Bad Laws Encourage Breaking the Law
Going to university in Seattle, I did a paper on Washington State “Blue Laws” and how they were repealed. In Washington State, they have some really cool ideas that encourage citizen participation – one is called the initiative, and the other is called the referendum.
What this means is that citizens, just common, ordinary citizens like you and me, can gather support and signatures, and initiate proceedings to get a proposal on the ballot, in front of all the voters. They can also refer an existing law to the voters to get it repealed (made not a law anymore.) It’s hard work – but citizens do it all the time.
I just used my internet phone to change my car reservation, because KLM has “delayed” my flight by one night. I broke the law. It’s a bad law, and I am not by nature a law-breaking kind of person.
I also break the law by bringing in real vanilla flavoring when I enter Kuwait. Yes, it contains alcohol. I only use it for cooking, and I never serve it to Moslems. I have alcohal-free vanilla, too, that I use for when I cook for Moslems, but it doesn’t taste the same.
I probably bring in books and DVD’s that I am not supposed to, although I have never seen a list telling me what books might not be allowed. Most of my books are about ideas, and yes, ideas can be a dangerous thing.
Bad laws force normal law-abiding people to break the law.
(This does not apply to speed limits, which are good laws, and if they were obeyed, would save hundreds of lives in Kuwait every year. Think of every life as something precious, a resource, and you will see that disobeying the speed limits is like throwing resources down the drain.)
I know this entry is really all over the map, but I have all this angry energy and I don’t have anywhere to expel it. If I could, I would kick KLM all over Kuwait for what they have done. They have robbed us of one day with our son and his wife and I am really really angry. They didn’t even tell us, just changed the reservation. One flight was “delayed” 24 hours, so all the passengers on the next flight were also “delayed”. That’s not a DELAY! You cancelled a flight! And now you are going to have hundreds of angry passengers, angry phone calls, and people PO’d at KLM. Shoddy way to do business.
“Woh ist der bahnhof?” Revisited
Today, in the co-op I was looking for toilet paper, because we were perilously low. In the diaper section I found three women workers (when did women start working in the co-ops? I really like it!) who wanted to help.
“Ana ashuf . . .” I started off (I am looking for) but I don’t know how to say toilet paper, so I said “toilet paper”.
Blank faces. I’m trying to think of a way to say it in Arabic, roundabout, but all I can say, weakly is to repeat “toilet paper”.
Blank faces. But kind, patient, so I say it again.
The light goes on.
“Ah! Toi LET paper!” she says, with the accent on the second syllable.
“Yes!” I say, as she leads me there, continuing to correct me: “Toi LET paper, Toi LET paper.”
“Woh ist der bahnhof?”
One of our family jokes is about how when you go to live in Germany, for some reason, one of the first phrases you learn isn’t “guten tag” or “Wiegehts” (hello! / how are you?) but “where is the train station?” And it is particularly hilarious because even if you ever say it exactly right (or so you think) no one can understand what you are saying. And if they DO understand – they start giving you directions with elaborate hand signals.
Germans are very precise. They won’t just point in a general direction, they will use all kinds of words for left, right, straight ahead, and my personal favorite “gegenuber” which means catty-corner, or diagonally across from something, all words that the beginner doesn’t have a clue. So even if you successfully ask for directions, you can’t understand the answer.
Most of the time, however, you will ask “woh ist der bahnhof” several times, as the response is continually “wie, bitte?”, the polite way of sayinh “WHAT??” and then finally they will get this “aha!” and they will say “Oh! Woh ist der bahnhof?!” and it sounds exactly like what you have been saying for the last five minutes.
I had a “woh is der bahnhof” experience here in Kuwait. I was searching for a souk I had heard about. I asked some of my friends – where is the souk Watiniya? I experienced that two seconds of total blank non-response that always feels like two days, and then one of them laughed and said “oh, she means the souk Watiya” and they told me where it was.
But I’m getting smarter. It wasn’t the part where I added the extra syllable that confused them. It was the fact that I used the soft “t” and not the hard “t”. It’s a small thing, but enough to make me dance for joy – I can hear the difference!
Peeking Inside
You are a blessing in my life.
You think you are just blogging, but for me, you allow me to get a little bit beneath the surface of what your lives are like here in Kuwait.
I have to assume that most of you, like me, protect a lot of realities in your life, and that I am just getting the surface, just getting what you feel comfortable sharing with me.
And yet . . .no matter how superficial the “peek,” it is better than nothing.
Over time, we build a body of work. No matter how discreet we are ( Little Diamond I almost wrote “discrete,” and thinking of your pet peeve, checked it, thank God!) we reveal how we think, and what is important to us.
I love having some Kuwaiti friends. You teach me things I could never learn in a million years, just looking from the outside.
True story: I am having breakfast with my Kuwait friend at the Al-Kout Mall and she shivers. This friend is very special to me; it’s as if a flame burns inside her, keeping her pure and true from the inside out.
“I feel so out of place here!” she says.
I am truly bewildered.
“You are Kuwaiti! This is a Kuwaiti Mall!” I cry. “What is it that makes you so uncomfortable?”
“It’s like another world,” she says. “I’m not dressed conservatively enough.”
She is dressed in jeans – not tight. A t-shirt – not tight. And has a long sleeved shirt to go over it tied around her shoulders. She is entirely modest.
“I don’t see it,” I say. “Please, let me see through your eyes. What are you seeing, how is it different, why are you uncomfortable?”
“You’ve been to Marina Mall,” she responded. “You can see the difference?”
Of course. But Marina Mall . . . it is kind of a la la land to me, sort of bizarre. It almost looks Western, but there are things that are just not quite right . . .
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve got it.”
I still don’t know what I’ve got. So she starts explaining . . .”Look, you can see how the thobes are cut differently down here, tighter around the chest.”
(Uh . . . no, I can’t see!)
“. . . and the cuffs, the way they button. And the shoes are different, less . . . . ”
all of a sudden, I am thinking of my friend who taught Arabic, and the hours she labored, trying to get me to hear the difference between the light “t” and the hard “t”, I am trying and trying, but I don’t get it and then one day – I do!
I thank God for you, my friends, letting me see through your eyes, helping me understand, giving me new ways of seeing the world.
You All Look the Same to Us
“Which one is Noriko?” my instructor asked me.
“She’s Japanese, ” I responded, “She sits between Katrina and Joyce.”
She looked up at me and grinned.
“We can’t tell you apart, you know,” she laughed. “You all look the same to us. It takes us weeks, even months, to be able to tell you apart.”
Maybe I should have been offended, but I wasn’t. My class was made up of Europeans, Americans, Asians – people from all over the world who wanted to learn Arabic. It was funny to me that she couldn’t tell us apart, but I often have the same problem – I’m bad with faces. When you’re the teacher, looking out at a sea of faces – it takes a while.
But it has become a family tag-line, a joke – “You all look the same to us”.
This Little Eggy
I was with my sweet friend and many of her 12 children, and I was goofing off with the younger ones, running, chasing. With tiny Abdulaziz, I started playing with his toes.
“This little . . . ” I started, and then caught myself in horror. The next word is “piggy” and my friends are devout Muslims.
She just laughed.
She said “Oh we do this too! We say ‘this little eggy went to market and this little eggy stayed home'”.
Oh! Thank goodness! Every child around the world loves that game; I’m so glad I can continue to play it here!
Who Knew? Skimmed Milk Gets Top Post
When I blog, I know what I think is important. I don’t just blog what I think is important, I also blog what I think is funny, what catches my eye, what I want people who don’t live in Kuwait to know about how life here is different from their life, and then.. . things in the news that might be obscure, but interesting.
Every day, the Who Knew? Skimmed Milk Affects Fertility post gets hits. Although I only posted it two weeks ago, it is the leader for the last thirty days, way ahead of the next most popular post.
I never know. Mostly I blog because I have things ( originally wrote “thinks” which must be truly Freudian) I want to say, but in any kind of communication, you need feedback. Feedback, for me, is a combination of what you comment, and what you read – my statistics. It just cracks me up, what you, the reader, find most interesting in my posts as opposed to what I am thinking when I post. Go figure!
The Wire
A couple years ago our son started talking to us about The Wire. He always puts us on to really interesting series. The Wire is an HBO series, like Rome
Season 1 starts with a new unit being set up to interdict the drug trade in Baltimore. Season 2 re-unites the team to combat illegal imports and illegal importation of sex slaves out of Eastern Europe and Asia. Season 3, my favorite season of all, is back to the drug trade, but with a difference.
In Season 3, one police district changes the rules. They clean up their neighborhood and send all the drug traders and sex trade workers to one area. The area doesn’t legalize crime – not exactly – but the police leave that area alone. As they explain it to the primary drug dealers, it’s a little like Amsterdam. The homies don’t understand; they call it “Hamsterdam”. I laugh everytime I hear it.
The series doesn’t focus strictly on the police – we get to go inside to watch how the drug dealers organize and divide up the city. We learn how drug lords use big business management modules to streamline their supply and demand, and to stay ahead of the police technology. And they are masters at manipulating the judicial system.
There is brutality. There is sex. There is love and there is betrayal. Sometimes, it isn’t easy to tell who the “good” guys are. There are bad guys who show decent values and there are police and politicians on the take. You get the impression it is probably pretty real stuff. In one season 3 episode, a policeman is shot in the line of duty, and they hold a wake in an Irish pub. They are all very very drunk, and vomiting out in the streets. It isn’t pretty.
And all the same, when each season ends, we can hardly wait for the next one. It is gripping drama, vintage HBO cutting edge production. It keeps you on the edge of your chair. You can read more about The Wire at it’s HBO site, where I just learned that The San Francisco Chronicle calls The Wire “the best television show of the year.”
Tchotchke
I used this word in conversation the other day, and my friend wasn’t familiar with it. I said it is something maybe sparkly, that catches the eye, but isn’t necessarily valuable, like the way Ravens go after a piece of tinfoil. Here is the official version, from Wikipedia.
Tchotchke (originally from Yiddish tshatshke (often spelled in a variety of other ways because there is no standardized transliteration) (trinket), ultimately from a Slavic word for “toys” — Polish: cacka, Russian: цацки) are trinkets, small toys, knickknacks, baubles, or kitsch. The term has a connotation of worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness. For example, an overly ostentatious piece of jewelry, valuable or not, might be referred to as a tchotchke.
The word may also refer to swag, in the sense of the logo pens, keychains and other promotional freebies dispensed at trade shows, conventions and similar large events. Also, stores that sell cheap souvenirs in tourist areas like Times Square and Venice Beach are sometimes called tchotchke shops.
The term was long used in the Jewish-American community and in the regional speech of New York City. It achieved more notoriety in mainstream culture during the Monica Lewinsky scandal. In addition, the 1999 movie Office Space features a tacky restaurant called “Chotchkies.”
Leo Rosten, author of The Joys of Yiddish, gives an alternate sense of tchotchke as meaning a desirable young girl, a “pretty young thing”. Less flatteringly, the term could be construed as a more dismissive synonym for “bimbo” or an attractive, but not very intelligent, female. Some consider this usage sexist and it is not widely used outside Jewish circles. The term (in the form tzatzke) is sometimes used in modern Hebrew as a slang word equivalent to “slut.”
Internet Phones Giggle
From a teeny-tiny article on page 2 of today’s Kuwait Times:
‘Phone’ Teams Honored
Kuwait: It is important to reduce charges of international calls to prevent illegal activities, Communication Minister Dr. Maasouma Al-Mubarak stressed yesterday.
In a press conference held on the occasion of honoring the team of the ministry’s telephone control department, Al-Mubarak said the department succeeded in cooperation with the Interior Ministry in locating and stopping illegal international calls dealers praising their efforts that continued despite the dangers they faced.
My comment: I’m sorry. I truly mean no disrespect. And at the same time I am having a very hard time trying to maintain a straight face. Oh, these dangerous telephone callers out there!
• Raiding brothels.
• Chasing drug dealers.
• Dealing with arrogant/immature/drunk/drugged drivers.
• Family disputes involving knives and guns.
• Protecting the borders, land and sea.
All of the above can involve serious dangers. One of the axioms in policing is that your most dangerous call is getting between a fighting husband and wife. But the bravery of raiding telephone call centers? Please. Spare me.
You can’t turn back the clock. Technology has given us a whole new way of making international calls. The MOC can spend its resources fighting a numerous enemy – people who want to make reasonably priced phone calls – or they can become a part of the solution, regulating and encouraging growths of new technologies to the greater good of all.
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