Our Neighborhood Mosque
Among expats, we have a joke – “Turn right at the mosque.” It’s a joke, because we all start out giving directions like that until we realize how many mosques there are! You can’t even say “turn right at the white mosque” or “turn left at the blue mosque” because many of the mosques have a decoration or two that could also qualify. Giving directions that include mosques, in a Moslem country, is just not do-able.
To get to our house, you turn right at the mosque. 🙂
This little mosque is just yards from our house. During the nights of power (during the last ten days of Ramadan) you can hear people praying quietly the entire night through. It never bothers me; if I wake up, it makes me feel safe and I go back to sleep again. It is a totally different sound from the angry sermon type sounds that you can hear from some mosques on Fridays – it is soothing and soulful.
I am sorry, it is beautiful at night, but I will have to work at getting a better photo for you.
In the back of the mosque, they have a garden, with vegetables growing, I am guessing to help out the poor in our neighborhood to have fresh food with their rice.
The Doha Anglican Church
Back in Doha, church at the same time as always but for once, we are late because we didn’t realize the traffic pattern had changed, and we got lost, briefly, making us walk in after the service had started. As we walked in, we were greeted by a man we knew well when we used to attend, and he was so happy to see us! The congregation is about double the size as when we used to attend, may familiar faces, even after all these years, and there are our old friends, and they have saved two seats for us. 🙂
The service was a happy combination – familiar service sheet, familiar – and much loved – music, but some new things, too, more people serving, a little more formal service, and a priest-policeman who gave a powerful testimony. Soon, we understand, we will be able to start meeting on the new compound, where the big church will be built, and many congregations will share the same buildings, as they do at the Kuwait NEC.
Later, talking with my friend, we were talking about the policeman-preist’s testimony.
“I’m a little confused,” my friend started, “I got the impression testimony was an emotional story about how people get born-again, and he used those words, but it wasn’t like in the evangelical churches.”
“Yeh,” I responded, “being ‘born again’ encompasses a wide variety of experiences. You get the impression it has to come like a mighty wind, blowing you away, but this guy talks about listening to the gentle nudge, that is also the work of the holy spirit.”
“It was so gradual!” she exclaimed. “I thought it had to be like one great emotionally moving experience.”
“So what happens if you are born in the church, you are baptized and you believe from the time you are a little child?” I asked her. “And what happens if after being ‘born again’ you make some huge mistake, do you get ‘born again born again’?”
It’s all a question of style, how the holy spirit comes to each individual, how we believe. It isn’t right or wrong; it is how the spirit speaks to you. One of the things Jesus said over and over was to concern ourselves with our own relationship to God, and not with our neighbor’s short-comings. He said we each had enough of our own short-comings to keep us busy for an entire life. When he wants us to be involved with our neighbors – and we know who our neighbors are – it is with an open and helping hand, not a pointing finger.
The essence, in my mind, is the belief, and the listening, in your heart, for the whispers of the holy spirit. I pray to hear it, when it whispers. There are enough gales in my life – like moving, for example – I don’t need a mind-blowing, scales falling from my eyes experience, although the spirit has used one or two in my life to get my attention. I mostly just need to listen better.
Pigeon Update
One egg hatched! There is a tiny, scrawny, downy little creature. I don’t want to take a photo because I don’t want the Mama pigeon to be gone too long, even in the heat, the little baby needs the Mama. Pete is now sleeping in that room where he can keep an eye on the pigeons.
Some Are Silver and the Others Are Gold
Life gets funny when you move. Like 5 minutes after I landed, my Kuwait phone stopped working except for advertisements. The company provided me with a loaner, just so AdventureMan could keep in contact with me, and then like a light bulb going on in my head, I checked to see if the problem was lack of money – yep.
I used to have a phone plan. I am not a big phone user. I discovered those wonderful Hala cards, and at the very max might use 10KD per month – I really am a light user.
When I arrived, my good friend two villas down had her movers – she is leaving. We had like six days of overlap. Three of those days, she had her movers there and I had people here helping me get the new villa set up. We would grab a few minutes when we could – not even enough time for a cup of coffee, but as I left, I thought “this is just like old times.” We’ve both always had busy lives, and we would grab time together when we could.
In the USA, when kids go to camp, we learn songs. It occurs to me that many cultures transmit cultural values in songs – I know I can still remember French and Spanish songs I learned in language classes . . . there must be something about singing that imprints things in your memory. One of the songs is:
Make new friends – but keep the old,
One is silver and the other is gold.
You sing it once, all together, and then you divide into four groups and sing it as a round until it is all finished. You sing it when you are leaving camp, and you cry.
Of course, we are all grown up now. We don’t cry when friends leave. (Liar! Liar!)
The movers are gone, my friend SMS’d me “how about a swim tomorrow?” and I SMS’d back “Sure!”
We lolled around in the pool, sort of theoretically exercising, but her equipment is en route back to the USA and mine is en route from Kuwait, so we were pretty lax, sort of bobbing around and laughing and catching up. She is trying to bring me up to speed on what is going on in Qatar, and I am trying to remember everything she is telling me. We walk home, head in our separate directions again. I have a loaner car, and I get to go grocery shopping ALL BY MYSELF!
I am down to putting away my last two bags of groceries when my loaner phone rings and it is my good friend saying “I have to drop my son at school, have you eaten, want to have a late lunch?” and I laugh and say “sure” and we plan to meet at 1:30, but the QTEL (Telephone) man comes (the company sent him so I wasn’t expecting him) and the problem is too complicated, so he will come back and I just barely have enough time to get to the meeting-up restaurant.
Ooops – no, forget that, I am going to be late, I had forgotten about the traffic, so I break the law and call my friend on my mobile and say “I’m going to be another five minutes at least, I am so sorry, go ahead and order for me” and she just laughs.
We have a great lunch together, still catching up on all I need to know, and I ask if they have plans for dinner tonight and she says “no” and I say we would love to have them come to our house for something simple. Like I have napkins; the ones she gave me because they were leaving, but I don’t even have a tablecloth with me, it will be something casual like spaghetti and salad and garlic bread and she says she thinks they would just love that kind of evening but she has to check with her hubby.
We talk talk talk and then her hubby calls and she forgets to ask if he can do dinner with us, but then my hubby calls and says we need to do blood work for our residency and can we do dinner another night (we already have another date set up with them) and so I get off and have to say “uh, I am sorry, but I have to take back that dinner invitation.”
This all seems convoluted and round about, but this is where those GOLD friends come in. She just starts laughing (I love it when she cracks up) and says “OK! But I’m NEVER going to let you forget this! You WITHDREW an invitation!” and then we are both laughing and oh, Lord have mercy, I am so thankful just to have a little overlap with this crazy friend, and oh, how I am going to miss her.
Some friends are just THERE, they know what the important things are. This friend has me all set up with a really good cleaning lady who will start on Saturday, she told me the really good tailor she has found, the best car rental place, and which car wash guy to keep far away from. She borrowed a cup of laundry soap. Tomorrow, she needs to come here and iron her son’s shirt for graduation, and she and her husband are bequeathing to us their leftover (legal! legal!) booze. Here is what takes it beyond gold – our husbands like each other, too. Our cats . . . not so much. Her cat wants to make nice, my cat gets all hissy.
Inside this grown up expat body is still the little Girl Scout from camp, making new friends, and treasuring the old . . .
Facets: A Little about who we were in Kuwait
I saved some photos from our Kuwait life to share with you once we were gone. I know some of you think I went overboard with the anonymity thing, but I have had stalkers, even here on this blog, and I would rather error on the side of anonymity than have to deal with people who know too much about me.
We present a single facet, or maybe even a few facets or our multifaceted lives as bloggers. I am just sharing a few more little facets:
Here is where we lived – in Fintas, which means “large water container” from what I have been told. When we first got to Kuwait, and I would tell my new friends where I lived, they would gasp and say “Fintas!” like it was the end of the world. On a good traffic morning, it only took us ten minutes to get from Fintas to Salmiyya, maybe 20 minutes to the airport. It takes a whole lot longer, we have found, just to get out of Jabriyya!
This photo is taken from the pier in Eqaila Family Beach. My apartment was over the park and swimming pool. It was a never-ending source of lost hours for me, watching families, watching the school groups visit. My favorite is the families of ladies in abayas who would bring inner-tubes and float in the shallows on the hot days, keeping cool, keeping covered.
I have a good Kuwaiti friend who would tell me that when he was growing up, Fintas was just a small beach place, a place he and his friends would camp out in the hot Kuwait summers. There was just a tree or two, and a shack on the beach, he told me. He also used to camp on the empty beaches of Salmiyya. (!) I loved listening to his old Kuwait stories.
This was my living room. It had great light from morning ’till night. No, none of this is my furniture, except all the bookcases. 🙂 It was a furnished apartment.
This was my kitchen, which I loved because it was well planned, had great light and great shelf spaces. It also had a great place to store/display all my baskets:
This is Little Diamond’s bedroom, which was also my project room, this is what my project room usually looked like:
Here is a photo of one of the best parts – the moon rising over the Gulf, right outside my window, and shimmering over the park:
This is what I look like:
Here is my other blog:
World in Stitches
I haven’t asked my husband if I can share his photo. When I get a chance, I will ask, and if he says OK, I will show you a photo of him, too. 🙂
You know what Pete looks like!
Pet Peeve
Well, it’s not so much a pet peeve as a personal preference. When I arrived in Doha, I found “sets” in all my bathrooms.
They weren’t garish, as you can see, they were just there, thick and fluffy, a toilet seat cover, a toilet mat, a bidet mat and a bathmat. None of them had rubber backings, which I consider a basic for a bathmat, which I DO like.
The others, I just consider dust catchers, and worse – unsanitary. Germ catchers. I took them all off, even though they were all brand new, I like the cleaner to be able to really clean all the bathrooms.
When I went to put them in the cupboard, the cupboard almost exploded with totally new “sets” all of which had been taken off by former corporate occupants. It is a total hoot.
I have asked AdventureMan to ask what is needed to get rid of these – if the sponsor wants them back (eeeewwwwwwww!) or if I can put them out for the trash guys who can sell them to someone who will sell them in the weekend market?
We also have a cupboard full of used DVD and Video players; I think previous occupants have been afraid to get rid of them. Another cupboard with four broken coffee makers, LLLOOOLLL.
Pete’s Pigeon
“There’s an ongoing problem with the pigeons,” the former resident told my husband.
I remember the pigeons. We all have these two story entries, and the pigeons love them. The problem is, that they nest, and so when company comes, there might be pigeon droppings in your entry – aaarrgh.
I’ve always loved the sound of pigeons coo-ing, so it didn’t bother me so much. I pay the gardener a little extra and he makes sure the entry is cleaned every day. When guests are coming, I scrub any late additions myself.
LLLOOLL, I can see they have installed beds of nails to keep the pigeons from roosting.
Our resident pigeon has two perfect eggs; she pooped enough to build up a foundation above the nails, and now she roosts, safely, on the sharp nails. She takes turns with another pigeon, I am guessing the male, sitting on the eggs.
Sorry for the poor quality of these photos, but the windows are dirty, salt streaked, and I am shooting through a screen. Also, I don’t know which one is the daddy or mommy pigeon, or even if they are daddy and mommy or mommy and friend. I don’t know that much about pigeons, I just love the sound of their voices. I guess I should be appalled by the pigeon poop, but I feel lucky to have two pigeon eggs, and protective pigeon parents, it seems like a good omen to me.
It would be a health issue if any of the pigeon windows opened, but none of them do. When the eggs hatch, and the pigeons fly off, I will get the guys with the tall ladders to come clean the dropping off – again – and hope they will roost in another spot next nesting season.
Pete thinks this is the greatest show on earth. He has windows all over the house, and there is always something happening. The gardener is watering the lawn in back (well the dust in back, but we are going to have the trees cut back so the lawn and bougainvillea will grow once again), washing off the entry in front, the birds are flying in and out of the trees, the pigeon is roosting on her eggs, or flying off to find some bugs or whatever pigeons eat. He is losing his excess weight (I hope I am too!) running up and down the stairs. He is NOT bored! Anything but bored! He loves this place.
Day of Miracles
When I woke up yesterday, I didn’t even want to get out of bed. I was overwhelmed. There was so much to do, so many things I didn’t know how to do, where to start. But AdventureMan is up and out the door and I need to get started. I didn’t even unpack suitcases the night before – after we got Pete settled, AdventureMan took me grocery shopping.
Big mistake. What was the date? Yep, June FIRST. Also known as pay-day. The grocery store was mobbed, the parking lot was pure anarchy. I got out and started shopping, AdventureMan found a parking spot and then found me. About one third of the way through my list I just looked at him and said “I can’t do this. I am exhausted.”
By the grace of God, as we approached the check out lanes – there are about 30 – I saw one lane that was kind of invisible, no customers there, and we were checked out in a flash. AdventureMan had picked up a roasted chicken and some flat bread, so we went home, put away the cold stuff and I left all the rest for the next day. We were in bed by 9 and I think we were asleep 30 seconds later.
So here is what I faced – unpacking five suitcases, checking what was in the kitchen, figuring out where I wanted things to be, putting away last night’s groceries and re-arranging the furniture the way we liked it.
If you could see me work, you would laugh. I don’t work in a straight line. I would unpack a little, hang up some clothes, carry some things downstairs, check out a cupboard or two, rearrange, check the expiration dates on food left behind and throw out what was left behind.
I have lived in this very villa before, I know it well. The curtains are all screwed up, so as I go from room to room, I fix them the way they are supposed to be. It may sound irrelevant to you, but it matters to me!
Every now and then, overwhelmed, I would take a break and try to hook up the internet, or lie down for a few minutes with Pete, who still needed some cuddle-time to get him over his travel traumas. No luck with the internet.
Around two in the afternoon, I had all the suitcases unpacked and put away, the kitchen re-arranged, I had a great visit with my dear friend and neighbor – who is packing out, just as I move back in – and I was ready to collapse. I fixed myself a sandwich, and sat down.
The doorbell rang.
It is Ranjanthan, the maintenance man, and he has a fistfull of work orders placed by the company. Thank GOD I had been all over the house. “Yes” “Yes” “No” “Yes” “No” “No” (Yes, this needed fixing, no, the curtains are actually working, no, I don’t want this, yes, please fix this . . . )
One thing was to fix a dressing table, affix the mirror, but the dressing table had the wide-screen tv on it, and it was in the bedroom (horrors), and I wanted the TV in the upstairs family living room, etc. He did everything! He called in an assistant, and they moved all my furniture around to where I wanted it, they changed the TV, they hauled away an unsightly piece of furniture left behind, and a barbecue we didn’t want. He said he would send a man who could connect the additional cable box, maybe two – three days.
AdventureMan walked in just as the maintenance team were leaving, and his eyes popped out. When he had left me that morning, I had been straggling out of bed and I was afraid I might have an infection and need to go to the clinic. Poor AdventureMan, starting his new job, the house phone isn’t working, my cell phone isn’t working, and what if I am sick? He walks in, and our house is just the way we wanted it to be, all the projects are complete, and, in addition, I am not sick, I am just fine.
In another hour, the air conditioning men arrive and clean out all the filters and make sure everything is working. We were just about to leave for dinner, when the door bell rings, and it is the guy who is going to handle transferring the additional cable to the new TV location. He can’t do it until Friday, because it will be complicated, but . . . meanwhile, he gets our phone working, our internet working AND the VOIP phone – all working.
My friends, God is good. These workers – they are angels. How often do you get all these house-things settled in less than 24 hours on the ground? We were just totally blown away, our hearts so full of gratitude. Even our delayed arrival was a blessing in disguise, a protection for Pete.
After that, AdventureMan takes me to Biella’s. When we first got to Kuwait, I knew everything was going to be all right because there was a Biella’s at the Marina Mall. What a pity, it didn’t have enough inside space for the long hot months, and went away. Thank God, there is still a Biella’s in Doha, and we had a great meal, our first real relaxation.
Money in Qatar is just the opposite of money in Kuwait. In Kuwait, the Dinar is worth about 3.65 dollars, so you eat modest meal and your bill comes to like 8 – 11 KD, which sounds small, because we think in dollars, but it is $29 – $40. In Qatar, a dollar buys around 3.6 Qatari riyals, so when the bill arrives, it is 184 QR, which can be a sort of stunning number if you are thinking in dollars, but it is $51. (we had the fancy fruit cocktail drinks, starters, and panini. We don’t normally have the cocktails, so our bill was higher than normal, but the prices are actually pretty close between Kuwait and Qatar.) Sorry, no photos this time, just too tired! We had a nice, relaxing dinner, drove home and then – exhausted – were in bed before ten, sound asleep!
Safely in Doha
Yes, my friends, we are safely in Doha, with the normal out-of-touch sort of things that happen when you move. For some reason, and partly it’s because I am a technology dunce, unless things are clearly spelled out in the instruction booklets, I could never figure out how to include the plus sign in phone numbers, and without them, things don’t seem to be working. I still have my Kuwait phone, but I all my messages fail, and the only ones I am getting are from advertisers.
Just after I wrote the last entry, a team of FOUR customer service – or maybe three and some slightly more elevated personages – a guy in a suit with a radio – came to get me in the lounge; they were taking me to see my cat. The lounge – God bless them abundantly – came up with a plate of salmon for Pete, and with my escort, we went down to immigration.
This is the really funny part – and it’s all technicalities, but my residence visa has been cancelled, and I have been stamped out of the country, so I cannot go to Lost and Found where Pete is being held pending our flight, the immigration police are very clear about that, but since he is just baggage, they can send someone to bring Pete to me.
Surrounded by my escort, and now also by four or five immigration policemen, they bring Pete to me, and I get to give him a little scratch under the chin and collar, he gets to hear my voice. He is not terrified, but he is healthily intimidated by all the unknown persons and noises – and he is alert, so alert. He is not hungry. His pupils are dilated. I only keep him for about three minutes when I send him back; I am holding up about ten people at this point, all of whom dropped their duties so that I could comfort my cat.
When it came time for my flight, I asked the lounge to call Lost and Found and find out when the cat would be loaded, and the answer was – he was just being loaded now. I checked again at the gate, and they were prepared. Everyone apologized profusely, and explained that the pilot on the first flight just could not take a chance; the ventilation in the pressurized cargo compartment was not working and he didn’t want to put Pete at any risk. God bless him. I don’t mind the inconvenience; I honor his carefulness. Sometimes what appears to be an inconvenience is really a protection; the blessing I had this time was to know and understand that this, truly, was a blessing.
But I also needed to tell you about it, or you might have the wrong impression. It was not an airplane annoyance. It was a conscientious pilot. Thanks be to God.
Pete was carted separately to and from the plane, and hand carried to me in arrivals. LOL, I had no other baggage, just Pete! I got through the screening quickly, AdventureMan had schmoozed his way into arrivals and was there with the importation paperwork, and we were out of the airport in a flash, and in our villa a mere ten minutes later.
Another LOL, by the way, at all of you who like the name Qatteri Cat better than Pete! Honestly, one reason I don’t unveil is that as long as I am Intlxpatr, married to AdventureMan, I am so much more interesting than the very ordinary person that I really am!
Pete will always be the Qatteri Cat, because he was found, as a small, tiny, hungry kitten, wandering on the Doha Corniche by a family who had to give him up when he was around 5 months. I loved him the minute I saw him, but he only had eyes for AdventureMan. And poor AdventureMan, he was so worried about Pete he was in a nervous tizz when we arrived, he had been so afraid something would go wrong.
Seeing the two of them reunite in Doha was a beautiful sight. Pete’s food and cat litter were all set up, and he has a whole new environment to explore.
Even When You Do Everything “Right” . . .
The most amazing things can happen.
“Just bad joss” says my inner Chinese guru, as I sit for another seven hours in the lounge, waiting for a flight on which I am assured, my cat will also fly.
“Woooo HOOO!” we whopped and hollered and danced around our house with Qatteri Cat when we were told that YES, the flight we had booked had a compressurized baggage compartment, necessary for transporting a cat.
QC was a great sport this morning when I wouldn’t give him any fresh water or food – it’s just a short flight to Doha; he can survive without food and water for this short time. He wasn’t such a great sport about going into his cat cage – that usually means going to the vet, and he struggles and moans loudly, so loudly we were afraid he was going to wake the neighbors.
He quiets down on the drive to the airport. He can hear AdventureMan and I talking quietly, and he is calm. He is calm as we go through the long check in process. We like to travel light; this time we are burdened with bags and bags – one bag just for QC’s food, bowls, blanket, cat litter and babies. AdventureMan has to pay excess baggage, and, of course, cat passage.
From the Gate, I can see him carefully loaded on the plane. AdventureMan and I take our seats, the plane fills, we are beginning to breathe easy . . .
And then . . .
Everything changes.
The customer service rep is in front of us; the gates are closing, Qatteri Cat is being offloaded because the compartment is NOT pressurized – or something. The story shifts. AdventureMan talks with the CSR, he talks with the captain – in Arabic – and nothing works. They say they will fly QC to us on the later flight.
QC has had nothing to eat or drink. Now, he has to remain confined in his cage for seven more hours, no food, no water, on the chance he will make it on the plane later in the day. No. I tell AdventureMan “You go ahead, I will stay here with QC to make sure he gets on the later flight.” AdventureMan likes that idea. He will get the cat litter set up and meet us at the plane.
No, they will not allow the Qatteri Cat in the lounge with me, no matter how nice I am, no matter how concerned I am, even when I get a little angry, no, he has to wait in Lost and Found. That just breaks my heart.
They are being as nice and helpful as they can be – considering they screwed up, right up to the last minute we thought everything was OK and it wasn’t. We don’t even know what the real reason is, but meanwhile, I am sitting here steamed in the lounge – no, the A/C is working overtime, I am just royally annoyed that we did so much forward planning, and all for naught, AAARRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!
I feel so sorry for the Qatteri Cat (whose real name is Pete, by the way.)
This is the same airlines – a really good airline – that lost my bag for three days last year when I flew to Doha, during a time when I had a whole weekend full of social things, and I had to wear my same clothes to all the things – I didn’t even have time to go to the stores and buy anything, I just had to buy what I could in the hotel gift shop.
It makes me wonder if I just have bad karma on this airline? I don’t want to complain too much, because what if it were a protection? What if some other airline might have transported Pete without thinking about pressurization and what if he had been badly hurt, or died or something? There’s a part of me that knows this might have been a good thing, it’s just hard to see it now. It’s hard to see clearly when you are feeling angry.
One good thing in all this is that AdventureMan gets to handle all those bags and get the cat litter set up and cat food out and then come pick up the Pete and me when we arrive.
There he goes:
Bye, AdventureMan. See you in Doha, Insh’allah . . .
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