Yes, that's right. It's too damn hot. The Cole Porter song may focus on it being too hot to make love, but more importantly in Oman, it's too hot to dress like an Arab woman.
The month is February, and the daily temperature is already in the 90s (low 30s Celsius). You can imagine (or not) the 120 degree heat of July. The fact that the Arabian Gulf gets blisteringly hot is not news to me, I was here in late August and was in Bahrain in June. Nevertheless, having gotten used to the delightfully perfect weather of the past two months, it's coming as a shock this time, and with increased insight.
Women here, as I have said many a time, wear long, black, polyester sheets on top of their already completely modest attire of long, colorful, cotton dresses. I cannot say that I've ever experience wearing an 'abaya under the beating Gulf sun, but I can imagine. Perhaps they have gotten used to it, having started wearing it from their early teen years or earlier. Perhaps they just see no other choice. Perhaps they like the intense and sweaty sauna effect. As far as I'm concerned, however, this is one cultural normality here that I cannot embrace. I can't even really regard it with that "I-don't-understand-but-okay" attitude that the experienced traveler routinely relies upon.
I think that no woman in her right (non-pressured) mind chooses to put that on under the Gulf sun. It's not modesty. It's fear and the refusal to assert a widely-held personal preference over enforced social homogeneity.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
12 Months of Culture Shock
There are days during extensive travel to a foreign place where everything just seems to make no sense. Everything bothers you, and sparks unjustified and sweeping statements against a really very heterogeneous group of people. The interesting thing is that these "bad" days very often follow the "good" days, almost as if your mind had exhausted its cultural comprehension capabilities and needed a rest. I would place this back and forth vacillation in the third stage of culture shock, which for me is happening in the 6th month of my travel in Oman. Let's start at the beginning though.
The stages of culture shock are extremely frustrating. You really need to live for a significant period of time in the foreign country (in my opinion, over half a year or more) to really experience this. Upon first arrival in the new place, you usually will be euphorically happy, vastly overestimating the greatness of your new home. That lasts until you get homesick for your old place and start to idealize it. (For me, around 2 months in). Suddenly, not much seems rosy in the new place anymore. The peoples' gender relations, their clothes, their education system, the way their banks operate, the fact that you can't find your favorite item in the supermarket: everything seems just all wrong and back home seems all right. Depending on the sharpness of the cultural differnces between the old and new places, this stage could last anywhere from a month to 4 months.
Next is the third stage, which where I am now (6 months in). At this point you've learned to applaud the good and accept the bad. Yes, you miss some things from home, but not everything is great there either. Returning home in the previous stage, when everything is perfect at home in your mind, can lead to some pretty serious boomerang effect "reverse culture shock" upon arriving home, and realizing that your memory did not serve you well: Things aren't so hot here either. Nevertheless, despite the predominant sense of balance in stage three, there are days when you revert to stage two. This happened to me yesterday. Ironically enough, only a few days after my day of feeling empowered and integrated into the society. (See blog post "Commanding Respect").
My husband and I went to Muscat to do some shopping yesterday and during the whole trip I felt slapped in the face by all sorts of things that just completely clashed with the way that I understand the world. Here are some examples of what I mean, some more serious than others no doubt.
1. Why is there no whole wheat pasta here? Ever?
2. I don't care if this meat is Halal, I just want to know if it's free range (see post on "Halal" at www.expateating.blogspot.com)
3. Why do the men here always think they can get in front of me at the checkout line? And then immediately back off when they see my husband coming to join me in line?
4. Why do they eat so many dates here? Seriously.
5. Why do men here think they can talk about me in Arabic, while staring right at me no less, and think I don't know or don't care. Shoo hayda? (What's that?) 'Eysh? I say to them. Shoo bidak? What you do you want?? And they look so surprised. Not much forethought there, guys...
6. Speaking of forethought: why do they drive 90 mph with their children jumping around the car? I don't understand how you can say you care about your children when you drive like a maniac on a highway with your infant cushioned between you and the steering wheel.
7. Why do these people wear uniforms all the time? All the men and all the women look identical. And then why do my female students complain that I don't say hi to them when I walk past them from behind....probably because you look like all the other 600 girls at the school from behind.
8. Why do my neighbors let their children play in the dumpster by our house that's buzzing with flies and filled with broken glass and other garbage bin-worth things.....but not let them play with my friend's puppy because dogs are "dirty"?? (Note that this idea of avoiding dogs is less prevalent in the more rural areas. See post called "Dogs" at www.middleeastthoughts.blogspot.com)
All this said, I know that America is ridiculous as well, and I'm sure that today will be much better. I do love Oman. I really do.
Welcome to the third stage of culture shock.
The stages of culture shock are extremely frustrating. You really need to live for a significant period of time in the foreign country (in my opinion, over half a year or more) to really experience this. Upon first arrival in the new place, you usually will be euphorically happy, vastly overestimating the greatness of your new home. That lasts until you get homesick for your old place and start to idealize it. (For me, around 2 months in). Suddenly, not much seems rosy in the new place anymore. The peoples' gender relations, their clothes, their education system, the way their banks operate, the fact that you can't find your favorite item in the supermarket: everything seems just all wrong and back home seems all right. Depending on the sharpness of the cultural differnces between the old and new places, this stage could last anywhere from a month to 4 months.
Next is the third stage, which where I am now (6 months in). At this point you've learned to applaud the good and accept the bad. Yes, you miss some things from home, but not everything is great there either. Returning home in the previous stage, when everything is perfect at home in your mind, can lead to some pretty serious boomerang effect "reverse culture shock" upon arriving home, and realizing that your memory did not serve you well: Things aren't so hot here either. Nevertheless, despite the predominant sense of balance in stage three, there are days when you revert to stage two. This happened to me yesterday. Ironically enough, only a few days after my day of feeling empowered and integrated into the society. (See blog post "Commanding Respect").
My husband and I went to Muscat to do some shopping yesterday and during the whole trip I felt slapped in the face by all sorts of things that just completely clashed with the way that I understand the world. Here are some examples of what I mean, some more serious than others no doubt.
1. Why is there no whole wheat pasta here? Ever?
2. I don't care if this meat is Halal, I just want to know if it's free range (see post on "Halal" at www.expateating.blogspot.com)
3. Why do the men here always think they can get in front of me at the checkout line? And then immediately back off when they see my husband coming to join me in line?
4. Why do they eat so many dates here? Seriously.
5. Why do men here think they can talk about me in Arabic, while staring right at me no less, and think I don't know or don't care. Shoo hayda? (What's that?) 'Eysh? I say to them. Shoo bidak? What you do you want?? And they look so surprised. Not much forethought there, guys...
6. Speaking of forethought: why do they drive 90 mph with their children jumping around the car? I don't understand how you can say you care about your children when you drive like a maniac on a highway with your infant cushioned between you and the steering wheel.
7. Why do these people wear uniforms all the time? All the men and all the women look identical. And then why do my female students complain that I don't say hi to them when I walk past them from behind....probably because you look like all the other 600 girls at the school from behind.
8. Why do my neighbors let their children play in the dumpster by our house that's buzzing with flies and filled with broken glass and other garbage bin-worth things.....but not let them play with my friend's puppy because dogs are "dirty"?? (Note that this idea of avoiding dogs is less prevalent in the more rural areas. See post called "Dogs" at www.middleeastthoughts.blogspot.com)
All this said, I know that America is ridiculous as well, and I'm sure that today will be much better. I do love Oman. I really do.
Welcome to the third stage of culture shock.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Excellent Article
Being a female teacher in a conservative society, I was touched by this article about terrorized girls trying to go to school in Afghanistan. By comparison, Oman is a haven of female empowerment.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/14/world/asia/14kandahar.html?emc=eta1
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/14/world/asia/14kandahar.html?emc=eta1
Commanding Respect
I just returned to my office from a simple walk to the post office. Strolling to the post office half a mile away shouldn't be note-worthy, but here, for me, it is. My masculine clothing, my distinctly western way of walking, and my gender, all make a little neighborhood walk into an event. Today, however, was different. Although I still got the stares, the car honks, the confusion, I didn't take notice. I didn't look, I didn't react, and most importantly, I didn't care.
It was a moment of liberation for me, to be able to go about my business, as I am, and return to my office feeling refreshed and empowered, rather than tired and disillusioned.
I've heard many western women, both in person, and on blogs like mine, complain of feeling like a lab rat--being watched, tested, poked at. There is definitely an element of truth to this feeling. I've felt exactly the same. Nevertheless, today taught me a lesson that I already knew in theory: being a western woman in a conservative Muslim town doesn't need to be painful. People are people wherever they are. Men are men. Women are women, and people stand out everywhere. The person that attracts the gasps on the streets of New York may be rare, but it happens. In southern Alabama, who gets noticed? In small town Kansas, who gets stared at? In the Italian countryside, who do people whisper about? Maybe it wouldn't be me, but it would be somebody.
All over the world, people have learned to cope and act with confidence despite being scorned or isolated. And this is precisely what has authentically brought them into the society. I can't be an Omani woman, but I can become integrated as who I am--if I act like that's okay. Of course, this does not mean that I should go running in a sports bra and shorts because I think that's okay in America. By no means. No matter what, respect cannot be lost.
Combining that respect, however, with a no-guilt attitude about who you are and where you're from as a western woman will get you much more respect in return than hiding, apologizing, and fearing your daily interactions with the people around you.
It was a moment of liberation for me, to be able to go about my business, as I am, and return to my office feeling refreshed and empowered, rather than tired and disillusioned.
I've heard many western women, both in person, and on blogs like mine, complain of feeling like a lab rat--being watched, tested, poked at. There is definitely an element of truth to this feeling. I've felt exactly the same. Nevertheless, today taught me a lesson that I already knew in theory: being a western woman in a conservative Muslim town doesn't need to be painful. People are people wherever they are. Men are men. Women are women, and people stand out everywhere. The person that attracts the gasps on the streets of New York may be rare, but it happens. In southern Alabama, who gets noticed? In small town Kansas, who gets stared at? In the Italian countryside, who do people whisper about? Maybe it wouldn't be me, but it would be somebody.
All over the world, people have learned to cope and act with confidence despite being scorned or isolated. And this is precisely what has authentically brought them into the society. I can't be an Omani woman, but I can become integrated as who I am--if I act like that's okay. Of course, this does not mean that I should go running in a sports bra and shorts because I think that's okay in America. By no means. No matter what, respect cannot be lost.
Combining that respect, however, with a no-guilt attitude about who you are and where you're from as a western woman will get you much more respect in return than hiding, apologizing, and fearing your daily interactions with the people around you.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Peace by Peace
Here's a link to a great website for the women's organization called Peace by Peace. Located in DC, the women at Peace by Peace do everything they can to reach across borders and boundaries to create support networks and peaceful lives for women around the world.
Please do check it out!
Click on the link on the right, or copy and paste the link below.
www.peacexpeace.org
Please do check it out!
Click on the link on the right, or copy and paste the link below.
www.peacexpeace.org
Friday, February 13, 2009
Speaking Omani Driver
George and I turned onto the main highway (which is one way each way) after a morning of rock climbing. We are quite accustomed to the interesting driving practices which are commonplace in Oman. Passing when there is less than a foot left between you and the oncoming car. This is not an exaggeration. In fact, sometimes the traffic has to go three cars wide. Tailgating within inches while flashing your brights. That happens when they think you should move. Needless to say, the driving can be quite intimidating. Today, however, held some new lessons for me.
As we were driving, two cars in a row flashed their brights. Given the odd, yet consistent, behavior described above, I wasn't too surprised. But for what this time? We couldn't possibly have been annoying them, we weren't even in front of them! Then it happened again. We thought, and dismissed it as just more daily bizarreness. And then bam! In front of us, the same color as the sand, is a camel standing right in the middle of our lane. George slammed on the brakes, and avoided nearly hitting an animal three times the size of a North American deer. Of course, we realized, that's what the lights were about. As we continued on, more lights flashed, and we learned the language. George flashed his at the next driver coming our way, and the man flashed back and jovially waved as he passed. Again it happened, and again, as we negotiated passed another clueless herd on the road, each time the driver lifting his hand in appreciation of our warning. George smiled and exclaimed, proud of his new communication abilities, "I speak Omani driver!"
And it's true, there is a language of the road here in Oman. More often than not it sends a message of superiority and is motivated by pride and self-righteousness. It was encouraging to learn today that this language is sometimes used for good, and speaking it can lead to helping others, and not just getting ahead.
As we were driving, two cars in a row flashed their brights. Given the odd, yet consistent, behavior described above, I wasn't too surprised. But for what this time? We couldn't possibly have been annoying them, we weren't even in front of them! Then it happened again. We thought, and dismissed it as just more daily bizarreness. And then bam! In front of us, the same color as the sand, is a camel standing right in the middle of our lane. George slammed on the brakes, and avoided nearly hitting an animal three times the size of a North American deer. Of course, we realized, that's what the lights were about. As we continued on, more lights flashed, and we learned the language. George flashed his at the next driver coming our way, and the man flashed back and jovially waved as he passed. Again it happened, and again, as we negotiated passed another clueless herd on the road, each time the driver lifting his hand in appreciation of our warning. George smiled and exclaimed, proud of his new communication abilities, "I speak Omani driver!"
And it's true, there is a language of the road here in Oman. More often than not it sends a message of superiority and is motivated by pride and self-righteousness. It was encouraging to learn today that this language is sometimes used for good, and speaking it can lead to helping others, and not just getting ahead.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Running Pains
Running here for a woman is quite difficult. I live in a conservative little neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Everyone (well, almost everyone) is very friendly, but that does not go to say, however, that they understand my bizarre western tendencies. The ladies in the village do go for strolls together in the evening, and one even wears a pair of sneakers while she walks briskly. She's clearly exercising, and that's odd enough. My strange outfit of loose pants and a tight long-sleeved wicking top is weirdly masculine. Why would I wear pants??
I don't run by myself much, and if I do it's through the sandy paths behind our building, but it is hard to run on because of all the rocks and pits. The road is better, but the stares from the women are really overwhelming. I feel like a freak. I am here. Sometimes I feel a self-righteous joy building in me as I run that I am broadening their horizons. That the next time they see a woman running, they won't be quite so disapproving. That said, it's still very uncomfortable, and I don't like feeling culturally pompous.
When I do run it's usually with my husband. Although the companionship makes it easier to handle to women glaring and the children racing at your heels, it adds another difficulty of its own. Why am I doing this manly activity?...with a man?...dressed like him?...It's almost as if our running partnership is some sort of high-speed athletic sex. Their astonishment is a brick wall that I haven't succeeded in breaking through yet. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I do hope that some day my constant and freakish presence will open their eyes a little to the ways of life outside their village. I work every day to accept and enjoy our differences and their quirks. Shouldn't they too?
Bearing the onus of culture adaptation is perhaps the most challenging psychological aspect of living in a very forgein place. It's all on you, or so it seems.
I don't run by myself much, and if I do it's through the sandy paths behind our building, but it is hard to run on because of all the rocks and pits. The road is better, but the stares from the women are really overwhelming. I feel like a freak. I am here. Sometimes I feel a self-righteous joy building in me as I run that I am broadening their horizons. That the next time they see a woman running, they won't be quite so disapproving. That said, it's still very uncomfortable, and I don't like feeling culturally pompous.
When I do run it's usually with my husband. Although the companionship makes it easier to handle to women glaring and the children racing at your heels, it adds another difficulty of its own. Why am I doing this manly activity?...with a man?...dressed like him?...It's almost as if our running partnership is some sort of high-speed athletic sex. Their astonishment is a brick wall that I haven't succeeded in breaking through yet. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I do hope that some day my constant and freakish presence will open their eyes a little to the ways of life outside their village. I work every day to accept and enjoy our differences and their quirks. Shouldn't they too?
Bearing the onus of culture adaptation is perhaps the most challenging psychological aspect of living in a very forgein place. It's all on you, or so it seems.
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