Not So Fast for Me ... Eid Mubarak

Tonight marks the last night of Ramadan, with tomorrow having officially been declared the first day of Eid al-Fitr in Qatar (since Eid is declared on the sighting of the crescent moon, the first day of Eid may come later in the East). 

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, observed by Muslims worldwide as a month of fasting from dawn until sunset.  This fast involves not only refraining from consuming food, but also from drinking liquids, smoking and intimacy during sunlight hours.

Ramadan rolls around approximately 10 days earlier each year according to the Gregorian (Western) calendar.  For example, when we moved to Qatar in 2006, Ramadan started on September 23.  This year, 2013, it began on July 8.  Next year it will start the last week of June, and so on.

While there's more to Ramadan than just fasting (it is meant to be a month of intensified reflection, prayer and charity), the absolute daylight fast is what most intrigues me as a Christian Westerner, as there are so many considerations, particularly when Ramadan occurs in the summer months.

For example, if you were a Muslim living in Amadjuak, Nunavut (there are about 100 Muslims living in the Northern Canadian territory), sunset was at about 11 p.m. on the first day of Ramadan this year, and sunrise at about 2:00 a.m.  This would have left you with about 3 nighttime hours within which to pray, eat, and hydrate yourself ... during the remaining 21 hours, non-fasting peeps around you would be eating, drinking, smoking and carrying on as usual as you abstained ... an almost unfathomable challenge.  

In Qatar, sunrise and sunset don't vary much throughout the year; all restaurants and many shops close until sunset during Ramadan; eating, smoking and drinking in public are forbidden during daylight hours; and life in general takes on a much slower pace, so temptation may be lessened on those fronts.  However, summer daylight hours bring temperatures of close to 50C, and humidity levels sometimes surpass 70%.  While this may not affect those who have the freedom of sleeping through much of the day and staying up late at night (basically inverting day and night), the perils of fasting in July in the ME can be overwhelming for laborers who are toiling through the daylight hours.  

Cases of heat stress increase, the consequences of which can be deadly.  It's not uncommon to have people collapse and be hospitalized.  Fasting is more than a test of one's will, it is a test of physical endurance that can easily be lost. 

As I stopped to gas up on my way home yesterday, I was acutely reminded of the challenges faced by many fellow residents in this country during summertime Ramadan.   The picture explains it better than I ever could.

I'm thinking the gas attendants may be celebrating the first day of Eid with a coffee and a doughnut about mid-afternoon tomorrow.

Eid Mubarak! 

"Time to make the doughnuts!"

Even though the shop was closed, the smell of sweet fried balls of dough wafted on the 39C heat index in preparation for the 7 p.m. opening.  I was salivating; how the pump attendants could resist the scent of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and brewing coffee while fasting is way beyond me.

Language Art ...

Disclaimer:  This post is in no way meant to offend; it's merely my take on the complexities of communication as an expat, and how misinterpretation can often lead to some pretty wacky reactions.  

Finding humor in tragic misinterpretation.   Pic from Venice, November 2011.

Language is truly an art to be mastered in Qatar.  Beyond struggling with my limited knowledge of Arabic, I often find myself befuddled by variations on English.  

But I'm getting better. 

My mastery of pidgin English is likely most obvious in dialogue with our maid, Tita L. (who's from the Philippines and whose first language is Tagalog). 

Case in point:  

On the way to the grocery store with Tita L. yesterday, we drove by one of the cushier West Bay compounds, where each house boasts a minimum of five bedrooms and two kitchens.  

Me:  "Tita L., that's how the other half lives." 

Tita L.:  "Madame?" 

Me:  "Oh, I mean, those are really, really big, fancy houses.  You wouldn't want to have to clean one of them ... they all have at least nine bathrooms."

Tita L.:  "Oh, yes, Madame.  Maybe all these houses, they come with a fool too." 

Me:  "Eh?" 

Tita L.:  "I think they all have a fool.  Maybe if I work there I have to clean the fool too." 

Me:  "Aaaahhhh, yes, a pool.  You're right.  And maybe a few fools too." 

********** 

I was barely phased this morning when Tita L. said to me:   "Madame, da lady who hab tree-plezz?  Now he hab tweenz."  

Me:  "Eh?"

Tita L.:  "Da lady who hab tree?  Now he hab two more."

Me:  (focusing, thinking, concentrating ... Aha! I GOT it!)

TRANSLATION:  "Madame, you know that woman with the triplets?  She just had twins."

********

Yes, I'm definitely getting better at deciphering the intended message.  Compare to one of my first trips to a local shop, where I stood stumped and mortified when the Philippino cashier asked me:  "Would you like some phuckaging, Madame?"  

Me:  "Eh?" 

Cashier:  "Phuckaging, you like me to phuckage for you?" 

Me:  "Eh?" 

Blessed veteran expat eavesdropping behind me in line:  "He wants to know if you'd like it wrapped."   

("Phuckaging" = Packaging = Wrap) 

Me:  "Oh, no, that's ok, no phuckaging today thank you." 

********* 

There is one that continues to catch me unawares, however, and even though I've mentioned it in a previous post, I can't help but re-post:

Tita L. to Kiddo as we're scurrying to get ready for work/school:  "Did you brush your tit?" 

Me:  "Eh!?!"

Tita L.:  "He didn't brush her tit yet, Madame."

Me:  "Oh, teeeeeeth, did you brush your TEETH?"

Bless Tita L.  She probably has a blog with a huge following in the Philippines where her compatriots laugh hysterically at my constant look of bewilderment and incessant peppering of conversation with the very Canadian "Eh?". 

Good times.

A Few Pics of the ME from Me ...

I'm posting these pics of Doha after being inspired by two blogs I've recently discovered.

Both Dimwit and MB have captivated my reading senses, one spinning tales of insanity in Pittsburgh, the other relating a journey through Saudi and places travelled.  

While their experiences and writing styles may differ, what the two have in common is their ability to weave their pictures intrinsically into the tale being told.  

It's a skill I'm sadly lacking.  But I thought I'd post a few (extremely amateur) images of Qatar as seen through the lens of a "Doha insider" with "barely there" photography skills.   

And hopefully I'd pique my readers' (or should that be reader's - singular) interest in checking out these other two so very amazing blogs. 

Hope you'll enjoy!

Marina at sunset as seen from the Four Seasons Hotel in Doha. 

Traditional National dance performed by expat kids as part of International Day activities at school.

Girl Scout flag ceremony in Qatar.  2012 Camp Out on Sheik Faisal Museum grounds.

Inside the Qatar National Exhibition Center at night.

Abayas at night.

West Bay (downtown Doha - business/diplomatic core). 

Desert campsite and sand duning. 

Making sure no one runs out of water.  Bringing the water truck along for a camping trip is something we just don't think of doing in Canada ...

Doha Skyline at night as seen from the Museum of Islamic Arts.

Doha Dragonfly.

Some days the aircon just doesn't cut it ...

View of West Bay as seen from within.

As seen from another angle.  And a rare shot of clouds and blue in this desert sky.

Frequently Asked Questions About the ME ... Part 6

Disclaimer:  This post is likely rife with spelling errors and potential misinterpretations on my part as I try to convey my very limited grasp of Arabic.  For those of you who are far more well versed in the language than I, I beg your patience and assure you that improving my Arabic skills is back at the top of my 'to-do' lists.  

Q.  "So, how's your Arabic? "

A.   "Oh, my, do I really have to publicly admit that after almost 7 years in this country, my grasp of the local language is barely enough to get me a glass of water?"

Q.  "Is Arabic hard to learn?"

A.  "I would definitely say so.  Maybe it's just my age, or the lack of true social integration, but I'm finding this language extremely difficult to master.  I speak 3 languages fluently, and can be considered functional in a fourth, yet Arabic continues to elude me.  But if I really committed to it, I know I could learn enough to hold down a basic conversation.  I've seen a number of other expats do so, and I'm quite ashamed to say I haven't tried hard enough."

Anyone who knows me knows I'm all about to-do lists, goals and objectives.  I am "that girl" with the 5-year plan.  The one who plans out the family's weekly meals and writes out her grocery list accordingly.  I am "that girl" who came to Qatar with a very clear set of goals.  At the top of that list was learning Arabic. 

I am also "that girl" who does not hesitate to admit where she has failed (I do that a lot ... I'm pretty sure I've written about that before).  So give me a moment to hang my head in shame and mutter inaudibly "laa atakallam al-'arabiya" ("I don't speak Arabic").

While by no means an excuse, I quickly learned that you do not have to know Arabic to get by in Qatar.  English is widely spoken in shops, restaurants, and office environments.  Movies are shown in English, with Arabic subtitles.  News is broadcast in English on BBC and CNN.  Traffic signs and billboards are displayed in both English and Arabic.  Automated answering services ask you to press "1" for Arabic, "2" for English.  Because fraternization usually brings together diverse nationalities, conversation in public settings and social gatherings usually tends to veer towards English.

While I have tried over the years to perfect my very basic grasp of the language, the hodge-podge of Arabic dialects created by this country's melting pot of nationalities makes it difficult to settle on common phrases that will be universally understood.  I have found pronunciation to be the biggest challenge, and though I find I'm emulating my Michel Thomas Learn Arabic instructors without fault, I am often misunderstood or not understood at all when I actually try to fumble my way through an attempt at conversation.  

This is in large part due to the fact that Michel Thomas instructors refer to Egyptian Arabic, which calls upon a greater English influence, in contrast to the Arabic spoken in Qatar, which is largely influenced by Urdu given the large Pakistani, Nepali, Bangladeshi and Indian populations in this State.  The Urdu slant is totally foreign to me, and I struggle to recognize the sounds, let alone the words.  I do however find myself latching on to bits and pieces of Arabic conversation when the interlocutors are Syrian or Lebanese.  This is likely because of the French influence (or perhaps Arabic influence on French), meaning their conversation will be punctuated by words like "ascenseur" (French for lift), "toilette" (pronounced as per the French 'twalett') and "bantalon" (French for pants is 'pantalon').

******************** 

There are a few standard Arabic phrases that naturally make their way into English in this part of the world, and that will creep into every expat in the Gulf's vocabulary by force of habit (kind of like the Spanish "que sera, sera", or the French "je ne sais quoi" that intersperse North American English).

-"Insha'Allah" (God willing)

is at the top of every expat's list.  You will hear it every day, several dozen times a day.  In answer to a question, it can mean everything from "yes" to "maybe" to "I hope so" to "I don't know" to "I'm not really willing to commit to a firm answer ... it may never get done."  An example of its use in everyday conversation:

Me:  "Will my paperwork be processed today?" 

Clerk:  "Insha'Allah." 

Me:  "I really need it urgently.  Can you give me a time?" 

Clerk:  "Insha'Allah." 

Me:  "So I can pass by to pick it up at four?" 

Clerk:  "Insha'Allah." 

Me:  "I need these documents if I want to stay in this country." 

Clerk:  "Insha'Allah." 

Me:  "You understand I could face deportation if the processing is delayed?" 

Clerk:  "Insha'Allah." 

Me:  "??????" 

-"Mafi mushkila"  (No problem) 

is another common phrase.  It can be used in much the same way as Insha'Allah, and could easily replace the latter term in the conversation above.

-"Momken" (Possible) 

again, interchangeable with the clerk's responses above. 

-"As-Salaam Alaikum" (Peace be upon you) /

-"Wa-Alaikum Salaam" (And upon you be peace)

This is the standard greeting in the Middle East.  It is a formality that cannot be foregone, and I would argue that if an expat in this part of the world is to leave here mastering nothing else of Arabic, they should have this phrase down pat as a minimum.  In meetings and gatherings, the "Wa-Alaikum Salaam" response if often uttered in unison to the person entering the room who has initiated the greeting with "As-Salaam Alaikum".  I find the sing-song quality of it quite pleasant.  It's not that different than primary students chiming in to say "Good morning, Mrs. Smith" to the teacher who has just greeted them upon entering the classroom.

-"Marhaba" (Welcome/Hello)

Qatar actually has a quarterly publication called "Marhaba", a very useful guide about the country, the culture, do's and don'ts, where to eat, where to shop, what's going on around town, etc.  It is a great little guide that serves to welcome newly arrived expats and keep veteran expats informed on the country's going ons.  I walked around with a copy of that guide book in my handbag for months, and it really did help me feel welcome in this foreign land.  Thanks to that guide, "Marhaba" is a term that I will never forget.

-"Habibi" (Beloved/My Love)

I love this term of endearment.  I hear it all the time, but hesitate to use it for fear it would be misinterpreted as promiscuous or overly friendly.  Men commonly use it when addressing one another, and I think it is what influences so many of my Arabic colleagues with a propensity to refer to me as "My Dear".  (I may be wrong ...) 

******************** 

I've learned another few short phrases that have served me well over the last few years.  Here are the few that I'm comfortable saying out loud.  I'm not always immediately understood, but I try to put them to good use.

-"Ana Jaw'aana" (I'm hungry.) 

I committed this one to memory by associating it to a girl's name (Anna Joanna).  I try to use it sparingly, but I'm so pleased with my limited grasp of Arabic, and I'm often hungry, so it tends to slip out at least once a day. 

-"Momken Maya" (May I have some water?)

Always good to know this one when living and traveling in the desert. 

-"Shukran"

Thank you. 

-"Afwan"

You're welcome. 

-"Ismi"

I am/My name is.   (e.g. Ismi Gypsy)

-"Bukra"

Tomorrow

-"Shway shway"

Slowly

-"Yalla Yalla"

Quick, Quick (Hurry)

-"Sayyara"  

Car/taxi

-"Funduq"

Hotel

-"Laa"

No. 

-"Aiwa"

Yes. 

-"Helwa"

Lovely/Beautiful 

-"Souq"

Shop/Market

-"Kaif Halek?" 

How are you? 

-"Zain" 

Well/Fine

-"Ana Mabsouta"

I'm happy.

-"Mudir/Mudira"

Manager/Chief/Leader

********************* 

Then there are those terms that are very similar to English.  They're great words to start with, because you will likely be understood even if you say them in English.  And they're mostly food words, so you won't go hungry!

-"Bizza"

Pizza (the "p" is pronounced as a "b" in Arabic) 

-"Bebsi"

Pepsi

-"Macarona"

Pasta

-"Tomaten"

Tomatoes

-"Rice"

Roz

-"Sukkar"

Sugar

-"Albanq"

Bank

-"Salata"

Salad

-"Doctor" (pronounced Doctoor, with a trilled 'r')

Doctor

*********************** 

I know another handful of words and phrases that MIGHT help get me out of a bind, but nowhere near enough to hold down a conversation.  I blame myself and my hesitation to put myself out there with my poor accent for not having a better handle on Arabic.  Unfortunately, I've let my pride and my fear of being misunderstood limit my attempts at Arabic conversation.  Now that I'm at a new workplace, I've asked my Arabic colleagues to teach me one new word or phrase a day, and they've agreed.  I'm going to try to steal the remote from Smilin' Vic and Kiddo for at least an hour a week to watch a program in Arabic.  I'm going to get back to listening to my Michel Thomas cd's.  And hopefully one day in the future I'll be able to update this post with a little more pride in my achievements.

Flames Can Engulf, But They Cannot Extinguish

Last week I spoke to a Doha mom who lost all her material possessions in a house fire about two years ago.   

Tears welled up in her eyes and mine at the thought of losing those few belongings so precious to an expat that they've been packed and re-packed and carted halfway across the world, sometimes dozens of times. 

As one might correctly assume, the loss of photos was the worst.  Thankful as she might be that no one was harmed in the fire, she couldn't help but be devastated at those lost wedding photos, the first baby picture, the framed image of a long-gone grandparent, the stills of world travel that covered the walls, the videos of her kids' first words, first steps.

She knew she could have lost so much more.  She counted herself lucky that she and her family were far from the house when the flames took possession of all their worldly goods.  She knew it could have been so much worse, she knew.  But that didn't erase the void left behind by those mementos that had been preciously collected over the years.  

She was so grateful to family and friends who had joined together to amass a scattered collection of images for her.  Armed with her memories and this hodge-podge of photos, she was able to start rebuilding her family's private gallery in an effort to make her new house feel like a home.

But her pervading sense of loss was still palpable when she spoke to me that day.  A house fire is devastating to anyone, it is a cruel and merciless reminder of how quickly we can lose what we have earned, of how lucky we are to not have lost more, and of how powerless we are in the big scheme of things.

For an expat, it brings an added dimension:  that of being robbed of however slight a physical connection you may have to your past, to your home country, to your loved ones, to reality.   I'm not insinuating that it is harder for an expat than for anyone else; I'm simply recognizing that no matter how un-materialistic we may consider ourselves, many of us expats are intrinsically tied to our roots through those few belongings that we felt worthy to take along on our trek across the globe.

Sometimes it's nothing more than images on a computer.  It might be an old sweater.  Maybe some Christmas decorations, or baby's first shoes.  A locket of hair.  A wedding band.  Your child's first stick-man drawing.  Your diary.  An old rocking chair.   

Those few things that make your house your home, that make it unique, can be gone in the flash of an instant. 

When we moved to Doha a few years ago, we brought very few material possessions with us.  Pictures, Christmas decorations, favorite teddy bears.  A few years ago, we shipped over the few remaining things that had any value to us (a single crate of furniture that was costing more in storage in Canada over the years than the shipment fees). 

After speaking to this lady, I had a long thought about what things we have that actually make up our home.  The piano?  Nope.  The bar?  Nope*.  The l-shaped sofa set?  Nope.

The only piece of furniture in our home that I would be devastated to lose would be the hutch handcrafted by my father that now sits in our kitchen.  Initially constructed as a change table for Kiddo, we have long since lost the "table" piece, and the cabinet drawers that used to hold onesies now store cutlery.  LeCreuset pots and tins of Tim Horton's coffee (now refilled with some Arabic cardamom brew) today sit on the shelves formerly stocked with diapers, zinc ointment, baby powder and receiving blankets.  The latter are now only memories, but very vivid, poignant memories made sharper by the simple daily reminder that is that rather crude yet perfect piece of furniture.

The hutch my dad's hands made. 

Such perfection in crude carpentry. 

So much love and so many memories etched in that simple wood and glue. 

I can't look at that basic piece of furniture without thinking of my dad working lovingly on it in his garage, cutting, sanding, staining.  I can't help but imagine him working tirelessly throughout the day at something he loved so, at something that would feed his brain before his brain started feeding off him.  I can't help but see the strong steady hands that would not stop until the day was done.  I picture his best friend dropping by to check on him, make sure he was ok, and admire his handiwork.  I picture them having a beer in that garage and talking about the rain coming down in sheets; a welcome relief from the scorching heat of that summer.  I feel his pride and his sense of fulfillment at the end of each day, as he went to bed knowing that he was building something beautiful, knowing that he was creating a memory, knowing that he had accomplished what he had set out to do for the day.

Every time I look at that basic piece of furniture, I am whisked back to a time when he still so loved his hobby, to a time before Alzheimer's took it away.  I remember that summer when Kiddo was born, and how he drove 16 hours to deliver his handiwork to us himself.  I remember when he first held Kiddo, how he said she was the only baby he'd ever seen who was prettier than I was as a baby.  I remember how it was love at first sight for the two of them.  I remember how she fell solidly asleep in his big strong arms.

I know it's material, but I'm quite certain I'd be devastated by the loss of that hutch.   The hutch, our photos, our Christmas decorations, Kiddo's first handwritten card to me. I'd be devastated.

But, like the Doha mom, as long as the flames took nothing more than things, we would dust ourselves off, regroup and rebuild.  We would nourish ourselves with our memories and gradually find other odds and ends to make our house our home.  Every once in a while, we'd look back longingly, but we'd be ok.  

So many things that make a home, but only one that really matters:

LOVE

P.S.  On a lighter note, I've included a few pics of silly and not-so-silly mementos that make our house feel like home.

P.P.S.  After inserting all these pics, I realized that we spend way too much time at the bar*! 

A gift from a Keralite colleague.  Memories of a lovely young woman.  I doubt she ever imagined the elephant's head serving as a bottle opener holder, but there it sits behind our bar.  We think the elephant head is great!

Mauritius Man and Bobble Babe.  Perhaps our tackiest yet best conversation pieces ever.

The latter was a gift from a friend from Mumbai; you tap on her skirt and her hips, torso and head bobble.  If you've lived in the Middle East, the bobble head movement is somewhat of an enigma, and alway a good conversation starter.

Mauritius man was a gift from our Ukranian/Dutch friends.  He just has people wondering whether he is holding a rifle or a super huge doob.  The jury's still out on that one.

Mauritius Man and Bobble Babe also hang out behind the bar. 

More bar dwellers.

Mr. and Mrs. Q. also hang out at the bar.  They are incense burners, given to me as a going away gift when I resigned from my last job.  They're easily found in the local souq, but these ones are special as they were given to me by some simply amazing Qatari colleagues.  

This elephant derrière hails from Phuket, Thailand. 

It is my favorite quirky souvenir EVER. 

After some time at the bar, the sight of this bottom will be a sure sign you've arrived at your w/c destination. 

The wine glasses and a framed picture of the lake we lived on in Canada, given to us by some great friends (the wine glasses are one of very few wedding gifts we received - we didn't announce our wedding 'til all was said and done, and didn't want gifts, but it's still nice to have something tangible to remember the day by). 

The bottle opener below was given to us by some good British friends who have since left Qatar ... 

And then, of course, there's bar cat (she's not a 'thing', but I couldn't put up pictures of all our other tacky/cool bar stuff and not include her.  She definitely makes our house a home.  And she hangs out at the bar!