It rained--sprinkled, more like--just a little bit on Tuesday. I thought I was imagining the little wet spots on the windshield, but there were too many of them to ignore, and then several other people had corroborating experiences. Yep, it was rain...write it on the calendar. While running errands to pick up some groceries and souvenirs, I stopped by my saloon (that's a men's barber shop; a "salon" is for women) for a haircut.
Since my electric shaver's battery is now dead and I left the charging cord in Texas, I figured I'd get a shave too. The barber shop is run by two Indian fellows, both of whom are Hindu, and neither of whom speaks any English. They know a few words like "short," "medium," and "long," and enough to communicate their religion and nationality, but that's about it. We still try, though. On my first visit, we managed to have a pretty good conversation, with some sort of Hindu worship music playing on the boom box. This visit, the other guy was there (I guess they tag-team the business when it's not busy) and he had an Indian movie playing on the TV, a musical I think, so the only conversation we had was when I first sat down, smiled, and said, "Short." Until, that is, the time came for my shave. He loaded his straight razor with a fresh blade, turned toward me, and asked, "Are you a Christian?"
Normally, I'm not surprised when someone asks that question over here, but when it's asked by a Hindu holding a straight razor to your throat, you'd be amazed at the things that run through your mind. "Yes," I said, and watched his face. He was still smiling, so I figured either he had no intention of slicing my throat, or he was really going to enjoy it.
I really want to spend more time with the locals. As a work group, the TAMUQ folks spend a lot of time together, and under the circumstances there's a much tighter bond between us than there would be in the U.S., primarily because we understand each other. It's much easier to be around folks who understand you. Nothing wrong with that, and I love my coworkers, but I want to befriend some Arabs. To have an impact, I must understand the culture; to understand the culture, I must learn about the people; to learn about the people, I must develop relationships with them. And these people are easy to like, which is a bonus.
Over the past few days, we've had supper a couple of times at Pizza Hat (not to be confused with Pizza Hut). They serve personal-sized pizzas, and shawarmas. Shawarmas are pressed chicken or meat (lamb and/or beef, I think) with some diced tomato, onion, and maybe some other things, with a little sauce, wrapped in pita. The meat is roasted on a vertical spit. Shawarmas are very much like gyros, the Greek sandwich. The shawarma guy at Pizza Hat is purportedly the best in town, and I can believe it. They're awesome, and for 3QR apiece, you can stuff yourself for a couple of dollars. A paper-plate-sized pizza is only 6QR (less than two dollars). We like Pizza Hat. :)
Tom Daschle thinks "people are amused and wondering why the Senate isn't working on more important things" than trying to get President Bush's federal judge nominees confirmed--nominees whose confirmations have been hijacked by leftists who claim that said nominees are too conservative for mainstream America. Daschle and company seem to think it's worth ignoring the Constitutional method of confirming justices, which requires a simple majority in the Senate instead of the leftist-imposed 60-vote majority; but, now that the cameras are rolling, they're playing it down as an unimportant issue. So what's important to them?
They'd rather spend their time spending your money than dealing with a pressing issue of long-term importance. They want to revamp, rather than phase out, Medicare--more money down that drain. They want to work on an "energy policy" so the federal government can muck around with private industry. They want to process eight overdue spending bills, which undoubtedly contain enough pork to cover the continental US with three feet of bacon (as a side note, most of the "conservatives" in Congress have done nothing to curb spending, but that's another issue). Are these things really more important than putting mentally sound, constructionist justices on the federal bench?
Have you been following the Roy Moore case? You know, the "Ten Commandments" judge who has been defrocked because he had the audacity to place a Ten Commandments monument in the Alabama State Courthouse--the same Ten Commandments that are engraved on the United States Supreme Court building. Remember the big hullabaloo over "one nation under God" in California? The simple fact of the matter is that the courts now control our laws, and a significant percentage of justices have no problem rewriting or ignoring parts of the Constitution as they see fit.
Thus, "The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects" means "you can murder an unborn child." Likewise, "the right of the people, to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed" means "only certain government-authorized people can keep and/or bear certain government-authorized arms at certain government-authorized times and places." Also, "The powers not delegated...are reserved to the States" means "the Federal government is in charge of everything, and don't you forget it."
Our legislature refuses to expend the political capital necessary to impeach out-of-line judges, and as a result the final legislative authority in America resides in a runaway judiciary. Outside of impeachment, the only way to halt this flagrant attack on our legal system, and in fact our very way of life, is to confirm justices who will fulfill their oath to defend the Constitution instead of rewriting it to suit their personal legislative agenda. If we don't make it happen, then might as well kiss our "Constitutional Republic" goodbye forever, and start calling it the "Pseudo-Constitutional Oligarchy" that it really is.
You will recall that the Senate unanimously denounced the "anti-Pledge" justices on the Ninth Circuit as crazy, reciting the pledge in a big PR stunt on the steps of the Capitol. So what happens when the President sends them a group of solid, well-respected, highly qualified nominees who will not hand down the same sort of boneheaded decisions as the Ninth Circuit? They filibuster them. Typical leftist hypocrisy. Do we expect anything else?
Given that they are acting just as we expect them to act, are the leftists really the problem? No. The problem is the conservatives. The Republican leadership doesn't have the spine to make the Dems engage in a true filibuster; the best they can do is the lame "talk-a-thon" junk. They don't have the spine to simply say "no" to the unconstitutional 60-vote requirement, confirm the nominees with 51 votes, and ignore the protestations of the leftists. Simply put, an unconstitutional Senate rule, just as an unconstitutional law, is null and void, and should be ignored. The sad fact of the matter is that, with the exception of a few guys like Ron Paul, our Congress is filled with shoddy excuses for statesmen who checked their brain, their integrity, and their testosterone at the Beltway (I'm pretty sure Hillary has more testosterone than all the Republican leadership put together). President Bush still seems to have possession of his testosterone etc., but he has thus far refused to take advantage of his ability to appoint justices during Congressional recesses; I'm sure he has his reasons, but if he's truly more concerned with getting good judges on the bench than with playing politics, he should use every tool at his disposal to put them there.
Yesterday, Zach and I went looking for a few specialty items. First, we sought out the Qatar International Nursery looking for a 1"-to-3/4" faucet adapter. The garden hose faucets at our villa are 1" for some reason. There's a frustrating standardization issue over here with plumbing and electrical systems--I don't expect them to match US standards; I just wish they had a standard. I had pieced an adapter together out of miscellaneous plumbing parts, but I wanted a "real" one--plus, I'd told my next-door neighbor that I'd pick one up for him.
We had to create a road here and there (quite easy to do when everything is sand and rocks) in order to compensate for a wrong turn, but we made it to the nursery, which was unassuming on the outside but a veritable jungle on the inside. It would seem that just about anything will grow here, given regular water. I may pick up some planter boxes for our back yard, assuming I can get them to come off of the price a bit.
Zach and I were hungry after our jungle adventure, so we looked around to see if we could find someplace that was breaking the Ramadan rules and selling food during the day. Sure enough, we managed to discover that Pizza Hut would sell us a "take away" pizza, so we bought a large stuffed-crust supreme and a couple of drinks. The trouble with take-away during Ramadan is that you're not supposed to eat or drink in public (it's actually illegal, as far as that goes around here), so we had to find a hiding place to eat our catch. After some searching, we found a shady parking spot to the side of a bus toward the back of a large parking lot, and we ate "in haste" (Zach's observation, sort of like Exodus 12:11), casting furtive glances around us to be sure nobody was looking. The worst that would have happened to us would likely have been dirty looks, but fasting folks tend to be a bit more surly than normal, so we try not to take any chances.
After lunch--and a grand lunch it was, in haste or otherwise--we were off in search of a piece of plywood to use as a base for a portable antenna mast. My contact at the hardware store (imagine taking about a fourth of Lowe's and cramming it into your garage) at the slope roundabout (so named because it's on a slope) directed us down the street to a furniture maker, whose shop was next door to a tire shop. The furniture guy spoke no English, and we spoke no Arabic, but I managed to explain what I was looking for using hand gestures, a drawing of what I wanted to build, and by pointing to his nice furniture-class hardwood laminate and saying, "Like that, but cheap." He had one word for us: "Najma."
With me driving and Zach navigating, we managed to find the Najma district downtown, which is the home of a large outdoor market...very much like a gigantic multi-family garage sale, or a flea market. We poked around and managed to find a piece of plywood, and a fellow from the neighboring stall acted as a mediator between me and the owner of the board, who was out of sight, probably lying down for a nap in a loft area. He wanted 20 riyals, I offered 7, and the salesman acted offended (as if it were his board!). I ended up paying 15 riyals. I'll have to work on my bargaining skills. We got the board, anyway.
After work, I went back to the slope roundabout hardware store and, after about 30 minutes of discussion, managed to convince them that I wanted six feet, not six meters, of pipe. During that time, I visited another hardware store just around the corner, and the fellow there took me to their storage area...around the back of the strip of shops, in the dark, through a door-within-a-gate, where they keep their stock of pipe, toilets, wire, cisterns, and various other things. He wanted to sell me a six-meter pipe as well, so I told him I'd have to get back with him if the other shop wouldn't cut one for me. At least, I think I managed to communicate that to him. It's hard to tell sometimes, because most of these people are too nice to let on that they don't understand you. They don't want to hurt your feelings.
I finally got my six-foot pipe, some nuts and bolts, and more wire, and headed for the house. I hadn't allotted enough time for the obtain-a-pipe event, so I was a bit late making it to the church for playing music. Kendall had a couple of guys sitting in on guitar, and Sven on the new bass guitar. We sounded fairly decent, and downright worshipful on a couple of songs. I knew a couple of the songs, but most of them were new to me.
We are now able to use the washing machine as a dryer, thanks to a photocopy of the manual and a serendipitous visit with the head of Mannai Trading Co., who supplied all of the appliances for our housing complex. I had my doubts as to whether the "combo washer/dryer" was a reality or not, but the case is now closed. The thing washes and dries. I'm glad these fancy new clotheslines I installed are retractable....
Friday night was quite a shindig. QF put on a program and a buffet dinner for a crowd of about 1000 people involved with the Foundation in some way--employees, faculty, staff, students, and special guests. The program opened with greetings from the student leaders of the various QF institutions--Qatar University, Qatar Academy, Cornell, VCU, and Texas A&M. Each student began his or her remarks with a traditional Ramadan greeting (in Arabic), and continued in English to explain briefly what their educational experience meant to them. When the Aggie was called to the podium, he was greeted with whoops from the Aggies in the audience, and after he gave the traditional Ramadan greeting, he gave the traditional Aggie "Howdy!" and of course was answered by the Aggies in the audience...much to the amusement of the other guests.
The event was held at the Al-Shaqb Stud and Riding Academy...they raise and train world-champion Arabian horses. The facility looks like castle walls around a huge arena/courtyard area. Horse stalls are located in the perimeter walls. For this event, they had carpeted the arena grounds with large rugs. Multicolored pattern lights lit up the stone walls. As we walked through the gate, we passed through a gauntlet of women bearing various perfumes and oils...they put a dose of perfume into your right palm, so you can spread it on your hands and face, and then they put dabs of scented oil on the back of your left hand. They were burning fragrant incense as well.
At the far end of the arena were several stalls in which women had prepared various Ramadan foods for us to sample. One dish was sort of a chicken puree, one was basically pancakes, another was like crispy donut holes. In a couple of the stalls, women were painting with henna on ladies' hands and feet. The patterns were incredible, and varied depending on whether the woman was married or not. As I understand it, the henna "tattoos" wear off after two or three weeks.
After the students' remarks, Sheikh Hamad bin Ali Al-Thani took the stage to show off some of their award-winning horses. He speaks fairly good English, and is obviously a dedicated horseman. Arabians are very beautiful, graceful horses. We were then shown a short video on the traditions of Ramadan, including the Suhur meal, which is the last meal eaten before sunup, when the daily fast begins. Traditionally, a man would walk through the streets of town beating a drum and singing a Ramadan song to awaken everyone so they could eat Suhur prior to sunup, and they had a couple of guys and several children who walked around the arena doing what I dubbed the "Suhur Shuffle" to mark the beginning of the meal. During dinner, a group of musicians played traditional Arabic music.
I had chosen to sit with some locals, one of whom I knew as one of the QF immigration assistants. He's one of the guys who shows up whenever we're doing immigration-related processing and makes sure we get taken care of quickly and efficiently. His uncle was there, and we struck up a lengthy conversation on everything from Qatari educational issues to the weather in Las Vegas. He took me by the arm and showed me around the Ramadan food stalls, and made sure I tried a little of everything...we shared a plate full of the crispy donut holes, and then we had some Arabic coffee. I committed a faux pas by taking the coffee cup with my left hand, since I was holding the plate in my right. They cut me some slack since I was obviously not from around here. He instructed me that, when I handed the cup back, I should hand it straight to the woman if I wanted another cup of coffee, or shake the cup back and forth as I handed it to her if I was finished.
When the meal started, Abu Yusef steered me away from the main buffet table, to a table in between them that contained lamb--either boiled or roasted, I couldn't quite tell. As we dished rice onto our plates, the servers dished meat onto the rice. Abu Yusef said something to one of the servers in Arabic, and the server plopped a big chunk of meat onto his plate, about the size of a softball. "Whoa," I thought, "He must be hungry." When we got back to the table, he looked at me, said, "Look what I got," and turned the chunk of meat over. It was a cooked lamb's head, staring at me, grinning. He proceeded to tear the jaw apart and eat the tongue. I commented that there must be a certain technique for eating a lamb's head. "Yes, it's like eating crab legs," he said.
You can probably guess what happened next: he broke open the skull cavity, popped about half of the brain into this mouth, and offered the other half to me. I declined, he insisted, and so I dug in with my fork and retrieved a bite of gray matter. For a brief moment, I thought about the fact that mad cow disease is spread by infected brain matter, but since this was a sheep and not a cow, I figured I was relatively safe. Let me just say that it didn't taste like chicken. It was somewhere along the lines of liver, but not really...it tasted...well, like brain. It was the consistency of sticky peanut butter, or maybe floor adhesive. I can't say that it tasted particularly good, but neither was it particularly ba-a-a-a-d.
Suhur was followed by an outstanding fireworks display, coordinated with music. It was one of the best displays I've ever seen. Let me tell you, these folks sure do know how to fast. :)
Saturday was work-on-the-house day, cleaning up the back patio and installing the slick retractable clothesline--two units with four lines each--in the servant's quarters. Saturday afternoon, Mark and Greg called and asked if I wanted to go over to the Ayers' with them. I'd never met the Ayerses, but they were hosting some soldiers on R&R from Afghanistan, and grilling some food for supper. It sounded good to me, so I went. They have three kids--Nathaniel, 16, Morgan, 14, and Kyle, 7--and the whole family is learning to play the guitar. They'd found an instrument soukh where they could get Yamaha guitars for about $150 US...I played two of their guitars, and they play very well. I plan on paying a visit to that shop sometime soon.
The soldiers--three men and one woman--gave us an update on the state of affairs in Afghanistan. We had told them that the media seemed to be focusing on Iraq, so we hadn't heard much about Afghanistan in some time. They said that most of the bad guys had been rooted out, but there were still pockets of resistance up in the mountains. The two top priorities at this point are to kill the rest of the bad guys, and to train and equip the Afghan military and police so they'll be able to fend for themselves. Our soldiers are quite impressed with the mettle of the Afghani men.
David grilled lamb and chicken kebabs, huge shrimp, rock lobster, and steak, had fresh salsa and guacamole, mashed potatoes, beans (complete with contraband chunks of you-know-what, smuggled in from Dubai), and ice cream. It was a huge feast, and we sat down to play the guitars and sing afterward. We sang a few folk songs, I taught them the C-h-i-c-k-e-n song, and I finished up by singing "Gallant Men" for the soldiers to express our gratitude for their sacrifices. I was informed that I am now on the "permanent invitee" list for their cookouts. Which is nice, because those folks can cook.
When I got home, I figured I'd go for a walk and then hit the sack, but I got a call from Kendall to see if I wanted to go have coffee with him and BJ, who was in town on his way to Dubai for a conference. He took us to a side-alley hole-in-the-wall place comprised of several large concrete-floor rooms. One room had built-in couches all around the walls where several groups of men were talking and smoking, another room had a table in the center around which several men were playing dominoes and smoking a shisha, and a third room (the one we chose) had a couple of built-in couches with tables. Kendall speaks Arabic, and he ordered milk tea for us. Milk tea is just that--tea made with milk, but the tea is loose in the bottom of the cup (sort of like Turkish coffee, but much better tasting) so you don't want to drink it all the way down. I'll have to remember that place, because it was the real McCoy--none of that commercialized Starbucks nonsense--and it was only six Riyals (less than two dollars) total for our three teas and three waters. We had a good visit, and then I went home, walked a lap around the block, and went to bed. These days of rest can sure be tiring!
This week has been busy...late nights at work, relatively hectic days, and Ramadan issues. The normal US business day goes from 5:00 PM to 2:00 AM Qatar time, so late night is the best time to get fast response times on technical support, sales, etc. Otherwise there's a 24-hour lag between each day's communications, which can be a serious impediment at times. I don't have an internet connection at the house yet, so I'm office-bound for network stuff. The weather has been fantastic...low 80s (F) during the day, mid to low 60s at night, clear skies, bright sun. It will get a little cooler on into December, but this is pretty much winter over here. What a deal!
This week was fingerprinting week. Zach, Danna, and I went downtown to get printed so we could get a driver's license and a residence permit (we take a lot of freedoms for granted in the US, and we're going to lose them if we're not careful). It was the usual drill: the Qatar Foundation driver picked us up and took us to the fingerprinting compound, where another QF associate met us and magically ushered us to the front of the line (he first took Danna to the ladies' side of things, then came back and took care of us). The fingerprinting compound consisted of a six-meter-high perimeter wall, inside of which were a row of offices. The center courtyard was probably 25 or 30 meters square, with a 4x8 meter two-room office in the center. They had erected a shade canopy between one side of the center office and the perimeter offices, and had placed benches under the shade for those waiting to be fingerprinted. Ink was everywhere--on the walls, doors, doorframes, benches--smeared by folks who were trying to get the ink off of their hands (and it gets all over your hands) but who apparently hadn't seen the large sink over in an alcove against the outer wall. We were ushered into the center office, where a police officer was busily printing someone. He told us where to sit, and called us up when he decided it was our turn, which was almost immediately since we had the QF clout working for us.
I daresay his fingerprinting job wouldn't pass muster with the FBI, but that's fine with me...if my prints are going to be on file over here, I'd just as soon they be as smudged as possible. :) He had a blob of nasty-looking black ink in the middle of his table, and he'd use a roller to scoop up some ink and roll it onto a whetstone-like panel mounted on the front edge of the table. One by one, he would roll your fingers on the inkstone and then onto the paper, then finally he'd roll ink directly onto your entire palm and get a full handprint. It was a relatively standard fingerprinting setup, and he had his job down to an art. While he was printing me, another fellow walked into the room, up to the table, and apparently demanded that he be next in line (in Arabic, of course). The officer answered to the contrary, and then the two had a brief shouting match, with my face right between them because the officer was still holding my hand. I thought they were going to throw down right there, and I was trying to figure out how best to leap out of the way without getting ink all over myself. It was quite an experience. The man finally realized that he was defeating his own purpose by arguing with the officer in charge of fingerprinting, so he sat down and looked sullen.
Tuesday, we had a visit from Pam Vader (no relation to Darth), an Aggie working for Conoco who's in Doha scouting housing and office space for a planned Conoco office here. They're planning to have 100 employees over here within the next year or two. Apparently the world's largest natural gas field, and the willingness of the Emir to negotiate contracts, is a powerful draw for the oil companies. A group of us took Pam to Turkey Central, a Turkish restaurant downtown, and shopped afterward. We found a pet store across the street from TC. Their stock included lots of cold-water fish (goldfish and koi, mostly), finches, parrakeets, exotic birds, cats, ducklings, quail, and one lonely gerbil. They're not big on dogs over here...I wish it weren't so cost-prohibitive to bring Luke over here.
Friday morning, I took my instruments with me to church and sat in on the music. The worship leader had been called the night before and asked to lead music (they have something like a six-week rotation of worship teams, and it wasn't his turn), so he had pulled out several of the "old standbys" like "Holy, Holy, Holy", "Oh Lord, You're Beautiful," etc. The pianist was a Lebanese fellow named Sami, who has a couple of young sons. He plays reasonably well, but I miss Kathy! After the service, I spoke with a Mr. Shaw who, with his wife Judy, has six homeschooled kids, half of whom are redheads. Now that I know there's at least one large homeschool family in the area, I must say I feel a bit more at home. :)
Zach and I had to go to the office this morning to train our five new student workers--Mahmoud, Ali, Elias, Omar, and I still can't remember the fifth guy's name--and we stayed there until early afternoon. These guys all attend Qatar University, and they'll be taking care of the computer lab and doing odds and ends for us.
This afternoon, several of us manly types headed south for the sand dunes and some cardboard sliding. The dunes are some of the tallest natural structures in Qatar; most of them are between 75 and 100 feet high, and they're pretty tough to climb. Think trying to dig a hole in pea gravel. You can climb for a long time and not move an inch. We did manage to make the top of a dune, and the scenery from that vantage point was impressive. The wind was picking up, so we got a little taste of blowing sand...I can only imagine how miserable a full-blown sandstorm could make a person. After determining that the cardboard didn't slide as well as we had hoped, we walked around a bit. Zach spotted a horse camp a little over a quarter mile away from us on the other side of the dune, and I decided to make the trek to get some pictures.
The camp was situated in sort of a horseshoe canyon surrounded on three sides by the sand dunes, which act as a windbreak. It wasn't much to look at, with a handful of makeshift shacks and about ten stand-alone stalls made of various materials, some with roofs, some without. When I reached the camp, one of the grooms directed me to a gentleman named Abdullah, who was apparently the boss. Abdulla told me that they trained the horses for endurance races in the desert. In fact, we had passed one of the horse tracks on our way to the dunes. He showed me around a bit, and told me a little about his operation. They keep the horses out there year-round, and during very hot weather they take them to the seashore, which is 5km away, so they can cool off. Two grooms live out there full time, and Abdullah visits the camp every day to check on things. He said that a couple of his horses came from America. I poked around a bit, took a few pictures, talked to a few horses, and then started to leave. Abdullah came over to me, took my arm, and motioned for me to join him and two of his companions as they broke their fast (the sun had just gone down, which during Ramadan signals the end of the daily fast).
I declined, he insisted, I declined again, and he still insisted, so I kicked off my sandals and joined them (and their cat)--and hoped that Zach and co. weren't searching for me. When someone invites you to share a humble meal, especially during Ramadan, it's best to join them (after declining at least a couple of times to be polite, of course) so you won't dishonor them. Abdullah was the only one who spoke English, so he (occasionally) interpreted for me. They had several different dishes, many of which were special Ramadan recipes. They have special foods for Ramadan in much the same way that we have special foods we eat at Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. Everybody got their own spoon, and ate directly from the serving dishes. They had broiled chicken on rice, dates, some sort of spicy soup (I asked Abdullah what was in it, and he said, "Everything"), a sweet pasta, and several different pasty concoctions--they're big on making a spreadable paste out of random things like eggplant, chicken, and other things. I don't know what it all was, but it was good, and the whole experience really drove home the ingrained, and very genuine, hospitality of the Arab culture.
We, as a church, need to consider the issue of hospitality. Romans 12:13, 1 Timothy 5:9-10, 1 Peter 4:9, 3 John 1:8, and many other passages exhort us to be hospitable, to fellowship with one another in our homes, to entertain strangers, to put ourselves out for our fellow man. I often get so wrapped up in my own little private world of work and family that I neglect this Biblical command--and if I don't practice, practice, practice, then I'll never be perfect. I think we do a pretty good job with fellowship meals, birthday parties, hayrides and such, but there's always room for improvement. So, let's keep practicing!
Once it looked like the meal was close to over, I thanked them profusely and said I needed to go find my friends, who were probably getting at least mildly worried by now. My mobile phone rang at that point, and it was Zach and co. wondering what in the world had happened to me. I told him I was eating dinner. Abdullah said to bring them to dinner too, but I said there were four of them, and we were expected back in town for dinner (Danna was fixing spaghetti for all of us). He invited me to come back and visit any day, and I said I would like to. I'll have to take my son out there sometime. I hiked back across the dunes to the highway, where the guys were waiting, and we headed back to town, stopping once to snap some pictures of a refinery with some impressive burn-off fires going.
Danna's spaghetti dinner was great too, by the way. :)
(Don't miss the pictures!)