Kuwait Detains Teacher
I received the following e-mail this morning; it is being forwarded throughout the Western communities. If this continues, it will make recruiting teachers for Kuwait much more difficult. And what does a child learn, when his parent exacts revenge for a mild – and justified – discipline? This was not a physical act of harm to the child, only an in-school suspension – for fighting!
It is shameful that this is happening, it is an outrage that the embassy is not outraged. I am sure they are doing their best to achieve an incremental diplomatic solution, and the injustice of it is palpable.
I have deleted names because I don’t want any trouble . . . I even considered not publishing it at all. I publish it because people read my blog and want to come to Kuwait to work – and it would not be even-handed not to reveal some of the risks involved. This woman was doing her job, and has become the focus of a vengeful, angry parent. Not good!
International Schools Review received this letter on June 23, 2007
from an international educator being detained in Kuwait. If you can
help her, or know of someone who can, please act immediately.
________________________________
FROM: Al-Bayan Bilingual School Middle School
Deputy Principal, Kuwait
TO: Whom It May Concern
DATE: June 21, 2007
RE: Detained in Kuwait/In Fear for My Safety
I am a Middle School Vice-Principal at Al-Bayan Bilingual School in
Kuwait. I have been employed in Kuwait for 6 years at the same
school.
One of my primary responsibilities is student discipline. On March 8,
2006, three boys in grade 5 were suspended for fighting. I
interviewed the boys, met with my principal and followed normal procedure. There
is no stigma here regarding suspension. Students spend the day in the
office where they study, are visited by teachers, and are taken to
the canteen, etc. It’s a normal consequence for fighting; all students
are aware of this and the procedure is clearly defined in our Parent
Handbook.
In the afternoon of March 8th, I received a phone call from one of
the boys’ fathers, (name deleted) who is a powerful man in Kuwait. He
called to inform me that this situation was “personal,” that he is
“friends with the emir” and that he planned to “destroy” me. This
conversation, which last about 9 minutes, was littered with
profanities and threats.
On March 11, 2006, the parents met with me, my principal and our
director, (name deleted), to discuss the suspension. The father
requested that if there was an issue involving his child that I would
call him immediately.
On April 27, 2006, I was requested to write a synopsis of events and
to visit the Ministry of Education to answer questions regarding the
suspension, describe the room in which the boys spent the school day
and provide a copy of our handbook.
In June 2006, the father transferred his children to a different
private school in Kuwait. Also, we received notification from the
Ministry of Education that in-school suspensions were no longer to be
applied; instead, parents must be contacted to take their children
home.
In February 2007, I learned that a case had been filed against me at
the Jabriya Police Department in Kuwait; the charge was “illegal
detainment” of his son on March 8, 2006. I answered questions in my
director’s presence and the Consul from the US Embassy, (name deleted). My lawyer was also present. The police did not suggest that
there was any reason for me to be concerned as all of the questions
were answered to the apparent satisfaction.
On June 13, 2007, I was at the Kuwait International Airport intending
to fly to Bahrain. I was stopped at immigration where I was informed
that there was a case against me, pending further investigation and
that a travel ban had been placed on me. I had not been informed. My
lawyer had not been informed. This travel ban was placed upon me
15 months after the boy was suspended. The parent said that he would
make this personal and this seems to be what he is intent upon doing.
On Saturday, June 16, 2007, I visited the American Embassy where I
met with the Vice Consul, (name deleted), who informed me that he
sympathized but could do nothing to lift the travel ban. He suggested
that I get an older Kuwaiti man to appeal to Mr. M. I was told
on Wednesday that my file would be transferred to another agency for
review so the ban could be lifted. Five working days later, the
whereabouts of my file are uncertain. I have been told that my file
is in 2 different places; this seems to be a delay tactic. Why? Because
I angered an influential Kuwaiti national who is at the top of the
social register both locally and at the US Embassy?
On I visited the office of a police inspector named (name deleted,)
whose office is in Salmiya. He is a police official who was to
evaluate my file and determine if I could leave or not. He stated
that he didn’t have my file. I visited him on June 17th and 18th. On June
18th, not five minutes after I left his office with my director, the
Business Officer of my school and another school representative, I
called Mr. C, Vice-Consul at the US Embassy to gain his
insight into the situation and to see if any progress had been made
to help me leave. He was completely aware of my visit to Mr. (name deleted)
office and instructed that I not return as it “interfered.”
Several Kuwaiti families are aware of my situation but they are not
in a position to help or they don’t want to get involved. They have ALL
said that I should go to my embassy because my embassy can help me.
The fact that the embassy can’t seems shocking to everyone. Many
people also question why this accusation from Mr. M is placed
solely on me – not the school, not the principal, not the director of
school. I feel that I am being used as an example because I am a
single, American woman and he wants to show others that he can do
what he said which is to “destroy” me.
Yesterday, June 20, 2007, I received a paper from Mr. (name deleted)
office in Salmiya which lifted the travel ban. This waiver had been
granted by the Kuwait Minister of the Interior. Not long after the
Minister released me, he reversed his decision at the request of the
(name deleted) family or his representatives. I went to the airport last
night, only to learn that I couldn’t leave.
I am in fear for my safety. If the Embassy can’t help me, then who
can? I contacted the FBI in Riyad, Saudi Arabia yesterday and talked
to (name deleted) who couldn’t give me his last name. He was non-committal
but did suggest that he thought the embassy should be able to get me out.
(name deleted) has informed me that they are “working on it.” That
seems a little vague and I am not sure if the US Embassy completely
realizes the level of danger that I feel that I am in. Why does Mr.
M want me in Kuwait during the summer when no one from my
school will be in country to offer their support? To make me feel
vulnerable?
He is well-connect and his friends are supporting his mission to
damage me in any way that he can. What’s next?
I do not feel safe. I am not safe. I need someone from the US to
acknowledge the urgency of my situation and coordinate my release. I
committed no crime. I am simply the victim of “wasta” which roughly
translates into “influence/pressure” at a high level.
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Stress Management
A friend sent this to me today – she knows I am going through a hard time. And she’s the kind of friend who would bail me out of jail and say “didn’t we have fun?!”
A lecturer when explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked “How heavy is this glass of water?”
Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.
The lecturer replied, “The absolute weight doesn’t matter.
It depends on how long you try to hold it.
If I hold it for a minute, that’s not a problem.
If I hold it for an hour, I’ll have an ache in my right arm.
If I hold it for a day, you’ll have to call an ambulance.
In each case, it’s the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the h eavier it becomes.”
He continued,
“And that’s the way it is with stress management.
If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later,
As the burden becomes increasingly heavy,
We won’t be able to carry on. ”
“As with the glass of water,
You have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again.
When we’re refreshed, we can carry on with the burden.”
“So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down.
Don’t carry it home.
You can pick it up tomorrow.
Whatever burdens you’re carrying now,
Let them down for a moment if you can.”
So, my friend p ut down anything that may be a burden to you right now.
Don’t pick it up again until after you’ve rested a while.
Here are some great ways of dealing with the burdens of life:
*Accept that some days you’re the pigeon, and some days you’re the statue.
*Always keep your words soft and sweet, Just in case you have to eat them.
* Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.
* Drive carefully. It’s not only cars that can be recalled by their maker.
* If you can’t be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.
* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.
* It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply be kind to others.
* Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you won’t have a leg to stand on.
* Nobody cares if you can’t dance well. Just get up and dance.
* Since it’s the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.
* The second mouse gets the cheese.
* When everything’s coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.
* Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.
* You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.
* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.
* We could learn a lot from crayons… Some are sharp, some are p retty and some are dull. Some have weird names, and all are different colors, b ut they all have to live in the same box.
*A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.
Family Beach
Every now and then, I get a good giggle. Usually it is a European family, and it only happens once . . . they go to our local beach. They are in normal beach attire – swimsuits. And they head for the “Family Beach.”
They haven’t been here long enough to know that “Family” is a little different here, it means mostly women in abayas and scarves, or some form of head covering.Even for those not in abayas, it means body parts are modestly covered, at the very least, with a Tshirt. You will see women swimming in abayas and scarves, floating in inner tubes, fully covered.
There is usually a wide circle of empty space around the European family; people regarding them with fascinated horror. I rarely see them come back. I am hoping they find other beaches, maybe more private.
Friday Fun: Wishin’ and Hopin’
To hear this dusty old Dusty Springfield classic, you can go down to the U-Tube video below, or you can put on My Best Friend’s Wedding, just for the intro, where the song is acted out, all in pink if I remember correctly, a very 50’s rendition.
Here are the words, found at stlyrics.com. And a big thanks to Little Diamond who by finding all the lyrics to “Put the Lime in the Coconut” for me, taught me that anything, ANYTHING is available on the internet, if you have the time to search!
Artist: Dusty Springfield Lyrics
Song: Wishin’ and Hopin’ Lyrics
Wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreaming each night of his charms
That won’t get you into his arms
So if you’re lookin’ to find love you can share
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and love him
And show him that you care
Show him that you care just for him
And do the things he likes to do
Wear your hair just for him, ’cause
You won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’
Wishin’ and a-hopin’
Just wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreamin’ his kiss is the start
That won’t get you into his heart
So if you’re thinkin’ heartbreak
True love is
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him
Yeah, just do it and after you do, you will be his
(You gotta)
Show him that you care just for him
Do the things he likes to do
Wear your hair just for him, ’cause
You won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’
Wishin’ and a-hopin’
Just wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreamin’ his kiss is the start
That won’t get you into his heart
So if you’re thinkin’ heartbreak
True love is
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him
Yeah, just do it and after you do, you will be his
You will be his
You will be his
So on this lazy Friday morning, ponder this – Is My Best Friend’s Wedding really a comedy? Is there both truth and fiction in the above song lyrics (the song itself is a hoot – irresistable! Go take a listen!) And while we are laughing, to what extent do you sacrifice who you really are to attain a mate?
Update: Holy smokes, Skunk, it’s THAT easy???? Thanks again!
Dusk in Kuwait
Dusk anywhere is one of my favorite times of day. In Riyadh, my husband and I would head down to the Dira’a souk, usually arriving just before the Isha call to prayer. We would buy a couple felafel sandwiches and a juice drink and sit in the large courtyard by the fort and eat our sandwiches while all the shops were closed for prayers. The sky would go from deep blue to a very deep blue purple, and it was that moment we waited for – the stars just visible and this just-before-black incredible color.
In my mind there is also a hush, but that is unlikely, as there were usually women and their children waiting in the same area for the men to finish their worship, and the children would be playing.
We are still looking for felafel sandwiches that taste that good. We would laugh; eating out for under $2 and it felt like such luxury.
In Kuwait, we are usually on our way to meet up with friends or somewhere around dusk. I always have my camera handy – you just NEVER know what you might see.
This isn’t really dusk, but it is dusky, in the interiors/exteriors shop as you enter the Free Trade Zone in Shwaikh – I can’t help it, I love this shop:
Not crisp, but the skyline is so eccentric:
Dwarfed in downtown Kuwait:
Almost dark – the mosque in the circle, downtown Kuwait:
Donna Leon Crossing Cultures
I’m in the middle of a Donna Leon read-fest. When I wrote the reviews the last time, I saw three books by her I had never seen – and I comb the aisles of Barnes and Noble when I am in the US, and Half Price Books, looking for titles by her. I am guessing some of her books haven’t been printed in the US, but I was able to find them from the UK Amazon.com.
The two latest books I have read by Donna Leon are timely. The first, Fatal Remedies, starts out being about Commissario Guido Brunetti’s wife, Paola’s crusade against the sex tours to undeveloped countries, her outrage against trips that allow grown men to exploit the poverty and need that the poorest of families will sell their own daughters and even young children to satisfy these men’s uncontrolled lusts. Her outrage leads her to a jail cell in her own husband’s precinct.
But just when you think you know where this story is going, it turns, as many of Leon’s books do, and tackles another subject, one very much in the eye of the news – falsified medications. There is a huge profit to be made, and huge wrongdoings in the medical supplies field, as expired medications are shipped to the most needy countries, and prescription and over-the-counter medications contain ingredients that are at best, harmless, and at worst – poisonous!
Guido Brunetti follows the money, and exposes the cheats.
In the second book, The Death of Faith, the issue – corruption in the church – comes close to home, as Brunetti’s daughter gets a low grade from her religious education instructor for asking questions, logical questions, about the dogma of the Catholic faith. Leon also tackles the issue of the order of Opus Dei, the same mysterious order featured in The DaVinci Code, an order that does exist, but about which solid knowledge is murky. What is known is that the order, in jihadist fashion, seeks to establish the Catholic church as the supreme guide to behavior on earth, it’s own version of sharia law to be the ruling principle in every country.
This is an anethema to Commissario Brunetti, and to all thinking Italians who savor the separation of church and state. He asks the eternal question – who decides? Who decides what behavior is acceptable, what questions are allowable? Religious belief, or the lack of it, is so very personal – this is a very timely issue that all nations are struggling with. Religious rule? Secular rule?
Underlying all the Donna Leon books is the sweetness of daily life with Brunetti’s family, his beautiful and principled wife, his teenaged children, the food they eat, the family discussions they have, the flowers he brings home and the strength of the connection they have with one another. The Venetian setting weaves its own magical thread through every novel, as we ride with Brunetti in the vaporetto on the canals, as we sit with him in a local bar for a quick coffee – or something stronger – and as he walks the streets from home to office, or to talk with a witness.
And last, but not least, the utter corruption in the Venetian system reminds us that veniality is not restricted to the United States, or to Kuwait, or to Nigeria, or Italy, or to any one country, but wherever man seeks to impose order, the chaos of corruption must be slowly and surely overcome by the building of an honest bureaucracy, people like you and me, serving in seemingly hopeless situations, but doing our best, day by day, like Guido Brunetti, to build a better world for our children.
The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
In Alexander McCall Smith’s newest book about Mma Ramotswe, it is a time of transition and unease. Unthinkable things happen. Mma Makutsi quits her job as Mma Ramotswe’s assistant detective, and Charlie, the apprentice, quits to start his own taxi service. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni feels a restless urge to try out his detecting skills and everything is in turmoil.
And underneath, amazing things happen. When you think differently, there is room for change, and forgiveness.
With Mma Makutsi back in her usual place, the heavy atmosphere that had prevailed that morning lifted. The emotional reunion, as demonstrative and effusive as if Mma Makutsi had been away for months, or even years, had embarrassed the men, who had exchanged glances and then looked away, as if in guilt at an intrusion into essentially female mysteries. But when the ululating from Mma Ramotswe had died down and the tea had been made, everything returned to normal.
“Why did she bother to leave if she was going to be back in five minutes?” asked the younger apprentice.
“It’s because she doesn’t think like anybody else,” said Charlie. “She thinks backwards.”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, who overheard this, shook his head. “It’s a sign of maturity to be able to change your mind when you realize that you’re wrong,” he explained. “It’s the same with fixing a car. If you find out that you’re going along the wrong lines then don’t hesitate to stop and correct yourself. If, for example, you’re changing the oil seal at the back of a gearbox, you might try to save time by doing this without taking the gearbox out. But it’s always quicker to take the gearbox out. If you don’t, you end up taking the floor out and anyway, you have to take the top of the gearbox off, and the prop shaft too. So it’s best to stop and admit your mistake before you go any further and damage things.”
Charlie listened to this – it was a long speech for Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni – and then looked away. He wondered if this was a random example siezed upon by Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, or if he knew about the seal he had tried to install in the old rear-wheel-drive Ford. Could he have found out somehow?
In another place, Charlie has just told Mma Ramotswe of his plans to start the No. 1 Ladies Taxi Service:
For a minute or two, nobody spoke. Mma Ramotswe was aware of the sound of Charlie’s breathing, which was shallow, from excitement. We must remember, she thought, what it is like to be young and enthusiastic, to have a plan, a dream. There is always a danger that as we went on in life we forget about that; caution – even fear – replaced optimism and courage. When you were young, like Charlie, you believed that you could do anything, and, in some circumstances at least, you could. . . . .
“I will tell all my friends to use your taxi,” she said. “I am sure you will be very busy.”
And oh yes, in the midst of all this, three mysteries get solved – a case of inventory gone missing, a case of a string of inexplicable hospital deaths, and a case of a husband potentialy gone astray.
GREAT summer reading, deceptively simple. You find yourself mulling over the situations, the responses and the outcomes, and trying out new ways of thinking. Give it a try – you don’t have to read the whole series to enjoy each volume.
This eighth book in the series is available from Amazon.com for a mere $12.70. It makes great summer reading.
No Accounting for Taste
My Mother once joked that the definition of good taste was someone whose taste agreed with your own. Her house is all smooth, modern, elegant lines, while mine is all old, antique and semi-antique. She has clean lines and clear surfaces, and I am guessing that to her, my decor is cluttered. (Not that she criticizes me.) We just have different tastes.
My husband and I also have different tastes. Often, his eye will alight on something, say like a Masai shield 7 feet long, and he will say “wouldn’t that be great in our house?” and my response is “yes! In your den!” He calls his den The Adventure Man Museum, and says that the only thing the Tarek Rejab has on him is that they have had a couple more decades of collecting. But he is still working on it!
He LOVES these trees. He keeps threatening to buy a couple for our yards back home. I mention little things like shipping expenses. . . . or maybe he is pulling my leg – ya think?
So far, we agree that they look great in context. I am not so sure they would do so sell in a rainy climate.
And this is what I love:
You used to find these everywhere in the Gulf, even in the cities you would find them in the diwaniyyas. This is the only one I have seen since I came to Kuwait, and it is in a museum. I remember being out in the beit-as-shar in the desert (for my non-Arabic speaking friends: tents, literally, House of Hair because the tenting was woven of goat and camel hair.) I remember the sound of the metal clanging as the coffee was ground in the morter, I remember the smell of the wood fire when the coffee was brewing, and I remember the coffee being poured through branches that kept (some of) the grounds out. I miss that ceremony; I miss the sounds and smells and taste, because out in the desert coffee tastes different. It wasn’t that long ago – but I never see them anymore.
Do you?
Happy Birthday, Big Diamond
You were the one with all the courage, you were the one who never understood the word “no.” With your big, sunny smile, you went ahead and did just exactly what you pleased.
“Watch me! Wheeeeeeeee!” you shouted as you jumped out of the swing, breaking your arm.
“This is how you do it!” you yelled, sliding on the ice down the long wooden walk, falling and breaking the other arm.
Nothing stopped you. You look the impossible in the eye, and you spit.
And all these years later, you still do! You are the most amazing woman, indominable, unstoppable. You set a high standard for all the rest of us, with your energy, your clarity of values, and your generousity of spirit.
And today, your birthday, will also be the christening of your first grandchild.
How amazing, how wonderful. You are in my thoughts, dear sister, and I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.
Little Diamond’s Peeve
Little Diamond, my niece living and working in Beirut, has a pet peeve, which I remembered as I was writing a comment on an earlier piece.
“I HATE it when people write ‘discrete’ when they mean ‘discreet!” she exclaimed, inflamed.
OOOps. I don’t know if I do it of not. Now, I look it up every time so I won’t inflame Little Diamond.
dis·creet (dĭ-skrēt’)
adj.
Marked by, exercising, or showing prudence and wise self-restraint in speech and behavior; circumspect.
Free from ostentation or pretension; modest.
[Middle English, from Old French discret, from Medieval Latin discrētus, from Latin, past participle of discernere, to separate, discern.
dis·crete (dĭ-skrēt’)
adj.
Constituting a separate thing. See synonyms at distinct.
Consisting of unconnected distinct parts.
Mathematics. Defined for a finite or countable set of values; not continuous.
[Middle English, from Old French, from Latin discrētus, past participle of discernere, to separate.
Here is where it get’s tricky:
dis·cre·tion (dĭ-skrĕsh’ən)
n.
The quality of being discreet; circumspection. See synonyms at prudence.
Ability or power to decide responsibly.
Freedom to act or judge on one’s own: All the decisions were left to our discretion.
The first is used to describe behavior. The second is used to describe the state of being separate. They have identical pronunciation, thank God. You can see they are from the same root.
The third is a type of behavior made by a person having the freedom to choose separately. I am guessing it is more related to discrete than to discreet, but usually when you behave with discretion, you behave discreetly.
Yeh, we are word-nerds.
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