thehardyheyday.blogspot.com
Most of you all know that we've made the move back to the states, but there are still questions that pop up everywhere, so here are the answers and updates.
First of all, let's clarify this question, "What does a move mean to you?"
For us right now, a move constitutes a timeframe longer than a month that includes the transportation of necessary posessions, which include for us - clothes, books and toiletries sufficient for a long trip. It may or may not include permanent housing, jobs or private toilets.
Where are you?
We are basing our little operation in Lexington, Ky., since that's been the most recent professional home for both of us and also includes a lot of contacts and enough family to help us out with things in the near-term. We are making frequent trips to Indianapolis, of course, especially until February when football season lamentably ends.
So...where do you live?
Why? You know a place? Just kidding (sort of).
We bumped around from family spot to family spot during the holidays, then a quick stint as house- and dog-sitters for our buds, the Browns. This week we officially make home in the basement of Jacob's parents.
Every time I tell people this, they give me a look that is dubious and questioning and sympathetic, then say something along the lines of, "Oh. And how is that?" The answer is, there are two younger brothers and a mother and father living full time in the house, plus two other sisters who come and go a bunch, plus us - the newest addition to this boiling stew of madness. It's nearly always buzzing in that place and there are enough people milling through to take up every room in the house if they so chose to divide in such a manner. But that comes with a lot of really fun stuff like impromptu movie afternoons with roaring fires and lots of people stuffed onto couches together, family dinners, and lots of opportunity to catch a member of my new family for a little chat. Plus, need I say it? Toilets that flush. Toilets. That. FLUSH. Like, without a bucket. Woohoo!
Where are you going next?
Ha. If I knew, I'd let you know (as soon as I packed...again). Places on the dockett include returning to the middle east as well as European locales, but the closer we inch to the summer, the longer of a shot those spots are. More likely destinations include Lexington, South Carolina, Florida, California, Nebraska, Arizona, Washington and, basically, anywhere in the United States.
We move to South Carolina in August for Jacob's final two semesters of graduate school and will stay there through graduation in May of 2011.
What are you doing right now?
Why? You want to hang out? Just kidding (sort of).
Jacob continues in the internship search, so he is following up on a lot of applications and resume submissions and is interviewing for positions. He is searching for work in operations and/or product management. He needs three months of experience before we start school again in August.
I am working on self-busyness and improvement by enrolling in Bible Study Fellowship and begining freelance work, the first article coming in Business Lexington last week (yay!) See it here. I'm also doing all the things I always thought about doing when I was working full time and thinking about all the people parading by my window. Those things include cooking, organizing (whatever I have unpacked, that is), socializing and volunteering.
How long have you been married?
Yay! Fun question. Just over a year!
Are you crazy?
Still yes. :)
How's married life?
Still good, humdul'allah! We have a whole new set of things to adjust to right now like both of us being between work, having lots of available friends and things to do, living with family and, hello, being in the United States of America, but everything is good. In the words of my mom, "I'm so glad you still like each other even after the last year." Then Jacob, "We even still LOVE each other." Ahhh...and I do. Love that guy.
Are you abroad-sick? Do you miss things from back there?
Of course! We miss lots of things from overseas, like our friends (both expat and local), being in the midst of a culture that requires constant learning and flexibility and the 70-degree weather we just left (though I'm LOVING the snow!). Not to mention all the Indian food we are used to eating!
What are some of the best things about being home?
Of course family and friends, my dog; plus driving on my own and SNOW (did I mention it's been snowing here?), seeing Mia (check her progress here) and Britt, my hair guru (check her out, too - and if you're in Lex, you should just go).
Where did you go, again?
Morocco for two months, including stops in Fez, Meknes, Volubulis and Marrakech. We also hit up Italy (Rome and Florence) and then made the move to Oman, during which time we traveled to Sohar and Muscat and also Dubai and Abu Dhabi in the Emirates. We went to Jordan in the spring and then the US and on our way back we spent a week in France, with our final stop before home in Egypt. Most of the photos have made it to facebook via the blog or albums. Check them out!
Any other questions? Just let me know.
Showing posts with label Oman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oman. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Thursday, December 10, 2009
أشوفكم انشالله
I have a little break in the action, so to speak, as I wait for our last load of laundry to dry so I can pack it up. Our wardrobe is empty, as the drawers and the cabinets, stuff is piled everywhere - whatever clothes escaped the cotton-chewing insects which plagued us as well as souveniers and books and little scraps of memories. Perhaps, looking at all the things in the latter categories, it's better some of our clothes won't make the return trip!
The last couple of days have been full of sweet sendoffs from our friends here. Friends from different backgrounds, cultures, beliefs and situations who all gave us something during our time here. Lessons, support, tips, rides, meals, family, faith, perspectives, a seat in their homes, a place in their lives. We have one more full day in Buraimi, Oman and then it's an early day on Saturday when we'll head to Abu Dhabi and wing our way West.
الله يلوم when we'll be back (God knows), or if, but they have a saying here when you leave, even for the day and it's been used more than a few times the last few days: أشوفكم انشالله, which means, "I'll see you, God willing."
The last couple of days have been full of sweet sendoffs from our friends here. Friends from different backgrounds, cultures, beliefs and situations who all gave us something during our time here. Lessons, support, tips, rides, meals, family, faith, perspectives, a seat in their homes, a place in their lives. We have one more full day in Buraimi, Oman and then it's an early day on Saturday when we'll head to Abu Dhabi and wing our way West.
الله يلوم when we'll be back (God knows), or if, but they have a saying here when you leave, even for the day and it's been used more than a few times the last few days: أشوفكم انشالله, which means, "I'll see you, God willing."
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
الحمدلله (Thanks to God)
Halal Turkey
AED 367.33
Cans of pumpkin puree from expat specialty store for traditional pie
AED 182.78
Sweet potatoes for hubby's favorite casserole
AED 0 (they don't exist here)
Fresh cranberries for traditional sauce
AED 0 (they don't exist here)
Having expat friends who now all the tricks of holidays abroad - and who graciously host us in their homes
Priceless
Here's to a Happy Thanksgiving for you, wherever you are, whatever you eat!
AED 367.33
Cans of pumpkin puree from expat specialty store for traditional pie
AED 182.78
Sweet potatoes for hubby's favorite casserole
AED 0 (they don't exist here)
Fresh cranberries for traditional sauce
AED 0 (they don't exist here)
Having expat friends who now all the tricks of holidays abroad - and who graciously host us in their homes
Priceless
Here's to a Happy Thanksgiving for you, wherever you are, whatever you eat!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Taweel and Causeer of it (The Long and Short of it)
The Hardy Heyday
I was followed around and then propositioned at Carrefour (the grocery, essentially) last night.
In the toy section.
By an Arab man who was shopping with his wife and kids who were in the next aisle.
Gross! And I thought these types of come-ons were like urban-gulf-myths!
I called on my Arabic to rebuff him, and then called on some of my friends (mostly girlfriends who have been here longer and experienced this situation before) for a few laughs.
I used to be good at eviscerating crude and inappropriate men, but it's different here, being in this culture - and being a woman, so I've asked a few of my Arab girlfriends, and other girlfriends who have experienced this apparently very common occurance. They unanimously said to loudly proclaim ("so they many hear you") that this was a bad thing (!) and that you were going to go to the police RIGHT NOW and report him ("You say things too loud so you frighten them very much and God shame them")!
I knew I liked these girls for a reason.
I was followed around and then propositioned at Carrefour (the grocery, essentially) last night.
In the toy section.
By an Arab man who was shopping with his wife and kids who were in the next aisle.
Gross! And I thought these types of come-ons were like urban-gulf-myths!
I called on my Arabic to rebuff him, and then called on some of my friends (mostly girlfriends who have been here longer and experienced this situation before) for a few laughs.
I used to be good at eviscerating crude and inappropriate men, but it's different here, being in this culture - and being a woman, so I've asked a few of my Arab girlfriends, and other girlfriends who have experienced this apparently very common occurance. They unanimously said to loudly proclaim ("so they many hear you") that this was a bad thing (!) and that you were going to go to the police RIGHT NOW and report him ("You say things too loud so you frighten them very much and God shame them")!
I knew I liked these girls for a reason.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Hello there, old friend
It's been a while, hasn't it? Too long, I suppose, but we've been dedicating all our free time to Jacob's internship searching and to doing everything we want to check off the list around here since we have less than a month until we get home!
One of the things that we enjoy here, but don't do often is hit up a spot called Leisure Cafe in Al Ain. It's one of those places that is lazem (necessary) to take friends and family who are visiting. That's why, when Matthew's momma came into town to visit not too long ago, we took the whole crew over there for dinner, sheesha and drinks (ie 'mocktails,' or juice blends, and coffee or tea).
A few pics long overdue:
One of the things that we enjoy here, but don't do often is hit up a spot called Leisure Cafe in Al Ain. It's one of those places that is lazem (necessary) to take friends and family who are visiting. That's why, when Matthew's momma came into town to visit not too long ago, we took the whole crew over there for dinner, sheesha and drinks (ie 'mocktails,' or juice blends, and coffee or tea).
A few pics long overdue:
The Crew
All the girls - before we were one down. Miss you Els!
Jacob pouring some delicious Moroccan Mint Tea - one of the fave things we'll bring back.
Cheers from the Hardys!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Eid Spooky?
There's no such thing as Halloween here, so we didn't really make plans for the evening. Just an afternoon of laundry and internship searching. Miriam and Aaron came over this evening to play cards and we briefly noted the passage of, in Aaron's words, "Eid Spooky."
Then, a text. Leigh had sent us a little Halloween greeting and outside our doors (between M&A's and our apartment), a carved watermelon!
It totally made our evening and we couldn't resist a couple of quick shots...
What did you all and your friends/kids/pets dress as?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Love the One You're With
No, not Jacob. Of course I love him - he's the one I love and the one I'm with (sorry Stephen Stills, I need it both ways - no compromisin' - even if you are one heck of a singer/songwriter). The season, the situation, perhaps. And my sweet husband came up with an original craft idea (two great things in one!) to help me deal with missing things at home like the fall leaves - which his mom has been, according to reports, kicking up for me faithfully.
We stopped at Lulu Hypermarket (the "super" markets at home are the "hyper" markets of the Middle East) and picked up groceries and some really really tacky-looking gold contact paper (where do they use this?) so I could craft some hand-made gingko leaves to adorn our little flat.
So, the Oman autumn has decended for the Hardys...humdul'allah.
We stopped at Lulu Hypermarket (the "super" markets at home are the "hyper" markets of the Middle East) and picked up groceries and some really really tacky-looking gold contact paper (where do they use this?) so I could craft some hand-made gingko leaves to adorn our little flat.
So, the Oman autumn has decended for the Hardys...humdul'allah.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Measuring Comforts
thehardyheyday.blogspot.com
It has been apparent (though maybe moreso than I thought) to people we met the times that it's been difficult for me to be away from the comforts and familiarities of home - family and friends (obviously), my dog and house and 'hood (obviously), my music (dumb, dumb, DUMB to pack it all up without loading to Jacob's computer, but hey - it is neatly organized and labeled!), my schedule, my activities, my work, my church, my life.
But sometimes, I'm afraid, it has been the unfamiliarity get to me even more than the lack of familiarity...sometimes the fact that measuring cups (Measuring cups! Everyone cooks!) "...do not exist [at Carrefour] (this week)," was too much for me.
Sometimes, as I cried to Jacob once just before our (it should be noted stellar, IwaswrongIwaswrongIwaswrong) trip to Jordan, "...going to another freaking Middle Eastern country is NOT my idea of vacation, ok?" (sniffle sniffle)
Sometimes, when heat nuked my feet and burned through my soles (and soul...oh, the exquisite pain, right?) and beat down on me and oppressed me and seasons did not change and weather did not desist, I cursed the dusty palm trees and their failed coloring. I sniffed contemptuously at the swirling, messy sand that blew and piled like drifts of dirty snow.
Sometimes, donning what I deemed to be unstylish and certainly uncomfortable clothes, I resisted the culture and turned inward to my own little corner wherein I could ruminate on my fashionable friends and variety of shoes that aren't dust-ridden.
But those sometimes have turned up less and less frequently as we've been here longer. And, while I can honestly say that even during those times I'd never make a different decision, I'd never leave before our time and I'd never say I wasn't having a wonderful adventure, I've come to feel something that surprised me a bit: affinity. Appreciation. Familiarity.
The thing is, I do miss my family and friends - most of all and most importantly - and as long as we're away, I will, but I can be home here. I can rejoice in the small triumphs like figuring out how to rig our stove to actually cook at a fairly consistent temperature - and use that to provide things for other people. I can appreciate getting outside and hiking around a Wadi - even dusty and not-as-green-as-I'd-like. I can appreciate that I don't have to make an outfit every single morning (fun as that can be!) - and that I have a husband who still loves me even though I occassionally have to wear a denim skirt (horrors!).
I can appreciate the privelege of helping others adjust to all this (culture shock can be at least disturbed with one simple thing: a VPN that allows access to sites like Hulu so you can watch TV shows from home). I can revel in the teeny tiny baby language steps I'm taking (even when I meet children who speak so perfectly - darn you, native kids!). I can even cherish the moments (this moment brought to you by Skype) of phone-passing amongst family members gathered at Sunday dinner, without thinking too much about being there.
And then, tonight I looked out the window of P's apartment atop the Hilton tonight during small group and watched the day change to dusk, coloring minarettes and small white houses against a clear blue sky, and I thought how beautiful it is here. And then I looked around my other surroundings inside the apartment - the women who are some of the expats and locals who make up my newest group of friends - and I truly realized how beautiful it is here.
I have been provided with everything I need here - and more (even measuring cups!).
It has been apparent (though maybe moreso than I thought) to people we met the times that it's been difficult for me to be away from the comforts and familiarities of home - family and friends (obviously), my dog and house and 'hood (obviously), my music (dumb, dumb, DUMB to pack it all up without loading to Jacob's computer, but hey - it is neatly organized and labeled!), my schedule, my activities, my work, my church, my life.
But sometimes, I'm afraid, it has been the unfamiliarity get to me even more than the lack of familiarity...sometimes the fact that measuring cups (Measuring cups! Everyone cooks!) "...do not exist [at Carrefour] (this week)," was too much for me.
Sometimes, as I cried to Jacob once just before our (it should be noted stellar, IwaswrongIwaswrongIwaswrong) trip to Jordan, "...going to another freaking Middle Eastern country is NOT my idea of vacation, ok?" (sniffle sniffle)
Sometimes, when heat nuked my feet and burned through my soles (and soul...oh, the exquisite pain, right?) and beat down on me and oppressed me and seasons did not change and weather did not desist, I cursed the dusty palm trees and their failed coloring. I sniffed contemptuously at the swirling, messy sand that blew and piled like drifts of dirty snow.
Sometimes, donning what I deemed to be unstylish and certainly uncomfortable clothes, I resisted the culture and turned inward to my own little corner wherein I could ruminate on my fashionable friends and variety of shoes that aren't dust-ridden.
But those sometimes have turned up less and less frequently as we've been here longer. And, while I can honestly say that even during those times I'd never make a different decision, I'd never leave before our time and I'd never say I wasn't having a wonderful adventure, I've come to feel something that surprised me a bit: affinity. Appreciation. Familiarity.
The thing is, I do miss my family and friends - most of all and most importantly - and as long as we're away, I will, but I can be home here. I can rejoice in the small triumphs like figuring out how to rig our stove to actually cook at a fairly consistent temperature - and use that to provide things for other people. I can appreciate getting outside and hiking around a Wadi - even dusty and not-as-green-as-I'd-like. I can appreciate that I don't have to make an outfit every single morning (fun as that can be!) - and that I have a husband who still loves me even though I occassionally have to wear a denim skirt (horrors!).
I can appreciate the privelege of helping others adjust to all this (culture shock can be at least disturbed with one simple thing: a VPN that allows access to sites like Hulu so you can watch TV shows from home). I can revel in the teeny tiny baby language steps I'm taking (even when I meet children who speak so perfectly - darn you, native kids!). I can even cherish the moments (this moment brought to you by Skype) of phone-passing amongst family members gathered at Sunday dinner, without thinking too much about being there.
And then, tonight I looked out the window of P's apartment atop the Hilton tonight during small group and watched the day change to dusk, coloring minarettes and small white houses against a clear blue sky, and I thought how beautiful it is here. And then I looked around my other surroundings inside the apartment - the women who are some of the expats and locals who make up my newest group of friends - and I truly realized how beautiful it is here.
I have been provided with everything I need here - and more (even measuring cups!).
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Not-so-Top-Gear
It's two months until we leave the Middle East (probably) and pursue the next step in this International MBA quest: work. Internship searches have been the name of the game for all of us (even the non-student spouses), and one of the other students decided to hop a flight to a job fair opportunity. Jacob and I jumped on the early-morning airport drive so we could get out of Buraimi and explore a little more.
We made our coffee and rushed to get ready and down to the car no later than 5:50AM. That's right. Dave needed to be at the airport in Abu Dhabi by 8AM, so we had an early call time. No worries, though, Jacob and I were excited to see all of a Buraimi sunrise and enjoy the sometimes-even-pleasantly-cool weather of a time when sun doesn't dominate the landscape (oh, and did I mention the van has no A/C? We might have voted for 6AM anyway!).
Anyway, we head over to Dave's and, during a routine U-turn which included driving through a bit of sand, (and let me say here, SAND. It's everywhere. It's unavoidable. People drive more on the sand than they do the road since many of the neighborhoods don't even have pavement and the roads are so inconvenient to use that people choose the bumpy, dying-palm-lined shoulders instead!) we...guess...sink. Like sink. Like quicksand at the back tire of our real-wheel drive nine-passenger van. Positives: we've totally both been stuck before and are sure we can get out. Negatives: sand, so not really the same thing as dirt. 5:55.
So we're thinking, ok. It's six in the morning! No one will be out at six in the morning!
We were wrong, humdulli'allah, and two different groups of guys (henceforth called shebab) walked down the road and tried gallantly to instruct Jacob in Arabic and helped us push. Negatives: No dice. Buried tire deeper. Positives: Arab hospitality, Arabic practice. 6:15.
Call Dave. Tell him we are stuck. Try other friends for help. Begin to wonder how long it would take even a high-powered flatbed truck to pull our large white van out of the sand. Begin to think exactly how funny we look on the side of the road. AT SIX IN THE MORNING!
Yet another group of determined shebab show up and try to reason through the problem, basically deciding we're not going anywhere right now, so we should all at least hang out and laugh about it. Good attitude, but we're still feeling pretty panicked about getting Dave to the airport when Matthew answers phone and heads our way to pick up Dave and take him to the airport. Great! Positives: Problem solved. Negatives: A long, hot day of standing by the car/walking into town in search of a flatbed truck on prayer day flashes before my eyes. 6:25.
New shebab show up on the scene, but this time, familiar greetings are exchanged. Apparently it's our teacher Hussein's friend's brother (of course, right?) and he remembers Dave. Yay! He walks around the vehicle, sizing up the situation and decides he can help. He walks back to his SUV and pulls out what looks to me like a reinforced laundry line with two hooks. One goes on his car, another on the - barely accessible - part of our car that seems to be designed for just this scenario.
I'm like, ok, Oman's Funniest Home Videos, give it a try. I can see where this is going.
Wrong! In about 10 seconds, the van popped up out of the sand and back onto the pavement. Ma'sha'allah! Everyone is duly impressed, we call off Matthew - who returns to bed - and get on the road. 6:39.
After hauling it to Abu Dhabi, Dave arrives at the airport. 8:19.
So good luck on the search Dave!
We made our coffee and rushed to get ready and down to the car no later than 5:50AM. That's right. Dave needed to be at the airport in Abu Dhabi by 8AM, so we had an early call time. No worries, though, Jacob and I were excited to see all of a Buraimi sunrise and enjoy the sometimes-even-pleasantly-cool weather of a time when sun doesn't dominate the landscape (oh, and did I mention the van has no A/C? We might have voted for 6AM anyway!).
Anyway, we head over to Dave's and, during a routine U-turn which included driving through a bit of sand, (and let me say here, SAND. It's everywhere. It's unavoidable. People drive more on the sand than they do the road since many of the neighborhoods don't even have pavement and the roads are so inconvenient to use that people choose the bumpy, dying-palm-lined shoulders instead!) we...guess...sink. Like sink. Like quicksand at the back tire of our real-wheel drive nine-passenger van. Positives: we've totally both been stuck before and are sure we can get out. Negatives: sand, so not really the same thing as dirt. 5:55.
So we're thinking, ok. It's six in the morning! No one will be out at six in the morning!
We were wrong, humdulli'allah, and two different groups of guys (henceforth called shebab) walked down the road and tried gallantly to instruct Jacob in Arabic and helped us push. Negatives: No dice. Buried tire deeper. Positives: Arab hospitality, Arabic practice. 6:15.
Call Dave. Tell him we are stuck. Try other friends for help. Begin to wonder how long it would take even a high-powered flatbed truck to pull our large white van out of the sand. Begin to think exactly how funny we look on the side of the road. AT SIX IN THE MORNING!
Yet another group of determined shebab show up and try to reason through the problem, basically deciding we're not going anywhere right now, so we should all at least hang out and laugh about it. Good attitude, but we're still feeling pretty panicked about getting Dave to the airport when Matthew answers phone and heads our way to pick up Dave and take him to the airport. Great! Positives: Problem solved. Negatives: A long, hot day of standing by the car/walking into town in search of a flatbed truck on prayer day flashes before my eyes. 6:25.
New shebab show up on the scene, but this time, familiar greetings are exchanged. Apparently it's our teacher Hussein's friend's brother (of course, right?) and he remembers Dave. Yay! He walks around the vehicle, sizing up the situation and decides he can help. He walks back to his SUV and pulls out what looks to me like a reinforced laundry line with two hooks. One goes on his car, another on the - barely accessible - part of our car that seems to be designed for just this scenario.
I'm like, ok, Oman's Funniest Home Videos, give it a try. I can see where this is going.
Wrong! In about 10 seconds, the van popped up out of the sand and back onto the pavement. Ma'sha'allah! Everyone is duly impressed, we call off Matthew - who returns to bed - and get on the road. 6:39.
After hauling it to Abu Dhabi, Dave arrives at the airport. 8:19.
So good luck on the search Dave!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Shower the People
Tonight was a fun and special night - the baby shower for the person who graciously encouraged me through frustrations and taught me the Arabic alphabet with such phrases as, "No. Is wow (a letter pronounced as such), not ya. If you confuse again, I will bite you. One more time say wow for ya and I will bite you. Now, read."
All tutoring issues aside (and the fact that she calls me Dth-oo-bah or fat every time she sees me), it was such a sweet night to celebrate Huda and welcome her almost-here-bundle-of-joy-to-be, Saeed, and I got to take photos!
But, even though I now have actual real proof of my Arab-girlfriends, I can't show that proof to you (especially you men - married or single!). Most of the women here are very sensitive about even having pictures taken, not to mention the thought of them being posted on. the. internet. When Huda got her wedding pictures back, we had to sneak them into a side classroom and post a lookout at the door in case a *gasp!* man should walk by.
So, instead, here are a couple of my faves that don't compromise anyone!
All tutoring issues aside (and the fact that she calls me Dth-oo-bah or fat every time she sees me), it was such a sweet night to celebrate Huda and welcome her almost-here-bundle-of-joy-to-be, Saeed, and I got to take photos!
But, even though I now have actual real proof of my Arab-girlfriends, I can't show that proof to you (especially you men - married or single!). Most of the women here are very sensitive about even having pictures taken, not to mention the thought of them being posted on. the. internet. When Huda got her wedding pictures back, we had to sneak them into a side classroom and post a lookout at the door in case a *gasp!* man should walk by.
So, instead, here are a couple of my faves that don't compromise anyone!
This is Blair and Roman on the left (due in two weeks) and Huda and Saeed on the right (due in four).
And Miss Party Planner Ellen's tasty and cute decorations...I'd say they speak for themselves, but the writing on the top two rows of cupcakes is in Arabic. They say (reading from right to left) Mabrook Huda (Blessings or Congratulations Huda).
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tourist Duty
We have scant few weekends left here (What? So weird!) and so, to make the most of those remaining, we have decided to venture out a bit more into the countries around which we are living. We've spent plenty of time in Oman and the UAE, but there are still a few things we've noticed and of which full advantage have not been taken.
One of those things is "interior Oman," which generally means not Muscat or the UAE border. The country is full of Dunes and Oasis and Wadis (valleys that fill up with water - ripe for swimming and exploring). Another is taking a (totally touristy) safari in the UAE.
We did both of those things during last week's Eid, as well as spending a cultural day in Abu Dhabi at their soon-to-be-finished-twenty-years-in-the-making-Isalmic-cultural-center (it's technically not a mosque because Muslims are instructed to build very practical and plain mosques meant only for worship, and this is not that; however, people do worship here. They also call it an Islamic cultural center so they can admit non-Muslims.).
It was a great couple of days break to act as a buffer between the days of re-settling in our expat lifestyle while simultaneously conducting exercises to get us out (Jacob's job search intensified last week).
Anyway, here are the memories...ah, Kodak (or, actually Sandisk digital image) moments.
Full album here.
One of those things is "interior Oman," which generally means not Muscat or the UAE border. The country is full of Dunes and Oasis and Wadis (valleys that fill up with water - ripe for swimming and exploring). Another is taking a (totally touristy) safari in the UAE.
We did both of those things during last week's Eid, as well as spending a cultural day in Abu Dhabi at their soon-to-be-finished-twenty-years-in-the-making-Isalmic-cultural-center (it's technically not a mosque because Muslims are instructed to build very practical and plain mosques meant only for worship, and this is not that; however, people do worship here. They also call it an Islamic cultural center so they can admit non-Muslims.).
It was a great couple of days break to act as a buffer between the days of re-settling in our expat lifestyle while simultaneously conducting exercises to get us out (Jacob's job search intensified last week).
Anyway, here are the memories...ah, Kodak (or, actually Sandisk digital image) moments.
Full album here.
Wadi at Sunset. It's so amazing to come across this - palms and mountains
and greenery in the middle of the desert.
Obligatory camel-love shot. C'mon, I know we all rode one at the zoo, aged 8, but in the desert? A must.
Also a must: dune bashing. It's like a roller coaster with no track! Well, maybe a soundtrack, which in our case was alternating Middle Eastern pop and Western R&B/Rap (ie, Apple Bottom Jeans), to which our driver/guide bashed (quite rhythmically) until he made our Danish girl-companions sick.
And the final part of the evening was a "Bedouin-style" dinner at a tented encampment, wherin we enjoyed a pleasant dinner, a belly-dancing show, henna and sheesha (and the locals enjoyed the show of international tourists mooning over desert livestock and the novelty of sitting on the ground for dinner - win win!).
And now, Abu Dhabi. Every time we've driven into the capitol city, we've passed this incredibly-massive-four-minaretted white mosque off the highway. You can't miss it. This time, we actually stopped. Well worth it. The architecture, detail and design of this place is amazing. Even if camels don't do it for you, check out the album to see the rest of the mosque pics. White Grecian heat-absorbing marble (so you can walk around barefoot and not get burned) inlaid with everything from precious stones to colored natural marble to mother of pearl (black and white) in intricate designs. Not to mention the white- and yellow-gold accents all over.
The hallways, which border all four sides, were arched and inlaid and gold-leafed and surrounded by pools.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
PS-Ramadan
I totally forgot-following our culinary frolic through France that when we returned here it would be Ramadan. So when we made our first trip out to the grocery, it was odd and interesting to see that the entire mall was devoid of food (not the grocery, of course, but anywhere one might purchase and partake of food on the spot). That means KFC, McDonalds, Curry (my fave little Indian spot), Herfy's...you name it - all dark. In the middle of the day!
It makes sense, though, since fasting is the order of the month - from dawn until dusk. And, that old saying, 'when in Rome...' has real implications here. Even a non-Muslim foreigner can't be spotted eating in public; the offense can result in jail time for the remainder of the month.
I guess we'll be eating in...
It makes sense, though, since fasting is the order of the month - from dawn until dusk. And, that old saying, 'when in Rome...' has real implications here. Even a non-Muslim foreigner can't be spotted eating in public; the offense can result in jail time for the remainder of the month.
I guess we'll be eating in...
Back to Buraimi
It's hard to believe that it was five short weeks ago that we packed up our little Buraimi flat and headed out (encouraged by our desire to get home and one of the many summer power outages that plagues our little town during the "hot" months). Last night, after a minor snafu regarding some very expensive film, an x-ray machine, the French police and two late-arriving travellers (more later), we made it back to Dubai and were reunited with our SC Crew.
It was familiar to get back to the Middle East in a surprising, yet comforting way. The Arabic, the local dress, the sand (oh, the sand), and the heat.
But the first thing (after a bit of sleep) I was excited to get to was the trip pics. Unfortunately, our camera up and got a bit of flash flu and had to go to the shop for most of our trip and little Coca-Cola bath washed over our early-home-trip-pics-including memory card, BUT we do have a few of the end (and some really extraordinary events) as well as a TON of France and our romantic-buffer-birthday trip.
As soon as I get them downloaded, I'll be sure to post (and they'll be posted in the order of occurance on the memory card).
In the mean time, enjoy your Labor Day weekend, which we don't have (such a cruel early reminder of the culture change!).
It was familiar to get back to the Middle East in a surprising, yet comforting way. The Arabic, the local dress, the sand (oh, the sand), and the heat.
But the first thing (after a bit of sleep) I was excited to get to was the trip pics. Unfortunately, our camera up and got a bit of flash flu and had to go to the shop for most of our trip and little Coca-Cola bath washed over our early-home-trip-pics-including memory card, BUT we do have a few of the end (and some really extraordinary events) as well as a TON of France and our romantic-buffer-birthday trip.
As soon as I get them downloaded, I'll be sure to post (and they'll be posted in the order of occurance on the memory card).
In the mean time, enjoy your Labor Day weekend, which we don't have (such a cruel early reminder of the culture change!).
Sunday, July 19, 2009
FAIL: Me and the Culture Guru
Arabic Word for the Day: Shoo Hadtha
Meaning: "What's this" or "What's going on here"?
Used to express surprise or to lightly call attention to a displeasing situation.
C'mon. After I decided I should let it go, of course it wouldn't just go away. I fail: at letting it go. He fails: at being reasonable in a diverse group of people (ironically).
The culture guru strikes again. Today in class, while discussing, in Arabic, places we'd traveled, our class listed most of Western Europe, some Eastern, several African States, Antarctica, America (North/Central) and the Middle East. The instructor inquired after one of the missing continents: Australia.
"Moob Australia?" (Not Australia?)
"Naam, arreed zart Australia," I said (yes, I want to visit Australia), while a couple of other voices stated the same.
Then the culture guru himself, "La. Ma arreed zart Australia." (No, I don't want to visit Australia).
"Laish?" asked our teacher.
"Oh, come on. It's just the same as America. Same as South Africa," he responded.
"What?" I said. "Really?" (thinking he must be joking).
"Oh of course it is, the cultures are very similar."
Whatever. I exchanged looks with a couple classmates and let it go (until I got home, of course).
Did I mention that his job is to educate people about cultural sensitivity here?
Shoo Hadtha?
Meaning: "What's this" or "What's going on here"?
Used to express surprise or to lightly call attention to a displeasing situation.
C'mon. After I decided I should let it go, of course it wouldn't just go away. I fail: at letting it go. He fails: at being reasonable in a diverse group of people (ironically).
The culture guru strikes again. Today in class, while discussing, in Arabic, places we'd traveled, our class listed most of Western Europe, some Eastern, several African States, Antarctica, America (North/Central) and the Middle East. The instructor inquired after one of the missing continents: Australia.
"Moob Australia?" (Not Australia?)
"Naam, arreed zart Australia," I said (yes, I want to visit Australia), while a couple of other voices stated the same.
Then the culture guru himself, "La. Ma arreed zart Australia." (No, I don't want to visit Australia).
"Laish?" asked our teacher.
"Oh, come on. It's just the same as America. Same as South Africa," he responded.
"What?" I said. "Really?" (thinking he must be joking).
"Oh of course it is, the cultures are very similar."
Whatever. I exchanged looks with a couple classmates and let it go (until I got home, of course).
Did I mention that his job is to educate people about cultural sensitivity here?
Shoo Hadtha?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Gimme Some (Cultural) Lovin'
Arabic word for today: Ma'sh'allah
Meaning: Whatever God wills, or thanking God for what you have in life, not coveting things you don't, etc.
I've been trying for days to write this blog post about a guy in my class who initiated a major lecture on me regarding how I was moving toward cultural hate in my insistence on finding the "correct" spelling of a word that, it turns out, is essentially slang.
I really have. I've been working it through my head and trying to find the best way to communicate the story in a funny and concise way. It just hasn't been coming. I decided today was deadline day and sat down again to compose it.
Well, it still wasn't going on and after I'd sat here working on it and written several paragraphs of prose that looked strangely like several paragraphs of argumentative and sarcastic (one-sided) banter, I decided to give it up.
Do I think that I'm really on a matrix of cultural hate, inevitably bound on my already-begun downward slope of insisting on "proper" grammar and spelling? Well, no.
Do I think it's really helping me to steam about some one else's view of my "cultural matrix." No.
So, I'm letting it go. Maybe I'm supposed to be spending more time thinking about the good things I have around me: God, a wonderful husband, food, shelter, friends and family. Ma'sh'allah.
Meaning: Whatever God wills, or thanking God for what you have in life, not coveting things you don't, etc.
I've been trying for days to write this blog post about a guy in my class who initiated a major lecture on me regarding how I was moving toward cultural hate in my insistence on finding the "correct" spelling of a word that, it turns out, is essentially slang.
I really have. I've been working it through my head and trying to find the best way to communicate the story in a funny and concise way. It just hasn't been coming. I decided today was deadline day and sat down again to compose it.
Well, it still wasn't going on and after I'd sat here working on it and written several paragraphs of prose that looked strangely like several paragraphs of argumentative and sarcastic (one-sided) banter, I decided to give it up.
Do I think that I'm really on a matrix of cultural hate, inevitably bound on my already-begun downward slope of insisting on "proper" grammar and spelling? Well, no.
Do I think it's really helping me to steam about some one else's view of my "cultural matrix." No.
So, I'm letting it go. Maybe I'm supposed to be spending more time thinking about the good things I have around me: God, a wonderful husband, food, shelter, friends and family. Ma'sh'allah.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Veiled Perspective
It's an issue in current French politics and debated within muslim and non-muslim circles alike. It's an enigma to cultures in which it is not common and a constant in those in which it is required. It's alternately fashion and conformity, a freedom and an oppression.
Veiling - the body, hair, face -for religion and modesty.
Controversial at times but, like many things that spur controversy, it also has a light side.
We were told when we arrived that wearing local dress here (Abbaya - the black dress, Sheila - the black headscarf, Burka - the veil draped across the partial or entire face) was disrespectful, unlike in Iraq or Saudi where it is required that all women be covered. So, we have observed the distinction from a distance.
Last week I got a little dose of the veiled perspective.
An Omani friend of mine, M - a sweet, smart, fun-loving and slightly-rebellious young woman with a searing sense of humor and amazing grasp on both English and its social intricacies and slang (she says she learned most of her language from listening to pop music) decided to take us on an outing.
She brought us to her house and dressed us in the garb...this time with the burka, which she wears when going out. The first time I met her mom, in fact, was just after I'd been dressed up like a true American girl doll, a life size Barbie for her to play with (she'd had to help fix my hair, drape the sheila, arrange the burka and re-drape the sheila over it). I was embarrased to meet her this way, but she just laughed. M then decided that I must be Saudi, not Omani, since I was so light-skinned. I had my identity (though I'm not sure I can live up to that!).
Then we headed out - first to the souk (traditional marketplace) then to the mall.
I continued to feel uncomfortable, even behind all the disguise of my person. No one could see anything more than my toes and my eyes, but I was convinced they could see through me. It started in the tailor shops where we purused new Abbayas. The women who usually never turned an eye to me looked to size me up like I was a new pledge in consideration during rush week. Was the sheila draped well? My hair big enough? My hem long enough? The design stylish enough without being too flashy?
Then, the surprise at the mall. Men, even, men who looked through me - a western woman - while I was dressed in my efforts at respectful costume (long pants, long sleeves, hair up), looked me up and down, sizing and re-sizing me beneath the yards and yards of drapey black fabric, usually not quite making it to the eyes. Some turned to follow us for a moment or whispered into friends' ears or their ubiquitous mobile bluetooth earpieces. They tried to conceal devilish smiles as they glimpsed toes or fingers (some women even wear gloves, making the flesh of a hand quite tantalizing).
When we got to the restaurant, the waiters didn't speak to us directly, but instead only to our other friend, who had declined the offer of local dress for the evening. We were offered menus in Arabic and a slight bow with each departure from the table.
It was exhilirating and curious to be so hidden and afforded the luxury I feel I don't really have here - to observe freely (although not the men. Keep the eyes down when it comes to approaching males otherwise, M says, "It doesn't matter if I'm looking away from them, they think it's an invitation or something." This with an eye roll and in her loathing tone regarding men and marriage).
It was also exhausting - keep the sheila draped so no hair is showing, the burka in place, hold the folds of the fabric so you don't trip but not high enough so that anyone can see anything, look down, sit gracefully - not to mention hot!
I think the most striking instance of the evening was when we'd gotten in the car to head home. My sheila had been nearly blown off in the parking lot and the burka was askew. With the sky darkening, I was less careful about maintaining my decorum and I tore off the scarf and veil and began to rearrange myself in the vanity mirror. Something moved in my peripheral vision and I instinctively glanced over. I found myself staring straight into the disbelieving eyes and gap-mouthed face of a local cabbie. I realized my situation (playing a muslim, middle eastern woman) and grasped for my sheila with a squeal, ducking below the window to toss it carelessly over my hair and face quickly and staying there until the traffic light changed and the scandalized poseur was separated from her shame.
To this man, what he'd seen was something akin to making a quick-change in the car back home and being caught. I let myself slip for a moment and, "bang," I'd just crushed my still-young reputation. I apologized to M, assuming I might have tarnished her as well, but she was just laughing hysterically, which she continued to do until Celine Dion came over the speakers, at which point she started signing along to the brazen lyrics, "If you touch me like this, and I kiss you..."
I succumbed to my own laughter and then joined in.
Veiling - the body, hair, face -for religion and modesty.
Controversial at times but, like many things that spur controversy, it also has a light side.
We were told when we arrived that wearing local dress here (Abbaya - the black dress, Sheila - the black headscarf, Burka - the veil draped across the partial or entire face) was disrespectful, unlike in Iraq or Saudi where it is required that all women be covered. So, we have observed the distinction from a distance.
Last week I got a little dose of the veiled perspective.
An Omani friend of mine, M - a sweet, smart, fun-loving and slightly-rebellious young woman with a searing sense of humor and amazing grasp on both English and its social intricacies and slang (she says she learned most of her language from listening to pop music) decided to take us on an outing.
She brought us to her house and dressed us in the garb...this time with the burka, which she wears when going out. The first time I met her mom, in fact, was just after I'd been dressed up like a true American girl doll, a life size Barbie for her to play with (she'd had to help fix my hair, drape the sheila, arrange the burka and re-drape the sheila over it). I was embarrased to meet her this way, but she just laughed. M then decided that I must be Saudi, not Omani, since I was so light-skinned. I had my identity (though I'm not sure I can live up to that!).
Then we headed out - first to the souk (traditional marketplace) then to the mall.
I continued to feel uncomfortable, even behind all the disguise of my person. No one could see anything more than my toes and my eyes, but I was convinced they could see through me. It started in the tailor shops where we purused new Abbayas. The women who usually never turned an eye to me looked to size me up like I was a new pledge in consideration during rush week. Was the sheila draped well? My hair big enough? My hem long enough? The design stylish enough without being too flashy?
Then, the surprise at the mall. Men, even, men who looked through me - a western woman - while I was dressed in my efforts at respectful costume (long pants, long sleeves, hair up), looked me up and down, sizing and re-sizing me beneath the yards and yards of drapey black fabric, usually not quite making it to the eyes. Some turned to follow us for a moment or whispered into friends' ears or their ubiquitous mobile bluetooth earpieces. They tried to conceal devilish smiles as they glimpsed toes or fingers (some women even wear gloves, making the flesh of a hand quite tantalizing).
When we got to the restaurant, the waiters didn't speak to us directly, but instead only to our other friend, who had declined the offer of local dress for the evening. We were offered menus in Arabic and a slight bow with each departure from the table.
It was exhilirating and curious to be so hidden and afforded the luxury I feel I don't really have here - to observe freely (although not the men. Keep the eyes down when it comes to approaching males otherwise, M says, "It doesn't matter if I'm looking away from them, they think it's an invitation or something." This with an eye roll and in her loathing tone regarding men and marriage).
It was also exhausting - keep the sheila draped so no hair is showing, the burka in place, hold the folds of the fabric so you don't trip but not high enough so that anyone can see anything, look down, sit gracefully - not to mention hot!
I think the most striking instance of the evening was when we'd gotten in the car to head home. My sheila had been nearly blown off in the parking lot and the burka was askew. With the sky darkening, I was less careful about maintaining my decorum and I tore off the scarf and veil and began to rearrange myself in the vanity mirror. Something moved in my peripheral vision and I instinctively glanced over. I found myself staring straight into the disbelieving eyes and gap-mouthed face of a local cabbie. I realized my situation (playing a muslim, middle eastern woman) and grasped for my sheila with a squeal, ducking below the window to toss it carelessly over my hair and face quickly and staying there until the traffic light changed and the scandalized poseur was separated from her shame.
To this man, what he'd seen was something akin to making a quick-change in the car back home and being caught. I let myself slip for a moment and, "bang," I'd just crushed my still-young reputation. I apologized to M, assuming I might have tarnished her as well, but she was just laughing hysterically, which she continued to do until Celine Dion came over the speakers, at which point she started signing along to the brazen lyrics, "If you touch me like this, and I kiss you..."
I succumbed to my own laughter and then joined in.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Weekend!
Weekend (and holidays, as we've learned) are a completely different animal here. Partially because of the days (Friday-Saturday is our weekend). Partially because of how we spend them (malls, malls, malls, church). We'll be missing the diff'rent strokes of spending Independence Day abroad this year, but we'll let you know how it goes (ice cream social, anyone?).
For now, though, Arabic phrase that pays (thanks, Rick Dees and other random, assorted radio personalities):
Ee-jaza sah-ee-da
Happy Weekend!
For now, though, Arabic phrase that pays (thanks, Rick Dees and other random, assorted radio personalities):
Ee-jaza sah-ee-da
Happy Weekend!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
To Be or Not To Be
Vocabulary Word of the Day: Al Humdul'allah
Meaning: Thanks be to God
Uses: Response to everything
From: Self-described Grouchy Grammarian
To: Self
Re: Loosen up and embrace it, it's not changing (and if you don't embrace it, you're going to be wrong!)
The time that I began teaching English to native Arabic speakers correlated roughly to the time that Jacob's own Arabic studies were beginning to really flourish and he'd come home from class with interesting little tidbits about grammar and vocabulary. One factoid was particularly disturbing: there is no "be" verb in Arabic.
I know, I know, it sounds trivial and silly (and you're probably thinking, "110 degree heat and kitchen gnomes and you're thinking about "be" verbs?!"), but such is the nature of my disease.
It wasn't such a big deal when I was teaching--surely they could see the benefit of "be" verbs, right? No, they aren't just confusing add-ons to myriad tenses full of irregular conjugations. They are a defining element of who and what you are and about what you are communicating! Spanish has two "be" verbs (lucky) and lots of hybrid tenses just like English so that each minute detail of a situation can be aptly and complicatedly described if that is so the desire of the writer/speaker.
Of course I was foiled in nearly every instance of quiz or test in which they were on their own to remember this phantom verb. I was surrounded by fragmented sentences and incomplete tenses (horror!).
On Sunday (our first day of the week), I was, of course, faced with the ugly reality of the stripping of my [Arabic] literate and communicative self of all "be" verbs. I swear I almost had a panic attack as we studied the first few conversations and sentences.
"Whain cuub?"
I insisted on translating in my head "Where IS the cup?" (WRONG!)
"Kaif Halek?"
"How ARE you?" (WRONG!)
"Shoo hadtha"
"What'S going on here?" (STILL WRONG, EVEN IF YOU DON'T WRITE THE WHOLE THING!)
"Shoo isme?"
"What IS your name?" (WRONG!)
Are you getting tired of me being wrong? Because I sure am. And hey, most things can be said without the be verb anyway, so maybe I'll adopt their method. It's certainly simpler. But, then, simplifying things, well, that just wouldn't be me.
Meaning: Thanks be to God
Uses: Response to everything
From: Self-described Grouchy Grammarian
To: Self
Re: Loosen up and embrace it, it's not changing (and if you don't embrace it, you're going to be wrong!)
The time that I began teaching English to native Arabic speakers correlated roughly to the time that Jacob's own Arabic studies were beginning to really flourish and he'd come home from class with interesting little tidbits about grammar and vocabulary. One factoid was particularly disturbing: there is no "be" verb in Arabic.
I know, I know, it sounds trivial and silly (and you're probably thinking, "110 degree heat and kitchen gnomes and you're thinking about "be" verbs?!"), but such is the nature of my disease.
It wasn't such a big deal when I was teaching--surely they could see the benefit of "be" verbs, right? No, they aren't just confusing add-ons to myriad tenses full of irregular conjugations. They are a defining element of who and what you are and about what you are communicating! Spanish has two "be" verbs (lucky) and lots of hybrid tenses just like English so that each minute detail of a situation can be aptly and complicatedly described if that is so the desire of the writer/speaker.
Of course I was foiled in nearly every instance of quiz or test in which they were on their own to remember this phantom verb. I was surrounded by fragmented sentences and incomplete tenses (horror!).
On Sunday (our first day of the week), I was, of course, faced with the ugly reality of the stripping of my [Arabic] literate and communicative self of all "be" verbs. I swear I almost had a panic attack as we studied the first few conversations and sentences.
"Whain cuub?"
I insisted on translating in my head "Where IS the cup?" (WRONG!)
"Kaif Halek?"
"How ARE you?" (WRONG!)
"Shoo hadtha"
"What'S going on here?" (STILL WRONG, EVEN IF YOU DON'T WRITE THE WHOLE THING!)
"Shoo isme?"
"What IS your name?" (WRONG!)
Are you getting tired of me being wrong? Because I sure am. And hey, most things can be said without the be verb anyway, so maybe I'll adopt their method. It's certainly simpler. But, then, simplifying things, well, that just wouldn't be me.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Cultural Conversations: PDA
Today was my first day of the intensive summer program at GAP (Gulf Arabic Program) school. I was a little intimidated to think about nearly 6 hours devoted to this strange language, the alphabet of which I've barely mastered. But, after a few exercises with my new classmates and one instance of my chair buckling beneath me (why me?), things loosened up a little.
The skill levels range from barely literate to fairly literate with some vocabulary. Sheerly because of my immersion and the husband's far advanced studies, I've managed to pick up some of the vocab, but I still count myself among the fairlly literate, often confusing my taas, tahs, thas, dhas, etc. (and you can imagine about how well that goes over with a former editor, always spelling things wrong!).
Anyway, cultural conversation, right? So, I've explained (and many of you know) the very conservative nature of the culture here. Our dress code at school is more restrictive even than Asbury: long-sleeved shirts that must be hip level if worn with pants, skirts to your ankles, pull the hair up and make sure it's dry (wet hair is...well, we'll just call it haram - shameful). As they put it at school, "Most Omani men have never even seen their sisters' ankles and hair since they were children." (Don't get me started on my views of what Omani men and women have and havent seen, based on the TV and ads to which I know they've been exposed, but ok, we're being sensitive here).
So all of my class, dressed appropriately, attending respectfully to the instructors, has made it through five and a half grueling hours of Arabic-language training. We're about a half-hour away from freedom for the day and restoration to our status as well-functioning adults in our native language. We're working on commands, "take," "give," "punch," (Prof. Hussein's a jovially-violent one) and "look."
So, we take turns telling each other to take a pen, give it back, punch your neighbor, etc. etc. etc. Then Hussein jumps in and starts giving directives. He instructs Katie, one of the three married women whose husband is also in the class to "shoof Steve." She leans over and, to Hussein's chagrin and surprise, kisses him!
I didn't even see the darn kiss, it was so short and chaste, but remember, Hussein's supposedly never seen an ankle before and, to be fair to the Omanis, nearly all kisses are edited out of movies and television shows. Well, he laughs in his surprise and just comments, "Shoo hadtha?!" (What's this?!). In the midst of the scandal, he forgets to explain the issue, that shoof means look, not, in fact kiss, and he moves on to the next victim, the youngest student, only just graduated from high school, probably the least experienced in Arabic and a bit uncomfortable amidst all the "adults."
"Shoof Megan," Hussein commands.
J, looking understandably perplexed, shifts his eyes downward, embarrased at the prospect.
"Shoof Megan," Hussein encourages.
J barely looks up from his notebook and shakes his head.
"SHOOF Megan!" he insists.
Reluctantly, J raises his eyes and brings his hand up to his lips, kissing it and miming the action of blowing it to her across the room.
At this point, half the class (like me who didn't even see the first kiss) are just plain confused as to why he's blowing a kiss to shy, quiet, Megan who is married but whose husband is not in the class and, oh yeah, did I mention she's pregnant? Hussein was scandalized, needless to say, and shouted, "What is wrong with you?!" at poor J.
Hussein doesn't understand, naturally, that J is 18 years old, the son of a pastor who has recently imported his family from the states where he was invariably homeschooled and, I'm guessing, sheltered from many of the same things (in principle, I've seen his sister's ankle in public) as Hussein. Of all the people in the class, he was the most likely to be mortified by the whole exercise that ended up mortifying Hussein.
I can only imagine the foot on which J got off to with Hussein. At least I only broke a chair (which, let's face it, klutzy things simply are not atypical for me).
On to day 2...
Also, here are a few shots of the skit (Streetfighter: Gap School Edition, in which we are all traditionally-dressed Omani ninjas) performed by Jacob's class for the end-of-term party last week. I was tapped to play a couple of teachers to fill in the empty spots. Yes, that's me in an Abbaya, no it's not my baby bump, it's my impersonation of Huda, one of the teachers who is preggers (Sorry, Caris and Rick)
Anne, Leigh and Miriam in the majlis as Huda, Wadha and Kamela
Aaron "Dr. Hautir" (Danger) combats Kamela
Slimming, don't have to do your hair, don't have to iron your clothes...
The skill levels range from barely literate to fairly literate with some vocabulary. Sheerly because of my immersion and the husband's far advanced studies, I've managed to pick up some of the vocab, but I still count myself among the fairlly literate, often confusing my taas, tahs, thas, dhas, etc. (and you can imagine about how well that goes over with a former editor, always spelling things wrong!).
Anyway, cultural conversation, right? So, I've explained (and many of you know) the very conservative nature of the culture here. Our dress code at school is more restrictive even than Asbury: long-sleeved shirts that must be hip level if worn with pants, skirts to your ankles, pull the hair up and make sure it's dry (wet hair is...well, we'll just call it haram - shameful). As they put it at school, "Most Omani men have never even seen their sisters' ankles and hair since they were children." (Don't get me started on my views of what Omani men and women have and havent seen, based on the TV and ads to which I know they've been exposed, but ok, we're being sensitive here).
So all of my class, dressed appropriately, attending respectfully to the instructors, has made it through five and a half grueling hours of Arabic-language training. We're about a half-hour away from freedom for the day and restoration to our status as well-functioning adults in our native language. We're working on commands, "take," "give," "punch," (Prof. Hussein's a jovially-violent one) and "look."
So, we take turns telling each other to take a pen, give it back, punch your neighbor, etc. etc. etc. Then Hussein jumps in and starts giving directives. He instructs Katie, one of the three married women whose husband is also in the class to "shoof Steve." She leans over and, to Hussein's chagrin and surprise, kisses him!
I didn't even see the darn kiss, it was so short and chaste, but remember, Hussein's supposedly never seen an ankle before and, to be fair to the Omanis, nearly all kisses are edited out of movies and television shows. Well, he laughs in his surprise and just comments, "Shoo hadtha?!" (What's this?!). In the midst of the scandal, he forgets to explain the issue, that shoof means look, not, in fact kiss, and he moves on to the next victim, the youngest student, only just graduated from high school, probably the least experienced in Arabic and a bit uncomfortable amidst all the "adults."
"Shoof Megan," Hussein commands.
J, looking understandably perplexed, shifts his eyes downward, embarrased at the prospect.
"Shoof Megan," Hussein encourages.
J barely looks up from his notebook and shakes his head.
"SHOOF Megan!" he insists.
Reluctantly, J raises his eyes and brings his hand up to his lips, kissing it and miming the action of blowing it to her across the room.
At this point, half the class (like me who didn't even see the first kiss) are just plain confused as to why he's blowing a kiss to shy, quiet, Megan who is married but whose husband is not in the class and, oh yeah, did I mention she's pregnant? Hussein was scandalized, needless to say, and shouted, "What is wrong with you?!" at poor J.
Hussein doesn't understand, naturally, that J is 18 years old, the son of a pastor who has recently imported his family from the states where he was invariably homeschooled and, I'm guessing, sheltered from many of the same things (in principle, I've seen his sister's ankle in public) as Hussein. Of all the people in the class, he was the most likely to be mortified by the whole exercise that ended up mortifying Hussein.
I can only imagine the foot on which J got off to with Hussein. At least I only broke a chair (which, let's face it, klutzy things simply are not atypical for me).
On to day 2...
Also, here are a few shots of the skit (Streetfighter: Gap School Edition, in which we are all traditionally-dressed Omani ninjas) performed by Jacob's class for the end-of-term party last week. I was tapped to play a couple of teachers to fill in the empty spots. Yes, that's me in an Abbaya, no it's not my baby bump, it's my impersonation of Huda, one of the teachers who is preggers (Sorry, Caris and Rick)
Anne, Leigh and Miriam in the majlis as Huda, Wadha and Kamela
Aaron "Dr. Hautir" (Danger) combats Kamela
Slimming, don't have to do your hair, don't have to iron your clothes...maybe there is something to all this!
Photos courtesy, Miriam of Arabia. Shukran!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Houseguests
We've had houseguests recently. Actually, I guess the first one was about a month ago, but they've become more frequent and are staying longer and longer...but these we don't mind so much. They help us out with the bug problem.
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