"really, Nescafe should be illegal"

Hey all! I haven’t update in some time, so here’s a little of my first glimpses into my new home’s culture:

The call to prayer is beautiful, but it’s not transforming me. It’s a good clock, though! Oop. There it goes as I type. 12:30ish. (It changes as the sun changes through the seasons.) I should stop, probably, and be holy and all, but I’m still me. Spiritual in my very every-day way.

I’m reminded a lot of Mexico! The architecture (not the elaborate city stuff, but the houses, with their fences enclosing little blocky villas with lots of ornate ironwork, etc. Everyone’s the same color (as me!) And, the landscape! I expected to be shocked, but the road between Abu Dhabi reminds me a lot of driving in northwestern Mexico towards the Gulf of California. Sand, little ranches. Add a lump to the back of a burro, and I’d barely be able to tell where I was.

(I’m also remembering a student of mine, such a cute lil’ fella, with a speech issue, that in his super I’m-so-cool way, would announce that that his family spent the weekend at the “Dyoons,” aka the sand dunes in California. Yah know, where Star Wars was filmed?)

Coffee. All who know me understand my devotion to the Great Bean. It stands to reason that I move to a country where it’s the national drink, right? And the cardamon! Ah! The cardamon! That combo is absolutely “home” to me. Okay, so c’mon, UAE, why, oh why, is Nescafe even allowed in the country?! That’s not coffee! It's coffee...product! Coffee...food! (Ala cheesefood, right?!) Not okay. Luckily, I packed what is important - teaching material, a few long-sleeved garments, my grinder and some fair trade beans. I think I have cardamon in there, too. All Will Be Well.

I’m approaching the subject of Islam with kid gloves. I really do want to learn more about it, and already have a great respect for it. What I’ve been able to digest about it is just lovely - it’s about tolerance, peace, moderation. So different from what fear mongers would have us believe. What I haven’t been able to digest, well, is a little harder. The reason I say this, is that we had a recent opportunity to hear a lecture that was a little off-putting. Reflecting on my reaction, I know it’s more a reaction to the lecture style (and subsequently, to the educational system as it has been). So, I went from visiting the most beautiful building in the world (Sheikh Zayed Mosque) to hearing a very academic, heavily “persuasive” (read “abrasive”) paper read word-for-word at the end of an already long day. I really shut off. I had the feeling I was being yelled at. I had the feeling our lecturer was being very defensive. But, I have reflected carefully, and I think that he’s just learned to lecture “correctly,” just as he was taught to do.

Now, I’m remembering what I’ve been told about education here: the first “schools” were in the mosques, for boys only, and for teaching (memorizing) the Qu’ran. Rote learning is the the tradition here. But, this country is just a couple of years older than myself. They're going through some major shifts, just as I am. I’m coming in to teach teachers, by example, that exploration and play do promote learning and creative thinking. It's a big job. I can't wait. I can't wait to understand what they have to teach me.

I have also witnessed the kindness and openness of the Emirati people. Other teachers report nice experiences of nationals asking about their heritages. Another lecturer on the same evening as the other really brought home for me the willingness to share with others. She could barely speak English, and yet, there was the effort to do so. For our comfort. I can only make the same effort in return.

By now, I know the name of my school, but I don’t know if anyone in my school speaks English at all. Part of me hopes that is the case. I’ll be relocating to my new home this next week, and school starts soon after. I know for sure that my work is cut out for me. I am so excited, I can hardly contain myself!

Off to Dubai for a look-see. Until next time!

"the camels welcome you"

So, I’m here after 20 hours of travel. No jet lag to speak of. (Could that be the B-12 shot working?) No luggage lost, although some gained (more on that later). No lack of absolute luxury. I have one day off before starting my work orientation, so I’ve got a few things planned: study my Arabic, maybe go to the spa, take in a 3 hour hatha yoga class, maybe tag along a mall trip, now that I realize how inappropriate most of my tops will be for work, maybe write, maybe read some teaching materials, definitely give a lot of thanks.

I can’t tell you how kind everyone has been already. There’s a lovely calmness here. I know some of that is the “honeymoon” phase of culture shock, , but really, I feel so taken care of. Could it be that the education council greeted us right off the plane with roses, walking us through every step necessary so that I didn’t even have to think (or pick up 120 pounds of luggage by myself) after our long travel? Could it be the lovely young lady from Jordania that freely gave advice about driving and living in Abu Dhabi before our bus ride to the hotel? Could it be the fabulous hotel staff that welcomed us with warm, wet towels and herb-infused mango juice? Or maybe it was the great night of sleep in the fluffy bed after talking with my dear ones on skype. Maybe a little of all of that. Or maybe it’s the camel milk talking.

Uh-huh, I did try camel milk this morning. Not bad, actually! Surprisingly a little less pungent than goat milk. Can’t say I’ll need to repeat the experience. But, if that was all there was to drink, pretty sure I could keep it down. (By the way, did you know that a thoroughbred camel can cost $750,000? Heard that recently. I wonder if I drank thoroughbred milk?!) Ah, the land of milk and honey. And...other not so pleasant things...

So, I said something about luggage “gained.” I probably should explain that, huh? Okay, so, when my luggage arrived, I took a rather perfunctory glance through, to see if my health supplements made it through customs. (There are strict regulations against having pharmeceuticals without a prescription. I wasn’t sure if some of what I have would be considered that or not.) Well, everything made it through, luckily. When...(funny, I don’t remember packing anything in a wadded up napkin in my luggage...) I retreived something rather nasty looking from amidst my abayas and my westerner clothing. It was what appeared to be a flower ball tea, but somehow not. Brown, kinda round, kinda wet, and definitely herby smelling. Gross. I threw it out right away, but then started wondering...what the heck IS that thing?! What if it’s some creepy illegal somethingerother that someone planted on me?! Should I flush it? Should I report it? My dear friend Eli suggested that the camels had given me a welcome gift. Hey, why not, everyone here is so welcoming! Finally, though, she talked some sense into me and confirmed what I thought it might be all along - some bag checker’s nasty old chewing tobacco. Why it was in my luggage, I will never know.

Reminds me of a recent conversation with another dear friend, Jen, who spent a school year teaching in China. She gave some sage advice: some things, we will never understand, and the key is to just be okay with that.

Oh. “Key.” Just reminded myself. I already lost one of my room keys. I’m gonna go look for that now.

Until next time!

"man jobs"

I’m still in the United States yet, with only a handful of internet-search keywords and picture clues about Abu Dhabi, the UAE, the Muslim world, to tell me what I’m getting myself into. How do I prepare for this, besides updating electronic equipment, packing up, and ditching my tank tops and shorts for clothing that will cover my physical self away from my new world?

One of the things I’ve done is to take myself on a solo backpacking trip. Very lovely experience, very grounding, very meditative. Met some nice flora, some edible(peppermint, yucca, grasses of various sorts), and met some fauna (deer, raccoon, an amphibious campmate, a merganser) along the way. Avoided the poison ivy and resident bear and rattlesnakes. Soaked in natural hot springs, bathed in cold mountain streams. Sang songs to myself. (Why is it that I never get GOOD songs in my head? Always those sappy old 70’s love songs with very little musical value ...) Encountered people claiming to care about Ma Nature (biology students) who were the most disrespectful camp neighbors I have encountered in the back country. (Please, don’t walk into someone else’s camp site and pretend they aren’t there! A simple “hello” will suffice! And PLEASE! Don’t shine your flashlight into someone else’s tent at night! Luckily, I also encountered lovely people, like the young couple, on their prenuptial week in the woods. Overall, my lil’ sojourn was delightfully necessary for my sanity and health, and I have renewed my faith in my personal “church,” existence itself on this natural planet, whose molecules have been my own, will become my own, and return again when it’s time. I am not only intertwined with the natural world, I am of nature. How I treat it, other conscious beings, I treat myself.

But, I digress. What I really wanted to write about is a frontier of another sort, one that I have feared beyond any bear encounter while equipped with peanut butter sandwich in hand. What is this great challenge of which you speak, Michelle? Cars.

Cars? Yes. Cars. The buying and selling of them. Until now, this was “Dad” territory. In this western world, in this age of “anything you can do, I can do better” post- women’s lib, where male and female roles have crossed and melded so much, it is no wonder that there is such confusion on how to treat each other anymore, what’s acceptable, what’s not. Now, I’m not saying that I’m moving to the Arab world because I prefer strick gender guidelines. I’m as “lib” as they come. I have my own silent struggles, such as with my own gentlemanly father who holds doors for women and walks on the street side of a sidewalk. Okay, “struggle” is a strong word. “Awkwardness” is more appropriate. (It isn’t that I think it’s wrong for him to do it. I simple can’t understand why it isn’t as nice for me to return the favor!) So, I’ve always tried to do things for myself without depending on males to do for me. And yet. There is this car thing. I have to sell my car. EEEK. Daddy! Help!

How many of you know the percentage of women in car sales in the United States? The statistics from 199...oh, I’m kidding, I really don’t know of any studies being done on that yet, but seriously, how many of you have dealt with a female dealer or private seller, or private buyer for that matter? I’m sure they exist, but so far, ALL of the inquiries I’ve gotten are from men, and, get this, all of the ones I’ve had actual conversations with are looking to buy a car for a wife or a girlfriend. So, I’m NOT insane. It IS still culturally ingrained. The last “man” job in the western world: car buying and car selling. Women, if you have ever handled a car transaction on your own, I hereby deem you “Bad Ass.”

So, did I ask Dad for help to sell my car? Oh, heck yes! And it still might come to that, if my e-ticket comes and it hasn’t sold yet. But, I’m trying to cut a new tooth here, and why? Well, here it is folks: I am going to buy or rent a car soon. In an Muslim country. On my own. Scary in the United States to infringe on another gender’s territory? Yes. Scary in a world where women don’t really even SPEAK to unfamiliar men? Need I say...YESS?!?! I can’t say more about that, since I really have no clue how that part will play out. I’ll letcha know.

So, as far as selling my car here goes, I know all will be fine. I’ll sell Palomita, my lovely dovely, my little piece of popcorn, my dependable Toyota who has served me well (under 76,000, mostly highway miles! It’s got a 6-cd changer, all the maintenance records and PINSTRIPPING, just in case ya know someone who might be interested). I’ll jump through some red-taped hoops, try not to say the right things the wrong way, and send her off to a new home. Just like those last boxes of books and camping equipment that I need to comb through and pack away, it sounds like a more daunting job than it will be. I have faith. My very own brand of it. And all will be as it needs to be. Inshallah.