Just so parents, relatives, the FBI are aware:
Am going to be incommunicado till November 11, most likely. Classes ended today, tomorrow we leave for a week with families in rural town of Nizwa, then to Dubai and Qatar for a week.
Then it's back to do the Independent Study Project...am talking to people about national symbols to try and find how they relate to an internalization of Oman's official narrative of a peaceful identity.
Thoughts, advice, input? If anyone has read anything on this or knows someone I should talk to, please let me know.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Oman background/Ethics of Tourism
Sam, in response to your question regarding why people do not open up: the government is authoritarian, censored, quite restrictive. I have worried that the censors might find my blog and shut it down; the Omani newspapers only give bad news about the rest of the world, not about Oman, everyone sings the praises of the Sultan. At least on the level of mainstream public discourse. There are definitely elements of society that question his legitimacy or would want to see another form of government, (for much of Oman’s history the interior part of the country was controlled by an Imamate, a Muslim religious leader, and ruled according to Sharia, or Muslim law. It’s true that most of the censorship is self-imposed, rather than forcibly coerced, but people know that they cannot go too far or they will be arrested. Yet Oman maintains a thick veneer of smiley bright squeaky cleanness, (before the major Hurricane it was second only to Singapore in cleanliness, and that is without the laws regarding gum chewing, etc.)
It is interesting because some of our lecturers do reveal more than would be advisable under normal circumstances; yet because we are all outsiders they apparently feel more comfortable with us. When we traveled in Salalah Elizabeth, our academic director pointed out that the tour companies always make sure to send more than one Omani with a group so that the presence of each keeps the other from talking too much. There is a strange sensation to the situation, because everyone seems so anxious about a leader/government which appears, on the surface, entirely benign and beloved. And the Sultan is genuinely beloved; people blame problems on his scheming ministers.
Other issues that cannot be ignored and that I am not sure I have emphasized: Oman’s economy is almost entirely dependent on oil, a resource that is expected to run out within the next 20 years, (although the oil industry claims that it will be able to maximize extraction capabilities and extend this life-span). Oman’s water sources are laready stretched to the limit, although in day to day life there appears to be no problem because of desalinization plants and the government’s promise to provide water for free to all citizens, (including Omani farmers who maintain date farms that they are no longer intersted in running, and so they hire expatriot laborers to care for the palms or the animals, using large amounts of water to maintain a traditional lifestyle that contributes little to the overall economy. Yet at the moment, maintaining cultural identity, especially in light of the lightning fast development of Oman’ economy and infrastructure, maintainging the Omani traditions has taken priority ove the future of water resources.)
The expatriots: like most Gulf countries, there is a huge population of non-citizens that fill the lower level jobs: almost every Omani household has a housemaid from the Philippines or Indonesia or India, (in that order of desirability, apparently), while all construction is carried out by men by from these countries, similar to the situation with Hispanic workers in the US. And similar to the US, people vent frustrations and racism on the foreign workers, although they do work that few others would want.
I posted this on SIT's website, www.typepad.com, where I am keeping a blog per SIT's request...and they removed it. Apparently they just want happy travel fluff. Oh well.
Thoughts? Comments?
Field Study Journal #18: Ethics of Tourism Discussion
Recorded 10.10.07
Context, Location: Mama Naila’s house, dining room
Time: 21:45, Tuesday, October 10
Individuals Involved: Annelle, K., Naila’s cousin, unmarried, mid 20’s
Coding:
@ 2. Religion
(2.1 Islam, 2.6 Christianity)
# 3. International Politics
(3.5 Tourism)
^ 6. Foreigner in Oman
(6.1 Outsider/Insider)
Note. For this entry I had to create the sub-category 3.5 Tourism under # International Politics, which I hereafter changed to # International Relations.
Description:
K. came in into the dining room where I was studying alone, typing a summary of my thoughts on the Omani national narrative as compared to other countries, in preparation for ISP. She sat at the table beside me; I offered her the reading we had done for the day on eco-tourism. I explained that the article criticized the effect of tourist spectatorship of so-called “authentic” populations, as well as the ecological and economic impact of the tourism industry in general. I asked what she thought of tourists going to villages in Africa in order to see “authentic village life”. She responded that it can be hard to go to another country where the customs are different. I asked her what she thought about the tourists taking pictures of the villagers as they go about their daily activities; she told me that when taking pictures one must ask permission, and told a story about seeing two Masai men in Kenya. She wanted to take a photograph and asked her friend, who told her to ask. The men told her she would have to pay, which she did. I told her that if someone wanted to watch me “go about my daily life” I would feel suspicious about their motives and demand to know what they wanted. She said that the important thing is to respect the customs of the culture you are visiting, and told me about visiting Burnei, a country near Malaysia I had never heard of. She said that visitors are informed on the plane about the codes of conduct; no finger-pointing, improper sitting, eating in front of anyone during Ramadhan, public interaction between unmarried members of the opposite sex, and drinking alcohol. She explained that in Oman there is alcohol in the hotels, and that some Omanis go there to drink; she told me “There are two kinds of Muslims--some people are good Muslims, some people are just born Muslim and they do not really believe. Just like some Christians are good Christians, others are just raised that way.” She told me that even she would go sometimes to dance at discos. She said that at work she does not cover her hair or wear abaya. She said that she knows that this is wrong and that she did not used to do these things, and that in the future she hopes that she will become better. My mother was ready to go, but before leaving K. re-emphasized the importance of following the local norms. She said that while she can wear what she likes in Muscat, in the interior with her father’s family that has “never been anywhere” she has to follow their customs.
Interpretation:
K.’s initial response probably came as a result of me not articulating myself very clearly; she probably interpreted what I was saying according to her understanding of me, that is, a “stranger in a strange land” dealing with the challenges of life abroad. When I tried to make the argument clearer by using photograpy as an example, I think she related personally to the experience of being a tourist eager for documentation. However I did not have the sense that she connected the violation of picture-taking with the larger implications of tourism upon local populations, therefore I continued asking questions. As we talked and it continued to seem as though she did not understand what I meant about the negative impacts of tourism’s consumption of “native culture”, I tried to find an explanation: I thought that perhaps the examples I used evoked different connotations for her. Yet possibly the guilt complex aroused by the rich oogling the poor as expressed by the article might only be understood by those that had experienced this guilt, i.e. me; perhaps for those who have not internalized it, the impulse to travel and see the world (that K. had expressed to me in the past), does not carry psychological baggage. Nor is K. on the receiving end, the “exploited native”, who might immediately identify with the objectification of performing daily life for foreigners. She is one of the tourists, yet from earlier conversations with her, I know she has close personal ties to Africa and the interior of Oman, both recipients of the touristic gaze. Would she therefore be exempt from either side of the equation, exploitation and guilt? Or is this naïvete potentially more harmful, comparable to Western anthropologists patronizing observation of “savages”. Yet despite today’s enforced political correctness, is the relationship to the “Other” any different? For example, the virtual extinction of “Orientalists” after Edward Said often represents simply a change of terminology.
I do not know which is worse, tourists gawking obliviously or tourists gawking guiltily; the question becomes only more complicated when the gawker is suddenly someone who is not necessarily “Other”, but who considers the gawking as recognizing cultural heritage and therefore an inalienable right. In the USA, we have actors parade in costume around colonial Williamsburg; here, some people wear “Omani dress” daily, others treat it as a product for consumption at the Eid holiday. Is this a “living tradition” or an symptom of capitalism? Probably both.
Evaluation:
I was glad that my computer screen had gone black (screen saver) as I think K. might have felt curious to see, and I felt more comfortable with her reading the article than having to potentially take responsibility for what I had written. I have spoken with her in the past about her travels and I know that she is sharp, will not tolerate b.s., and fairly worldly. Still, I felt a moment of hesitation before handing her the paper, as it had made me feel, in some ways, that my presence in Oman was damaging, damningly frivolous, or at the very least reflective of global inequalities often maintained along racial lines…and I did not want her to read it and feel differently about me. Looking back, this fear did not accord her basic respect as an adult who can come to her own conclusions; feeling that I have to maintain my presence in Oman by keeping others in the dark about the criticisms that it could evoke is hardly a mentality in which I want to exist. Yet the initial impulse to discretely remove my cluttered papers and begin small talk was there.
At first I felt awkward about essentially delegitimizing my own “tourist experience” in Oman, (despite its potential for increasing cultural understanding, yadayada, SIT could be easily construed as extended and immersive tourism), yet simultaneously quite interested in her thoughts; therefore frustrated at K.’s misinterpretation of what I was trying to say, which to me felt a bit condescending. (“I understand that it is hard for you here in this foreign culture; it is hard for everyone.”)
As the conversation shifted to K.’s stories about her travels I was glad to learn more about her; I had listened before to K. speak about jihad, the personal struggle for piety and proper conduct; I had thought of her as a fairly religious person and so felt surprised to learn that she does not cover her head at work.
Although I did not ever get a clear reading of her thoughts on the ethics of tourism, I wondered whether she had thought much about it. I struggled with this, as it seemed also to potentially patronize her, but to do so valorizes my own guilty soul-searching regarding my feelings on tourism over what I interpret as her less complicated understanding. It is likely that her relationship to the issue goes into far deeper territory than mine ever can, constrained as it is by the opposing forces of guilt and the knowledge that guilt will never stop me from traveling, although perhaps it will shape my choices as a traveler. Feeling righteous because I acknowledge the inequalities that allow for my status as a white person with the means to see the world does not change who I am or make such inequalities disappear. If I really felt so torn up about it, I would stay home.
It is interesting because some of our lecturers do reveal more than would be advisable under normal circumstances; yet because we are all outsiders they apparently feel more comfortable with us. When we traveled in Salalah Elizabeth, our academic director pointed out that the tour companies always make sure to send more than one Omani with a group so that the presence of each keeps the other from talking too much. There is a strange sensation to the situation, because everyone seems so anxious about a leader/government which appears, on the surface, entirely benign and beloved. And the Sultan is genuinely beloved; people blame problems on his scheming ministers.
Other issues that cannot be ignored and that I am not sure I have emphasized: Oman’s economy is almost entirely dependent on oil, a resource that is expected to run out within the next 20 years, (although the oil industry claims that it will be able to maximize extraction capabilities and extend this life-span). Oman’s water sources are laready stretched to the limit, although in day to day life there appears to be no problem because of desalinization plants and the government’s promise to provide water for free to all citizens, (including Omani farmers who maintain date farms that they are no longer intersted in running, and so they hire expatriot laborers to care for the palms or the animals, using large amounts of water to maintain a traditional lifestyle that contributes little to the overall economy. Yet at the moment, maintaining cultural identity, especially in light of the lightning fast development of Oman’ economy and infrastructure, maintainging the Omani traditions has taken priority ove the future of water resources.)
The expatriots: like most Gulf countries, there is a huge population of non-citizens that fill the lower level jobs: almost every Omani household has a housemaid from the Philippines or Indonesia or India, (in that order of desirability, apparently), while all construction is carried out by men by from these countries, similar to the situation with Hispanic workers in the US. And similar to the US, people vent frustrations and racism on the foreign workers, although they do work that few others would want.
I posted this on SIT's website, www.typepad.com, where I am keeping a blog per SIT's request...and they removed it. Apparently they just want happy travel fluff. Oh well.
Thoughts? Comments?
Field Study Journal #18: Ethics of Tourism Discussion
Recorded 10.10.07
Context, Location: Mama Naila’s house, dining room
Time: 21:45, Tuesday, October 10
Individuals Involved: Annelle, K., Naila’s cousin, unmarried, mid 20’s
Coding:
@ 2. Religion
(2.1 Islam, 2.6 Christianity)
# 3. International Politics
(3.5 Tourism)
^ 6. Foreigner in Oman
(6.1 Outsider/Insider)
Note. For this entry I had to create the sub-category 3.5 Tourism under # International Politics, which I hereafter changed to # International Relations.
Description:
K. came in into the dining room where I was studying alone, typing a summary of my thoughts on the Omani national narrative as compared to other countries, in preparation for ISP. She sat at the table beside me; I offered her the reading we had done for the day on eco-tourism. I explained that the article criticized the effect of tourist spectatorship of so-called “authentic” populations, as well as the ecological and economic impact of the tourism industry in general. I asked what she thought of tourists going to villages in Africa in order to see “authentic village life”. She responded that it can be hard to go to another country where the customs are different. I asked her what she thought about the tourists taking pictures of the villagers as they go about their daily activities; she told me that when taking pictures one must ask permission, and told a story about seeing two Masai men in Kenya. She wanted to take a photograph and asked her friend, who told her to ask. The men told her she would have to pay, which she did. I told her that if someone wanted to watch me “go about my daily life” I would feel suspicious about their motives and demand to know what they wanted. She said that the important thing is to respect the customs of the culture you are visiting, and told me about visiting Burnei, a country near Malaysia I had never heard of. She said that visitors are informed on the plane about the codes of conduct; no finger-pointing, improper sitting, eating in front of anyone during Ramadhan, public interaction between unmarried members of the opposite sex, and drinking alcohol. She explained that in Oman there is alcohol in the hotels, and that some Omanis go there to drink; she told me “There are two kinds of Muslims--some people are good Muslims, some people are just born Muslim and they do not really believe. Just like some Christians are good Christians, others are just raised that way.” She told me that even she would go sometimes to dance at discos. She said that at work she does not cover her hair or wear abaya. She said that she knows that this is wrong and that she did not used to do these things, and that in the future she hopes that she will become better. My mother was ready to go, but before leaving K. re-emphasized the importance of following the local norms. She said that while she can wear what she likes in Muscat, in the interior with her father’s family that has “never been anywhere” she has to follow their customs.
Interpretation:
K.’s initial response probably came as a result of me not articulating myself very clearly; she probably interpreted what I was saying according to her understanding of me, that is, a “stranger in a strange land” dealing with the challenges of life abroad. When I tried to make the argument clearer by using photograpy as an example, I think she related personally to the experience of being a tourist eager for documentation. However I did not have the sense that she connected the violation of picture-taking with the larger implications of tourism upon local populations, therefore I continued asking questions. As we talked and it continued to seem as though she did not understand what I meant about the negative impacts of tourism’s consumption of “native culture”, I tried to find an explanation: I thought that perhaps the examples I used evoked different connotations for her. Yet possibly the guilt complex aroused by the rich oogling the poor as expressed by the article might only be understood by those that had experienced this guilt, i.e. me; perhaps for those who have not internalized it, the impulse to travel and see the world (that K. had expressed to me in the past), does not carry psychological baggage. Nor is K. on the receiving end, the “exploited native”, who might immediately identify with the objectification of performing daily life for foreigners. She is one of the tourists, yet from earlier conversations with her, I know she has close personal ties to Africa and the interior of Oman, both recipients of the touristic gaze. Would she therefore be exempt from either side of the equation, exploitation and guilt? Or is this naïvete potentially more harmful, comparable to Western anthropologists patronizing observation of “savages”. Yet despite today’s enforced political correctness, is the relationship to the “Other” any different? For example, the virtual extinction of “Orientalists” after Edward Said often represents simply a change of terminology.
I do not know which is worse, tourists gawking obliviously or tourists gawking guiltily; the question becomes only more complicated when the gawker is suddenly someone who is not necessarily “Other”, but who considers the gawking as recognizing cultural heritage and therefore an inalienable right. In the USA, we have actors parade in costume around colonial Williamsburg; here, some people wear “Omani dress” daily, others treat it as a product for consumption at the Eid holiday. Is this a “living tradition” or an symptom of capitalism? Probably both.
Evaluation:
I was glad that my computer screen had gone black (screen saver) as I think K. might have felt curious to see, and I felt more comfortable with her reading the article than having to potentially take responsibility for what I had written. I have spoken with her in the past about her travels and I know that she is sharp, will not tolerate b.s., and fairly worldly. Still, I felt a moment of hesitation before handing her the paper, as it had made me feel, in some ways, that my presence in Oman was damaging, damningly frivolous, or at the very least reflective of global inequalities often maintained along racial lines…and I did not want her to read it and feel differently about me. Looking back, this fear did not accord her basic respect as an adult who can come to her own conclusions; feeling that I have to maintain my presence in Oman by keeping others in the dark about the criticisms that it could evoke is hardly a mentality in which I want to exist. Yet the initial impulse to discretely remove my cluttered papers and begin small talk was there.
At first I felt awkward about essentially delegitimizing my own “tourist experience” in Oman, (despite its potential for increasing cultural understanding, yadayada, SIT could be easily construed as extended and immersive tourism), yet simultaneously quite interested in her thoughts; therefore frustrated at K.’s misinterpretation of what I was trying to say, which to me felt a bit condescending. (“I understand that it is hard for you here in this foreign culture; it is hard for everyone.”)
As the conversation shifted to K.’s stories about her travels I was glad to learn more about her; I had listened before to K. speak about jihad, the personal struggle for piety and proper conduct; I had thought of her as a fairly religious person and so felt surprised to learn that she does not cover her head at work.
Although I did not ever get a clear reading of her thoughts on the ethics of tourism, I wondered whether she had thought much about it. I struggled with this, as it seemed also to potentially patronize her, but to do so valorizes my own guilty soul-searching regarding my feelings on tourism over what I interpret as her less complicated understanding. It is likely that her relationship to the issue goes into far deeper territory than mine ever can, constrained as it is by the opposing forces of guilt and the knowledge that guilt will never stop me from traveling, although perhaps it will shape my choices as a traveler. Feeling righteous because I acknowledge the inequalities that allow for my status as a white person with the means to see the world does not change who I am or make such inequalities disappear. If I really felt so torn up about it, I would stay home.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Trip to Wahiba and Sur: Birthday in the Desert
20.10.07
THANK YOU!!! To everyone who sent birthday messages, wall posts, forwards, etc.etc. I could not believe it when I opened my email. My birthday was an absolutely wonderful day, (we were in the desert all day and slept under the stars), but I felt so far away from the people with whom I would have wanted to share it. And so coming back today and hearing from everyone was the best present I could have asked for.
And Mom, I watched the moon until it set, and then watched the stars wheel overhead for most of the night. :)
I will try to upload photos, (the connection is slower than ever), and will write more about the amazing trip soon.
Love to all.
19.10.07
Exhausted, bruised, slightly sunburned, sand lingering in ears and toes after a long shower: this is how one should return form a vacation.
Am still smiling after three magical days, one of which happened to be my 22nd birthday, though the day was so wonderful that I hardly thought about it and only when I was lying under a blanket under the desert stars could I go through my usual birthday soul-search.
The group traveled by SUV to Wahiba Sands, a beautiful area of the Omani desert, home to the bedouin and their camels.
After visiting a bedouin family, (more on this and the effects of toursim on the bedoiun lifestyle later), we arrived at the desert camp, (full of Dutch tourists). Leaving our stuff in tents covered with hokey but cool-looking date palm fronds, some of us climbed the tallest dune to watch the sunset, then ran/slid/rolled down (Sam, it was like the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado. But better), to smoke shisha around the campfire and talk politics with our lecturer for the next day.
After visiting another Bedouin family, (again, more analytical thoughts on this later), we went to a village, (see photo of the "falaj" system of water transportation, one of Oman's oft-featured characteristics.) Then to Wadi bani Khalid, a fantastic wadi. Four of us tried to follow the wadi all the way to the alleged cave, but had to turn back before we were left behind. That evening we traveled to the coastal town of Sur, famous for its construction of "dhows", the traditional sailing ships (see photo
of me with the tower behind). that evening we trekked out to the beach to see/annoy Green sea turtles laying their eggs. I enjoyed the second night in a row of brilliant shooting stars. Seeing the size and dignity of the mother turtle, hearing her breath, (pant really; they do not breathe on land while moving and have to stop and rest, apparently), I appreciated the opportunity to be so close to a creature that may not survive the coming ecological changes...but I could have been just as happy on a non-turtle beach.
On Friday, another wadi, Wadi Shab, (the Young Wadi), this one a half hour trek through canyons over a path strewn with boulders from Oman's massive hurricane Gonu, (if I have not said much about the hurrican yet I should remedy this; it affected the entire country. Although the government has done well rebuilding they have also minimized information regardng the actual number of deaths, and the fact that the storm was probably a result of global warming and therefore was only the first of what could be many). Three of us and Said, a local boy, reached the cave and traveled beyond, climbing up a rope and then up a rock face. At one point the other two, Erick and Chase, had to stop, though Said and I managed to see the palms and old walls at the next layer of the wadi. Of course this was a piece of cake for Said, who later jumped from about 50 feet into the pool of water in the cave, (the rest of us jumped from about 25 feet). On the way back Mohammad, one of our drivers, joked about us jumping in again, and Matt and I took him up on it, jumping from the wreckage of a water tower on the cliff face, (maybe 35 feet up). It was, needless to say, awesome.
The last stop before returning to Muscat was a sinkhole, allegedly the result of a fallen star, though more likely the product of wave action and a collapsed aquifer. I jumped in, inspiring cheers from the kids gathered on the rim. We had taken the stairs about 100 feet down into the sinkhole, where a spit of land blocked a cave complete with small white stalactites. Swimming through, i wished I had brought a mask, though the water was clear enough to see all the way down--the rest of the group had had enough of water at that point, but swimming there was an opportunity not to be missed.
Finally returned home after dark, driving through martian-red mountains and huge anthill-like mounds.
Neither the words nor the photos can come close. the trip was amazing, and I cannot wait to describe it in person. Thank you again to everyone for thinking of me on my birthday. Your thoughts and energy reached me halfway around the world, I think, and had a lot to do with making these three days some of the best i have ever had.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Eid!
Photos:
After a later night filled with last minute preparations of perfuming dresses with "bhuhoor", the sweet and smoky incense that keeps houses and people from ever smelling of dust for the former, B.O. for the latter, we awoke early on the first of Eid. The usual flurry of activity was feverish, though I took a moment to enjoy my first cup of morning tea in a month. Khaled arrived to wrap the little boys' turbans, (which Amran of course took off within moments, though Lokhman managed to keep his on all day). Lakshmi, our housekeeper, looks on. She dotes on Amran, though he could care less; she later asked me to take a photo with both little boys which I wil try to print out and give to her.
Huda, one of my favorite cousins, stands in front of the piles of shoes at the doorway of one of the family houses in Al-Amrat, (a town about thirty minutes south of Muscat). This was our first stop of the day, where we had boko-boko, the Swahili word for Omani harees, or rice paste with sweet meat sauce and ghee. And of course lots of sweets, coffee, fruit. After that we "salim-salim"ed (went visiting) for the rest of the day, hitting five other houses before having lunch and a break at Hobo's house, Khaled's mother, where SIT student Heather lives. (photo of me, Heather, and Charlie taken outside Hobo's door; Charlie lives with Khaled's sister's family).
After lunch I lost count of how many houses we visited, me and my five siblings and Mama Naila piling in and out of the van, removing our shoes at the door, coming and greeting everyone, sitting down, being offered sweets and coffee, which must be accepted. We met up with Heather and Charlie's families and traveled in a caravan, taking each house by storm. We weren't home till 2am.
The photos of the little girls was taken on the street--like Halloween, little kids get dressed up and go from house to house. Though as Lokhman shows in the photo, they get 100 or 200 beza, (100 beza=1 Rial, so around fifty cents to a dollar). The kids make a killing. Teenagers or nonmarrieds sometimes get money too, I got about 2Rials.
Preparations for Eid
Photos: On Thursday, two days before Eid, we spent the entire day in this hair/henna salon, owned by a friend of Naila's, (with the "wasta" I got a good price). These little girls have the traditional Omani henna, while my sisters and I got black Sudani henna.
The day after we spent almost as long at the hair dresser, where the girls' hair was curled (with a curler heated on an open flame). No one is sure what to do with my hair, or lack thereof, so Belquees told me she would do something with bobby pins, saving it from a sizzling attempt to curl it, alhamdulillah.
11.10.07
This is the last night of going to bed knowing that tomorrow breakfast will not come until 6pm…because Ramadhan is almost over and then it is Eid! A holiday not unlike Christmas in that everyone spends months ahead of time shopping for it, yet infinitely less stressful because all the shopping is for oneself. Gift giving is reserved for host-guest relationships it seems, and these gifts are usually of small value as the importance comes with the act not the thing. Gift giving between lovers is something I have seen on TV, but have not yet found another time when gifts seem expected or even appropriate. If people go to Dubai they bring back their myriad purchases, fresh from the hunt, (much of pre-Eid shopping has carried the intensity of hunting, while with Christmas shopping the mentality often connotes hysteria of potentially forgetting to buy someone something.) Not to discount other holidays, I am only comparing Eid to Christmas because like Christmas, it is something that engages society as a whole, regardless of religion. Indian men hang Eid decorations along the highways, shops with Filippino owners hang “Eid Mubarak” (Blessed Eid) in their windows. Now, in these final days, most of the hopping seems to be over and it is time to focus on the really important stuff; making yourself as beautiful as possible. (Note: unless otherwise indicated, my sphere of experience is almost entirely female; at home I hardly interact with men, (the little boys do not count yet), as “Abu-ee” (my father) Khaled is generally either working or at the home of his second or third wife. Men get new dishdasha for Eid, but that’s about it.) Yesterday Tumathr and I had our lower arms waxed, (“honeyed”, halawa) so that today we could have henna done without hair getting in the way of the design. Tumathr, and SIT students Heather and Kristin and I arrived at the beauty salon at 10am and did not leave until almost 6pm; every woman in Muscat goes to get henna two days before Eid, and has her hair done the day before, and the salon was hopping. Salon culture is interesting; no men, of course, and inside the women generally remove their abaya and shela (headscarf), even when they are only waiting for their hair, or waxing, or henna.
As I type I keep stopping to admire my hands; I think the designs of henna are one of the most elegant aesthetics I have ever seen. It feels strange to have it my body, it almost feels as if it's alove and will keep spreading. Not that I would mind--though perhaps I'll change my mind, at the moment am trying to decide where to get a tattoo of a henna pattern...All four of us chose the more dramatic Sudani henna; Omani henna leaves an orange or brown color, while Sudani henna is black. I had my hands and wrists and palms done, as well as a design on both feet and ankles. Have been completely enchanted with it all evening—Heather and Kristin were making fun of me for behaving like a stoner and gazing dreamily at my hands. When we got home and after iftar Belquees put red henna on my finger and toenails, so now it looks even more dramatic. Mawli, the Indian woman who waxed our arms, seems to be passed among the relatives and friends, staying the night and eating, doing facials, massages, waxes, and oil treatments for hair.
Eid seems to produce less stress than Christmas; no one has any obligation other than to wear new clothes and go visit each other, and make sure that clothes are worn strategically on First, Second or Third Eid, so that if something is not new, you don’t wear it on the day that you will visit those who have seen you wear it before. Luckily for me, this intimidating level of nuance is not necessary, as the clothes are all new or as yet unworn. I have tried to keep shopping to a minimum—perhaps to the chagrin of my mother who loaned me soemthing to wear on the Third Eid when the fmaily gathering will be in a hotel. This is the other requirement on Eid: eat inordinate amounts of food at each subsequent home, apparently. Though it will be great to eat during the day again, this will cause my Ramadhan-shrunken stomach to pooch most unfortunately…wearing loose clothing all the time has many merits.
I should be sleeping because tomorrow night I think we will be up most of the night; the kids will be electrified. It is fun that they get so excited simply because everyone else is excited, rather than in expectation of gifts.
On the first day after Eid, (which will be Sat, Sun, Monday), my family is organizing a BBQ for family and the SIT students—this will be a two-goat party, (sort of like a double kegger), and all day we’ll be on the beach, (well, I’ll be hiding in one of the beach huts until 4pm when the sun finally starts to weaken). And the next day, my 22nd birthday, we’ll head into the desert! One night of desert camping, followed by one night bothering green and loggerhead seaturtles as they come ashore to nest. Oman has managed to preserve its beaches to the extent that leatherbacks, Hanwsbills, and even Olive Ridleys come to nest, although over the next few years this may change as development of the tourist industry continues to be a national priority. Diversification of the economy, which currently runs almost entirely on oil, (the other 5%-10% being the famous Omani dates, and minimal fishing, agriculture, and industry), has pushed the government towards tourism as a source of income, yet Oman does not have actual prospects of supporting itself on tourism.
The End of Ramadhan
The photos show my house and the view of the mountains from our front door. This hour has become my favorite, and not only because it is when we have iftar, (although this definitely made me relish sunset even more). When I need a break from the kids running around, which can vary from two to seven depending on which brothers and sisters are visiting from my two other mamas, I go sit on the roof. One of these nights we are planning to sleep out there.
09.10.07
Thoughts on Ramadhan
Only a few days left of Ramadhan; at this point it feels completely natural to, snake-like, consume a large quantity of food over the period of a few hours and spend the next 20+ hours digesting. I doubt that I will even feel hungry in the morning for the first few days, although probably I feel end up feeling more thirsty, as having access to water only seems to increase one’s desire for it. Probably because the need for water is constant, therefore if it is available, the body clamors for it. And perhaps I will go crazy for food as well, or at least for the possibility of having it. I have already begun to plan which juices I have not tried yet and plan to once I can go to the store over lunch break—before Ramadhan I had never even considered going, as I could bring food from home for free. I wonder whether I have gained actually valuable knowledge from this experience, or if I have simply deepened the already-complex relationship to food instilled by an American girlhood.
I have learned that after waiting through the hours of a Thursday or Friday afternoon for Iftar and food, it rarely lives up to my desire for it. Even at its sugary fried Ramadhan best, in the end it is simply some flour, sugar, and milk, or whatever the case may be. It is just food. I had reflected before about the extent to which I rely on food or drink throughout the day to motivate or reward myself. Now, it seems that food has lost some of its power, (though it will be interesting to see how all of this changes after Ramadhan). Additionally, food has ceased to be about nutrition; once I realized how little my body actually depended on food, I stopped thinking along the lines of protein/carbs/fats/vitamin requirements, and just focused on what I wanted to put in my neglected belly. For instance, though I have always had a sweet tooth, I had never craved sugar before as I do now. I do not know if this is result of sugar’s properties as a quick energy source, or simply the sugary delights available. All I know is that for me the best part is usually fruit, but now it is the sweets. On the other hand, mindless eating ,or eating for entertainment or boredom, is no longer appealing; I feel full too quickly. I’ll be curious to see what effect all this has had on my metabolism; although I have lost weight, my stomach bloats quickly…though not yet at the “starvation belly” stage, don’t worry, it has in a way made me understand not only the keen hunger of poverty, (this is one of the reasons for Ramadhan, empathy with the poor), it has made me understand other aspects of being poor to the point of extreme hunger. Or so I interpret: the anger at those eating when I am unable to, the easy exhaustion, the irritability, the quiet intensity of finally eating.
I will miss Ramadhan—especially the community aspect of it. This is part of why I love the World Cup, the Olympics, and cities: the sense of a shared experience with unknown individuals. In Ramadhan everyone complains together throughout the day, or naps together; the community slows down or moves with zombie deliberation. At sunset everyone breathes a sigh of relief together at Iftar, and the taste of the first date is incomparable. Each day I am amazed at how quickly and easily the feel of hunger or thirst falls away and everyone is restored to conversation and normal behavior. The night dissolves into grazing, socializing, TV. And the morning brings another sunrise and the food that lay waiting in the fridge becomes off-limits once again. The level of fluctuation within twenty-four hours is amazing. The prayer cycle also contributes to this, breaking up the day into distinct parts. I feel more productive somehow, with the passage of time marked by the muezzin’s call, even when doing nothing. No day is allowed to slip past, to “get away” without my realizing that it is passing. And each evening the day’s battle is celebrated.
Although it is easy to draw conclusions at the end of Ramadhan, or at least pretend to be rational about it, and it is particularly easier to do so at midnight on a full stomach, there were many moments when I felt completely miserable and any rational thought about the value of the whole process was long ago abandoned. Yet perhaps most interesting is that I never considered stopping. Though I wondered at times what possible meaning this could have for me as a nonMuslim, or other’s curiosities as to my motivation, (though I only ever heard praise for my fasting, I am sure that some people wondered why I would choose to do it), any fleeting thoughts of cheating or taking a break quickly fizzled out. I am not sure why, but I think it has to do with the nature of Ramadhan as a social experience.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Fun With Photobooth
Will, this post is for you:
Two weekends ago my siblings discovered the photobooth feature on my Mac.
need i say more?
The little girl in the last photo is Hapi, the daughter of our Bangladeshi neighbors/rentors, (they live in a little house on our compound, i forget if i mentioned them already. Hapi and her brother Nishan and their little sister Sara are around the house a lot.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Field Study Posts and Answer
Sorry--my last post was cut short and the photos didn't upload.
Don't have time to try again at the moment but wanted to publish two recent journal entries that did not focus on personal relationships/did not include names, and therefore are permissable to post.
Would love people's thoughts :)
Note to Mom about the use of color:
Omani clothing is traditionally very colorful, and in the interior it is possible to see beautiful patterns and brilliant hues. However, in the process of creating a national identity a white "dishdasha" (what Ghalib is wearing in the pic with the baobab tree, and what my dad Khaled is wearing) is the required dress for men. Most women wear black abayas--community (particularly as re-enforced by at least superficiall i.e. visual conformity) is important.
Houses are generally white.
Field Study Journal #15: Night Walk
Recorded 03.10.07
Context, Location: Neighborhood near our house, Al-Ghubra
Time: Around 10:45, Wednesday, October 3
Individuals Involved: Annelle, Lokhman
Coding:
! 1. Gender
(1.1 Norms, 1.2 Roles, 1.3 Expectation, 1.4 Interaction)
^ 6. Foreigner in Oman
(6.1 Outsider/Insider, 6.3 Culture Shock)
& 7. Family
(7.1 Sibling Interaction)
Description:
When I went with Tumathr and Rayan to the dukan we noticed the cool night air, our first night when walking five hundred meters hasn’t left me feeling sweaty. Tumathr and I planned to take a walk later, but then Naila wanted her to come to a relative’s house. At 10:30 I asked Belquees if she wanted to take a walk. She said no, she needed to take a shower; Rayan also did not want to walk. I asked Lokhman, he agreed. On the way out Lakshmi told him to not go far. Outside, our usually populated street looked nearly deserted. Lokhman brought his bike, I began to walk. Lokhman saw a dog across the road and told me to be careful; we saw another one coming from a dumpster in front of our house. Lokhman did not want to go near them, but I told him he would be fine, you only need to be careful of dogs in packs. We passed a few men, and a group working on house construction with a pulley. We passed an old man in dishdasha digging near plants in front of a home. Lokhman salaamed, and told me he was the father of friends of his sisters. We passed another house; Lokhman told me the Imam lived there whose young son sometimes calls the Aden. The street was dark near the houses, brighter when we came to a commercial area. A car passed and honked twice. Lokhman told me that Omanis honk a lot and he does not understand why. Returning to the house, Lokhman told me that a graveyard lies in the open field beyond the trees, and explained that the low building near our house held something related to electricity. Our walk lasted about twenty minutes.
Interpretation:
I interpreted my sisters’ reluctance to come with me as possibly related to the late hour; if I had asked Tumathr at that time she might have said no. I interpreted the dogs as being more afraid of us than we were of them, although this could potentially have back-fired if the dog were threatened into attacking at our approach. I believe that the empty street resulted from the time of night, although Tumathr had also mentioned earlier that more people will be at home or at the mosque during these final ten days and nights of Ramadhan. I believe that the honk was probably directed at me as a foreign woman, although from Lokhman’s comment this could be wrong; perhaps the driver wanted us to move away from the edge of the road. Always covering my head when I go outside, I wondered how everyone can immediately tell that I am a foreigner. Then I remembered my own response when seeing foreigners in Oman; I stare as much or more than the Omanis. However, I think that perhaps seeing a foreign woman in abaya or kanga might present an even rarer sight.
Evaluation:
I felt a twinge of uneasiness, rare thus far in my experience of Oman; Lokhman’s nervousness about the dogs raised my nervousness about the few men walking the street alone or in clusters. Although I did not consider it remotely likely, I wondered what I would do if someone started to harass me, or came up behind and grabbed me. I wondered what Lokhman would do, and reminded myself that he is only seven years old, and his first instinct at any dangerous situation would probably be to run away. I felt vulnerable only wearing a kanga over a tanktop and higher-than-ankle loose pants. Although similar attire is not uncommon for women in my neighborhood, I would have felt more secure in an abaya. However, after the initial adjustment to the almost empty street, I enjoyed the walk. Crossing through the more populated and brighter commercial strip I felt aware of the bracelets Lokhman had put on my wrists earlier and that I had not removed: the one part of my body that carried something meant to draw the eye rather than deflect it. Traditions of ornamenting the hands, such as with henna, I understood in a new way; that afternoon Abuii Khaled had explained that for Eid we would do henna. He laughed and said that while some men are turned on by henna, he is not. Although I had appreciated the aesthetic beauty of henna, for example, or wrist and ankle jewelry, I had not yet experienced the importance of decorating the hands, or putting kohl on the eyes, decorating any exposed body part: I felt what I had previously only thought of as an “interesting cultural practice.”
Afterward:
In reading over my thoughts on the walk, I sound like a cowering wimp. I have been in situations in New York that would rate as much riskier than a nighttime stroll through a neighborhood in Muscat. I know that if I were not living with my family I would probably take nightly walks alone; yet having experienced life in Muscat only in the context of life with my family I have equated the two, and thus taken on some of their habits and expectations, (according to which near-midnight strolls are perhaps “eccentric” at best). I wonder whether this will affect my ability to function alone in the Middle East in the future, in Yemen for instance, or whether I will react as my family would: total shock at a woman traveling alone. I suspect that once I am out of my family’s sometimes stifling embrace I will revert to my usual independence; however, I can appreciate people’s reactions when they hear that I will be traveling through Yemen and Egypt on my own.
Field Study Journal #14: Skin Color in Oman
Recorded 03.10.07
Context, Location: In the girls’ bedroom, Mama Naila’s house
Time: Around 14:00, Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Individuals Involved:Annelle, “L.” extended cousin
Coding:
% 5. Citizenship
(5.2 Expatriate Differentiation, 5.4 Race)
^ 6. Foreigner in Oman
(6.2 Being American, 6.4 “Social Scientist”)
Description:
I was lying on my bed after class when my sisters and one of their cousins came home from school. The kids stayed in the room for a few minutes, then all but the cousin left. She asked questions about American pop culture; she asked “Do you know Tyra Banks’ show? She is black.” I waited a few moments as the conversation continued, then asked her to explain what she meant when she said that Tyra Banks was black. She told me that this was what people said in America, that I, Annelle, was white, while Tyra was black. I asked her what she meant by “white” and “black”. She said that I should know, I was American. I asked if she would be “black”; she said no. I asked why Tyra Banks was black. She said because her skin was darker than mine, it was like hers. I aksed why Tyra would be black if she wasn’t. She said, “Ok, Tyra isn’t black, she is like me.” I asked whether people in Oman say that people are “black”; she asked why I was asking this question. I explained that she was right that in America people will say that someone is “white” or “black” depending on the color of their skin, but I wanted to understand why she had said “Tyra is black” and asked again if Omanis would say, “That person is black.” She said that she did not understand. I explained again that she was right, that “black” and “white” are used to identify people in the States; I added that this was “wrong” and “racist”, and asked again whether people would say the same sentence “So and so is black” in Oman. She asked if I wanted to know how to say the sentence in Arabic. I said no, that I wanted to understand if the term “black” is applied to people in Oman. She said yes. I asked who would be called “black.” She said that she did not understand. She then began to ask me how I would feel if black people in the United States said “We don’t like white people.” I told her that I did not believe that “white” and “black” actually meant something real; that it was a way in which to discriminate against and oppress people. She told me that America fought a war because they did not like black people. I tried to explain that the Civil War was not because white people did not like black people, but because some white people wanted to keep slaves while others wanted slavery to end, and that the war was based on money. I asked her if Oman had had slavery, she said that she did not know. I told her that I thought so, but that slavery was different in the United States. I asked again who would be considered “black” in Oman. She asked if I could stop asking her these questions. She began to talk about the number of Filippino, Chinese, and Indian people in the United States. I told her that there were a lot of Indian people in Oman. She agreed, and began to talk about house-maids that had killed the children of the people they worked for. I told her I did not believe her and so she told me a story about a housemaid who had been yelled at and killed a little boy in revenge. The conversation moved on.
Interpretation:
I have had difficulty trying to decide whether to create a separate coding category for “Race”, or whether to include it with issues related to “Citizenship”. In the United States, race would unquestionably require its own category for reasons of political correctness as much as for the weight of the psychological and political implications. Yet in the Gulf, citizenship seems to be the more-loaded issue, the category by which some are included or excluded. I am unsure whether to code the experience under an Omani rubric or an American one, for although I as an American may never be able to completely erase the effects of an American upbringing on giving me a “black and white lens”, I must hope that a different context could allow me to conceive another perception, as least. Perhaps the best I can hope for is that by learning the discriminations of another society I may conceptualize them as constructed and thereby weaken those that I have internalized.
I think that L. included the sentence “She is black” as way to help me remember the show. I believe that she is aware that “white” and “black” are important methods for identification in the United States, and perhaps assumed that I would need this differentiation. I do not think that she meant “black” to carry any meaning beyond a visual cue for recall, and I interpreted her later behavior as an indication that she did not expect such a probing from me.
Evaluation:
The conversation was one of the few in Oman during which I was less careful to “take care” of the person to whom I was speaking; I pursued the topic almost relentlessly and at the time was aware of crossing my own “interview etiquette” boundaries. Looking back I do not know if I behaved unethically by not responding earlier to her apparent discomfort with the topic. I do not feel that I caused her undue emotional stress, although I know that had she been one of my sisters I would not have pressed her to the same extent, partly because I feel more protective towards them, and partly because I would not want to damage our established trust or make them feel that I was “studying” them, despite the fact that I am. In agreeing with L. and assigning myself as an example of “white” I was careful to not say that L. would be “black”; I consider this an American label, and hoped that she had not felt it necessary to insert herself into America’s racial(racist) boxes.
I also pursued an obviously delicate issue because I have wondered about the subject of race in Oman, and how an Omani would feel in coming to America, particularly Omanis whose skin color would have them categorized as “black” in the States. The conversation felt particularly unusual because unlike discussions I have had about race in America, this did not follow the patterns that I am used to. The “political correctness” without which I would not feel comfortable talking about race in America, and which generally leads to both discussants rehashing statements and positions that both have already heard, played only a minor role. Although the conversation felt loaded, as has every discussion of race I have ever heard or been part of, it also felt potentially open-ended. For a few moments while asking L. to tell me what the meaning of “black” and “white” would be for her, these terms lost their meaning for me in a way that no other dissection of race has ever managed to do. However, I think that part of this comes from a naïve idolization of the situation, based on my assumption that L. has not internalized an American projection of color. Her statement that “You are American, you should know”, is true; a discussion among Americans of all races starts with a shared basic understanding of the daily implications of race in American life, thereby perhaps limiting the potential of the discussion to change participants’ perceptions.
While I do not know the extent to which “white” and “black” carry meaning in Oman, nor for L., I know that she is more exposed to American culture than my siblings, another potential reason that I pressed her for answers, as I consider her, correctly or not, to be “tougher” than my sisters. Her level of exposure could have the opposite effect; talking to someone for whom skin color-based discrimination has no personal meaning would be less potentially stressful or damaging than someone who holds these ideas, particularly a teenager who idolizes the culture that would and will send her negative signals about her skin color. Afterwards I felt almost sick at the thought that every American cultural export carries a degree of racism woven within it, even if at the subconscious level. I do not know what L. has been exposed to, but she obviously already knows that in the States “white” and “black” have very different connotations, especially based on her reluctance to label herself as “black”. Although I know that paler skin is considered more desirable in Oman, I have been uncomfortable broaching the subject of race in previous situations. Looking back at my attempt to describe the Civil War both understandably and somewhat accurately, I realized that she had a better explanation than I did, that not only did “white people not like black people” then, but that many still felt the same way. Luckily she did not ask for an explanation of why, because while I could list historical facts and factors, in the end hate does not have a rational explanation.
When she asked if I could stop asking her questions, I felt simultaneously relieved and frustrated. I had so many other questions to ask; at the same time, the discussion was emotionally draining for me as well. When she asked “How would white people feel if black people said they didn’t like them?” I felt annoyed at her naïvete, at her feeling legitimate in nonchalantly taking up as complicated and explosive an issue as American race relations, a topic in which I doubt she has much knowledge; yet if she had been an equally uninformed but African-American teenager, I would have considered her indignance completely appropriate. In retrospect, I think that my feeling would apply to all contexts; I think only an American would be qualified to speak about American race issues. (What this says about my legitimacy as a “researcher” in Oman is a question I will have to try and answer.) However, I think that this reaction is closely tied to emotions, white guilt in particular. I do not want to have to carry the eternal baggage of American racism: I feel fascinated by the chance to live in Oman where oppression lies along different lines, and I resent the possibility that this might be taken away from me by camraderie among “global oppressed” against the “global oppressors”. Yet this is not my choice to dictate.
There have been moments, when glancing up at my three sisters doing their homework with me in the dining room, and at our little brothers cavorting around, under and over the table, that I have thought about the fact that in the States they would be considered “black”. Looking at them as “Omani” and “my family,” it feels surreal to then to feel a “lens” slip over my eyes and see them as “black”. The American connotation of “black”, with all its bloodied history, cannot coexist as yet with my everyday interactions with my siblings. This is not to say that I cannot see them as having African heritage; it re-enforces the construction and manipulation of the concept of “blackness” in American society.
Afterward:
I noticed that I put most of my comments in the Evaluation section; I have been taught that in speaking about race, the subject cannot be handled at all unless discussants first admit to their own “racial psychoses” and emotional investment in the issue. Yet I hardly brought actual “emotion” to my so-called evaluation, because while I have learned to admit that I cannot discuss race objectively, I then try to pretend that my “emotional” response is objective, intellectual, and mildly self-abasing, rather than let slip actual gut reactions for fear of demonstrating what I have allegedly admitted, i.e. being inescapably racist. The elephant is still in the room.
Don't have time to try again at the moment but wanted to publish two recent journal entries that did not focus on personal relationships/did not include names, and therefore are permissable to post.
Would love people's thoughts :)
Note to Mom about the use of color:
Omani clothing is traditionally very colorful, and in the interior it is possible to see beautiful patterns and brilliant hues. However, in the process of creating a national identity a white "dishdasha" (what Ghalib is wearing in the pic with the baobab tree, and what my dad Khaled is wearing) is the required dress for men. Most women wear black abayas--community (particularly as re-enforced by at least superficiall i.e. visual conformity) is important.
Houses are generally white.
Field Study Journal #15: Night Walk
Recorded 03.10.07
Context, Location: Neighborhood near our house, Al-Ghubra
Time: Around 10:45, Wednesday, October 3
Individuals Involved: Annelle, Lokhman
Coding:
! 1. Gender
(1.1 Norms, 1.2 Roles, 1.3 Expectation, 1.4 Interaction)
^ 6. Foreigner in Oman
(6.1 Outsider/Insider, 6.3 Culture Shock)
& 7. Family
(7.1 Sibling Interaction)
Description:
When I went with Tumathr and Rayan to the dukan we noticed the cool night air, our first night when walking five hundred meters hasn’t left me feeling sweaty. Tumathr and I planned to take a walk later, but then Naila wanted her to come to a relative’s house. At 10:30 I asked Belquees if she wanted to take a walk. She said no, she needed to take a shower; Rayan also did not want to walk. I asked Lokhman, he agreed. On the way out Lakshmi told him to not go far. Outside, our usually populated street looked nearly deserted. Lokhman brought his bike, I began to walk. Lokhman saw a dog across the road and told me to be careful; we saw another one coming from a dumpster in front of our house. Lokhman did not want to go near them, but I told him he would be fine, you only need to be careful of dogs in packs. We passed a few men, and a group working on house construction with a pulley. We passed an old man in dishdasha digging near plants in front of a home. Lokhman salaamed, and told me he was the father of friends of his sisters. We passed another house; Lokhman told me the Imam lived there whose young son sometimes calls the Aden. The street was dark near the houses, brighter when we came to a commercial area. A car passed and honked twice. Lokhman told me that Omanis honk a lot and he does not understand why. Returning to the house, Lokhman told me that a graveyard lies in the open field beyond the trees, and explained that the low building near our house held something related to electricity. Our walk lasted about twenty minutes.
Interpretation:
I interpreted my sisters’ reluctance to come with me as possibly related to the late hour; if I had asked Tumathr at that time she might have said no. I interpreted the dogs as being more afraid of us than we were of them, although this could potentially have back-fired if the dog were threatened into attacking at our approach. I believe that the empty street resulted from the time of night, although Tumathr had also mentioned earlier that more people will be at home or at the mosque during these final ten days and nights of Ramadhan. I believe that the honk was probably directed at me as a foreign woman, although from Lokhman’s comment this could be wrong; perhaps the driver wanted us to move away from the edge of the road. Always covering my head when I go outside, I wondered how everyone can immediately tell that I am a foreigner. Then I remembered my own response when seeing foreigners in Oman; I stare as much or more than the Omanis. However, I think that perhaps seeing a foreign woman in abaya or kanga might present an even rarer sight.
Evaluation:
I felt a twinge of uneasiness, rare thus far in my experience of Oman; Lokhman’s nervousness about the dogs raised my nervousness about the few men walking the street alone or in clusters. Although I did not consider it remotely likely, I wondered what I would do if someone started to harass me, or came up behind and grabbed me. I wondered what Lokhman would do, and reminded myself that he is only seven years old, and his first instinct at any dangerous situation would probably be to run away. I felt vulnerable only wearing a kanga over a tanktop and higher-than-ankle loose pants. Although similar attire is not uncommon for women in my neighborhood, I would have felt more secure in an abaya. However, after the initial adjustment to the almost empty street, I enjoyed the walk. Crossing through the more populated and brighter commercial strip I felt aware of the bracelets Lokhman had put on my wrists earlier and that I had not removed: the one part of my body that carried something meant to draw the eye rather than deflect it. Traditions of ornamenting the hands, such as with henna, I understood in a new way; that afternoon Abuii Khaled had explained that for Eid we would do henna. He laughed and said that while some men are turned on by henna, he is not. Although I had appreciated the aesthetic beauty of henna, for example, or wrist and ankle jewelry, I had not yet experienced the importance of decorating the hands, or putting kohl on the eyes, decorating any exposed body part: I felt what I had previously only thought of as an “interesting cultural practice.”
Afterward:
In reading over my thoughts on the walk, I sound like a cowering wimp. I have been in situations in New York that would rate as much riskier than a nighttime stroll through a neighborhood in Muscat. I know that if I were not living with my family I would probably take nightly walks alone; yet having experienced life in Muscat only in the context of life with my family I have equated the two, and thus taken on some of their habits and expectations, (according to which near-midnight strolls are perhaps “eccentric” at best). I wonder whether this will affect my ability to function alone in the Middle East in the future, in Yemen for instance, or whether I will react as my family would: total shock at a woman traveling alone. I suspect that once I am out of my family’s sometimes stifling embrace I will revert to my usual independence; however, I can appreciate people’s reactions when they hear that I will be traveling through Yemen and Egypt on my own.
Field Study Journal #14: Skin Color in Oman
Recorded 03.10.07
Context, Location: In the girls’ bedroom, Mama Naila’s house
Time: Around 14:00, Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Individuals Involved:Annelle, “L.” extended cousin
Coding:
% 5. Citizenship
(5.2 Expatriate Differentiation, 5.4 Race)
^ 6. Foreigner in Oman
(6.2 Being American, 6.4 “Social Scientist”)
Description:
I was lying on my bed after class when my sisters and one of their cousins came home from school. The kids stayed in the room for a few minutes, then all but the cousin left. She asked questions about American pop culture; she asked “Do you know Tyra Banks’ show? She is black.” I waited a few moments as the conversation continued, then asked her to explain what she meant when she said that Tyra Banks was black. She told me that this was what people said in America, that I, Annelle, was white, while Tyra was black. I asked her what she meant by “white” and “black”. She said that I should know, I was American. I asked if she would be “black”; she said no. I asked why Tyra Banks was black. She said because her skin was darker than mine, it was like hers. I aksed why Tyra would be black if she wasn’t. She said, “Ok, Tyra isn’t black, she is like me.” I asked whether people in Oman say that people are “black”; she asked why I was asking this question. I explained that she was right that in America people will say that someone is “white” or “black” depending on the color of their skin, but I wanted to understand why she had said “Tyra is black” and asked again if Omanis would say, “That person is black.” She said that she did not understand. I explained again that she was right, that “black” and “white” are used to identify people in the States; I added that this was “wrong” and “racist”, and asked again whether people would say the same sentence “So and so is black” in Oman. She asked if I wanted to know how to say the sentence in Arabic. I said no, that I wanted to understand if the term “black” is applied to people in Oman. She said yes. I asked who would be called “black.” She said that she did not understand. She then began to ask me how I would feel if black people in the United States said “We don’t like white people.” I told her that I did not believe that “white” and “black” actually meant something real; that it was a way in which to discriminate against and oppress people. She told me that America fought a war because they did not like black people. I tried to explain that the Civil War was not because white people did not like black people, but because some white people wanted to keep slaves while others wanted slavery to end, and that the war was based on money. I asked her if Oman had had slavery, she said that she did not know. I told her that I thought so, but that slavery was different in the United States. I asked again who would be considered “black” in Oman. She asked if I could stop asking her these questions. She began to talk about the number of Filippino, Chinese, and Indian people in the United States. I told her that there were a lot of Indian people in Oman. She agreed, and began to talk about house-maids that had killed the children of the people they worked for. I told her I did not believe her and so she told me a story about a housemaid who had been yelled at and killed a little boy in revenge. The conversation moved on.
Interpretation:
I have had difficulty trying to decide whether to create a separate coding category for “Race”, or whether to include it with issues related to “Citizenship”. In the United States, race would unquestionably require its own category for reasons of political correctness as much as for the weight of the psychological and political implications. Yet in the Gulf, citizenship seems to be the more-loaded issue, the category by which some are included or excluded. I am unsure whether to code the experience under an Omani rubric or an American one, for although I as an American may never be able to completely erase the effects of an American upbringing on giving me a “black and white lens”, I must hope that a different context could allow me to conceive another perception, as least. Perhaps the best I can hope for is that by learning the discriminations of another society I may conceptualize them as constructed and thereby weaken those that I have internalized.
I think that L. included the sentence “She is black” as way to help me remember the show. I believe that she is aware that “white” and “black” are important methods for identification in the United States, and perhaps assumed that I would need this differentiation. I do not think that she meant “black” to carry any meaning beyond a visual cue for recall, and I interpreted her later behavior as an indication that she did not expect such a probing from me.
Evaluation:
The conversation was one of the few in Oman during which I was less careful to “take care” of the person to whom I was speaking; I pursued the topic almost relentlessly and at the time was aware of crossing my own “interview etiquette” boundaries. Looking back I do not know if I behaved unethically by not responding earlier to her apparent discomfort with the topic. I do not feel that I caused her undue emotional stress, although I know that had she been one of my sisters I would not have pressed her to the same extent, partly because I feel more protective towards them, and partly because I would not want to damage our established trust or make them feel that I was “studying” them, despite the fact that I am. In agreeing with L. and assigning myself as an example of “white” I was careful to not say that L. would be “black”; I consider this an American label, and hoped that she had not felt it necessary to insert herself into America’s racial(racist) boxes.
I also pursued an obviously delicate issue because I have wondered about the subject of race in Oman, and how an Omani would feel in coming to America, particularly Omanis whose skin color would have them categorized as “black” in the States. The conversation felt particularly unusual because unlike discussions I have had about race in America, this did not follow the patterns that I am used to. The “political correctness” without which I would not feel comfortable talking about race in America, and which generally leads to both discussants rehashing statements and positions that both have already heard, played only a minor role. Although the conversation felt loaded, as has every discussion of race I have ever heard or been part of, it also felt potentially open-ended. For a few moments while asking L. to tell me what the meaning of “black” and “white” would be for her, these terms lost their meaning for me in a way that no other dissection of race has ever managed to do. However, I think that part of this comes from a naïve idolization of the situation, based on my assumption that L. has not internalized an American projection of color. Her statement that “You are American, you should know”, is true; a discussion among Americans of all races starts with a shared basic understanding of the daily implications of race in American life, thereby perhaps limiting the potential of the discussion to change participants’ perceptions.
While I do not know the extent to which “white” and “black” carry meaning in Oman, nor for L., I know that she is more exposed to American culture than my siblings, another potential reason that I pressed her for answers, as I consider her, correctly or not, to be “tougher” than my sisters. Her level of exposure could have the opposite effect; talking to someone for whom skin color-based discrimination has no personal meaning would be less potentially stressful or damaging than someone who holds these ideas, particularly a teenager who idolizes the culture that would and will send her negative signals about her skin color. Afterwards I felt almost sick at the thought that every American cultural export carries a degree of racism woven within it, even if at the subconscious level. I do not know what L. has been exposed to, but she obviously already knows that in the States “white” and “black” have very different connotations, especially based on her reluctance to label herself as “black”. Although I know that paler skin is considered more desirable in Oman, I have been uncomfortable broaching the subject of race in previous situations. Looking back at my attempt to describe the Civil War both understandably and somewhat accurately, I realized that she had a better explanation than I did, that not only did “white people not like black people” then, but that many still felt the same way. Luckily she did not ask for an explanation of why, because while I could list historical facts and factors, in the end hate does not have a rational explanation.
When she asked if I could stop asking her questions, I felt simultaneously relieved and frustrated. I had so many other questions to ask; at the same time, the discussion was emotionally draining for me as well. When she asked “How would white people feel if black people said they didn’t like them?” I felt annoyed at her naïvete, at her feeling legitimate in nonchalantly taking up as complicated and explosive an issue as American race relations, a topic in which I doubt she has much knowledge; yet if she had been an equally uninformed but African-American teenager, I would have considered her indignance completely appropriate. In retrospect, I think that my feeling would apply to all contexts; I think only an American would be qualified to speak about American race issues. (What this says about my legitimacy as a “researcher” in Oman is a question I will have to try and answer.) However, I think that this reaction is closely tied to emotions, white guilt in particular. I do not want to have to carry the eternal baggage of American racism: I feel fascinated by the chance to live in Oman where oppression lies along different lines, and I resent the possibility that this might be taken away from me by camraderie among “global oppressed” against the “global oppressors”. Yet this is not my choice to dictate.
There have been moments, when glancing up at my three sisters doing their homework with me in the dining room, and at our little brothers cavorting around, under and over the table, that I have thought about the fact that in the States they would be considered “black”. Looking at them as “Omani” and “my family,” it feels surreal to then to feel a “lens” slip over my eyes and see them as “black”. The American connotation of “black”, with all its bloodied history, cannot coexist as yet with my everyday interactions with my siblings. This is not to say that I cannot see them as having African heritage; it re-enforces the construction and manipulation of the concept of “blackness” in American society.
Afterward:
I noticed that I put most of my comments in the Evaluation section; I have been taught that in speaking about race, the subject cannot be handled at all unless discussants first admit to their own “racial psychoses” and emotional investment in the issue. Yet I hardly brought actual “emotion” to my so-called evaluation, because while I have learned to admit that I cannot discuss race objectively, I then try to pretend that my “emotional” response is objective, intellectual, and mildly self-abasing, rather than let slip actual gut reactions for fear of demonstrating what I have allegedly admitted, i.e. being inescapably racist. The elephant is still in the room.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
More Salalah photos
Beautiful beautiful water at Wadi Al-Dharbat. I think none of us had realized how much we missed seeing green. It was a bit hard to come back to the color scheme in Muscat. Tan to beige is about the width of the spectrum.
The photo of the rubble in front of the house is from the town of Maraq, heavily damaged during the war, though if you ask anyone about this they tell you that it is onl weather damage, (and some of it is, as the Dhofar region gets the summer monsoon). Supposedly the house behind me is one of the top places in the country for "jinn", i.e. it is extremely haunted. "Jinn", the source of the English word "genie", is a spirit identified b the Quran as neither human nor angel. Jinn are believed to be sometimes malicious, sometimes helpful, always powerful spirits. Oman actually has an extensive set of cultural beliefs about witches, zombies, ("mughayeb"), spirit possession ("zar"), and magicians or sorcerors. We had a lecture regarding the phenomenon of the mughayeb, in which a dead person is believed to have been only made to appear dead by a magician, and then stolen from the grave. This seems to generally correspond to unexpected deaths of individuals who were young or played an important role in society or their family. The lecturer touched on the fact that overly zealous mourning is not condoned by Islam, since, like Christianity, the soul is supposed to be residing happily in heaven ("jenna"). Therefore calling someone a "mughayeb" (subconsicously) allows the aggrieved a longer period in which to mourn, remember, look for the dead.
"Zar", or possession is apparently very common, (the first night with my family Tumathr told me that the man across the street performs exorcisms. I was almost asleep and wasn't sure if i had heard correctly). It has been recorded as occuring among all populations, despite some scholarly hypotheses that it would be more common among disempowered individuals manifesting stress in a socially-acceptable way, such as women in unhappy marriages.
Anyway, the house was quite creepy. The doorway is from an adjacent building. Assume jinn.
We are almost through with Ramadhan. Well, not quite. Am very much looking forward to "Eid Al-Iftar" (Celebration/Festival of Breaking Fast) that will come at the new moon.
Note (from a question about Ramadhan being in January): The Hijri (Islamic) calendar is based on a lunar system, which does not always match up with the solar pattern. Therefore, the first day of Ramadhan could have been one of two days. And therefore the end of Ramadhan can be one of two days. Insha'allah it will be the first day.
The food during Ramadhan has been pretty delicious though. Lots of sweets, lots of friend things. Luckily for me my family still keeps vegetables in the house during Ramadhan, (apparently some families don't), so I can chomp on a carrot if the oil and sugar gets too heavy.
Have I described what happens at iftar? We all sit on the floor, (note, in Oman it is traditional to eat on the floor, and with one's right hand. Soups are sipped from the bowl. During Ramadhan many families try to do these more traditional activities while they might usually sit at a table and use silverware. In my family we eat with ou hands anyway, which is awesome, but trickier than I would have thought). After we hear the Aden, the call from the mosque, everyone eats a few dates. Omani dates are world famous and fantastic. I had never liked dates before and now they are my favorite part of the whole meal.
Then we usually eat watermelon, sweet fried doughballs (loquimat), sambusas, (like Argentine empanadas, sort of),
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)