Desert Log Part 3: Ain Amur

At Ain Amur
Papa Noelle brought more than just goodies on Christmas: he gave us a passable route in the direction of Ain Amur and no flat tires or sand traps. We followed the Darb Taweel to within 2 kilometers of Ain Amur when we were stopped by a gulley. Trying to find away around, a cliff and wide valley suddenly apeared over the crest of a hill--the edge of the Abu Tartur Plateau. Coming up behind me, Uncle Bob said that the tiny smudge of green in the distance were the shrubs and palms surrounding the spring at Ain Amur. However, there was no visible way for us to get there. The Darb Taweel led into the gulley, where we could see it opening below us into a boulder-strewn canyon and finally the valley depression: a difficult path even for camels. We decided to set up camp and investigate possibile descents from the plateau the next day. (Delicious Christmas dinner of course: pate, beef stew, plums in wine, and champagne.)
The first photo shows the view of Ain Amur visible from our camp. The next shows Myriam and Bob trying to scope out a way down in one of the other wadis. The third shows Aunt Myriam investigating one of these wadis. Having reached the conclusion that the site was not accessible from the plateau by car, we spent our evening walk looking for a good walking path, (which we did not find). The whole terrian was cracked: walking along, a crevice would suddenly open in front of you, invisible from two steps back. We decided the best way would be to follow the camels, so the next morning we embarked, armed with cameras,a bottle of water, and our trusty Haribo licorice. Following the ancient paths of goats, donkeys, camels, and people, we descended below the rim of the plateau. After almost two hours of picking our way along various paths, some of which ended in thin air as erosion had washed away large chunks of it, we arrived at the site. First we came the gulley worn by the spring, crowded with shrubs, reeds, and palms, ringed with the tracks of foxes, gazelle, and desert vipers. The wind in the reeds sounded odd after days of hearing it hit only rock or our tents.
As we got closer the flies became peskier. Bob explained that anywhere inhabited by humans attracts them, even after the humans are long gone. Myriam and Bob climbed a hill to take photos of the site from above; I examined a "robber pit" left behind by people digging for artifacts and graves. I thought that this particular pit must have beena disappointment, as it seemed they'd only unearthed a dead camel. But according to Bob some of the bones were human, and upon looking closer I recognized a scapula that definteily did not belong to a camel. It appears the tomb raiders were successful. (fifth photo)
At the site we explored the temple built in Roman times in the style of Ancient Egypt's Old Kingdom, complete with hieroglyphs and gods. (sixth photo) Our guidebook described an unidentified winged figure, the torso of a man, and a god. Inside the third and only intact chamber of the temple I found more human bones. Graffiti in English, Arabic and other languages had been carved on many of the stones. Photo 7 shows that left by British exploere and Egyptologist Edmonstone, the first European to see the site, he even left the year, 1819. The guidebook told of an inscription in Arabic in which someone had written that they had been traveling alone and on foot and were nearly dead by the time they reached the spring. Sort of the like the scene in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" when the insriptio inside the monster's cave reads "Aaarrrhhh". We also found bits of Roman glass, a bead, pottery of course, and sneaker prints coming into the site fromthe opposite direction. We followed them up an easier path back onto the plateau. However, trekking back to our camp ultimately took more time, as we repeatedly had to retrace our steps as wadis opened up in our path. We finally reached camp and spent another night on the edge of the cliff. The next morning, assessing our supplies of time, food and fuel, we decided to head for the descent from the plateau at Dahla Oasis.

Desert Log Part 2: Christmas

Christmas
After three fairly easy days of driving we hit “Dragon Country” on Christmas Eve. We had been making such good time that we had decided to try to reach an isolated site called “Ain Amur”; rather than head towards the Kharga Oasis, we would stay in the desert, and if possible travel on to Kharga after Ain Amur. The first photo shows one of the hundreds of patches of crystal that grew in “Dragon Country”; it was a singular place. The dragons decided they didn't want us to come any closer, and so after hours of winding through the labyrinth of low crumbling hills, sometimes easing the cars with painful slowness over sharp rocks and brittle hilltops, we had to eventually turn back. According to the GPS we ended up camping that night only 8km from where we had left our camp on the darb the night before. However, this time we were at the edge of a canyon, (visible in the second photo). The third and fourth photos show our Christmas Eve camp, complete with tiny battery-powered Christmas tree, bottles of Egyptian wine, and the moon that rose behind our camp. The next morning Uncle Bob and I woke up at dawn (I guess old Christmas habits die-hard, even in such atypical Christmas conditions). We took photos of the mist over the canyon; the night before had been dewy and the rocks glistened. The fourth photo demonstrates that Papa Noelle had visited. Luckily Aunt Myriam’s French tradition requires no chimneys, only shoes. And Uncle Bob’s favorite Christmas breakfast, Italian panetonne, available at our local grocery store outside Cairo. (Aunt Myriam had laughed when she bought it, explaining how much had changed from when they had first arrived in Egypt under socialism. Rice had to be hand-picked for rocks, flour sifted for grubs, if a shipment of canned tomatoes came in it was gone by sunset. Aunt Myriam’s cooking is superb, so I am sure she coped. But I was grateful that her expert hand had more ingredients with which to concoct our suppers.)

Desert Log Part 1

Returned yesterday from a nine day trip, seven nights of which were spent camping in Egypt’s western desert. I filled up my memory card with photos, so will present them and the “Desert Log” in four sections. Luckily, I was forced to erase a myriad of rock pictures as new sights demanded space on the card. So you’ll be spared my awe and wonder at the variations the deset rock: after days of staring at beige, beige, beige, you start to get really good at distinguishing rosy beige from golden beige from toasted beige. And you want to photograph it. But beige, of any shade, rarely shows up well in photos.

Going Out
In two four-by-fours Uncle Bob, Aunt Myriam and I drove from the outskirts of Cairo through the chaos of downtown Giza. The first photo shows our view as we crossed the Nile, approached and passed the pyramids.
We crossed the first few hours of desert and spent the night at a lodge at the Bahariyya Oasis. Uncle Bob and Aunt Myriam had brought Bob’s sister, my Aunt Terry to the same lodge; apparently in the five weeks since, the lodge had its grounds entirely redone to include an odd-looking fountain, flagstone walkways, etc. They commented on new or expanded tourist facilities in this and other oases we saw at the end of the trip. The Bahariyya Oasis is still fairly poor, though hopefully the increased money from tourism will benefit the community as a whole. The second photo shows a man and his son whom I asked for a photograph near our lodge. After I took their photo and boy asked me to take a photo of him, and then asked for money. (I told him, truthfully, that I didn’t have any.) As a whole, people in Egypt generally seemed more accustomed to tourists than people I met in Oman and Yemen. I had the sense that most people preferred that I not take photographs of them, (except those that wanted to be paid for it), while my experience in the Gulf had been indifference or excitement towards my camera.
We left the oasis and soon turned off the road into the sand—and immediately got stuck. After digging sand away and placing sand-plates in front of the tires, we were on our way. Uncle Bob and Aunt Myriam, seasoned desert drivers, were mortified to have gotten stuck so quickly and hoped that no one would pass. (Someone did.) But we soon made up for it, as the terrain our first two days consisted of hard flat sand, a “sand sheet” on which we could drive 80km an hour. Though we did get stuck twice more: once we had to replace the sandplates about seven times, inching the car forwards until the sand finally became firm enough to support it.
The third photo was taken when we stopped for lunch on the first day. I don’t know any of the minerals over which we rolled, but at that moment the sand held patches of extremely thin, brittle rock. The photo shows this rock, and my henna, which sadly disappeared quickly in the extreme dryness and sun.
We stopped to make camp every day at 3pm in order to have enough light to set up two tents and prepare dinner and a fire. And 3pm on our first day found us among buttes and football-sized rocks. The fourth photo shows our first desert sunset, and the fifth our second night’s camp. After a delicious dinner a la Myriam, we went to bed every night around 8:30, or the amount of time that our fire, lit at sunset, could keep us warm before the wind drove us into our tents. Temperatures at night approached freezing, and the wind blew almost constantly.
We woke every morning soon after sunrise, usually listening to the BBC’s world news on the little transistor radio over breakfast. After breaking camp sometimes we’d “shower”. Ok, I’ll admit; Aunt Myriam showered every day, Uncle Bob and I every other day. Showers were actually lovely though; taking a bottle of warm water, a cloth and fresh clothes, and finding a private dune or bluff. Being completely naked in a vast empty space, in the sun and standing on the sand, no sound but the wind and no sight but the sky, the sun, and the desert. Still, despite it’s charms, showering was time-consuming and tricky, (hard to keep the soap from getting sandy), and so I kept my showers to every other day.
The sixth photo shows our descent from the sand sheet plateau on the third day. I had been driving, but Aunt Myriam took over, as our car carried six jerry cans of fuel on the roof and an uneasy tap on the break pedal would have caused the car to roll. So I acted as photographer.
We spent our third night camped on a “darb” or an ancient trade route. Although I sometimes had trouble distinguishing the camel and donkey paths of the darb from erosion ruts, this, the Darb Taweel ("long darb") was a clear stretch of pathways littered with cairns, (piles of rocks, as in the seventh picture), pottery shards, and camel bones. The Darb Taweel was first used at the time of Egypt’s Old Kingdom, before camels were introduced, (they came around 0 AD). The eighth picture shows part of the skeleton of one these later traversers of the darb. The skeleton included the skull, something that they had not found intact before. We also found bits of blown glass, probably from Roman times. Also bits of pottery with glaze, pieces of handles, as well as the cylindrical tops of amphorae. A hand-smithed iron hook of unidentifiable use, maybe to hold a pot over a fire. And artifacts from later periods, such as an ancient can of fuel with Arabic script. After three days of seeing nothing but sand, rocks, the very rare stick and even rarer bug, these bits of humanity seemed true treasures. This was one of the most interesting aspects of being in the desert; for the first time in my life I welcomed the marks of humans upon nature rather than resented them. The cairns and traces of the Darb became our only guide across treacherous terrain, and the bits of remnants from another time were not only interesting in themselves, but a connection to humanity. I had never experienced such complete isolation. Walking away from camp to take a shower or to stretch my legs I would quickly be out of earshot of the others, and if I went too far in hilly country it was easy to become disoriented. A new feeling, exciting.

Qat Culture

Once again, a quick entry (which like others of its kind will perhaps end up otherwise)--I should be trying to get some work done for the Fulbright or else sleeping, as tomorrow will head into the desert with Uncle Bob and Aunt Myriam.
And apparently I will be driving--wish me luck. We are supposed to be back on December 28th I think, but if i haven't been back on the blog to loads pictures by then, blame it on my driving. We'le probably be somewhere in Sudan by then, on our way to Darfur, insha'allah. Or we would if I had anything to say about it.
No, don't worry. I have to get back in time to see my parents and brother and go skiing in Canada. :)
Wanted to post photos of qat though, while the blisters are still fresh in my mouth.
Photo 1: This was taken outside of Sana'a when I went to the villages of Shibam, Thula and Kawkaban (from the entry of me with the falcon). Qat is cultivated everywhere, a problem because it is difficult to export. Not just because it is illegal in some places, but has to be really fresh. Yemen's second largest crop is grapes, which is like exporting water. Anyway, for better or for worse, qat is grown everywhere.
Photo 2: My last night in Sana'a I had qat again. Having it the first night was awesome, not just the experience but to understand a key part of Sana'a. But it had let blisters in my mouth and so had declined when offered again. But on the last night asked one of the guys at the YCMES to take me to buy some. These guys are in one of the qat merchants' stalls in the old city. We got bags for 400 Yemeni Rial, not bad. nd the qat turned out to be quite good: juicy stems, soft leaves, very little that had to be thrown away.
Photo 3: My first time chewing i couldn't manage to chew much--but here you can see I worked up a fairly good-sized wad. But I still can't sit with it for hours like some people. And most Yemeni guys, (and foreginers who have been in Yemen for a bit), look like they have baseballs in their cheeks. The first time I saw someone chewing qat i thought that they had cancer. It is kind of funny; usually people would be self -conscious, or at least elsewhere having a cheek bulging inches away from one's face would draw attention. But here it is completely normal.
Photo 4: This is qat in the little bag it is sold in. And the hands of my friend, a helper at the Merkez, and my hands with henna. The henna was done for me by a young woman in whose home i was invited to lunch. I had met her sister a few days earlier at the human rights group HOOD, and when another friend found out that I might not get in henna done in time for Eid, (celebrating the end of Hajj and Abraham's near-sacrifice of Isaac/Ishmael), she brought me to this house. She would not accept any money for it.
You can also see in the photo the bottle of Fifa, an intensely sweet apple soda that tastes delicious with qat. You usually drink water or something sweet with qat, because it helps you swallow more of the juice.
Merry Christmas and Happy Eid to everyone!

Last Day in Yemen

Really sad to be leaving tomorrow morning. Though of course excited about Cairo, seeing Uncle Bob and Aunt Myriam, and desert camping, it feels like I am ripping out a relationship I had started to form with the country. Or at least with Sana'a, with people at the organizations with whom I spoke, and the wonderful people at the YCMES (Yemen College of Middle Eastern Studies, where I have been staying).
And it seems that I just had to say goodbye to so many wonderful people in Oman. Am not ready to do it again, especially when I have only just met them.
Today...
like yesterday I began my day at HOOD in order to meet Samira, a volunteer there. She took me to the offices of The Yemen Times, the first English language newspaper in Yemen. Samira is wonderful; she had taken off time from work to be able to take me to Women Without Chains yesterday and Yemen Times today--she had even gone to the Yemen Times office yesterday to set up an appointment, (email contact had not been working). The Yemen Times is the organization listed as the official partner in my research, at least on the Fulbright application. Samira and I met with the Editor in Chief, Nadia Saqqaf. Nadia suggested we got to the organization "Meda" (in Arabic) or CDF (Civic Democratic Initiatives Support Foundation). They seem to be quite effective, with 17,000 volunteers. They manage to work with the government rather than against them, or at least the government is more open to cooperation with them.
Afterwards Samira took me to the home of her friend Ehad, whom I had met at HOOD the first day. Samira had asked if I would have henna done for Eid al-Adha (which starts on Wednesday, and is the reason why my trip to Yemen had to be so quick--I have to get to Cairo tomorrow, because traveling during Eid would be nuts). I had told her that I might try to have it done, either in Sana'a or Cairo, she told me that she had a friend who knew how to do henna. It turned out to be Ehad's older sister, Abeer. Her name means "perfume"...Samira means midnight...Ehad means brook or stream. I am always asked what Annelle means, and sometimes I try to tell the story of where it came from. But the punchline of that story is that as doctors my parents couldn't manage to use effective birth control. Although unlike the Bible the Quran says nothing against birth control, it is still not really material for a story. Oh well. Sometimes they call me "Amal" or hope.
Before henna they insisted on feeding me. It was so wonderful to get to see the inside of a Sanani home. Of course we sat in the majlis, sitting room, and ate from shared dishes of rice, potatoes and vegetables, soup with meat, and bread. Then Abeer did gorgeous henna for me. She refused to let me pay her, saying that when I come back, if she does it again, then I can pay her. But that this first time is establishing our relationship.
So many times I have said "Insha'allah, fi al mstakbal, ana s'aud ile Yemen. Ithe s'andi al minha." (Hopefully, in the future, I will return to Yemen. If I will have the scholarship.) If I don't get it, I'll find another way to come back.
The photos: I wanted to walk around old Sana'a at sunset to get the shots I missed yesterday, but unfortunately was too busy trying to get in touch with the director of the American Institute of Yemeni Studies, who would need to authorize my research. So went after sunset. The first shows the typical dress of women here, with the lady in full naqab (face cover). Of course everyone wears clothes, often wonderful clothes, underneath the baltu (abaya), as are visible behind here. The street was crazy, shoppers everywhere, hawkers crouched on the sidewalk with alarm clocks, clothing, shoes, sometimes more touristy things, but even scarves and such are worn by Yemenis as well as purchased by the foreigners.
In the next picture, I was trying to show the little boy selling peanuts and nuts, but the men holding hands passed at the same moment; a good thing, as it shows another big part of the culture. Far more than Oman, Yemeni men interact very closely, touch, hold hands, kiss. And women, when greeting a friend, rather than giving the kiss on each cheek as in Oman, kiss one cheek, press cheeks together, and kiss the cheek again. I really like that I was able to find this out; it feels more genuine than the air kiss on each.
The final photo is from the courtyard at the Merkez (YCMES); the man on the right with the jambia guards my building at night, and kindly lets me in when I get home late. The man next to him later shared qat with me, I don't know the man in front. Bradley sits to his right, an American student, and Philip, a new intern from Germany completes the tea-drinking ensemble.
Don't want to leave. Yemen is really the coolest place I think i've ever been.
Insha'allah, fi al mustakbal, ana s'aud hena.

Around Sana'a-Yemen Day 3

Again, not much time to write, but just a few pictures...also, if I did write it would be very disjointed...so many impressions, new encounters, things I have never seen before.
Today: woke up early (Photo 1 is of my room) went to the office of HOOD again, from there with two volunteers of the organization to "Women Journalists Without Chains" a freedom of the press advocacy group. (In Yemen there are independent newspapers that publish fairly controversial stuff sometimes, but with the high illiteracy rate and low levels of circulation, even of the government papers, print media is not as influential as TV or radio, which the government controls). From there to a conference with multiple human rights groups, three Parliment members, a famous Yemeni journalist, representatives from Amnesty International, etc. Got contacts, lots of enthusiasm for the research; very cool. Now I just have to get the scholarship!
Then haggled over postcard prices--ended up getting a discount, and one more thrown in for free. Yemenis are awesome.
Mailed three, we'll see if they reach their destinations. I never heard whether those that I'd sent from Oman were ever received?
Tamam...then took a walk (2nd photo: this man invited me into his courtyard to photograph his door. If you look, you can see the bulge of qat in his cheek) Then went to CEFAS, a French research institute, (photo of bouganvilla flowers) then wandered Old Sana'a. Of course my camera ran out of batteries right before I saw all the most amazing photo possibilities, the last gasp of battery power went to the little girl and wheelbarrow. I am not sure what she was doing, but later I saw a whole group of little kids with them...maybe trash pickers. There are many beggars, hoemeless and poor people in Sana'a. Very different from Muscat. Bukra, insha'allah (Tomorrow, hopefully) I will get more photos.

Around Sana'a-Yemen Day 2

Today I met with the Editor in Chief of The Yemen Observer, an English language newspaper (check it out online, they are pretty good), and Al-Jazeera Sana'a, as well as human rights NGO "Hood"
The photos:
A view of Sana'a from the office of Hood.
Two men, one with the traditional jambia, or dagger. Most men wear these, as well as various combinations of scarves, wrap-around skirts, or longer "dishdasha" like garments, always underneath tailored jackets. Men's clothing seems much less standardized than Oman's ubiquitous kuma (the cap) and dishdasha (the white garment). On the other hand, women here mostly wear plain black "balto" (like abaya) and full naqab, or face cover, whereas in Oman there was more variation, sequins, embroidery, etc, and less face-covering. A woman i met today was joking that she cannot get married if the sun makes her skin dark, which is why she covers.
The next photo shows a man in Maydan Tahrir (Liberation Square, central square in Sana'a, near parliament). He was selling nuts, and gave me a little bag of peanuts for free. After the picture ws taken, I was swarmed with kids, wanting their photo taken. One of the teachers from the College where I am staying was passing by and must have thought I needed rescuing; he shooed them away and walked with me back to the College. Where I took the final picture, kids in front of my building. They are running towards me in order to be in a picture.

Excursion north of Sana'a

Just a few photos form my first day in Yemen:
The first is an example of the gorgeous ancient buildings typical of Old Sana'a: this is the main building for the Yemen College of Middle Eastern Studies, where I am staying and would probably study Arabic if I get the Fulbright, insha'allah.
One shows me at the edge of a cliff with a falcon. Was standing admiring the view, and one of many guys with falcons for tourist photo opportunities came up to me. I explained that I didn't have any money and so did not want to hold the falcon for a picture, (I had not yet changed from Omani to Yemeni Rials...there are around 600 Yemeni Rials to one Omani, (1 Omani rial being around $2.70ish)) but he insisted. Another photo shows a woman getting water from a cistern in the unconquerable cliff city of Thula. Then a boy selling tourist baubles; when I took this picture, was standing a few feet away from the edge of a cliff...many Yemeni cities were built on cliffs, both for protection, and to not waste arable land. The last shows this same cliff, topped with the outline of buildings in the cliff city of Kawkaban, (it means "of the stars" in some Yemeni dialect, because people below would see the city and think its lighted windows were stars).
Yemen, to say the least, is amazing.

Arrival in Sana'a

Just a quick note:

After a miserable last two days in Oman--not wanting to leave, feeling rushed and stressed and overwhelmed but most of all sad--I left Muscat yesterday morning, Dec. 13. As there are no direct flights to Yemen, despite their shared border, my flight transferred in Bahrain. A group of Saudi women on their way to a pilgrimage site in Iran struck up a conversation with me, half in Arabic, half English. They gave me food, helped me with Arabic, and took my picture, explaining that as an American I could not take pictures of them.
Then the flight to Sana'a...where I met my wonderful Arabic teacher Sultan and his wife Samira and their two little boys in the customs line. We knew that we might cross paths as they continued on to Samira's family in Aden; seeing them helped me feel at home.

Because Yemen is nothing like Oman. I have heard them described, in comparison to each other, as "macho" and "queer": just coming into the airport terminal, people immediately seemed more assertive, less genteel...I should stop making generalizations, but the change was abrupt.
And Yemen itself looks and feels completely different from the moneyed Gulf states of the GCC...as a city it reminds me a bit of Sarajevo, although much more beautiful. the architecture is amazing...
I hopefully will have time fo rmore of this later, but to finish:
Was picked up at the airport by a Yemeni driver and American Matthew from the Yemen College of Middle Eastern Studies, where I am staying.
Matt gave me a brief summary of the College, life in Sana'a, and told me he would help me connect with potential NGO's for the Fulbright proposal, (which i won't hear about until April).
We then went directly to a qat chew with a few people connected to the college, two Yemenis, and fortunately for me, this year's Fulbright scholars. (qat is the leaf that bulges the cheek of countless Yemeni men, women and foreginers. A qat chew is sitting around together chewing it, drinking water or something sweet, as it's a bit bitter, and talking. It felt like sharing a festive meal, but with little prep or cleanup). Qat itself didn't seem to have much affect on me, (it is classified as a "mild stimulant" though of course the US government calls it a narcotic), but had a great time talking with everyone.
Today was invited on a trip outside of Sana'a led by the College.
More later, and pictures, insha'allah. (Sana'a is tied with Istanbul as the most beautiful city i have ever seen.)

Jumping from the Cliff in Wadi Shab

I FINALLY got this picture from Kristin, another SIT student.
This was awesome.

Am leaving Oman on Thursday

Children are giving the mid-afternoon prayer. (They let little boys who are learning how to give the call to prayer say it in the afternoon sometimes)
For some reason it is always at the Adan that I seem to stop and write. That is one thing that I like about it. Although for me it is not religious, it sends the same message: Time is passing. Stop what you are doing and reflect on your day. Are you doing what you hoped? Are you accomplishing what needs to get down? At home I often seem to slide through entire afternoons into darkness without really having to take notice. And then another day is gone.
I will miss the Adan.
Waking up this morning, opening the curtain like every morning, seeing the sunlight like every morning. Especially during Ramadhan when with each morning came the dread of a long ordeal before evening, I would open the curtain hoping to see some change. I would almost cry when without fail the light looked exactly the same every day, not a cloud in the sky, the dust already floating in the sun. Now this is a comfort; it will be disconcerting perhaps to have to guess at what the weather will be each, especially returning as I am to a New York January. Hardly an enticing prospect.

I have been trying to write out in my head some of the things I want to communicate about Oman before I leave here and lose them. Aspects of life here that I worry I won’t be able to explain with enough eloquence or sufficient time in person, and so will try to write about them here.

Not to pick on my mom this time, but she sent an email saying that it seemed that I was “chomping at the bit” to leave Oman, feeling constrained by “Muslim culture”. I cannot say that this is entirely true or untrue. What I can say is “Muslim culture” is a reified construction: is there one thing that could be referred to as “Christian culture”? About a month ago I was looking forward to leaving, to having the Independent Research Project behind me, (turned it in today! Am giving a power point presentation on it tomorrow! Wish me luck!), and going to Yemen and Egypt. The bit at which I chomped was living with a family; not a “Muslim” family, but any family that expects to know my comings and goings and mealtimes. But in terms of feeling constrained by “Muslim culture” or “Omani culture” or “Middle Eastern culture” or whatever label we pin to it, the question becomes more complicated.

This ties into something with which I have struggled the entire time I have been here, as well as before. I think I mentioned perhaps in an earlier post about the discussions I had with people before coming. I could answer questions such as “Are you afraid?” (No.) “Why are you going?” (To learn Arabic and have the chance to live in an Omani family and feel as integrated as possible into a way of life and country different from that to which I am accustomed.) “What will you do with the experience?” (I hope to be able to speak about issues that, particularly since 9/11, many Americans feel confused by or afraid of. For example, the fact that unlike post-Reformation Christianity’s “separation of church and state”, part of Islam as a religion involves its incorporation as a way of life, i.e. in government. The Quran explains how an Islamic state should be run. This might seem threatening or alien to someone raised on the importance of separating the religious and the secular; from the perspective of Islam a state that does not incorporate religion would probably constitute an unjust and amoral system. The perspectives come from different mentalities: the Christian mentality coming from the distinction of religious affairs from those that must be subject to reason (science, government, law, etc), while the Muslim perspective coming from the belief that god has given the rules for government, behavior, science, etc…everything in the Quran. And the Quran has been preserved in perfect entirety as it was first transmitted to Prophet Mohammed in Arabic, (unlike the Bible for example, which is acknowledged as existing in various versions).
Reading over this, I sound like a mufti.
This is what I am afraid of: how to talk to people about an issue that looks completely different depending on the background assumptions and mentaility with which it is viewed. I run into the same thing here when soomeone will ask me about some aspect of American culture that confuses them. For example, women going uncovered. I could explain that from the perspective held by many in the West, personal freedom is important. If a woman wants to expose her body, for example wear a revealing bathing-suit at the beach, it is her right to do so without needing to feel ashamed and without having to deal with harassment from men (or women).
The perspective that might come back to me would be “But how can the woman’s body be respected if it is on display in such a way?”
I could try to answer “The respect comes from respecting her right to decide what to do with her own body”
The reply might be “But if she respects herself why would she want to have others looking at her exposure?”
“Because it is her choice.”
“So she is choosing to not respect herself?”
I could continue to hammer away at this point, but then I realize that I don’t even agree with what I am saying: while I do think a man or woman has the right to decide what to do with their body, I would not necessarily say this applies in all cases. Such as trying to make a case for “Playboy” as an example of female empowerment.
And so the discussion does not come to a satisfactory conclusion.
(If any one have thoughts or would like to hypothetically extend this discussion, please help me out!)
I imagine similar conversations perhaps taking place when I go home, trying to explain things to people that I only understood after living here. How I like wearing abaya, for example. Or incorporating religion into everyday life. Or
I do not want to imply that one system is better or worse than another, but that the misunderstandings that arise between them are perhaps harder to dispell than I had hoped. I think to some extent I wanted to go back to the USA with the ability to explain certain questions that come up Islam/the Middle East/Oman or whatever, questions that I could not answer before leaving. One in particular was from my friend Alex. He had told me that he had tried to understand some aspects of “The Middle East” and while he felt informed about some things, he couldn’t reconcile the treatment of women with anything positive.
I wanted to be able to come back and explain this to him, or to anyone who might ask that question or a similar one…and although I feel that I understand, at least to some extent, the idea of “woman” and how she is to be treated according to Islam, I cannot explain it in a way that Alex would understand. If if he understood he would still consider it “bad”. And somehow, although I can see what he means, I can also see what people here mean when they think that the Western idea of “woman” is wrong. (That is, man and woman as equal, at least theoretically, and able to inhabit the same spheres).
I would rattle on about this, but I really ought to be working on my presentation.
Itinerary for the next few days:
Monday December 10: Presentation
Tuesday December 11: Re-entry workshop with SIT, (they have to tell us that no one is going to care about our Oman experience, so don’t talk everyone’s ear off about it);
Shisha with my friends
Wednesday December 12: Re-entry workshop cont. Good-bye dinner with families
Thursday Dec. 13: Flight to Sana’a, Yemen
5 days in Yemen, staying at the Yemen College of Middle Eastern Studies, meeting with NGO’s and media prganizations for my possible Fulbright scholarship.
Monday Dec. 18: Flight Cairo. Meeting Uncle Bob and Aunt Myriam, preparing for desert camping trip.
January 4: Return to New York
January 6: Fly to Canada to see Mom, Dad and Sam for x-country skiing.
January ?: First day of class, final semester at NYU

I do not know when I will be back on the blog, insha’allah soon. But this is just in case: thanks to everyone who has read and especially to those who responded to what I have written here. Please, let me know what you think, what you want to know. Shukran!

For Clarification

I realized after reading a message from my dad that I may have falsely portrayed Oman. Like any tourist or visitor I suppose, I have taken pictures of the picturesque, described the quaint, the unusual, the lovely or surprising. Other than a few anecdotes about my family I haven’t given much information about Omani life, it seems, or at least the sliver of it to which I have been exposed.
Not to put Dad on the spot, but in an email he mentioned that he hoped that returning to America, a more consumer-based economy, would not be too much of a shock for me.
While I do not know if the same is true throughout the Middle East, I should first explain that the Gulf, or “Al-Khalij”; the people and accent here are known as “Khaliji”—specifically encompassing the countries in the Gulf Cooperation Counsel, or Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, the U.A.E, Saudi Arabia, and Oman—are some of the wealthiest countries in the world. As “rentier states”, state-systems in which the government does not need to rely on income collected from citizens (taxes), the state exists primarily to collect and distribute the wealth of its natural resources (oil, and in Qatar, natural gas) to the citizens. Citizens do not pay taxes, And while the stereotype of “a Ferrari outside a Bedouin tent with an oil well in the back” is far from acccurate, like many stereotypes it contains remnants of truth. Because much of the Gulf is consumerism gone mad. I suppose I didn’t explain that while Dubai is on consumption steroids, it is merely the queen among a court of other ladies, all equally interested in being the fairest of them all. And to do this, they build 5 star, hotels, resorts, shopping malls, Porsche dealerships, etc.etc.etc. Emirati women can be picked out by their royal posture and abayas dripping with sequins, but they are nearly matched by other Khaliji women. Saudis especially, are known for their fancy cars, (although it is usually the Saudi men that are more visible…I actually have yet to see an identifiably Saudi woman. This probably will not happen, because outside of the K.S.A. (Kingdom of Saudi Arabia; its acronym), they quickly adopt the slightly less conservative dress permissible in the rest of the GCC.
Oman is hardly immune to the trend to the allures of capitalism. Although I have tried to avoid them, there are huge malls, supermarkets, and hotels. Ok, I have not always tried to avoid them; the occasional visit to Borders with the other SIT kids, or shopping at the mall with my sisters has not only provided relaxing, numbing consumer-neurotransmitters, but is part of normal Omani life. The traditional souk in Muttrah is treated by the Omanis in the same way it is by the tourists: somewhere to go find something traditional, but if you have actual shopping to do, you go to Century 21. I have, however, avoided Starbucks, mostly because the other available options are far superior.
Maybe I already wrote about this, but prior to Eid, (the big holiday after Ramadhan), every Omani woman goes to buy herself new finery that will then be used throughout the year. Every Omani man and boy buys new dishdasha. I think I had discussed already how I liked the honesty of this: buying for oneself the items that one likes without feeling guilty about it, rather than hoping that others will choose the correct gifts or stressing out about getting something for others. Gift giving here, in general, is generally form guest to host or groom to bride. Other than that, it does not have a large part in social interaction. Birthday celebrations are minimal, except for a one-year old, (perhaps to celebrate that the baby has reached a safely survivable age). Anyway, pre-Eid is a shoppers paradise, and many Ramadhan sermons bemoan the way that shopping becomes the cure for hungry fasters; they sound similar to Christian complaints about the hijacking of Christmas for marketing purposes. The second Eid will fall almost on Christmas this year, and already people are gearing up for more spending. If I didn’t explain already, the first Eid, Eid al-Fitr (Celebration of Breaking Fast) follows the Islamic month of Ramadhan. Eid al-Adha (Celebration of the Sacrifice) comes at the beginning of the Islamic month of Hajj, the only month in which a journey to Mecca actually counts as “Hajj” (the required journey to Mecca in the life of every practiicng Muslim). Any visit to Mecca during another month, while still a special occasion, is known as umra and does not involve the customs and traditional visits of Hajj.
Having drifted way off-topic, I do not know if I have illustrated the point that Oman is a very consumer-based economy. If conspicuous consumption has not become quite as rampant as in other Gulf states, it is partly due to Oman’s smaller (and dwindling) oil revenues. Actually, for at least one member of the SIT group, (and no, this is not me), the focus on shopping, new Playstation systems, new cars, new cell phones, etc. etc. has been fairly disturbing. While in the States you can always find your tree huggers, your hippies, your wanna-be bohemian vegan artists, Oman is perhaps comparable to the State in 50’s, when everyone was still focused, or made the appearance of focus on the “family”, which in both Oman and 1950’s USA, much social conformity. Everyone expects the nice new house, the nice new car, the latest TV…and while in both the 50’s and in Oman, of course there are the none-mainstreamers, the dominant and visual face of the society is fairly uniform. It becomes more difficult in Oman because the social groups that would provide alternative avenues of discussion or interest are not permitted without government approval, which is nearly impossible to obtain.
I ought to be working on data analysis for my ISP (Independent Study Project).
P.S. the photos show Al-Hail, the neighborhood of Muscat near the SIT office and the internet cafe in which I'm sitting.
P.P.S. Thanks to Mom and perhaps others who tried to find record of the Sultan's Nobel Peace prize; i think my informants had faulty information. Or perhaps they simply believe he ought to have received one.

Dimaniyat

No time to write about these now, so sorry, insha'allah will do so soon!
In brief, it was an awesome trip. Dimaniyat is the name of the tiny island where we stayed for a night: again, the AISEC guys, SQU guys, the captains of our two little boats, and me.
Eb! (shame!) Haram! (religious shame)
Bwahaha.