expert novice

All these moves have made me practically expert at being new, so wonderfully experienced at being inexperienced.  Irony and contradiction, both. I’m writing to work my own way through how I’m feeling about the latest bout of repatriation and maybe help some others who are trying it for the first time. It’s the new ones who look for input from the outside and thus will follow whatever tags led them here. Those of us on our umpteenth new home know we have to look inside ourselves, there's more help there than we might imagine.

The circumstances of being new have shifted since my own first moves. Starting out in Kosovo, Guinea, Sierra Leone, and Bangladesh, my initial contacts were torn stubs of paper with scribbled telephone numbers. Vietnam, Atlanta, San Francisco, and Doha had various levels of online groups to join.  With this one somehow I’m back to having no online group and with social media-based connections that seem more flimsy than those penciled phone numbers.

It’s hard every time in new ways, partly because the kids and I are all at different stages in our lives, partly because moving is hard work, no matter what. I read this article recently that I liked, about how it feels to repatriate to a place that you felt was home and how it won’t be, it can’t be. Making it work requires lowering and shifting expectations. I do love it here and I suspect the bouts of struggling with it are just phases. I’m hoping intensely that it’s just a phase. Isn’t that the base of so much? Trying to decide if whatever you’re dealing with is worth it to work hard on and pass through or if you should abandon it because staying’s worse than leaving. Three years is our max in one place, let's see if we can beat that this time around. 

What follows are some loose suggestions and ideas for you new ones and you experienced ones who want to commiserate, and for me to read every once in awhile if I'm losing perspective. Really they apply as much to new expat homes as to being a repat, though remember that as a repat community-building and friend-making go soo muuucchh mooorrrre sloooooooowwlllllyyyy than in the speedy expat world.

Rules

There’s only one, with a twist: accept all invitations, complicated by the combination of remembering that you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not while trying to keep conversations going with people to see where connections can be made. I suppose it comes down to “stay interested but don’t lie.”

Choices:

A few weeks ago I had a choice: drive a couple of hours to go skiing with people I have known for a long time, with whom I know I have things in common, or go to a village event where it’s likely I will meet new neighbors and just maybe some of them will eventually turn out to be friends. Against my own rules I opted to meet up with the old friends and was glad. We skied, we caught up, and I reconnected with fellow Vermonters, even if they live two hours away.  Lessons: make time with people who share some of your history, and break your own rules once in awhile.

Roots

I don’t think the roots are a given, that you can do those on purpose. I think those grow and then after years and years you just realize you have them.  I thought I had them here- I grew up in this state after all and worked here and finished undergrad and went to grad school here and I love it. Isn’t that enough? I’m starting to think no. On this return I’m feeling like an imposter, ready to hand in my Vermonter credentials and pretend I have to learn everything from scratch. But I shouldn’t, right? I know where maple syrup comes from and how to get around Burlington on foot, bike, and in a car. I know back roads in three counties. I remember when the Nordic ski center at Bolton Valley was a little shack with a woodstove in it. It’s confusing to be both native and foreign at the same time. I’m not worrying about it too much. 

We serial expats benefit by letting go of our identities being tied to any one place, and that becomes most clear upon repatriation. There has always been some contention over who gets to be American, with the most recent arrivals being the ones who are least welcome to claim it, as though it’s a single continuum of arrival. Those of us who started here and then left and came back and left again, or stayed away for a long time, may have USA on our passports but feel less American than some who have most of their lives here and aren't yet citizens.

Reading about it

You can read all the blogs and memes you want but really you are the one who has to make it home. Reading just puts it off so don’t overdo it.

There’s a genre of repat narratives that mostly involve complaining that people don’t “get” us, that they have no interest in where we’ve been or all the places we hold inside of us, and that’s why it’s so hard to assimilate back into our home country and make friends. In my experience a good number of the people who are interested are often more interested in the story, which in Vermont just emphasizes our differences.  It’s valuable to find other ways to connect than just talking about yourself.

Finally I can’t be much help to my fellow recent repats, except for the same old thing I tell myself: that as long as you make some effort and some occasional progress, little by little the new home will feel like home eventually or you will give up and move back abroad. (we have not gotten to this phase yet, so don’t even think about starting to worry, parents and other concerned friends). Big world, lotta people, lotta possibilities, don’t beat yourself up.

The African Village

The first time I went to the waterpark here I noticed that the area for the smaller kids is called the African Village.  It has a shallow pool and slides and sprayers with a wild animal theme: elephants, snakes, giraffes, a frog. One of the elephants has on a blond wig and a blue bikini.  Another wears a fez. Another, the one with the biggest smile, doesn’t wear anything at all. It’s a mythical version of Africa that has friendly wild animals and bright colors, but no humans apart from the lifeguards.

If this was at an American waterpark someone would sooner or later take a picture and name and shame to point out, and rightly so, that Africa is a huge continent with numerous complex and diverse human societies, and that making this corner of the park a jungle-themed  "African Village" was just another in a long line of ways in which Africa is marginalized, minimized, and generally disrespected on a global level. There would be an active campaign to put it out of business or at least rename and redesign it. There are so many layers to be offended about if you feel like causing a ruckus.

I've also noticed that most of the lifeguards at the water park are African, though I don’t know their nationality. A few days ago I went back with my kids and made a point of asking the lifeguard by the African Village one of the most common questions in Doha: “what is your country?” She said Kenya. I asked her how she felt about the African village, if it resembled her home at all, whether she lived in a city or a more rural place. I expected her to be offended by the Aqua park’s representation of an entire continent as a few wild animals. She said no, she didn’t mind that it bore no relation to her home- she was happy to see something that mentioned Africa at all. 

I agreed with her that it must be nice to have a pleasant reference to one’s home, as an American bomber roared overhead after taking off from the nearby air base.

face to face after too much Facebook

Summer vacation is a week away. The kids and I will embark on a classic expat pilgrimage back to my home state to soak up as much fresh air and green as we can before we head back to Doha. We will be seeing many friends with whom nearly my only contact during the past few years has been via Facebook. When we’re far apart it’s easy to imagine that we’re all caught up with one another because we see posts and comments from some friends on a daily basis, though we haven’t had a real-life conversation in years. I had an experience a few years ago at a reunion when an old friend I hadn't seen in at least a decade said "I feel like I know exactly what you've been up to, thanks to Facebook," and suddenly I didn't know what to say to her. There was so much I hadn't shared but I didn't want to make things any more awkward by announcing that. 

I don’t know anyone who shares everything about their lives on Facebook.  Omission happens when I’m maintaining the privacy of my family and friends or because I’m too busy to share. I try to present a balanced picture in what I do share, but I know that despite all efforts my life may end up seeming more exciting and fun than it really is.  I only say this because it’s certainly the case for me- I see your adventures at the beach and festivals and mountains and exotic vacations and homey barbecues and your wacky Halloween costumes and daring sports and think wow we are so very dull.

The grass is perpetually greener on FB. 

Yes, there are exciting and fun moments for all of us but more often my days are about hauling kids to school and back, being stuck in traffic, grocery shopping, putting off laundry, dealing with whining and bickering, struggling to keep my cool.  Part of the challenge is to make those daily routines fun and exciting, more for me than the kids, so I take pictures of the surprising parts, play hooky with camels, and think of funny ways to present a situation that might not have been so amusing in the moment.  

Since it’s hard to know where to start off once we’re face to face again, I’m writing you all a letter about how I imagine I’d like it to go:

Dear friends,

I am so excited to see you!  I am so excited to hear about what you’re up to and what you’ve been doing since our paths last crossed, about your kids and adventures and ideas. 

It's been great to keep up with you via Facebook. I have loved sharing the celebration, from afar, of your birthdays and announcements of achievements, weddings, and new babies! I love how we rally round friends who have lost beloved people and pets, and support those who are struggling through challenging situations. I even love that there are a tiny handful of you whom I haven’t yet met in person, but whom I know will be great company when we do manage it (until then I think of you, fondly, as my “imaginary friends”). I would always much rather catch up with you in person than on social media but FB is far better than no contact at all.

Now, in preparation for a real-life reunion, please throw the FB-generated version of my world out a virtual window and I will do the same for you and let us all start fresh with each other. 

And when you meet my kids, especially if it’s for the first time, could you please not reference FB at all?  Instead, could you say “I heard about [whatever] from your mom” They know I share some things about them and they know I post pictures also but I want them to get a fair start, not to think of FB as defining their identity any earlier than they have to. Hopefully they won’t ever feel that way but it will be up to them, ultimately.  You could say I shouldn’t mention them on social media at all then, but they are a huge part of my life and if I'm going to share any of it I cannot not mention them at all, though more and more I ask their permission. As they get older and eventually have their own accounts I will leave it up to them to decide what to share.

I hope to be offline as much as possible this summer, in favor of tangible connection with people and our immediate environment and I am so happy that you will be part of that! I can't wait!

love, 

Maria

part of the solution, somehow

 This is my first time living in a country where there is no culture of protest (see the link I attached at the bottom for more explanation of that) and I’m still working on finding non-confrontational and flexible ways of holding onto my values while I make Qatar my home. This post is not intended to bash Qatar or any of the people who make their homes here for the long or short-terms. It is intended to be about how the context of my host country and culture influences and challenges how I try to live by my values. 

These two phrases haunt me. They almost always get used in a pointed way, alongside an issue that I should at all costs be supporting, according to the person who shares one quote or the other.  On one hand I want to say “Oh please.  Big world, lotta people, lotta ways to make a difference, stop bossing me around, stop telling me what to care about!” I’m only one person and who does it help if I spend too much of my time obsessed about taking a stand on the dozens of issues I follow on a week to week basis?  I can’t believe my rigidity and anxiety in this short life will make the world a better place. On the other hand, I carry guilt for not having the wherewithal to support everything I believe in, even in the US where I’m freer to take part in demonstrations, petitions, marches and challenge authority, and where I am more comfortable with the culture. In some ways being abroad takes the pressure off, in some it layers it on thicker and heavier.  It takes time in a new country before I feel that I understand enough of what’s going on around me to hold a valid opinion about it, anyway.

In my last post I talked about how living in Qatar  “represents so much of what I distrust about modern humanity- the total manipulation of environment, the dependence on fossil fuels, the lack of local resources for so much of what we eat and use every day, the highly divided class/employment system.”  Before we even landed here I had great concerns about moving to a place that only exists by virtue of an abundance of fossil fuels and a massive expat workforce.

I put the blame for a lot of our human problems and many environmental ones too down to greed and lack of empathy. There are surely multitudes of ways of making change, and I have great admiration for my friends whose work in education, food security, environmental activism, and social justice is making the world a better and fairer place.  They humble me.

Living with myself and my choices here in Doha is partly a matter of shelving some priorities altogether and partly about making some work in a new context.  An early challenge for any move to a new country is learning what expectations are for women’s behavior and deciding how thoroughly I choose to comply. Some are easy because it’s just plain good sense in a hot place: my shoulders and knees have not been visible in public, except at the pool, since I left the United States last August.  Others are easy, if less pleasant, because I have no choice: whether I liked it or not, I needed my husband’s permission to be able to apply for a driver’s license. Some I ignore, like going to the camel market with my daughter even though there is never a woman in sight. Still others are more confusing: the advice I got when I needed to get a driver’s license but didn’t have free time to take the test due to homeschooling, was to go to the traffic department to plead my case, to be persistent, but pitiful.  Even more effective, I should bring along my youngest child and make a point of carrying her. It grated to be seeking their pity for my weakness rather than their respect for me and empathy for my situation. Once the kids started school I was relieved to give up begging and just took the test (which was an unexpectedly positive experience as I wrote here) and vowed not to grovel ever again, no matter what the circumstances.

I have a friend who, in Dhaka, waded into a crowd of men beating on a suspected thief and shamed them into stopping.  I’d like to think I would do the same but I am afraid I wouldn’t.  I witnessed a man beating someone inside a stopped land cruiser here a few months ago but it was nighttime, I was on foot, and the only people nearby were oblivious in the honking rushing traffic next to us.  I made a big show of using my phone to take a picture of the number plate and then pretending to make a phone call, even though my hand had been too shaky to capture the digits. They immediately pulled away into the crush of cars on Al Waab St, and I walked on to my choir rehearsal. I’m still not satisfied with how I reacted.

Is passive action enough? Is it enough to share articles on FB?  To tip everyone who helps me, on the assumption that the more I pay, the sooner they can go home to their families in their home country?  To leave the car behind and walk as much as I can, though the hotter it gets the more I find myself driving ridiculously short distances? To buy as local as possible? How important is it to buy local vegetables and eggs when it must require a ridiculous amount of the resources to raise the plants and chickens in the desert? Is it enough to debrief with my kids and share with my network abroad when we witness injustice, rather than acting on it in the moment?

In the taxi the other night I asked the driver where he’s from.  He said Kenya and we fell into a discussion about President Obama and what he means to Kenyans, about how hard it is to visit the US as a Muslim, about our kids and eventually about wives not working and staying with the kids.  He commended me for not working outside my home. As I got out of the taxi he blessed me and my family over and over. Should I have spoken up and said hey man, not giving your wife a choice to work is so oppressive?  I chose not.  After all, staying with my kids is what I do, and he was affirming that.  We were enjoying each other’s company and we’ll probably never see each other again.

I love how time spent living abroad and moving every few years has expanded my exposure so many people and nurtured my empathy.  I have met so many different people who care passionately about so many different issues, some passionately on opposite sides of the same issue.  I will nearly always put ground-level connection over confrontation and criticism. I hold myself responsible to behaving in a way I can live with, showing respect and listening to everyone –especially people I disagree with.  My ideals/values/position on world events are influenced by a more personal connection to people and places. I hope this helps me resist the media spin that manipulates who we should care about, and how much, and that my connection with people I meet broadens their view of their world as well. 

If I stood firmly by my values I could not remain here.   I admit to being part of the problem.  I don’t think the earth is a healthy place, due in large part to humans taking it over. There are so many of us. I get so overwhelmed. Where is the best place for me within it all? For now, I choose my family, raising thoughtful kids, making connections with people from all over.  Qatar is certainly fertile ground for that, with only 12% of the population being Qatari citizens and the rest of us expats from around the world. For now I am compromising, living a lifestyle that does not entirely reflect my values and beliefs in favor of deepening my understanding of my world and sharing this process with my kids.  

The following links are mostly connected to issues I follow that affect Qatar and the people who live here,  plus two for context on Qatar, and one to a book with gorgeous illustrations and a message that works for me.

Criticism for the sponsorship system:

http://dohanews.co/ahead-expected-changes-un-official-hits-kafala-supporters/

All my garbage, including items that are potentially recyclable, go into one garbage can. This article tells about how it gets taken to a spot in the desert not far from Doha where it is burned, and the toxic smoke drifts on the winds. 

http://dohaburning.wordpress.com

The experience of a Swedish flight attendant with Qatar Airways: http://www.expressen.se/nyheter/the-truth-about-the-luxury-of-qatar-airways/

Letter written by a Nepali teacher who was briefly jailed in Qatar last year, explaining how he actually had it relatively easy compared to some of the other inmates he met http://dohanews.co/guest-post-in-qatar-jailed-asian-expats-guilty-until/

Some statistics:

http://www.hrw.org/world-report/2013/country-chapters/qatar

Protest in Qatar: http://www.opendemocracy.net/michael-stephens/qatar-and-protest-difficult-combination

And this last one is not about Qatar but is a beautiful book that helps pull me back to right here and now whenever I read it aloud to my kids: http://www.nytimes.com/2002/04/21/books/children-s-books-501972.html