Tag: culture

Bringing in the Unholy

I’ve lived in the Middle East for five years now and like to think I know what is needed in terms of cultural appropriateness.  Having regular visitors for work who are entirely unprepared for life in the Arabian Gulf helps further confirm that I am an ‘expert’ of a certain kind in dress, speech, behavior.

Every once in a while though, I get a prick, like that of the needle at the doctor’s office that withdraws blood, which seeps at my confidence and reminds me I’m not a Muslim nor an Arab and I still have some things to learn. This happened most recently yesterday when I discovered I had been responsible for the very religious people in my office consuming alcohol. Now this is slightly hilarious because when people who feel strongly about not being around alcohol come around to our house, I put away the bar and my husband’s generally plentiful stock.

This isn’t because we have anything to hide but in my mind a sign of respect. Because while people may watch any kind of movie, listen to all musicians, and tolerate any kind of speech, when it comes to alcohol there is a big, black line which should not be crossed.The opinions on this area as varied as that of Christians and the interpretation of the Apostle Paul ‘not to be drunk with wine’ but when I know where someone stands, I respect it – as a large non drinker myself, I love the fact that in the Middle East no one has to explain why he/she doesn’t drink. (I’ve written about this before elsewhere on the blog).

Imagine my surprise when my innocent  act of generously sharing my abundance of chocolate – a tradition that many Arab offices have chocolates or nibbles on hand  for visitors – with the office exposed my ignorance of the chocolate industry.  Being pregnant, people keep bringing me truffles, boxes of sweets, cookies, etc. which my husband and I were trying not to eat ourselves.

“More!” I said waving a box of truffles from Switerzland in the doorway to one of the larger rooms where at least four people have their work stations.

“Did we tell you about the last box?”

One of my co-workers, who wears hijab – the woman’s head scarf – and doesn’t shake hands with non-relative men asked me.

“No,” I said, thinking back to the last layer in the box of treats given to me by a Swedish friend. I had brought the box in on a Saturday while we were working on a personal project, thinking to lighten the fact of having a mid-day meeting on the weekend.

The challenge with getting chocolates around in a country like Qatar is that the heat of the day instantly renders them into mush. It’s not just any day I can take them in but a day in which I go straight in to the office without prior meetings or errands which can be rare depending on the week.  The foresight I put into taking in my special deliveries never once included thinking about the ingredients.

The Arab staff in my office are very holy people and they are a good influence on me and unborn baby in my increasing stages of discontent, irritation, and overall inability to shake things off that are otherwise than they should be. Their “don’t worry about it” or ready laughter really helps me rein in unbridled emotions. They pray regularly and two fast twice a week. Around this climate of spiritual discipline and reverence we manage to laugh and have a good time. It’s a great balance. And this is where I was taking boxes of Swedish and Swiss chocolates – that had tiny, inestimably small amounts of champagne and other alcoholic drinks.

“Well, maybe not this one,” I said, recovering from my shock and preparing to read the ingredients out loud.

“Sugar, flour, fructose, sucrose, Dom Perignon Champagne…”

Yup, even the truffles from the W hotel, had a trace.

Thankfully we laughed at my unholy influence on the rest of them and thought this would be a good idea for an episode on the sitcom we’d like to write: “The Office: Middle East edition.”

My First Abaya

Your new year glow – like mine – may have worn off a bit by now. I did miss my resolution the second weekend of the month with visitors in town and overwhelmed by work  but made it up last Friday. I was never gladder to be in church than this last week as the worship was heartfelt as the person delivering the message. The palpable hope in the air, coupled with the fact of sitting with friends (and not by myself in the overflow room as often happens) saw me out the door with a spring in my step.

Part of going back to church this year was reclaiming my schedule: mostly my mind’s time dwelling on work and my body’s stationary presence in front of a computer.  I missed being in a community: more importantly I realized that with our first (and maybe only) pregnancy underway, I wanted to be living a more balanced life when this child came into the world.

Changing my weekly habits has been mirrored by the changes my body is going through: I am sleepy so early that I hardly seem like an adult anymore. But going to bed at eight p.m. has it’s advantages: getting up early. Even on Fridays, which were the days I couldn’t pry myself loose from the sheets. Now I find it hard to stay tuck in past nine in the morning.

Eating well: I have consumed more fruit in the last three weeks than I have in my entire life. Bananas, grapes, mandarin oranges, strawberries — there doesn’t seem to be anything I won’t eat.

And change of dress. I went with two students to have two abayas made. I have been known to say repeatedly "If I’m here while pregnant, I will wear an abaya the whole time."

Well, as my ‘bump’ started to grow and professional clothing became harder and harder to find, much less being one of a few women in an office with mostly men, I retreated into the abaya. In the period up until our news became public, those three months when everyone waits to make sure that the fetus is viable and won’t decide that now is not its time, the changes in your body are visible and yet hard to explain in modern society. Imagine living this in a country where most of the women are covered up and you have my predicament. Your brain and body are so taxed with hosting another life, the last thing you want to worry about is what to wear or what people think about what you look like. You want to get up, do your job, and get home.

I loved the folds; how it hide my leggings and tank top; how it smoothed over the growing lumps of my bust; how it jazzed up my overall look on days I could barely get out of bed.

It’s true that men behave differently towards me now than they have before I escaped into the voluminous folds. They give me a much wider berth; shopkeepers are often more polite. The abject stares are somewhat mitigated as the abaya demands privacy — respect.

Four years ago when I was starting my first few weeks at the national university, I tried a headscarf with little success. (Read about that here: ). Now I wonder why it never occurred to me to try an abaya. Maybe I wasn’t ready then. But I am so glad that I am now.

It brings home to me the fact that developing world feminists have touted about the veil and other forms of dress. When a woman chooses it for herself, it can be very, very empowering.

The Trouble with Christmas Trees

There has been a fierce debate in Qatar recently over the lack of decorations for the Eid al Adha holiday – one of the holiest periods in the Islamic calender as everyone reflects on the lesson of Ibrahim and Ishmael – but there seem to be wall to wall decorations for Christmas in all the hotels and malls. Along the corniche there are triangle shaped lights waiting to be lit up for national day on Friday, December 18th. Unfortunately these triangles resemble Christmas trees.

An angry editorial to the newspaper explains that while Switzerland has banned minarets as outward structures, Qatar promotes Christmas.

I was neutral on this debate since growing up as a non-Christian in the U.S. I often felt forgotten by Santa, the world wide jolly giver who somehow always missed our apartment.

Then I walked into one of the five star hotels and saw for myself what must be shocking to some Qataris or other Arabs: a nine foot (maybe even taller) Christmas tree extending to the ceiling with presents wrapped underneath in wrappers that said “Happy Christmas” (what the British or Europeans say).

For me, even now as an adult convert to Christianity, the tree was slightly gratuitous. Right in front, right when you walk in the door. Lovely, yes. Gorgeous, even, sure. The hotel’s parent company is Canadian. But could it have been placed ten feet inside the entrance instead of four? Could it be to one side instead of in the center?

Is this a symbol of Qatar’s tolerance or example of how Muslims are being crowded out of the public sphere?

It has been raining here for two days straight and a continued deluge may dampen the excitement of the annual parade on the day of nationality, solidarity, and honor.

I just hope that when they light those triangles they aren’t red and green.