send a driver, but Marip Lu would have to get as far away from her house as she could first, to ensure their vehicle was not traced or followed.
“And my son?” Marip Lu asked.
Hkawn Shawng said she could only be rescued alone. The boy was a Chinese citizen, and spiriting him out of the country would be interpreted by Chinese authorities as one thing only: kidnapping.
By now, the couple was so confident Marip Lu would not — or could not — leave, they let her drive their three-wheeled vehicle to the market alone. And when they discovered her new white phone, they shrugged, and let her keep it.

On Wednesday, May 3, 2017, Marip Lu walked her son home from school at 11 a.m., holding his hand just as she always did.
Once there, she packed a small pink bag with two changes of clothes, a little bit of money, and several laminated photos of her son.
He stood beside her, pulling at her leg.
“Mama! Mama!” he said. “I’m hungry.”
Marip Lu told him to go to the kitchen and wait for lunch, but the boy said he did not want to go alone.
“Go on,” she said. “Be a good boy. Mama needs to finish washing the clothes.”
As the boy walked away, he turned back several times, his sad eyes pleading for her to follow. But as soon as he was out of sight, Marip Lu ran down to the garage, where she cranked up the family’s motorcycle.
Xu was in another room at the time, with her elderly mother.
Marip Lu’s eyes welled with tears.
She dared not say bye to her son, or hug him one last time. She knew that if she did, she would never be able to leave.
Half an hour later, she reached a nearby town. She abandoned the motorcycle in an alley, and messaged her GPS location to a driver sent by Myu Shayi who was supposed to pick her up.
Hours later, she saw a van with a man standing outside it in a white shirt.
“Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!“
Marip Lu began to run.
“Quick! Get in!“
Once inside, Marip Lu took the SIM card out of her phone, rolled down the window and threw it into the wind.
Over the next several days, Marip Lu took 45 photos out the window as they traveled toward the Myanmar border: of bridges and skyscrapers and a Ferris wheel along the endless highways.
Eventually, the van cut through fields of tall sugarcane, then suddenly turned onto a dirt road.
It was Myanmar. Marip Lu was home.

When her family saw her for the first time, there were tears, hugs, and disbelief. It was as if their daughter had returned from the dead.
But they knew the innocent girl who left Myanmar six years earlier would never came back.
“She talks at night when she sleeps now,” her mother, Tangbau Hkawn, says forlornly. “Sometimes she screams. Sometimes she shouts things like ‘don’t touch me!’“
When the Associated Press interviewed Marip Lu in a rebel-controlled part of northern Myanmar’s Kachin state, a year after her escape, she could not hide her hatred for the family she said held her for so long.
“I want them to know what it feels like,” she says through gritted teeth. “They destroyed my life.”
In June, though, Marip Lu was overcome by the desire to contact her son. To do so, she had to muster the courage to call Li Qinggong.
At first, nobody answered, but then a familiar voice called back.
Li Qinggong refused to let her speak to the boy, she said, and asked if she had told the AP what happened in their home. Later, she sent several photos of herself because “I wanted (my son) to know he has a mother somewhere.”
It’s unclear if the boy ever saw the photos. Neither Li Qinggong nor Xu answered repeated calls to their mobile phones from AP. However, the boy seemed otherwise fine when the AP saw him on its visit, despite Marip Lu’s fears.
More than anything else, Marip Lu says she wants to get her son back.
But Hkawn Shawng, the woman who helped engineer her rescue, says that is all but impossible. Her organization has spearheaded the return of more than 200 women to Myanmar since 2011.
All those with children were forced to leave them behind.


Moveable feast: Danish chef serves up gastronomic journey by bike

Updated 58 min 45 sec ago
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Moveable feast: Danish chef serves up gastronomic journey by bike

  • Morten Kryger Wulff got the idea more than two decades ago to take his cooking to the great outdoors
  • This lead customers on a gastronomic bike ride through Copenhagen – with delectable food served at every stop

COPENHAGEN: Hopping off his custom-built bicycle-turned-portable kitchen, Danish chef Morten Kryger Wulff started whipping up a feast of tantalizing, original dishes – served with a generous side of nature.

The 56-year-old chef, a veteran of prestigious kitchens across Europe, got the idea more than two decades ago to take his cooking to the great outdoors, leading customers on a gastronomic bike ride through Copenhagen – with delectable food served at every stop.

On a sunny weekday in July, grilled seaweed, dill cream, bean fricassee, Nordic pizza, and blackcurrant ice cream were on the menu for the ride from the Danish capital’s harbor to the Amager Nature Park.

“This is as close as I can come to nature, cooking-wise, in a chef way,” said Wulff.

The tour lasts about four hours total, covering three to five kilometers (around two to three miles).

It is broken into bike rides of about 15 minutes each, in between which the chef gets off his bike, unfolds his table and starts cooking.

“You take away the walls of a traditional restaurant and you expose yourself to the city and to the elements you’re in,” he said.

In his cargo bike – a contraption he designed himself, measuring over two meters (six feet seven inches) long and weighing 130 kilograms (287 pounds) – he brings everything he needs: a foldable work surface, a refrigerator, a gas burner and all his ingredients.

“It is impressive to watch him cook from that small kitchen, to see how compressed everything is,” said Pernille Martensson, a Copenhagen local who joined the tour with her husband to celebrate his birthday.

The route is “part of the menu,” said Wulff.

“For example, the dish with fish or shellfish or seaweed are typically served by the channels,” he said.

On the docks, he sautes shrimp before serving them in shells.

As Wulff and his group gradually move away from Copenhagen’s city center, the chef – who has worked at The Savoy hotel in London and Geneva’s InterContinental – shares stories about the city and the project.

It all began in 2002, when he was kicked out of a municipal park for trying to have a barbecue with friends, and decided to start cooking outdoors legally.

Wulff takes an ecologically gentle approach.

“The food we get for these tours is, of course, all harvested and bought locally,” he said, adding that even the wines come from around Copenhagen.

“Bicycle, it’s the most sensible vehicle, the smartest vehicle. It does not use any energy. You can have a battery, but it’s pedal-powered,” he said.

The mobile approach to dining means he and his customers “meet the city, we meet the locals,” he said.

The self-proclaimed “bicycle chef” said he is “very passionate about cargo bikes and what they can do.”

He frequently participates in the Danish cargo bike championships, an unconventional competition held annually in Copenhagen.

In 2016, he was named courier of the year.

The award committee said he had “demonstrated the many possibilities of the cargo bike with his mobile kitchen project.”

Bicycle-loving Copenhagen has over 385 kilometers (239 miles) of bike lanes, the oldest dating back to 1892.


Colorado dentist accused of poisoning his wife’s protein shakes going on trial for murder

Updated 12 July 2025
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Colorado dentist accused of poisoning his wife’s protein shakes going on trial for murder

  • After his initial attempts to kill her failed, prosecutors allege he ordered a rush shipment of potassium cyanide, saying it was needed for a surgery
  • Craig’s attorneys have argued that testing of his wife’s shake containers did not turn up signs of at least one poison blamed for killing her

DENVER: Just days before she died after suffering symptoms that mystified her doctors, Angela Craig confronted her husband, James, in their suburban Denver kitchen over his lack of support.
In that 2023 argument captured on home surveillance video, she accused him of suggesting to hospital staff that she was suicidal, court documents show.
Prosecutors say James Craig caused the ailments that ultimately killed his wife by poisoning her protein shakes and trying to make it look as if she killed herself. His trial on murder and other charges is set to begin Monday with the questioning of potential jurors.
Angela Craig, 43, died in March 2023 during her third trip to the hospital that month. Toxicology tests later determined she died of poisoning from cyanide and tetrahydrozoline, an ingredient that is found in over-the-counter eye drops.
The couple were married 23 years and had six children.
Craig has pleaded not guilty to charges including first-degree murder, solicitation to commit murder and solicitation to commit perjury.
Police say Craig tried to fabricate evidence to make it appear his wife killed herself
The 47-year-old dentist allegedly bought arsenic online around the time his wife began to experience symptoms like dizziness and headaches for which doctors could find no cause, prosecutors say.
At the time of his arrest, police said Craig was trying to start a new life amid financial troubles and appeared to be having an affair with a fellow dentist. Prosecutors said he had affairs with two other women, but they have not detailed a motive in his wife’s death.
Craig’s attorneys have argued police were biased against him and claimed testing of his wife’s shake containers did not turn up signs of poison. They’ve questioned the reliability of a jail inmate who said Craig offered him $20,000 to kill the case’s lead investigator, an alleged plot for which Craig is also on trial.
To avoid being held accountable, prosecutors said, Craig tried to fabricate evidence to make it appear his wife killed herself.
He tried to get another fellow inmate to plant fraudulent letters at Craig’s home to make it look like his wife was suicidal, prosecutors said. Then, in the weeks before Craig had been set to stand trial in November, prosecutors said he also sent letters to the ex-wife of the inmate he allegedly tried to get to kill the investigator, offering her $20,000 for each person she could find to falsely testify that his wife planned to die by suicide, they said.
Previous Craig attorneys withdraw from case
As jury selection was about to begin, his lawyer at the time, Harvey Steinberg, asked to withdraw, citing a rule allowing lawyers to step down if a client persists in actions considered criminal or that they disagree with.
Another attorney for Craig, Robert Werking, later argued that investigators did not look into whether Craig wrote the letters or check them against his handwriting. Werking also said that the inmate and his ex-wife were prosecuted for forgery for their roles in an alleged fraud ring in 2005, suggesting they could not be trusted.
Werking withdrew from the case himself this month after being charged with arson of his own home, leaving his wife and law partner, Lisa Fine Moses, to defend Craig. Werking’s attorney, David Beller, said he was getting mental health treatment and asked the public to show him grace.
Moses did not immediately return telephone and email messages seeking comment.
Prosecutors plan to show video of couple’s argument
Over the objections of the defense, prosecutors plan to show the video of the argument in the kitchen to jurors.
“It’s your fault they treated me like I was a suicide risk, like I did it to myself, and like nothing I said could be believed,” Angela Craig told her husband after her first trip to the hospital.
Prosecutors convinced the judge jurors should see the video because they said it disproves potential claims that Angela Craig poisoned herself — possibly while trying to dissuade him from divorcing her — or to frame him and gain an advantage over him if they did divorce.
“Her mental state is anger and frustration, not suicidality or desperation to keep the defendant in the marriage,” Senior Chief Deputy District Attorney Michael Mauro wrote in a recent court filing.
One of Angela Craig’s siblings, Mark Pray, said last year that James Craig not only orchestrated the “torment and demise” of his sister but had shown disregard for others, including their children.
An online search
Prosecutors say James Craig searched online for answers to questions such as “how to make murder look like a heart attack” and “is arsenic detectable in an autopsy?”
After Craig’s initial attempts to kill his wife failed, prosecutors allege, he ordered a rush shipment of potassium cyanide, supposedly for surgery. The shipment was accidentally discovered by an employee at his dental practice in the Denver suburb of Aurora on March 13, 2023. The employee reported it to the office manager two days later when Angela Craig returned to the hospital for a third and final time.
Craig’s business partner, Ryan Redfearn, told a nurse treating Angela Craig that he was concerned she could have been poisoned with the cyanide. The nurse reported that to police, who began their investigation the same day.
Angela Craig died days later.


Beat the heat with these cooling gadgets and wearables

Updated 12 July 2025
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Beat the heat with these cooling gadgets and wearables

  • Popular options include portable fans, cooling neck wraps and high-tech vests. Indoors, cooling pillows and chill pads offer relief, for pets too

You can only sit in front of the fridge with the door open for so long.
As heat waves blast the world like a blow dryer on high, folks are reaching for anything that promises a little personal chill: portable mini fans, cooling neck wraps, high-tech vests and all kinds of heat-beating headwear.
Of course, cooling gear helps most when paired with basic and safe strategies against the heat: most importantly hydration, shade and rest. Stay out of extreme heat when possible, and know the signs of heat exhaustion or heat stroke.
Yet these wearable wonders and breezy gadgets can offer some relief. They might look quirky, but when the AC struggles and the sidewalk feels like a stovetop, they can start to seem like must-haves.
When you’re at home
Indoors, stay comfy with cool-feel sheets (like those with a silky finish or lightweight fibers), bed fans (where a nozzle inserted into the bed linens pumps a flow of air around you), or a cooling pillow or chill pad, which are filled with a gel that can stay cool for hours. Sleep-product brands include Serta, Sealy, Casper, Pluto and Threshold.
The chill pads can work for your own bed and the pets’ bed too. There are chillable full-size mattresses (Chilipad, 8Sleep and BedJet get good reviews from The Spruce) and smaller, simple pads (CoolCare and Sharper Image, among others).
Outdoor wearables

Clare Epstein, an employee safety expert with Vector Solutions in Tampa, Florida, works to reduce heat stress for at-risk employees in industries like construction, aviation and agriculture. She recommends wearables like cooling scarves and evaporative cooling vests.
“By soaking the fabric in cold water at the beginning of the day, the vest slowly cools, and keeps the wearer cool,” she says.
Clothes made of “phase change materials,” or PCMs, contain gel capsules or pads that can help moderate body temperatures. Uline.com advertises a vest that stays under 60 degrees for a few hours, and AlphaCool offers a neck tube that performs similarly. Another feature of the tube, which is made of a polymer material, is that it doesn’t get overly chilled, so it’s safe for kids to use.
Also for kids, there’s a line of plush toys from Warmies that includes little critters of the farmyard, ocean, forest and safari that can be popped in the freezer before a trip to the park or playground.
Wearable items that incorporate small fans or thermoelectric coolers are also good, Epstein says. And there are vests with tubed reservoirs you can fill with water or electrolytes so you can sip as you go.
“These encourage people to take more water breaks, and stay hydrated,” says Epstein.
The wearables range is extensive. Along with cooling buffs, headbands, wristbands, socks and scarves, there are cooling brimmed hats and ball caps. Brands include Mission, Ergodyne, and Sunday Afternoon.
If you’d prefer a refreshing breeze, USB-chargeable handheld or wearable fans might do the job.
Chill advice
Lynn Campbell, co-founder of 10Adventures travel company in Calgary, Alberta, takes a lot of strenuous hiking and cycling trips with her husband, Richard. They’ve developed some easy hacks for hot days.
“We’ll wake up early, so we’re done by 10 or 11 a.m., or if we’re out on the trails, split the day in two, so we rest by water or in the shade over the hottest part” of the day, she says.
Wear light colors and thin, breathable fabrics.
And bring an umbrella. “This is a game-changer,” Campbell says. “Now we always pack ultralight, compact ones; they’re incredible.”
Also, pour cool water on your head and back. “We freeze a few bottles of water so we can pour ice water on us to cool down,” Campbell says. “Putting the bottles under the armpits, in the groin, or on the back of the neck can effectively cool a person down.”
And Annita Katee, a contributing writer for Apartment Therapy, has another way to prep your bed on hot nights:
“Pop your sheets into the freezer at least two hours before bedtime, then pull them out right before you hit the sack,” she wrote in a recent post. She folds hers into a zipped plastic bag, flattens it, then sets it on a freezer shelf between ice packs.
“The result? A delightfully cool bed that feels like a refreshing oasis against the heat.”


Indonesian boy’s ‘aura farming’ dance brings global spotlight to centuries-old tradition

Updated 11 July 2025
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Indonesian boy’s ‘aura farming’ dance brings global spotlight to centuries-old tradition

  • Pacu jalur is a boat tradition from Indonesia’s Riau province that can be traced back to the 17th century
  • Dika was named tourism ambassador of his home province after going viral with his dance moves

JAKARTA: An Indonesian boy dancing on the front of a boat has become an Internet sensation in recent weeks, setting a global trend of “aura farming” that has been recreated by famous athletes and thousands of others worldwide.

“Aura farming” is an Internet expression popularized in 2024, largely in reference to anime characters and celebrities. It refers to the act of consistently looking cool to build one’s “aura.”

Dressed in a black traditional costume and wearing sunglasses, 11-year-old Rayyan Arkhan Dikha from Indonesia’s Riau province has been dubbed “the ultimate aura farmer” on social media for performing a series of repetitive movements calmly on the bow of a thin boat, videos of which have amassed millions of views globally.

The Indonesian boy who goes by the name of Dika was participating in a local event known as “pacu jalur,” which roughly translates to “boat race.” A tradition that dates back to the early 17th century, the event is now held every August to commemorate the Indonesian Independence Day.

“Pacu jalur has been one of Indonesia’s Intangible Cultural Heritage since 2015,” Indonesia’s Culture Minister Fadli Zon said in a statement, after hosting Dika in his office in Jakarta on Wednesday.

The water sport tradition originated in Riau’s Kuantan Singingi regency at a time when boats were the main mode of transportation for the communities living along the local river.

“It has always been a part of life for people in (Kuantan Singingi), including to celebrate the most important Islamic holidays and also our independence day,” Fadli said.

During the race, each of the long, canoe-like boats and its large crew has an “anak coki,” a dancer who moves with rhythmic hand movements and body waves to provide inspiration for the rowers.

While every anak coki brings their own charm to the race, Dika — who has participated in the races since he was 9 — has since become the face of the pacu jalur tradition.

Though the original clip featuring Dika was posted to TikTok in January by a user named Lensa Rams and the event itself was held last August, the boy shot to global popularity over the past few weeks, as various creators on Instagram and TikTok have tried their own hand at Dika’s dance.

The list includes soccer team Paris Saint-Germain and Travis Kelce, American football star and boyfriend of pop singer Taylor Swift. When the US men’s national soccer team won against Guatemala last week, American soccer player Diego Luna copied Dika’s moves to celebrate a goal.

The massive impact of the video garnered him special attention from the government in Riau, where the governor on Tuesday named Dika as a tourism ambassador for the province and awarded him a scholarship for 20 million rupiah (about $1,200) for his education.

“Today, almost everyone opened their eyes to the vibrant and thriving culture of Riau, especially pacu jalur. This is why I wanted to show my appreciation to Dika,” Governor Abdul Wahid said.

In a statement, the local government confirmed that Dika will participate in the races next month.

Speaking to reporters in Jakarta following his meeting with the culture minister, Dika said: “I’m happy that I’ve gone viral globally.”


Australia’s Aboriginals ask UNESCO to protect ancient carvings site

Updated 11 July 2025
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Australia’s Aboriginals ask UNESCO to protect ancient carvings site

  • Murujuga, a remote area in the state of Western Australia, houses around one million petroglyphs
  • These carvings, located on the Burrup peninsula, that could date back 50,000 years

PARIS: A delegation of Australia’s Aboriginal people has traveled to Paris to win UN backing for the protection of a heritage site back home they say is threatened by harmful mining.

The World Heritage Committee at UNESCO, the United Nations’ cultural organization, has been deliberating since the start of the week on what sites to include in the latest edition of the body’s world heritage list.

Among the dozens of sites under consideration is Murujuga, a remote area in the state of Western Australia that according to estimates houses around one million petroglyphs – carvings that could date back 50,000 years.

“It’s possibly the most important rock art site in the world,” said Benjamin Smith, a rock art specialist at the University of Western Australia.

“We should be looking after it.”

The site is located on the Burrup peninsula, home to the Mardudunera people, and under threat from nearby mining developments.

Making the UNESCO’s heritage list often sparks a lucrative tourism drive, and can unlock funding for the preservation of sites.

It does not in itself trigger protection for a site, but can help pressure national governments into taking action.

“It’s absolutely crucial that the Australian government takes it more seriously and regulates industrial pollution in that area more carefully,” Smith said.

Giant mining corporations have been active in the resource-rich Pilbara region for decades.

Australian company Woodside Energy operates the North West Shelf, an industrial complex that includes offshore platforms, undersea pipelines, and hydrocarbon processing facilities.

The project consistently ranks among Australia’s five largest emitters of greenhouse gas, according to figures from the country’s Clean Energy Regulator.

“These carvings are what our ancestors left here for us to learn and keep their knowledge and keep our culture thriving through these sacred sites,” said Mark Clifton, a member of the three-person delegation meeting with UNESCO representatives.

“This is why I am here.”

Environmental and indigenous organizations argue the presence of mining groups has already caused damage with industrial emissions.

They are “creating hundreds of holes in the surface. And that is causing the surfaces with the rock art to break down,” Smith said.

In an emailed statement to AFP, Woodside Energy said it recognizes Murujuga as “one of Australia’s most culturally significant landscapes.”

It added that, according to independent peer-reviewed studies, “responsible operations” could help protect the heritage.

Woodside had taken “proactive steps,” it said, “to ensure we manage our impacts responsibly.”

In May, the Australian government extended the operating license for the liquefied gas plant by 40 years, with conditions.

Australia insists that extending the plant – which each year emits millions of tons of greenhouse gas – does not tarnish a pledge to reach net zero by 2050.

But activists, saying the government is not taking their concerns seriously enough, demand that UNESCO make any decision to put the site on the world heritage list contingent on the government offering adequate protection.

Delegation leader Raelene Cooper said she wanted guarantees.

“There needs to be, at the highest level, safeguards and measures of protection,” she said.

The Australian government has sent a separate delegation to Paris, also comprising members of the region’s Aboriginal population, to push for the site’s recognition.

Australia’s strong presence at the heritage committee meeting “is a meaningful opportunity to support the protection and conservation of some of the world’s most important cultural and natural sites,” Environment Minister Murray Watt said.

Icomos, a non-governmental organization partnering with UNESCO, said it was urgent for the Australian government to oversee “the complete elimination of harmful acidic emissions that currently affect the petroglyphs.”

UNESCO is expected to announce its update to the list by Sunday.