The Hard, the Easy, the Unexpected

Things I Thought Would Be Hard to Get Used To and Aren’t
Covering My Head— I wear a hat when I go outside in the sun at home anyway. And that becomes ten times more important here: the sun feels dangerous. Or it would be if one were to walk off into the brush without water or skin protection.

Toilet Customs—i.e. washing one’s own underwear each evening and using water instead of toilet paper. The first is less traumatizing than worrying about any “stories” as Elizabeth described them, that one’s underwear might reveal. The second involves using your left hand to wash yourself with the “dish sprayer” hose that sits to the right of every toilet in Oman. (Except the one in the American embassy). I actually like the whole idea of washing yourself, and wonder how disgusting the Omanis and anyone else accustomed to water must find the whole toilet paper business. Also, it helps with remembering the “Don’t use your left hand to greet anyone or eat anything” rule. Because if this were only arbitrarily imposed I wouldn’t remember.

The heat—I grew up in North Carolina. Living here we have the same mentality and behavior as in any North Carolina summer (stay inside, live in air-conditioning). The temperatures are just a bit higher here. I think it helps that it is in Celsius so I cannot tell as readily what the actual temperature is, just a rough guess.

Force-Feeding—I remember horror stories from the other SIT students in Cyprus of five hour dinners at which they would be bullied into eating until they literally threw up. Though I was lucky enough to be with a family that neither ate exorbitantly nor had large gatherings, it was stressful to have them watch every bite I took, eternally one less than would satisfy them. I feared that Oman would be ten times worse. However, I was lucky again with my family; thus far we only eat together when we have guests, i.e. Mama Naila watches what I eat and I feel bad to refuse her in front of guests. In general the kids don’t all eat together, as this would be too much of a struggle to try to coordinate everyone’s schedule and belly. So we eat when we feel like it. Though Mama Naila will probably never tell me that I have eaten enough, she also allows me some autonomy, alhamdu-lillah. Also I have been sick recently and can still maintain the argument that I have to be careful not to overdo it.

Favorite Things
Having my hair brushed—My sisters don’t know what to make of my hair. The first evening, to prepare for Elizabeth’s wedding, they brushed and smoothed and patted until I looked every bit the 4th grade class dork. They have decided that for Eid they will curl it; Tumathr wants me to go to a salon with them, (it’s possible she hopes that if I come Khaled will chip in, although he had siad that they were responsible for their own means to get their hair done for Eid). Belquees says that we can do it at home and pulled out the curlers to practice. But mostly they just like to brush it. The little boys think this is a great idea and they usually try to join in, generally Amran’s chocolate bar comes along for the ride. This is fine because we all shower at least once, sometimes twice a day. And there is no one for whom I need to look pretty or even kempt. Any chocolate remnants in my hair will be covered by the headscarf anyway.

Mama Naila’s Tea—She brews cinnamon, an unidentified spice, sometimes mint, and tea leaves, then adds lots of milk and sugar. And pepper if someone has a sore throat; try this, it works for congestion as well.

Mama Naila’s Juices—fresh orange, mango, lime, carrot, either in combination or alone, prepared in the blender. I could live on this stuff, and now during Ramadhan often have to be careful because after a day of fasting, suddenly drinking juice is really painful. But I usually do it anyway; the juice is that good.

Things I Didn’t Expect Would be Hard
Not having time to work—my brothers are in and out of rooms, activities, everyone’s stuff constantly, though they are less of a distraction than my sisters who ask for help on their english homework, or want to show me their books, or want to know what I am doing, or want me to watch them and, if possible take pictures.

Things I Expected to Miss and Haven’t
Internet—I miss email and easy blog access, but I don’t miss the daily news updates, or all the junky academic stuff that filters like dandruff from the various layers of NYU bureacracy, club life, or academic reminders. Though I feel fairly uninformed, I think the trade off of internet for Oman immersion is more than fair in terms of what I am getting out of it.

Alcohol—Or at least the freedom to choose to have it or not. But it is not at a part of life here, (except when we saw it at the airport, and I know it is available at some hotels), so we do not even think about it.

Things I am still not used to
Khaled and Mama Naila’s relationship as husband of three and first wife. More on this later.

Abaya—today Khadija brought some abayas for the girls, including me. I tried two that seemed to work, i.e. floor length and not too tight. However apparently the second one was too form-fitting for my family’s taste, so it had to go. Unfortunate, because I ned more abayas. And I liked the decoration, sort of jewelled. I have often had the sensation , “Oh, so this is what it’s like to be____” since coming here. Today it was, “Oh, so this is what it’s like to want to wear something and to be told that it is not appropriate.” Growing up I don’t think I was ever told this. I am glad that they told me it was too tight, and looking back I probably would have felt a bit uncomfortable in it. Both the heat and the possible attention.
This may be difficult to explain…how I can feel unresentful or annoyed by the stares that come from men, or the horns honking. The easy answer is that personally, I am used to it. From being a thirteen year old in Nicaragua and getting used to the usual harmless catcalls that give Hispanic men such a bad name in the U.S., to getting honks from cars in Durham in my southern hometown as a high schooler, to drawing a lot of stares and occasional honks in Northern Cyprus simply because blonde hair and pale skin are an uncommon sight there outside of the tourist traps. So being honked at or stared at here is fairly easy to ignore.
The harder thing is explaining why it is supposedly the woman’s job to cover herself so that men do not feel tempted by them. The argument I have heard repeated by friends and family in the USA is that men should take some responsibility for their own actions and exhibit restraint. I do not disagree, and still take issue with the idea that it is entirely up to the women. However, I explain it to myself on the level of women as being the target of abuse world-wide. Currently the "plight" of women in the Middle East takes a highly visible, (and highly publicized), form. However, my experience as a woman thus far in Oman has felt more constrained by the sun and heat than from any human restrictions. I feel more respected here, in many cases, though this would be different if I did not wear an abaya. Here it is also a marker of social status, as the "outsiders", (so-called "expatriates" or the workers from South Asia that outnumber Omanis with citizenship), do not wear abaya, or the male equivalent, the dishdasha.