“eye of the storm”

Yesterday, I saw my first sandstorm from safely within my 5th floor flat.  It was an awesome sight, much like the morning fog that blinds us on the way to school on many mornings these days. Except that it rolled in so quickly, no creeping in on little cat feet, more like a tiger pouncing.  A baby tiger playing at the kill, but a tiger nevertheless.  Enough to realize that I don’t want to be walking around outside in the desert if another, mama tiger, should decide to feed.  Seeing other people’s photos, I realized that it was much spookier being in it.  I was supposed to go camping, but my bronchial infection saved me. (Fine dust + germy girl children + rather sucky immune system = sick me, again.) Indoors, I stayed.  Calm, quiet, while all around, the earth lifted up and blew around me.

Living in the UAE does feel like living in the eye of a storm in so many ways.  The Arab world is going through many difficulties.  Tunisia ousted it’s 30 year president.  Egypt is attempting the same feat. Yemen also continues to experience protests.  The Islamic world, which overlaps the Arab world, is in strife.  A recent bombing in Afghanistan, protests in Jordan, constant tension between Israel and Palestine.  Albania.  Saudi Arabia to our west, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan to our north.  Pirates in the waters to the south, and of course civil wars, Nigeria, and Kenya. Thailand. Damaging storms in the Philipines, Sri Lanka.  Peace is scarce.

And yet, I feel safe.  

At home, a beloved politician was shot.  Many innocent people hurt, some killed.  Home isn’t any more safe.  It was shocking.  It was something completely unacceptable.  Part of that comes from the luxury, I believe, of having the sense of well-being that we can enjoy in the western world.  “Peace” used to feel like an ideal, although I was raised in it, lived in it, still live in it.  It’s hard to appreciate fully unless you have a physiological experience of the alternative.  Not that I have.  But I share roads with people who have, I share shopping aisles and urgent care waiting rooms, housing areas. I’ve talked with Egyptians, Tunisians, Filipinos who have family going through so much heavier stuff than my own family has had to experience.  Yes, the U.S. is not as rosy as many people in the rest of the world tend to believe, but I have to admit, I am grateful that my family does not have to live in daily fear for any of us.  Yes, things might happen.  Might happen anywhere.  But, all in all, my people don’t have to live with the constant adrenaline overdrive on.  We are lucky, lucky people.  Usually.  I thought being closer to these places would prove to me that it isn’t as intense as we are led to believe through our media.  The oppositie is true.  It is intense.  It is everywhere.  

I feel safe, but I’m also aware that the storm’s eye can move.  This country has been friendly and kind to me, indeed.  And, although I don’t choose to live with fear, I remember that someone who lives here told someone I know that his brother, who is Taliban, smuggled himself into the UK.  Who knows if it’s true.  All I do know is that our hosts here are friendly.  I don’t always know that our fellow expats always are.  Every once in awhile, a pair of eyes the color of steel will shoot a penetrating look out from under a dark turban, straight at a westerner.  It might be that that person is merely curious.  I don’t know.  I haven’t asked.  I won’t assume anything, but I won’t dismiss caution either.

Our hosts are so accepting, and so quiet about any disapproval, that it can be easy to forget that we need to be aware of staying respectful in dress, behavior, lifestyle.  It can be easy to just act naturally as we are used to at home.  Sometimes, though, there are reminders that I need to pull back.  Quiet stares at my wild hair remind me that if I’m not covering, I should at least pull it back.  It has become more comfortable to wear layers, even if it’s awfully hot, to mask the curves.  When people don’t look, take it as approval.  Women are kinder the more I cover, sometimes talking to me in public.  Mostly, people are just kind all over, and so helpful.  

I feel safe, but I also realize that there is no reason to get comfortable.  Enjoy what I can about being here, but don’t be shocked if I am asked to leave because a student accidently saw my ankle.  That’s extreme, perhaps.  My school is more tolerant, but I do hear stories of things happening, beyond a person’s control, and that person is then asked to leave.  

Speaking of leaving, I’m looking at possibilities for a March get-away for a week.  Beirut has a huge draw for me.  It’s supposed to be the “Paris of the Middle East.”  Paris itself is another thought.  Maybe Cyprus, maybe Seychelles.  Nepal was a thought, but I’m saving that until later.  Istanbul, maybe. Pretty sure Paris will be it, but I’m still exploring possibilities.  Anywhere I go, I’m checking weather and I’m checking political climate.  There are security warnings everywhere.  It can’t be avoided.  Is the world really more volatile right now, or is it just that I’m more aware of it all?  Hasn’t it always been in strife somewhere?

I’m writing this, not because I feel fear, but more as a reminder to myself to stay alert, aware of my own person and others, and to never assume that things will stay the same.  Maybe some of this is from watching the BBC coverage of things going on in the world.  I swore off of daily NPR back home precisely because it makes me so peevish.

Nice having a tv for the first time in a long time, but maybe I’ll balance out with some movies as I get over this respiratory infection.  

Until next time...I wish you safety and peace.