Merry Christmas for all?

I grew up with Christmas and love carols and identify completely with the exasperated mother in Amahl and the Night Visitors, which I listen to as much as the rest of the family will let me get away with during the interval between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I even like the super-corny “Let it Be Christmas” as sung by Alan Jackson, because I like the peace and love around the world message.

I know that the dominant culture in the US and at school celebrates Christmas and that we get a much smaller dose of it here than we would in cities and towns in many of our home countries where the streetlights are all decorated and there is a huge lit Christmas tree at the head of the main shopping street and Christmas carols are played day and night. In Doha, outside of malls and certain international schools you would hardly know it is nearly Christmas. I imagine that it makes an international school seem like a safe haven in which to celebrate it but we need to be more careful.

"The diversity that includes more than 70 different nationalities provides limitless opportunities to foster international mindedness and cross-cultural understanding.”

–from the message from the director on the school’s website

I agree with the spirit of this statement completely, in evidence at our recent International Week, which included cultural presentations, opportunities for kids to wear their own national dress and to sample food from around the world.  And then Christmas hit. Besides the Christmas trees and Rudolf art projects a couple of things happened that didn’t sit quite right with me:

•        My daughter’s class went to the head of school’s office where they were read a book about Santa and ate Christmas cookies. 

I can’t be sure of all the details but she insisted that they didn’t talk about how it was from the head’s own family traditions at this time of year that she wanted to share with the preschoolers.

•        An elementary principal ended her weekly e-mail to us yesterday with “Happy National Day to our Qatari families” and “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” to everyone. 

Why didn’t they say “Merry Christmas to families who are celebrating” this holiday?

The emphasis on Christmas without qualifying it as celebrated by many but not all students makes me wonder about how seriously they take “international-mindedness” and “cross-cultural understanding.”  The camp at which I worked last summer, which is barely culturally diverse at all, appears to work harder on inclusion and cultural competence than one of the most highly-regarded international schools in Doha. 

An international school should be more careful with language.  I don’t want a ban on celebrating or mentioning holidays at school, but there should be more equally-applied recognition that holidays are cultural institutions and that everyone is welcome to celebrate them together as a means of exploring other cultures.

unburdened and grounded by a day of drawing on the street

I feel utterly exposed those first few times I step out of my gate solo in a new country.  Accompanied by my kids I am a mother and while I don't mind that label, its duration is finite- as they get older, fewer of their activities involve me and without them by my side, a stranger couldn't tell by looking that I have any children at all. Walking down the street on my own, I wonder what the reaction will be from people I encounter… Will they ignore me? Will they start a conversation? Ask me where I’m from? Be distrustful? Assume my nationality and make judgments from there? How will they react to me as a woman? As a foreigner? As a white person? As time goes by and I get used to my new home, that nakedly vulnerable feeling goes away, but in certain countries -especially those like Qatar where there are more gender-specific expectations around behavior and dress- I never can forget that I am female and foreign when I am out in public.

Saturday I drove deep into the heart of the oldest part of Doha, a bustling noisy place where people live in tiny unlikely spaces and hole-in-the-wall shops sell nearly anything you might need, where there were more people on the street than I see outside in a week in my neighborhood, though not a single woman. It’s a mashup of old dingy buildings trailing wires and leaky pipes, grimy streets and alleys, uneven pavements, overturned garbage bins guarded by scrounging feral cats, and huge new construction projects that will slowly transform the area into a developers dream of luxury housing and expensive retail spaces, fountains, and greenery.  I couldn't help but feel that the city is losing something important, even if it is the nature of cities to recreate themselves, burying the old layers under the new.

I was there to join a day-long drawing class sponsored by the Msheireb Arts Centre, whose main project is “an artist-led initiative to record and collect a wide range of artefacts, stories and memories from Msheireb, Qatar’s earliest suburb, as the area undergoes extensive regeneration. The collection created from this ambitious salvage operation will be used as a resource for local and international artists, schools and community groups, so that the new development retains the memory and identity of Msheireb.”  Seven of us gathered at the Centre and then walked out into the neighborhood to draw. 

I’ve been taking a lot of photos lately, in an almost desperate bid to find enough beauty here to balance out my hatred of the Doha traffic and bewilderment at the Doha consumer culture.  It has certainly helped, but Saturday brought me a kind of peace that has transcended that. Standing there with a drawing board propped against my middle, my pencil busy, my gaze alternating between my paper and the alley before me, I wasn’t worried about being a woman or a foreigner. Men would walk by and sneak a glance at what I was doing.  Some would stop and stand behind me for a few minutes to watch. It was obvious what both artists and observers were doing, with little need for mistrust or guessing (though outsiders taking a close interest in the buildings of Msheireb can arouse some concern that demolition and reconstruction will follow). It was unlikely we had much language in common but it didn’t matter, as very few of the men said anything.

Drawing, for me, is a combination of deep observation and trust, examining the contours and planes and textures before me, choosing which to include and how to represent them on my paper. The trust part is about having faith that I can capture what I'm intending and build my initial sketch into something more interesting, even if it looks pretty ragged along the way.  Drawing outdoors in an alley and then on a busy street, surrounded by the sounds of birds, car horns, construction noise, traffic, shouts and conversation of people all around, the smells of exhaust, food cooking, and decay was all a world away from my previous experiences drawing figures and still lives at home and in classrooms. I loved it, and enjoyed the quiet company of those who came to watch. 

For one day, I shed most of the weight of gender and nationality and put on the lighter and more universally accessible label of artist, and I’m still marveling at what a relief it was.  I have no doubt that gender and race still played a part in how I was viewed but for once, it wasn’t primary.  Connecting with my surroundings, deliberately and deeply, was grounding in a way that’s rare in my life here, where I’m so often zooming around in the car or have my attention scattered by demands of three kids and household tasks.  Even photography keeps me at a certain distance and is more about moments captured than careful examination of a scene.

I’m very grateful for the day and looking forward to heading back into the streets to draw more.

American in Doha, thinking about Ferguson

I woke up early this morning, checked the news, and realized that the announcement of decision reached by the grand jury on whether or not a white policeman would be indicted for murder, for shooting an unarmed black man, was imminent. The news apps weren’t keeping up with real time so I switched to twitter, which was already exploding with anticipation and speculation. I followed the announcement, reactions, trending hashtags, until it was time to rouse the kids. I explained the bare bones of what was going on to my 10-year-old as she ate her breakfast, and we listened to Ella’s song in the car as we drove to school.

I feel very far away, and also, by virtue of so many concerned friends on FB, very connected to what is happening.  I admit to being relieved to be abroad at such a time, and I'm also aware of the irony of avoiding action in my own country by being in one that has even less tolerance for social unrest (example: today South Asian workers are being arrested and deported for mostly non-violently protesting low wages and poor working conditions).  The distance also makes me feel disconnected to the conversation and action that’s going on.  Is there a better word than dialogue, because there are clearly more than two voices, thank goodness- there are a multitude. Could we say polylogue? In any case here I am adding my voice to the fray. 

I don’t trust the media, either traditional or social, to give me a non-manipulated version of events, but it’s all I have to work with from here. I appreciate the message from Michael Brown’s family and will bring it home to discuss with my kids.  I’ve also read the ACLU response with my daughter.  I’m not surprised there’s anger and destruction. While I grew up among people who promoted nonviolent ways of coping with situations, I can feel the heat of people’s anger from here and know its source is much deeper and broader than one shooting, one announcement from a rep of the US justice system, and I can feel that it needs to burn out a little more before some people can start listening to each other or even to the words from his family. 

What can I do, here? 

When I’m talking about it with my kids I’m going to try to convey the systemic issues that have led to the anger in evidence across their home country right now.  I want them to be able to notice social/political/economic patterns and to consider about how those patterns play out for different people, and think about how we can alter them to make things fairer.  I’m also going to encourage them to give thought and attention, and action, even if the action is simply sharing information, to events around the world that don’t prompt millions of tweets an hour or televised riots or announcements from our president. 

Sources I'll share with them: 

http://www.amnesty.org

http://www.transparency.org

https://www.aclu.org

The conversation will continue. 

temptation, hard work, appreciation, relief

Last summer was magical.  It was stark contrast to my life in Doha- the people, the hills, the air, the water, the lack of traffic, the music. The peace.  Coming back was hard, but then a job posting came up that seemed to offer an opportunity to bring us back to that area year-round. It was work I could surely do well and was qualified for, a chance to move somewhere that wasn’t entirely new for a change, to be the one with the anchor job, to stop trailing once and for all. 

I applied.  I got an interview.  You can’t interview for a job without wanting it completely and convincing yourself that you would be the best possible match for the position.  You have to tell yourself that it’s better to go than stay, find reasons to justify that the move will be worthwhile.

Hope is ridiculous and wonderful. We keep doing it despite overwhelming evidence that life is hard and often unfair. I know that it would have made more sense to let go of all hope the instant the interview was over –and then it would be that much more exciting if I was chosen, that much less painful if I didn’t get it. I didn’t let go entirely but I did work hard on keeping it in check.

It’s been a strange week, full of rich conversations with friends and lots of thought about what it would mean to go, what it would mean to stay.  I’ve been able to see, for a moment, what I gain from  living in a place that is hard, that contradicts so many of my values and that deprives me of so many of the things I thought I needed in order to be happy.  My search for beauty here has made me more appreciative of my surroundings, and having shared it with others they now encourage me to keep up the practice even when I’m wishing I were elsewhere. 

I’ve also thought deeply about how wonderful it would be to move someplace where I already have friends, where I know my way around, where there are seasons and mountains to climb.  It seems worth the stresses of looking for a new house, figuring out schools for the kids and easing them through the many layers of their transition.

Today, checking my e-mail before I even got out of bed, I received an impersonal note thanking me for my efforts and informing me that someone else had been chosen.  I got up, made a sandwich, and walked out into the cool air of the Doha winter dawn, surprised to be more relieved than sad.  

I’m sure that over the next few days and weeks there will be moments that I will be more sad than relieved, wishing that the next time I get on a plane to leave Qatar I will know I don’t have to return. I don’t have a lot of time for internet lists that tell me how to behave and feel, but I came across one the other day that had a point that has carried me through the suspense of this application process, and continues to comfort: 1. Know that you’re not seeing every option. This is not new news to you or me but still a good reminder when I thought my heart was set on one particular way that my life could play out.

Coming clean: a Doha traffic rant

That last post isn’t all the way true. It was sincere and heartfelt but not really representative of what driving here is really like on a daily basis. A wave and a smile will still help and I’ll still do it when I have the wherewithal but really driving here is awful. 

 

paver taking a break from working on the road to hell

Lexus SUV and Land Cruiser drivers are rampaging bullies.  Not all of them but enough that when I catch a glimpse of one zooming up in any of my mirrors, I prepare for evasive maneuvers. Motorcycles come in two sorts: the small delivery ones, whose expat drivers risk heat stroke and collisions bringing people their KFC and McD’s in all seasons, and the expensive ones, appearing now that the weather has cooled off, whose primary function is doing wheelies for kilometers at a time. 

We pass evidence of horrific crashes daily. The number of grotesquely twisted cars on the sides of the roads probably does little to offset the 9000 cars registered here monthly.  The traffic patterns change from day to day due to constant roadwork, accidents, and construction zones.  A route that has been getting me to school in 12 minutes for weeks suddenly will take 40 for no apparent reason.  The level of traffic jam corresponds directly with the level of idiotic selfish driving that occurs, as on evidence last night when a friend and I were caught in a jam that had Land Cruisers speeding up not only the left side of the road but the gravel on the left side of that.

There is, shockingly, a paved pedestrian/cyclist lane that runs the length of several blocks near my compound, connecting to a similar lane in the nearby Aspire zone.  It was one of the features that sold me on our house’s location.  Less shocking is the frequency with which I see cars driving along it in an effort to get a jump on the traffic backed up on Al Waab St, despite these very clear signs:  

you'd think it would be obvious

The other day it happened again as I was coming home and I lost my temper, stopped my car on the driveway where it crossed the bikeway and gestured angrily at the Land Cruiser coming towards me until he pulled off onto the main road.

What do I do?  A little bit of waving and smiling, a lot of swearing under my breath and honestly even more out loud, yes, even with my kids in the car.  Probably more with my kids in the car because then I’m ever more outraged when my fellow drivers are so willing to risk all our lives.  I make sure my kids are buckled in and I despair for the multitude of kids I see leaning out of windows, sticking their heads out of sunroofs, bouncing untethered over the backs of seats and on the laps of drivers. I try to drive sensibly and with focus. You don't see any photos of heavy traffic because I'm too busy keeping us all alive to take any pictures. 

I witnessed my first collision recently. I’m resigned to the fact that I will probably be involved in one of my own before I leave here, though I’m holding onto hope that the defensive driving I have learned on these hellish roads will keep it from being catastrophic.

yes that is blood on the passenger door

Here are some links from the Doha News, for more statistics and photos:

rough week in Qatar recently: http://dohanews.co/least-four-killed-fifteen-injured-road-accidents-week/

some chilling statistics: http://dohanews.co/study-qatar-deaths-caused-road-accidents-common-diseases/