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.