New Teachers coming to Rustaq: Advice / Q&A

Every year new teachers are hired to come work in Rustaq. Sometimes they arrive on a transfer from another college. These teachers usually know the ropes pretty well and quickly acclimatize to Rustaq College. The others are new signings and have no idea what is going on. Communication before their arrival is often poor and many people pull out before they even arrive, because they simply can't get straight answers. Today's blog aims to clear things up a little. It will explain the two types of contracts, what to expect when you first arrive here and how to get yourself established.

First of all, the contracts. If you are a new hire, you have a contract with either Abdulmajeed Majali at Hawthorn Muscat or with the Ministry of Higher Education (possibly with a guy called Nadir Al Balushi). The two contracts pay roughly the same amount, and expect the same amount of work, but the finer details are quite different. Here's how they break down:

Ministry contracts:

If you have been hired on a Ministry Contract, it's quite possible that you haven't heard anything from the guy who is supposed to be helping you. Don't panic, you will get the contract. Barring total meltdown of the Omani economy, there will be a contract waiting for you when you get to the Ministry the day after you arrive (don't expect it before then though).

Ministry people are then sent from Muscat to Rustaq and put in a hotel called AlShimookh (quite dingy to be honest) and given 3 days to find an apartment. You will arrive at a good time for finding a place, but you will probably need some help. The guy who takes care of Ministry workers is Juma Al Hattali. He's a very nice man and he does his best, but sometimes he has a little too much on his plate. If you urgently want something done, keep going back until you get results. You can also try leaving a comment on this blog, and I can ask teachers who are leaving this year about their apartments.

Ministry workers are also given a furniture loan of around 1600 Rials. The Ministry forgives 1/4 of the loan for each year that you work for them. In my experience 1600 Rials is more than enough for all the furniture you will need. The only hitch is that you will probably need to buy it all new, as there is not a big second-hand tradition here in Oman. However, as above, if you are interested in cheaper, year-old household stuff, teachers who are leaving will probably have things for sale. Just get in touch, and we'll see if we can get new arrivals in touch with the right people.

So that's housing out of the way. What about driver's licence and health insurance? If you are on a Ministry contract, you will have very good national health cover accessible from any public hospital. It costs next to nothing and most of the time it is very good. You'll need to fill out some forms, pay up to 20 Rials (keep the receipt and you should get it back from Juma), and do a full medical checkup. For the driver's licence you go through a similar process. In both places, you are advised to be both patient and persistent. If you don't like/believe an answer that you are given, try someone else or try the same person again later. You are not being rude, that is what the locals do. And it does work, trust me.

Hawthorn Contracts:
You will quickly get to know a guy called Ayub. He is Majali's man in Rustaq. He is there to help you with whatever issues you might have, and although he's a sweet guy, he is not very well paid and is always busy, so he might not always attend to your problem as quickly as you would like. And he does forget completely sometimes. You should keep calling him. There are methods to make him more reliable, but I will leave that for other Hawthorn teachers to tell you about....

Hawthorn employees get given an apartment (from a list of apartments that Majali rents), and furniture. They also have their power and water paid by Hawthorn, which is great. In the end, teachers from Hawthorn and Ministry get about the same pay after all this stuff. On one hand, its nice that someone else sorts this stuff out for you, on the other it's sometimes slightly restrictive and adds another layer to an ofttimes frustrating bureaucracy.

People on Hawthorn contracts don't have medical insurance like the Ministry workers do. Instead you go to the public hospital and keep your receipts - and Majali will pay you back. In the end you don't actually pay for your treatment, and Majali is always very good at paying you back (providing you have the receipts), but its not as straight-forward as it is for Ministry workers.

Sorry the blog was so long, but there was a lot to cover there. And I've probably missed loads of stuff. If you are a new teacher about to arrive in Rustaq, and you have any questions, let me know.

(This blog was written by a Ministry employee friend, and I work for Hawthorn-Muscat, so we can answer any questions.)

Moving to Muscat

Well, it's been a long time since I've written, but good news. I am moving to Muscat next year. As much as I have grown to like Rustaq in a way, I am more than happy to be leaving. Two years has been sufficient to say the least. In some ways I'm sure I'll miss it--the small town feel, the friendliness of the people, the simple, slow-paced life. But I'm city-girl at heart (at least half of the time) and need to get out.

On that note, I've been thinking about Dhofar Gucci's question from a while back: why don't the bloggers in Oman know each other? I know everyone in Rustaq and everyone who does or doesn't have a blog here, so I'm guessing a lot of you Oman expat (and non-expat) bloggers out there are living in Muscat.

Coffee anyone?

QUESTIONS!

Hi all,
I'm running some workshops between American and Omani students. So I'm brainstorming for questions for them to discuss with each other. Maybe you can help me out...

For Westerners: If you could ask anything, what is one question you would ask to a group of Omanis?

For Omanis: What is one questions you would ask to a group of Americans?

Be honest!

Thanks.

Wearing the Headscarf?

Because of the dialect of Arabic that I speak and because what I look like, most people from here assume that I'm Arab. When they guess, first it's Lebanese, then Syrian, then Tunisian, then Egyptian. After that they push for Turkish or Iranian, but rarely ever get out of the region, let alone all the way across the Atlanic to America.

I'm not blonde and blue-eyed. I don't stand out as much as a lot of Westerners, but I still get plenty of stares. A lot of them are inquisitive stares. I can see the questions spinning in their heads: "Is she from here? No, can't be. But...where? Not western....does she speak Arabic?" Sometimes I don't have to see the questions, but I hear them talking about me in Arabic. It always makes my day when I am standing next to people who are talking about me in Arabic, asking each other if they think I understand Arabic or not. I just pretend they are lucky and I don't understand what they are saying.

I used to be totally opposed to bending to the culture and covering my hair. I saw it as a sign of the voluntary subjugation of women. I didn't want to send the message that I think women are pearls that should be protected by their oyster shell (a common metaphor here) or that I think men can't control their sexual urges, which will be inevitably inflamed by my irresistible hair.

But I've gotten to a point in my expat life where I don't think like that anymore. It's a custom. Women cover their hair here. Is it really necessary to delve so much deeper into the meaning and the consequences? Women still have rights, they still make decisions, they are still beautiful. Does it really matter that much?

Today I decided to "respect the culture" and cover my hair. Fine, I admit, it was more just curiosity about how I would be treated differently. I am writing this now from a cafe in Barka, a town in between the conservative backwaters of my hometown, and the much more open capital, Muscat.

I have to say that I like it. Men are keeping their distance more, I have been attracting fewer stares (although I feel terribly conspicuous--like everyone knows what I'm doing), but the most noticeable difference for me is they way I am treated by other women. I am just one of the women now. Even though I am wearing jeans and a long sleeved tee shirt with the headscarf, it makes all the difference. In the bathroom, we all fix our headscarves together. Say "Salam 3leykum. Kifish?". And go on our way.

I'm not Muslim, and don't plan on converting, but is bending your ways to fit in better and make people that little bit more comfortable around you really so bad? I won't wear it at the college where I teach, because there part of my role is to represent Western culture, but outside, why not?

Something to think about, as I sit here sipping my cappuccino and watching people watch me (or not) out of the corner of my eye.....

Donate Blood

Today I decided to be a good "Omani" citizen and give blood at the local hospital, the same place I had my appendix out. I went with two friends from work, and was, as usual, a little apprehensive of what the hospital treatment would be like.

It was quite different than giving blood in America. The initial questionnaire form was similar (sans the question about having sex in Africa). However, I had to run half way across the hospital to find the person who would take my blood pressure, and then they wanted to give me a physical before I gave blood, but I protested, and the doctor stamped my form anyways.

The actual giving of blood went very quickly, largely due to the extremely thick needle that was jabbed into my arm. On the upside, though, the bleeding went very fast, and I was out of their in no time. Perhaps it's just the summer heat coming on that made my blood flow so fast. In any case, I thought I would surely faint, but I didn't.

The young male Omani nurse was jovial and did a good job. He did seem, however, quite confused when I suggested to him that the hospital should post blood donation signs around (like at the college). He didn't look thrilled about the potential extra work that would bring in for him. Nevertheless, I managed to get him to give me 3 posters to put up where I want, in hopes that more people will give blood...as it is not well advertised in Oman.

Donate blood!

Be a good citizen (even if you're not Omani!)

To The Expats--A Return

Dear Readers (if you're still reading),
I'm back on the radar after my life turning completely upside-down for the last 3 months. Mashallah it is getting back on track (no, details, sorry!)
My appendix operation is all better, for those of you who have asked. All went well in Rustaq hospital so it seems, despite the shoddy painkillers and lack of bedside manners.

While getting my expat feet back on the ground, which is not always easy, I've been thinking a lot about why we are all here. Some of us are here for the money. Some are here for the cultural and linguistic experience (I think that's just me in the minority there). Some are here because they got moved here against their wish by their company. Some are here...because...they can't seem to leave. These lost expats are the most intriguing to me. At what point do we make the decision to leave, to stay, or to not make a decision? It's almost like many expats stay on here on accident.

I'm sure you have all met someone, or several people, like that, who has been here so long that they don't remember how many years it's been, or why they came in the first place.

Oman is beautiful. The people are friendly and welcoming. It's safe. There is a lot to do, especially for us outdoorsy types. We all know this. But who wants to stay here long term? Do I? Who's biding their time, who's making progress?

Please excuse my nervous expat angst.....any thoughts anyone, expat or not?

Rustaq Doctors, part 3

continued…

The second down-fall of post-op treatment at Rustaq Hospital was either a lack of pain-killers, or maybe too many. I spent my first day and a half post-op either in excruciating pain totally med-free, or high as a kite on a massive hit of morphine. I’m not sure what to make of this…given that they definitively have simple IV-drip technology. Who knows?

This up and down between pain and euphoria was nothing compared to the massive struggle involved in the what should have been the simple process of getting my stitches out a few days later. The word “appointment” is nebulous here. Let’s start there. I was told I had an appointment at 8 this morning. Apparently, that meant I had an appointment to start waiting at 8 this morning…indefinitely. The surgical clinic was packed with men, women and children, presenting with everything from broken bones, to runny noses, to seemingly near death wheezes.

The impending wait was overwhelming, especially in my condition. Hours perhaps.

We sat…


And sat…


And…I started to yell at the nurse.

It worked and I got in early. I think I learned in kindergarten that cutting in line isn’t cool, but I forget sometimes here. Snip, snip: Stitches out in a jiffy, and on my way.

Except for battling the accountant on staff…

How money, receipts, and bills are dealt with here (with Rustaq Hospital providing a pretty good sample case) deserves its own post.