Dolphins in the Gulf
For the years that we have been living in the Gulf, we have heard people talk about seeing dolphins, but we have never seen any. Most people say “we used to see dolphins.”
My husband and I pray together every morning before he leaves for work. This morning, as we were discussing my father and my upcoming trip home, before praying, he said “are there dolphins in Kuwait?”
“What a weird question in the middle of all the serious things we are talking about, ” I thought to myself, and asked him why he asked that.
“It must be a log,” he responded, “but I am watching something appear and re-appear, and it reminds me of a dolphin.”
We got the binos, and to our unimaginable delight, it was a pair of dolphins, lazily swimming along, grazing on the fish who have been jumping the last few days.
In the midst of sadness and daily responsibilities, God smiles. It felt like such a blessing, seeing these graceful creatures going about their dolphin business. Our scripture readings for today remind us that there are miracles happening all around us, if we have the eyes to see them. We had a little miracle this morning. Thanks be to God!
Heritage Market
I couldn’t resist this photo. I love the art work in the Heritage Souk. Cat looks pretty content, too. I bet he gets the leftovers.
Get Out of Jail Free Card
Who could be whispering my name?
I was in the Jarir bookstore, on my way to the airport after a three week visit to Saudi Arabia. My husband wanted me to get a feel for the place before moving there to be with him. To my surprise, I really liked Saudi Arabia, what little I had seen of it. And I really wanted to be with my husband. But who could be calling my name?
“I can’t believe it! Is that you, teacher?”
I turned to see a traditionally garbed man, whom I instantly recognized as my former student in classes I had taught back in the US.
“Khalid! Khalid! I am so glad to see you!” I exclaimed, and I was. Khalid was one of my very best students, before he disappeared from classes. He was bright, he studied hard, and from time to time, he would even practice hard and tell a joke in English. He was a student any teacher would remember. He had more maturity than the other students, who treated him with respect, but he also had a delightful sense of humor.
Instantly, my husband and two other men who had come with us to the bookstore were standing between Khalid and me. I knew they were protecting me, so I quickly explained who Khalid was, and introduced him to the men with me.
“You remembered my name!” he said with an astonished look.
“Of course!” I assured him, “You were one of my best students. I missed you when you left.”
“Truly God works in mysterious ways,” Khalid looked dazed. “I never dreamed I would see you again, and here you are, in my country.”
We had to leave. Khalid gave me his card, and asked that I call so his mother could invite me for tea. I told him I wouldn’t be back for a couple months, and he said he was hoping to start legal studies in London in January.
In the car, my husband and the other two guys were cracking up, slapping their knees, almost howling with laughter. I was annoyed; what was so funny about my running into an old friend?
“He’s a muttawa!” they exclaimed, continuing their cackles, “You’re friend is a muttawa!”
The muttawa, the religious police in Saudi Arabia, are kind of the boogeyman, and we scare one another telling Muttawa stories. The problem is that you never know what new rules are going to go into effect, or what old rules they will begin enforcing. Our embassy guidance, for example, was that we were NOT to cover our hair, that it was a choice made by Moslem women, but not a requirement for non-Moslem women. We were also told to carry a scarf and not to argue if a muttawa told us to cover our hair, but to cover, and to take it off again when out of sight.
We were told that if our abaya was too short, a muttawa might hit our legs with sticks. We were told not to laugh, and to keep our eyes lowered to the ground to avoid problems. We were told that sometimes you might be arrested and not even know what you were being arrested for, and to always carry your cell phone with the embassy number on speed dial. In short, we lived in terror of arbitrary powers of the dreaded muttawa.
“Khalid is muttawa?” I couldn’t believe my ears. My husband explained how you could identify muttawa, the short robes, the lack of egal, the sandals, and that Khalid had probably broken the rules he was in Jarir to enforce by having spoken to me.
I never saw Khalid again, not in the Jarir bookstore, not anywhere. I am guessing by the time I returned to live in Riyadh, he was in London studying. But I often think of his amazement, and my own, in that one-time encounter. I often think, as he said, that “God works in mysterious ways.” I wish him well.
For me, I was never again terrified of the Muttawa. Khalid was muttawa, and he was a good man. I carried Khalid’s card with me, and figured if ever I was arrested (never even came close) that I would tell them to call Khalid, and he would help me. I thought of it as my “Get out of Jail Free” card.
Going back to the Locard Exchange Principal . . . knowing Khalid as a student and as a person made a difference to me. It colored my ideas about the muttawa, made me less afraid. If the Locard Exchange Principal works on a social and spiritual level, I wonder if knowing me has colored his perceptions?
Fasting Question
Ramadan blessings to all our Moslem friends, and a question. I read the Qur’an, also, and am amazed at how alike many passages are in both our holy books. In today’s readings for our church is a passage on fasting. Is there a comparable reading in the Qur’an? Is there a tradition one way or the other?
Matthew 6
16 ‘And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.*
Kuwait Times: Today’s Hero Nameless
The Kuwait Times for today (Sunday 17 September 2006) reveals “the Interior Ministry has decided to recall one of it’s airplanes security men in Jeddah, to question him regarding a complaint by a Member of Parliament.
“A security source informed Al Rai Al Aam that an MP complained against one member of it’s airplane’s security because he ill-treated his brother while entering the plane in Jeddah and (emphasis mine) DID NOT CARE THAT HIS BROTHER IS AN MP.)”
At issue is whether or not a person is immune from having a bag searched if he/she is related to an MP.
The security source is quoted as saying that “even if the MP is exempt from checks due to immunity, it does not apply to his family and relatives. He added the security man’s request was justified, as doing his duty.”
Wooo Hoooo for people with the guts to do the job they were hired to do. Big WOOO HOOOO to the security man who insisted on inspecting, and his superior who backed him up; today’s Hero(es) of the Day. BOOOOOO to those who think they are too important to follow the rules that are in place to protect us all, not just in Kuwait, or Saudi Arabia, but wherever we are in the world.
Chicken Nuggets and Big Macs
Brava, Chicken Nuggets, you have taken what was apparently meant to be an insult, and turned it into a badge of honor. And well you should.
Kuwaiti has been a major trading crossroad for centuries. It would follow that there has been a lot of mixing, as traders pass through, people travel to foreign lands, historically, as well as now. As genetic testing becomes more acceptable, we are all bound to discover that we are much more mixed, and much more alike, than we ever knew. And, there are bound to be surprises, as men and women don’t always fertilize within acceptable societal boundaries.
When you walk around, you see Kuwaitis with the faces of India, Iran, Iraq, Africa, even possibly faces from the earliest adventures of Alexander the Greek. This is a good thing, the intermingling of cultures and bloodlines build strength, resilience and flexibility.
There is a wonderful book you will enjoy reading –
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Third Culture Kids
by David C. Pollock and Ruth E. Van Reken. While the focus is on young people raised outside their own culture – diplomat kids, oil kids, missionary kids, international business kids – the findings apply to all those who learn to function in more than one culture. You learn that feeling alien and weird is NORMAL for TCK’s during adolescence, and well into their 20’s and even their 30’s.
At some point, however, you realize that every culture you understand, every additional language you master, every new experience brings a whole new tool chest to your life, new perspectives and additional ways of thinking through life problems.
You, dear ones, are the hope of tomorrow. You are international citizens, having a larger world view because of your mixed upbringing. You have MORE THAN double the advantages (culture 1 + culture 2) you have the additional advantage of the (C1xC2) blend. (Hearing strains of “We are Nuggets; hear us roar in numbers too big to ignore . . !”)
. . . . So. . . if you are (golden, delicious, juicy) little chicken nuggets, what are the men of mixed Kuwaiti and western heritage – Big Macs?? Burger Kings?? (cracking myself up)
AIDS in Kuwait
In yesterday’s Kuwait Times is a letter to the editor from a young medical student who had done training in the Kuwait infectious disease hospital. He writes that the hospital is not to tell ANYONE a patient has HIV, not even the spouse. The spouse is only told when the patient dies. The cause of death on the death certificate is never “AIDS”. When asked, the doctor in charge said “in a Muslim country having AIDS will damage the person’s reputation, and we just can’t have that,” adding that it was a sensitive issue, and the best way to deal with it was denial.
The writer goes on to say that it was not just this doctor’s policy, but the policy of the entire hospital. It goes on to say that legislation was proposed to ensure that before marriage, blood tests would be taken to insure they are clear of infectious diseases, but this legislation was shot down by more fundamentally religious members of Parliament.
My Saudi Arabian women friends once told me that a Muslim could never say a bad thing about another Muslim except in two cases – one case is if you are asked about a person’s suitability for marriage, and the second is about a person’s suitablility for a business partnership, and in these cases you must speak frankly. Isn’t having a family member with an infectious blood disease one of those cases? Or a proposed husband?
Wouldn’t you want to know if your proposed husband had a serious infectious disease? Or your current husband/wife? Aren’t there precautions that need to be taken as far as exposure to blood of HIV/AIDs infected persons? Aren’t family members, firefighters and traffic police running a risk with accident victims?
Mining the Kuwait Times: A Kuwaiti Hero
I confess. I’m a nerd, a geek, an introvert. One of my favorite activities is reading the newspaper.
Today’s Kuwait Times is a gold mine. Two separate organizations are starting up activities to protect and help expat laborers – one, KTUF or Kuwait Trade Union Federation says it will begin receiving the complaints and work with employees and laborors to solve the problems, and gives their phone number: 561-6781.
The second is a paid for add by the Embassies of India, Indonesia, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, the Phillipines, Egypt and the United States, and says Familiarize Yourself with Kuwaiti Society: Useful Information for Foreign Workers and is sponsored by Project FALCon (Fostering Awareness of Labor Conditions.
All the above embassy phone numbers are given. The last line in the Useful Information for Foreign Workers is “Do not enter into an inappropriate personal relationship with your employer.”
(!) Good advice in any country, any nationality!
The Pope, in his visit to Germany, is quoted as saying Western societies had become “hard of hearing” about God, saying “There are too many other frequencies in our ears. What is said about God strikes us as pre-scientific, no longer suited to our age.” He seems to say that instead of sending material aid to Africa and poor Asian countries, we need to be helping them spread the Gospel. Hmmmm.
In Somalia, the new “Taleban-style” regime shut down a radio station yesterday for airing “music and love songs”.
“‘The group closed Radio Jowhar because the programs were un-Islamic,’ Islamic official Mohamed Mohamoud Abdirahman said. It was the only radio station in Jowhar, some 90 kilometres from the capital, Mogadishu. “It is useless to air music and love songs for the people,” Abdirahman said.”
Last, and not least, a big WOOOO HOOOOO for al-Qattan, a real hero who conducts restaurant inspections in Kuwait. Here is what the Kuwait Times says:
Being director of this team causes many inconveniences. “I feel embarrassed, at times when I have to ignore unknown numbers appearing on my cell phone after each inspection. The owners of the violating restaurants start calling their connections ‘Wasta’ to make me cancel their fines. As I like to do my work legally, I don’t deal with them. I can’t put the lives of people at risk as, if anything happens to any consumer due to food poisoning they will definitely question the municipality” Al-Qattan explained.
He gets my vote for Kuwait Hero of the Day.
Stunned Silence
Five sets of eyes were looking at me with horrified fascination. The silence seems to last a millenium.
“No marriage contract?” gasped Latifa. “How can this be? We have met your parents! You are from a good family, a religious family! How could you have no marriage contract to protect you?”
It isn’t often that I am at a loss for words, even though we are all speaking in French, often times a comical method of communication, as I normally speak English and they normally speak a Berber Arabic. Words sometimes elude us, and now, words are very elusive.
Fortunately, they all started talking at once.
“Don’t you know, dear one, that a man’s heart is not always constant!”
“You must make him give you gold, and property, to protect yourself and your children!”
“You must be investing for hard times to come!”
One by one, they shared stories of how women had been left by fickle men, or widowed, and how only by the grace of material wealth gathered from dowry, from wedding gifts, from gifts on anniversaries, from gifts when babies were born were they able to maintain themselves, and to provide education for their children.
“But none of you are divorced!” I cried out. “You have faithful husbands.”
Warning glances, barely perceptible, were exchanged, and their voices turned soothing . . .”Yes, dear one, for now. But we all protect ourselves against a future that only Allah knows . . .”
I was barely thirty years old, with a very young child, and these kind women surrounded me in my villa in suburban Tunis. We had worked very hard to develop a relationship, all of us, in spite of early discouraging events.
This was my first time living in an Islamic culture. They would send dishes of food to my house, to make me welcome in the neighborhood, and I would wait until a decent hour – maybe 10 a.m. – to call on them to return the dishes, only to find that not even the servants were up when I rang the bell. They would call on me at 5:30, as I was in my bathrobe, drying my hair for some event at the embassy that night.
Thank God we didn’t give up on one another! Finally, one time they called on me, the mother, the grandmother, two college aged daughters and a small child, one afternoon when my husband was out of town and I didn’t have any engagements that evening. After all our meetings, with the sense of failure to communicate, this time they called when my maid had gone home and I knew I had to serve tea, and something to eat. But that would mean leaving them alone in the salon . . .what to do?
After visiting for ten or fifteen minutes, I confessed I wanted to make them tea, but also didn’t want to leave them. Would they like to come into my kitchen and keep me company?
Who knew that such a simple, desperate request would be the key to unlocking the friendship we had all been seeking? They came into my kitchen, but instead of sitting around the small table while I fixed tea, they began looking into all my cupboards, pulling things out, exclaiming, asking questions. We were suddenly all fluent enough, no longer so self-conscious.
Things were never the same after that. They enjoyed dragging me along, pretending to others I was some long lost cousin from southern France, covering me in their sefsari’s, taking me with them to weddings. My husband objected to the “maquillage” and I told them that because we were religious, I could not wear so much make-up, and they relented. At Eid, I was allowed to peel and crush the garlic, while they cleaned and prepared the slaughtered lambs. Their friendship turned an isolated and intimidating experience into a warm, laughter filled time in my life.
I know they influenced me, changed me in subtle ways, some of which I probably don’t even know. I think it’s like CSI, where they say the primary forensic law is that in every interaction, you leave something behind and take something with you. My husband and I started seriously investing, and if today we are comfortable, I smile and think of those sweet women, and their horror that I would be unprotected by having no marriage contract.
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