While rolling around in bed yesterday morning I got a sharp pain in my neck. Immediately afterwards I wasn't able to lift my head. WebMD.com and my own hypochondria had me convinced I'd slipped a cervical disc and after a few hours I made the decision to seek some medical help. In any foreign country this can be quite the undertaking. It can range from a wonderful experience in a hospital identical to any you'd find in the States with friendly staff who speak perfect English to pantomime with a witchdoctor in the bush. So needless to say, I had my reservations, but equipped with a valid insurance card -- something I haven't had for a number of years now -- a couple hundred dollars, my passport, and a recommendation for a clinic from a colleague with sciatica, I headed out in a cab on my own.
Immediately upon entering the clinic I felt both relief and apprehension. Relief because the facilities were modern, clean and accommodating; apprehension because it seemed to be quite busy. Abaya-clad women chasing screaming children around and more than a few self-important Saudi men barking demands at the unfortunate Filipino nursing staff made the scene a little hectic, especially for a Thursday night (Saudi Saturday). A very nice Filipino gentleman behind the insurance desk invited me back into his office to fill out the appropriate forms when he saw I was having a difficult time figuring out exactly where I should go and what I should be doing. He took my insurance card and my passport to make some copies and when he noticed I was an American he struck up a conversation. "USA?" "Yes, Yes." "What state?" "Indiana" "Oh Indiana. Indiana Pacers? Yes?" "Yea, that's right," I said with a smile and only a little surprise. "Reggie Miller. Dream team," he said. "Haha. That's right." He went on to explain to me that basketball was the "official" (his quotations) sport of the Philippines and that other than China, his country was the best in Asia. He told me of their glory, culminating with a silver medal in the 1954 Olympics (the USA won the gold). Our paper work complete, he then sent me on to the cashier.
Here, again, my anxiety was quickly assuaged. Having only to pay 10 Riyals (less than 3 bucks US) for my deductible was nice and of course the young Arab man behind the counter wanted to know where I was from. "Brittish?" "No. American." "American?! Mr. Bin Laden! Mr. Bin Laden! I found one!" he said pretending to look around to alert the most wanted man in the world of my presence. "Just joke. Just joke," he said more than a little pleased with himself. I found it pretty funny too. He then pointed me in the direction of the orthopedic doctor who would be seeing me and after weaving my way through a series of corridors, I found the right office and sat down, opening the book I'd brought, and settled in, prepared to be sitting there for quite some time. Half a page into Catch 22 my name was called. It seemed everything was done through the computer system and the doctor had already been made aware of my presence and was ready for me.
The Doctor spoke the best English of any local I've met here yet and after hearing an explanation of my symptoms and then conducting his own examinations filled with more than a few "oohs" and "ahs" on my part, he assured me that my issue was muscular. When I explained to him my reservations about this diagnosis he reassured me and explained quite succinctly what I would be experiencing if the worst of my fears were true. He wrote my prescriptions and directed me to the nurses' offices to get an injection to kill the pain.
The nurses were sweet and after I got over the initial surprise at them being aloud to parade around with their hair and faces uncovered I was directed toward a bed. The nurse came in, shut the curtains, and said rather matter-of-factly, "The shot go in the butt." To which I replied, "Uh, no. The pain is in my neck." "I know," she said. "Now please take down your pants." "Uh, but the pain is in my neck." "Yes, Yes. Take down your pants." It went on like this for a little longer until I finally relented. One shot in each cheek later and after visiting Osama's lookout at the cashier one final time to pay for my injections, I was on my way to the pharmacy, conveniently located in an adjoining building. The medications were in boxes, with no need for them to be counted out, and three minutes later I was back in a cab heading home with a sore butt, a not-so-sore neck, and only 45 Riyals poorer for the whole experience. Two thumbs up.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Contrasts: Space and Time
A lot of things you see while walking around in Riyadh feel pretty familiar -- the seemingly limitless number of fast food joints and shopping malls to name a few. There are a few things you'd be a lot less likely to see on a street in the States but which still aren't all together shocking -- a woman fully veiled comes to mind. But by far, the most striking thing I've seen, as far as the one thing that when I turned my head up and noticed it, I had to sit back and say to myself, "Whoa. For real? That's nuts," was the moon. Never having traveled much outside of my familiar range of latitude, I had no idea that the angle of the shadow as it waxes and wanes across the moon's face changes depending upon where you are on earth. The orientation of the crescent the closer you are to the equator-- instead of moving across the moon diagonally-- goes vertically. It ends up looking like a perfect Cheshire smile and the half moon is bisected by a perfectly horizontal line. I gotta say that freaked me out a little.
Some other things in Saudi take some getting used to-- the workweek being chief among these. You see, Friday is the holiest day in Islam and unlike other Islamic countries where they've assigned Friday and Saturday as the weekend to be more in line with most of the rest of the world, here in Saudi the weekend is Thursday and Friday. We work Saturday through Wednesday. The result of this is that it's not very easy to conduct business with the outside world. If you are going to get much done it generally means that someone is going to have to work on one of their days off or you'll probably just have to wait a few days longer than would be ideal to get word back. I've also found that so far, without fail, I will always refer to the first day of the week as Monday, the one in the middle as Wednesday, the last as Friday and the weekend as Saturday and Sunday. It's a habit that I hope to break but for now it seems rather hopeless. Some mindsets are ingrained and hard to change. I also refuse to say that I have a case of the "Saturdays" and "TGIW" just doesn't have the same ring to it.
Another system of measuring time that by no means resembles the one to which I am used is the calender year. The Islamic, or Hijri, calender is entirely different from our own. It consists of 12 lunar months and only 355 days. Therefore it does not coincide with the solar year or the seasons and in relation to the ours, the Gregorian calender, takes about 33 years to cycle back. The first year of the Hijri marks the year when the Prophet Muhammad emigrated from Mecca to Medina and we are currently in year 1432. It is used by Muslims everywhere to determine holy days but for practical purposes such as agriculture and administration it can cause more than a few problems. For this reason most Islamic countries (other than Saudi) still operate for the most part using the Gregorian. Also, the beginning of each year -- and month for that matter -- is not necessarily set and is open to interpretation. It starts when the first crescent becomes visible and while there are specialists in the field of astronomy and astrology whose job it is to determine this, sometimes, seemingly arbitrarily, naked-eye observations by less qualified observers can be used to mark the beginning of holy months and holidays. The Saudi's also have a lot of say in determining when these take place since Mecca and Medina, the two holiest cities in Islam, are here and it is only by way of them that the yearly pilgrimage there, or Hajj, can be undertaken. Saudis are perfectly aware of the system most of the rest of the world uses to mark its days and months, and while they are perfectly willing to reference it when necessary, I think they rather enjoy being a little different.
Some other things in Saudi take some getting used to-- the workweek being chief among these. You see, Friday is the holiest day in Islam and unlike other Islamic countries where they've assigned Friday and Saturday as the weekend to be more in line with most of the rest of the world, here in Saudi the weekend is Thursday and Friday. We work Saturday through Wednesday. The result of this is that it's not very easy to conduct business with the outside world. If you are going to get much done it generally means that someone is going to have to work on one of their days off or you'll probably just have to wait a few days longer than would be ideal to get word back. I've also found that so far, without fail, I will always refer to the first day of the week as Monday, the one in the middle as Wednesday, the last as Friday and the weekend as Saturday and Sunday. It's a habit that I hope to break but for now it seems rather hopeless. Some mindsets are ingrained and hard to change. I also refuse to say that I have a case of the "Saturdays" and "TGIW" just doesn't have the same ring to it.
Another system of measuring time that by no means resembles the one to which I am used is the calender year. The Islamic, or Hijri, calender is entirely different from our own. It consists of 12 lunar months and only 355 days. Therefore it does not coincide with the solar year or the seasons and in relation to the ours, the Gregorian calender, takes about 33 years to cycle back. The first year of the Hijri marks the year when the Prophet Muhammad emigrated from Mecca to Medina and we are currently in year 1432. It is used by Muslims everywhere to determine holy days but for practical purposes such as agriculture and administration it can cause more than a few problems. For this reason most Islamic countries (other than Saudi) still operate for the most part using the Gregorian. Also, the beginning of each year -- and month for that matter -- is not necessarily set and is open to interpretation. It starts when the first crescent becomes visible and while there are specialists in the field of astronomy and astrology whose job it is to determine this, sometimes, seemingly arbitrarily, naked-eye observations by less qualified observers can be used to mark the beginning of holy months and holidays. The Saudi's also have a lot of say in determining when these take place since Mecca and Medina, the two holiest cities in Islam, are here and it is only by way of them that the yearly pilgrimage there, or Hajj, can be undertaken. Saudis are perfectly aware of the system most of the rest of the world uses to mark its days and months, and while they are perfectly willing to reference it when necessary, I think they rather enjoy being a little different.
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Christmas And Birthday That Almost Weren't
For some reason I decided not to tell anyone that my birthday was coming up. I don't know why really. A contributing factor definitely was that it sneaked (or maybe snuck) up on me more so here than anywhere else I've ever lived at any other time. This was thanks in large part to the fact that 80's and sunshine didn't really offer much in the way of putting me in the holiday spirit. And being a Christmas (or should I say Solstice) baby, that's usually the trigger for me to start thinking about my birthday. But this year, as I noticed the date on the 18th while I was signing in at work, I said to myself, "Huh. My birthday is in 3 days." The thought then hit me that it could pass without anyone around me having the slightest idea and for some reason this was appealing. I liked the idea that it would be my little secret-- that I would resist the urge to tell and get the reaction you tend to when someone finds out it's your birthday. And I decided that I'd see how long I could keep it going. Turns out I didn't tell a soul in the days leading up. It took me until my second class -- the good class -- on the day of before I finally let it slip. My students asked me if I was in a good mood and I said I was and that it was a special day. When they guessed the reason I felt I owed it to them to confirm. I was then pleasantly surprised to learn that one of my favorite students, Abdualelah (how fun is that name to say), had the same birthday as me. Other than them, I didn't tell one person the whole day. And it was pretty gratifying. Of course the next night, at the compound, after a few glasses of homemade wine with 7up ( which reduces the vinegary taste to almost nothing), I let it slip again and was treated to a few extra white wine and 7's.
It turned out that same night (22/12) I was invited to a Christmas party by one of the regulars in our group who attend the weekly dinners at the compound. I was surprised and honored. Further proof, I guess, that trying to be a positive and unassuming individual is a good way to set yourself up for positive experiences. It also helped that I had an in with the compound crowd. I was told by a good buddy before I came to Riyadh (Whatup, Mathew) that a good buddy of his was living over here teaching English just like I intended to. Mathew helped us to exchange contact information and it's through this fellow that I've been able to make so many connections so quickly. I have gotten to benefit from his year's experience and time hard spent trying to meet people and find the means to exercise a high quality of life. He's a very like-minded individual and through him I've gotten hooked up quite well. Compound dinners, weekly basketball games, and just having some chill people to kick it with outside of my work environment have been instrumental in making my transition to life here smooth and enjoyable. Being able to ask questions to people who really speak my language has also been invaluable in helping me build my understanding. So feeling very lucky indeed I headed over to the party this very eve where I was more than blown away by the spread. It included turkey, cranberries and gravy, potatoes, green beans, pumpkin pie, and a whole slew of less traditional but equally delicious sides, apps, and desserts.
One thing I've really enjoyed about the holidays I've spent away from home is the feeling of making the holiday happen. In Prague a group of us 20-something expats would get together. Someone, usually the host or hostess, would be in charge of the bird (we had two turkeys and a goose in the two Thanksgivings and one Christmas I had there) and everyone else would bring something even if it was just wine or beer. It's a cool, liberating, adult feeling to have to create your own holiday experience. I think it's a feeling that a lot of people probably have when they start a family, make a home, and start hosting their own Christmas's and Thanksgivings. And I dig it. The holiday abroad though is in at least some sense a little different. Mostly in that not all the traditional fare and ingredients for such are easy to find. Saudi though, surprisingly enough, I found out actually offers much more in the way of turkeys, cranberries and canned pumpkin than did the CZ. I concluded that this is because of a few factors: 1) that there is a larger expat population here and 2) that people fight much harder here to hold on to anything they can that reminds them of home. The experience went on to show me that while the FoxNews talking heads might like to rouse their conservative compatriots by conjuring images of "A War on Christmas," here on the front lines, in a place where any form of Christmas in public would be considered practicing a religion other than Islam and thereby illegal, it is a war that will continue to be won by Christmas every time. In the home, where it matters, holidays and traditions mean too much to people. And so in the most unlikely of places, where I didn't expect much, thanks to a confluence of factors that once again, after discovering, did not seem all that surprising, I celebrated. And it was nice. Very nice. Merry Christmas.
It turned out that same night (22/12) I was invited to a Christmas party by one of the regulars in our group who attend the weekly dinners at the compound. I was surprised and honored. Further proof, I guess, that trying to be a positive and unassuming individual is a good way to set yourself up for positive experiences. It also helped that I had an in with the compound crowd. I was told by a good buddy before I came to Riyadh (Whatup, Mathew) that a good buddy of his was living over here teaching English just like I intended to. Mathew helped us to exchange contact information and it's through this fellow that I've been able to make so many connections so quickly. I have gotten to benefit from his year's experience and time hard spent trying to meet people and find the means to exercise a high quality of life. He's a very like-minded individual and through him I've gotten hooked up quite well. Compound dinners, weekly basketball games, and just having some chill people to kick it with outside of my work environment have been instrumental in making my transition to life here smooth and enjoyable. Being able to ask questions to people who really speak my language has also been invaluable in helping me build my understanding. So feeling very lucky indeed I headed over to the party this very eve where I was more than blown away by the spread. It included turkey, cranberries and gravy, potatoes, green beans, pumpkin pie, and a whole slew of less traditional but equally delicious sides, apps, and desserts.
One thing I've really enjoyed about the holidays I've spent away from home is the feeling of making the holiday happen. In Prague a group of us 20-something expats would get together. Someone, usually the host or hostess, would be in charge of the bird (we had two turkeys and a goose in the two Thanksgivings and one Christmas I had there) and everyone else would bring something even if it was just wine or beer. It's a cool, liberating, adult feeling to have to create your own holiday experience. I think it's a feeling that a lot of people probably have when they start a family, make a home, and start hosting their own Christmas's and Thanksgivings. And I dig it. The holiday abroad though is in at least some sense a little different. Mostly in that not all the traditional fare and ingredients for such are easy to find. Saudi though, surprisingly enough, I found out actually offers much more in the way of turkeys, cranberries and canned pumpkin than did the CZ. I concluded that this is because of a few factors: 1) that there is a larger expat population here and 2) that people fight much harder here to hold on to anything they can that reminds them of home. The experience went on to show me that while the FoxNews talking heads might like to rouse their conservative compatriots by conjuring images of "A War on Christmas," here on the front lines, in a place where any form of Christmas in public would be considered practicing a religion other than Islam and thereby illegal, it is a war that will continue to be won by Christmas every time. In the home, where it matters, holidays and traditions mean too much to people. And so in the most unlikely of places, where I didn't expect much, thanks to a confluence of factors that once again, after discovering, did not seem all that surprising, I celebrated. And it was nice. Very nice. Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Things to do in Saudi when you're....
... Saudi.
You see them every weekend night setting up near long, wide strips of road all over Riyadh. Dozens of cars and young men parked in bunches-- sports cars and SUV's, luxury and modest, high-performance and factory. People will drift in literally anything, and with cheap gas and fathers willing to buy them 2nd, 3rd, and even 4th cars in some cases, young Saudis have absolutely no reservations about playing fast and loose with whatever they happen to be driving. They'll drift off to one side then whip it back the other way and repeat, fishtailing back and forth as long as they can until the tires finally catch and they're flung down the motorway. Then they'll hit the end of the block, turn around, hit the gas and drift back in the other direction, taking repeated laps till they eventually grow tired of it and speed off into the night. There is a particularly wide and strait street directly in front of my hotel and if it weren't for the fact that I work the PM shift and have developed the habit of staying up late Skyping, I would be more than a little annoyed with the screeching that carries on until all hours just outside my window. Accidents are a regular occurrence anyway but the enthusiasm for drifting has taken it to a whole other level, one that the conditions allow for and the authorities do almost nothing to deter.
Outside of the city a number of other vehicular pastimes are to be taken advantage of. Taking a 4 wheel-drive vehicle, an ATV, or a dirt bike out onto the dunes is a great way to exercise some reckless abandon with slightly less risk of injury. "We drive up the mountain and down the mountain," as it was eloquently described to me by one student. Another told me of drag racing gatherings they'll hold out far away from the potential hazards the infrastructure of a city of 4.8 million might hold-- where I hear it is not uncommon to see cars worth more than a fair share of houses. Other pastimes in the desert, of which there are many (cuz there's lots of desert) include camping, camel riding, ball sports, and BBQ's. All of which I will be sure to engage in just as soon as I am either invited or become properly equipped to facilitate. The drifting however, I will leave to the Saudis, and definitely while in city limits. And while I don't have a car and have no current designs to rent or lease one, the adventure of such an undertaking is appealing, but not without being fully insured.*
* full coverage in the Kingdom includes covering the "blood money" a driver is required by law to pay the family of anyone they may happen to kill while driving. The family does have the choice between taking the money or actually asking for the driver to pay with his life, but I'm assured they almost always take the money...almost.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Security Concerns
There's an advertising campaign on television I've seen a few times. Well, it's actually more of a series of Public Service Announcements. One starts off with a teen-aged Saudi boy watching a video on his computer of a group of masked men standing in front of a banner and brandishing AK-47's. It then flashes forward to the same boy who is now in the video on the computer screen, standing next to those same extremists, holding his own automatic weapon. The camera pans out to reveal his mother watching the video and weeping. Finally, it shows some sort of logo or slogan in Arabic and over the logo blood is splashed. The point of the commercial is obviously to deter those who may be caught up by the allure of extremism. It's meant to depict the disappointment and sadness that the decision to turn to terrorism would no doubt cause your family. If I ever needed a stark reminder of where exactly I am and what exactly is at stake in the lives of some of those around me, this was it. It was one of those "Whoa, I'm in Saudi-Freakin'-Arabia" moments. It made me think of the PSA's in the States and if they weren't enough so already, seemed extra laughable by comparison.
The fact that a commercial like that gets funding and that there is a need and cause for an entire campaign may not seem very surprising. Most people whether they have any interest in the Middle East or not probably know that 15 of the 19 hijackers involved in 9/11 were Saudi. It might seem plausible to assume that this country is a hotbed for extremism and a place where recruiting for terror organizations might be prevalent. In fact most people when told where I was heading for my next English-teaching adventure either showed deep concern for my well-being or advised slightly sarcastically that I not get kidnapped. But the situation on the ground here is much different than the perception abroad. When I revealed to a coworker some preliminary concerns I'd had over being thrown in the back of a van by a group of hooded men with the intentions of posting a video of my beheading on the internet I drew so much laughter I became more than a little embarrassed. "This isn't Iraq or Afghanistan," I was told somewhat condescendingly.
In fact, for the most part ideas about terrorism and religious extremism, including those PSA's, are met with joking and condescension. My students joked one time when a classmate showed me a picture of himself with a rifle for me to "watch out." "He's friends with Ossama Bin Laden," one remarked which drew an uproar of laughter. "I'm from Canada. I'm from Canada," I proclaimed which kept the riot going. The kids I'm dealing with are upper to upper upper class where there is neither cause for nor the allure of extremism. They have nice houses, good lives, and are afforded every possible luxury. It isn't the case for everyone obviously, but for the most part in Saudi, the rest of the Gulf, and the Middle East in general, this model holds up: unless you're poor and desperate, you're not drawn in by extremism. In Yemen, where it's much poorer, in Iraq and Afghanistan where people are being killed everyday by Coalition soldiers' bullets and pilotless drones, and in the slums (not that I've seen any) in Saudi or other Gulf states, there exist the conditions that would drive the desperate to engage in desperate acts-- for them to be shown a path of violence and be impressionable enough to follow it. But here in Saudi or in Dubai or Kuwait, most people are too comfortable, too satisfied with the status quo.
It's relevant at this point to iterate that Ossama Bin Laden himself came from one of the wealthiest families in Saudi, to point out that according to some diplomatic cables released by WikiLeaks Saudi Arabia is one of the largest sources of money that eventually finds its way into the hands of terrorists, and that this is one of the top 3 most religiously "extreme" countries in the world. It would also be pertinent to state that as recently as 2003 there were acts of violence against Americans who lived and worked here and that a western compound was famously attacked by riflemen and suicide bombers. But those things aren't felt here when you walk around as a westerner or as an American. I feel perfectly safe. People smile and speak English. People wave if they recognize you. They ask you questions about where you're from and what you do here. I've yet to even get a surprised, yet alone a disapproving look when I've responded that I'm American. Most people tell me about a cousin who studies in Arizona or works as a doctor in Connecticut. Foreigners, westerners, and Americans specifically are a common sight around Riyadh, around most of Saudi from what I'm told, and it's very much in the government's interest to keep us safe and secure and feeling that way. If the foreign workers left there would be no one here to manage the companies, make the decisions, or work jobs requiring advanced degrees.
There is an inverse relationship between security and freedom. The more of one you have, the less of the other. So in at least this respect, it is comforting to know that I live in one of the most repressive countries in the world. While I can be certain that there is someone looking over my shoulder to make sure I'm not dealing in narcotics or pornography, and that religious police are ready to point me in the right direction should I wander into the "family" seating section at the mall's food court, I know that those same systems of control are in place to protect me from anyone holding the intention to do me harm, especially since 2003. The government has arrested hundreds for being suspected terrorists and has tracked them down using methods that would make the supporters of Patriot Acts I and II drool with envy. So while I might not be able to chat up a dame at a local watering hole (were I so inclined), go to a cinema, or imbibe an adult beverage, I can rest easy knowing that as difficult as any of those things would be to do and as nervous as I would be doing them, it is infinitely more so the case for anyone wishing to engage in terrorism against the likes of me-- the smiling, joking faces of the well-to-do around me don't hurt either.
The fact that a commercial like that gets funding and that there is a need and cause for an entire campaign may not seem very surprising. Most people whether they have any interest in the Middle East or not probably know that 15 of the 19 hijackers involved in 9/11 were Saudi. It might seem plausible to assume that this country is a hotbed for extremism and a place where recruiting for terror organizations might be prevalent. In fact most people when told where I was heading for my next English-teaching adventure either showed deep concern for my well-being or advised slightly sarcastically that I not get kidnapped. But the situation on the ground here is much different than the perception abroad. When I revealed to a coworker some preliminary concerns I'd had over being thrown in the back of a van by a group of hooded men with the intentions of posting a video of my beheading on the internet I drew so much laughter I became more than a little embarrassed. "This isn't Iraq or Afghanistan," I was told somewhat condescendingly.
In fact, for the most part ideas about terrorism and religious extremism, including those PSA's, are met with joking and condescension. My students joked one time when a classmate showed me a picture of himself with a rifle for me to "watch out." "He's friends with Ossama Bin Laden," one remarked which drew an uproar of laughter. "I'm from Canada. I'm from Canada," I proclaimed which kept the riot going. The kids I'm dealing with are upper to upper upper class where there is neither cause for nor the allure of extremism. They have nice houses, good lives, and are afforded every possible luxury. It isn't the case for everyone obviously, but for the most part in Saudi, the rest of the Gulf, and the Middle East in general, this model holds up: unless you're poor and desperate, you're not drawn in by extremism. In Yemen, where it's much poorer, in Iraq and Afghanistan where people are being killed everyday by Coalition soldiers' bullets and pilotless drones, and in the slums (not that I've seen any) in Saudi or other Gulf states, there exist the conditions that would drive the desperate to engage in desperate acts-- for them to be shown a path of violence and be impressionable enough to follow it. But here in Saudi or in Dubai or Kuwait, most people are too comfortable, too satisfied with the status quo.
It's relevant at this point to iterate that Ossama Bin Laden himself came from one of the wealthiest families in Saudi, to point out that according to some diplomatic cables released by WikiLeaks Saudi Arabia is one of the largest sources of money that eventually finds its way into the hands of terrorists, and that this is one of the top 3 most religiously "extreme" countries in the world. It would also be pertinent to state that as recently as 2003 there were acts of violence against Americans who lived and worked here and that a western compound was famously attacked by riflemen and suicide bombers. But those things aren't felt here when you walk around as a westerner or as an American. I feel perfectly safe. People smile and speak English. People wave if they recognize you. They ask you questions about where you're from and what you do here. I've yet to even get a surprised, yet alone a disapproving look when I've responded that I'm American. Most people tell me about a cousin who studies in Arizona or works as a doctor in Connecticut. Foreigners, westerners, and Americans specifically are a common sight around Riyadh, around most of Saudi from what I'm told, and it's very much in the government's interest to keep us safe and secure and feeling that way. If the foreign workers left there would be no one here to manage the companies, make the decisions, or work jobs requiring advanced degrees.
There is an inverse relationship between security and freedom. The more of one you have, the less of the other. So in at least this respect, it is comforting to know that I live in one of the most repressive countries in the world. While I can be certain that there is someone looking over my shoulder to make sure I'm not dealing in narcotics or pornography, and that religious police are ready to point me in the right direction should I wander into the "family" seating section at the mall's food court, I know that those same systems of control are in place to protect me from anyone holding the intention to do me harm, especially since 2003. The government has arrested hundreds for being suspected terrorists and has tracked them down using methods that would make the supporters of Patriot Acts I and II drool with envy. So while I might not be able to chat up a dame at a local watering hole (were I so inclined), go to a cinema, or imbibe an adult beverage, I can rest easy knowing that as difficult as any of those things would be to do and as nervous as I would be doing them, it is infinitely more so the case for anyone wishing to engage in terrorism against the likes of me-- the smiling, joking faces of the well-to-do around me don't hurt either.
Friday, December 17, 2010
KSA in Four Words: 4. "Halas"
"Halas" - Finished; All Through
It's hard to get my students to do very much work. There's lots of eye-rolling, lots of excuses, lots of complaints. When work does actually get done by the select and diligent few, the answers get passed around quicker than lice in a 3rd grade class room. It's hard to blame them though. Their whole educational experience, especially language education, has been a farce. They've been spoon fed answers, basically allowed to cheat. Their teachers were very strongly encouraged to pass them because if the students are failing, it's obviously because the teacher isn't doing a good job. This explains why my students, most of which are in their EIGHTH year of English, can barely use the simple past verb tense and why some of them have to turn to their neighbor to translate "How are you?". Most of them just want one question to be answered in the affirmative. "Halas, teacher? Finished?"
Their work environments won't be much different. I recently asked a class of mine what they wanted to do for a job when they are halas with University. Most hadn't given it much thought. "I don't know, teacher. Maybe I help people. That would be nice." I'm told most will get high-paying jobs, either working for their fathers or in an upper-management position somewhere. They won't have to do any actual work of course. Jordanians, Egyptians, Pakistanis. Those people are brought in to do the actual work. They manage the companies and make the decisions. The Saudi's however, because of an increasing trend, the "Saudification" of the workforce, are in very high demand nonetheless. Every company is required to have a certain percentage of Saudi employees. So, these guys will graduate and take a cushy job (and "cushy" doesn't even begin to cover it) where they will literally be paid to show up, sit in a chair, and collect their check. They'll pass their time playing card games on their computers or texting on their blackberries (not unlike the way they'd prefer to spend their class time) until the moment finally comes around when their boss will turn to them and say one word: "Halas." And they’ll head home.
Now this isn't the case for everyone. Some are motivated to work hard and accomplish things professionally, probably from what I can tell because they don't have enough wasta based solely on who their father is. And for the most part the recipe for it is this: 1) You get permission and money from the government to start a company; 2) You go to the visa office and secure 100 or so visas for foreigners to come work for you; 3) You hire the best professionals you can find from Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon, the U.S., the U.K, etc. to come and manage your company; 4) You sit back and relax in your villa on the French Riviera, go skiing in Switzerland, or hangout in your 100 million dollar tent in the desert ‘cuz your working days are halas, my friend. That's all you gotta’ do. What motivation is there to be motivated? Why do any work? That's what you pay other people to do.
This wasn't always the case. It used to be, with a plentiful supply of oil and a relatively small population that a lot people didn't even have to work at all. They were sheiks in their own right. My students' parents’ generation basically got paid to do nothing-- profit distribution. Very few have any sort of higher education under their belts. Nowadays, with a rapidly increasing population, there is less money to go around, but still quite a bit... for now. So the formula today if you don't have enough wasta is that you have to go to school, get hired by a company, and then collect your check or checks. The real concern will come when the population increases so much that there isn't enough money and aren’t nearly enough jobs. This is a country that outside of the oil and petrochemical industries produces almost nothing. What can you grow in the desert? There are very few other natural resources and you have a population with almost zero domestic workforce. Not even considering "peak" oil, so even if there is plenty for the foreseeable future, the profits can only get split so many ways, and with all the money that comes in being sent right back out, and nothing being produced domestically the opulence of the past will be exactly that, of the past. Or in other words, halas.
It's hard to get my students to do very much work. There's lots of eye-rolling, lots of excuses, lots of complaints. When work does actually get done by the select and diligent few, the answers get passed around quicker than lice in a 3rd grade class room. It's hard to blame them though. Their whole educational experience, especially language education, has been a farce. They've been spoon fed answers, basically allowed to cheat. Their teachers were very strongly encouraged to pass them because if the students are failing, it's obviously because the teacher isn't doing a good job. This explains why my students, most of which are in their EIGHTH year of English, can barely use the simple past verb tense and why some of them have to turn to their neighbor to translate "How are you?". Most of them just want one question to be answered in the affirmative. "Halas, teacher? Finished?"
Their work environments won't be much different. I recently asked a class of mine what they wanted to do for a job when they are halas with University. Most hadn't given it much thought. "I don't know, teacher. Maybe I help people. That would be nice." I'm told most will get high-paying jobs, either working for their fathers or in an upper-management position somewhere. They won't have to do any actual work of course. Jordanians, Egyptians, Pakistanis. Those people are brought in to do the actual work. They manage the companies and make the decisions. The Saudi's however, because of an increasing trend, the "Saudification" of the workforce, are in very high demand nonetheless. Every company is required to have a certain percentage of Saudi employees. So, these guys will graduate and take a cushy job (and "cushy" doesn't even begin to cover it) where they will literally be paid to show up, sit in a chair, and collect their check. They'll pass their time playing card games on their computers or texting on their blackberries (not unlike the way they'd prefer to spend their class time) until the moment finally comes around when their boss will turn to them and say one word: "Halas." And they’ll head home.
Now this isn't the case for everyone. Some are motivated to work hard and accomplish things professionally, probably from what I can tell because they don't have enough wasta based solely on who their father is. And for the most part the recipe for it is this: 1) You get permission and money from the government to start a company; 2) You go to the visa office and secure 100 or so visas for foreigners to come work for you; 3) You hire the best professionals you can find from Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon, the U.S., the U.K, etc. to come and manage your company; 4) You sit back and relax in your villa on the French Riviera, go skiing in Switzerland, or hangout in your 100 million dollar tent in the desert ‘cuz your working days are halas, my friend. That's all you gotta’ do. What motivation is there to be motivated? Why do any work? That's what you pay other people to do.
This wasn't always the case. It used to be, with a plentiful supply of oil and a relatively small population that a lot people didn't even have to work at all. They were sheiks in their own right. My students' parents’ generation basically got paid to do nothing-- profit distribution. Very few have any sort of higher education under their belts. Nowadays, with a rapidly increasing population, there is less money to go around, but still quite a bit... for now. So the formula today if you don't have enough wasta is that you have to go to school, get hired by a company, and then collect your check or checks. The real concern will come when the population increases so much that there isn't enough money and aren’t nearly enough jobs. This is a country that outside of the oil and petrochemical industries produces almost nothing. What can you grow in the desert? There are very few other natural resources and you have a population with almost zero domestic workforce. Not even considering "peak" oil, so even if there is plenty for the foreseeable future, the profits can only get split so many ways, and with all the money that comes in being sent right back out, and nothing being produced domestically the opulence of the past will be exactly that, of the past. Or in other words, halas.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Compounded
So I had a glass of wine tonight. I had a few. And when I got home I danced around my studio apartment holding my laptop in my left hand. I held my laptop because it had my earphones attached to it and the speakers my netbook offer just didn't do the Miseducation of Lauren Hill justice. I danced because I was feeling pretty good. Not that life in Saudi, or life in general, doesn't offer plenty of moments to merit dancing, but at this moment, in this place it felt right. The wine had something to do with it. The conversation, the ridiculous music, the company, like any night out, all contributed as well. The fact that I through no particularly deliberate effort of my own managed to experience something that while commonplace throughout much of the world, I did here, in a place where most would think that you can't; that helped. But the kicker, what made the experience so particularly dance-worthy in this moment, was that it-- the whole evening, the wine, my friends, the compound, their place in Saudi, as well as my own-- all just made so much sense. And I love that feeling-- the feeling when you experience something new, but afterwards it seems familiar-- like "of course that’s how it is. How else could it be?"
The compound I went to is there for the purpose of housing western foreigners. It is protected by a series of 10 ft. high barbed wire fences and 20 ft. high concrete walls as well as armed security personnel and is only accessible by invitation. I had no reservations whatsoever about having a glass of wine with dinner and a few after. It's what the people there do. Everyone was in basically the same position I am, although not nearly on the same budget (one drink= $11US and some people were hammered). They just wanted some respite from the restrictions of life in Saudi, and it's nearly impossible to blame them. Women could take off there abayas and head scarves. Music was pumping. You could speak openly, about anything. People were just kicking back after a long work week. And it was nice. I understood completely and I partook.
It was one of the smaller compounds. I don't know how big in all but in comparison with some of the others that have 10 full-sized football pitches, 20+ restaurant/bars and cafes, more swimming pools then could ever be needed and their own airstrip, this one only had one pool and one restaurant. No airstrip. It wasn't a city unto itself like some you hear about. But the apartment buildings looked nice from what I could tell, and I didn't see any houses but that doesn't mean there weren't any. It had a small gym, a rec area with billiards, ping pong and foosball, one squash and two tennis courts where anybody could play, including women, which is not the case just outside the walls. One colleague of mine commented that it reminded him of retirement and assisted living homes in Florida. Palm trees, low buildings, a pool and restaurant. He had a point.
But as I sat there, drinking white wine (which they make there, not import, and which has the more than subtle taste of white vinegar), listening to terrible but awesome country music renditions of Christmas classics, talking about grad school and travel experiences, I was quite happy with my decision not to live on one of these. It was great to visit. It was great to "get away" from Saudi. It was great to have a glass of wine. But it was too easy, too comfortable. I could have been in Florida. It's not a way to experience a culture. It's a way to hide from one. It's a way to be imprisoned by one more like it, which considering the oppressiveness of the culture here, is by no means unreasonable. And while it's fine for some, and while if I were in my second, third, fourth, etcetera year here I might be singing a much different tune, I can say I'm happy where I am. I'm happy to be experiencing it all, taking it all in-- the good and the bad, the harsh and the unpleasant. And I'm happy that I don't feel enclosed, like I have to be in a veritable prison to feel freedom. I'll definitely go back. The food was good and I had a good time. I was able to relax. But then again, after a little dancing and throwing some thoughts down on my blog, I'm relaxing right now, and doing a pretty good job of it if you ask me.
The compound I went to is there for the purpose of housing western foreigners. It is protected by a series of 10 ft. high barbed wire fences and 20 ft. high concrete walls as well as armed security personnel and is only accessible by invitation. I had no reservations whatsoever about having a glass of wine with dinner and a few after. It's what the people there do. Everyone was in basically the same position I am, although not nearly on the same budget (one drink= $11US and some people were hammered). They just wanted some respite from the restrictions of life in Saudi, and it's nearly impossible to blame them. Women could take off there abayas and head scarves. Music was pumping. You could speak openly, about anything. People were just kicking back after a long work week. And it was nice. I understood completely and I partook.
It was one of the smaller compounds. I don't know how big in all but in comparison with some of the others that have 10 full-sized football pitches, 20+ restaurant/bars and cafes, more swimming pools then could ever be needed and their own airstrip, this one only had one pool and one restaurant. No airstrip. It wasn't a city unto itself like some you hear about. But the apartment buildings looked nice from what I could tell, and I didn't see any houses but that doesn't mean there weren't any. It had a small gym, a rec area with billiards, ping pong and foosball, one squash and two tennis courts where anybody could play, including women, which is not the case just outside the walls. One colleague of mine commented that it reminded him of retirement and assisted living homes in Florida. Palm trees, low buildings, a pool and restaurant. He had a point.
But as I sat there, drinking white wine (which they make there, not import, and which has the more than subtle taste of white vinegar), listening to terrible but awesome country music renditions of Christmas classics, talking about grad school and travel experiences, I was quite happy with my decision not to live on one of these. It was great to visit. It was great to "get away" from Saudi. It was great to have a glass of wine. But it was too easy, too comfortable. I could have been in Florida. It's not a way to experience a culture. It's a way to hide from one. It's a way to be imprisoned by one more like it, which considering the oppressiveness of the culture here, is by no means unreasonable. And while it's fine for some, and while if I were in my second, third, fourth, etcetera year here I might be singing a much different tune, I can say I'm happy where I am. I'm happy to be experiencing it all, taking it all in-- the good and the bad, the harsh and the unpleasant. And I'm happy that I don't feel enclosed, like I have to be in a veritable prison to feel freedom. I'll definitely go back. The food was good and I had a good time. I was able to relax. But then again, after a little dancing and throwing some thoughts down on my blog, I'm relaxing right now, and doing a pretty good job of it if you ask me.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
KSA in Four Words: 3. "Haram"
"Haram" - Forbidden; Illegal
Most people come to the Kingdom knowing for the most part what to expect. You expect that you won't be drinking much alcohol, if any. You expect that you won't be fraternizing with the opposite sex. You expect not to see so much as a woman's wrist, or to hear music in public. You expect not to eat pork or view anything resembling pornography in any form of media. It's one thing to expect it. It's another to experience it. I realized today as I was walking around campus just how segregated the sexes are. I haven't spoken to one Saudi girl since I've been here-- not one. I haven't even made eye-contact, and I probably won’t my entire time here. Now granted, there are female teachers working for my company, living in the same facilities, who ride communal private buses that our company charters to and from work. Some of the guys have met a few. I think they have even hung out in the privacy of one or the other's flat. But it's not something you do haphazardly. The contract we sign when we move into our apartments strictly states: "Tenants are not to mingle or socialize with anyone of the opposite sex who is not a member of his or her family. Violating this condition can lead to the contract's immediate termination and the expulsion of the offending parties." Not to say it doesn't happen, but we are expressly warned of the consequences.
The remarkable thing is that despite everything that attempts to control them, Saudis do find ways to do what for so many of us seems so natural a part of being a teen-- they date, fraternize, have secret rendezvous, even drink. People are remarkably resilient and resistant to control. I'm told that a common practice for young people to meet, and something that I will no doubt see more of, is for men to post their cell phone numbers in the windows of their cars-- your typical "0559878761 - Call Mohammed for a good time." And it works. Another more proactive approach is for young fellas to wad up pieces of paper with their name and number on it and throw them into the windows of other vehicles when traffic slows. The most time tested and effective method of meeting girls though, without question, is to be set up either by a friend or cousin. One guy will show you a picture of his sister or cousin and promise to set up a date if you'll do the same for him. It goes without saying that in the age of the internet, smart phones and social networking websites this has only become easier, and I've already overheard my students teasing each other about "girlfriends." Although when questioned they will quickly dismiss the notion with a "No no, teacher. Haram." A typical date for young Saudis is for both parties to be dropped off at the mall in a liberal part of town where women can walk around unaccompanied. Then, they'll be picked up by another individual, usually the one who set them up, who'll drive them around or maybe to a private villa or desert location so the two can have some time together, only to be quickly returned to the mall to be picked up by a parent who hopefully is none the wiser.
As westerners in Saudi we are afforded opportunities to indulge ourselves in western delights much more readily than can your average Saudi young person. We have the outlets offered to us in the form of Embassies and compounds which often hold parties and where it's not uncommon to find singles "hooking up", liquor being served, and bacon on the menu. In fact I've heard that the scene at some of these parties could come right out of any club or bar in the States or Europe, although I've still yet to experience it myself. For Saudis to so indulge however they'll either need a lot of "Wasta," a lot of money, or to take a trip abroad, the most accessible locations being Bahrain or Dubai, places where you can find such things in hotels, clubs, and/or bars.
For the most part I'm looking at my time here as an opportunity to cleanse, so to speak. I love beer and pork cutlets (and the Czech Republic), but I can do without them, and I won't be any worse off. Nobody needs pornography and being a man in a happily committed and fulfilling relationship I have no need to date or "hook up" as I'm sure many strapping young lads my age feel they do. The one thing I will miss though and am already starting to, is just having female friends-- having feminine energy around me. I've always believed that everything in life requires balance and cutting one gender off from the other, to me, just seems unnatural. So, for my lady friends, female members of my family, and especially that special lady out there (you know who you are......Amy) don't be surprised if you happen to hear a little more from me over the coming months. ‘Cuz while some things that are "Haram" can be regulated effectively in public, there are others that I will chose to disregard, but from the safety and privacy of my little apartment-- of course.
Most people come to the Kingdom knowing for the most part what to expect. You expect that you won't be drinking much alcohol, if any. You expect that you won't be fraternizing with the opposite sex. You expect not to see so much as a woman's wrist, or to hear music in public. You expect not to eat pork or view anything resembling pornography in any form of media. It's one thing to expect it. It's another to experience it. I realized today as I was walking around campus just how segregated the sexes are. I haven't spoken to one Saudi girl since I've been here-- not one. I haven't even made eye-contact, and I probably won’t my entire time here. Now granted, there are female teachers working for my company, living in the same facilities, who ride communal private buses that our company charters to and from work. Some of the guys have met a few. I think they have even hung out in the privacy of one or the other's flat. But it's not something you do haphazardly. The contract we sign when we move into our apartments strictly states: "Tenants are not to mingle or socialize with anyone of the opposite sex who is not a member of his or her family. Violating this condition can lead to the contract's immediate termination and the expulsion of the offending parties." Not to say it doesn't happen, but we are expressly warned of the consequences.
The remarkable thing is that despite everything that attempts to control them, Saudis do find ways to do what for so many of us seems so natural a part of being a teen-- they date, fraternize, have secret rendezvous, even drink. People are remarkably resilient and resistant to control. I'm told that a common practice for young people to meet, and something that I will no doubt see more of, is for men to post their cell phone numbers in the windows of their cars-- your typical "0559878761 - Call Mohammed for a good time." And it works. Another more proactive approach is for young fellas to wad up pieces of paper with their name and number on it and throw them into the windows of other vehicles when traffic slows. The most time tested and effective method of meeting girls though, without question, is to be set up either by a friend or cousin. One guy will show you a picture of his sister or cousin and promise to set up a date if you'll do the same for him. It goes without saying that in the age of the internet, smart phones and social networking websites this has only become easier, and I've already overheard my students teasing each other about "girlfriends." Although when questioned they will quickly dismiss the notion with a "No no, teacher. Haram." A typical date for young Saudis is for both parties to be dropped off at the mall in a liberal part of town where women can walk around unaccompanied. Then, they'll be picked up by another individual, usually the one who set them up, who'll drive them around or maybe to a private villa or desert location so the two can have some time together, only to be quickly returned to the mall to be picked up by a parent who hopefully is none the wiser.
As westerners in Saudi we are afforded opportunities to indulge ourselves in western delights much more readily than can your average Saudi young person. We have the outlets offered to us in the form of Embassies and compounds which often hold parties and where it's not uncommon to find singles "hooking up", liquor being served, and bacon on the menu. In fact I've heard that the scene at some of these parties could come right out of any club or bar in the States or Europe, although I've still yet to experience it myself. For Saudis to so indulge however they'll either need a lot of "Wasta," a lot of money, or to take a trip abroad, the most accessible locations being Bahrain or Dubai, places where you can find such things in hotels, clubs, and/or bars.
For the most part I'm looking at my time here as an opportunity to cleanse, so to speak. I love beer and pork cutlets (and the Czech Republic), but I can do without them, and I won't be any worse off. Nobody needs pornography and being a man in a happily committed and fulfilling relationship I have no need to date or "hook up" as I'm sure many strapping young lads my age feel they do. The one thing I will miss though and am already starting to, is just having female friends-- having feminine energy around me. I've always believed that everything in life requires balance and cutting one gender off from the other, to me, just seems unnatural. So, for my lady friends, female members of my family, and especially that special lady out there (you know who you are......Amy) don't be surprised if you happen to hear a little more from me over the coming months. ‘Cuz while some things that are "Haram" can be regulated effectively in public, there are others that I will chose to disregard, but from the safety and privacy of my little apartment-- of course.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
KSA in Four Words: 2. "Wasta"
"Wasta"- Influence, Clout; Who You Know
As a teacher in KSA you have to tread lightly. You don't want to step on anyone's toes. It's difficult, because for the most part, the students are highly unmotivated and your avenues for discipline are limited. At the University level they actually get paid to attend class so the official registers and all of those little 'P's and 'A's (for “Present” or “Absent” respectively) carry a lot of weight financially for those concerned-- and the students will never stop pestering you. "Present, teacher. I am present." "No, Waleed. You were 40 minutes late." "Please, teacher. No Parking. I am sick. I eat and everything closed for prayer. Please present, teacher." The excuses never stop coming. They'll circle your desk in groups of three or four and complain, beg, bargain, and finally curse in Arabic under their breath when one holds his ground. But some students take their defeat more silently. They simply glare, return to their seat and sit down all the while holding eye contact. Finally they'll smile a knowing, devious smile that suggests more than subtely that this is not over, and that they know who'll have the last laugh. "Careful, teacher," another student may warn in a whispered tone motioning to the begrudged student. "He has Wasta."
It's clear in KSA that some people have it and some don't. It's not always obvious based on what color thobe* the men may wear, or what kind of car they drive, but for the most part it’s safe to say that a man wearing all white, driving a $100,000 luxury sedan or SUV has at least a fair share of Wasta. Others drive more modest cars, wear more modest colors like blue or brown. But it is clear that little gets accomplished without Wasta. Whether you're trying to get your cable hooked up, get a visa extended, or secure a lucrative contract, those with Wasta are giving preferential treatment, and for good reason: If they aren't, there are consequences. In a country where the royal family literally includes 10's of thousands and crown princes are differentiated from royal princes, and just plain old princes based on how direct their blood line is to the King, who your father is, and who you know are the most important questions one can ask. People without it are shrugged aside. People with it don't wait in lines and for the most part don't answer to anybody. Enough Wasta can get you anything. And I mean Anything.
If the disparity between the rich and the very rich is obvious, the one between them both and the very poor is as subtle as a kick in the crotch. The working class-- mostly foreign workers brought in from the Philippines, India, Indonesia, etc.-- are seen working every menial job, every labor position. They drive your taxis, bag your groceries, sweep your floor, and scrub your toilet. Saudi's are famous for highering others to do their dirty work and it’s as plainly visible as the expanse of desert that stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions. As someone clearly benefitting from others' Wasta, it’s hard not to feel guilty. I've been told to watch the bagboys as they load your groceries into your taxi. Apparently, quite often not all of your bags will make it into the trunk. It's a way to supplement their salaries and put food on the table. When caught, they'll simply feign ignorance or stupidity and apologize profusely, but their willingness to risk so much for my onions, tomatoes and whole grain pasta (about $2 worth of food) says as much about their lot in life in KSA. Because while Wasta can get you anything, a lack of it can't get you much.
* Thobe: Ankle-length one piece garment worn by males in the Arab world and other Muslim countries.
As a teacher in KSA you have to tread lightly. You don't want to step on anyone's toes. It's difficult, because for the most part, the students are highly unmotivated and your avenues for discipline are limited. At the University level they actually get paid to attend class so the official registers and all of those little 'P's and 'A's (for “Present” or “Absent” respectively) carry a lot of weight financially for those concerned-- and the students will never stop pestering you. "Present, teacher. I am present." "No, Waleed. You were 40 minutes late." "Please, teacher. No Parking. I am sick. I eat and everything closed for prayer. Please present, teacher." The excuses never stop coming. They'll circle your desk in groups of three or four and complain, beg, bargain, and finally curse in Arabic under their breath when one holds his ground. But some students take their defeat more silently. They simply glare, return to their seat and sit down all the while holding eye contact. Finally they'll smile a knowing, devious smile that suggests more than subtely that this is not over, and that they know who'll have the last laugh. "Careful, teacher," another student may warn in a whispered tone motioning to the begrudged student. "He has Wasta."
It's clear in KSA that some people have it and some don't. It's not always obvious based on what color thobe* the men may wear, or what kind of car they drive, but for the most part it’s safe to say that a man wearing all white, driving a $100,000 luxury sedan or SUV has at least a fair share of Wasta. Others drive more modest cars, wear more modest colors like blue or brown. But it is clear that little gets accomplished without Wasta. Whether you're trying to get your cable hooked up, get a visa extended, or secure a lucrative contract, those with Wasta are giving preferential treatment, and for good reason: If they aren't, there are consequences. In a country where the royal family literally includes 10's of thousands and crown princes are differentiated from royal princes, and just plain old princes based on how direct their blood line is to the King, who your father is, and who you know are the most important questions one can ask. People without it are shrugged aside. People with it don't wait in lines and for the most part don't answer to anybody. Enough Wasta can get you anything. And I mean Anything.
If the disparity between the rich and the very rich is obvious, the one between them both and the very poor is as subtle as a kick in the crotch. The working class-- mostly foreign workers brought in from the Philippines, India, Indonesia, etc.-- are seen working every menial job, every labor position. They drive your taxis, bag your groceries, sweep your floor, and scrub your toilet. Saudi's are famous for highering others to do their dirty work and it’s as plainly visible as the expanse of desert that stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions. As someone clearly benefitting from others' Wasta, it’s hard not to feel guilty. I've been told to watch the bagboys as they load your groceries into your taxi. Apparently, quite often not all of your bags will make it into the trunk. It's a way to supplement their salaries and put food on the table. When caught, they'll simply feign ignorance or stupidity and apologize profusely, but their willingness to risk so much for my onions, tomatoes and whole grain pasta (about $2 worth of food) says as much about their lot in life in KSA. Because while Wasta can get you anything, a lack of it can't get you much.
* Thobe: Ankle-length one piece garment worn by males in the Arab world and other Muslim countries.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
KSA in Four Words: 1. "Inshallah"
"Inshallah" - If God wills it; God willing.
Few words capture the Saudi mentality, or from what I can tell the Muslim mentality, more that Inshallah. Its interjected into seemingly innocuous future tense sentences constantly no matter what language the speaker is using. "See you tomorrow, Inshallah." "The cable guy will be there at 8, Inshallah." "I'll be studying this weekend, Inshallah." And others, in the context of God's will, that aren't so innocuous. "My flight will arrive on the 23rd, Inshallah." "We're planning to get married, Inshallah." It presupposes a more than subtle sense of fatalism-- that God's will is continuously being exercised according to a plan that has already been laid for us. It also inspires the usual philosophical questions regarding fate vs. free will. If everything I do is according to God's plan, why do anything at all? Are any of my choices really my own? Let alone the questions regarding the benevolence of God and our inability to see the wisdom in his will being carried out on Earth, e.g. Why is there so much suffering?
When I've posed these questions to the faithful I've gotten some answers that were satisfying, and some of the usual mantra. One Muslim from the east coast of the U.S. told me regarding the free will debate within Islam, that while the decision of whether to have the steak or the fish is fairly inconsequential and probably doesn't keep the Almighty up at night, the question of your life's path does involve free will despite the fact that Muslims do believe very strongly in fate. The way he explained it was that it is more like you have a path, a potential even, and through hard work your potential, in line with God's plan, can be realized. He also said that the Devil exercises his will and tempts you to leave your path, and that we as humans are given the faculty to stray. This was an idea that jibed with me. I like the thought that in the question of free will vs. fate, like so many of the great questions of A vs. B, there is room for both answers to be true. That in fact "both" is the only correct answer. Inshallah presupposes that it is the things outside of our own actions, beyond our control that are in the hands of God, but the faith dictates that we do have efficacy-- that we are in the driver's seat so to speak, but that God built the car and paved the road, and it’s up to us to steer.
Whether you subscribe to monotheism, to a First or Great Mover, whether he or she has a name or can be pictured upon a throne in heaven, or whether you're more likely to assign that which lies outside our control to the will of the "Universe", Krishna, the Great Spirit, or the collective singularity of Will, or whether you don't believe in any higher power whatsoever, it’s hard to argue that some things we have some say in and some we don’t. It's also hard to argue that it’s on me whether I get up tomorrow and go to work, commit an act of violence or robbery, or give all my money to charity and devote myself to a life of asceticism, or at the very least it's hard to argue that we feel that way. Likewise, it’s hard to argue that we all have the potential for good-- to accomplish great things be them large or small. I like the idea that we have efficacy. I like the idea that we have responsibility, and I like the idea that faith and/or fate don't have to supersede those ideas. After all, we are all travelers on the road of life. We all make decisions everyday that affect the next -- that affect others' paths as well as our own. And with the right attitude, my hope is that we can all realize our potentials and make this world a better place. Inshallah.
Sidenote: I've noticed that while subscribing things to the will of God can relieve some people I've met of certain responsibilities-- "You're internet will be working soon, Inshallah"—it’s not something they are so willing to accept inversely. "I'll have your rent next month, Inshallah" hasn’t been too well received.
Few words capture the Saudi mentality, or from what I can tell the Muslim mentality, more that Inshallah. Its interjected into seemingly innocuous future tense sentences constantly no matter what language the speaker is using. "See you tomorrow, Inshallah." "The cable guy will be there at 8, Inshallah." "I'll be studying this weekend, Inshallah." And others, in the context of God's will, that aren't so innocuous. "My flight will arrive on the 23rd, Inshallah." "We're planning to get married, Inshallah." It presupposes a more than subtle sense of fatalism-- that God's will is continuously being exercised according to a plan that has already been laid for us. It also inspires the usual philosophical questions regarding fate vs. free will. If everything I do is according to God's plan, why do anything at all? Are any of my choices really my own? Let alone the questions regarding the benevolence of God and our inability to see the wisdom in his will being carried out on Earth, e.g. Why is there so much suffering?
When I've posed these questions to the faithful I've gotten some answers that were satisfying, and some of the usual mantra. One Muslim from the east coast of the U.S. told me regarding the free will debate within Islam, that while the decision of whether to have the steak or the fish is fairly inconsequential and probably doesn't keep the Almighty up at night, the question of your life's path does involve free will despite the fact that Muslims do believe very strongly in fate. The way he explained it was that it is more like you have a path, a potential even, and through hard work your potential, in line with God's plan, can be realized. He also said that the Devil exercises his will and tempts you to leave your path, and that we as humans are given the faculty to stray. This was an idea that jibed with me. I like the thought that in the question of free will vs. fate, like so many of the great questions of A vs. B, there is room for both answers to be true. That in fact "both" is the only correct answer. Inshallah presupposes that it is the things outside of our own actions, beyond our control that are in the hands of God, but the faith dictates that we do have efficacy-- that we are in the driver's seat so to speak, but that God built the car and paved the road, and it’s up to us to steer.
Whether you subscribe to monotheism, to a First or Great Mover, whether he or she has a name or can be pictured upon a throne in heaven, or whether you're more likely to assign that which lies outside our control to the will of the "Universe", Krishna, the Great Spirit, or the collective singularity of Will, or whether you don't believe in any higher power whatsoever, it’s hard to argue that some things we have some say in and some we don’t. It's also hard to argue that it’s on me whether I get up tomorrow and go to work, commit an act of violence or robbery, or give all my money to charity and devote myself to a life of asceticism, or at the very least it's hard to argue that we feel that way. Likewise, it’s hard to argue that we all have the potential for good-- to accomplish great things be them large or small. I like the idea that we have efficacy. I like the idea that we have responsibility, and I like the idea that faith and/or fate don't have to supersede those ideas. After all, we are all travelers on the road of life. We all make decisions everyday that affect the next -- that affect others' paths as well as our own. And with the right attitude, my hope is that we can all realize our potentials and make this world a better place. Inshallah.
Sidenote: I've noticed that while subscribing things to the will of God can relieve some people I've met of certain responsibilities-- "You're internet will be working soon, Inshallah"—it’s not something they are so willing to accept inversely. "I'll have your rent next month, Inshallah" hasn’t been too well received.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
My Slice
To call my working environment disorganized would be an understatement. Some folks get angry-- expectations of professionalism aren't met. My approach-- as its been most of my life-- is laidback, and this continues to serve me well. I’ve tried to resist the urge to expect much and have subsequently avoided many letdowns. Most manage to get by, secure in the knowledge that the money they're making is at the very least proportional to the amount of discomfort and alienation one might feel being so far outside their comfort zone. My comfort zone seems to stretch. This is as much a product of my willingness to test its limits as it is of anything else, which thus far have yet to even be neared.
My living environment is actually quite comfortable by any standard. Having entered this arrangement with the awareness that I would not be living on a compound, but instead in a hotel or private apartment block, I have yet to be disappointed. I'm able to share in the daily interactions with the general population that those such as myself thrive on when attempting to take in as much of "the culture" as possible. The street just outside my window offers anything that my daily life might require. Fruit and vegetable shops, laundromats, supermarkets, convenience stores, fast food and short-order restaurants, tailors', shoe and hardware stores, butchers' and bakeries. Picture a broad avenue in Tempe or Reno without any separation between buildings. Down the street a walk of about 20 minutes is a mall on par with any I've seen in Europe or the States. My experience there warrants its own post, but for now it'll do to pass on that it was the similarities that struck me more than anything. The only thing it lacked was the hoards of adolescents bouncing hormones off each other-- something you'd never find here in public. The only thing that my neighborhood does lack is any semblance of green spaces for engaging in the type of sport that usually provide the only form of exercise I'm likely to get, but just as soon as I find one, you can bet that I'll be putting the Frisbee that I brought to good use in a weekly game of Ultimate with any colleagues or willing people off the street that I can find.
My flat is a spacious two bedroom/ two bath in a hotel with kitchen, large sitting area and the highest ceilings of any place I've ever lived. While it lacks the services of what I thought when I heard "hotel", it makes up for its shortcomings with the knowledge that we won’t be bothered. One bathroom is western with a hand held bidet that I'm already starting to prefer, although I can't help feeling that sense of panic when I've committed and suddenly realize there's no T.P.. The other bathroom offers a "squat toilet", as the holes in the ground with porcelain foot holds are lovingly referred. While I'm told the body-positioning these conveniences require is actually advantageous, in at least this regard, I prefer my westernized comfort. The room is also equipped with satellite television which I am sad to say I find highly entertaining with its wide range of over 500 channels including more than a handful that play English-language movies. My favorite channel though is without question Al-Jazeera English although MTV Lebanon ranks a close second. Many channels are blocked either due to my hotel's unwillingness to pay for them, or because their content is deemed unsuitable for the Saudi public. Fox News is among these for what I hope is the latter reason. I'm also sad to say that ESPN America and Sky Sports are also blocked meaning that I was forced last night to watch my beloved Ducks on a shady internet stream that my netbook is ill-equipped to support. (Beautiful job by the way, boys. Absolutely beautiful.) I've recently been assigned a roommate who just so happens to have been born in Merrillville, Indiana which has led to me think that the frequency of occurrence of this whole "small world" thing has far surpassed intriguing...and creepy... and even expected, and has begun to border on annoying. (Not really, but seriously, Merrillville!? That's nuts!).
The food has been nothing but great. Besides the number of fresh and prepared short-order options there is a plethora of sit down joints in my neighborhood as well as that of my university that are flavorful and have yet to cause me any trouble. The ethnicities of which vary from Turkish to Sudanese, Middle Eastern to Indian. The owners and cooks never fail to pile your plate high with fresh Arabic bread and extra chilies on request, all for a the ridiculously modest price of 10-15 Saudi Riyals (about $3-4 US) and while it's possible to spend significantly more in much nicer establishments, I have yet to feel the need. The produce offered is fresh, beautiful and delicious and as far as I can tell is all weighed together for one low price. I'm not sure where it comes from but I have the distinct feeling that the words "carbon footprint" and "locavore" would be beyond hysterical to the average Saudi so I try not to pay this fact any mind. I haven't cooked nearly as much as I would prefer for reasons just recently mentioned but I have the feeling that the sedentary nature of my lifestyle thus far will warrant the much healthier eating habits that only cooking for yourself can provide. And I am very proud to say that I haven’t yet been into a Burger King, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Baskin Robbins, Hardees, or any other of the multitude of American fast food chains.…. except to a Domino’s-- and only once. Just for a slice.
My living environment is actually quite comfortable by any standard. Having entered this arrangement with the awareness that I would not be living on a compound, but instead in a hotel or private apartment block, I have yet to be disappointed. I'm able to share in the daily interactions with the general population that those such as myself thrive on when attempting to take in as much of "the culture" as possible. The street just outside my window offers anything that my daily life might require. Fruit and vegetable shops, laundromats, supermarkets, convenience stores, fast food and short-order restaurants, tailors', shoe and hardware stores, butchers' and bakeries. Picture a broad avenue in Tempe or Reno without any separation between buildings. Down the street a walk of about 20 minutes is a mall on par with any I've seen in Europe or the States. My experience there warrants its own post, but for now it'll do to pass on that it was the similarities that struck me more than anything. The only thing it lacked was the hoards of adolescents bouncing hormones off each other-- something you'd never find here in public. The only thing that my neighborhood does lack is any semblance of green spaces for engaging in the type of sport that usually provide the only form of exercise I'm likely to get, but just as soon as I find one, you can bet that I'll be putting the Frisbee that I brought to good use in a weekly game of Ultimate with any colleagues or willing people off the street that I can find.
My flat is a spacious two bedroom/ two bath in a hotel with kitchen, large sitting area and the highest ceilings of any place I've ever lived. While it lacks the services of what I thought when I heard "hotel", it makes up for its shortcomings with the knowledge that we won’t be bothered. One bathroom is western with a hand held bidet that I'm already starting to prefer, although I can't help feeling that sense of panic when I've committed and suddenly realize there's no T.P.. The other bathroom offers a "squat toilet", as the holes in the ground with porcelain foot holds are lovingly referred. While I'm told the body-positioning these conveniences require is actually advantageous, in at least this regard, I prefer my westernized comfort. The room is also equipped with satellite television which I am sad to say I find highly entertaining with its wide range of over 500 channels including more than a handful that play English-language movies. My favorite channel though is without question Al-Jazeera English although MTV Lebanon ranks a close second. Many channels are blocked either due to my hotel's unwillingness to pay for them, or because their content is deemed unsuitable for the Saudi public. Fox News is among these for what I hope is the latter reason. I'm also sad to say that ESPN America and Sky Sports are also blocked meaning that I was forced last night to watch my beloved Ducks on a shady internet stream that my netbook is ill-equipped to support. (Beautiful job by the way, boys. Absolutely beautiful.) I've recently been assigned a roommate who just so happens to have been born in Merrillville, Indiana which has led to me think that the frequency of occurrence of this whole "small world" thing has far surpassed intriguing...and creepy... and even expected, and has begun to border on annoying. (Not really, but seriously, Merrillville!? That's nuts!).
The food has been nothing but great. Besides the number of fresh and prepared short-order options there is a plethora of sit down joints in my neighborhood as well as that of my university that are flavorful and have yet to cause me any trouble. The ethnicities of which vary from Turkish to Sudanese, Middle Eastern to Indian. The owners and cooks never fail to pile your plate high with fresh Arabic bread and extra chilies on request, all for a the ridiculously modest price of 10-15 Saudi Riyals (about $3-4 US) and while it's possible to spend significantly more in much nicer establishments, I have yet to feel the need. The produce offered is fresh, beautiful and delicious and as far as I can tell is all weighed together for one low price. I'm not sure where it comes from but I have the distinct feeling that the words "carbon footprint" and "locavore" would be beyond hysterical to the average Saudi so I try not to pay this fact any mind. I haven't cooked nearly as much as I would prefer for reasons just recently mentioned but I have the feeling that the sedentary nature of my lifestyle thus far will warrant the much healthier eating habits that only cooking for yourself can provide. And I am very proud to say that I haven’t yet been into a Burger King, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Baskin Robbins, Hardees, or any other of the multitude of American fast food chains.…. except to a Domino’s-- and only once. Just for a slice.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Questions
Five times a day life in Saudi comes to a stop. Shop windows close, traffic slows to a trickle. No one has to go very far to find a mosque. My university has one. My office building has one. The airport has a big one. You know when to go because the adhan (call to prayer) rings out from loudspeakers all across the city and from the minarets of every mosque. It's the only form of music you'll hear in public. I find it peaceful and relaxing. It slows the pace of life. Its about more than just prayer. The devout are encouraged to take the time to stretch, wash up, reflect about their lives, their relationship with God. All in all it seems to be pretty healthy. I'd like to take the time to stretch and reflect five times a day, maybe do some yoga. Why not? But as a foreigner, a non-Muslim, I'm expected to continue working, to continue with my daily life. Sometimes this is harder than others. Most retail shops and supermarkets will announce that prayer time is coming up and kindly ask you to make your way to the register so they can close. Some restaurants will allow you to continue eating if you've already been served. Most won't seat you until after prayer. Islam permeates ever facet of life here. Law, behavior, dress.
On the street the most visible example of this is the women, or should I say, lack thereof. The ones you do see are covered head-to-toe. Sometimes the oval of their face from the forehead to just under the chin is exposed, sometimes their eyes can be seen through a slit, darting back and forth. I never look for longer than a passing glance. And they're never alone. A woman walking alone is seen as trouble. A cause for suspicion, maybe even disgust. Women can't drive or smoke in public. Leaving the house without a male escort who's a member of the woman's family is highly taboo. Some westerners do it, but they draw lots of disapproving stares. Talking to a Saudi woman is never a good idea. "You never know who that woman's father might be," I've been warned, "or who's watching." There are parts of town where people are more liberal. Where groups of women can walk about independently of male family members--mostly near shopping malls and large retail centers. But this is a big city, metropolitan by most standards. They're used to outside ideas, foreigners, westerners. This aspect of strict Islamic culture makes little sense to someone from the outside looking in. At least in my case.
The men I've met have been great. Quick to crack a smile, quick to speak what English they know. My broken Arabic draws lots of laughter. We play the point and identify in your language game. "Pencil" "Spoon" "Garlic". Great for learning nouns. And a laugh. The westerners I work with who are Muslim exude a sort of peace. The kind that only people-in-the-know feel, I guess-- a calmness and serenity that I find inspiring. My students of course are a different story. One for a later post. But suffice it to say that most have lived a life of privilege and more than a few use their faith as an excuse to get out of class. "Five minutes, teacher. I go to Mosque." "Sit down, Abdullah." But for the most part, the faithful are some of the most peaceful, welcoming people I've ever encountered. Refreshing compared to Prague, compared to a lot of places I've been in Europe.
But these are two pictures of Islam I have a hard time reconciling-- one of peace, the other of oppression, one religious, the other political. I wonder what part of the culture here is Islamic and what part is Arab. What part is imposed. Who benefits from the oppression I witness, what gains are there to be made. The subjugation of women is nothing new in the history of the world. But in this case its been fiercely defended. By women in some cases. And faith is used as the justification. How do the men and boys feel about seeing their sisters and mothers controlled like this. Is there a movement of change. Can there be when the laws in place are designed to punish women who stand out, who rebel, or anyone for that matter-- the punishments often being of the most severe nature. Is change wanted. I wonder about all of these things, but I don't expect answers. At least not forthcoming ones. And I won't go prying for them. It wouldn't be wise.
On the street the most visible example of this is the women, or should I say, lack thereof. The ones you do see are covered head-to-toe. Sometimes the oval of their face from the forehead to just under the chin is exposed, sometimes their eyes can be seen through a slit, darting back and forth. I never look for longer than a passing glance. And they're never alone. A woman walking alone is seen as trouble. A cause for suspicion, maybe even disgust. Women can't drive or smoke in public. Leaving the house without a male escort who's a member of the woman's family is highly taboo. Some westerners do it, but they draw lots of disapproving stares. Talking to a Saudi woman is never a good idea. "You never know who that woman's father might be," I've been warned, "or who's watching." There are parts of town where people are more liberal. Where groups of women can walk about independently of male family members--mostly near shopping malls and large retail centers. But this is a big city, metropolitan by most standards. They're used to outside ideas, foreigners, westerners. This aspect of strict Islamic culture makes little sense to someone from the outside looking in. At least in my case.
The men I've met have been great. Quick to crack a smile, quick to speak what English they know. My broken Arabic draws lots of laughter. We play the point and identify in your language game. "Pencil" "Spoon" "Garlic". Great for learning nouns. And a laugh. The westerners I work with who are Muslim exude a sort of peace. The kind that only people-in-the-know feel, I guess-- a calmness and serenity that I find inspiring. My students of course are a different story. One for a later post. But suffice it to say that most have lived a life of privilege and more than a few use their faith as an excuse to get out of class. "Five minutes, teacher. I go to Mosque." "Sit down, Abdullah." But for the most part, the faithful are some of the most peaceful, welcoming people I've ever encountered. Refreshing compared to Prague, compared to a lot of places I've been in Europe.
But these are two pictures of Islam I have a hard time reconciling-- one of peace, the other of oppression, one religious, the other political. I wonder what part of the culture here is Islamic and what part is Arab. What part is imposed. Who benefits from the oppression I witness, what gains are there to be made. The subjugation of women is nothing new in the history of the world. But in this case its been fiercely defended. By women in some cases. And faith is used as the justification. How do the men and boys feel about seeing their sisters and mothers controlled like this. Is there a movement of change. Can there be when the laws in place are designed to punish women who stand out, who rebel, or anyone for that matter-- the punishments often being of the most severe nature. Is change wanted. I wonder about all of these things, but I don't expect answers. At least not forthcoming ones. And I won't go prying for them. It wouldn't be wise.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
First Day of Work
It didn't take as long to come as I had expected- not that I had known it would come at all- and when it did it surprised me. But while riding in my supervisor's car on the way home today- I relaxed. I took a deep breath, stared out the window at the beautiful desert landscape pockmarked by torn down buildings and ones on their way up, noticed the sun low on the horizon and the perfect air pressure, temperature and humidity, and cracked a smile. A good smile. Like the ones you smile when you're doing something exciting and fulfilling and adventurous. I could have been hitch-hiking in southern Spain, or maybe Arizona at the right time of year. I could have been in Vegas. Vegas seems more appropriate. But of course I wasn't, and my supervisor steering his car at high speeds into a quickly disappearing lane quickly jarred me back to reality, but it did happen. I relaxed- while in public even. It had everything to do with the day I'd had.
It started the same as the day before it. A van picking me and a few colleagues up at our hotel/apartment building, an awkward ride with awkward "new guy" conversation, but then I arrived at our school. It was sort of a satellite campus, a quad if you will. Four buildings connected by an open-air courtyard with kiosks and cafes in it, but it was the people who I encountered that left me with the feeling that what I'm doing isn't really all that crazy. So much so I almost felt disappointed. They told me that my work environment would be a world of contradictions. That expectations for the teachers as well as students were made impossibly high, that student-motivation would be incredibly low, that the bureaucracy of the whole mess would make your head spin with its seemingly unending demands, and that despite all this, the job was relatively easy. I met some great dudes (the women are at a completely separate campus). Young guys exploring the world and making money (not unlike your humble blogger), guys with a little bit of a screw lose, older guys with it both completely together and completely not, Jordanians, Brits, Anglo-Indians, philosophers, linguists, actors, and honest to goodness teachers, slackers and xenophiles. Each took their time to take the new guy under their wing, show me the ropes, and give me the "real" scoop into what the heck was going on. And with all the chaos going on around me while others tried to organize the whole mess, I found lots of time to just hang. I added to my fluid Arabic vocab list which consists of about 12 phrases, numbers one through 10 and some basic nouns, prepositions, verb conjugations, and questions words, and got some help with my pronunciation. And at the end of all that, I got to spend some time shadowing another teacher and floating around helping his students complete their assignment.
It was the students that did it for me most of all. They were about what I expected in a lot of ways- lazy, unmotivated, entitled, always trying to talk their way out of doing work, copying off their neighbor just to get an answer filled in, and too silly to get much of anything accomplished. But they were great. And they liked the crap out of me, asked me all kinds of questions. I was able to inspire nods of knowing approval about my home state, the land of Hoosiers, by referencing the NBA (a trick I learned over the years), and allowed them to locate it in their mind by first picturing where on the map Chicago is. I even got them to tacitly approve of my abbreviated name by referencing Pamela Anderson's Emmy snubbed role of C.J. Parker in Baywatch (thank you, Eastern Europe). I was having so much fun and feeling so relaxed that I almost let my guard down. A student asked me what I thought of Obama, and where I would usually jump at the chance to get into all of my feelings, hopes, disappointments, opinions and anecdotes on the matter, I suddenly remembered to have caution. Some topics are never appropriate in a Saudi classroom, politics and religion being chief amongst those. One complaint from a student to the dean has been cause enough for many a teacher a whole lot cooler and more qualified than myself being canned and ran out of the country. "I don't talk about politics," I replied. A student leaning in just over my left shoulder nodded in agreement. "That is good," he said with scrunched face. A few others in the back nodded too.
It started the same as the day before it. A van picking me and a few colleagues up at our hotel/apartment building, an awkward ride with awkward "new guy" conversation, but then I arrived at our school. It was sort of a satellite campus, a quad if you will. Four buildings connected by an open-air courtyard with kiosks and cafes in it, but it was the people who I encountered that left me with the feeling that what I'm doing isn't really all that crazy. So much so I almost felt disappointed. They told me that my work environment would be a world of contradictions. That expectations for the teachers as well as students were made impossibly high, that student-motivation would be incredibly low, that the bureaucracy of the whole mess would make your head spin with its seemingly unending demands, and that despite all this, the job was relatively easy. I met some great dudes (the women are at a completely separate campus). Young guys exploring the world and making money (not unlike your humble blogger), guys with a little bit of a screw lose, older guys with it both completely together and completely not, Jordanians, Brits, Anglo-Indians, philosophers, linguists, actors, and honest to goodness teachers, slackers and xenophiles. Each took their time to take the new guy under their wing, show me the ropes, and give me the "real" scoop into what the heck was going on. And with all the chaos going on around me while others tried to organize the whole mess, I found lots of time to just hang. I added to my fluid Arabic vocab list which consists of about 12 phrases, numbers one through 10 and some basic nouns, prepositions, verb conjugations, and questions words, and got some help with my pronunciation. And at the end of all that, I got to spend some time shadowing another teacher and floating around helping his students complete their assignment.
It was the students that did it for me most of all. They were about what I expected in a lot of ways- lazy, unmotivated, entitled, always trying to talk their way out of doing work, copying off their neighbor just to get an answer filled in, and too silly to get much of anything accomplished. But they were great. And they liked the crap out of me, asked me all kinds of questions. I was able to inspire nods of knowing approval about my home state, the land of Hoosiers, by referencing the NBA (a trick I learned over the years), and allowed them to locate it in their mind by first picturing where on the map Chicago is. I even got them to tacitly approve of my abbreviated name by referencing Pamela Anderson's Emmy snubbed role of C.J. Parker in Baywatch (thank you, Eastern Europe). I was having so much fun and feeling so relaxed that I almost let my guard down. A student asked me what I thought of Obama, and where I would usually jump at the chance to get into all of my feelings, hopes, disappointments, opinions and anecdotes on the matter, I suddenly remembered to have caution. Some topics are never appropriate in a Saudi classroom, politics and religion being chief amongst those. One complaint from a student to the dean has been cause enough for many a teacher a whole lot cooler and more qualified than myself being canned and ran out of the country. "I don't talk about politics," I replied. A student leaning in just over my left shoulder nodded in agreement. "That is good," he said with scrunched face. A few others in the back nodded too.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Day 1
It's hard to tell which feelings of anxiety are misplaced. I find myself in a constant state of self-consciousness. While walking out of my hotel this morning, I didn't know if I should or shouldn't open the door for a woman walking alone behind me. I was pretty sure she was a westerner, a fellow English-teacher catching the same private bus as me to work, but I knew others were watching. I went first, didn't hold the door. Upon arriving at the office and having spoken with the woman (who turned out to be just what I thought), I opened the door and let her walk in ahead. I noticed a look of disapproval on the male receptionist's face. Was it because of that? Sitting in the conference room I didn't know how to cross my legs. I knew that pointing the soul of my shoe at anyone was a sign of disrespect, but I didn't know if it was o.k. in the process of crossing my legs or if I kept my legs close enough to point the bottom of my top foot strait down it wouldn't offend. I crossed them so tightly both feet went numb. You find yourself doing these things in Saudi, struggling to do anything at all. At least I do. At least at first. And that's only for fear of offending someone. The religious the police, the Mutawwa'în are a whole different story. It's hard to forget the paper I had to sign recognizing my awareness of what punishments violating certain laws could incur. Death, dismemberment, beheading.
The same colleague and I later went on a walk. We were told the neighborhood our hotel was in was safe and fairly liberal. One superior even told the colleague that she would be fine walking alone. Another warned against it. We decided it best to play it safe. Keeping in mind that if anyone questioned us we would have to say that we were either husband and wife or mother and son. We chose the latter given our respective ages, but we were assured no one would question us. This isn't a village after all. Our walk was uneventful. We got kababs and hummus and grape-leaf rolls (all bomb.com). We got some curious stares but no one really seemed to pay us much attention. The guy who took our order only talked to me though. I was supposed to order for us both, and when she paid with money from her own wallet, the man still gave the change to me. Dealing with women is not something the men of this country are used to. The only time I felt scared was when we passed an all white van with a green crescent on the side. "Mutawwa", I thought, and clenched my teeth.
It will soon, in all likelihood, come to light which ones of my early anxieties will prove to have been warranted and which won't. One that is without doubt is the one I feel while riding in a car. In a city where its not uncommon for a couple dozen people to die in a single day from car accidents the sense of your life being on the line is palpable. I had heard that a fatalistic attitude combined with a sense of entitlement in a city where gas is 12 cents a gallon and everyone drives there own car was a recipe for disaster. The good news: our driver put his seat belt on. At least he wasn't putting his life completely in Allah's hands. People for the most part, from what could be seen in a day, drive at high top speeds-- I'll say that-- but not erratically. Most change lanes slowly and deliberately- with signals I might add. The problem is that those deliberate moves are often made under the assumption that another driver will change their trajectory in order for it to be made. The result is that lane markers become less than obligatory to respect, less than general guidelines for that matter. Seeing drivers four-wide on a two lane road was commonplace. Overall I think our driver is legit though. The other drivers and the series of screeching tires I'm currently hearing out my window do less to inspire confidence, but at least I haven't heard them followed by any crunches.
The flight
It didn’t hit me until we were flying over Jerusalem. The captain said (first in Arabic) that we would be flying over “the holy city of Jerusalem and Occupied Palestine.” On this plane it wasn’t a political statement, at least not overtly, but I couldn’t help but place it in the context of my own world view and experience. Everyone sitting close enough stared somberly out the window. From where I was in the middle isle I could only see some lights. I couldn’t see their patterns of concentration or contrast. I couldn’t discern between the occupied territories or Israel proper. Between settlements and refugee “camps”. I wanted to, but I was too far away. I wished I had snagged a window seat. What I could see was how everyone stared, though, silently. It had finally hit me. I was here. The Middle East. The Holy Land.
I noticed that they served alcohol on the plane. Something which probably came as no shock to my fellow passengers but having set out on a journey to Saudi Arabia, I had mistakenly assumed that alcohol would be as scarce as what I’d heard it would be in Riyadh. The first of many manifestations of my ignorance. It turns out that Jordanians are pretty lax by American standards. Only half the women wore headscarves and I saw no abayas or burkas. Many were willing to speak English even to the bilingual flight attendants. I heard laughing and a few men cracked jokes when some of their friends were reprimanded for standing before the plane had come to a complete stop at the gate. One surprising thing: every child who I saw on the plane was a boy. No little girls. Maybe daughters weren't valued enough to take abroad.
During my layover I skyped and face book chatted. I told my girlfriend I loved her. She reciprocated. Getting used to our new situation wasn’t gonna be easy. Some tears were still pretty fresh. Then I went to my departure gate. Most of the people sitting in the waiting area were Saudis it seemed. I found myself suddenly nervous. I had read about taboos within Saudi society and the thought hit me that something I might do could be seen as offensive. I resisted the urge to cross my legs as I usually do for fear of displaying the bottom of my shoe to someone. I knew there were no religious police (Mutawwa) around. But I was nervous. I started to sit in close proximity to a woman in an abaya when I remembered what I had read about “Family” vs. “Singles” seating in restaurants and public places. “Family” meant women and children while “Singles” meant men only. I looked to my left and noticed that on the other side sat only men. I thought it wiser to sit with them. The Kingdom was already having its effect. The oppressiveness, its laws and customs were beginning to weigh. A few of the women and young girls still had their hair uncovered. I knew this wouldn’t be the case when we landed.
I noticed that they served alcohol on the plane. Something which probably came as no shock to my fellow passengers but having set out on a journey to Saudi Arabia, I had mistakenly assumed that alcohol would be as scarce as what I’d heard it would be in Riyadh. The first of many manifestations of my ignorance. It turns out that Jordanians are pretty lax by American standards. Only half the women wore headscarves and I saw no abayas or burkas. Many were willing to speak English even to the bilingual flight attendants. I heard laughing and a few men cracked jokes when some of their friends were reprimanded for standing before the plane had come to a complete stop at the gate. One surprising thing: every child who I saw on the plane was a boy. No little girls. Maybe daughters weren't valued enough to take abroad.
During my layover I skyped and face book chatted. I told my girlfriend I loved her. She reciprocated. Getting used to our new situation wasn’t gonna be easy. Some tears were still pretty fresh. Then I went to my departure gate. Most of the people sitting in the waiting area were Saudis it seemed. I found myself suddenly nervous. I had read about taboos within Saudi society and the thought hit me that something I might do could be seen as offensive. I resisted the urge to cross my legs as I usually do for fear of displaying the bottom of my shoe to someone. I knew there were no religious police (Mutawwa) around. But I was nervous. I started to sit in close proximity to a woman in an abaya when I remembered what I had read about “Family” vs. “Singles” seating in restaurants and public places. “Family” meant women and children while “Singles” meant men only. I looked to my left and noticed that on the other side sat only men. I thought it wiser to sit with them. The Kingdom was already having its effect. The oppressiveness, its laws and customs were beginning to weigh. A few of the women and young girls still had their hair uncovered. I knew this wouldn’t be the case when we landed.
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