Sunday, August 31, 2008
Morocco Pictures
I just got back from a three week trip around Morocco with Matt, Marta, and Carolyn. I got engaged in Fez. I was offered pot 20 times on the way to Al Hoceima. I learned how to haggle in Marrakesh. I got my ass kicked climbing Jebel Toubkal. I picked a giant sea slug off of a rock in Oulidia. Take a look...
Monday, July 28, 2008
A Few More Days in Bahla
My trips to Bahla are a tad strange. I give Soleman a call on the GSM and he invites me with enthusiasm to come see his family... always saying "come sooner", "stay longer", "we can't wait to see you". But its Shehar his second wife who actually takes care of me, and I have no idea how Shehar feels about it.
But I go anyway hoping I'm not being too rude or too much trouble... because what a chance! To spend a few days living with a conservative arab muslim family. Here is a culture that is as different from mine as is possible to find on this planet.
Something I've found out is learning a second language is ridiculously hard. I severely underestimated the difficulty. Its so frusterating for me because what I really want from these visits is to make a connection and a friendship with someone there, but instead my interactions more like that of a 3 year old in a awkward 25 year old body. I can barely speak. I can't do much except get in the way. After a "salaam alaykum" most people just ignore me, or maybe stare at me a little bit.
Oh well, maybe I've failed doing much in the way of making personal connections. Being an observer is still very cool.
I got to observe a small marriage cerimony. It was the signing of the marriage contract, not the wedding itself. Maybe 120 people attended. The men and women sat separated by 50 yards. We sat outside at night on a mat surrounded by date palms and ate a dinner of fruit and rice and tasty hunks of beef.
I got to see the daily routine. Always warm sweet chai in the morning along with some fried bread and other goodies. Meals are laid out on the floor on top of a plastic table cloth. Everybody shares the same plate and eats with their hands. A couple water glasses get passed around and shared. The food is always good and served on a humongous mound of rice. The baby, Harif, is always trying to get attention by knocking over water glasses or grabbing handfulls of food, and everyone helps deter him, and otherwise taking care of him. I'm really impressed by how good the kids are at helping out with babies and other household chores. I was never that good.
I got to see the comfortable afternoon routine of walking around and going for visits to the houses of neighbors and friends, where you are served your classic Omani "kahwa" and dates. And usually a big plate of bananas and oranges and mellons to go with it. Your host will sit and cut up oranges and feed you slices until you say "bas!", "enough!". I saw how every house I visit is filled with moms and grandmoms and daughters and aunts and kids of all ages. You are never lonely in these houses in Bahla.
I listened while Mubarak, Soleman's 18 year old son from his first wife, played a collection Eminem and other American rap as he drove me to the airport. It was full of lyrics concerning "taking sexy babes to the backseat of cars" and "telling white america to fuck off". I'm pretty sure he didn't understand the lyrics. And then it was a little bizzare to watch him piously pause this music when the evening call to prayer began.
I got to watch 15 year old Lubna, Shehar's neice, reciting the Qur'an while Shehar held the Qur'an and corrected her where she forgot a word, or said the word wrong. Shehar told me in watered down arabic that "Lubna is very good in school, she memorizes the Qur'an. These other two nieces are no good they don't memorize the Qur'an." Lubna told me shes still working on it, shes only got about 30 pages memorized so far.
I spent a whole lot of time watching Shehar. I wonder what her life is like. I wonder what goes on in her head. What makes her happy, what makes her sad. I wonder what she thinks about having a strange and scandalously dressed American dropped off at her house. I wish I could talk to her. She seems like the perfect Omani mom. She's about 5 years older than me, could be my older sister. Her life is sooo different from mine.
Let me make it clear, although this family is not too sure what to do with me, they are very kind to me. They give me the best bed, the best food, the front car seat. They take me to the salon where Huda spends an hour and a half drawing beautiful henna patterns on my hands. They take me for walks and visits to neighbors and always pour me lots of kahwa and chai. I wish I could figure out how to give something back.
Well... shukran my Omani family. Shukran.
But I go anyway hoping I'm not being too rude or too much trouble... because what a chance! To spend a few days living with a conservative arab muslim family. Here is a culture that is as different from mine as is possible to find on this planet.
Something I've found out is learning a second language is ridiculously hard. I severely underestimated the difficulty. Its so frusterating for me because what I really want from these visits is to make a connection and a friendship with someone there, but instead my interactions more like that of a 3 year old in a awkward 25 year old body. I can barely speak. I can't do much except get in the way. After a "salaam alaykum" most people just ignore me, or maybe stare at me a little bit.
Oh well, maybe I've failed doing much in the way of making personal connections. Being an observer is still very cool.
I got to observe a small marriage cerimony. It was the signing of the marriage contract, not the wedding itself. Maybe 120 people attended. The men and women sat separated by 50 yards. We sat outside at night on a mat surrounded by date palms and ate a dinner of fruit and rice and tasty hunks of beef.
I got to see the daily routine. Always warm sweet chai in the morning along with some fried bread and other goodies. Meals are laid out on the floor on top of a plastic table cloth. Everybody shares the same plate and eats with their hands. A couple water glasses get passed around and shared. The food is always good and served on a humongous mound of rice. The baby, Harif, is always trying to get attention by knocking over water glasses or grabbing handfulls of food, and everyone helps deter him, and otherwise taking care of him. I'm really impressed by how good the kids are at helping out with babies and other household chores. I was never that good.
I got to see the comfortable afternoon routine of walking around and going for visits to the houses of neighbors and friends, where you are served your classic Omani "kahwa" and dates. And usually a big plate of bananas and oranges and mellons to go with it. Your host will sit and cut up oranges and feed you slices until you say "bas!", "enough!". I saw how every house I visit is filled with moms and grandmoms and daughters and aunts and kids of all ages. You are never lonely in these houses in Bahla.
I listened while Mubarak, Soleman's 18 year old son from his first wife, played a collection Eminem and other American rap as he drove me to the airport. It was full of lyrics concerning "taking sexy babes to the backseat of cars" and "telling white america to fuck off". I'm pretty sure he didn't understand the lyrics. And then it was a little bizzare to watch him piously pause this music when the evening call to prayer began.
I got to watch 15 year old Lubna, Shehar's neice, reciting the Qur'an while Shehar held the Qur'an and corrected her where she forgot a word, or said the word wrong. Shehar told me in watered down arabic that "Lubna is very good in school, she memorizes the Qur'an. These other two nieces are no good they don't memorize the Qur'an." Lubna told me shes still working on it, shes only got about 30 pages memorized so far.
I spent a whole lot of time watching Shehar. I wonder what her life is like. I wonder what goes on in her head. What makes her happy, what makes her sad. I wonder what she thinks about having a strange and scandalously dressed American dropped off at her house. I wish I could talk to her. She seems like the perfect Omani mom. She's about 5 years older than me, could be my older sister. Her life is sooo different from mine.
Let me make it clear, although this family is not too sure what to do with me, they are very kind to me. They give me the best bed, the best food, the front car seat. They take me to the salon where Huda spends an hour and a half drawing beautiful henna patterns on my hands. They take me for walks and visits to neighbors and always pour me lots of kahwa and chai. I wish I could figure out how to give something back.
Well... shukran my Omani family. Shukran.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Hitch from Hell - Positive Update
Since I last wrote a couple things happened...
Number one:
Out of the blue, I was served an absolutely delicious bowl of tomato soup. For the two weeks leading up to this, every day the soup consisted of flour, salt, and hot water. Stir in a few shreds of carrot and call it carrot soup. Add a couple mashed peas, call it vegetable. But then, suddenly, this delicious bowl of tomato soup with perfectly crisped croutons and a hint of rosemary. I exclaimed out loud when I tasted it and Mark said "oh yeah, Tak is back". Tak has been a cook here for more than 10 years. He's an older guy from somewhere near Nepal. He's missing a lot of teeth, and doesn't speak much english, but he's got enough to smile and have a conversation when he sees you. "Hi... how are you?... good good... night shift? yeah night shift.... very good [smile, nod, laugh]... have good night". He works way too much as do all of our kitchen staff, but for some reason he makes effort to make us exceptionally good soup. And he likes doing it. I'm touched.
Number two:
In our office we finally got it together and asked our boss about getting another person or two and he was great about it. He says he gets a lot of resumes from local people and he'll send us some. I'd be happy to actually have an Omani in the office. I'm happy to have my job, but part of me thinks its dumb that I get flown halfway around the world to do it. Its not like its THAT hard. I'm convinced you could take a reasonably bright person, who never stepped foot in a university, and make them a perfectly good QC after not too long. Especially in this part of the world. Hell, I'd say the same thing for a lot of jobs.
Number one:
Out of the blue, I was served an absolutely delicious bowl of tomato soup. For the two weeks leading up to this, every day the soup consisted of flour, salt, and hot water. Stir in a few shreds of carrot and call it carrot soup. Add a couple mashed peas, call it vegetable. But then, suddenly, this delicious bowl of tomato soup with perfectly crisped croutons and a hint of rosemary. I exclaimed out loud when I tasted it and Mark said "oh yeah, Tak is back". Tak has been a cook here for more than 10 years. He's an older guy from somewhere near Nepal. He's missing a lot of teeth, and doesn't speak much english, but he's got enough to smile and have a conversation when he sees you. "Hi... how are you?... good good... night shift? yeah night shift.... very good [smile, nod, laugh]... have good night". He works way too much as do all of our kitchen staff, but for some reason he makes effort to make us exceptionally good soup. And he likes doing it. I'm touched.
Number two:
In our office we finally got it together and asked our boss about getting another person or two and he was great about it. He says he gets a lot of resumes from local people and he'll send us some. I'd be happy to actually have an Omani in the office. I'm happy to have my job, but part of me thinks its dumb that I get flown halfway around the world to do it. Its not like its THAT hard. I'm convinced you could take a reasonably bright person, who never stepped foot in a university, and make them a perfectly good QC after not too long. Especially in this part of the world. Hell, I'd say the same thing for a lot of jobs.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Hitch from Hell
This has been the hitch from hell.
I've gone from sort of liking my job to hating it.
The workload and the complications in this office have multiplied out of control due to a complicated prospect, an unneccesarily complicated new hardware system, a messy buggy new software system, and our crew starting 24 hour operations. And nobody, clients or bosses, cares or aknowledges our difficulties and it feels like there is little hope of improving the situation.
And on top of that the food has gotten absolutely terrible. The cost of food has been skyrocketing in Oman, and it shows.
And even worse, I'm an ass for complaining about anything, cause every day I see several indians working 16 hour days doing menial jobs for a fraction of what the rest of us get paid. They see their family for one month out of the year and will probably be stuck in this situation rest of their life. And they choose to do this, so obviously the alternatives are worse.
God the world sucks.
Well I guess I'm learning lessons about life. Sometimes things just aren't the way they "should be" and you don't have the power to change them, and oh well - get used to it. You do what you can. Keep things from completely falling apart. Try to fix something small. You get paid. And if you get the chance you get the fuck out.
Argh...
Oh well, in five days I go on vacation. I'll spend a few days visiting the family I know in small-town Oman. And then I'm off to meet Matt and Carolyn and Smarta for three weeks in Morocco. Hooray.
And at least there are lots of friendly/hungry camels around during nightshift. That is a good thing.
I've gone from sort of liking my job to hating it.
The workload and the complications in this office have multiplied out of control due to a complicated prospect, an unneccesarily complicated new hardware system, a messy buggy new software system, and our crew starting 24 hour operations. And nobody, clients or bosses, cares or aknowledges our difficulties and it feels like there is little hope of improving the situation.
And on top of that the food has gotten absolutely terrible. The cost of food has been skyrocketing in Oman, and it shows.
And even worse, I'm an ass for complaining about anything, cause every day I see several indians working 16 hour days doing menial jobs for a fraction of what the rest of us get paid. They see their family for one month out of the year and will probably be stuck in this situation rest of their life. And they choose to do this, so obviously the alternatives are worse.
God the world sucks.
Well I guess I'm learning lessons about life. Sometimes things just aren't the way they "should be" and you don't have the power to change them, and oh well - get used to it. You do what you can. Keep things from completely falling apart. Try to fix something small. You get paid. And if you get the chance you get the fuck out.
Argh...
Oh well, in five days I go on vacation. I'll spend a few days visiting the family I know in small-town Oman. And then I'm off to meet Matt and Carolyn and Smarta for three weeks in Morocco. Hooray.
And at least there are lots of friendly/hungry camels around during nightshift. That is a good thing.
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Laundry Guy
Yesterday one of the Indian laundry guys nervously opened the door to the QC office, looked around, and then started to close it when I said "hi?" to see what he wanted. "Ravi?" he said and stammered something I didn't understand. I said "Oh Ravi just left, umm i think he should be back in a few ..." and then realized the guy didn't understand what I was saying. So I just said "Ravi" and nodded my head in a positive way and motioned to the guy to sit down and wait. He stood there and waited a few minutes for Ravi to come back and after an akward pause I went back to doing whatever I was doing on the computer.
It turns out Ravi was typing a short letter for him in english to send to his bosses in Muscat to ask for a raise. His total salary is 52 OR ($140) a month and he says hasn't gotten a raise since 2001. He's goes home to see his family for one month and comes back for another 12-15 months of working 16 hour days in a country where he endures racism and 130F heat.
And he probably has kids my age. It makes me feel dirty. Never never never should I complain about my job!
It turns out Ravi was typing a short letter for him in english to send to his bosses in Muscat to ask for a raise. His total salary is 52 OR ($140) a month and he says hasn't gotten a raise since 2001. He's goes home to see his family for one month and comes back for another 12-15 months of working 16 hour days in a country where he endures racism and 130F heat.
And he probably has kids my age. It makes me feel dirty. Never never never should I complain about my job!
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sheesha with Palestinians
Last night I stayed out till 1:30am with two Palestinians. We smoked sheesha and ate filafel while discussing religion and conflicts between Islam and the West. Groovy, no?
It was a hot and humid night as is every summer night in Muscat. We ate outside at a dimly lit coffee shop. We sat crosslegged on long wooden benches with cushions. The shop was mostly patronized by Omani men in robes and hats, with your occasional indian or oriental lady thrown in. There were fans spraying out mists of water to cool people off. I had a dinner of filafel pita sandwiches, extremely salty pickles, and tea with fresh mint. I very much appreciated this after 20 hours of airplanes. Afterwards we shared a water pipe of apple sheesha tobacco.
I was with Abdul my Palistinian/Jordanian friend and unofficial Arabic teacher, and Mashdi his Palistinian/Kuwaiti friend of 10 years who lives in Muscat. Mashdi grew up in Kuwait. His father was smuggled into Kuwait from the West Bank when he was 16. This was in 1956 and Kuwait was a crazy place. There weren't many roads and no one was allowed in after dark or they'd be shot. I wondered what conflict inspired all this security, and it turns out they were protecting themselves from Bedouin raids, as that was common place back then!
I'm not sure what led to it, but Abdul asked me if I believe in God. Usually I dodge the question, but this time I didn't. I said "no, not really". They were worried about this. They encouraged me to go to church on Sundays. They didn't care if I was Muslim, Christian or Jew, but they wanted me to have some monotheistic religion in my life. Mashdi encouraged me to read the Koran "as if it were an Agatha Christy novel". They both started telling me stories from the Bible/Koran/Torah. It was funny to hear them with the Arabic names, Yakhuub instead of Jacob.
I asked Mashdi just what it is that Islam brings to his life. He said morals. Because of the Koran he would never think of stealing or cheating on his wife. I was surprised he didn't say anything about companionship with Allah, or the afterlife. Those are the things I'd expect to hear from a devout Christian in the US.
I tried to explain that I am not morally bankrupt even though I don't have religion and the West is not morally bankrupt because it doesn't have religion. And actually the west does have religion, around 60% of the people in America go to church regularly (so says the NYT). I said you shouldn't judge the people in America by rap videos and movies, it's misleading.
Mashdi told me that Islam teaches peace and mercy and respect for women. He said Muslims do not support Osama bin Ladin. He doesn't like the picture that gets painted of Muslims in the news, its not fair that Americans think Muslims are all terrorists.
I told them how sad I'd be to never play sports or go running or go swimming. Mashdi insisted such things are fine for women to do in Islam. The Prophet Mohammed's and his wife used to run footraces. But I never see women do these thing in Oman, they wear too much clothing and don't like to go outside.
When Mashdi dropped me and Abdul at the office, him and Abdul said bye the way Arabic men say goodbye. They kissed eachother's cheeks and noses several times. Abdul looked at me and laughed and said "in America you think this for gays". I laughed and said, "yes it would be a little strange to see in the US".
We didn't come to any big conclusions that night, and it wasn't the most original conversation but it was fun. Fun to be with people eager to have discussions that go on till the restaurant closes, and fun to play my small part in much bigger world issues.
It was a hot and humid night as is every summer night in Muscat. We ate outside at a dimly lit coffee shop. We sat crosslegged on long wooden benches with cushions. The shop was mostly patronized by Omani men in robes and hats, with your occasional indian or oriental lady thrown in. There were fans spraying out mists of water to cool people off. I had a dinner of filafel pita sandwiches, extremely salty pickles, and tea with fresh mint. I very much appreciated this after 20 hours of airplanes. Afterwards we shared a water pipe of apple sheesha tobacco.
I was with Abdul my Palistinian/Jordanian friend and unofficial Arabic teacher, and Mashdi his Palistinian/Kuwaiti friend of 10 years who lives in Muscat. Mashdi grew up in Kuwait. His father was smuggled into Kuwait from the West Bank when he was 16. This was in 1956 and Kuwait was a crazy place. There weren't many roads and no one was allowed in after dark or they'd be shot. I wondered what conflict inspired all this security, and it turns out they were protecting themselves from Bedouin raids, as that was common place back then!
I'm not sure what led to it, but Abdul asked me if I believe in God. Usually I dodge the question, but this time I didn't. I said "no, not really". They were worried about this. They encouraged me to go to church on Sundays. They didn't care if I was Muslim, Christian or Jew, but they wanted me to have some monotheistic religion in my life. Mashdi encouraged me to read the Koran "as if it were an Agatha Christy novel". They both started telling me stories from the Bible/Koran/Torah. It was funny to hear them with the Arabic names, Yakhuub instead of Jacob.
I asked Mashdi just what it is that Islam brings to his life. He said morals. Because of the Koran he would never think of stealing or cheating on his wife. I was surprised he didn't say anything about companionship with Allah, or the afterlife. Those are the things I'd expect to hear from a devout Christian in the US.
I tried to explain that I am not morally bankrupt even though I don't have religion and the West is not morally bankrupt because it doesn't have religion. And actually the west does have religion, around 60% of the people in America go to church regularly (so says the NYT). I said you shouldn't judge the people in America by rap videos and movies, it's misleading.
Mashdi told me that Islam teaches peace and mercy and respect for women. He said Muslims do not support Osama bin Ladin. He doesn't like the picture that gets painted of Muslims in the news, its not fair that Americans think Muslims are all terrorists.
I told them how sad I'd be to never play sports or go running or go swimming. Mashdi insisted such things are fine for women to do in Islam. The Prophet Mohammed's and his wife used to run footraces. But I never see women do these thing in Oman, they wear too much clothing and don't like to go outside.
When Mashdi dropped me and Abdul at the office, him and Abdul said bye the way Arabic men say goodbye. They kissed eachother's cheeks and noses several times. Abdul looked at me and laughed and said "in America you think this for gays". I laughed and said, "yes it would be a little strange to see in the US".
We didn't come to any big conclusions that night, and it wasn't the most original conversation but it was fun. Fun to be with people eager to have discussions that go on till the restaurant closes, and fun to play my small part in much bigger world issues.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sitting in the Heathrow Airport for Five Hours Hooray
Another hitch down and I'm on my way to Philadelphia. When I see it halfway down the list of Terminal 4 departures and think that I'm going there, I involuntarily smile. Philadephia has become an icon for me. When someone on the other side of the world asks me where I am from, I say Philadelphia. When people want to visit America, I recommend they go to Philadelphia. I make a point of having fanatical Philadelphia pride. I once lost a case of beer on a bet that Philadelphia was the birthplace of grunge music. I dont know much about grunge, but Philadelphia is the best city and all good things must come from it.
And on another note...
I had a special moment when I was leaving crew. I was driving in a dusty landcruiser truck with an Omani, a Southern Indian and a Bangladeshi. They all speak Arabic pretty well, but to be nice to me they put on the American radio station. What is an "American" radio station when you are in the desert, 400k from the capital city in Oman? It started with some gangsta rap, then transitioned into 80's movie soundtracks. Then the DJ, an older British guy with a gravely cockney accent, got on and announced the answers to a quiz about American Indians. This was followed up by a 70's folk tune.
All these pieces put together without a touch of irony let me know I'm very far away.
Looking out the window also let me know I'm very far away. A big flat empty brown landscape broken up by the occasional road crossing or oil pipeline.
And that was my moment.
And on another note...
I had a special moment when I was leaving crew. I was driving in a dusty landcruiser truck with an Omani, a Southern Indian and a Bangladeshi. They all speak Arabic pretty well, but to be nice to me they put on the American radio station. What is an "American" radio station when you are in the desert, 400k from the capital city in Oman? It started with some gangsta rap, then transitioned into 80's movie soundtracks. Then the DJ, an older British guy with a gravely cockney accent, got on and announced the answers to a quiz about American Indians. This was followed up by a 70's folk tune.
All these pieces put together without a touch of irony let me know I'm very far away.
Looking out the window also let me know I'm very far away. A big flat empty brown landscape broken up by the occasional road crossing or oil pipeline.
And that was my moment.
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