Living Ruins and a Dead Body

It was Christmas Eve and the plan was to visit the ruins of an ancient kingdom some thousands of years old. Although I welcomed the idea of exploring the "Eternal Sacred City", I did not imagine it would do much to remind me of the season.
Old ruins are just that, dead and gone. They speak of a people who lived long ago, and are so foreign to us today that we scarcely spend the time learning about them. Little is known of this civilization other that they were very religious, and ruled by kings who built huge monasteries.
Our driver dropped us off at the museum first and told us that we should see it first as we would

not be returning this way.  (Yes, the ruins are so extensive that we needed a driver to ferry us from place to place.) I walked around the museum halfheartedly, not paying much attention to the old photos of excavations and bits of pottery. But as I passed a large window something outside caught my eye.
Above the museum there is a damn and the sluice was open to flood the rice fields below. This created a rushing channel of water that ran down beside the museum. Along this some people were running, shouting, and pointing to the fast flowing water. I saw a policeman in full uniform dive in, followed by two other young men. They thrashed about in the water, trying to stay afloat. More people gathered on the banks. The swimmers got out and continued to search for something or someone in the water. Then there was a yell and a splash as another man dove in. From beneath the water he dragged a purple shirt and the body of a young man. Others quickly helped him ashore where the lifeless body was laid and the process of resuscitation began. I watched, horrified, as the body remained motionless and was finally taken away in a tuk-tuk. The man had lost his life before my very eyes. I had an even harder time concentrating on any museum exhibit after that.  Not even the snake charmer, with his cobra in a basket, could turn my head.

As we walked the ruins I noticed that they were not dead.  Cows grazed between the crumbling walls. Monkeys dropped from the trees and slouched on the temple walls. More and more monkeys appeared.  Some posed, others approached us looking for food. They cavorted, leaped and played in large groups. A monitor lizard slunk through the grass and horn-bills flew overhead.
Moss covered the stones and tree roots had taken over, supporting the falling bricks.
The old water tanks held water, and supported life. Herons, egrets and water lilies flourished. Vendors sold coconuts and corn-on-the-cob. Everywhere pilgrims started to show up carrying their offerings. Most had pink or white lotus flowers, but I saw blossoms of every color being laid before the shrines and Buddhas. Life was ever present and flourishing.
I had come to remember, or learn about, the past, but I had been distracted by the living.  At Christmas we must let ourselves be distracted by the present because Christ came to give us all life and life more abundantly.

On the way back to our hotel we stopped by the side of the road to watch two wild elephants who had come to graze by the lake side. It was a perfect ending to the day. Our driver commented that there was no need for us to do a safari, we had seen so many animals already.  Yes, we had experienced an abundance of life.  Let us all hope that this is the theme of the new year of 2017!  MAY YOU HAVE LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY!

Fish Tales by Mr J.K. Bernard

I woke up in Sri Lanka, on the coast, just north of the airport and capital city of Colombo.  I knew this from my reservation, but not from any personal experience. I headed outside to explore and walked past a cricket pitch toward the open sea.  A policeman politely stopped me and asked me where I was going. I didn't know how to answer so I asked if I could just walk around. He pointed out the fish market.
Before arriving at the market I stopped to watch the women working on the beach. They were doubled over, placing hundreds of fish in neat rows to dry in the sun.  I felt a bit self conscious taking their picture, but they were unaware I was even there.

This is where I met Joe Kim Bernard. He told me he worked the terrible job of salting and drying fish everyday, and he was tired of it. I thought his English was excellent, but he assured me he needed to improve it so he could get a better job in a hotel. He offered to show us the business, and took us around the workers on the beach. We watched the fishermen unloading their catch from their nets. They hauled the biggest fish away to the market, while the women beat the smaller fish out of the nets. Bernard knew all the names of the fish and pointed out sardines, anchovies, calamari, and tuna. Some were soaked in brine solution, others were descaled by hand, and all were gutted right there on the beach.

Despite his charm I began to realize that Bernard wanted more than just to practice his English. He was very particular about the daily salary being a mere $5, and how the tsunami had devastated this area. My sons were lucky, he said, they had more opportunities.  He was trying to educate his four children in private schools and didn't even have money to give them a Christmas present. The people of this area are mostly Christians and would be celebrating with a large family party.
I knew I had to give him something... it was Christmas after all. I had no idea whether any of his story was true, but still I felt compelled to return to my hotel and get him some money.  He insisted he didn't want rupees, but he would accept Kuwaiti Dinar.

I could see he was disappointed with the amount I gave him, even though it was more than he claimed he made all day.
Bernard was working his charm.  He knew he could make more with charm, than with hard work.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Who doesn't like to be charmed?
The other vendors who sat stone-faced over their fish or fruit displays didn't get my business. I was looking for a friendly, welcoming face.
Since then we continue to meet up with Sri Lankans who have figured out that a little charm can go a long way to bettering your position in life. Our driver caters to our every need: stops for us to take pictures and buys us local fruit.  The snake charmer makes us jump and smile with his cobra

in a basket.  The nearby hotel and restaurant put on a special meal Christmas Eve with a magician to charm us.
Even Jon, who is known to not be easily parted with his money, gave something to the man with the great monitor lizards by the side of the road. He also tipped the magician!

Christmas Travel

Many of us are traveling for the holidays. Some are going home and others are going away.  We are traveling in the opposite direction from home, for a break that might be considered "skipping Christmas".  I know there is some appeal to the avoidance of shopping, baking and decorating.  We just needed a rest.

This is not the first time Jon and I have taken advantage of the school holidays to get away. During our first Christmas break after getting married we traveled around Argentina and Chile. In those days we just went, with not much of a plan and no reservations. After a long, dusty train ride across the pampas, we arrived on Christmas Day in a picturesque resort town in the Andes mountains.  All the nice hotels were booked up and we had nowhere to stay. Someone finally directed us to a camp site outside of town.  Fortunately we did have a tent and sleeping bags with us, so that is where we headed. It was a cold night on the hard ground. I'm not sure what we did for food, but I am certain there was no restaurant serving hot food nearby.

The next December we took advantage of being in Southern Europe and decided to spend Christmas touring Egypt. I was pregnant, expecting my first son. Probably not the best time to travel to a country where everyone chain smokes and locally cooked food is suspect. I spent most of my time feeling sick.  There were times when I had to sit out and let the tour go on without me.
The only evidence of the season were a few strands of tinsel hung in the greasy window of a KFC.  The taxi drivers and vendors were quite aggressive.  All, in all, apart from being a fascinating part of the world, it was not the most welcoming.

Since then, Jon and I have spent every other Christmas with family, making and keeping our own traditions. But those traditions have less to do with the real Christmas story than our first travels. The real story has a young mother traveling away from home, cold and uncomfortable. There was no room in the inn, and she had to stay out in the cold.  She couldn't return home either, but had to go live in another land where all was strange, with no one around to welcome and support the new family.

It seems that Christmas follows us wherever we are.
Wherever you find yourself this Christmas season, whether near or far, you can be sure that the season has not passed you by.
                      Emanuel: God with us.

You know you've been overseas too long when...

When an unexpected four day weekend was announced, my colleagues immediately booked flights and hotels. Since their recent move into teaching overseas they are following their dream, and traveling the world.  So why am I at home, watching the sun go down over the desert from my 12th floor apartment? Why am I not posting from Abu Dhabi, Muscat, or Amman? I considered my options: the price of the flights, the time spent in airport security, the disappointing cheap hotel, and decided not to travel just for the sake of travel. On a teacher's salary and two sons in college, I must do things cheaply, which means, simply, doing things simply.
I have given up sending Christmas cards. I haven't been able to keep up with address changes and unreliable post services over the years.  I follow friends on Facebook and so I know exactly where they are for the holidays down to the time their flight takes off.  Family will have to wait till I see them in the summer months. I have also given up decorating for the holidays. We now travel during our time off school and spend Christmas in someone else's home. I wonder if guesthouses in Sri Lanka decorate a tree in December?

Not that my house lacks for decorative items.  I have altogether too much stuff.  It is like I am a tramp, traveling the world, and trying to take all my meaningful trinkets with me, if not in a shopping cart, then in cardboard boxes.  A table by the door displays a Brazilian wooden bowl that was a wedding present, a clay fish coaster made for me by a dear friend on the remote island of Kwajalein, and an opera ticket from Sofia, Bulgaria. I like to see them when I enter.  They remind me of who I am, where I've been and how I got here. How can I part with the art and keepsakes that now hang on my walls and clutter my shelves?
I find myself in limbo; in a place where I both appreciate my opportunity to travel, and my cultural roots which started me off on this life overseas.

        I went to the mall today, in part curious as to how the Muslim country of Kuwait handles a Christian holiday. But I also wanted to find some ingredients to bake traditional treats like mincemeat pies and gingerbread.  I think Kuwait finds itself in the same state of limbo, between wanting to embrace all that is beautiful of a foreign holiday without giving up its culture and religion.
The result is that the mall doesn't decorate for Christmas but the stores do.  Everyone shops, I found mincemeat, and no one questions the meaning the bed-sheets covered in Grinch motifs.

While out walking the mall, a friend in Brasilia posted this picture.  It instantly brought back my earliest memories of Christmas with my family.  I remember the lights, the organ music in the church, my parents singing in the choir and fruit cake. I remember going out to play soccer Christmas morning and playing party games into the evening, and lots of food that was not only hard to find in Brasilia, and in fact many of the ingredients had to be sent over from England, but was a labor of love designed to bring together our time overseas with our cultural roots in perfect, and delicious, harmony.  PEACE BE WITH YOU, WHEREVER YOU ARE THIS CHRISTMAS!

Hope Rains!

"I lift my eyes to the mountains - whence my hope comes."
Advent is a season of expectation...of hope.  But there are no mountains here in Kuwait. I have no problem with the other three themes of advent, love, joy and peace. We celebrate, reunite and the twinkle lights add a rosy glow to all that is right with the world.
But what should I hope for? Mountains? Better days? If I fall into that way of thinking; looking back at what I hoped for at this time last year, and how the reality of 2016 might have been less than what I had hoped for;  I begin to feel disappointed. I see only the walls of my classroom, the traffic on my commute to school and the images on my screen.  Nothing really changes.

It rained here in Kuwait. Yes, this is a desert, and it doesn't rain much in the desert.  It not only rained, but stormed with thunder and lightening. The traffic slowed to a crawl, and children shouted excitedly as if it was their first downpour. As I was contemplating the unexpected change in weather, a colleague came by to tell me that a two day holiday for Mohammad's Birthday had been declared, giving us an unexpected four day weekend. Things happen like that here. Just when you think the landscape, the weather, the daily grind will never change, that you are stuck in an infinite loop, things change. I was reminded that change is not only possible, but inevitable.

 Children understand hope.  They hope for something with a certainty that it will happen. They actively seek out that which they hope for. Why don't I do the same? I look forward to what I know is coming, if not yet.. then later.
I hope for a change in the weather, for warmer days, or cooler ones.  Spring will eventually be here.
I hope that when I come home each evening knowing that I did my best, I can rest in peace.
I hope that I will see my family again and spend time with them, being able to share in their joys and disappointments.
I hope for an opportunity to travel to far away places that I never dreamed of going before, to develop a sense of wonder and an appreciation for beauty in this world.
I hope that this time next year I will be able to look back and see things differently.

 I hope to find beauty, love, joy and peace wherever I am: here, home or far away.  Enjoy the season and look forward with hope!

Thanksgiving Over Time

It isn't my best Thanksgiving. Since last year I have less money, I'm further from my loved ones, have fewer options, more gray hair and wrinkles, and less faith in political systems. It is easy to say I don't feel very thankful.
Sheila died last week and her memorial service is this weekend. I feel an inexplicable urge to go to that service and share with someone how much I appreciated Sheila in life. She was a family friend since I was little, worked with a remote tribe in Brazil and opened her house in Cuiaba to us whenever we went that way. With no children of her own, she 'adopted' some of us and watched out for us through visits and phone calls. Over the years she never lost track of where I was or what I was doing. She let me know she was thinking of me and I am thankful for her caring friendship.

This got me thinking outside of my present day experiences back to the places I have come from, to who I am thankful for because of how they have shaped my life. It is like zooming out on a map to see the bigger picture instead of the limited view of one tiny pinpoint.
I realize how thankful I am for the opportunity to travel in Europe over the last two years with friends and family. I dined with my brothers, traveled with my mother and drove to Italy with two retired friends.  I am thankful for all of them and the time they shared with me. Time with family is precious these days.

I am thankful for Minnesota, my adopted home, and the people who are always there for me and my family.  They have seen us come and go, stored our boxes, solved our emergencies and payed our bills. Every time we go back, they welcome us into their lives and make us feel a part of the family.  I know I always have somewhere to go back to.
I may never make it back to Kwajalein, but I am truly thankful for the 8 years spent on that island. It was a time of healing for me and my family. I had just come through a hectic ten years giving birth and running after three small boys. I was worn down and feeling isolated and worthless. The island community took us in, built us up,

and taught us that true happiness is sharing a beautiful place with beautiful people. We felt appreciated and, on leaving, knew we would be missed as much as we missed those we left behind.
While I am going back in time, I might as well share my thanksgiving for the people who turned out to be some of our best friends while we were in Rio. These wonderful people invited us over even though we came with three loud boys. They sailed with us through rough seas and engine trouble. They cooked for us and saved our middle child from falling overboard. They made

our Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Year's holidays more memorable by joining the party.
When our time there was up, and we moved on, it was sad, but that only strengthens my feeling of appreciation and thanksgiving for the people we shared the experiences with. I  will always have those times to look back on and feel thankful.
I cannot say in what ways I will look back on my present situation.  I do know that I am looking forward to an invitation to a Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and ham.... yes, ham! The fact that I was invited to share the meal with new friends is more likely to make it into my memoirs than the ham we eat together.

Fly Dubai: Like Never Before

I am no stranger to traveling, or to using budget airlines. I have stood for hours in caged waiting rooms to be herded like cattle on to a bare-bones flight knowing that I will see a loved one at the end. I can put up with quite a bit of discomfort in the name of travel.  And this time I was even more unwilling to spend money on a trip we were forced to make in order for Ben to renew his visa.
We settled on Fly Dubai, known for its low cost and frequent flights. As expected, the flights leave at inconvenient times to little used airports, but we figured it would do for a short 48 hour trip out of the country. The very name of the airline is puzzling, suggesting that Dubai is a country, and it is not. It is similar to having a Miami Airlines, or Fly Houston... puzzling.
We received an email asking us to check in online and print our boarding passes, "in order to speed up the process at the airport". I should have seen what was to come when I tried to print these boarding passes at our local electronic shop. The shopkeeper acted as if he had never done this before and had to call for help.

 This morning brought in some heavy fog.  Arriving at the airport we joined the passengers of four other flights to go through security and customs. The customs officials stamped us out of the country, then asked for our boarding passes. When we produced our print-outs they looked puzzled, as if they had never seen one before. They called over a few more officials and claimed that these were not boarding passes. We had to return to the check-in and get boarding passes... but we had already been stamped out of the country. We waited while they figured this dilemma out. Someone would have to go back to check -in for us.

 Most of the signs were in Arabic, although we could recognize the symbols of the coffee cup and the mosque. We finally found one monitor with flight information in a corner and learned that our flight was delayed one and half hours, we assumed because of bad weather. No other information. So we followed the coffee cup sign and settled down to wait.  I was reminded of my time traveling between Rio and London and how the Brazilian Airline would deal with delays. They never came out and said how long the delay would be, "just another few minutes," would be the announcement. This could go on for hours, and finally the pilot himself would come out and commiserate with us and let us know how sorry he was.
Fly Dubai gave us no announcements.  Travelers started to group and complain. When an attendant happened to pass through the waiting room he was immediately accosted and answers were demanded. One man found his flight had actually left, and another woman found out that her flight wouldn't be leaving for anther two hours. Things got ugly and more crew had to be called in.  I followed the coffee cup once again.

Glancing up at the monitor I saw that our flight, along with two others, were now described as BOARDING, but no gate number was given. I grabbed Jon and Ben and we hurried toward where we thought the gate might possibly be. Other passengers were also congregating, crowding the glass doors that looked out onto the runway, and a possible plane.  A set of doors opened and the crowd surged forward.  The monitors were now flashing LAST CALL and still no gate information was available.
The next two events were completely new to me in terms of air-travel.  First, since no one knew where they were supposed to be boarding, the flight crew was having to turn people away at the gate, telling them that they were not on this particular flight. This led to more confusion, and bad feeling. When it was our turn to board, we were told that we were on this flight, but our boarding passes had not been stamped by customs, and we would need to go back to customs in order to get them stamped. What?? I panicked for a minute, then realized that customs was not that far away, and this was doable. I fought my way back through the on coming passengers only to arrive at customs without Ben. This is not the first time we have lost Ben in the rush to catch a flight. Lets just say he identifies with the boy in the "Home Alone" movies. So now we rush back to find Ben in the crowd.

Needless to say, we made it on to the flight and found the Fly Dubai plane to be clean and comfortable.  As we settled into our seats, Ben looked at his choices on the screen in the seat back before him.  I heard him sigh.  The start-up screen gave him two options:
Over 16   or    Under 16
As he is 16, he didn't know how to respond. I told him that is how I felt about our experience with the unhelpful, and often frustrating, communication from the airline.
I have higher expectations for the city. We will find out tomorrow. I am already impressed with their duty free selection and public transport.

Baqala Buys

If you shop in my neighborhood, you shop at a local baqala. These small grocery stores look much the same on the outside, and are crammed full of an amazing assortment of imported items from around the world.  Although you can find American candy, the places don't really cater to westerners.  And until now I had been taking a taxi to the nearest mega-mall/shopping center to buy my groceries at a proper supermarket.  I came home with brands I recognized, and trusted, and avoided having to walk around my neighborhood.
Around here you will find the HIGH QUALITY SALOON FOR MEN, and the HIGH QUALITY LAUNDRY (also for men), but my neighborhood is anything but "high quality".  Walking out of my place I dodge traffic and the worst piles of garbage. I can't avoid the smells or the dust and dirt.  When going to our nearby take-out restaurants for a chicken or curry, I always feel as if I have walked into a private meeting to which I was not invited. While waiting for my order, the Indian owner offered to deliver my food to my apartment, just to get me out of his restaurant.
However, it seems silly to continue taking a taxi to an overpriced hypermarket if I can get something

locally. So I ventured out in search of orange juice and peanuts. My path was blocked by, among other things, a water truck delivering water to our nearest baqala. A group of children were waiting for a chance to play in the water that spilled out of the hose pipe.  This was their evening entertainment and had come prepared to have a bit of fun.  I watched them for a while before edging myself into the extremely narrow aisles of the store. If there are more than three customers at one time, we all have to synchronize our movements to be able to get around. I found no orange juice, so I knew I would have to go further a field.

I next tried my luck at the baqala calling itself a supermarket and advertised "VEGITIBALS".  Since the Arabic word "baqala" literally means "what comes out of the ground," I was not surprised to find sacks of seeds and beans. I had hoped to find the juice section quickly and make my purchases but I became totally engrossed in the products I found on the shelves, and the randomness of their display.  The sugar was by the flipflops, and the pasta sauce beside the screw drivers. Pumpkins were wherever they could be, and the shisha tobacco was in the refrigerated section with the milk.  What more could I find here? It became a quest. Did they have tapioca flour? Did they have peanuts or another favorite snack? What was the weirdest thing I could find?
I did finally find some 'mixed orange' juice, and some 'garlic peanuts'. The owner politely rang up my bill and asked me where I was from.  He then explained that his place was small but he had much, and could he help me find anything. He must of been watching me poke around his shop, wondering

what in the world I could possibly be looking for, and why I was taking pictures of his shisha tobacco.  (It was an interesting package!) I told him not too worry, I was just curious as to what he had.  He said he had so much more than I would be able to find by myself, I just had to ask.
He was right. I have to ask for help to be able to make the most of this neighborhood. Just as those children had been right when they decided to go out and have some fun.
On the way home I saw two colleagues who know more of Kuwait than I do. I stopped to talk for a while and knew that if they asked me if I needed anything, I would let them know. Yes, I need so much, much more than I will be able to find by myself.

Oh, To Feel Normal Again!

We are working in Kuwait, surviving, but not having much fun yet.  The surviving takes too much time and energy.  We have been trying for weeks to furnish our empty apartment with inexpensive furniture. We desperately need some storage so we headed out early to the Friday Market.  This is a large area of vendors and you can find just about anything there.  I've been told that the prices are good if you are willing to haggle.
As we walk around I find myself feeling exactly like a fish out of water: no energy, hot, gasping for breath and having the panicky feeling that I am lost.  I don't belong here.  I have no interest in the shrink-wrapped furniture and TV sets.  No one is looking particularly helpful, a man is following us around like a tail, and we have no way of getting these items home except by taxi.  Jon senses my disinterest and suggests McDonald's.  This is his way of giving me something familiar, air conditioned and a chance to catch my breath. I just want to go to IKEA, be done with shopping and go home.
IKEA isn't much better.  It is another mall with high prices, little service and lots of people. I contemplate taking a nap on one of the show room beds while Jon makes up his mind of which set of shelves to buy.  My job is to bring Jon back down to earth with the question, "but will it fit in the taxi?"  And then we got our first break... after calling our local taxi driver called Abdul, we found out that he has a jeep and could transport us and our furniture boxes back home for no extra cost! We were thankful.

My normal reaction to days like this is to find something that makes me feel normal again. Usually it involves cooking a favorite dish, or enjoying my favorite drink.  It reminds me of better times and by its sheer familiarity I can feel normal again.
Today I had no time to cook, I had booked a hair appointment at a salon nearby.  This meant that I had a 15 minute walk through sandy streets, avoiding both the heaps of trash and the gaping holes of the constructions sites. I passed a cricket match and an Indian couple in the middle of a fight. Sweating, and with sand in my sandals, I skirted the bulldozers and the mosque which was just announcing 3 pm prayers. I don't belong here.  I am a stranger in a foreign land and I don't feel normal.

And then I stepped into ECLIPSE beauty salon and met Bella. "Welcome, maDAM!" She literally ran to greet me, sat me down and said enthusiastically, "How can I help you, maDAM?" and she meant it.
Bella is Filipino and I am truly thankful for the 240,000 Filipinos who work here in Kuwait. They make my life easier and brighter. Always happy, they do everything they can to be of service.
Bella sat me down, put my feet up, started the massage chair, and washed my hair with minty shampoo. I started to feel normal again.
She continued to pamper me over the next hour and she will never know how much I needed that pampering. I let her take care of me and started to reconsider that $3000 Hilton Spa membership.
Back home Jon suggested we go home to the states for Christmas.  I know how he feels, he wants to feel normal again, by sharing familiar things with those who make us happy... relax and feel taken care of.
Here in Kuwait we just haven't yet found those activities that bring us joy, and relax us in the way the old and familiar ones did back home. We haven't yet found the people who remind us of who we are and where we come from. That will take time.... and a gathering like yesterday's Canadian Thanksgiving celebration seems odd to us, but I know exactly why all those Canadians make a big deal out of it. We all need a bit of home with us where ever we go.

"Welcome to Kuwait!"

"Welcome to Kuwait" is a phrase I keep hearing from other expats. It is equivalent to me saying, "Welcome to the world of rational numbers!" to my Middle school math students. It is more of a warning that the most bizarre and incomprehensible is still to come.  When I make a comment about some aspect of Kuwaiti life that seems unreasonable, the response is always, "Welcome to Kuwait!"
Since we arrived we have been working on trying to understand how our phone plans work.  This involves a trip to the main shopping mall to track down a representative at the phone store. We choose a plan, pay and leave.  A week later we get a message..."Activate your phone". ???
So we go back to the mall and to find out what we need to do to be able to use the phones we were under the impression we had paid for.  The representative looks at us like we are old and senile, "Put money on it!" he says.  We question the need to put more money on an account that was only just opened and activated. "Just put money on it!" We have no other choice than to use the cash machine to put more money on the

account and our phones work.  A few days later our data is cut off. We receive another message telling us we need to choose another internet plan. As we trek back yet again to the phone store in the mall I start to appreciate the wisdom of the unlimited plan. This time we are told, "Use the machine to recharge your phone."  Didn't we just do that???? Again the representative does not understand our reluctance to simply pay the suggested amount and walks us over to the machine and guides us through the payment options. We accept defeat and pay the money.  As we walked away we received yet another message warning us that we didn't have enough credit for our data plan.  This time I took a seat while Jon sought the help of another representative.  "Just pay more money, sir."
I accepted a drink served to me from a silver coffee pot. The unusual karak tea temporarily distracted me from the fact that we still had no idea how our phone plan worked and why we kept having to add more money.  When I asked my colleagues they simply smiled and said, "Welcome to Kuwait!"

We had the same reaction when we told people of the difficulty we were having getting our shipped items cleared through customs.  Most people were amazed we had even attempted a shipment to Kuwait.  Our main frustration was that our shipping company seemed to have no influence when it came to obtaining the correct documents, dealing with customs officials, or generally gaining audience with the right person who could make things happen.  The shipping company, of course, did not employ local Kuwaitis. So, over the course of a month, we became accustomed to receiving text messages in broken English late at night with a request for an unheard-of document, large sum of money or an appearance at some mystery location early the next morning. Well, what did we expect, people pointed out... "Welcome to Kuwait!"  Just as we were giving up all hope of ever seeing the inside of our boxes, and had all but forgotten the contents, one early morning visit to the port resulted in a container-load of our belongings being delivered to our door. And I have spent the day unpacking all those unnecessary items like corkscrews, umbrellas and other promising white elephant gifts.

So the phrase "Welcome to Kuwait!" is more in tune with "You're not in Kansas any more!" If you move to the Middle East, then you can't expect everything to work like it did in the west. I am having to adjust my reaction to these differences and expect something completely unexpected.
"Welcome to what will be!"

Tang, Tea and Tradition

It never fails... I go somewhere new with my own mundane expectations, and find so much more. I went with a group to the Al-Mubarakiya Souk in the center of Kuwait City anticipating an afternoon of experiencing a market place like many others around the world. I wanted to feast my eyes on the colors of the local artisans, poke around in shops full of culture, and eat some local delicacies in a vibrant setting.
If I had read the travel guides beforehand, I would have found that I was going at the wrong time. Three in the afternoon during the summer is simply too hot. Many of the shops were closed and not even the cats were stirring.
The market covers a large area, so we did our best to visit it all. Most shops had cheap clothes, but nothing I would wear. There were brightly colored blankets, (in this heat??) but no sign of the carpets we were hoping for.  The fruit and vegetables were stacked in a beautiful array, but the smell of the fish market next door was off-putting. We wandered around the meat market and saw lots of offensive sheep parts, but most were unmanned, as if their owners had taken the day off.

We walked past a small counter behind which a man was brewing a large kettle over a wood fire. I found I was too hot for coffee, but I was able to buy water.  Only then did I realize that all the coffee drinkers were men. No women sat on the pillowed benches of the coffee houses. And the businesses were run by all men.
We went in search of cool drink in the food area where  families were eating. Others had already ordered food and we sat down to a plastic covered table strewn with small plastic plates. There was fresh, hot pita bread, hummus, tabbouleh and cucumber yogurt. Nothing too out of the ordinary.  Then I realized there were no forks, knives, plates or napkins.  I was brought up in a culture that does not touch its food and will even eat a sandwich with a knife and fork.
So I nibbled on the bread dipped in hummus and tried not to think of the mess I was making.

When it was time to leave I found I was not ready.  I suddenly realized that I was not seeing all there was to see in this market, dwelling instead on how it wasn't up to what I wanted it to be.
Curious as to how the delicious bread was made, I walked round the back side of the kitchens and found an open door. The bakers must have been taking a break from shaping and slapping the flat bread to the inside of the oven. Instead they were busy grilling the kebabs and kafta. Not something I'd like to be involved with on such a hot afternoon.
Going further we seemed to find places we hadn't been to, or maybe they just looked different now the shops were opening for business. I found all the shops with piles of spices in bins, the shelves loaded with boxes of tea, and every other available space was taken up with towers of TANG. Why the space-age orange powder? It turns out it is a tradition, as almost everything is in this place. The shops sell the same things they have been selling for decades.  It is the oldest market in the city, and the crudest. No efforts have been made

to modernize it.  Hence the terrible smells that follow you around, and not only near the fish.  The water taps don't work, and even the cats look worn down.  This is the opposite of the modern malls that have taken over the rest of the city. Instead of ATM machines they have a whole street of money changers. These men sit at a glass counter above a case of piles of paper notes. I've heard they run a good business because they offer competitive rates.
Encouraged by the new business activity, we went in search of some carpets. Although most were opening up about 5:00 pm, we noticed that there were piles of carpets lying about in corners and alcoves with no one caring if they were carried off. Carpet theft must be unheard of here.
Mohammed welcomed us into his Persian carpet shop called "The Three Brothers". He gave us a short lesson in carpet quality, thread-count, and labor time. Thankfully he was happy to instruct and did not try to sell us anything.

As we hurried to get our ride home we realized that we hadn't bought anything. We felt like we should have come away with something!  But there wasn't anything we really needed other than some exposure to tradition and some instruction into what makes tradition so valuable.

What You Won't See in Mahboula

When describing my neighborhood, it is more effective to discuss what you won't see here. Mahboula is a 'suburb' of Kuwait City which has become a housing complex for immigrant workers. I use the term 'suburb' loosely because it conjures up images of quiet residential streets outside of the hustle and bustle of the city's business center.
Mahboula is not that. This brings us to the first noticeable absence: Kuwaitis.  The residents are a melting pot of workers from the Indian subcontinent and East Asia, with some westerners thrown in.

The nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurants advertise "Arabic, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Filipino and Chinese Food." There are many from other countries in the Middle East who speak Arabic, but mostly they get by with English. If I was more knowledgeable about these cultures, I would be able to tell them apart by their dress. Their traditional clothing is strikingly different... from each other and from the local Kuwaitis.
You will not see grass in this neighborhood.  Of course this is the desert and nothing was here before the buildings sprung up in the last ten years. But no one has bothered to plant grass or do any sort of landscaping. The cricket players and footballers play on the open sand lots.

The building entrances are right on the dusty road giving them an unfinished look, like their residents are living in a construction zone.
You won't see sidewalks or pavements in this neighborhood.  Everyone drives, takes a taxi, or is transported in a company bus to their work.  The buses take workers out to the oil fields, or in to the city where they work in the service industry or construction, then back home late at night. There is no one out for a pleasure stroll and my family stands out as we walk about, dodging cars, looking for a eating place.
I also stand out because you don't see women in my neighborhood.  Most of the immigrant workers are men, but there must be wives and families somewhere.  I haven't seen any out on the streets.  Women don't venture out alone, nor do they work in the small businesses here.  All the salons, or as one was signed: "saloon", cater to men only.  I've been told that if I want a haircut here I will have to find a place three floors up behind an unmarked door.  All the local gyms are also "men only". There is no wonder the women stay indoors.

After a few days here I noticed other basic businesses that were missing.  There are no bookstores, newsagents or magazine kiosks here.  This is not a culture that reads, except on their phones.  There are two phone stores on each block.
I also began to wonder why there were no banks, ATM machines, or gas stations.  Surely these are facilities that are both necessary and lucrative.  My only explanation for why there are none is that Kuwait wants us to remain foreigners and not feel too much at home.  This is not our home, we are not Muslim, do not speak Arabic and have no part of the oil wealth.  We must live here as strangers in a foreign land, and not forget that fact.  Life can't become too comfortable. We must be made to feel some hardship and lack of convenience.
'Mahboula', literally translated, means "mad woman", and that is the mentally ill meaning of mad.  True to its name, the area is chaotic and without order.  However, it reminds me that I am no longer at home and truly overseas living a life experienced by thousands of others who up until now were only a headline to me or a picture in a magazine.