A Global Nomad's Desert Adventures

Everybody's Broken

2011-09-26T05:16:00.000-07:00

I've never been a big Bon Jovi fan, but I saw the music video for this song posted on a friend's facebook wall this morning and I fell in love with the conclusion: everybody's broken. Here are the lyrics...

"Everybody's Broken"

Welcome to the party
Come on in and disappear
You're feeling like a stranger
But all your friends are here
Little lines and cracks
Around your eyes and mouth
Something's trying to get in
Something's trying to get out

It's ok, to be a little broken
Everybody's broken, in this life
It's ok, to feel a little broken
Everybody's broken, your alright
It's just life

Step into the deep end
Make yourself at home
When you wonder why your breathing
Know your not alone
It's so hard to believe
It's easier to doubt
You're trying to hold in
But your dying to scream out

It's ok to be a little broken
Everybody's broken

In this life
It's ok to feel a little broken
Everybody's broken, your alright
It's alright, it's just life

Take a look around
Tell me what you see
Is who you think you are
Who you want to be

It's ok, to be a little broken
Everybody's broken, in this life
It's ok, to feel a little broken
Everybody's broken, your alright
Just keep on going
Eyes wide open
Everybody's broken

As a counselor, my job has been to sit with people in their brokenness. And in turn, friends have sat with me in my brokenness. The lyrics say, "Take a look around, Tell me what you see, Is who you think you are, Who you want to be." As an idealist, I find myself constantly disappointed by the world. I believe that our world was created to be this perfect beautiful place, full of shalom (peace). And then that shalom was broken, and the world we live in is not the way it was supposed to be. We are all broken. And so we navigate this life in our brokenness, but too often we try to caulk the cracks and tightly shut our eyes, blinding ourselves to the questions and the pain and the injustice that surrounds us. But what if we decided that it's ok to feel a little broken. What if we chose to live out of that brokenness; to open our eyes and acknowledge that in our brokenness and in our pain is the recipe for the kind of compassion that can change the world.

On Politics: Compassionate Conservatism

2011-08-29T05:05:00.001-07:00

So now that I live in DC, politics is of course front and center in daily life. The upcoming 2012 elections are about to turn this place into a frenzy of finger pointing and jabs and uncomfortable conversations. I was in DC for the 2004 elections, and it wasn't pretty. My own political views have changed over the past few years, and I now wait for the upcoming melee standing on a different side of the fence. But my core beliefs are the same, and I like to think that although I choose one political party (how I long for a viable third party!!), it does not mean that I cannot see the good - and the bad - on both sides of the aisle.

Assuming I don't get too many hateful comments from this post, I hope to continue blogging my observations about this race over the next year...but here is my first tentative tiptoe into the subject, based on an evening of simmering thoughts after reading this article and several other recent articles on compassionate conservatism. What is particularly striking to me is Perry's strong repudiation of this particular brand of republicanism. This was Bush's brand, and I understand Perry's desire to distance himself from that. Perry hopes to make the federal government inconsequential (his words, not mine). Now I am not saying that the current state of the federal government, and its spending in particular, is ideal. Far from it. But it saddens me that the current front-runner for the Republicans (or at least, one of the front-runners), is turning his back on one of the only parts of recent Republican politics that I can stomach. Bush was many things, and there are many things done by his administration that I cannot stand. And before anyone gets up in arms, I will readily admit that I voted for him (twice!). By the end of his time in office, I was no longer a fan. I was ready for something different. But I will be the first to say that there are several things about Bush that I admire. I do believe that he is a good man, a President who strongly believed that what he was doing was best for his people. Lest you forget, he presided over the worst terrorist attack on American soil. And in those days after September 11th, we all - Republicans and Democrats and Independents and others - stood together in solidarity as we watched our president speak to the nation. But for me, what I appreciated most about Bush was that he wasn't just a conservative, he was a compassionate conservative. Bush presided over the biggest and most radical spending on HIV/AIDS prevention and medication in our history (targeted toward Africa and the Caribbean). I think that much of his brand of conservatism was derailed by 9/11 and lost somewhere in the great war machine...but I also would dare to guess (based on Bush's rhetoric surrounding the wars) that even his decisions in that arena were somewhat motivated by the ideals surrounding this political view - ideals of freedom and justice. I do not believe it was done right, and I certainly believe that many failures of those wars can be blamed at least in part on other aspects of the administration (including faulty intelligence). But I digress...

Back to Perry and his repudiation of compassionate conservatism. As a moderate (or even sometimes liberal) Christian, I can get behind conservatism on some levels. But I also spent many years living in a socialist country (gasp! socialism?!). I believe that socialism is far from a perfect system, but I also believe that as a Christian, it is at least a step closer to what the Bible describes of Christ's followers in the first church. I believe in helping those less fortunate- through our churches and our nonprofits and yes, our government. Is it a flawed system? Absolutely. But because it is flawed, does that mean we stop trying? Absolutely not. And so I cannot get behind Perry, or any other Republican who seeks to make the federal government inconsequential. Would I rather get a bigger paycheck every two weeks because I am paying less taxes? Of course. Would I rather that the taxes that I do pay go toward items of significance, not an astronomical debt, bureaucratic drivel and unending wars? Naturally. Do I believe that huge changes need to be made in how our federal government operates? Yes. But I am not willing to sacrifice the idea of compassion to accomplish all that. Call me an idealist, but I think we can hope for something better.

*Coming soon: I am working on a post about Women and Christianity. I've been working on it for a while, and have blogged about this before. So hopefully I'll get a bit of inspiration and will publish it soon to the blog!

On women, feminism, christianity and the world

2011-08-04T13:36:00.001-07:00

This post has been percolating in my mind for quite a while. I've written on this issue in prior blogs, but it's been quite some time since I allowed the thoughts free reign where others can read. Since coming back to the US, the issue of women has been heavy on my heart, particularly as the topic pertains to my faith and world issues. A couple weeks ago, the english-language Kuwait newspaper posted another front page article about an abused domestic worker seeking shelter at her embassy (here). This is one horrifying story in an endless stream of publicized atrocities. This one story reflects the lives of countless other women who suffer silently behind bolted doors. This week, the story of the nanny living in the Ghadafi home shocked CNN readers around the world- the image of her burned head and body causing an outpouring of response. Our news is so flooded with stories of horror, sometimes it feels easier to just freeze out the world. But I am convinced that as humans, as spiritual beings, and for myself as a woman, I must persist in my indignation. I must be horrified by every story. I must cringe and cry and scream for justice even when it feels like nothing has changed, nothing will change, and no one can really do anything to stop it. I believe in being informed, even when that information makes us weep at the depravity of the world.

And so I come to the broader topic of women...a topic that is fraught with emotion and politics and theology and the age old battle of the genders. As a Christian, it's not considered acceptable to call oneself a feminist (at least that is the common perception, although not applicable to all within the faith). There are times where I have carried the label proudly. There are other times when I have struggled to find an alternate word, an alternate label that will have less tendency to send people around me running for the hills. I wrote a post on feminism several years ago (in a long abandoned blog). You can read it here. I think that age, experience, and a lot of travel in between the writing of that post and today have perhaps nuanced my opinions on this matter, but it is still a good foundational commentary on why I still call myself a feminist in Christian circles.

Living in the Middle East for two years, these issues were a part of daily life. Whereas the question of women's rights has become more subtle in America, it hovered like a giant pink elephant sulking in the corner during my time in the Arab world. I saw it on the faces of women at the shelter where I volunteered- abused domestic workers who had fled from physical, emotional and sexual abuse at the hands of their employers. I saw it in the culture, the head coverings, the difficulty that many female students faced if they wanted to pursue their studies outside the country, the stories of abuse when women are seen as property, and my own experience of harassment in public. I also saw it in the triumph and excitement as four women were elected as members of parliament- the first women in Kuwait to be elected as MPs. In the Middle East, the issue of women is still a whisper...there are a few who dare to speak loudly, but they are the exception.

In coming back to America, my first few weeks were filled with the wonder of being able to walk around my neighborhood at night without whistles and yells and cars following me. I went shopping and actually bought clothes that were sleeveless and lower-cut. I looked men in the eyes and didn't worry that the eye contact would lead to problems later. I was back in the land of equality! And then I started to notice the subtleties of gender, especially in Christian circles. I started looking for a church, and as I read through their sets of beliefs, I stumbled across items like this:

Jesus is the Shepherd of his Church and he has called, qualified, and gifted certain men to imitate Him in the delegated task of caring, guiding, and teaching His people.

and this:

Women play a vital role in the life of the church, but in keeping with God’s created design they are not permitted “to teach or to exercise authority over a man” (1 Timothy 2:12 ESV). Leadership in the church is male.

(Note that aside from this particular issue, the church whose beliefs include these statements is a wonderful community of Christ-followers and might become my church home, if I can reconcile this particular road block.)

I started visiting churches, and noticed how I could go an entire service and not see a woman on stage. Women could run the child care, could sometimes be part of the worship band (although rarely the leader), could be commissioned as a missionary; but at no point did a woman stand up to lead a part of the service. It is subtle, but it is there. When I go up to receive communion, I receive it from a man. There's nothing wrong with that, but am I really supposed to believe that if a woman handed me the bread and the cup in remembrance of Christ, it would be a sin? I cannot believe that. In Christian circles, we still live in a man's world. And if what we practice at home (read: in the church) is a message of inequality and starkly separated gender roles, then how can we presume to be the hands and feet of Jesus to a world full of women who have been neglected and abused, simply because they are women?

I do not presume to have an answer for all my questions. I wish there was a simple way to reconcile christianity and my questions about femininity. I see a stark contrast between the American church and much of the worldwide church. In America, I see men "leading" because they can. They have the power. In the worldwide church, I see women standing in the gap- leading in so many places where there are simply no men qualified to lead. I see women going into the world by the thousands- stepping out in faith to be the hands and feet and mouth of the church. I see women who are amongst the wisest and smartest theologians I have ever met, but who cannot stand up within a non-liberal evangelical church and teach what God has shown them. And for myself, a woman who is not gifted in children's ministry, I find myself wanting to participate in a church but having no easy outlet for my giftings of leadership and teaching.

Simply writing these thoughts has started my mind spinning...but I think this post is already long enough. Please feel free to comment, and perhaps that will get me working on a follow-up post. This is simply an introduction to my questions and struggles as they pertain to this issue. And remember, if you comment, be kind! I am not trying to start a gender war...I just think these are questions that need to be talked about. Out loud. In the context of our faith.

Color in the Soul

2011-07-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

I've abandoned this blog for far too long. The past 4 months have been a time of transition, change, goodbyes, new friendships, reconnecting with old friends and learning how to live all over again in the beautiful city of Washington, DC. I'm not even sure how to go about encapsulating all the ups and downs since I left Kuwait. But here goes, in the hopes that I can start blogging again regularly, although from a very different place in life...

Leaving on a jet plane: After shipping off about 500lbs of personal stuff, surviving the worst dust storm in 20 years (that hit the night before the movers came to pack my stuff, resulting in about 10lbs of Kuwaiti dust making the journey to DC), and the bittersweet tears of goodbye, it was finally time to board my last plane out of Kuwait. There was a slight glitch when the airport went on lockdown due to a security threat, but once the sirens stopped, we were allowed to board and I soared off to a new life.

Living the nomad's life: For the first two weeks after flying back to the states, I set some traveling records visiting Portland, Montana, Orlando and finally DC. My personal items from Kuwait were shipped in 2 man-sized boxes to my new place in DC, and my amazing parents helped me prep about 300lbs of books to mail from Orlando to DC. In mid-April, I finally made it to my new home.

Unemployment (aka: hours spent job hunting online, setting up life in America, going to interviews, re-learning the public transportation system, watching all 6 seasons of Bones, and enjoying a glass of red wine with dinner): I spent mid-April to mid-July job hunting. After spending way too many hours trying to find a suit that fits, the interviews began. Although it took longer to find the right job than I had thought, I am profoundly grateful for the number of interviews and offers received over those 3 months, considering the current economic climate. I felt strongly that God had the perfect job for me, so despite the dwindling savings, I held out for the right offer. This time of unemployment was a much needed opportunity to decompress, process my experiences, and learn that when the cashier talks to me and asks me about my day, that's just normal American friendliness. In some ways, culture shock was much easier than I had thought, but it still sometimes sneaks up on me. My new apartment and fantastically amazing roommate (who I met in Kuwait!) made the transition back to DC so much easier.

Employment (!!!!): Last week I was offered and accepted my dream job. So as of this blog post, I am the newest Program Officer for the International Reading Association's Global Operations Unit. I will be tasked with coordinating international affiliates in the hope of increasing literacy rates around the world. I'm absolutely thrilled to have found something that so perfectly incorporates my interest in nonprofit and education. And as an added absolutely incredible bonus, my job includes some international travel...an aspect that breathed new life into me after fearing that my nomadic days were at an end.

And so...there is most definitely life post-Kuwait. I find myself at times "homesick" for the Middle East, remembering the fun experiences, crazed driving, amazing food, and wonderful friends. But as some of you have heard me say, I also believe that Kuwait has the ability to suck the color out of your soul. And it wasn't until I had been back in America for a couple of months that I began to see just how true that was for me. Even as I experience moments where I miss the life I was able to lead over there, I find that color is slowly starting to seep back into my soul. DC is an amazing place full of so many opportunities to just live. From Jazz concerts in the Sculpture Gardens to dinners with friends to finding a new church to re-exploring the city with the amazing number of friends who have traveled through DC over the past few months...I had forgotten how beautiful color can be. I love little things like being able to call my family any time I want, and realizing that I can hop on a plane and celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with family and friends...color.

As I start this next journey in life, I hope to keep blogging. My stories might not be as interesting as they were in Kuwait (although once the work travel starts, I have a feeling there might be some fun stories to share!), but I love to write so I plan to continue doing so. As the chaos of transition has eased, I have begun to truly process my experiences in Kuwait...the good, the bad, and the ugly. I feel more of a freedom to share now that I am back in the states, so perhaps some of those thoughts will make their way to this blog. I am beginning to realize that there is still quite a bit of raw emotion from my time in the Middle East, and I know that will take some time to unravel. I was trying to decide whether to keep this blog name, or change it since I am no longer a Kuwait City gal...but I have decided to keep the name because my Kuwait experience is a deep part of who I have become. The desert experience (both actual and metaphorical) has changed me and shaped me. So for this Kuwait City gal, now also DC City gal, it's time to step away from the computer and go live a little, but more to come soon!

The emotion of leaving

2011-03-09T03:32:00.001-08:00

As I wrap up my life here in Kuwait (countdown = 22 days!), each day feels like an adventure tangled up in a mass of stress. There have been very exciting moments (like when my friend and I signed for an apartment in DC!), and very hard moments (like realizing yet again that I am leaving people that I might never see again). This is the life of the global nomad. There are a lot of ups and downs, but God has been incredibly gracious throughout. I'm coming up on that time in transition when the "lasts" begin...last time hanging out with someone, last time getting dinner at the chicken guys, last sessions with counseling clients, and on and on. And it is hard, but it is also good. As much as leaving feels incredibly difficult, I also know that this change is right for this moment in my life. So I push ahead, try to take my to-do list one item at a time, and trust that God will provide.

During this time, I've also found myself struggling a lot with anger. I know that transition is always an emotional time, and I am also feeling excited, sad, stressed, and a whole bunch of other things that I can't even identify right now. But over the past few weeks, I have struggled on a daily basis with an anger that just leaves my body shaking and my eyes burning. As I have processed the emotion, I've come to realize that much of my anger stems from a feeling of powerlessness as I leave the place I've come to call "home." For anyone who has been reading my blog over the past two years, you know that there are many aspects of the country, the culture, the society, and even my workplace, that bother me. From the treatment of women, to the veneer of spoiled riches, to the hidden ache of so much family dysfunction, to the desire of businesses (such as my workplace) to cover up anything uncomfortable so that they always look good to the people around...my heart just cries out: "this is not the way it's meant to be!"

As a counselor, I have the unique privilege (and burden) of stepping beyond the "always must look good" polish of this society and digging into the muck and mire beneath. And it so often leaves me reeling. My work at the Filipino embassy has brought this into stark relief. Every Wednesday, I sit with a group of women...all of them runaway domestic workers who have fled from difficult (and often horrific) circumstances. I hear their stories, and it breaks my heart. I just can't understand how people can treat other human beings this way...and on such a massive scale. Even though the embassy is constantly putting girls on planes to send them home, the shelter stays filled. Twenty girls leave, and twenty more girls show up at the gates. It never ends. And the same story is repeated at the Sri Lankan embassy, and the Indian embassy, and the Nepalese embassy, and more. And I feel so powerless to change anything here.

This week I was involved as a first responder and counselor during a very difficult incident. I won't go into the details because I can't, but suffice it to say that it was probably the most difficult day in my past two years in Kuwait. Thank God the situation was resolved and the person was ok, but it drained every last ounce of emotional energy from me, and again, it left me so angry. I am angry because this country has almost zero resources for mental illness. I am angry because seeking help is a sign of weakness, and will bring shame to the family. I am angry because if someone decides to hurt themselves, rather than get them help at the proper facility, it becomes a legal/police issue. I am angry because even those of us who want to help can't, because it's a "liability." And I am angry because even though we see the signs of people struggling all around us, there is so little that we can do to help. Shame is a powerful force here. Looking good is the almighty holy grail. And underneath, fractured hurting people try to make it through the day. I'm not saying that this is unique to Kuwait, but I am saying that it seems to exist on a much more pervasive scale here. And I can try (and have tried) to help people with whom I come in contact. I know all about the proverbial "helping one person at a time" is the only way to start making a difference. But I feel so overwhelmed in the face of my own powerlessness. And so, as a good friend (and soon to be roommate!) reminded me yesterday, that's when it comes back to faith. I must believe that even though this is not the way it was meant to be, God has a plan. I must believe that He cares about each individual person so much more than I could ever imagine. And I must believe that even though I am leaving this place, God has still used me...even if it was just one life at a time. And so I choose to take a deep breath, and hand over my anger to God...moment by moment. I choose to trust in His goodness, not only in my own life, but in this country that has been my home but also my heavy burden for two years.

On Living in the Middle East

2011-02-06T09:56:00.000-08:00

Many people have asked me what it's like to be living in the Middle East at this time. One of my friends was watching a news show that had a chalk drawing of North Africa and the Middle East. They had placed little drawn flames on all countries that are currently in turmoil. The flames covered the map- Tunisia, Algeria, Egypt, Sudan, Yemen, Syria, Jordan, Palestine, Iraq, and Afghanistan. That's an impressive list! Here in Kuwait, things are calm. The Gulf Region (Kuwait, UAE, Qatar and Bahrain) is a tiny rich enclave in an often unstable region. The people in my corner of the world are kept content (or at least silent) but a constant flow of money and government perks. And yet, this is also a country that is 2/3 foreigners- many of whom hail from Egypt and surrounding countries. The past few weeks have been a constant murmur of voices- anxious Egyptians following the news 24 hours a day, citizens of other countries checking in with family and friends. We are calm, but it feels like we are standing on the precipice of history. It's scary, but it's also exciting. We are seeing the common man (and woman!) standing up en masse and saying, "enough is enough." It's reminiscent of all the revolutions and uprisings that led to the freedom of democracy in our western world. As Americans, I think we too often see the images of men with scarves over their faces yelling in Arabic, riding camels through the crowd, and we think "oh, how scary...those Muslims are scary!" The reality is that we are simply seeing our own revolutionary history played over again with slightly different cultural twists. Perhaps it's scary that some of the political parties maneuvering into power are extremist muslims. Perhaps we fear losing our "allies" in the region. There are a lot of perhaps. We can't know what the future will hold, but we can cheer with the crowds and shout our own versions of freedom. That's my perspective on things...feel free to take it with a grain of salt.

A Trip to the Indian Consulate

2011-01-23T11:11:00.000-08:00

In Kuwait, anything out of the norm can turn into an adventure. Today, my big outing was to the Indian visa consulate to submit my paperwork in anticipation of my upcoming trip to Delhi and the Taj Mahal! This particular adventure could only be started after a week of research and phone calls to find out the exact process so I could be prepared. After finding out that the embassy (conveniently located near my work) does NOT process visas, I found out that the visa consulate (absolutely not conveniently located anywhere near my work) was the place to go. So I spent some time on google maps- definitely not up-to-date for Kuwait- to find the exact-sort-of-not-really location of the building. For those not familiar with Kuwait, street names are not exactly in fashion here. Some streets have names, with dubious arrows pointing in wizard-of-oz-scarecrow directions. Occasionally, there is a helpful arabic sign with a possible street name, but unless I can sit in front of it for 3 minutes trying to sound out the arabic script, it's a lost cause. In any case, I had high hopes and equal measures of determination as I left work and headed into Kuwait City (a mess of one way streets, traffic, and potholes).

My adventure started off well, aside from one minor traffic inconvenience caused by a police checkpoint (but they don't usually stop pale white girls). I finally made it to Kuwait City (downtown Kuwait), but made my first mistake when I took a left before the Grand Mosque, instead of after it. I quickly realized the error of my ways, and corrected it by turning the wrong way up a one-way street. My bad. I tried to do a u-turn, but decided that turning into on-coming traffic was not my best plan ever. I finally found a place to take a left, and realized to my horror that I had turned into a large souq area (outdoor marketplace). I navigated through the mess of traffic and people, and frantically looked for an easy place to get back to the main road. While I was looking for a turn, I failed to notice the abnormally large concrete "road fix" (aka, someone poured way too much concrete over a pothole, basically turning it into a reverse protruded mess). I think I screamed a little when my car shuddered over the concrete, metal grinding. I thought about stopping to make sure that the passenger side of my car was still there, but decided to just shrug it off and continue boldly forth.

I made a turn, ended up back on the main road, and turned at what I thought was the correct light. Alas, I was mistaken, and I ended up right back in the old souk. This time I avoided the pothole, and finally made it back to the main street. Within a few minutes, I found the correct turn, and miraculously saw a sign saying "Ahmed Al Jaber st", victory! Unfortunately, the only information I had on the consulate was the building name, and someone forgot to actually put a name sign on the building. So I drove, stopped and asked directions, turned around, stopped and asked directions, turned around, stopped and asked directions, and finally maneuvered my car into a dingy side alley. Fortunately, it's a predominantly Indian area, so several helpful store clerks pointed me in the right direction, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the big "Indian passport and visa services" sign. Once I found the right room, everything went smoothly. The people were incredibly professional and quick (a far cry from the total chaos of Kuwaiti ministry offices). Within 20 minutes, I had submitted my paperwork and received the good news that my visa would be ready in ten days. They told me they would call when it was done, and perhaps for the first time in 2 years of navigating paperwork in Kuwait, I believe them!

When I returned to my car, I was delighted to see that it was all in one piece. I worked my way back through traffic, through another police checkpoint, and decided to reward myself with a trip to the salon. All in a day's [after] work.

Turning the page...

2011-01-21T13:15:00.000-08:00

It's been too long since I spent some time blogging. So here goes! The past couple of months have been full of decisions and change. For any readers who are not on my facebook, the big news is that I've decided to leave Kuwait (hmm, does that mean I need to change my blog title?). My time in Kuwait has been memorable- at times amazingly good, at times dark and lonely. But it has been a journey that I do not regret. However, it's time to move on and start something new. I've decided to move back to the US for a time, to be near friends and family. I'm planning on moving to DC in April...so I'm starting the job hunt and setting up my life there! I'll try to keep this site updated as the journey continues, but today my mind is here. Although I'm incredibly excited about DC, I'm also feeling sad as I consider the end of this incredible adventure. Here are a few recent highlights from life in the desert!

1. Last night I went to the US embassy social hour (also known as happy hour). Once you get through the layers of security, you emerge into an oasis of american-ness. There was a live band playing classic rock, good food and drinks, and fun company! There's something special about this kind of event when you live overseas!

2. Filled up my gas tank this week for $7. I am soooo going to miss gas prices in the sandbox!

3. Sitting at work surrounded by my coworkers- 2 Kuwaitis, 2 Egyptians, a Jordanian, an Indian, an American and an American-Venezualan! The conversation flashes between english and arabic. I just love the multi-culturalism!

4. Paying $9 for a doctor visit, and getting refills of all my meds for $11. Gotta love living in a social welfare state.

5. Realized today that when I visit India next month, it will be my 17th trip of the past 2 years. I've visited the US twice, Ethiopia twice, Dubai twice, Lebanon twice, Abu Dhabi, Qatar, Bahrain, Oman, Afghanistan, Ukraine, Sri Lanka, and Turkey. So many suitcases and plane rides. So many memories.

6. Spending time with the girls at the filipino embassy (shelter for domestic workers who have run away due to abuse). This past week we had about 25 new girls that are going to start our program (a combination of teaching the 7 habits and skill-training). Although hearing their stories is heartbreaking, it's such an honor to be part of this kind of work.

7. The food. Even after 2 years here, I never get sick of amazing Lebanese food...hummus, tabouleh, pita bread. I realized this week that I had eaten pita and hummus for 5 consecutive meals (breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast and lunch!).

8. I always feel such a sense of accomplishment when something gets done...mostly because even the simplest things become complicated! I finally got my heat working in the apartment- after 2 visits from maintenance and many conversations in a combination of broken english and arabic!

These are just a few of my favorite moments from the past week. I have been noticing that my cynicism at the culture here has been increasing daily since I decided to leave. It's as if the filter I force myself to wear (so that I don't become "that girl" that walks around criticizing everything) has been slipping. There are many things here that just tear at my soul...so many things that are wrong or evil. But there are also so many amazing aspects of living in this part of the world. There will be a time later for me to process the negative things I have seen and experienced here. But for now, I also want to take in all the amazingly unique parts of life here. I can honestly say that every day is an adventure! More thoughts to come soon...

Diet Coke Emergency & the Local Bakalas

2010-11-26T11:06:00.000-08:00

I had a diet coke emergency tonight. When I opened my refrigerator earlier today, I realized I had only one diet coke left. I drank it quickly and decided I would run to the local bakala later in the evening. A bakala is basically a neighborhood grocery the size of a closet...there's one on every corner, and it's the place you go to pick up sodas, snacks, bottled water, etc. As the sun set and my need for caffeine increased, I decided it was time for the emergency run. And here came the eternal dilemma. You see, there is a bakala right across the street from me, and one about a block away. It seems like a no-brainer, right? Wrong. You see, women generally do not walk around the streets in Kuwait, especially foreign women. So if I want to visit the bakala a block away, I drive. It's easy...slightly ridiculous to walk a block, but easy. And I like the owners. They know me, and although they stare a bit, they're very kind. The bakala across the street is another matter. There are usually several men loitering around the front counter, they speak very little English, and they stare a LOT. And...to get there I have to walk across the street. It seems like a small matter, but it entails a lot of stares, honking horns, cars slowing down, and guys yelling out the window. It's not dangerous, but it is uncomfortable. I learned a long time ago that walking around Kuwait as a foreigner is not fun. When I first arrived, I took two walking trips from my campus to the bank one block away. By the second trip, I decided to file that particular journey away into the "not going to do that again" drawer. But tonight, I braved the street and the honking and the stares and walked to the bakala across the street, where I successfully solved the diet coke emergency.

This particular dilemma struck a chord with me tonight. Over the past few weeks, I've had several conversations with Americans who work for US entities (whether it's government or military). For them, security is always at the forefront of the list of concerns. Other Americans in Kuwait check under their cars, have high levels of security at their places of work, and even sometimes have escorts when traveling to foreign countries! For me, life in Kuwait just feels "normal." I realize that I live in the Middle East, but it doesn't feel dangerous. I don't check under my car for scary devices, I don't worry about kidnapping or being a target. I take holidays to places like Afghanistan, and do a side trip up to the Bekaa Valley (Hezbollah territory) to see some ancient ruins when I'm visiting Lebanon. Most people who have never been to Kuwait would be surprised how westernized the city is on the surface. I think there are probably more American restaurants here than in the states! TGIFridays, Hardy's, Johnny Rockets, Chili's, Crispy Creme, and of course two Starbucks on every city block. Sometimes it's easy to forget how different life is here, under the surface. I've been thinking a lot recently about these differences, and yet how normal it can feel. I'm flying out for the states next Wednesday night (yay for Christmas with my family!), and I haven't stepped foot on American soil in almost a year and a half. So I've been thinking about culture shock. I've been thinking (and dreaming!) about walking down the street in the middle of the day. I've even been thinking about how excited I am to go for a run outside (I must be crazy if I'm actually excited about running!). And that brings me back to my bakala dilemmas. Those are the moments when I remember how very different my life is here. Even though I can call Subway to deliver my 6" veggie sandwich on wheat, I can't stroll down the street when I feel like being outside. I drive like a maniac...because everyone else drives like a maniac. I spend my days making sure that I don't accidentally bump into a man...my physical space bubble has gotten about three feet deep since moving here! When I drive or am just walking around somewhere, I keep my gaze straight forward and am careful not to make eye contact with men. I am careful to wear extremely modest clothing anytime I leave my house. And the list goes on. Not all these things are bad. They're just different. And that's where culture shock comes in. The reality is that I have been living in a place that is extremely different...if you just scratch the surface. It will be interesting to see what kind of culture shock hits when I land in the states. I'll keep you posted!

The Day I Hired a Maid

2010-11-18T22:36:00.001-08:00

It's finally come down to this...I can't keep up with the dust in my apartment. In America, a good sweep and an occasional vacuum cleaning can keep the dust balls at bay. Not in Kuwait. I sweep several times a week, but I hate to mop and dusting the wood just makes me sneeze. So, as part of my stay-cation (vacation where you stay at home), I decided to invest in having someone clean my apartment. You have to understand that this is not my norm. I've resisted the whole "I have someone do everything for me just because I can" mentality for almost two years. But now, it's time. And so, yesterday I went down to the guard in my lobby and asked him if he could find me a maid who speaks some English to come early Friday morning. Rani showed up at 8:30, and as I sit here typing, she is cleaning and pulling dust balls out from the darkest corners of my "I thought it was relatively clean" apartment.

Having someone clean your apartment (especially when it's a relatively small apartment and you're invariably 20 feet away from the person cleaning at all times), is slightly awkward. Do you help? Do you just pretend they're not there? Do you chat with them...not quite possible since Rani's English and my Hindi are not up to par! She has managed to find enough English to scold me twice: once as she swept out a giant dust pile from under my bed and once when she said "one year no cleaning, not good! clean one time one week." Point well taken, Rani.

I did find out that she is Indian, has a husband and two sons back in India, and has been in Kuwait for 7 years. She's been cleaning houses for 5 of those years, and has only been back to see her family twice since first arriving in Kuwait. One of her sons is in 10th grade, and the other just finished college. She was married at 14, had her first son at 15, and her second son at 17. What a different life. She did tell me that I need to get married..."husband, good!" I assume that she is here in Kuwait working so that she can send her sons to school. I find myself so torn...feeling guilty that I need to hire someone to clean my house, but also knowing that the money I pay her is precisely why she's here...living in a very difficult country so far from her family.

Total cost = $25 (I paid her twice the normal fee...but what can I say, after seeing all the dust, I figured what the heck!).

When she left, she made it clear that I should be hiring her twice a week to clean. She also offered to cook! And she said that we are sisters. Thank you Rani!

A typical trip to the chicken guy

2010-11-12T11:40:00.000-08:00

We just started our Eid vacation (Muslim holiday) here in Kuwait, so I have the entire next week off! I decided not to travel this time, since I've been out of the country five times in the past 6 months. I'm using the time to clean (loooong overdue!), rest, read, and think about the future. After cleaning out most of my fridge tonight, I decided that a trip across the street to my favorite chicken guys was in order. The chicken guys are basically my alternative to cooking my own food. Their little rotisserie chicken restaurant is my favorite local hangout. All the guys that work there are Syrian, and they know me well. I've probably been by their restaurant three times a week every week for the past year! None of them really speak English, but they all come out to say hello and I sometimes go inside to drink tea and chat. We laugh a lot since our conversations are basically one-sided monologues. I jabber in English...and get a lot of blank stares and laughter. They respond by jabbering in Arabic. I understand a bit, but generally just stare back and laugh. And so it goes. Tonight, I stayed in my car waiting for my hummus, falafel sandwich, and fries (it took three guys to understand what fries were). One of the guys came over to the car to chat...it went something like this:

Chicken guy: Salaam Aleykum (hello!). You no drink syrian whiskey inside? (gesture to restaurant.

Me: Syrian whiskey?

Chicken guy: [laughter]. This Kuwait. No have whiskey. Syrian whiskey = chai tea.

Me: [laughter]. This Kuwait. No have alcohol. Not good for foreigners, but oh well. But thank you for tea. Inshallah (god willing), tomorrow.

Chicken guy: [gesture to my apartment building across the street]. You have whiskey inside? You bring whiskey, I drink?

Me: [laughter]. No have whiskey. Alcohol illegal. No whiskey. Sorry.

Chicken guy: You get whiskey from american embassy? You bring, I drink?

Me: No, I can't get whiskey at american embassy. No have whiskey. No have alcohol. Sorry.

Chicken guy: You take me, we drink whiskey.

Me: [laughter]. No, sorry. No have whiskey. You go Syria to drink whiskey.

Chicken guy: Can get sadiki (bathtub made vodka] in Kuwait. Cost a lot. You buy, we drink?

Me: No. Sadiki very bad for stomach. Sorry. No can drink alcohol in Kuwait.

Chicken guy: You have husband?

Me: No. No husband.

Chicken guy: [incredulous laughter]. No have husband? No have baby? No baby? You no want husband and baby?

Me: [uncomfortable laughter]. No have husband. No have baby. Maybe inshallah someday in the future.

Chicken guy: You have boyfriend?

Me: Yes, have boyfriend (sorry, sometimes you gotta lie in these situations...it's a safety thing). Have very nice American boyfriend.

Chicken guy: Boyfriend drive green car?

Me: [confused laughter]. No, boyfriend no drive green car. Boyfriend no come to this restaurant.

Chicken guy: You have American boyfriend. So he in Kuwait?

Me: Yes. He in Kuwait. Is my food ready? Must bring food to American boyfriend.

Chicken guy: [disappointed laughter]. Ok, ok. I go get food. You bring me whiskey!

Most of this was in a combo of English and Arabic. He said a lot more that I didn't catch, but I'm ok with that. Never a dull moment in Kuwait!

Pause

2010-10-11T10:45:00.000-07:00

There are moments in life when you pause to reflect on the journey. Too often, I am caught in the whirlwind of the immediate. Pressing needs supplant reflection. The urgent suffocates the significant. And the now, trapped in the hectic tumult of activity and thought, holds me prisoner. When I pause, the fatigue of life catches up with me, and instead of truly being silent in the pause, I succumb to sleep or the sweet nothingness of mindless entertainment. I call it staring at a wall. Whether it is the comforting darkness of true sleep, or the numbness of my television, I disappear. I have spent too long caught in the pendulum, swinging from urgent immediacy to eerily calm nothing. And so I stay. Caught in a place that is no longer my place. Hoping for next steps but always too overwhelmed to take that lunging leap. Only a few short months after I moved to Kuwait, I wrote of caravans. Two recent comments on that post brought me back to read it anew. And I marveled at the caravans that have entered my life, and exited my life, in the span of those months. I find myself now, sitting with nervous energy, waiting and waiting for my caravan. In the pit, I wonder if God is there, if perhaps I might just hear the sound of approaching caravans. There is a whisper, a tremor, and yet nothing. There is hope, but it feels nearly impossible to hold that tender thread. The journey has been sweet, beauty in the divine sovereignty. The past months have been full- of life and travel and friends and family. Mine is not a cry of complaint. It is deep delighted laughter at the journey God has formed for me. But in the midst of laughter is a silent river of questioning tears. It is my mascara worship. It is my questions, my uncertainty, my longing, my pause.

To read the Caravans post, simply go to: http://kuwaitcitygal.blogspot.com/2009/05/caravans.html

Korah Dump: Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

2010-08-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

I started this post two months ago, but the emotion of this experience was still too raw. I was finally able to complete it, and hope that those of you reading about Korah will continue to educate yourselves about the situation (there are several excellent blog entries and videos online if you google the name). Now that I am back in the blog mode, check back soon for more!

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There is something haunting about the Korah Dump. This is the kind of haunting that weighs on your soul, the kind that is unspeakable. And yet, it must be spoken. In the Bible and in historical texts, there are multiple citations of a place called Gehenna. It was a historical cite outside of Jerusalem also called the Valley of Hinnom, and it was the place where child sacrifices were made, and where the bodies of the unwanted were dumped. It was deemed to be an accursed place, and in the original text of the New Testament, the word Gehenna is used 11 times by Christ as the word for hell. During my recent return trip to Ethiopia, I walked into Gehenna. Just a short distance outside Addis, this place is called the Korah Dump. And it is deeply haunting.

I spent a month in Addis back in June/July, helping to provide leadership to a summer trip for high schoolers. We worked in orphanages, visited HIV-positive women to bring them grain, taught skills and crafts to a group of women, and saw the kind of poverty that is unimaginable in the developed world. In a country where the average yearly income is $90, poverty takes on new meaning. Poverty in Ethiopia does not discriminate. It affects the young and the old, people from every ethnic group, Christians, Orthodox, and Muslim. Poverty is the 6 million orphans in Ethiopia. It is the fact that 1 in 6 children die before age 5, most from preventable diseases. It is a prevalence of malaria and leprosy, in an age where malaria and leprosy should not exist.

Although my heart was broken in so many ways on that initial trip, God wasn't quite done with me. I decided to return to Addis for a long weekend in August, thinking it would be fun to have a little more time with my family. It was a sweet time, but God also brought me back so that I could see something that I could never imagine. When I returned to Addis, I found out that half of the group was planning a trip to a slum area outside of Addis. We planned to spend some time playing soccer with the kids, and then a contact had arranged for us to walk over and see the Korah Dump. So on Saturday, we piled into the bus and headed out. We stopped in front of a church in the middle of the slums, and stepped out into a crowd of children. Immediately, small hands grasped us. Children crowded in, and we were ushered into the church. We sat on small wood pews and started singing with the kids. Within a couple of minutes, I had 3 little girls jostling for a spot beside me. I had already spent a month playing with kids at local orphanages, but these children were different. They was an intensity to their smiles, to the way that they gripped my fingers. They crawled into my lap, and held tightly to my neck. They brushed my hair and kissed my cheek and asked me over and over for my name. And as they squeezed close to me, I felt torn. I knew about this place. It is a place for the unwanted. Korah means cursed. It is an area outside of Addis that was created for the least of the least...the lepers. Over 100,000 people live in this slum area. They are lepers, HIV-positive, orphans, elderly. There is no running water, and no sewers. And to my shame, as these little girls crawled on my lap, I couldn't help but wonder about them. Were those white spots on the girl's face leprosy? What other diseases might they have? And something inside of me broke. And I hugged the girls and let them put their hands in my hair and accepted their kisses. I determined in that moment that I would not see them as cursed or forgotten. And that is why I must speak of the unspeakable...because little girls should never have to live in hell. They should not have leprosy when leprosy is preventable and treatable. They should never have to be held at arm's distance because they are sick or dirty. There is something so deeply wrong with this world, and to me, the Korah Dump symbolizes all that is evil and shattered in our world.

After the church, we began our trek to the actual dump. As we crested the hill, we saw what appeared to be grass, intermixed with some garbage. It smelled a little, but it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. And then I began to walk, guided by several young inhabitants of the area. And as I began to pick my way across the "grass," I realized that I was walking on decades of garbage, with a thin layer of sickly grass overtop. Underneath, my feet was the accumulation of human waste...not just material, but also biological. I picked my way through the swamp, trying to avoid the deeper rivers of human waste. I suddenly found myself standing on the edge of an impassable pit, the stench overpowering my sense of smell. And then one of the young men from the dump appeared at my side and started to reach toward me- he wanted to carry me over the waste. I was torn between the desire to avoid the cesspool of filth, and utter shame at the thought of this young man, who lived in this every day, carrying me so that I could stay clean. I thanked him and stepped forward alone, and my foot sank into the muck. I trudged along, sweating from the combination of heat and stench. In the distance, we saw a giant brown mountain rising above the landscape. As we approached, we saw cranes on top, and what appeared to be people climbing all over the mountain. This was the fresh dump, the active dump. The cranes labored day and night adding to the pile of trash and human waste, and the people climbing on the mountain were the laborers. These people spend their lives sorting through the waste, looking for materials that can be sold- plastic bags, water bottles, wire, shoes. Most of the laborers were women and children. These are the untouchables, the people from the surrounding slums who are governed by the rich masters (the owners of the dump, living in gated villas around the slum). Many of them are orphans, lepers, utterly poor. They live in this Gehenna, this hell on earth. And my concept of what poverty means was shattered. My knowledge of what is evil and wrong plummeted to a new depth. This is horror. This should not be. The children proudly showed us their finds...plastic bags full of tennis shoes, pieces of wire, empty water bottles. They smiled, and they held our hands, and they proudly showed us their world. On top of the mountains were little cardboard lean-tos...this is where the poorest of the poor live. They don't even live in the slum, they live on the mountain of waste. And yet they also take pride in their world. I don't know how to feel about all this. I was horrified, I was shamed, I was broken. There is no logical explanation for a world that would allow these women and children to live like this. In the wealthy wasteful society in which I currently live, and the wealth wasteful society that I grew up in, there is no framework to understand what we saw at the Korah Dump. And I think that is why it has taken me so long to publish this post that I started two months ago. I have no conclusion, no answer, no witty sarcastic comment. I can only put into words what I experienced, and hope that through my experience others will educate themselves and that together we can find a way to stop this kind of horror from continuing.

With brokenness,
Amy

The rains down in Africa

2010-06-28T05:05:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting in a tin metal shack in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. The rain is thundering down on the roof, and I'm taking a few minutes to catch up on email. Africa has been amazing so far. I will post plenty of stories and pictures when I get back to Kuwait...but in the meantime, here are a few experiences from the past week:

* The grand battle for the villa: 16 girls, 1 villa, and an african population of bugs (cockroaches, mosquitoes, and spiders). The battle waged on for several days, but I'm proud to report that the humans were victorious. Although we still see a few bugs here and there, the bugs has suffered a massive decline in population. Yay!

* Kids, kids, and more kids!! We had the opportunity to visit several orphanages and play with the kids. Lots of singing, jumping, soccer, and showing the kids pictures of themselves on our digital cameras. We also had the privilege of participating in a feeding program for OVC (orphans and vulnerabe children). In a country where the majority of the population makes less than $90 per year, it's really amazing to be part of the many organizations who work tirelessly to provide relief and assistance.

* Hiking & visits: today I participated in home visits to bring bags of wheat to HIV positive women. Many of these women are very poor, and because of that they live far up the side of a mountain (the higher up the mountain, the cheaper the housing). We hiked and hiked...and we're already at a very high altitude...so it was a great workout. We were able to sit with several women and hear their stories. I am still processing the experience...heartbreaking on so many levels.

In other news, the students on our trip are doing great. The 16 girls in my house have managed to come up with a showering schedule (one shower!) and yesterday we spent some time cleaning...which makes the housing experience a bit more pleasant. We're just starting a full week of work out in the community, so I'll be heading back to one of the orphanages and doing who knows what else!

Until next time...

Hottest place on earth...Kuwait!

2010-06-15T10:57:00.000-07:00

Apparently, BBC mentioned yesterday that the hottest place on Earth was Kuwait: 55C or 131 F. And of course, the papers report that electricity usage is at 98% of capacity. I'm in the hottest place on earth! No wonder I was feeling a bit drained yesterday...and the day before...and the day before. We liken it to walking in front of the world's largest hairdryer. When I walked from my car into my building earlier today, I felt like the blowing hot wind was going to melt the skin right off my arms. But the crazy thing is that you learn to tolerate it! It still feels like living in a giant furnace, but somehow you're able to walk around in long pants and even a sweater (I opt for the modest look here)! On a positive note, I'm leaving the giant hairdyer soon! I'll be heading to Ethiopia in 4 days to take part in a month-long humanitarian trip...with my parents, my little sister, and about 50 other people. I'm soooo excited. And the best part is- temperatures in Addis are between 50 and 70! That's an 80 degree drop from Kuwait! Hallelujah!

Immigration (insert ominous music)

2010-06-07T05:35:00.000-07:00

I have to take a quick break from the small victories entries to write about my experience at the Immigration office today. I've arrived at the point where any experience, no matter how bad, can be viewed as "another story for my blog." Scary. But there you have it. So this morning, I agreed to accompany a friend to the immigration office before work to provide moral support while she requested a visa for a family member. The family member had been in Kuwait, but his visa expired, so he had to exit the country and then re-enter with a new visa. The tricky part is that he had to be officially exited before she could request the new visa. To complicate matters, he was only granted a 24 hour transit visa to the other destination, meaning he had to stay in the airport for the day, and then return to Kuwait. All of this hinged on his actually getting the visa to re-enter Kuwait. If that didn't happen, he'd be stuck in transit (sort of like Tom Hanks in The Terminal).

So, about 15 minutes after he went through passport control in Kuwait this morning (he was still in the Kuwait airport, on his way to spend the day in another country in the region), we approached the immigration building. As we walked in, my friend apologized for the mess we were about to encounter. We stepped over a chain-link fence lying on the ground, and pushed open the door to the first building.

As we walked in, we were confronted by a jostling group of men, all seemingly waiting in line...or rather, lines. There was no real order, just dozens of men, several counters, and plenty of staring eyes. We stood there for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. My friend had been there before, so she knew what had to be done. Luckily, she had the brilliant idea of looking for a ladies desk. And there, shining like a beacon of hope, was a little blue sign in the far corner that said, "Ladies." One of the few perks of living in a male dominant society- they have the foresight to offer shorter lines for women only. Although I can say with near certainty that the guys manning those counters are pretty bored all day long. We did spot one other woman, but apparently this is a man's business (like so many other things in Kuwait). So, the white american chick started saying "excuse me, excuse me" and the men parted like the red sea. Again, one of the perks of living in a society where it is haram (forbidden) to touch a woman...the men will go out of their way to clear a big enough path so that you don't risk bumping into them.

We made our way to the counter and my friend submitted the necessary documents. The exchange was in Arabic, so I didn't understand much. He pointed to the opposite side of the room, and my friend informed me that we had to get a copy made of one of her documents. Another path created to the other side of the room, another mass of men jostling to have copies made (lines? waiting for your turn? unheard of). I tend to be one of the taller, and definitely the whitest, in any group of people around here, so my friend handed me the paper and I made eye contact with the copy man. He immediately reached over the men to grab our paper. A minute later, we had the copy in hand. Then, it was time to go to another counter to pay some money. I quickly realized that this man- the money man- was different from the others. He sported the full beard (the religious/conservative beard) and absolutely refused to look at my friend and I. When I say absolutely refused, I mean absolutely refused. We repeatedly tried to get his attention, but he averted his eyes every time. Finally, he reached out his hand, grabbed the money, handed us the proof of payment, and did all that without ever once looking in our direction. I don't know which affects me more- the dozens of pairs of staring eyes anytime a woman walks into a room, or the men who think that woman are so ___ (dangerous? tempting? invisible?) that they can't even look at us.

In any case, we had the documents. It was now time to head over to another building. We picked up a number, and sat down to wait. They actually moved surprisingly quickly, and the numbers quickly went by. While we were sitting there, we saw two of the men working there walk up to greet each other. They then leaned in, and kiss kiss kissed on the mouth! You know, sort of like the european cheek kisses, except they were mouth to mouth! A bit shocked, I turned to my friend and said, "did they just kiss kiss kiss on the mouth?" She just nodded silently. She was just as shocked as me. But I guess this is just a twist on the normal kiss greeting...although it was definitely the first time I had seen it done this way. In any case, they called our number and my friend submitted the documents. They told her the visa would be ready tomorrow. We knew for a fact that they can do it on-the-spot, and my poor friend's family member was stuck sitting in transit in a relatively tiny airport! So we asked if it could be done today. They indicated that we should proceed to another cluster of counters to ask. My friend asked the women (apparently men work on one side at a set of counters, and women at the other side processing the visas). They finally said yes, but it would take a few hours. My friend returned to the building later in the day, and was able to get the visa. I guess this does count as another small victory! And of course...another "interesting experience" for the blog!

Small Victories

2010-06-05T09:55:00.001-07:00

In Kuwait, victories are measured in small doses. What appears basic, mundane, obvious, takes on a life of its own. Did I make it through the week without getting in an accident? Check. Victory. Did I survive the heat without melting into a puddle on the blazing concrete? Check. Victory. Did I make it a whole week without any creepy stalker cars following me on the road? Check. Victory.

In the past few weeks, I've had a few major victories that seem to indicate that I am adapting to life here (after 1.5 years!). I don't know if it's a good thing or if it's a sign that it's time to move on...but I'll take the victories wherever I can get them. So here are a few tales from life in Kuwait. The stories can get a bit long, so I'll start with one, and add a few more in the next few days in new posts.

1. VIVA. Viva is my internet provider. Correction, was my internet provider. When I first moved to Kuwait, the internet in my building was less than reliable. Since I refuse to be in Kuwait without having the ability to connect with family and friends, I decided to spring for the extra internet service- basically it's a USB that plugs into your computer and connects you to the internet. I signed a one-year contract, and dished out about $80/month to have "reliable" internet. Unfortunately, it ended up being less than reliable. Why you ask? Well, that's what I asked them. Answer: well madame, since you live on the 16th floor, you are too high up to catch the internet waves sent off by our tower. So you see, it's not our fault. You should live on a lower floor. Oh really. Fine, I signed a contract so I'll stick to it. I faithfully made my payments, even though I stopped needing that internet months ago. So when my contract was finally set to expire (february), I went into the store, paid the remainder of my bill, and told them that I would not be renewing. The internet was shut off a few weeks later, and I forgot all about it.

Well, about a month ago I decided to go into the store just to make sure my account was clear. To my surprise, I found out that I owed about $300 in unpaid bills. They had never ended my contract, and had been charging me since February. They had shut down my internet for "non-payment" and kept charging me. So I explained the story, and they said "you should have signed an end-of-contract paper." I replied that no one gave me the aforementioned paper, and that's not my fault. They said that there is nothing they can do. I have to pay the full amount. And I am not allowed to sign the paper until I have paid it...which means I would keep wracking up more payments until I paid it. I got a bit upset, and asked to speak to a manager. She told me the same thing, ending with "Habibti, there is nothing we can do. Your only option is to go visit the lawyer's office." (Note: Habibti means "my dear" in Arabic...it can be a term of endearment, but in this context sounds more condescending than anything else.) I told her I would go to the lawyer right then. She informed me that the lawyer only works 8am-noon on Sun-Thurs. I told her, "must be nice." So the next day, I took an hour off work and visited the lawyer. I was a bit apprehensive, to say the least. I knew what to expect...an office full of Kuwaiti men, in full dishdasha, drinking tea all day, and probably not much accustomed to providing customer service...especially not to a pale white american chick. I found the building, and finally made it up to their office. No office sign. No indications that I was in the right place. All doors on the floor locked. I started going up and down the hall knocking on every door. Finally, one of them opened up and I walked in. Sure enough, the room was full of Kuwaiti men, in full dishdasha, drinking tea. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. I guess they don't have single american chicks walking into their office very often. I found the right lawyer, and sat down to tell my story. He was very courteous, and asked me to write out my story on a tiny piece of paper. I did so, and he said that he would present it to the administrative board and I would get my answer in 3 days. I left quickly, relieved to have made it through yet another cultural experience in Kuwait.

Unfortunately, 4 days later he called me to say that my request had been denied. I had to pay the full amount. When I asked who to speak to next, he said there was no one. They were the top dogs, "Habibti, we are the lawyers. There is nothing more you can do. Sorry Habibti." By this point, I was more than a little frustrated. I was also not feeling well, and was in a bit of a spitfire mood. I was actually trying to decrease my daily stress, so I finally decided to just pay the money and be done with it. I would let Kuwait have the victory this time, in the hopes of keeping my sanity. However, I wouldn't go out with a fight. I decided to write a long letter, detailing my experience, the lack of customer service, my frustration, and my displeasure at the completely ridiculous fact that I was being forced to pay for their employees' incompetence (how could I know about a silly piece of paper if they never told me?). I wrote the letter, felt a lot better about things after getting my feelings on paper, and proceeded to my local VIVA store to make the payment and drop off the paper. Oh, and did I forget to mention? In the letter, I informed them that I would be sending that same letter to all of the newspapers in Kuwait, as well as telling all of my friends at the American embassy about the way they treat their customers. Shame has a very powerful effect in eastern cultures. I had tried to play nice, but I was done. Finished. Highly annoyed.

It was at this point that I met my favorite VIVA employee. He had the luck (read: misfortune) to call my number when i got to VIVA. I gave him the letter and told him I would make the payment. It was at this point that the truly miraculous happened. He asked me to tell him my story. He wanted to know why I was so upset. It was the first time anyone had asked for the story. On a side note, just before going into the store, I had been sitting in my car crying. I wasn't feeling well, and the frustration was just overwhelming. So here I was, sitting across from him, wearing sunglasses to hide my red eyes. And he was the first nice person in this entire mess. And I just talked and talked and talked. I told him about my frustration, about how hard it was to be living in Kuwait as a single american girl, about trying to navigate the cultural differences, about how i hadn't been feeling well, and on and on. Poor guy. At the end of it, he took a deep breath, and told me that he wanted me to wait to pay. He wanted to present the letter to his manager, and see if something could be done. I said that would be fine, gave him my cell number, and beat a hasty retreat (thoroughly embarrassed by the fact that I almost had a complete breakdown in front of him).

Over the next 3 days, he stayed in contact via text messages, updating me about his conversations with his boss, telling me that they were checking into various options. And then on the fourth day, the true miracle: he called to say that they had forgiven the payments charged after my end of contract, and were clearing my account. I had won! Victory. I thanked him profusely, wrote a nice email telling his manager that he was the best employee at VIVA, and signed that silly piece of paper. I am now officially free of VIVA. Freedom. Check. Victory.

A Saturday in Kuwait

2010-05-16T23:52:00.000-07:00

I started this post a couple weeks ago...just had a chance to finish it!

I usually spend Saturdays just chillin. Sleep in, get up around noon, grab some lunch, catch up on my downloaded episodes of my fav shows, chat with my family on skype, etc etc. But after way too many weeks/months of putting off various things, I decided that this Saturday would be my designated "get stuff done" day. My car has been in desperate need of a tune-up, so I decided to get up early, bring in my car to the service center, visit the leasing center (they just informed me that they are taking back my car on June 3rd and won't let me renew my lease! so I planned to go in and try to fight my way into keeping the car), do some grocery shopping, etc. So Saturday morning, my alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 7am. I rolled out of bed, took a shower, and put myself together. It was bright and sunny outside, so I grabbed my sunglasses. As I got ready to walk out the door, I suddenly realized that it wasn't bright and sunny anymore. I walked over to the window, and looked outside to see...nothing! It had gone from bright and sunny, to looking like it was midnight outside. In the span of a few minutes, a massive dust storm had rolled in. It was surreal, unlike any dust storm I've seen since being in Kuwait. The dust blotted out the sun. The wind kicked up. And then the rains began...which was just about the time I realized that my windows weren't quite as well sealed as I thought. So as the water began to drip over the sill, I prepared a veritable mound of towels to stave off any flooding. Luckily, the flooding stayed minimal (especially compared to many of my neighbors who I found out later had several inches of water in their apartments!). The apocalyptic dust/wind/rain lasted for about two hours, and then the feeble sun poked through the dust and the end-of-times faded away.

I didn't want to waste an early morning Saturday wake-up, so I decided to brave the elements as soon as the storm stopped and bring in my car as planned. I ventured outside, to be met by silence and trash. The streets were empty...of people...but filled with plastic bags and boxes and piles of trash that had blown out of various containers. I navigated the trash-filled streets and finally made it to the auto service center. I figured that I had just enough time despite my dust storm delay to get the car serviced and make it to the leasing center (at a different location). I walked into the service center to find the usual...about 20 men in dishdashas turning around to stare at the eccentric white american gal who really doesn't belong in an auto center. In these situations, the only bonus is that I get to jump to the front of the line! So I quickly found myself sitting across from a man, trying to explain that my car needed fluid changes, new brake pads, and a belt replacement. The man looked at me like I had two heads (apparently, women aren't supposed to know these things). He completed some paperwork, and then informed me that my registration was expired. I shrugged, and asked him what to do. He demanded to know why I hadn't brought in my car sooner to get the registration fixed. I informed him that 1) this was a rental, not my own car, so it was their responsibility to track such things, 2) the registration form was entirely in Arabic, so there was no way for me to know it was expired, and 3) I didn't pay attention to such things since no one ever told me that there was a vehicle registration in the first place. Apparently my answer wasn't exactly what he wanted. He informed me that they would take my car in the next day for the new registration, but that I would have to pay a fine ($17). I agreed to pay the fine, but told them that I thought the entire situation was completely ludicrous since it wasn't even my car. However, I decided that $17 was totally worth saving myself the hassle of trying to deal with the government/ministry offices by myself. In the end, they gave me a rental and confiscated my car until further notice.

When I left the car service center, I figured I had just enough time to make it to the leasing center to dispute the fact that they were going to repossess my car on June 3rd. I drove to the other side of Kuwait (again, navigating the trash filled streets), only to find the leasing office dark and locked. I had specifically called the day before to ask about their hours. A security guard finally answered the door after about 5 minutes of pounding on the glass. He informed me that yes, of course they were open, but not at this location. On Saturdays they worked out of a different office that was back on the other side of Kuwait...only a block from the service center! By this point, I was thoroughly frustrated and annoyed, so I gave up. I drove my nice little rental back home, checked again for any flood waters, got in my pjamas, and went right back to bed.

Another day, another threat...

2010-04-19T08:15:00.000-07:00

Here's an article from today's paper. Apparently there have been some threats recently in Kuwait, including specific threats to air traffic (and now to the oil fields). I'm especially interested by all the new security measures they are introducing. Maybe now the x-ray machine guards will stop texting for 30 seconds to actually check the scanner! Or not.

Airport security dept ready to deal with any emergencies
MoI puts ‘Special Forces’ on state of alert

KUWAIT CITY, April 18, (Agencies): Director of the airport security in the Ministry of Interior Colonel Iyad Al-Haddad underscored here on Sunday readiness of the airport security department to deal with any emergencies according to an integrated mechanism to ensure the safety of Kuwait International Airport and its facilities.
Al-Haddad said during a tour by the Ministry’s media team to the airport today that the security precautions and the subsequent state of alert comes in case of any sudden incidents or information that may cause a breach of security inside the airport, stressing that any call must be dealt with carefully and seriously.
He said manpower working on gates, around the airport and at open areas has been intensified in order to ensure protection of aircraft on the ground.

He pointed out that all personnel of the airport would be screened with cooperation of various sectors in the ministry’s traffic operations and public security.
Al-Haddad pointed out that the airport operates around the clock and applies the system of open sky due to the large number of flights, airlines and the high rate of arrivals and departures throughout the year.

He called for the need to adhere to the rules of safety and security within the airport and reduce congestion, saying this impedes the movement of travelers during check-ins.

Meanwhile, the Ministry of Interior has put the ‘Special Forces’ on a state of alert as a precautionary measure to guard vital oil establishments after receiving information on likely sabotage operations, reports Al-Anba daily.
A security source said the Special Forces will also be tasked with guarding strategic locations.

In the meantime, the Al-Watan Arabic daily said the Special Forces Department has introduced a new mechanism to protect Kuwaiti airplanes.
According to reliable security sources scores of securitymen trained in anti-riots and bomb disposal operations will undergo a one-week rigorous training and persons who pass the course with at least 98 percent will be hired to protect airplanes in mid-air.

Change

2010-04-11T23:25:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about change this week. This is a word that is battered around the counseling community with endless repetition. What is change? How does it happen? Are humans really capable of change? Are societies capable of change? I've had a couple of really difficult counseling sessions with clients lately...the kinds of sessions that leave me despairing about the condition of the human race. I walk with my clients into wounds so deep that it seems like there can never be light at the end of the tunnel. Situations seem infinitely hopeless. Escape is impossible. It's my job to find hope, to have vision for a better future for my clients. So what happens when I don't see any hope? Do I revert to a simplistic method of behavioral counseling where I try to help them fix the crumbling blocks of their life by giving them a few helpful study tools without looking at the foundations that are giving way? If I help them to dig into those foundations, if we uncover what is festering below and we can't find a way to walk through it, then is there hope? In the unique confines of this culture and this place, I can't just tell my clients to leave, to walk away, to start fresh. I am forced to work within family systems that are untenable. Young people don't move out of their parents' homes. They stay and stay and stay. Here in Kuwait, there are still areas of the desert that are filled with landmines from the Gulf War. Many of those areas have been marked as dangerous...flags and signs denoting the fact that if you walk in that area, you might go boom. It happens on a regular basis...ooh, what's that funny looking rock? Boom. I feel like counseling in this context is like walking through a field of landmines. Careful step, shift your weight, see what happens. And so often it feels hopeless. Do the hours that I spend with my clients really make any difference?

In this part of the world, there is a high value placed on image. Look good, smile, everything is fine. Making sure that everyone thinks you're fine takes its toll...it's exhausting. And there comes a point where your body can't physically hold it in anymore...the tears start leaking out at the most inopportune times. The rage is unleashed. The depression takes hold. We all have problems...every human, every society. I'm not saying that these things are unique to this part of the world. But I often wonder if my counseling model holds true in this place. What works in the west doesn't always work here. Often, the counseling room is a place where someone is free to fall apart- to let the cracks in the armor sever. And we sit in the pain, in the wounds, in the anger. And we look at the ways we have been hurt. And over time, we heal and we begin to look at our own responsibility. We take ownership and begin to move toward a new model of relationships in this world. That works in the west...I've seen it work and I believe that it's a healthy godly model of counseling. But I'm not convinced that it works here. And so I go back to my first question- what is change? What is my vision for my clients? Where do I find hope for my clients? And I hold up the mirror and look at my self. And I feel the weight of life here. And I struggle with the culture and knowing when to accept, and when to fight back. What is different and what is just wrong. And sometimes I freeze in the midst of the field of landmines, losing my footing and just wanting to sit down and wait it out. Sometimes the struggle is just too much, too confusing, too hopeless. But for this moment in time, I am here. And I have the privilege of sitting with a young generation of people who are struggling and hurting. And so I look to the one who provides all hope, and I ask for wisdom, and for eyes to walk tall and straight and hopefully through the field of landmines.

Embassy Expo

2010-04-02T04:24:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago we did an expo for all the ladies at the embassy where I have been volunteering. It was a graduation ceremony as well, where we handed out certificates for the women who completed the 7 Habits course. One of the tricky parts of doing this kind of thing at the embassy is that there is a constant revolving door of women. Some stay at the embassy for only a few days, and some are there for months. So even in a 7-week course with 30 women, we tend to have some leave, and new women join. Much of it depends on the circumstances surrounding their arrival at the embassy. In many cases, their employers file an absconding police case against them- basically they are charged with running away. If that is the case, the women are stuck on the embassy grounds until the case can be settled. Often, the women who have cases filed against them are forced to go through court proceedings...certainly a scary experience considering the circumstances. Many of them are stuck at the embassy because their employers have held on to their documentation (visa, passport, etc). Until the legal formalities can be completed, they have to wait. Basically, the women spend a lot of time waiting. That's part of the beauty of the program we are doing...the course gives them an activity once a week (for 30 women...we can't fit all 200+ of them that are living at the embassy!). But in an even bigger way, the crafts that they are doing allow them to stay busy during the week. And the women who are in the course teach the others, and it creates an amazing synergy (synergy being one of the 7 Habits!). There are challenges, but I love it.

I've been asked if it's possible to buy some of these rugs from overseas. At this point we are only selling locally. And shipping presents an enormous challenge in Kuwait. But who knows what venues we might find to expand in the future! We've had a huge response here amongst the expat community, and a large number of the rugs and jewelry have sold over the past few weeks. 100% of the sales go back to the women in the form of necessities (toiletries, travel bags, etc). What we are doing is merely a drop in the bucket when compared to the huge need here in Kuwait, but it's a drop nonetheless, and a huge answer to my own prayers over the past 15 months. A few days ago we started the next round of courses (with 40 new women!). We'll run the program through May, and then try to do something over the summer...although that will be challenging since many of the volunteers will be traveling. But we'll see! I'll keep you posted. Below are a few pictures of the expo night. The crafts they do are called "Trash to Treasures." Enjoy!

Just saying hello

2010-03-28T13:07:00.000-07:00

This is going to be a short blog post tonight. I had big plans to write up a couple fun stories, but my creative energy has been in short supply the past couple of weeks and now it's 11pm and I'm sleepy! But I wanted to at least say a quick hello to my loyal readers. Everything is going well over here in the sandbox. Today on the way home from work I managed to avoid hitting 2 cars, 6 pedestrians and 3 thoroughly mangy street cats that all decided to run out (or drive out) in front of my car. All this during a 6 minute commute home. Sometimes it feels like bumper cars out there...too bad it's bumper cars at 80mph. This week we will start up with a new group of girls at the embassy where we are doing the 7 Habits course along with the rug and jewelry making. I'm excited (and slightly exhausted) at the thought! I do have a bunch more pictures from the embassy, so I'll post a few of those soon as well. Sorry the posts have been slow in coming lately. They blocked blogger again at work (they seem to block and unblock it with impunity, depending on their moods!)...so that's why it takes a bit more effort to sit down and catch up on this. The weather is starting to change (it was over 100 a couple weeks ago!), but then we got another whiff of spring and we're back down in the 80s. I say, hold off on 130 degree weather as long as possible! I've noticed that my car is definitely showing the wear and tear of living in this climate. I've had it for 11 months now (and no accidents! whoo hoo!)...and it's trucking along but the paint is peeling and the inside looks like it's slowly melting. Keep in mind that it's not even an old car...made in 2007 and barely driven til I got it! I guess even steel can't hold up in this weather. I wonder if it does the same thing to people...are my insides slowly melting away under a veneer of sand?? Scary thought. Anyway, I'm off to sleep. Stay posted for stories and pics soon!

An Open Door

2010-03-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks, I've had the opportunity to spend time at one of the embassies here in Kuwait. For those of you that have followed my journey, you might know that I have been trying for the past year to find ways to serve a specific community of women in Kuwait- runaway domestic helpers (maids and nannies) that have escaped from abusive situations and are seeking shelter in their country's embassy until their situation can be resolved. Some of them stay at the embassy for a few days, some of them for months. Many of them are in a sort of limbo, with all their documents (passports, visa, etc) being kept by their employer, and often with a pending police case (the employer can file a police case against them for running away). The politics of it aside, these are women caught in a sort of no-man's land...several hundred live in the building at any one time, waiting for the official word to either fly back to their own country, or get sent into a new employment situation. A couple of expat women here in Kuwait have started up a program for the girls, and I've had the privilege of joining them. We are teaching a training course on the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, and pairing that with skill learning so that when the women leave their current situation, they have the skills to start up their own business. Our focus has been on creating hand-made crafts that can be completed with minimal or no cost. One of the women who started this program came up with the idea of making knot rugs out of fabric (she has spent hours going around to tailors in the area asking for fabric donations). She went online and learned how to make a knot and taught the girls...and by the next week the girls were professionals! We can't obviously take several hundred girls in one course, so we have about 30 that speak good English and who were selected as leaders in their community. These incredible women have not only learned the skills, but have been teaching all the other girls living in the embassy! The end result has been incredible...in the past the girls just spent their time sitting around and waiting, waiting, waiting. Now, you can feel a level of energy and excitement when you walk in the door of the building. The leadership of the embassy even gave the girls a crafts room that is now filled with piles of fabric and girls working on making these rugs. This week we are celebrating the end of the course, and doing a big expo of all the stuff the girls have made (they also learned how to make jewelry from magazine paper, and purses from cut up jeans and other fabric). We will start selling the things they have made, and 100% of the profits will go back to the girls. Basically, the girls give us a list of everything they want (they want basic supplies like shampoo and deodorant and tote bags to travel back to their country)...and we buy it with the proceeds and bring it back to the girls at the embassy. It's been an incredible experience. Who would have known that after a year of trying, God would open the door for me to be involved in such an incredible opportunity! I'm excited and looking forward to starting up a new round of the course. At the same time, interacting with these women and hearing their stories weighs heavily on my soul...but right now, it's time to celebrate the cool things that God is doing and save my thoughts on all that for another time. Below are some pictures from our time at the embassy. Enjoy!

Passion

2010-02-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about passion yesterday. Passion is defined as a powerful emotion (such as love, joy, hatred, or anger). It is also of course associated with love and the physical relationship. I've grown up around a lot of passionate people- firebrands if you will. Passionate people have causes...they are the kind of people who go from 0 to 60 when a certain subject is brought up. Passionate people feel deeply; they have a visceral response to the things that they see, hear and experience. As Kuwait prepares to celebrate their National and Liberation days (Liberation from the Iraqis after the Gulf War), I've been thinking a lot about life here- my experiences, the people, the culture. There are so many things here that make me sad. This past weekend I was car stalked again (followed for a long distance in my car). The stalker really freaked me out this time. Usually they are young punks. I can deal with young punks. This time it was a middle-aged bearded man with aviator sunglasses driving an old S-class Mercedes. He was like something out of a cheesy spy movie where the bad guys are Arabs...a caricature. He followed me until I finally pulled into a residential parking area (where one of my American contractor friends lives). I called me friend to come downstairs...and the man parked beside me and just sat in his car staring. When I saw my friend come around the corner, I got out of the car to approach the man (I wanted my friend in the area, but not directly involved since that can cause him problems if the man turned out to be Kuwaiti). I walked around my car and glared at the man through his open window. I then proceeded to yell at him (no need to go into details). I'm assuming that A) the man hadn't realized I'm American and B) the man had not anticipated a former Marine American contractor being on the scene. He peeled out of that parking lot in lightening speed.

So what does all this have to do with passion? What I have noticed in this place is that people live with the goal of instantaneous gratification. I want a woman? I will chase her down the street in my car, thinking on some delusional level that she will just pull over and let me do whatever I want to her. I want a new purse? I will go out and bribe my way to the top of the wait list for whatever the hottest purse is on the market. I'm stuck in traffic due to road construction? I will pull onto the shoulder and drive by all the people sitting on the road...and run straight over a Bangladeshi worker in the process. I will live my life for myself, disregarding the human dignity of all others. What I want, I will get. I will proudly wear my blinders, willingly ignoring the human suffering that surrounds me. On the celebration of my Liberation Day, I will send my children out to the street with dozens of bottles of foam. They will spend their day foaming all of the cars that drive by. If it happens to be a taxi (driven by one of the "lesser" ethnicities...someone who has no power to stop my child), my child will stand in front of the taxi to block them from moving. My child will then peel off the windshield wipers and spray foam over the entire car. If the cabbie forgot to lock his door, my child might even open the door and spray him in the face. After the can of foam is finished, my child will throw it into the street, confident that the Sri Lankan or Bangladeshi trash man will promptly pick it up to throw it in the trash. I stand and say that I deserve whatever I want. But if you peel back the layers, I am desperate inside. I live in a country that has one of the highest vehicular death and diabetes rates in the world. I am wealthy, but I have lost my passion. At my core, I am a frothing mix of anger and tears. I am lost.

So we come back to passion. I sat with a student yesterday and told her that she has no passion. She moves from interest to interest, from designer brand to designer brand, from hobby to hobby. And she discards each as easily as most people discard the latest fad. When your world is focused only on yourself and your own gratification, you will eventually become desperate. You will become depressed and anxious and sad. You will have tear-filled eyes that you hide behind a fragile mask of self-gratification. As an outsider, I navigate this culture carefully. It is like walking on eggshells...only it's more like walking on broken glass. As I think about passion, my desire is to see the people of this country become passionate...I want them to take off their blinders and see the people that stand subserviently in the corner. I want them to shake off lives of quiet wealthy desperation. I don't know if they will change...I don't know if even a single one of my students will change. But passionate people cannot help but hope. So I hope in change. And I wait. And I try to keep my anger at this place from consuming me.

A Glimpse into Reality in Kuwait

2010-02-09T21:58:00.000-08:00

A friend of a friend snapped this picture while driving in Kuwait. It's a police car, and there are several southeast asian women crammed into the trunk. Most likely, these are runaway maids who didn't make it to the embassy for asylum before they were picked up by the police. Of course, it could be something else...maybe they were picked up for committing a crime or for some other reason, but the highest likelihood is that they were grabbed off the street for running away. And regardless of the reason, in what world is it acceptable for them to be thrown into the trunk of a police vehicle along with the grocery bags? I've heard stories of what these women go through when they get to the police station, and it's never a good situation.

A trip to the chicken guy

2010-01-25T21:46:00.000-08:00

The chicken guys are some of my favorite people. Chicken guys are little restaurant owners...their restaurants pepper the street, each with a rotisserie grill outside a hole-in-the-wall room. This is one of the most economical ways to eat in Kuwait...you can just pull up in front of the restaurant and order a chicken (or even a half chicken), hummus, tabouleh (Lebanese foods), shawarma, grilled meat, and a variety of other delectable goodies. The chicken goes for about $3. For the past few months, I've been shopping around with the chicken guys. Their chickens are basically equal in yumminess, but I've noticed a distinct difference in their tabouleh (arab salad). My main problem with tabouleh is that many of the restaurants put large onions in the salad...and for anyone that knows me, I hate onions. But I finally found the holy grail of chicken guys- no onions in their tabouleh! So now I'm a regular at their shop.

So a couple nights ago, I decided to walk over to the chicken guy to get some dinner. Usually, I just stop in my car and roll down the window...if I walk it's with friends. So this was my first time going solo. They all know me, and I can tell that they're curious about this random american girl that likes grilled chicken and hummus and tabouleh. When I got to the store, I was greeted by about 5 men working in the restaurant. They all smiled, and immediately set to work on my order. It took a little while for them to understand that I only wanted a half chicken and that I wanted the white meat part...but eventually we successfully negotiated the language barrier and I sat down to wait. Immediately, one of them ran over with some tea for me to drink while I waited. For the next ten minutes, we chatted. By "chatted", I mean that we carried on a very fragmented conversation, part Arabic, part English, and lots of hand motions and laughter. They are all Syrian, and they spent quite a bit of time lamenting the fact that while I can go to Syria as an American, they can't go to America because they are Syrian (due to long-term tension between the two countries). They wanted to know why I didn't just call for delivery...I told them I like to walk (although the real answer is that I try to keep the number of random men here who know my address to a minimum). Every time I took a sip of my tea, they rushed over to refill it. They called me "doctor", which to them means professor. It's much too complicated to explain that I'm a Career Counselor, so I just go with doctor. When the food was finally ready, I paid my money and headed back across the street to my apartment, happy. These kinds of moments make my day. This is the part of Kuwait that I love...not the glitzy malls, the havoc-strewn roads, or the propensity toward racism and hierarchy. It's people like the chicken guys that remind me why I wanted to move to the Middle East.

Too long

2010-01-24T01:46:00.000-08:00

It's been far too long since I last blogged. Happy 2010 everyone! The past few weeks have passed quickly...I had my one year anniversary in Kuwait and at my job, I traveled to Beirut to celebrate New Year's Eve, and I did a quick 22-hour trip to Bahrain this weekend! I can't believe it's now almost February. The weather is beautiful here- somehow we bypassed winter and are enjoying gorgeous spring weather for as long as possible before the oppressive summer heat strikes again. It's hard to believe that a year ago, I was huddled up against my little space heater trying to stave off the bitter cold, depressed and lonely and wondering what possessed me to move here. I still have plenty of those thoughts, but they are far fewer than before. The past year has felt like a roller coaster. There have been great times, and horrible times. The year was marked by many new friendships, and also quite a few goodbyes. In this highly transitory community, I have come to realize that I miss true community. I long for solid and stable friends...to live in a place where I don't always wonder when I'll get the call that someone is on their way to the airport or has just turned in their notice to quit. But even in the midst of loneliness, God has put some amazing people in my life...and it has been good.

As I look at 2010, I don't really have a clue where God will lead. I feel a bit lost. There are moments when I really enjoy life here. And of course, there are moments when I am just tempted to pack up my bags and drive to the airport. But I wait and I pray and I hope that God will soon illuminate the next journey in my life. The nomad in me is restless, but the time just doesn't feel right yet. So we will see what happens!

One of my favorite parts of living in Kuwait is having the opportunity to travel. This weekend I flew over to Bahrain. It was my first time in the country (country #41 in my country count!). In addition to hitting up the local Irish pubs, I also had the opportunity to visit the Saudi Arabian border. Bahrain and Saudi are connected by a huge bridge/causeway...the most expensive bridge in the world. I was able to take a taxi out to the mid-way point and look into Saudi from a tower built on the Bahraini side. As a single female, it's unlikely that I'll ever be able to cross into Saudi (I would need to be accompanied by either a husband, a brother, or a father to enter Saudi...yeah, I know, a bit ridiculous!). But it was still fun to be able to say I've been at the border. I also checked out a local fort, and then settled down for the evening in an awesome Irish pub, complete with a Kiwi live band! The pub was frequented mainly by westerns (tons of Brits), so for a few hours it felt like I was suddenly transported out of the Middle East. I was shocked by the outfits, the amount of skin shown, the freedom people felt to be in "close contact" with one another...all this a sure sign that I've been in Kuwait a long time. Despite the culture shock, it was so refreshing to be away...to be western in a western world for a few hours.

I think that's all I have to say for the moment. I'll try to blog a bit more often in the weeks/months to come. I'm sure there will be many more stories as I navigate the world of Kuwait!

A few more stories from Afghanistan

2009-12-27T12:32:00.000-08:00

I know my blog posts about Afghanistan have been slow in coming. Work has been insanely busy, and by the time I get home in the evening, inspiration is elusive. But I'm on vacation now, so I thought it would be a good time to start writing again!

I've been back in Kuwait for over three weeks, and Afghanistan feels a million miles away. In the midst of the flaunted wealth of the Gulf, it's hard to believe that mere weeks ago I was traipsing through Kabul. Many people ask about my experience, and it's still difficult to find the words. One of the fun stories from my trip was the night I was able to do an Eid visit with an Afghan family. In the Middle East, there are a couple Eid vacations...one after Ramadan, and one in November. The November one coincided with my time in Kabul. During this Eid, sheep are killed and the meat is distributed to the poor. It is tradition to do Eid visits...you basically spend three days going from home to home visiting friends and family. The lady that hosted me was invited to visit the home of one of her Afghan employees, so she invited me to go with her. We put on our hijabs (headscarves) and went out to find a taxi. I found out later that most foreigners use what is called a "safe taxi" (basically, a taxi from one of a couple companies that promise not to kidnap you). Well...those taxis are more expensive, so we just got a street taxi. Luckily we didn't get kidnapped! We wound our way through Kabul as the sun set, trying to get to our destination before dark. Our cab turned down dark muddy streets until we got to a neighborhood devoid of electricity. The homes were tiny...one or two rooms generally without furniture. One room is the sleeping room, cut off from the main room by a curtain. In the main room is a mat on the floor (used for eating), and cushions around it for sitting. In many ways, it was like stepping back in time. The room was lit by a generator-powered lightbulb. We were greeted by the man who works for my hostess, and he brought in the rest of his family- 3 small sons, his brother, his father, and his wife. For the next hour we sat and drank tea with them. The man's brother is a high school student who spoke good English, so he translated for us. No one else spoke English, so at times our conversations stumbled as we translated between Dhari and English...it was especially interesting since my hostess is from New Zealand- so her English was like another foreign language! As I sat on the cushion and drank cup after cup of tea (it was freezing, so the hot tea was a comfort), I wondered at the experience. To sit in that room with three generations of Afghans in Kabul was something so few people get to experience. This was the real Afghanistan...or at least a little taste of it. The man's father looked ancient. I can only imagine what he has experienced in his lifetime...the time of the warlords, the soviets, the mujahadeen, the taliban, the american invasion. The struggle to survive in a perpetual warzone. And yet he sat, grizzled and smiling in his traditional turban, staring at these strange foreign women. To my left sat the wife, smiling and beautiful with only her hair covered (no burqa). She spoke no English, but had a young baby so we just laughed and passed him back and forth. The young brother kneeling respectfully and translating to the best of his ability. Two young boys hiding under a blanket in the corner giggling every time I looked at them. This is a piece of Afghanistan that the military and the contractors never get to see. After we had drained the fifth cup of tea, they decided to bring us dinner. They brought out some fresh bread and a bowl of lamb. For these people, that bowl of lamb was probably the family's meal for that day and the next. And yet, they gave it to us. They didn't eat...they just kept telling us to eat. So we practiced the fine art of eating steadily to show our appreciation, but trying to take the smallest pieces possible in order to save meat for the family. At the end of our visit, the man went out to find a taxi for us (no small task in that area...he was gone for a half hour!). He accompanied us all the way back in the taxi, and insisted on paying for the ride. To put this into perspective, this man's income supports his entire extended family. In the west, we watch the news about Afghanistan and read about the taliban and the terrorists and all the evil. And yet, we sat in this family's home and they fed us...people who represent what many there believe are invaders. They fed us the food they were supposed to eat that day and protected us by riding in the taxi and paid for something we could easily afford. I know there are bad people in Afghanistan, just like anywhere. But this is the Afghanistan that will stay with me.

On another day, I was asked to facilitate an art therapy workshop for Afghan children. We decided to hold the workshop at a place called the Garden for Peace and Hope. Up until a year ago, this "garden" was a bombed out wreckage. Then the government decided to allow one of the nonprofits to rebuild the garden with the hope that one day it would be a place of peace and hope for young Afghan artists. They cleared the wreckage, rebuilt the walls, brought in beautiful roses, planted trees, and constructed a fountain where they placed small marble pieces with the words hope, peace, love, kindness, and patience. They have a small room that shows a pictoral timeline of the transformation...from wreckage and hopelessness to beauty and hope. It's a beautiful place. So one of the small schools brought ten boys to meet with me. I was a bit intimated...how do I, someone who has lived a life of privilege and blessing in comparison with these children, teach them anything? But the beauty of art therapy is that you really don't teach. You use the art as a tool for children to explore something themselves. So the director of the garden walked them through the story of the place...showed them the before and after pictures. Gave them time to walk around the garden. The boys were young- probably nine to fifteen. Some were the poorest of the poor. I brought drawing paper and crayons and markers. They started by drawing the things that make them feel hopeless. As I walked around and asked the boys to describe their pictures, I heard stories of rockets, and grenades, and guns, and opium plants. Red blood. Destroyed buildings. Then we had them turn over their papers and draw things that could bring them hope. They drew books to symbolize education. They drew houses with trees and flowing water. They talked about a life of normalcy- the kind of life that any child would want. One boy showed up late. I found out later that he had come to school without the parental permission slip for the field trip. He was distraught when he found out that he couldn't go. The rest of the group left without him...and then he showed up! Apparently he wanted to participate so badly that he found his own transportation! We still don't know how he got there...if he somehow managed to get a cab or bus to bring him, if he hitchhiked. No clue. But he wanted to be there, so he found a way. For these kids, the field trip was the highlight of their month. For me, it was a rare glimpse into their lives. As a foreigner in Kabul, there are so few opportunities to interact with the Afghan people (due to security concerns). I feel so privileged to have had several chances to spend time with Afghans.

I don't really know how to summarize my trip. These are just a few small snippets...stories to supplement the impressions I blogged about in previous posts. Words to complement the pictures posted here and on my facebook. But in reality, my own experience in Afghanistan was just a small snapshot of life there. It was one week of walking in a place that receives so much news coverage but that is rarely truly seen. The military now talks about winning minds and hearts. It's not enough to go in with guns blazing...operation cobra's anger or whatever this week's military lingo might be. I support our military...I think that what they are doing is necessary. But I wonder if we can ever win hearts and minds when we spend our time behind barbed wire and machine guns. I know there is risk when we venture outside our fortified walls. Driving in "unsafe" taxis, walking into barricaded restaurants, riding through the streets separated from machine guns by a simple pane of glass...I know it's scary. I definitely had moments of wondering, "what in the world am I doing as a single American woman chillin' in the middle of one of the most dangerous places on earth?" But then I think of the kids in the art therapy workshop. I think of the family feeding us their dinner. I think of the smiling burqa-clad woman waving at us from the compound...and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to slog through the muddy streets of Kabul for a week. I try not to be too political in my blog, but I do wonder if we might start seeing more success if we showed up with clean water, plant seed, wood for stoves, a warm coat for kids...before we showed our machine guns and tanks. We probably need both...and I know that our military is giving their lives to both fight terrorists and to accomplish humanitarian missions. There really isn't an answer. Afghanistan is called the graveyard of empires. They are a fiercely independent people. You can see it in their eyes. They are survivors. And they are beautiful people. I hope I get to return someday...but for now, I hope that my stories have given you a small glimpse into their world.

A Week in Kabul

2009-12-07T09:06:00.000-08:00

It's hard to describe Kabul itself. It's a blend of third world poverty, war wreckage, gray-brown mud, and absolutely beautiful rugged people. Few of the roads are really paved, and the ones that are have huge ruts. It rained several times during my stay, which turned the dust into rivers of brown and made driving quite interesting. Kabul has suffered from a drought for many years, so the river beds run dry and over the years the trash has piled up. Buildings lie in wrecked heaps, piles of concrete rubble sit beside barbed wire and sandbags. In the midst of this are the people. Kabul was built for 500,000 people. There are now over 3 million. The streets are filled with men, some wearing western clothes, some in traditional Afghan clothes (baggy pants with a long knee-length shirt and either a turban or a skull cap). There are women in blue burqas or headscarves, and children bundled up to protect from the cold. What you don't see are foreigners...it has become too dangerous for foreigners to walk the streets, so they just glide through the city in cars and vans and jeeps, attempting to avoid attention. And there are guns. Lots of guns. There are soldiers and building guards and random civilian men walking around with machine guns...some dating from decades ago when the Afghans drove out the Soviet army. For the first few days, you notice the guns and the barbed wire, the blast gates and the sandbags. But then you grow used to it. Your eyes start to notice other things, like the random goat beside the store, the bright colors of carpets for sale, the many people on crutches or in wheelchairs after losing a limb to a landmine, the beauty of faces that have survived more suffering than we can imagine in a lifetime. There were so many moments when I just wanted to hop out of the van and walk the streets. One day we were driving near an outdoor market area. The rain had stopped and there were so many people out and about, bartering for deals in little shops lined up against the river bed. I wanted to join them, maybe barter for a few local goodies, enjoy the wash of culture. But security dictates so many aspects of life in Kabul, especially for foreigners. So I rode in the car and just enjoyed the privilege of being out and about in Kabul...even if I observed through the glass of my window.

I've been asked by many people how it felt wearing the headscarf. I've thought about this often, both in Kuwait (where I don't need to and rarely wear the headscarf), and in Kabul where I had to wear it from the moment my plane set down until I left. Within the walls of western/foreigner compounds I could take it off, but for all the rest of my trip it was simply a part of my wardrobe. I chose to wear the Kuwaiti hijab (headscarf). It's a two-piece black headscarf. The first piece is like a bonnet...you put it over your hair and tie it in the back. This holds the hair back. The second piece is the black scarf, which is wrapped around the head and then around the neck. Most foreigners in Kabul just wear a colored neck scarf over their hair, so my wardrobe choice stood out a bit. It actually caused quite a bit of confusion amongst Afghans, since I look Arab or even Afghan once I've covered my hair. When I was leaving the airport at the end of my stay, the passport control agent refused to believe I was American. Even though he was holding my blue American passport, he first spoke Dhari to me (assuming I was Afghan), and then insisted that I was Arab. I told him I was Irish. Then he asked if I was Muslim. I told him I was Christian. He then insisted again that I was an Arab Muslim, and I told him I was an Irish Christian. We had a good laugh about it, and agreed to disagree. He did tell me that I should be an Arab Muslim again as I was leaving...I think he was actually flirting, but I just smiled and went on to my flight. My van also got stopped at a security check-point when we were traveling back from the mountains to Kabul. The best I can understand is that we looked suspicious because it looked like a van full of foreigners with a random Afghan or Arab woman (me!) riding along. We were pulled off to the side of the road, and I was asked for my passport. After clearing up the fact that I was, indeed, an American, we were allowed to continue on our way. I do have to admit that it's a bit nerve-wracking to be pulled aside by security with machine guns at a barbed wire checkpoint in the middle of Afghanistan!

Ok, back to the headscarf. As my plane landed in Kabul and I wrapped myself up in the black material, I felt like a little piece of myself was disappearing...hidden. It's an odd paradox actually...because what I've noticed is that the more I cover my hair, the more comments I get about my eyes standing out. In my mind, the eyes are much more alluring, much more dangerous than hair. If the purpose is to protect men from the dangerous allure of women, then it seems like a self-defeating prospect. In any case, when you first put on the headscarf it feels stifling. The material around my neck made me feel choked, hot, inhibited. But as I walked out of the airplane, surrounded by men (since I was the only female in sight)...I felt relief. Relief to be hidden, to have this thin piece of material that I could pull around my face. It was as if I could disappear, become an observer instead of the observed. I don't think it actually stopped any of the staring, but it was like a wall had been erected, protecting me from all that was around. When I think about the veil, I think of it as a subjugating misogynist tool...a label or tool inflicted on women to designate them as sinful and dangerous. The evil temptress. In my mind, that is what I believe. I don't agree with the forced use of a headscarf. And yet...the feeling of protection and near-anonymity that it offered was strangely comforting. As the days went by and I grew accustomed to wrapping myself up against the eyes of the world, I actually started to like the veil. For one thing, you don't have to worry about your hair! You can have a bad hair day, or even just skip the shower completely (since I showered with almost zero water pressure while standing in a bucket, skipping the shower from time to time was quite appealing!). It also keeps you warm in the frigid temperatures of Kabul.

But most of all, I grew to love the feeling of anonymity and blending...I loved the fact that when our van sat in traffic (the most nerve-wracking points of the trip for me...since we're sitting ducks when the van is hemmed in on all sides by other cars), I could just pull the veil over my face and withdraw from the stares of others. I know this sounds odd. It's completely opposed to my stance as a sort of Christian feminist. I don't actually believe that any woman should have to wear the veil...but I also understand its appeal. When I went to Afghanistan, I just couldn't understand why women still wore the burqa even though the Taliban is gone and they are now allowed to just wear a headscarf. But having walked a short distance in their shoes, I can understand. If you're used to being protected from the eyes of others, uncovering yourself would feel terrifying. If you have spent a lifetime hidden, surrounded by a wall of impenetrable fabric, how do you suddenly walk into the world unprotected? I don't really have any answers. As I re-read this blog, I'm confused by my own words. I haven't fully processed or come to any conclusions...but there is a small part of me that wishes I could wear the headscarf whenever I wanted. Perhaps it's the part of me that is the observer...the part of me that is global nomad, that is the cultural chameleon. If no one can see you, then you've achieved the ability to blend flawlessly. Looks don't matter. No one cares if blonds have more fun. You can hide from prying eyes and unrelenting stares. There's something just appealing about that. One last thought for today...on the day we traveled to the mountains, our van driver decided to make a pit stop. He suddenly veered off the road and bounced over potholes until we stopped in front of a house. The door opened and a woman in a burqa came out, leading two small children. They piled into the front of the van, and off we went. I was so intrigued...who was this woman? What did she look like? The burqa actually has a screen that covers the eyes, so that their entire face is hidden. We rode on for an hour, and then bounced off the road again. We pulled into a side street and stopped at a gate leading into a compound. The woman got out with the two small children. Apparently she was the driver's sister and was going to visit her family. She hadn't spoken a word to us. We sat in the van as she walked through the gate of the compound. Once she had crossed the threshold of the gate, she suddenly turned and lifted her burqa. With a beautiful smile, she waved at us and then turned and walked away. Under the blue fabric was an incredibly beautiful woman. Her smile was contagious. When you drive through Kabul and see all the walking blue figures, it's difficult to imagine the women beneath. I won't soon forget her face...it was a rare peek into the strength and beauty of these people. I don't know what she has survived. I don't know anything about her story. But I can guess that she is a courageous survivor...you have to be to make it in Afghanistan.

More blogs to come soon. I know it's been slow in coming, but it's difficult to find the words to convey the experience! Here are a few more pictures.

Afghanistan...start of a journey

2009-12-05T03:23:00.000-08:00

For those of you who didn't know, I just returned from a week-long trip to Kabul, Afghanistan. As I prepared for this trip, and as I interacted with people in Afghanistan, many people asked...why Afghanistan?! The journey really started about six months ago, at a time when I was feeling down and disappointed by a lack of purposefulness in my work in Kuwait. I'm a bit of a news junkie, and found myself spending way too many hours reading news stories on CNN. This was about the time that the Swat Valley was exploding in violence in Pakistan, and my heart just ached for the people trapped in the middle of endless violence. I felt God calling me to do something, to get outside myself and my relatively easy life in Kuwait. I knew that God had called me to Kuwait, but He also blessed me with a job that provides great time off and enough financial independence to afford a trip on my own dime somewhere. So I started sending off emails to contacts in nonprofits, begging for an opportunity to go somewhere and serve, even if it just meant handing out bags of rice. My focus was Pakistan, but after several no's (and a comment about me being too white to send into the Swat valley due to danger), the founder of a nonprofit (a man I knew from decades ago when my family was living overseas) suggested that maybe I would be interested in Afghanistan! I jumped at the opportunity. I had never really thought about going to Afghanistan, but for years I had been hearing my mom talk about her desire to go into that country. After a flurry of emails, it was decided that I could go during my break in September...but as the political uncertainty and the election violence heightened, September became impossible...then I was told I could go ahead and come during my break in November! I found out that there was a direct flight from Kuwait to Kabul that flew once a week, and the dates worked out perfectly. So I bought my ticket, started shopping for conservative clothes and headscarves (all shirts/sweaters had to be a few inches above my knees), and braved the Afghan Embassy in Kuwait to get my visa! The visa process was easy, but was also my first glimpse into the reality that I was an oddity...the visa people couldn't believe that I, a single American woman, was requesting a visa to Afghanistan! But they graciously processed it in 24 hours, and I was all set to leave! And so the adventure began...with lots of comments from co-workers about how I was probably going to get blown up. But knowing that God had opened this door, I just wasn't all that worried. There were certainly moments of fear, but overall I felt a profound peace and excitement about my decision.

So on Thanksgiving night, after a fabulous meal with some American friends, I packed up my suitcase and left for the airport. Up until a week before my departure, I wasn't even sure what I would be doing...but then word got out that a counselor was coming to Kabul and would be available for whatever people felt was needed! Suddenly, I found myself with a full slate of activities- leading a 7-hour training on how to be critical incident debriefers (teaching leaders and member care staff in different non-profits how to debrief their staff after a disaster such as a bombing, kidnapping, threat, etc), teaching a module on child protection/child abuse, meeting with expats in Kabul to provide one-on-one counseling, meeting with the expat high school youth, facilitating a meeting with member care staff to talk about how they can care for their people, and providing an art therapy workshop for Afghan children. My last week in Kuwait was a scramble to pull together resources and create a giant (54 slide!) powerpoint for the debriefing training. It was crazy, but it all came together.

Back to Thanksgiving night...I got to the airport, and found the line for Safi Airways...the Afghan airline that would take me straight into Kabul. When I got in line, I noticed that I was the only female in line. In front of me and behind me were about 40 Afghan men...all in the traditional clothing. I quickly became the center of attention, and then one of the men approached me. He gestured toward another airline's counter for a flight to Dubai, and told me I was in the wrong line. I told him I wanted to be in the Safi line. He said, "no, Dubai!" I said, "no, Kabul!" With an incredulous look, he went back to his group of men and told them all I was going to Kabul. They couldn't believe it. A few minutes later, a new group of men got in line. They stared at me, and again approached me to tell me I was in the wrong line. This happened about 4 or 5 times. By then I was just cracking up, but trying to keep a serious look on my face (it's never a good idea to be too smiley or friendly in that context). Finally, the manager at the counter noticed me in line. He immediately ran up to me, apologizing for the fact that I had to wait. He pulled me out of line and opened a new counter for me. After verifying that I was, indeed, traveling to Kabul, he anxiously began to scan the passenger manifest. He then told me that I was the only female on the flight! He urged me to upgrade to business class, but I refused to pay the extra money. The girl behind the counter just stared at me, and said "but they'll eat you alive in economy!" I just smiled, and they decided to put me in the bulkhead row (front row of economy), and to block off the entire row so I would be alone. Note: the Afghan people are incredibly kind and thoughtful...I wouldn't have been in any danger, except the uncomfortable staring. So with a smile and a thank you, I was on my way!

Ok, this post is long enough...so I'll save the next segment with stories from my time in Kabul for later tonight or tomorrow! Check back for more :-) In the meantime, here are a couple pics from Kabul!

On Avoiding Collisions (at all cost)

2009-11-23T05:40:00.000-08:00

The air is turning chilly in Kuwait. There is a cold wind blowing, and as I rushed through the sliding glass doors to get into the warmth of the school building, I almost ran into a male student. He too was rushing, but in the opposite direction. He wore the traditional robe and headpiece, indicating perhaps a tendency toward the more conservative in this region. As time slowed to a crawl and our impending collision neared, we each twisted frantically. In a nanosecond, we blew past each other, narrowly avoiding catastrophe. In this region of the world, it is haram (forbidden) for men and women to touch. In a crowded university environment, this aspect of culture makes for some oddly hilarious moments. The elevator doors open and a gaggle of female students rushes in (to take the elevator up one floor). As the doors begin to shut, a male student hits the elevator button and the doors open again. The boy stops, staring into the elevator, confronted by the age-old-dilemma...do I enter the elevator and risk brushing up against a female student by accident...or do I wait an eternity for the slow moving elevator to return empty? Nine times out of ten, the boy shrugs, steps back, and allows the door to close again. When I was moving into my new building several months ago, I had several experiences when the elevator was filled with male construction workers. I was always amazed by their ability to fold into one another so that they could give me at least a 2-foot margin of space. I realize that contrary to my life in the west, I can go weeks without brushing by a male. It's like the invisible electric fence...a flashing danger sign against the possibility that a physical touch will ignite something hidden and forbidden. Perhaps this is why men chase women in cars...it's a desperate attempt to get close, to feel the adrenaline, to somehow initiate contact...even if the contact ends with the woman's car wrapped around a pole. As a counselor, I wonder how marriage can work when the man and woman have grown up in societies where even speaking to someone of the opposite gender can ruin the family reputation? Can you really spend your entire life avoiding the collision of the genders? And is that really a healthy way to live? I wonder, will I keep doing the non-collision dance even when it's no longer needed? How do you tune your mind and body to shift from culture to culture...twisting away, avoiding eye contact, driving with eyes straight ahead in the Middle East, but smiling, making eye contact and (gasp) even flirting in the west! Living between cultures can be like a masquerade...a different costume for each corner of the globe...but as globalization continues its fierce march onward, will there someday be a chance to throw away the costume and just be? I don't think there's an answer to that question, so in the meantime, let the masquerade ball continue!

Happiness?

2009-11-17T00:03:00.000-08:00

According to the recently released Happy Planet Index, Kuwait is ranked 128th on a global happiness scale...just 15 spots above Zimbabwe, which is the unhappiest country in the world. That means that Kuwait is the 15th unhappiest place in the world, coming in dead last for both the gulf region and the middle east as a whole. I didn't really need to see a happy planet index to tell you this. It's apparent on the roads, in the stores, at the malls, even at my work place (which I think probably is one of the happier places in Kuwait). It's apparent in the news, where daily "crime section" articles detail an appalling list of stabbings, vehicular manslaughter, abuses, kidnappings, and other unpleasant things (despite the small size of this country, the crime section seems to deliver an endless list of grief, brokenness, and evil) . It's apparent each time a student asks me if I like Kuwait...always accompanied by a grimace as if to say, "I know what's coming." Incidentally, I try to be positive whenever I'm asked that question. I don't believe in beating a dead horse. Yes, there are difficult things here, but I try to balance that out whenever I am telling a Kuwaiti about my experience here. The unhappiness is apparent even in the general health of the country. According to recent statistics, 82% of the population is obese or overweight. Kuwait has the highest per-capita rate of Diabetes in the world. It's apparent in the driving, the road rage, the harassment of women...it's just sort of obvious.

In light of all that, I've been thinking how blessed I am by the fact that I'm generally happy. YES, it's been a killer 10 months. There have been some very low lows...many moments when I wanted to just drive to the airport and hop a flight home. Too many days questioning God's purpose in bringing me to this small corner of the world. Loneliness. Sadness. But God has been faithful and present throughout. And 10 months into this crazy insane adventure, I find myself happy. I recently started seeing clients (students) at the university for counseling. I'm doing it in addition to my regular career counseling job, but I love it...I really really love it. For the first time since getting here, I feel like I'm actually making a difference. I know that most of these students would never have the opportunity to get counseling if I wasn't here. And in that realization, it feels like this winding twisty road that God has been revealing step by tiny step actually has purpose! I'll write more about counseling in a later post...but suffice it to say that it's been incredible (and heavy and heartbreaking). I just started teaching an introductory learning course at the university, and that's been awesome (I'm Professor Amy now!). I'm heading out in 8 days for a week in Afghanistan, working with a local nonprofit there. It just feels like things are coming together. That doesn't mean that there aren't still days of profound loneliness...that the weight of living here doesn't sometimes feel oppressive and unending. But I have a hope that I believe can only come from God...and even though Kuwait is the 15th unhappiest place in the world, I'm still surviving and some days, even thriving...and I can still smile, which I think is a good sign!

Hilarious (sarcasm intended)...

2009-11-15T06:04:00.000-08:00

I absolutely had to post this article from Kuwait's daily english newspaper. Maybe (just maybe!) this is why it takes forever for anything to get done. Enjoy!

‘30,000 public sector staff paid without going to duty’

KUWAIT CITY, Nov 14: There are indications an estimated 30,000 workers from the ministries and government agencies have not been to their offices for several years. Similarly over 20,000 ministry workers spend an average of two or three hours daily at work without any medical reports to support them. They only arrive there to fingerprint or punch cards, reports Al-Watan Arabic daily. A source revealed those employees return home immediately after they have completed the fingerprint attendance, and depend on others to sign out for them at the end of working hours.

Help
The people who help them in the act do it because they are blood relations, friends or for financial gain at the end of the month. He stressed the 30,000 absentee employees collect their full salaries and entitlements, due to their families’ political weights in various constituencies. He said some dedicated undersecretaries and directors are determined to punish the employees and force them to be punctual, but orders from above warned them against any untoward actions in that regard, and stated they threaten the senior officials with transfer to locations where they would be rendered irrelevant.

Living in a Man's World

2009-10-31T09:31:00.000-07:00

I've been living in Kuwait exactly 10 months (yesterday was my 10 month anniversary). It's hard to believe it's been that long...although there are certainly days when time seems to race by. In many ways, Kuwait is a man's world. Like anywhere in the world, the male/female ratio is pretty even; however, in Kuwait you see men everywhere. There are certainly women out in the city, but they tend to blend into the background. In Kuwait, most women wear the black abaya and black hijab. As such, their presence in malls and stores is almost like a backdrop...sometimes they stare at me and sometimes I stare back. But we pass each other like silent ghosts drifting through the halls of a man's world. The men, on the other hand, wear a long white robe and white headscarf. The contrast between the black covering of the women and the white gowns of the men is stark. On my university campus, the contrast is less...many of the girls on campus wear western clothes or spice up their coverings with jewels and embroidery and oh so much make-up. Within the walls of our campus, people breath. There is a loosening of the rigid gender parameters, banter and even friendship between boys and girls. But when the school day ends and the Mercedes and BMWs pull out of their haphazard parking spots to re-enter the traditional society, culture's influence shifts the paradigm back to the norm of this place. For me, as a Western woman, there are times when the gender contrasts leap to the forefront of my daily life. Yesterday was such a day. I made what I like to call a poor life choice. After church, I decided to stop somewhere and pick up lunch. I ran into a little thai restaurant and looked over the food...but the flies and questionable cleanliness forced me to do an about-face and bolt for the exit. As I got closer to home, I remembered a little arab restaurant that is always crowded (always eat where the locals eat!). I decided to try it out. After maneuvering through the crazy traffic, I managed to secure a parking spot right in front of the restaurant...and promptly got parked in by another car. As I looked around and got my bearings, I saw a sea of white...men men men. All men in white dishdashas. Not a woman to be seen. Holding my head high (and pulling at my clothes to try to ensure that the least bit of skin was showing), I got out of my car and walked into the restaurant. Only men. I scanned around for some kind of menu in English, and nothing. There was a group of men clustered around the check-out counter, so I wedged my way in (careful not to touch anyone), and asked for a menu. The man looked at me, said "no english menu" and turned away. Keep in mind that this is not typical treatment here...most restaurant workers are incredibly gracious. Apparently I was suddenly the focus of all attention, as all the men turned around and with various degrees of success, asked me what I wanted. By this point, I was incredibly flustered, uncomfortable, and my antenna was up. I don't like being in a man's world in this context. Although I don't think anything bad would happen, it just didn't feel safe. I turned around to just leave, but a kind man with great english stopped me and asked if he could help me order. We were able to place an order, and with a knowing look he told me I could go wait in my car and they would bring it out to me. I contemplated just getting in my car and leaving (without the food), but I was still parked in...and the owner of the offending car was just standing there staring at me. So I sat in my car and fiddled with my ipod and played on my phone and did everything possible to avoid the stares of all the men in the joint. Apparently, the fact that I was a woman and that I was american was almost too much for them. I was a novelty, and in a place where the western "no staring" rule doesn't apply, I was fair game. So I sat there for twenty minutes, a piece of meat on display. Culture is culture. There are differences, and that's ok. But there are times when even my broad worldview can't take it. There are times when the discomfort and the tension make me want to either run away, or stand up and fight. But in this context, in this place, my defiance would do no good. I can stare back. I can grimace or wave them away. But I won't win this fight. It's much deeper than any action on my part can influence. So I learn to look away, to not make eye contact...to still hold myself with pride...but to pick and choose my battles. Sometimes it's easier (and safer!) to blend into the background. To acknowledge that for this moment in time in this culture, I'm living in a man's world. That's a hard thing for this independent woman to say. But every day that I survive and even thrive here is a day where I win the battle. So I survived my restaurant experience. I got my food and it was good. And when I started to back out with my car and couldn't get any cars to stop long enough for me to reverse onto the street, one of the restaurant workers ran out into the street to stop traffic so I could leave. I guess it's not always bad being the center of attention. It's uncomfortable, and I don't really like it, but I'm a woman living in a man's world and learning to be independent and strong even in a culture that is as different from mine as night from day. But like all things, it's an experience...a small window into a world that is filled with women who have done this much longer than me. So I guess that my final thought for today is this...there are so many women who are braver and stronger than me...who have lived and survived in a man's world for their entire lives. They are the courageous ones. I might have a few uncomfortable restaurant experiences, but they get my standing ovation.

How to Pull the Front Panel off Your Car- a Practical Guide

2009-10-25T04:20:00.000-07:00

So as a follow-up to my traffic accidents post, I thought it appropriate to blog about my own little car disaster. Rewind to last Thursday. Now, Thursdays in Kuwait are fabulous because Thursday is our Friday (the start to the weekend!). So I was in a great mood...counting down the hours til freedom. As the clock struck 4 (quitting time!), I strolled out of the university with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. I went out to my car, which was parked close to campus due to my clever use of what is really a non-spot. Basically, parking around my campus is horrible, so people find all kinds of creative ways to stash their car before heading into work. Over the past few weeks, my favorite spot has been an area that was previously a parking spot, but now has a human-sized pile of dirt/sand over it. However, there's a nice little indentation and just enough room to squeeze my car up against the pile of dirt without hitting the other car to my side. Most other people are too scared to try this spot (or rather, most other people aren't stupid or desperate enough to use this space), so I consider it my private reserved spot. In any case, when I approached my car on this particular Thursday, I noticed with dismay that the surrounding cars had almost boxed me in; however, confident in my driving skills, I figured that with a little maneuvering, I would be able to edge out without any problems. Thus started the parking-exit-dance...you know the one...reverse, angle, forward, turn, reverse, angle, forward, turn, etc etc. When I was finally almost out of the spot, I gunned the engine to back out the rest of the way. Throughout this process, I had sort of lost track of the human-sized pile of dirt...so in backing out, I accidentally edged my car over the corner of the pile. It made a scraping noise but I didn't think anything of it. In Kuwait, we are always taking our cars over curbs, huge potholes, piles of trash, broken glass, etc. So what's a little sand? Well, I finally got my car out and proceeded to head home. I cranked up my music, ready to celebrate the advent of the weekend. As the music lulled me into my happy place, I started to notice that every time I took a left, there was a strange scraping noise. Dismayed, I turned down the radio and realized that the scraping noise was getting worse and worse. I had planned on stopping to get some groceries on the way home, but decided to just get my car back to my house so I could see what was wrong. I made it (with much staring from the surrounding motorists), parked, and got out. I walked around the car and gasped in shock. The entire front panel was torn off and hanging by a couple screws. The engine was exposed, the panel was scratched up and dragging on the ground...basically, it was not a pretty picture. My first thought was to just "pop" it back into place. So I started pushing and shoving...but no popping occurred (I think I actually bent it more). Dismayed, I scanned through my list of phone contacts to see if I had a number for the service center. Overjoyed, I realized that I had the cell number for the English-speaking manager of the car service office! (courtesy of all my car problems this summer...I guess God saw this one coming...what a blessing to already have a contact who knows me!). I called him and he picked up right away with "Hello Ms Amy, how can I help you?" For Kuwait, that's like hitting the jackpot!! Turns out the service center was closed until Saturday (surprise surprise). But everything worked out fine. One of my neighbors was able to help me re-attach the panel so that I could drive it to the service location, which I promptly did at 8am on Saturday. When I got there, the fabulous Mr. Nidal (the manager) was there to look at my car. He told me that I would have to file an accident report. I told him no accident had occurred...it was just me and a poorly designed pile of dirt. He told me that he believed me, but they would still say I had been in an accident and want a report (note: if it's an accident and the other person drives off, I have to pay a percentage of the repairs...which is why they always want it to be an "accident"). I told him again that there was no accident...no paint from another car...nothing that could possibly look like a traffic accident! I gave him my best "poor me whatever shall I do" look, and he sighed and asked me to take a seat while he worked on it. I had brought a book expecting to sit there for a few hours. I saw him pull my car into the regular parking lot (not the mechanics area) and call over a couple of the guys. Then I returned to my book. Lo and behold, 20 minutes later he walked in and gave me the keys and said everything was fine! I went out to find the panel re-attached, all new screws, a new plastic piece to replace the one that was crushed, and except for a few remaining scratches...everything back to normal! NO paperwork. NO charges. The man is my hero. Although all of this caused some anxiety and stress over the weekend, it could have been so much worse. Praise God that my first real car disaster was a simple matter of tearing off the panel to my car, nothing involving injury (see previous post about traffic accidents). Everything is now back to normal, and I chose a new parking spot today. No more piles of dirt, although the spot did involve a curb, piles of trash, and some broken pottery. Crossing my fingers that today's surprise isn't a flat tire. I'm not sure if Mr. Nidal could handle seeing any more of me. I'm pretty sure that they refer to me there as the crazy american gal.

Traffic Accidents- some statistics

2009-10-12T02:14:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has lived or traveled in Kuwait knows that our roads are famous (and not the good kind of famous). It turns out that Kuwait just hosted a conference on traffic safety. Here are a couple of interesting statistics:

Population of the USA: 304 million
Population of Kuwait: 3.5 million

# of traffic accidents per year in USA: 5.8 million
# of traffic accidents per year in Kuwait: 2 million

% US GDP lost to accident damages: 0.1%
% Kuwait GDP lost to accident damages: 2.5 %

US ratio of accidents to population: 1 accident for every 52 people (per year)
Kuwait ratio of accidents to population: 1 accident for every 1.75 people (per year)

Hmmm...yeah...and it turns out (surprise!) that a vast majority of the serious injuries and deaths are occurring among children and youth. I'm going out on a limb here, but perhaps the use of carseats and seatbelts for children just might make a difference in these statistics. Oh, and perhaps education on the basic rules of the road such as right-of-way, staying in your lane, maintaining constant speed, and staying more than 6 inches behind the next car when you're driving 80mph. Come on people, it doesn't have to be this way! Protect your families!

Sleep

2009-10-05T03:07:00.000-07:00

I'm always tired. It doesn't seem to matter if I sleep 12 hours on Saturday, when Sunday hits and the week starts up again (our weekend is Fri/Sat), I am exhausted. Even without the exhaustion, I have a bit of a snooze button problem. I've always heard that it's best to just get up when your alarm goes off. I try that, but the evil tentacles of sleep pull me back in. So I hit snooze. Then five minutes later I hit snooze again. And so on and so forth until the dreaded digits on the clock flip to 6:49 and I know it's time to drag myself out of bed. I've always been a sleeper. I'm one of those people who can sleep 12 or 13 hours straight and still need my caffeine. People who can sleep 5 hours a night and function are my heroes (incidentally, so are those people who can fall asleep in a minute flat...oh to have that superhero power). My tiredness problem is compounded by life in Kuwait. It's just exhausting. As any of you who have lived in a cross-cultural environment know, cross-cultural living can suck the life energy right out of you. Every interaction in another language is tiring. Even if you're not actually in a multi-language conversation, the mere fact that you're around another language all day (your brain is still trying to process it subconsciously) can leave you stumbling from brain fatigue by the time you get home. Driving in Kuwait is something else that tends to suck the life blood out of me. Shopping is always an adventure. Even church (with it's tendency toward the charismatic) leaves me wanting to take a nap. Add the weather...stifling heat and grainy sand and wind that feels like the world's largest hairdryer...and any energy you might have had when you first woke up is just gone. When I was in grad school, I was going about 14-16 hours a day between school, work, internship and commuting. And if I got to sleep-in once a weekend I could manage. Here in Kuwait, that kind of schedule just isn't possible. It's all about finding balance...go out one night, relax the next. Shop one day, stay home the next. I'm not saying that this exhaustion is always a bad thing. Many of the aspects of life here that suck the energy out of me are also the most interesting and entertaining. Take driving as an example. Even though the driving is dangerous and unhinged, I get an odd sense of exhilaration from surviving from point A to point B. I've learned to embrace the chaos of it all...need a parking spot but the lot is full? No problem...just stop in the middle of the street and put on your flashers while you do your shopping. Oops, made a wrong turn? No problem...just go down the one-way street the wrong direction or do a u-turn from the far right hand lane across three lanes of traffic and yell at the other drivers when they honk at your impertinence. Got lost? No problem...the beauty of living in a city-country on the edge of the water is that if you hop on one of the ring roads, you'll always get to the water (even if you're on the other side of the "country" when you get there). There's a sense of freedom in the danger of chaos...an adrenaline rush or perhaps just the slightly crazed laugh of hysteria. But in any case, it can be fun. So yeah, I'm exhausted. I think that when I do eventually leave Kuwait, I might need to sleep for two straight weeks before jumping into the next grand adventure. But at least life stays interesting. Sometimes it feels like routine, but then I remember that routine here is so not routine. Each interaction and experience is flavored by culture and the nomad in me thrives...even if it means I have to bump it up to 13 hours of sleep on a Saturday. Cheers.

Anticipation

2009-09-28T22:38:00.000-07:00

I don't actually know if I'm anticipating anything, but with the start of a new school year it always seems like anticipation is a proper emotional response. Yes, it's the start of a new school year. This is the first time I've been working in higher education for the start of an academic year, and it's INSANE. My primary role for this week is academic advising...helping students choose classes, calming them down when their stress becomes overwhelming, explaining the liberal arts system of education, and basically talking until my voice is gone (in a pathetic detour from my usual coffee addiction, I'm actually drinking tea with honey to try to maintain my voice). In the past two days I've seen 102 students. And I'm tired. I shouldn't be complaining...the start of the academic year was the first vigorous work we've done in at least a month. During Ramadan (for 4 weeks), we only worked 9-3. Then last week, we had an entire week off work. So really, I can't whine.

Incidentally, I did get to travel during our holiday week. The post-Ramadan celebration is called Eid, so with the scheduling of those days, they decided to give us the entire week off work (yay!). I didn't have the energy or the money to do a huge trip somewhere...and didn't really know anyone interested in doing the big touristy gigs like Jordan or Syria. So I decided to try something totally new: a true solo "vacation" to a beautiful hotel on the beach in Doha (Qatar). As an added bonus, Qatar is a new country on my country list, bringing the total to 36! Anyway, I'm not much for fancy vacations...more like squashing as many people as possible into the cheapest hotel...but this was simply fabulous. It was so good to get away from normal life for a few days, lay by the beach, eat good food, think, read, and sleep. I would definitely give the experience two thumbs up. But now vacation is in the past...Ramadan is over...it's back to the grind. And I'm just not ready. Anticipation? I guess it depends on your definition of the word. There are definitely good moments...starting a new year, plugging into new activities, making new friends. But there are also those persistent moments of panic: the "what am I doing here and how quickly can I drive to the airport??!" moments. God has been incredibly good over the past 6 weeks since returning from the states. There have even been moments when I thought that I might be able to do this whole Kuwait thing for another while. And then reality hits. And my patience runs out. And my frustration grows. And my compassion lessens. And my cynicism leaks out. And I realize that I really can't do this forever. But for now, for this moment, I can take one faltering step after another. And I can enjoy the incredibly sweet things that God brings into my life, and try to enjoy the now without worrying too much about the future. It's not easy though. I'm restless. The global nomad in me whispers that I need to move...that this is not enough...that I need to do more and be more. But for this moment in time I am here and that is enough. So here's to a new (academic) year. Cheers.

Amazing Grace How Sweet the Sound

2009-09-13T23:54:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with the old hymn Amazing Grace running through my head. After way too many mornings waking up to "Allahu Akbar" (the Muslim call to prayer), Amazing Grace is a beautiful refrain to accompany my coffee and bread with nutella. I decided to search for all the versions of the song on my ipod, and stumbled across a Ray Charles rendition that blew me away...and I didn't even know it was on my ipod! Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. Work is chaotic right now. One of my favorite people at work (a counselor with decades of experience) is leaving the job, and it just feels lonely. I would give her rides home after work, and debriefing the day just made everything a little more cheery. So now she's gone and my anxiety over work and the next few months is rising rapidly. I always know when my anxiety is worse by my sleep pattern (let's just say it took me two hours to fall asleep last night). Through many dangers, toils, and snares, we have already come. T'was grace that brought us safe thus far...and Grace will lead us home. I tend to be one of those people who looks like they have it all together...calm exterior, determination, quick decision maker. But underneath that lies an anxiety that can rear its ugly head in the most unexpected of moments. Here in Kuwait, there are so many things that can throw you off your game. It's exhausting and thrilling and discouraging and adrenaline-pumping all at the same time. The Lord has promised good to me...His word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be...as long as life endures. There are so many days when work and relationships and culture shock and all the little difficult details of living life seem to overshadow my view of God. So many days when my focus is fractured into a million little pieces...and I don't have the energy to pull it back together and tear my gaze away from all the distractions of this world long enough to look toward the one who is my shield and portion. God give me the strength. When we've been there ten thousand years. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me.I once was lost but now am found. Was blind, but now, I see.

Amazing Grace Lyrics
by Englishman John Newton

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.

The Lord has promised good to me...
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be...
as long as life endures.

When we've been here ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
then when we've first begun.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

Things you won't see in US news

2009-09-10T04:00:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned before, I'm a bit obsessed with the crime section of the English-language newspaper. Stories in this section give a behind-the-scenes look into some of the things that happen in this area. I thought I would share a few of the "crimes" with you...I left out quite a few of the more appalling stories in case some of my younger peeps are reading this. In any case, read closely. Notice the particular emphasis on nationality/ethnicity and social rank.

Hearing set in Asian maid’s murder by woman
The Criminal Court will listen to the argument of a lawyer defending a Kuwaiti woman who has been charged with the premeditated murder of her Asian housemaid. Case papers indicate the suspect had beaten the victim with a baton, an electric wire and an iron bar three days before her death. The witness added on the day the victim died the suspect beat the housemaid again and threw her on the floor. In the process the victim hit the stairs and was injured. The suspect then allegedly told her husband that she will take the victim to a hospital, but did not do so. She left her to bleed to death.

Maid attempts suicide:
A Sri Lankan maid was rushed to the Mubarak Al-Kabir hospital and given stomach wash after she alleged consumed a large dose of Clorox in an attempt to end her life inside her sponsor’s home in Hawalli, reports Al-Qabas daily. The maid was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. The maid has been admitted to the hospital under police guard. Police are waiting for the woman to recover to interrogate her why she wanted to end her life.

Kuwaiti punishes Egyptian man with hammer
Para-medics on Tuesday referred an Egyptian expatriate who was reported to have sustained serious head injuries after a Kuwaiti struck him on his head with a hammer in Salmiya to the Mubarak Hospital for treatment. Sources said the Kuwaiti motorist, who escaped from the scene after the incident, was angered by ‘antics’ of the victim while driving and decided to “punish” him.

Reluctant girl tears passport
Immigration officers at the Saudi border post have referred an unidentified young Kuwaiti woman to the concerned authorities for reportedly tearing her passport. It has been reported the woman was on her way to Saudi Arabia and upon reaching the border she tore off her passport because she was allegedly being taken to Saudi Arabia against her will.

Mystery shrouds death of Indian found with head injury
Police are looking for unidentified persons for killing an Indian man by hitting him on the head with a sharp object. The Indian was found in a pool of blood in an open area in Jabriya. He was taken to a hospital by an unidentified friend and he was declared dead a few hours later. Meanwhile, the victim’s relative has told the Jabriya Police Station that the man was beaten to death by his sponsor.

Suicide bid in detention
An unidentified Asian housemaid who tried to end her life inside the Surra Police Station has been referred to a hospital. Without going into details the daily said the maid was in police custody for running away from her sponsor.

Jihadists case adjourned
The Criminal Court Wednesday set July 1, 2009 to look into the State Security case No. 5/2009 which has been filed against two Kuwaitis, two Saudis, a non-Kuwaiti, and an Iraqi. The men are charged with recruiting youths to fight a holy war against the US forces in Afghanistan.

Young, mentally-ill girl strangles herself to death
A 20-year-old mentally retarded Egyptian girl is said to have strangled herself to death. According to a report filed by the victim’s father at a police station, the father, who is a teacher of Islamic Education said, every time he goes to pray he used to tie the girl with a rope made of nylon bags to prevent her from destroying household items and hurting her younger siblings. On the day of the incident, the father continued, the victim let loose and strangled herself to death. It has been reported the father was controlling his daughter in this manner for the past 18 years. Police have registered a suicide case.

These are a few of my favorite things

2009-09-06T23:56:00.001-07:00

Some days just feel heavy. And it's often on those days that the small things surprise me. I find myself smiling and for a moment the weight is lifted. Yesterday was one of those days. So here are a few of my favorite things...moments that put a smile on my face.

1. The little old man at the bakala (closet-sized grocery store) where I buy my bottled water every few days. He only speaks Arabic. He is old and grizzled and his face just lights up when he sees me. He is determined to teach me Arabic...which he attempts to do through long monologues IN ARABIC aimed at increasing my knowledge of the language (monologues of which I only understand a fraction...but I do pick up words and phrases here and there!). Yesterday I learned the word for water "Mai" and for Pepsi..."bebsi". Hah. We also counted to four together.

2. Stopping to fill up my car with gas. Yes, I know that you're all staring at your computers with a look of incredulous surprise. But here in Kuwait, stopping for gas is just fun because it's like a game...how cheap will it be this time?? Yesterday, my gas light was blinking and I was worried that I would run out of gas on the way to the station. I made it, and was able to fill up a completely empty tank with premium gas for exactly 2KD = $7. Oh happy day.

3. Re-runs of NCIS on my TV. Channels in Kuwait are rather hit or miss. Sometimes they will play the same episode of Simpsons on a rotating schedule for weeks at a time. Right now they're somewhat obsessed with the A-Team and random 80s flics. BUT, they have started airing re-runs of NCIS two times a night. There is some repetition, but I love the show and it's a welcome respite from the boredom of Ramadan. Incidentally, they are also airing episodes of Lost and CSI New York AND Las Vegas. Thank you conservative middle eastern entertainment gurus for catering to my entertainment needs during this long month! It does make me laugh that they keep in every gruesome crime scene on these shows, but cut out even the smallest kiss.

4. The coffee maker/espresso machine that my office gave me for my birthday. I used it off-and-on prior to my summer vacation; however, the advent of Ramadan has increased this little machine's value in my eyes ten-fold. Why? Because prior to Ramadan, I was in the habit of making a Starbucks run every morning when I got to campus (yes, we have a Starbucks on our tiny campus!). Well, due to Ramadan, Starbucks is closed (gasp, horror, noooooooo!). Enter my best friend the coffee maker/espresso machine. The country of Kuwait has been kind enough to mandate shorter work hours during Ramadan, thus the one-hour delay to the start of our work day is perfectly suited to making and drinking my own coffee at home. It's also a heck of a lot cheaper.

5. Cheap haircuts available on every corner. Although I've had a couple haircut disasters, I do appreciate the fact that I can basically stop on any street corner and find a salon where I can get my hair cut for $10.50 (although results are not guaranteed). I also have to smile every time I drive by one of these beauty parlors, since for some reason the entire country of Kuwait seems to be caught in a gigantic spelling error for the word salon, and you will find hundreds of signs all over the country advertising "Ladies' Saloon". Yes, in the midst of an alcohol-free country, you can get your hair cut by a questionably-certified beauty specialist in a ladies' saloon for $10.50. My newest favorite saloon is called "Oriental Princess." I never thought I'd be getting my hair cut in the middle of Kuwait at a saloon called Oriental Princess.

Mourning

2009-09-06T00:17:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling the brevity and brokenness of life lately. I don't mean this in a dark and twisty way, but rather the reality that there is an urgency and purpose to our time on earth. My family has several friends who have struggled with terminal illnesses over the past months, and hearing about those journeys of struggle and faith and loss and finally peace has made me think a lot about suffering and joy. As I mentioned in a previous post, my Kuwaiti friend's father passed away on the first day of Ramadan. I attended the 'aza (the sitting in or mourning)...it was unlike anything I have ever experienced. According to Muslim tradition, the person must be buried almost immediately (after whichever prayer follows the death)...so it is usually just a matter of hours. After that, the family holds the 'aza for three days. In Kuwait, the mourning is gender segregated and due to Ramadan, it was only in the evenings. So my Canadian coworker and I went together. We had asked around to find out proper etiquette since neither of us had been to an 'aza. So we pulled up to my friend's home shortly after nightfall. The street was already crowded and overflowing with cars. There was a valet service to take the car, and we walked up to the home (there were probably at least 50 women there already). We were both dressed all in black, but had been told that all the other women at the 'aza would be wearing black abayas (the long robe) without any adornment and with black veils. As we walked up the stairs, we definitely stood out (my friend is blond). When we entered the room, we saw a sea of black...women sitting all around the entrance hall in head-to-toe black. They stared at us, and I managed to shakily ask them for my friend (at this point, I was pretty nervous). We were pointed toward the main room and entered to find a reception line of family. We kissed each family member on the cheek and then took a seat. According to tradition here, you only go to an 'aza for about 10-15 minutes. You enter, greet the family, and sit for a short period of time (usually in silence). There are copies of the Koran sitting around in case you want to read, and maids that circulate with water. After the 10-15 minutes, you get up and go back down the reception line and then leave. If you are closer to the family, you usually attend the 'aza for multiple evenings and/or stay longer. As we sat in that room, I was overwhelmed by the grief of these gathered women. The dozens of black robed and veiled figures moved quietly around the room,sometimes wailing in loud cries. There was a sense of finality...of hopelessness...of loss. I never used to think much about heaven, but it seems that God has been bringing heaven to my mind more and more often in the past couple of years. As a counselor, I walk the path of suffering with my clients. I feel the hopelessness even as I struggle to speak hope and vision into their lives. I cry with them and I fight for them and I feel the weight of brokenness in a deeply fractured world. Here in Kuwait, I am not working as a regular counselor, but I am confronted daily with a place and culture that echoes back that same brokenness. There is a darkness here, and if you don't have the hope of a risen Savior, then I don't know how you keep breathing. When I was in the counseling program, my view of heaven was challenged. To hope in a broken world, you must have a vision of the future. You must believe to the marrow of your bones that there will come a time when there is no more pain and no more suffering...when the groaning of this world is finally silenced and we fall to our knees before the One, the only One, who is Redeemer and Lord. Sometimes it seems like it would be so much easier to stop fighting...to stop the slow and often painful crawl of faith in a broken world and just live in whatever way I want...but then I'm reminded that although this life sometimes seems all-consuming, the way of suffering is the way of our Lord. And there will come a time when the exhaustion of the fight will stop and our faith will be our eyes. This has been my theme song for the past couple of weeks...I Will Rise by Chris Tomlin.

"I Will Rise"

There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail
There's an anchor for my soul
I can say "It is well"

Jesus has overcome
And the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won
He is risen from the dead

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagles' wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise
I will rise

There's a day that's drawing near
When this darkness breaks to light
And the shadows disappear
And my faith shall be my eyes

And I hear the voice of many angels sing,
"Worthy is the Lamb"
And I hear the cry of every longing heart,
"Worthy is the Lamb"

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagles' wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise
I will rise

Sewage

2009-09-03T02:03:00.001-07:00

In many ways, life in Kuwait is about luxury for those of us lucky enough to be here as international hires. Our (aka university hires) lives aren't quite as luxurious as those of the Kuwaitis or the really well-paid private business folks...but we do live in nice apartments, have instant access to all kinds of service, and get to travel to places far and near. Although I choose not to avail myself of many of the personal services (cleaning/maids, food delivery, cooks etc), many of us live here in comfort. I certainly have a nicer apartment than I would ever be able to afford in the states. This is not to say that life here isn't difficult (if you've followed my blog over the past 8 months you know that life can be very difficult)...but spend a day or a week here and you'll probably think that we have it pretty good. And that's where Kuwait always catches me off guard. Kuwait loves to flaunt it's wealth (if you have the good fortune of being on top of the food chain/hierarchy). When you maneuver the crowded streets, it's BMWs and Mercedes that are cutting you off and making you fear for your life. When (as an American) you run over to pick up something at the store in your tshirt and tennis shoes, it's Gucci and Armani-clad kids that shove their way in front of you in line...nearly knocking you over with their designer bags. It is a land of exquisite (and often vulgar) wealth built on the broken backs of the servant class...but it's modern and flashy and sleek...even when it's covered with a not-so-fine layer of dust. We drive on paved roads and shop at GAP and eat at Applebees or Ruby Tuesdays or TGIFridays. We do not live in huts, use outhouses, or ride dusty buses over dirt roads. And so you are lulled into a sense of complacency. You get so used to Subway and Burger King that you forget about Shwarma and Hummus. Your vacations are all about high-priced resorts and no longer about the dusty trails meandering through Jordan's famous Petra ruins. Instead of feeling compassion for the poor workers here, you just roll your eyes when they don't fall all over themselves thanking you for your generous tip. You stop buying 5 bottles of water everyday, and you start drinking water from the tap. And today, that's where everything comes to a screeching halt. If you've ever drank water from the tap in Kuwait, it's time to reconsider. Because really, the trappings of modernism and wealth here are often a mirage. And so last week, the news broke that one of the large sewage plants in Kuwait has been dumping raw sewage into the Persian Gulf for the past week. So far, about 180,000 cubic meters of "untreated drainage water" have been dumped into the Gulf. Why, you ask? Well because the processing machines broke. No matter that several weren't working when the plant got up and running a couple years ago. NO matter that several of the "working" machines have received no maintenance since they were purchased. NO MATTER that nothing was done to prevent this ecological disaster when the remaining machines malfunctioned last week. If your sewage treatment machines stop working, apparently the solution is to just dump it into the gulf. As of this week, it is prohibited for anyone to wade or swim in the water...since pollution levels are TEN times the allowable amount. And this leaves me with a question...where else is that water going? Why, when I turned on my tap water to wash dishes yesterday, did it run murky yellow for ten minutes?? And what is seeping into my shower water? And what about when I brush my teeth in the tap water? Am I eating off plates that have sewage water on them? Am I showering in sewage water? Am I gargling with sewage water? Disgusting. They say it will take several weeks until the sewage facility is fixed. Until then, they will continue to dump sewage into the gulf. The long-term affects of this will be devastating to marine life and probably to the beach industry here. But this is Kuwait and this is life. And it's sad and it's sometimes disturbing (who wants to shower in possibly-sewer-tainted water every day???). But it's also a reminder that underneath the glittering exterior lies another story that isn't quite as shiny or expensive or new.

ps: apparently they have found cholera in the water. another lovely addition to what is already an unpleasant situation.

Ramadan

2009-08-30T02:16:00.000-07:00

I know you've all been on the edge of your seats...just dying to know about Ramadan and all the ways it affects life here. Well, your patience has been rewarded. So here it is...the long-awaited Ramadan entry.

For those of you unfamiliar with Muslim holidays, here is a description of Ramadan (courtesy of wikipedia): It is the Islamic month of fasting, in which participating Muslims refrain from eating, drinking, smoking, and indulging in anything that is in excess or ill-natured; from dawn until sunset. Fasting is meant to teach the Muslim patience, modesty and spirituality. Ramadan is a time for Muslims to fast for the sake of God, and to offer more prayer than usual. During Ramadan, Muslims ask forgiveness for past sins, pray for guidance and help in refraining from everyday evils, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.

Ramadan is observed in different ways in different parts of the world. In my experience outside of Kuwait, the rules of the fast are observed by Muslims but not imposed upon non-Muslims. In Kuwait, things work a little differently. During the month of Ramadan, eating, drinking, smoking, and chewing gum are prohibited in public. Prohibited for EVERYONE. It doesn't matter if you are Muslim or Christian, Arab or Western. If you are caught eating, drinking, smoking, or chewing gum in public, you are subject to a fine and/or imprisonment. If you are taken to prison, you can be kept there for the remainder of Ramadan (up to 30 days!). Keep in mind that temperatures during the month of Ramadan can be above 125 degrees, and we cannot drink water from sun-up to sun-down. In the privacy of your homes you can do whatever you want, but don't try taking a swig from that water bottle sitting in the car!

The fast itself is observed from sun-up to sun-down (which is around 6:30pm every day). Once the sun goes down, Muslims celebrate with the Iftar meal (the breaking of the fast). This is a huge social activity, where families gather together or visit one another for a huge feast. Since restaurants are closed from sun-up to sun-down during Ramadan, the Iftar signals the opening of the food business (many of which will remain open all night during Ramadan). The reality in Kuwait is that observing Muslims often just shift their days and evenings. They don't work (or only work shorter hours) during Ramadan. They sleep all day and get up shortly before Iftar. They then stay up all night, eat huge meals, and watch tv for hours on end (apparently there are tv series specially created for Ramadan).

So how does all of this affect me? Well thanks for asking! First, there is the obvious discomfort of being forced to observe a month-long fast. Obviously, I don't have to stick to the exact fasting hours, since I'm home by 3:30pm and can do whatever I want in my own house. But whenever I am at work or out in the city, I still have to be very careful to observe all of the laws of fasting. Ramadan also has a huge impact on social life and the city/country of Kuwait. Basically, the month of Ramadan is exactly that- it's all about Ramadan. Social activities during the sunlight hours are basically nil since nothing is open (can't go to Starbucks or get lunch). As time gets closer to the Iftar, everything in life starts to revolve around traffic. Here's the breakdown:

1. 6-6:30pm This is the half-hour before Iftar (breaking of the fast). During this time, it is understood that if you're a westerner, you'd better stay off the roads. Ramadan is known to have the highest rate and most spectacular car crashes of the year (which is saying a lot in a country that already has the highest traffic fatality rate in the world!). Basically, everyone is rushing home to either make it before the prayer at the mosque, or to be home in time for the Iftar. So you have a bunch of people with very low blood-sugar and questionable driving skills drag racing through the streets to make it home. If you want to live, stay off the streets. The news has already had several stories of pedestrians getting hit at high speeds by these drivers.

2. 6:30-8pm This is the time of Iftar where most people are at home breaking their fast with a huge meal. So, it's prime westerner "get to where you need to be" time! Incidentally, I've also heard this is a great time to meet other western singles at the grocery store since it's the one time of day when we cautiously venture out into the world. Hah. I need to scope out that scene.

3. 8pm-?? Once 8pm hits, the city basically goes into traffic lockdown. It's a parking lot. The entire country suddenly decides it's time to get out there and celebrate at the open-all-night-restaurants or down by the water or at different houses. Combine that with the normal inability to drive and a general lethargy brought on by food-coma...and it's just not a time to be on the roads.

In conclusion, Ramadan is a very difficult time to be a foreigner. I think it would be more fun if we were sometimes invited to participate in the Iftar meal, but so far no luck in that regard. So for me, it's a month to relax and stay home. I've started going to big church on Friday mornings (I was going to a Thurs night service last year but it meets at 6:30pm so I can't drive there due to the aforementioned 6-6:30 no driving recommendation). I also picked up a couple work-out videos and have been trying to exercise on a regular basis (get those endorphins going to combat the mild but constant depression that seems to affect all of us living over here). And I've started cooking! I know...gasp. Don't get your hopes up...I don't know if it's going to stick. But last week I made broccoli-cheddar soup from scratch, and last night I made a vegetable fritatta (sp?). All of this forced down-time is a bit lonely, but not as bad as I had anticipated. I've survived one week of Ramadan...only 3 more to go!

One additional thought...according to many Muslims, "When Ramadan arrives, Heaven's gates are opened, Hell's gates are closed, and the demons are chained up" and who ever passes away will enter paradise. On a personal note, Ramadan seems to carry with it a heaviness that weighs even more than normal life here. My friend Hala's father passed away on the first day of Ramadan. My thoughts and prayers go out to her and her family. According to the above belief about Ramadan, Heaven's gates are opened and Hell's gates are closed for him. I had the privilege of attending the 'aza (the mourning) for him. My heart goes out to Hala and to her family. I will write more about the 'aza and explain some of the cultural aspects of mourning at a later date.

Thanks for reading, and Ramadan Kareem (official Ramadan greeting)!

Around the World and Back Again

2009-08-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe I've already been in Kuwait for 4 days. My time in the states was awesome, thanks to so many of you who read my blog and spent time with me while I was home! It was a great time of seeing family and friends, getting much needed spiritual encouragement, and generally enjoying the good ol' USA! I also got to attend my brother's wedding (which was fabulous!) out in California and another wedding of some good friends in Chattanooga. 3 weeks, 4 states, 6 airplane rides and no time to even bother with jetlag :-) However, I do know that I must have been a little tired by the end since I ended up at the wrong airport in DC! Yup, it was a bit of an oops. I decided to spend a day and a half in DC with my best friend before flying back to Kuwait. So I flew from Chattanooga to DC on Sunday, and had to catch my flight to Kuwait on Monday night. As some of you know, DC has two airport...Regan and Dulles. I've always flown in and out of Dulles, but on this trip I decided to fly from Chattanooga into Regan. Well, on Monday I naturally had my best friend bring me back to Regan. In what turned out to be a huge blessing, we had decided that I would get to the airport 4 hours early since my friend had a meeting she had to attend. She dropped me off and I pushed my overloaded $4 cart into the terminal. There were no lines at United, so I was thrilled. I went up and scanned my passport. It just beeped at me. I scanned it again. It beeped again. I called over the ticket agent and she tried. Again, just a beep. She asked me where I was going, and I said Kuwait. She told me there weren't any flights to Kuwait leaving that evening. I started to panic. Then she said that I must be flying out of Dulles. Of course I was! I nodded in agreement and then froze. I wasn't at Dulles, I was at Regan! OOPS. So an hour and $65 later, I arrived at Dulles (after a very pleasant taxi ride with an Afghan driver who was playing the Koran in Arabic when I got in...go figure). When I got to Dulles and saw the long line full of contractors and military personnel, I knew I was in the right place. And I even had time to get some dinner before catching my flight! It was odd to realize that I felt totally at home with the crowd of people waiting to board my flight. It was like we all knew the same secrets...knew where we were going...had the same crazy experiences that are just hard to understand for people who haven't experienced this corner of the world. In a very strange sense, I felt at home even as I felt a sinking feeling when I walked past the sign that said "Kuwait" and down the corridor into the plane. The trip was uneventful, and it was a very different feeling arriving in Kuwait this time (as opposed to 8 months ago). This place is now familiar, even with all its idiosyncrasies. I have mixed feelings about being back here, but I feel more prepared than the first time I arrived and I look forward to seeing what God does during these next few months. Today was the first day of Ramadan...which deserves its own post...so that will be coming soon! Stay tuned.

The Heat Couldn't Get Worse...Or Could It?!

2009-08-20T01:48:00.001-07:00

I'm back in Kuwait. I've been here for less than 48 hours, and already I'm melting. I just checked weather.com and it says "106, feels like 126." At 106 it's a cool day in Kuwait (it's supposed to get back up to 115-120 in the next week, PLUS humidity!). And therein lies the rub. When I left Kuwait, it was a cool 117 with dust storms and blowing hot air that felt like you just walked in front of the world's largest hair dryer. But I was used to it. I could walk from my office to Starbucks (a 1.5-minute walk outside) and be fine. But lo and behold, Kuwait was holding out on me!! There is a HUMID season! Oh the joy. Oh the happiness. Oh the sweat dripping slowly down your back as your make-up runs down your face. As the call to prayer echoes through my office window and I gaze longingly at the blue beauty of the Persian Gulf water, I am left to contemplate the coming month...Ramadan begins tomorrow (or the next day, depending on what the moon looks like tonight) and with that comes a whole new Kuwait. I plan on blogging more this weekend about my time in the states and some interesting pre-thoughts about the upcoming Ramadan season. But I leave you with this...wherever you are, whatever you are doing...just know that I am hotter and sweatier than you. That should make your day a little bit brighter. Peace!

Terrorists arrested in Kuwait

2009-08-12T18:51:00.000-07:00

I'm nearing the end of my time in the states. On Monday I will board a plane back to Kuwait (I will I will I will...yes, I'm trying to convince myself to get on the plane)...the past three weeks in the states have been awesome, full of great moments with friends and family, lots of shopping, church services, and many other happy experiences. I am planning on writing up a blog posting when I get back to Kuwait and have more time to process this month...in the meantime, here's a little nugget of news from Kuwait.

My dad came across this article yesterday online. It definitely wasn't headline news, and it took TWO days to end up in the english language Kuwait newspaper. Interesting. Here it a portion of the article:

Kuwaiti security forces arrested six Kuwaitis linked to al Qaeda who planned to attack a U.S. military installation, the country's state-run news agency reported Tuesday. The suspects had planned to bomb Camp Arifjan during the upcoming Muslim holy month of Ramadan, Kuwaiti security sources said.

It is unclear when the arrests took place.

Camp Arifjan, outside Kuwait City near the country's border with Saudi Arabia, is used as a logistical base and transit point for U.S. troops deploying to and from neighboring Iraq, according to the U.S. Defense Department.

Full story at: http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/08/11/al.qaeda.plot.foiled/index.html

So basically they arrested 6 Kuwaitis who were planning on attacking various locations in Kuwait. Camp Arifjan, which is specifically mentioned in this article, is where several of my friends work as contractors. It's a very odd and sobering feeling to read an article about possible terrorism and realize that you know those places. It's a reminder that even though Kuwait seems like a "safe" location in terms of extremism, it is still just one fanatic away from going kaboom.

It's That Time!

2009-07-21T13:19:00.000-07:00

In exactly 24 hours I'll be hopping on a plane bound for DC (and then on to California)! I might post while I'm in the states, but if you don't see anything from me it doesn't mean that Kuwait swallowed me alive; rather, it just means that I'm living it up for my 3.5 weeks in the states with friends and family. If you read my blog, that probably means we're friends so I will hopefully see you somewhere along my path. I'll be in California until July 31st, then Orlando from July 31-Aug 14, then Tennessee for two days, then DC for a day, and then back to Kuwait on August 17th.

I'm thrilled to be heading out. It's time. But surprisingly, I'm also a little sad to be leaving Kuwait...the past 6 weeks have been awesome. God really did cool things by bringing in several interns and visiting faculty who have quickly become good friends this summer. I can honestly say it's been the bright spot in a rather dark and lonely seven months. Sadly, they are all heading back to the states while I am gone, so I am already anticipating the loneliness of coming back here in August. But I still wouldn't trade the fun and friendship of this summer! Kuwait is a hard (so hard!) place in so many ways...but the most difficult aspect has been the fact that you just have to make friends over and over and over again because as soon as you make friends, they leave. One would think that with my nomadic background, I'd get used to it. But no. It's still hard every single time. But you grieve the loss, pick yourself up, and start looking for new friends. If you're lucky, you keep the old friends even though you now live in different corners of the world. And so life in Kuwait will continue, and I'm praying that God will bring some new friends into my life (maybe even people who will stay for a few months!). So there you have it...I'm sad to be leaving Kuwait because I've said goodbye to some great new friends in the past couple of days. But I'm so excited to be heading back over the ocean toward old friends and family. See you on the other side!

Huh?!

2009-07-15T04:07:00.000-07:00

I'm a little bit addicted to the Arab Times, the English Language newspaper in Kuwait. I'm especially obsessed with the crime section, which contains reports ranging from the utterly ridiculous to the deeply heartbreaking. I've been saving up reports in a Word document so maybe one of these days I'll compile some of the more telling accounts. In any case, this one made me just stop and say 'huh' today.

‘Fresh’ bomb defused: Acting on information bomb disposal experts rushed to a chalet in Duba’iya and detonated a bomb, reports Al-Shahid daily. The daily quoting security sources said the bomb was fresh and someone was planning an act of sabotage.

What?! A couple weeks ago I read one about a grenade being detonated by bomb disposal experts. Now, there hasn't been an act of "sabotage" (read: terrorism) in a while in Kuwait. But little things like this make me pause. This particular gem was tucked away at the end of a long section of assorted crimes including women being arrested after advertising "temporary marriage" for 3KD (roughly $11), swine flu affecting Kuwaiti soldiers stationed in the UK (according to the report, the Brits with swine flu were hospitalized and the Kuwaitis were quarantined and had to have food deposited on their doorstep), some Indian men being arrested for selling blackmarket CDs, and a couple contractors being fined for making people work in the hot part of the afternoon. And then...BAM! Bomb defused. Makes you wonder.

The Paris of the East

2009-07-14T04:42:00.001-07:00

This past weekend I had the opportunity to visit Beirut with a couple of the interns that are at my university for the summer. It was an incredible experience...I love Beirut! We had sort of a wacko itinerary (which made me realize that I'm getting older!). We worked all day Thursday and then headed out to the airport at 10pm. Our flight left at 2am and we arrived in Beirut at 4am. We took a cab to our hotel and were able to leave our backpacks there before venturing out for the day. We found a cab and told him to bring us to Gemmayze street, which is an area with pubs and restaurants that we had heard stayed open 24 hours a day. Unfortunately, when we climbed out of the cab, there was nothing but shuttered buildings. Oops! Undeterred, we started walking. We stopped to ask a few random people who also happened to be out and about at 4:30am, but no one knew of an open restaurant. One of them pointed us in one direction, so we started walking. We suddenly realized that all the buildings around us were semi-destroyed with gaping bullet holes. In case you don't know the history of Beirut, Lebanon went through a horrific civil war from 1975-1990 and another massive military conflict with Israel in 2006. Most of the city was destroyed during the civil war (if you've seen the movie Spy Games, it takes place in war-era Beirut). Much of the city has been rebuilt, but there are still some areas that aren't safe for westerners. Anyway, we decided that we probably shouldn't keep walking in that direction, so we turned around. Finally, we saw a small hole-in-the-wall store that was open. We went in and asked if they sold beer (Kuwait is a dry country, so we were all looking forward to having a beer in Beirut). Turns out they did, so we pulled up some rickety patio chairs and had a specialty lebanese-brew called Almaza. It was good!!!! When we were done, the friendly older gentleman who ran the store/restaurant offered us coffee on the house. It was true middle eastern coffee (read: mud espresso in a dixie cup...strong enough to put hair on your chest!). While we sat there, more elderly men strolled up. Pretty soon, it was us and about 10 older gentleman. In broken arabic-english-french, we sat around and chatted. It was such an odd experience, but so fun! Turns out our store was actually a restaurant, and the owner was making home made pita bread in a brick oven! So we had some incredible sandwiches, and then explained that we were trying to get to Baalbeck, which is an ancient ruins site about 1.5 hours outside Beirut. He happened to have a taxi driver friend, so he called him up. At 6am, a Mercedes pulled up and our taxi/guide jumped out. We negotiated the fare and off we went!

We spent Friday morning at Baalbeck, which is in the Bekaa Valley. The drive itself was incredible...it was so cool to get to see some of Lebanon outside Beirut. We had to go through multiple checkpoints (soldiers with machine guns, tanks, barbed wire, etc). Baalbeck itself was amazing. It contains ruins from the past 4000 years (including Bronze Age, Phoenician, Roman, and Greek ruins). I've included some pics below. The Bekaa Valley is the political seat of Hezbollah, so we also saw a lot of Hezbollah flags and very few foreigners. When we finally got back to Beirut, we crashed at the hotel for a few hours before heading out to see the nightlife. The city itself is an interesting blend of modern beauty and war-era destruction. It sits right on the Mediterranean, and it's simply beautiful. The people are hospitable and incredible friendly (a nice change from daily life in Kuwait!). It was HOT and HUMID, so we basically spent 24 hours trudging through 90+ degree heat, dripping sweat (which is why I look like I was in a sauna in the pics below...hehe).

On the second day, we visited the national museum, which was almost destroyed during the civil war. It sits on the Green Line, which was the partition point between the Muslims (primarily palestinian factions and syrian troops) and the christians. It took heavy shelling, and the museum workers protected ancient archeological finds by constructing concrete bunkers around each piece. It was refurbished in the late 90s as the city began to recover from the war. We also visited American University of Beirut, which is incredibly beautiful. It basically looks like a series of villas nestled in the midst of a wooded area and sits right on the water. I definitely fell in love with it. During our meandering, we also got to see the old Holiday Inn. The hotel was finished shortly before the civil war began, and became a prime location for snipers during the war. It was heavily damaged and still stands empty. The only inhabitants are the pigeons. I included a picture below (tall white building). We spent some time in the downtown Beirut area, which looks like a parisian cafe area. Prior to the war, Beirut was known as the Paris of the East. After the war, it was described as Paris post-Apocalypse.

We ended the second day with some incredible lebanese food and headed back to the airport. Our flight left at 3am, we got in at 6am, and went straight to work! So basically, we slept about 10 hours in three days, but it was so worth it! I love the city...and it was incredible how free it felt after 7 months in Kuwait. I'm hoping to go back again in the fall...and perhaps it's the next "it" place when I move on from Kuwait! Here are some pics...I have a ton more on my facebook page. The first pics are of the Baalbeck ruins. There is also a mosque that sits in the downtown Beirut area, a pic of me overlooking the water at the university, Kevin (one of the interns I traveled with) and I at a local pub, the view of the water, the Holiday Inn...and an amazing sunset picture taken at a restaurant where we stopped during our second day. Enjoy!

And it's blowing dust

2009-07-13T05:36:00.001-07:00

I should know better than to open up weather.com for Kuwait. I figured if I shared the miserable weather with you, it would make wherever you are seem that much more enjoyable! Aren't I nice. This is especially depressing after returning from Beirut (pictures and stories to come soon!!!) which was simply amazing. And now it's back to the blowing dust.

When it Rains, it Pours

2009-07-06T02:19:00.000-07:00

So it didn't literally pour (because this is Kuwait and it only rains a couple times a year), but I did wake up to the sound of rushing water. Or rather, I thought I was dreaming about water and in my half-asleep state, I wondered why I had never heard my neighbor's shower running so loudly before. It was 6:20am when my cell phone rang. I fumbled around and answered it. It was my neighbor, who casually said "did you know our hallway is flooding outside the apartments?" Let me just say, that is not what you want to hear at 6:20am. I was still a bit confused, so I sat up and asked if she had called anyone. She said the reception for her phone wasn't good enough. I hung up and ran out to the hallway. When I opened the door, it looked like the hallway was raining. There was water pouring out of the ceiling panels up and down the hallway, and the water was about an inch deep and about 2 minutes away from pouring over the ledge of my doorway into my apartment. I called back my neighbor and asked her if she had gone down to the floor below us to notify the landlord. "No, I'm in my pjamas." WHAT?! We're in the middle of a flood and you're worried about being in your pjs? Solution: call Amy. Thanks. So I threw on a tshirt, hiked up my pjamas pants, and dashed through the water. It was still pouring from the ceiling, so it was like running through a rainstorm. I ran down to the landlord's and started banging on his door. His poor wife answered the door, and I frantically told her that it was flooding. By that time, the water was leaking from my floor down into their hallway, so I think that sped up their respond a bit. I ran back upstairs and grabbed all my towels to create a barrier at the doorway. A minute later the landlord showed up and called the building harris and owner. He then ran and grabbed a squeagy mop and worked hard to keep pushing the water away from my door (he's my hero today). A minute later, the harris and owner showed up, looked around, and dashed off to the roof (I'm on the top floor) to shut off the water. Side note: they rode the elevators up and down from the 16th floor during this process...isn't it concerning that there is water pouring down the elevator shaft? Ever heard of electrocution? But I digress. By now, my landlord is soaking wet and I'm standing helplessly in my doorway watching the waterborn assault on my doorway. The harris came back and said they had shut off the water, but it just kept pouring from the ceiling. Eventually, someone figured out that it was a pipe problem with the fire extinguisher system (wow, that's comforting!) so they shut that off. The waterfall slowed to a trickle and eventually stopped. A small army of third country nationals unloaded from the aforementioned dangerous elevator and set to work mopping up the mess. By this time, I had to go get ready for work so I closed my door, picked up all electronic cords from the ground (just in case!) and re-started my day. No clue what I'll find when I get home...but I'm hoping for the best! Seriously, I think I've taken as much as this country has to offer. No more "experiences" for a while...please! I'll try to refill my energy tank (you know, the one that gets depleted by random crazy utterly ridiculous moments) while I'm in the states and come back to Kuwait with a jaunt in my step (well, I don't know about the jaunt...but it would be nice to not feel like a bus ran over me at the end of every day).

Ready to Leave

2009-07-05T00:57:00.000-07:00

I'm so ready to leave. I need to get out of Kuwait to get my head on straight again. Life here gives the transition chart a whole new meaning. When you move to a new culture, there is a typical pattern of emotional response to the new country. You first go through a honeymoon stage, where everything is interesting and fun and (good) different. Then it's the crisis phase, followed by recovery and adjustment. Basically, it's a u-curve. That being said, it's practically inevitable that you go through the down-side of the u-curve at some point in a cross-cultural transition. Unfortunately for those of us living in Kuwait, the bottom of the u tends to be lower and longer-lasting than many other countries. I know this has been true for me, and after lots of unofficial research (read: asking all my friends), my experience here is not unique. Living in Kuwait is hard...and it would take me far too long to list all the reasons. But reason #5378 is the driving. Now, many of you have lived in countries with crazy driving. That's nothing new to expats. However, Kuwait takes the cake. Kuwait has the highest motor-vehicle fatality rate in the world. There's a reason to be proud (sarcasm intended). One of my friends (who is a counselor with over 30 years experience) likes to say that the way a culture drives gives us insight into the culture itself. Her basic conclusion: driving in Kuwait is narcissistic, self-entitled, and reckless. You can read your own conclusions into that. Whereas many countries have no driving rules but are generally populated by slow moving half-broken down cars, Kuwait is a country of BMWs and Mercedes racing along the highways at 80mph, careening through traffic, and running right over hapless third country nationals whose only crime was to attempt to cross the road in front of a more wealthy driver. My own personal experience driving here only serves to validate my friend's idea that driving and culture are related. Last night I went to the airport to see a friend of mine who was passing through Kuwait on his way to Iraq. The drive there was surprisingly easy (my first time driving to the airport by myself!) and I was feeling pretty good about my mad-driving-skills as I started the trip back to my apartment. One of the amazing aspects of driving on the freeways here is the huge speed differences between cars. You can have one car creeping down the highway at 35mph, and another car whizzing by at 90mph. So you sort of have to weave through traffic, jumping into the fast lane and quickly jumping back to the slower lane after you pass the slow car. So I did just that last night...jumped into the fast lane for the 10 seconds it takes to pass the snail in the right-hand lane. Unfortunately, another car easily going 30mph over the speed limit suddenly raced up to my rear bumper. He started flashing his lights about 2 inches from my bumper. I was stuck since I was still passing aforementioned slow vehicle. It probably took about 5 seconds for me to pull past the other car and I immediately jumped back into the slower lane. I suddenly realized that the jerk behind me had merged with me, and was still 2 inches from me and flashing his lights. He then jerked around to the right of my car, almost hitting my bumper which would have thrown me into a spin at 60mph on a freeway. He then pulled up beside my car, leaning out of his window (in full dishdasha...yes, it was a Kuwaiti), screamed something at me, and threw something out his window (no clue what it was but it hit my car). I tried to stay calm and just let him speed past me. He almost hit 3 other cars as I watched him pull away. I don't know if it was the adrenaline and fear, or the fact that it was the last straw, but I went a bit hysterical. You know that sobbing can't breath mascara running down the face thing? Well, that was me...at 60mph just trying to get home. This guy just about caused a massive wreck because I slowed him down by 5 seconds. Really???!! Anyway, it was definitely the last straw for me. Luckily, I'm heading to Beirut this weekend, and then back to the states for my annual leave on July 22nd. So the end of this particular chunk of time is fast approaching. Honestly, I hate how I feel about the culture here. I'm the expat, the global nomad, the world traveler...I've been to 34 countries, have studied 7 languages...I know how to transition and I'm pretty good at adjusting. And yet here I sit, seven months into my time in Kuwait, and I'm stuck in the deep well of the U curve. There have been amazing moments here, fun stories, spiritual experiences...and for whatever reason I still feel like this is where God has me. But it is so incredible hard. All I can do is keep trudging along in faith, and pray that God would give me a supernatural ability to have compassion for the people here...because on my own strength, it's impossible. As Henri Nouwen writes, “to pray means to stop expecting from God the same small-mindedness which you discover in yourself. . . . Compassion grows with the inner recognition that your neighbor shares your humanity with you.” Lord, expand my small-mind and give me eyes to recognize the humanity in this place.

To illustrate my point about driving in Kuwait, here is an article from today's Arab Times (English-language Kuwait newspaper). Note not only the stories, but also the way people's nationalities are described. Can you imagine that in America?

18 Kuwaitis hurt in various accidents

KUWAIT CITY : Four Kuwaiti citizens sustained various degrees of injuries in a multiple car-collision involving seven cars, along the Fifth Ring Road opposite Riggae suburb Saturday. Rescue officers from the Sulaibikhat Rescue Center rushed the victims to Farwaniya Hospital for treatment and removed all the cars involved to facilitate traffic flow.
In a similar incident, five Kuwaiti citizens were seriously injured with other fractures when their jeep collided with another car, somersaulted and fell off from a bridge in Mishref. Firefighters and paramedics from the area carried the victims to Farwaniya Hospital in three ambulances to receive medical attention.
In another incident, a 23-year-old Kuwaiti citizen suffered injuries in a car crash along Fahaheel Road. Paramedics rushed him to Adan Hospital.
In a yet another incident, a Kuwaiti citizen in his 40s sustained minor injuries during a car crash which occurred in Hawally. Paramedics treated the victim on the spot.
In a similar story, a Kuwaiti, Pakistani, and a Bedoun (stateless person) suffered injuries and other fractures during a two-car impact in Jahra. An emergency medical team rushed the victims to Jahra Hospital for treatment.
Consequently, two Kuwaiti female motorists sustained injuries when their cars crashed in Sabah Al-Salem Area. Paramedics took the victims to Mubarak Hospital for medical attention.
Similarly, two Kuwaiti motorists were wounded in a two-car crash that occurred at Naim in Jahra. Medical emergency technicians rushed the victims to Jahra Hospital.
Along the Fifth Ring Road, an Iranian and a female Egyptian motorist sustained minor injuries when their cars collided. The victims received treatment on the spot, while the police registered the case for investigation.
A 26-year-old Kuwaiti sustained minor bruises when his car overturned along the Fifth Ring Road. Paramedics treated him on the spot.
A 64-year-old Kuwaiti citizen sustained serious injuries to his forehead and backbone when his car smashed into another in Salmiya. Rescuers rushed him to Mubarak Hospital for treatment.
In another incident, an Egyptian national in his 20s sustained injuries in a traffic accident involving two motorbikes in Hawally. Paramedics carried him to Mubarak Hospital for treatment.
Finally, two Iranians received various injuries in a crash between a speeding car and a motorbike along the Second Ring Road. Paramedics rushed the badly injured men to Amiri Hospital for treatment.

We're not in Kansas anymore

2009-06-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

I thought it was fitting to use that title since two of the visiting faculty here for the summer are from Kansas. It's been awesome having interns and visiting faculty here in Kuwait and living in my building...and it still feels strange to be the "knowledgeable" one when it comes to life in Kuwait. There's something nice about knowing my way around, being able to give them rides, pointing out the best places to eat, and filling them in on what really happens here behind the scenes.

But anyway, back to not being in Kansas anymore. I was reminded of this fact last week in what I like to call "the saga of the car." As you might remember, I got my rental car about 6 weeks ago. It's a great little Toyota Yaurus...except it's not been so great. By the time last week rolled around, I had a litany of 9 things wrong with the car...yes, NINE! The belt screeched every time I turned on the car, the breaks squeaked, the passenger window would get stuck down, the windshield wipers were worn down to metal, the plastic on the outside of the car was peeling up, the tires were low, the jack was missing, the flashers button would get stuck on, and it was due for its 30,000km service. I tried calling the company a few times to schedule a maintenance visit, but could never get through to anyone who spoke English. Eventually, I decided that the best option was to just drive down to the leasing company after work one day...so that's exactly what I did. Upon arrival at said company, I was informed that once the car is leased to me, they don't do anything with it anymore. I needed to bring it down to their service department in Shuwaikh. Where is Shuwaikh you ask? I don't know...thus the problem. They also informed me that the service department is only open until 3:30 every day...and I work until 4. I had started off being nice, but decided it was time to be more insistent. I told them that it was their problem that their car had a million things wrong with it, and that it was their problem to figure out how to get the car to Shuwaikh. My tactic worked! After two phone calls and 45 minutes of back and forth, they arranged for a tow truck to come to my house that night and get the car.

When the tow truck arrived, a cheerful Bangladeshi boy (and by boy, I mean he could not have been more than 16 years old) jumped out and started to chatter in Arabic. I kindly informed him that my arabic was somewhat lacking. However, I made the mistake of attempting to communicate with him...when I tried out my little bit of arabic, he assumed that meant I was fluent so the next 45 minutes he kept up a steady stream of dialogue...I mean monologue since I couldn't exactly respond. It was about a million degrees outside, and windy and dusty...so by the time he was done inspecting the car, I was just ready for him to take the car and leave. He then started pulling out a bunch of metal attachments from his truck, showing each to me with an unhappy look on his face. Since I couldn't understand him, I just stood there. Eventually, I realized that he didn't have the correct attachment to connect my car to the tow truck. He chattered on for a bit, then got into my car and started it up. He proceeded to drive it onto the truck and then jumped down to give me my copy of the paperwork. I asked if he was going to secure my car to the truck and he cheerfully shrugged. I asked again...and again, a smile and a shrug. Apparently the answer was no. So I took my copy of the paperwork (as a guarantee that I had turned it over in one piece)...and went home...wondering over the next few hours if I would get a call in the morning telling me that my car had flipped off the truck and was now lying upside down on the side of the freeway. Luckily, that call never came.

Fastforward to the next morning. I figured it would take at least a week to get the car fixed, and I needed a loaner for that period of time (it was a Thursday...last day of the workweek here). So I got to work and called the service department to request that a car be brought to me at work. I finally found someone on the phone who could speak some English...and after 20 minutes of explaining the events of the previous day (of course, they had no record of it), he told me no problem and transferred my call to an unknown person. Repeat entire process (explain my problem and what I need)...when I asked for a rental, the man said he would need to inquire about it. I asked how long it would take and he hung up on me. I called back the main number and got the first person. When he heard me (I'm sure I was the only American female calling with a Toyota Yaurus), he hung up the phone. I called back...they proceeded to screen my calls and refused to pick up! Incredibly frustrated and watching the minutes tick down toward the end of the work day and work week, I had my Kuwaiti friend Hala call. They answered a few of her questions, but when they realized she was calling on my behalf, they hung up on her. We tried calling over a dozen times, and they refused to pick up.

Enough is enough. I decided to take two hours off work and head to the service company. So I trudged through the 115 degree heat, hailed a cab, and told him the location. 1.5 hours later (it was only 15 miles away) and a nasty neck sunburn from sitting in the back of the taxi, we finally found the place. I paid the stressed out cab driver and walked into the company. There were tons of people standing around, so I went up to the desk and told them I needed to see a manager. The guy's eyes got wide, and he said "are you Toyota Yaurus?" I couldn't help but laugh, and I nodded yes. He hurried away to get a manager. By this point, I was tired, sweaty, sunburnt, and not at all happy. Luckily, it was an English-speaking nice man named Nidal who came out to help me. Nidal is my hero this week. He made an official report of the car complaints (they finally found where my car had been towed) and was shocked by the litany of problems. I also told him about the fact that his customer service department hung up on me and then started to screen my calls...he said that happens quite often when foreigners call because very few of the customer service agents speak English and they get flustered and embarrassed when they can't find a solution to the problem...so they just don't pick up! Craziness. Twenty minutes later, I had a 2009 Lancer ready for use and Nidal's personal guarantee that they wouldn't even call me to come back until he had personally inspected my Yaurus.

Lessons learned...never attempt anything over the phone in Kuwait. Never expect customer service to actually provide customer service. And always always just go in person.

I'm Melting

2009-06-28T05:44:00.001-07:00

Just FYI, it's currently 118 degrees outside AND the a/c is out in my work building. I can barely type, let alone think...so I'll keep this short. Just had to put my misery out there to the world. Oh, and did I forget to mention that due to cultural norms, I'm NOT wearing shorts and a tanktop...but rather, black pants, a cami, and a relatively thick short-sleeved shirt? Misery.

Clash of west and east

2009-06-23T03:50:00.000-07:00

One of today's news stories (yes, I'm a CNN addict) is about how French President Sarkozy made a statement that the burqa (head-to-toe Muslim covering for woman...worn primarily in Afghanistan but also used in other countries) is no longer welcome in France. He said that this is not an issue of religious freedom, but rather an issue of women's rights. He continued on to say that the burqa is a symbol of women's subservience. As someone who grew up in France, this is particularly interesting to me. France prides itself for its secularism, and for several years now a debate has raged over the issue of religious symbols in France. There was the big headscarf affair, which results in the banning of any overt religious symbols in French schools (the law was passed in 2004, and although it covers all religious symbols including crucifixes and other christian symbols, it is believed to primarily target the wearing of the hijab or headscarf). The French government is now considering a law that would actually outlaw the burqa. It's an interesting clash of West and East. I grew up in France and now live in the Middle East. Although I haven't yet seen a burqa here, many women wear the abaya, hijab, and nikab...which basically has the same effect minus the screen covering the face. The argument here is that this is a traditional dress, and protects the modesty of women; however, I would tend to agree more with President Sarkozy. Anyway, I'll keep this short and not get on my soapbox...but I thought this was interesting! Here's a link to the article:
http://us.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/europe/06/23/france.burkas/index.html

Graduation

2009-06-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a little while since my last post. It's been a hard couple of weeks (it's always hard to know what to post when it's a downer week)...but also a busy one! On Thursday night my coworkers and I helped to pull off a huge graduation ceremony for our university. Honestly, I was dreading it...4-11pm in a dress and heels! It was also a dust storm day so driving around was a nightmare. But when I saw our graduates proceeding into the gigantic room with huge smiles on their faces, I'm embarrassed to admit that I got a little teary eyed. It's always exciting to see people realize their dreams. Not only did these students graduate, but they accomplished a college degree in a second language...no small feat. After six months at the university, it was fun to see students that I know proudly walking down that aisle with a little bounce in their steps (probably caused by the painfully high heels they were wearing). In so many ways, it was a typical graduation. The same music, the same caps and gowns, the same long speeches. But there were also some interesting differences. There was a Quran reading...sung with the same melodies that echo from the prayer mosques. There were families that showed up with their 2 tickets, and 50 relatives! There was an interestingly political speech by the keynote speaker (a Sheikh from the royal family) who came out strongly against segregation on our campus (all classes are segregated, which means trying to find ways to offer every course twice with the same number of faculty!). There was the regular seating section, the VIP seating section, and the VVIP seating section! Yes, a VVIP section for very VERY important people. That section contained members of the Al-Sabah family (the royal family), the American Ambassador, some other ambassadors, and other people whose names I can't pronounce. There was security, more security, and even more security! There were hired american and british guys in black suits and those secret service earpieces (I never did figure out who they were). One of them escorted me out at the end of the night when I was panicking from the crush of human beings...nothing like a strong security agent with an earpiece to make you feel safe! I also had the interesting job of monitoring the prayer room...we realized after the doors to the space opened that it was prayer time, and there were two prayer rooms but men were using both! In Islam, the prayer rooms have to be separated, so I had all these fully covered women coming up and asking in Arabic where they could pray! So we cleared out one of the rooms, and managed to segregate the spaces. So I stood there in my knee-length dress and heels shooing the muslim devout men over to the prayer room. Needless to say, I felt a bit odd. But it was an experience! And the best part was that they did a full buffet for the entire place! That means feeding at least 3,000 people...and it wasn't cake and punch. It was a full buffet! I was quite impressed. All in all, a successful night. Even though I'm still hobbling around on blisters, I'm glad I got to experience it. Here are a few pics from the night...me and one of our graduates who worked as a peer leader in my center, a group of my coworkers and I (too many cameras going so we're all looking in different directions, hah), and a couple pics I took from the back to show the clothing differences between a graduation in America and one in Kuwait :-) The pics of the men show the traditional dishdasha which is the formal attire for Kuwaitis.

A few thoughts during my lunch break

2009-06-08T02:58:00.000-07:00

"Often it is the dark forest that makes us speak about the open field. Frequently prison makes us think about freedom, hunger helps us to appreciate food, and war gives us words for peace. Not seldom are our visions of the future born out of the sufferings of the present and our hope for others out of our own despair. Only few 'happy endings' make us happy, but often someone's careful and honest articulation of the ambiguities, uncertainties and painful conditions of life gives us new hope. The paradox is indeed that new life is born out of the pains of the old," -Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out.

It's always dangerous to pick up a Henri Nouwen book. I usually only read a few pages at a time because I become lost in thought reading and re-reading a particular sentence or paragraph. Today is a slow day at work, so I took the luxury of bringing a book to read during my lunch break...and this quote drew me into a contemplative state of mind. My brother is currently doing his first training in actual flying (he's in the Air Force and is planning on starting pilot school in the fall). This month he is in Colorado learning to fly small single engine planes. He has been dreaming about this moment for a long time...but found to his dismay that on his first trip into the sky, he was desperately motion sick. He had been studying around the clock for days, trying to memorize the millions of tiny details that are crucial to safely piloting a plane. But when motion sickness takes over, coherent thought tends to flee the mind. So it was with great discouragement that he walked away from his first flying experience, worrying that maybe this wasn't his calling, that maybe he would wash out, that maybe the thing he has longed for will not happen. As I tossed and turned that night after hearing about his experience, I realized yet again that he and I have very similar personalities. We like to excel. I am what many would call a type-A perfectionist personality. I know what I'm good at...so I do what I'm good at. If I'm not good at something, you can bet I'll stay away from it. My brother is an incredible man. He's smart, accomplished, successful, top of his class at everything. And now he is in the middle of something that feels impossible...just because his body revolts to the idea of bumping along on a cloud. It seems so unfair. And in the midst of this is a fear of failure. So that's where I come back to my own experience, and Henri Nouwen's profound words. I am terrified of failing. I took the foreign service exam (really hard test to gain entrance into state department type jobs) several years ago and I failed. I hate even reading that sentence. I failed. And I walked away from my foreign service dream. I never re-took the test. I found other things at which I excelled. But now I find myself in Kuwait. It is not what I thought it would be. It's not easy, it's not often fun, and I certainly don't feel like I'm a star at life over here. In many ways, it feels like failure...did I misinterpret God's calling to this place? Am I just not trying hard enough? Am I more fragile than I thought? Perhaps this is my own personal dark night of the soul. But it is here that I add to Henri Nouwen's words...often it is the darkness that makes us speak of the light. Not seldom is it oppression and injustice that makes us speak of freedom. Sometimes it is failure that leads us to re-evaluate our definition of success. I don't necessarily think that there are happy endings in life, but there is joy in the journey even if we are only stumbling along. It is certain that my own vision of the future is profoundly marked by the sufferings of the present and the despair that sinks its claws into this place. Maybe failure shouldn't be such a dirty word in my vocabulary. Maybe it is a beautiful thing. Maybe, just maybe, it's an opportunity to develop a whole new language...one in which I find the words to bring my failure to the One who never failed, to express my need for One who is far greater than my present circumstances, to rejoice in the darkness as I wait with bated breath for that first ray of light. Maybe failure is sweet in its own odd way.

Kuwaiti Dream

2009-05-31T10:55:00.000-07:00

I often find myself becoming cynical in Kuwait. I already tend toward a sarcastic sense of humor, so as I navigate the complex and often heartbreaking culture of this country, I find myself saying and thinking things that I rarely think in a foreign culture. I grew up hearing "different is different, not better or worse." But when does different just become worse? Is it just different when an impatient driver on the freeway decides to drive on the shoulder...right over a Bangladeshi worker who was holding up traffic with a construction cone? The driver didn't even stop. Is it just different when an Indian maid's body is wrapped in a carpet and burned in the rubbish pile? What about when a man was chasing a woman in her car last Tuesday and she ran straight into a pole (they don't use the special road poles designed to collapse when a car hits it...so the car just wraps around the steel) and is now in critical condition in the hospital? What about when two young boys drag a filipino maid down the picturesque boardwalk by her hair? In my opinion, sometimes different is just wrong. I know incredible people here...good people. But I also hear story after story of atrocities committed simply because some think that because of their nationality, they are entitled to be a higher breed of human. Somehow, others are simply less. I don't pretend to understand the vast majority of this culture, after only five months here. And I know that every culture has its own brand of injustice. But there is something in the following answers that speaks to a loss of responsibility and integrity. Kuwait is at a turning point. They have recently elected their first female members of parliament. There is a tension between the conservative and the modern. Only time will tell how this culture continues to shift and move within a rapidly changing world. What follows are the answers that Kuwaiti 11th graders gave to the question "What is the Kuwaiti Dream?" A teacher friend of mine administered this question during a history test. The question is based on the idea of the American Dream...

1. There is no such thing as a Kuwaiti Dream, but if there were it would be just having the typical Kuwaiti life which consists of a wealthy family, getting married to a family of the same wealth range, being successful and carrying on the family business.

2. Kuwaiti dream is to live good comfortable life with good incomes and no taxes also an increase in profits for people who deserve.”

3. The Kuwaiti Dream is to go to college, get a good paying job, get married and have children (at least five), and buy some fancy cars, (at least 4), and a huge house.”

4. The Kuwaiti Dream is to own lots of money and have other people do their jobs like wasta (connections) by owning what you want without effort.” (this answer by an 18 year old who drives a 2004 Jag)

The New Place!

2009-05-30T11:16:00.000-07:00

Here are a few pics from the new apartment. I'm especially proud of the curtains in the bedroom...I had to choose the color and have them made (and I'm a bit challenged in the color-department). But I think they came out nice! There are some views of the building (mine is the top floor apartment in the middle), the view of the city, the roundabout (I'll try to get a picture of it during traffic time soon), and of course the apartment. When we have a clear non-dusty day, I'll take some more pics of the view since you can see the water from here. The kitchen is fun since it's about 3 times the size of my old kitchen and has an american-style pass-through. Of course, I'm not exactly a chef so it probably won't ever be used as a pass-through, but still fun. Oooh, and there's a Dunkin Donuts going in right across the street...I'm going to have to ration myself :-)

The Big Move

2009-05-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

So I have successfully moved into my new apartment! I'm still recovering, but I'm completely unpacked and starting to really enjoy the new place. Here are a few highlights, lowlights, and funnylights (yes, I just made up that word) from move-week (I can't call it a move-day because nothing gets done in a day in Kuwait).

1. Lowlight: spending an hour lugging a pre-move-day load of stuff into my new place in 110 degree heat, and then coming home to the old place only to find both elevators shut off and being forced to climb 9 flights. I realize this was the subject of my entire last post, but I thought it deserved another mention.

2. Highlight: returning to my old place on the day my furniture was moved out, needing to just sit tight in an empty apartment for a couple hours til my new place was ready for me...and then the harris (building maintenance guy if you haven't read my last posts) showing up at my door with his leather wheelie chair from the security desk because he was worried about me having nowhere to sit while I waited! Ten minutes later, he showed up again with a bag of cold water, juice, and bread from the local bakala (store). He was concerned I would die of dehydration or starvation during my forced time of waiting. Needless to say, he was at the top of my A-list that day.

3. Funnylight: Cramming into an elevator with 10 sweaty worker guys who were so worried that they might get in trouble for accidentally touching me in the tiny space that they were practically on top of each other while I had about 2 feet of room.

4. Lowlight: Realizing at 9pm that I had no water. Calling the new building harris to come in and fix it, which he proudly did. 10 minutes later realizing it was broken again. Calling him to fix it again. Broke again. Fixed again. Gave up at 11:30pm. Was able to take a trickle cold shower the next morning. But now it's fixed and has stayed fixed for 36 whole hours!

5. Highlight: exploring the local food scene when I was kicked out of my new place so they could clean. Finding a little French bakery, which was of course run by an Egyptian (can it be French if there are no frenchies involved in any aspect of the business?). Telling the guy I was new to the area and getting a scrumptious pastry for free to welcome me to the neighborhood! ...or maybe it was just because he likes american girls. Oh well...I enjoyed it whatever the reason!

6. Funnylight: Watching 8 workers crammed around my dresser trying to hang up my 2-foot mirror. Yes, I counted. There were EIGHT of them trying to hang one mirror.

7. Lowlight: realizing last night that the frigid temperature in my apartment was not normal. Doing a little research and figuring out that the thermometer was stuck on 62 degrees! (note: had to do research because I still can't figure out how to convert celsius to farenhight). Trying to get it fixed last night...but you guessed it...they "fixed it" and it miraculously remained broken. Called in the harris again. He "fixed" it again. It broke again. Although it was over 110 outside, sleeping in flannels and a winter sweatshirt.

8. Highlight: returning home today to find my thermometer fixed and my apartment back to a healthy 80 degrees.

And just to round this off, I would like to mention that my new apartment is right smack on a roundabout. That means I have to take the roundabout each and every time I leave or return to my apartment. [see Rules of the Road post for more information on roundabouts]. This particular roundabout has the special extra of apparently being a parking place for any cars who want to stop at a store! SO, on top of the fact that a 2-lane roundabout becomes a free-for-all 4-lane circle and drivers here have never heard of the fact that right of way goes to the cars already IN the roundabout and keeping in mind that one of the top rules of the road here is to NEVER ever look right or left when attempting to merge and simply hitting the gas pedal as hard as you can when plunging into a large mass of moving steel with fragile little people inside...now I have to navigate the parked cars stopped here and there all the way around the circle! Sigh. But I'm officially going on 3+ weeks of driving in Kuwait and no accidents yet...so cross my fingers. I'm learning the exceptional skill of navigating my car with no regard for the people around me, always staying no more than 1 inch from cars in front, behind, and to both sides of me, and reading the minds of every driver in a 20 foot circle around me so that I can anticipate whatever insanity they are planning. Gotta love Kuwait.

Pics of the new place to come soon! I'll try to post them this weekend. Thanks for reading! Surviving the insanity of daily life here is a lot easier because I know so many of you can sympathize with your own zany stories of life overseas.

Grace (in abundance!) and Peace.

Held Hostage

2009-05-24T22:17:00.000-07:00

Don't worry...I wasn't actually held hostage. But it is a catchy blog title, right? ;-) This is move week...the highly anticipated (usually a groaning-sighing-bad-mood kind of anticipation) yet consistently delayed move from my old apartment building to a new apartment building. This is not my choice. It's a decree from on high (HR!) mandating that the university tenants pack up and move to a new building. When I say new, I mean new...as in it is still being built, thus the delays in moving, the fact that my apartment is still covered with a fine layer of white construction dust, the one operational elevator that is not yet air conditioned, etc etc. So the saga of the big move has been happening for the past three months...and it's finally D day. So my apartment is packed up, the movers are coming today, and I'm supposed to be in my new building by tonight. We'll see. Inshallah (God willing). I won't even go into the many zany and frustrating moments along this moving journey. In a perplexing combination of cultural influence and just plain incompetent management, every single step of this process has been fraught with confusion, wrong information, and broken promises. But really, I'm not mad. Ok, I'm lying. But at this point, I'm too tired to be mad and I'm just ready to be in my new apartment (which is actually really nice!), unpack my stuff, and be settled. Oh, but here's where it gets interesting. So last night, I took a first load of personal stuff over to the new apartment. I had gone to visit the new building last week and it was still a mess, so I was anticipating chaos when I got over there. However, the elevator was working, my apartment was much cleaner than it was last week, and everything went pretty smoothly. I spent about 30 minutes going up and down, up and down (I'm on the 16th floor!), bringing loads of pillows, sheets, blankets, and dishes from my car to the apartment. And did I mention that it was about 110 degrees yesterday? So by the time I settled back into the cool air conditioning of my car for the trip back to my old building, I was dripping sweat and planning what kind of muscle relaxants to use (I have a back problem so any kind of lifting/moving means a few meds to get over the pain). Anyway, I parked my car at the old building and trudged (you never walk in this kind of heat...you just trudge) inside, only to find total chaos. There were workers everywhere, furniture in various states of disassembly piled on the floor, and the harris (the dude who basically helps everything run smoothly) sitting on his security desk, swinging his legs, with a big smile on his face. The next thing I noticed was that both elevators had the dreaded "not in service" sign scrolling across the electronic boards. The harris gave me a big smile and said, not working! Duh. I asked him how long until they were fixed. He said, "25 minutes, 1 hour, maybe tomorrow, I don't know!" All of this with that same grin on his face! After ranting and raving for a couple minutes, I finally decided I had no choice but to climb up the nine flights of stairs to my apartment. About halfway up I ran into the HR landlord (the university guy who manages staff tenants in the building) lugging down a giant trash bag (apparently full of the melting contents of his refrigerator). I decided to stop and talk to him...mainly because I was running out of oxygen and was worried that if I didn't take a break I might not make it to the 9th floor. I asked him what was going on, and he said that the company who owns our old building ordered the elevators shut off so that our movers could NOT take the furniture out of the building! The company basically told my landlord that unless the university agrees to pay an extra month's rent on all the apartments, they would keep the elevators "out of service" until the university pays up. And this is where my blog title comes into play. We are basically being held hostage by a corrupt company that wants an extra month's rent! Completely ludicrous. And um, shouldn't it be illegal to turn off all functioning elevators in a 10-story high building? What happens if one of the older tenants has a heart attack trying to hike up to their apartment in this horrific heat? Wow. Anyway, I did make it up to my apartment, took a muscle relaxant, and chilled for the rest of the evening. This morning when I left for work, one of the elevators was working, so inshallah I'll be able to get the rest of my stuff out tonight! I will update with pics of the new place in a couple days after I get settled.

Women in Parliament!!!

2009-05-17T03:50:00.000-07:00

Exciting news here in Kuwait...the first women have been elected to the Kuwait Parliament. First time in history! Women only gained the right to vote in 2006, and although some have run for MP (member of parliament) in the two elections since 2006, none have ever won. Yesterday was election day here in Kuwait. One of my coworkers, Hala, has been working tirelessly on Dr. Aseel's campaign (she was one of 16 women to run for office)...and Dr. Aseel won! This is a very special moment for this country, and for women in the predominantly-Muslim gulf countries. Congratulation ladies!

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/05/17/kuwait.women.elections/index.html

Parked In

2009-05-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

I was supposed to move today but in true Kuwait fashion, I found out yesterday morning that our move has been postponed 10 days...so here I sit, in a packed up apartment with suitcases everywhere. Oh well. In any case, since I had planned on moving all day I had some spare time on my hands...so I decided to get a hair cut. One of my friends found a little salon right down the street from my apartment, so I drove my car over and looked for parking. The term "parking" in my neighborhood basically means a place to stop your car with no regard for rules, laws, or other drivers. I couldn't find any spots that wouldn't involve parking in some other poor person, so I decided to pull into the "driveway" of what looked to be a condemned building. The building itself was a mess of crumbling concrete and glass. Many of the apartments were open to the outside, since the walls had caved in. The roof of each floor had gaping holes, and it would be impossible to walk through the building without stepping over large mounds of trash. So I pulled into the driveway, trying to avoid the fallen bricks, wood, and shards of glass. I locked up the car and went in to get my hair cut. An hour later, I came back out only to find to my dismay that I shiny new SUV had parked me in. I had a friend with me, so she and I circled the car looking for a way to edge out. Unfortunately, the only space wide enough for my car was blocked by a 1 foot piece of metal sticking out of the ground. I nudged it with my foot, but it was planted in concrete. I went around the building to see if I could drive on the sidewalk and get out another way, but it was just more concrete, glass, and a big wall. Sad me. There were a ton of people on the street, so I tried my best helpless look, and started beckoning toward my car saying "sayara, sayara" (car, car)...I'm guessing a single white female standing in a derelict driveway pointing at her car saying "car car" looked a bit odd (I didn't know how to say "my car is parked in, could someone please help?"). Hah. So anyway, I got a lot of stares and shrugs, but not much help. My friend stopped a young guy on the street, and he told us that he knew who owned the car and that the guy lived in the building...pointing toward the abandoned half-demolished apartment building beside my car. Both of us shook our heads and told him that no one could live in that building. He pointed to a second floor window that had the only non-broken pane, and said the guy lived in there. Our helpful dude went into the building to find the aforementioned car owner, but came out five minutes later shrugging. Apparently he wasn't home. We stood there a few more minutes until another helpful guy came over and pointed again toward the window, telling us the owner was inside. So, we hesitantly decided to go try to find the guy. When I say that I have never been inside a building like this, I mean it. As we picked our way over glass and concrete, I just couldn't imagine any people living inside. As we walked up the stairs, we passed apartment after apartment without doors, open to the outside because the walls had crumbled down. Amazingly, we got to the second floor, and there was a wood door and shoes sitting on the mat outside! So we knocked. No answer. We knocked again, no answer. I turned around to leave, resigned to the fact that I would need to leave my car and come back tomorrow in the hope of finding it free to move. As I started walking down the stairs, I realized my friend wasn't beside me. She had stayed by the door and started pounding on it with her fists, yelling "hello, hello!" Embarrassed, I told her we should just leave. She didn't stop...and then to my surprise, the door opened. The man standing inside had obviously just woken up. He was in a wrinkled dishdasha (white robe) and looked very surprised to find two western girls standing on his doorstep. I used my handy dandy arabic word "sayara" (car) and pointed outside the building. He must have understood because he nodded and grabbed his keys. Delighted, my friend and I started walking downstairs, but then realized he had disappeared. Suddenly, he reappeared out of an elevator...who would have thought there would be a functioning elevator in a building that could have been on CNN when they show bombed out buildings in a war zone? He came outside, moved his car, and we were free!!! One interesting thing about the guy is that he had a large bruise on his forehead. I found out later that this can be seen a lot on Egyptians who are devout muslims. It happens because the men pray so often, that they end up with permanent bruises on their foreheads (when Muslims pray, they kneel and repeatedly touch their heads to the ground). Wow. All in all, a strange experience. But I'm guessing that the dude will be telling the story too...how often do a couple american gals, one with flaming orange hair (my friend just had bright orange henna put in her hair) show up pounding on their door? I'm wondering if the building is a remnant of the Gulf War, but I will probably never know for sure. In any case, I've learned that it's better to park someone else in, than to be parked in myself. Lesson learned.

A look inside the conflict

2009-05-14T11:21:00.000-07:00

I just watched this video on CNN and wanted to post it on my blog. It's a small look inside the long-term effects of the war in Afghanistan. As a counselor, this breaks my heart. I think that one of the most frustrating parts of being a counselor interested in international work is that counseling is talk therapy...so it would be impossible for me to go work in a hospital such as this. I wonder how hard it would be to learn Pashto or Dari.

Basements and Open Doors

2009-05-13T00:31:00.000-07:00

After writing my blog posting two nights ago, I laid awake in bed for hours...my thoughts spinning and my heart racing. I was thinking about Kuwait, about the path that led me to this place, about the purpose in my presence. I think that life here has felt so overwhelming that the idea of figuring out "extras" (different social venues, ministry/volunteer opportunities, even going grocery shopping!) in my life seemed impossible. When you spend all day in a multicultural environment, your brain trying frantically to process dialogue that is half in a foreign language...when you commute through insane high-fatality traffic...when you cough up dust from the swirling storm and dig dirt out of your eyes just trying to walk to the mini-store to pick up bottled water because you can't drink the tap water and you're dehydrated...well, by the time you make it through all that you have just about enough energy to lie on a couch and watch reruns of ER. In an odd way, life becomes very narrow. It's about survival. But I don't think I've been called to just survive. Life should never be just about me...and when you're just surviving, moments tend to shrink down into tiny self-focused pinpricks. So I laid in bed and I prayed for open doors. And God, who is so much bigger than my survival mode, opened a door! Many of you know that before I came to Kuwait, I had heard about the problem of exploited domestic workers. These are women brought over to Kuwait from the Philippines, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Ethiopia, etc, to work as maids, nannies, cooks, etc. They are brought over under contracts, but once they arrive they are often exploited in horrific ways. They are treated like machines...as if their Kuwaiti "sponsor" (read: owner) can just flip a switch and these woman become machines that can work 20 hours a day, 7 days a week cooking and cleaning and taking care of children. Often, the employers refuse to pay any wages, confiscate passports, lock the woman in their rooms or in the houses, and even go so far as to abuse them in every manner possible. Because of all this, Kuwait has faced a growing problem with "runaway maids." These are woman who get to the breaking point and run away from their employers, often with only the clothes on their backs. Many are suicidal (there are cases of maid suicide and murder of maids by their employers all the time). But where can you go if you have no money, no identity documentation, and no knowledge of the language? Where do you hide since running away is illegal so if the cops pick you up you'll just be returned and probably face even worse abuse? Well, they run to their embassies. And the embassies, flooded with runaway maids, have turned their basements into temporary shelters...no man's land where up to 300 women at a time often share one large room with only a couple bathrooms and no idea what their future will hold. So all that to say, even before arriving in Kuwait I wanted to find a way to use my counseling background as pro-bono work with these women. But getting into those embassy basements has proven difficult. I have tried to contact the local churches, pastors, people with connections...and everyone is so busy that I haven't been able to get a single lead. So I sort of gave up...until yesterday when I woke up after my mini-meltdown and decided it was time to do something. I won't go into all the details since this post is already long, but I found out that some salvation army workers at the church here are starting a shelter for Ethiopian runaways! Not only do I have connections to this couple, but an independent shelter means that people like me can go in and spend time with the women without going through the bureaucracy of a foreign embassy! I spoke with the man who is starting the shelter, and they are hoping to open in one week and have women within the next two weeks. And he is thrilled to have me participate! The details are not firm yet, but this open door is incredible. It just goes to show that God is at work even in this place. Prior to yesterday, I didn't even know that there were ethiopian runaways (I've only heard about Philippines, Sri Lanka, and Malaysia!). My passion and my heart has long been with issues of justice in Africa, so how incredible that God would put me "on hold" for the past four months, unable to get a foothold into some of these other opportunities, only to show me the bigger picture at the exact moment in time when this new shelter is going live. I would love your continued prayers that God would continue to hold open this door as the launch of the shelter approaches. If you want to read more about exploited workers in the Gulf countries (Kuwait being one of the worse), you can check out this site: http://www.migrant-rights.org/

In the Storm

2009-05-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, there is a song that grabs you...the lyrics scroll through your mind and take on more meaning than just a string of rhythmic sounds. This has been a rough week over here in Kuwait. Work has been crazy and exhausting. I've had a few unpleasant experiences driving, and I think I had food poisoning all weekend...which sort of hampered my big plan to pack all weekend. I have to move on Friday (my university is switching apartment buildings for its international hires so even though I love my place I have to pack AGAIN and move!). The end result of all these things has been a feeling of discouragement. This country feels so dark...it's hard to see light and beauty in the midst of swirling yellow dust. I need to hire someone to wash my car every other day because after two days of dust, I can barely see through the windshield. That's sort of how I feel...coated in gritty colorless dust and sorely in need of something cleansing. It feels dirty...and the struggle of being a single foreign woman in the midst of this culture sometimes makes me want to lock my apartment door and never venture out. I'm counting down the days til I can board that beautiful plane back to the land of family and friends (and the ability to drive from one side of the city to the other without being followed!)...but then I am also starting to dread the idea of that flight back to Kuwait on August 17th. And in the midst of all this, I cry out to God and often feel like my prayers are getting stuck somewhere between the crumbling concrete of Kuwait and the blue sky that I know must be somewhere above the dust. I know that my being here is not purposeless. In the midst of reading the news today, I found myself crying as I looked at headline after headline that just trumpets the brokenness of our world...Pakistan, Sri Lanka, human trafficking in India, and an American soldier in Baghdad who turned on his own men and killed five of them. As I cried, I prayed. I felt that familiar stirring in my heart...a hatred of injustice, a desire to be on the front lines doing something...anything to fight oppression. But here I sit, in my comfy apartment in Kuwait...helping students to apply for plush jobs and holding their hands (figuratively) while they figure out if they should take English 101 or English 102. And I know that God has a purpose for me here...a reason for bringing me to Kuwait instead of to Darfur or Sri Lanka or Uganda. And I know there is so much suffering in Kuwait...so my prayer as I write this is that God would open doors here. That He would use my heart for the suffering here...right where He has brought me. So I turn back to the lyrics of this song as my prayer...

I was sure by now,God, that You would have reached down
and wiped our tears away,
stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say amen
and it's still raining
as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away.

And I'll praise you in this storm
and I will lift my hands
for You are who You are
no matter where I am
and every tear I've cried
You hold in your hand
You never left my side
and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to You
and raised me up again
my strength is almost gone how can I carry on
if I can't find You
and as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away

I lift my eyes onto the hills
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth
I lift my eyes onto the hills
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth

And I'll praise you in this storm
and I will lift my hands
for You are who You are
no matter where I am
and every tear I've cried
You hold in your hand
You never left my side
and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

"Praise You in This Storm" by Casting Crowns

Caravans

2009-05-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about caravans over the past two days. I know, that sounds random...but let me explain. My mom recently sent me a package (whoo hoo for mom!!) with a book called "Wilderness Skills for Women: how to survive heartbreak and other full-blown meltdowns." Well, for anyone who knows me, I'm not one for reading Christian books for women...but this one has kept me up late reading at night. Ok, back to caravans. So the author talks about the story of Joseph, and makes a point that just left me dumbfounded. I know, I know...we all know the story of Joseph. But she brought up a really interesting point about caravans. When we think about God's provision for Joseph, we think about the master plan: Joseph ending up in Egypt, the dreams, the prophecy, saving the country from famine, and eventually saving his entire family (Jesus would be the descendant of that family!). But the author rewinds to the moment when Joseph is in the well. His brothers have just thrown him in to die, and then here comes along a caravan bound for Egypt! It's that caravan that takes Joseph toward his calling in life. So here's the point...that caravan didn't just appear out of nowhere. The caravan set out for that journey long before it went by that well. God, in His amazing provision and sovereignty, sent the caravan on its way at some point before we even pick up the story at the well. So what does this have to do with a lonely girl living in the middle of Kuwait? Well, it's made me think about the caravans in my own life...the ones that have already given me a ride, and the ones that are still coming. When I look at my life here in Kuwait, I don't always understand why God led me here. Even though I made the decision to come here, I often look back on the past year and wonder how I ended up on the other side of the world. What is God's purpose in all this? But then I think of caravans...I think about the ways that God provides and leads us toward our calling and our purpose. I think about how God knew I would end up here even before Kuwait was a possibility in my mind. And I think about all the caravans that might be journeying toward my life right now. As a single woman, it's natural to hope that one of those caravans might be a man. Maybe it will be a different location, a different job, a different ministry, different friends...but whatever caravans come my way, they were ordained long before the caravans cross paths with my life. The beauty and the mystery of all this is that as believers, we are called to hope...to faith. And that brings me to my second aha moment of the week. In the wake of these thoughts about caravans, I found a new TV channel here in Kuwait. I know, exciting. But I can't describe the joy in my heart when I stumbled across reruns of NCIS, Alias, and the Dead Zone. Pathetic, maybe. But I almost started crying (it's amazing how a little taste of something familiar in the midst of unfamiliarity can loosen those tear ducts). Anyway, I digress. So tonight I was supposed to hang out with a friend but she fell asleep and never came over. So I laid around and watched an episode of the Dead Zone (fabulous series if you never saw it). I won't bore you with the details of the episode, but suffice it to say that the characters were all fighting over a little piece of bone believed to be the finger of John the Baptist. There were two main characters: a pastor who had lost his faith, and a priest of the order of John the Baptist who survived the Nazi camps and was trying to recover this relic stolen from his monastery. The main character in the series is a man who can see the past and the future when he touches someone or something. At the end, the pastor who lost his faith pleads with the main character to touch the bone and tell him if it really is John's finger, and to describe what John saw when he looked on the face of Jesus. This pastor believes that hearing that will restore his faith in Christ. The priest on the other hand doesn't need to know and almost doesn't care...he just believes. There's a profound moment when one of the characters explains that faith is believing when there is no proof. Now, I know what faith means, but in the middle of a dark and lonely country, it's hard to always have faith. It took a silly TV show to remind me that God often ordains His people to walk through the wilderness because it's in those dry and desert places that real faith is born. When fellowship and Christian music and theological discussions all fade away, we are left only with what the author of this book calls Mascara Worship...choosing to worship God through our faith and through our tears (hence mascara worship...you know, the black streaks running down the face). So even though I can't see what kinds of caravans God is going to provide, my heart's desire is to continue my mascara worship...to believe that God provides even in the wilderness.

A little taste of culture

2009-05-01T07:48:00.000-07:00

In an attempt to understand one part of this culture, I recently bought a full traditional wardrobe for women, including the abaya (robe), hijab (head scarf) and nikab (face covering). Here are a few pictures from the other night. I had to take the pictures myself, so some of them aren't the greatest. I won't go into detail in this post on my thoughts about the covering and women in the Middle East; however, I can certainly say from my own 10 minute experience in this outfit that it is stifling and clausterphobic. I felt like I couldn't get enough oxygen, and that my own persona disappeared into a veil of black.

Licensed to Drive

2009-04-29T07:30:00.000-07:00

I got my Kuwaiti driver's license today! It was such a feeling of accomplishment. Now I just have to get a car. Apparently, I just call a company and find out what they have...choose a car, and they bring it to me! Sign the contract, et voila! I'm a bit skeptical of this procedure, since nothing NOTHING works that easily here. Although you can get anything delivered for a price, so maybe it will work! In any case, getting my license today was truly a cross-cultural experience. Here's a brief idea of how it went...

1. Three weeks ago- visit US embassy in order to have my american license validated. Almost forgot my passport at the embassy, oops! Had to turn off my phone and leave it at security. When I went to turn it on so I could call my cab (the US embassy is in a really non-commercial part of town, so no cabs around), realized that my new phone has a security code on it so I have to put in a pin when I turn it on. Had no idea what pin number was. Stuck outside in nasty dust storm. Asked awesome filipino guards to call me a cab. Cab came and everything worked out.

2. Two weeks ago- submit my license validation and medical paperwork to the HR department at my university. Pleaded with them to speed things along since I can't handle many more cab rides.

3. Last Thursday, get a 1 inch stack of paperwork from HR. Told that I need to go to some building in the city, go up to the 6th floor, get a signature, go to another building in another part of the city for an eye exam, go back to the original building for a stamp, then presto I would have my license. Told it should take about an hour. This time, not offered any help with this procedure. Decide to procrastinate a few days since I can only go during business hours and this has been my craziest week of the year.

4. Plan on going today at 10am.

5. At 1:30am last night, get text message from my cab driver saying he would not be available today. Lay in bed worrying for an hour trying to figure out how I will find someone dependable enough to take me on aforementioned wild goose chase.

6. At 7:45am today, walk out to roundabout to hail random cab to get to work. Cab stops for me in middle of roundabout. We almost get hit by bus as he pulls back into traffic.

7. Realize about halfway to work that I know this cab driver because he drives a couple of the faculty at my university! Very happy. Ask him to take me for driver's license procedure today and he agrees.

8. At 10am, get in cab. Figure that if they said it should take 1 hour, it will probably take 3.

9. Arrive at random building where ministry of driving is located. Proceed into first building. Man in window tells me to go up to 5th floor. While waiting for elevator, I am surrounded by 6 men all dressed in dishdasha. Get in elevator with all 6 men. Try to keep from panicking in tiny enclosed space with 6 huge men as we creep up to 5th floor. Follow men into another room where there is another man in a dishdasha gathering paperwork. No one speaks a word of english. Hand man my paper and he beckons me to a chair. Sit there for 20 minutes while all the men chat and take turns either staring at me or ignoring me. Finally get back my paper and told to go downstairs.

10. Directed to go next-door to another building. Enter building to find it crowded with about 50 men, all in dishdasha. Thus far, have not seen another woman since starting the process. I am directed to a window, where the man waves me off to another window. Get signature from upstairs dude verified. Told to go get my eyes checked.

11. Cab driver takes me to another part of the city where I enter the police clinic. A man at a window verifies the signature, then I'm told to go get my eyes tested. Sit in a chair, where the woman proceeds to hold up a rolled papertowel to each eye while I read 3 letters. Declared acceptable for driving. Get paper signed and stamped. Return to cab.

12. Return to original building. Hand dude my huge stack of paperwork, now sporting several fancy stamps and signatures. Told to buy 30KD (about $100) worth of stamps from a machine. These get attached to my stack of paperwork. Go back to window, where the same dude looks at the same stack of paper and then tells me to go to another window. Proceed to window 16, where I am told I need to visit window 18. Hand stack of paperwork to dude, who looks at same signatures and hands back paperwork, beckoning me to a little room. Dude in room looks at same paperwork and tells me to go back to window 18. Window 18 dude takes my paperwork and tells me to be seated. Sit there for 20 minutes, surrounded by dozens of men in dishdasha. Still no women to be found. At the end of 20 minutes, I am handed a beautiful driver's license. Break all traditions by smiling broadly while I look the last dude in the eyes and say with glee, "Shukran!" (thank you in Arabic).

13. Proceed back to cab driver who brings me back to work. Total time elapsed: 2 hours! Total cost of cab driver: $35. Total stress involved: 9/10. Total feeling that I would be happy to never see another man staring at me: 10/10. Getting my driver's license: priceless!

So there you have it. I definitely have to say that the weirdest part was traipsing through building after building populated entirely by dozens of men in full traditional garb. Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb and feeling like a piece of meat! It's those moments that I find impossible to really describe on a blog. It's like a parallel universe. But I thought I'd provide you a little visual image so you could picture me standing in the midst of a group such as this.

Really?! Total ridiculousness.

2009-04-26T03:53:00.000-07:00

Here's a short article I copied from the BBC. At the bottom is my own example of the "veiled look." This was just a first try (showing too much skin still). Imagine if one eye was covered as well!

Saudi Cleric Favours One-eye Veil

A Muslim cleric in Saudi Arabia has called on women to wear a full veil, or niqab, that reveals only one eye.

Sheikh Muhammad al-Habadan said showing both eyes encouraged women to use eye make-up to look seductive.

The question of how much of her face a woman should cover is a controversial topic in many Muslim societies.

The niqab is more common in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf, but women in much of the Muslim Middle East wear a headscarf which covers only their hair.

Sheikh Habadan, an ultra-conservative cleric who is said to have wide influence among religious Saudis, was answering questions on the Muslim satellite channel al-Majd.

Rules of the Road

2009-04-24T13:43:00.000-07:00

After almost 4 months of using cabs, I've decided it's time to brave the Kuwait roads all by myself. It's a momentous occasion...I'm getting my Kuwaiti driver's license! I requested it about 3 weeks ago, and finally got all my paperwork from HR. So, later this week I will go down to some building in another part of town, get a signature from someone on the 6th floor, then go to another location to get my eye test, then go back to the first building to pick up my actual license. I'm a bit skeptical about the process (I've been told it should take about an hour...so I'm planning on three)...so I will update you all when (if!) it actually all comes together. Then it will be time to go car shopping. Here in Kuwait, foreigners usually do not buy their own car; rather, it is recommended that we rent/lease. Why, you ask? Well, because Kuwait has one of the highest traffic accident rates in the world. It's not "if" you get in an accident, it's "when." So as a foreigner, the easiest thing is to rent a car with full collision insurance...that way, every time you get in a wreck, you can just turn in your car and get a new one! The driving here is one of the main reasons I chose not to get a car when I first got here...but after a few too many creepy cabbie incidents, I decided I would rather take things into my own hands and not deal anymore with cab drivers AND have control of my own car. So in anticipation of being back behind the wheel after four months of no driver, I thought I would put together a little list of driving tips in Kuwait.

1. Although there appear to be lane markings on the roads, those are merely suggestions. The trick is to calculate the number of painted lanes, then multiply by 2.5 to actually gage the potential traffic flow of any given street.

2. Someone had the brilliant idea of creating traffic circles all over Kuwait. Unfortunately, they forgot to include driving lessons on how to use a roundabout. Therefore, people here have created their own little rules for roundabouts (sarcasm intended):
- When entering a roundabout, do not yield...simply jam down the accelerator and pray really hard that no other car is standing in your way.
- Never ever try to exit the roundabout from the outermost lane closest to the exit. Rather, stay on the inside of the circle until the last possible moment, then careen through traffic, passing as close as possible to the other cars, and zoom out of the circle while leaving a possible pile-up behind you.
- If you're not sure which exit to take, just brake and idle in the middle of the roundabout until you've decided. Don't pay any attention to the honks and rude hand gestures.
- Right of way always goes to the biggest car on the road.
- If you happen to take the wrong exit, just stop your car and reverse it back into the traffic circle, pause to decide on the correct exit, then pull back into the circle, making sure you just scrape by all the cars trying to exit in your lane.

3. There are multiple ways to get around a car that is going too slow in front of you. Option #1: move into the other lane. Option #2: create your own lane and pass in between two cars by driving right on the painted lane lines. Option #3: who said you can't drive on the sidewalk? Option #4: Get 4 inches behind their car, flash your high beams repeatedly, and honk loudly. If all else fails, just run them off the road.

4. If you are a female western driver, never ever look at the cars next to you. Glancing at the car appears to be an invitation for whatever man is driving to follow you miles out of his way in order to give you his phone number and invite you to go out with him.

5. If you plan to exit a freeway, never plan ahead. Instead, stay in the far left fast lane until the exit is immediately to your right. Then, make sure you're going at least 60mph and just veer straight through traffic and exit. If another car is exiting at the same time, perfect! It's an opportunity to play chicken and see who brakes first.

6. Driving while wearing a full hijab and nikab (headscarf and face covering) is too easy. You should also talk on your cell phone and try to keep control of your kids (who incidentally are not in car seats or even seatbelts...sometimes they're even running around in the SUV trunk and hanging out the windows and the sunroof!). It's brownie points if your face covering eradicates any possibility of peripheral vision.

7. And finally, if and when you do get into a wreck, make sure to blame it all on whichever poor non-Kuwaiti is around...even if he/she was not involved in the wreck.

So there you have it ladies and gentlemen...a few little driving tips for Kuwait. I'm sure I will have more to share with you after I've been driving a few days. Please remember that these little tips are not meant to disparage any country's driving traditions...they're just a few little helpful insights I've gained from 4 months in Kuwait.

How to get your sink fixed in 3 (make that 8) simple steps

2009-04-17T04:44:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's been a while since my last post. This is my craziest time of year at work, so between that, a quick fun trip to Dubai, and saying goodbye to my best friend over here...the past two weeks have been a bit insane. There are a million things I could write about today: the amazing jazz concert I attended thursday night in a little muslim cultural center that I didn't even know was right across the street from my apartment, bowling in the shopping center with my coworkers, buying my first set of abaya, hijab, and nikab (the full set of Muslim clothing for women including the black robe, black head scarf, and full-face covering)...and of course having my own little fashion show back at home with the full get-up (it's hot under all those layers! AND there is a distinct lack of oxygen)...and all the other hilarious and odd and fun and hard parts of living life in Kuwait. But for now, I'll stick to today's little adventure- fixing the leak in my sink.

On Wednesday, I got home from work and realized that the rug in front of my kitchen sink was soaking wet. I had done a stack of dishes before work, so I thought maybe I had just spilled some water...but the amount seemed a bit absurd for a messy dishwashing episode. So I started to explore...there was water on the shelves below the sink, water on the tiles, and water making its spindly way all over the kitchen by way of the devilishly clever grout that likes to take any form of liquid and help carry it into every corner of the area! I hung up the rug to dry, and decided to ignore the problem (yes, my domestic skills are somewhat lacking...ignorance is bliss, right?). I ate some dinner and went to wash my dishes...only to find that when I turned on the faucet, the puddle of water at my feet mysteriously expanded. Unable to live in denial anymore, I figured this was something that needed to be fixed. However, I had a packed schedule of movie watching and general relaxation planned for the next day (vacation day for me!), so I decided that the best plan was to ignore the problem, do my dishes in the bathroom sink, and worry about it Friday. Luckily, the leak didn't grow too much over the next 24 hours, although I did manage to track mud around the kitchen after stepping in one of the puddles. So when I woke up today, I decided, "today is the day!" Time to go find the harris (maintenance supervisor) and get this problem under control.

My first step was to tidy up the apartment...it won't do in the Middle East for strangers (especially male maintenance guys!) to walk in and see things out of order (or see my laundry hanging all over the extra room!). So I tidied up a bit and then went down to look for the harris. I found him washing some of the tenant cars (he does that every morning). He and I have become good friends over these past weeks...which basically means that we smile and say hi every morning since he doesn't speak any English. So today I walked up to him and in my perfect broken english (I'm an expert at broken english! I'll demonstrate for you someday...it's quite fun)...I said "problem! kitchen! water! you come?" (accompanied by big hand motions and facial grimaces). Thank goodness he got the picture and told me he would be up in a minute. He comes up with another maintenance guy, who peers under my sink and says something about something being broken and needing something to fix the something (my plumbing vocabulary in arabic is somewhat lacking). With another few gestures, the harris explained that they would leave to look for the something, and that the other dude would be up but he wouldn't be back. I smiled and said that was fine. So as I sit writing this, the maintenance dude has been up and down three times, fixing the something with the something. I have no clue if any of this will actually work, or if in an hour I'll have another puddle on the ground...but here's hoping that the something fixes the problem! memo to self: learn some plumbing vocabulary in arabic.

2009-04-05T23:48:00.000-07:00

"Don't question in the dark what you saw clearly in the light."

My amazingly wise brother quoted this to me last night. The past couple of weeks have been rough. There have been really great days, and really hard days. Sometimes I feel like life swings from fabulous to utterly dark and lonely with breathtaking speed. It can be as simple as a hard day at work or a sketchy cab drive or a too-quiet evening at home and the weight of living here seems to crush down with supernatural strength. I know that I was meant to move here. It was so clear...the call, the tug, the drive to move to this part of the world...a place where Americans rarely tread unless driven here by the hunt for money or the chance for advancement. I think that in my mind, I equate the call to move here with the idea that everything will be cheery and perfect. The purpose of my life here should be immediately clear, right? I should feel so close to God when I'm following His path for my life. Everything should go smoothly and I should be running along a mile a minute in hot pursuit of all the amazing things He wants me to do here. Right? But that's not how it works...at least not for me. My greatest fear is that I will miss His purpose for me. That I will fail to stand up and be the woman I am meant to be. That I will settle for an ordinary life and that the years will tick by like so many seconds on the minute in the quiet midnight hours. I'm afraid that when the darkness descends, as it inevitably does in all of our lives, my faith will vanish and I will stumble and fall. I will come up short, somewhere in the middle of this vast desert...and I will be a failure. As a counselor, I have no problem telling other people that they need to be real. Pointing out the masks they wear and challenging them to drop the overly-cheery smile and show the world their tears. But I'm a hypocrite when it comes to dropping the mask in my own life. I know so well how to look perfect. Smiling face, faith-filled words, passion and drive. The past two years in the counseling program have been a long and difficult journey of learning to take off my own mask. Believe me, it does not come easily. Part of the beauty and the pain of growing up overseas is that I learned to be all things to all people. I can transform like a chameleon to fit whatever you want me to be. This is an amazing gift, but also brings with it the temptation to lose oneself in the midst of these transformations. So I feel like the "right me" for this place and this time is the cheery me. But that's the mask talking. Underneath the mask is a complicated mess of tears and smiles and frowns and winks and praise songs and shouts of anger. And that mess is acceptable and (gasp!) even beautiful in God's eyes. My best friend in Kuwait is moving back to the states this week. The global nomad life is hard. Friends vanish and are replaced, and vanish and are replaced. I like leaving more than I like being left. So this week, there are a lot of tears. And that's ok. God's grace is deeper and more powerful than the fear and the failure. Today, life in Kuwait is hard. It's one of those days when I might just go online and look up the price of plane tickets home. We all do it. Most of us never actually buy the ticket, but there's something comforting in the fact that I know there are at least ten different flight options to get me back home within 32 hours. Kuwait feels dark right now. When I say goodbye to my friend later this week, it will probably feel even darker. But here's the thing...all of this was clear in the light. This is where I'm meant to be, for this moment and this season. So in the darkness when I stumble and fall, I still know that I would rather be trembling in darkness...knowing this is where I am supposed to be...than anywhere else in this world. God's grace is sufficient for me. I'm sure there will be many more tears, many more incredible moments, many more smiles, many more angry fists, many more sad goodbyes and surprising hellos. There will be darkness and light...and I will fail more times than I care to consider. But I will try to struggle honestly. And this week will end eventually, and the darkness will draw back, to be replaced by the searing heat of a sunny day. And you'll get to read about my sad moments and lonely days, but also about my funny stories and fabulous tales...and so the adventure continues! In His grace, moment by moment.

Camels, tradition, bedouins...oh my!

2009-03-31T04:19:00.000-07:00

Life in Kuwait is rarely boring. Today, I walked downstairs from my office to grab some coffee, and found two camels chillin' on the grassy knoll outside my building. Turns out today the university is hosting a big Kuwaiti cultural event, and anybody could grab a ride on a camel, watch traditional bedouin women cook in front of a tent, pick up a crepe with nutella (not sure how that fits into the culture!), and browse through an assortment of local clothing options. Here are a few pictures from the day...

A taste of Abu Dhabi

2009-03-29T11:57:00.000-07:00

One of the fun perks of living the expat lifestyle is the ability to travel. Ukraine was my February adventure, and Abu Dhabi was my Saturday adventure! Here in Kuwait, travel plans happen quickly at the last minute. Last week, one of my coworkers...an awesome Kuwaiti gal named Hala...told me she was going to see Coldplay in concert in Abu Dhabi (if you don't know Coldplay, they're a huge band out of the UK). It was the last concert of their world tour, and contrary to America where tickets sell out in 5 minutes, the last minute nature of the Middle East means you can get tickets only days before an event! After pondering the cost, I decided what the heck...when else can I fly to Abu Dhabi on a Saturday morning at 3am, spend the day in a new country, see a massive concert at night, rush to the airport the second the concert finishes, fly back at 2am, and be at work the next morning?! So I bought the concert ticket and the plane ticket. It was an incredible experience. The second I walked out of the airport, I felt like I was in Florida...the humidity was overpowering. It was a nice relief after the dry dust of Kuwait. The city looks much like all the modern cities of the gulf region- tall buildings, construction cranes, malls. Hala and I checked into the Sheraton and had the amazing breakfast buffet (haven't had a traditional breakfast since I got to Kuwait!). After eating waaaay too much, we crashed for a couple hours and then went book shopping! Then off to the concert! It was incredible...15,000 people just rocking out. It poured (torrential downpour) and we were soaked to the bone, but the concert went on and it was amazing. I will post some pics and maybe a video later this week!

Just a few thoughts

2009-03-25T11:58:00.000-07:00

As I was riding home tonight, I was thinking about writing a pithy little blog entry about rules of the road in Kuwait. Believe me, it's insane. But I think that will have to wait because as I booted up my computer and sat down to check my email, one line of lyrics started scrolling across my mind..."I was made to love you, I was made just for you." I couldn't remember the song, or the singer, but lucky for me I live in the google age and was able to find the entire song (copied below for your reading pleasure). I'm not sure exactly why these words in particular echoed through my mind. I haven't heard the song in ages, but somehow as I read through the lyrics, it molded to my soul at this precise moment in time. Earlier today, I was sitting in my living room listening to my itunes. The song was "How Great is our God." As I listened to the song, the call to prayer suddenly swept into my apartment. Allah u Akbar. God is great. The dichotomy between the two rocked my peaceful little moment. How great is our God. Allah u Akbar. God of mercy. God of fear. God of divine sacrifice. God of the balancing scales. Christ. Mohammed. My worldview and that of the world sweeping around me every day in Kuwait. In this place in this time, I don't feel very loved. And I don't feel like I'm capable of a whole lot of love. Jesus loves me, this I know. Well, I don't always know it. I believe that our God is great, but sometimes it feels more like a distant worship than an intensely personal relationship. I was made to love Him, I was made just for Him. As a single 20-something woman living in the middle of Kuwait, the loneliness can sweep over any moment. Aloneness can weigh down the shoulders until it's hard to lift one's head. They say singles only make it over here for a year or two...whereas couples/families come for a year and stay for ten. I can certainly understand that. There is no protector. There is no one who knows you and loves you...who can shield you from the staring eyes and help you to laugh when you're so fed up that you're looking up plane ticket prices online. There are a lot of good moments here too...hilarious moments that just make you wish you could elbow your spouse and give a little wink, knowing that you will be telling this story for years. And so I come back to the lyrics. Yes, it would be great to be over here with someone...to have found that right person. I'm a proud single independent woman, but I have (sometimes) the humility to admit that I wish I wasn't alone. But you know what? I'm not alone even when it feels that way. I do have a great God, who is present even in what many call this God-forsaken part of the world. I am not forsaken, and neither are this people.

"Made to Love" (by Toby Mac)

The dream is fading, now I'm staring at the door
I know its over cause my feet have hit the cold floor
Check my reflection, I ain't feelin what I see
It's no mystery
Whatever happened to a passion I could live for
What became of the flame that made me feel more
And when did I forget that...

I was made to love you
I was made to find you
I was made just for you
Made to adore you
I was made to love
And be loved by you
You were here before me
You were waiting on me
And you said you'd keep me
Never would you leave me
I was made to love
and be loved by you

The dream's alive with my eyes opened wide
Back in the ring you've got me swinging for the grand prize
I feel the hate is spittin vapors on my dreams
But I still believe
I'm reachin out, reachin up, reachin over
I feel a breeze cover me called Jehovah
And daddy I'm on my way
Cause I was made to love...

Anything I would give up for you
Everything, I'd give it all away

Three Floors Up

2009-03-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

I got stuck in an elevator tonight. I'm not one for clausterphobia (except in an MRI machine, those things are traumatic!) or panic...but I will readily admit that that when my elevator jolted to a halt tonight, dropped 6 inches, and then shook from side to side, panic would be a mild way of describing how I felt. I've been stuck in elevators before, but always in the U.S. Tonight, I had fabulous chinese food (first chinese restaurant I've found since moving to Kuwait!) with a work friend, and then got dropped off at my apartment complex. I walked in and said hi to the harris (arabic word for the building maintenance guy who spies on us and reports any unseemly activity to the building owner) and hit the elevator button. I strolled into the metal cage, and hit 9. As the doors closed, I realized that my keys weren't in their normal place in my purse, so I put down my bags and crouched down to dig through my bag. I was somewhere between the umbrella (yes, I know it only rains twice a year in Kuwait, but when it comes down it's like mud raining down on your head!), my overstuffed wallet, and my ipod when the elevator shuddered to a halt, dropped half a foot, and then rocked gently in the emptiness. I looked up and realized that all of the little number lights had been extinguished. I tried to figure out if I was closer to the ground floor or to the 9th floor, and then suddenly thought about the fact that there is no way Kuwait enforces the same standards of elevator safety as I might find in America. Then I had one of those moments...you know the ones where your life flashes before your eyes? Well, there was no flashing, but there were horrendous images of my mangled body lying at the bottom of an elevator shaft where no one would find me...plummeting in a shodily-constructed elevator in a shodily constructed building in a shodily constructed neighborhood in the middle of Kuwait. This is not how I want to die. Well, I proceeded to frantically start pushing every button on the elevator, but to no avail. I then pushed the panic button, which rang but did nothing to bring my knight in shining armor (the previously mentioned spying harris). I then yanked out my cell phone and called my landlord, but got a message in Arabic saying that the number has been disconnected. With increasing fear, I decided to call the friend who had just dropped me off. The conversation went something like this: "D, I'm stuck in an elevator! Stuck in an elevator! I'm stuck in an elevator! I can't get out! No one is coming to help! Help! I'm stuck in an elevator!" Just as I was about to keep babbling my eloquent monologue, there was another jolt and the lights suddenly came back on, indicating I was on the third floor. I stupidly stabbed 9 again (who ever heard of trying to go up to the 9th floor in a broken elevator rather than going back down to the ground???). The elevator shook it's way up and the doors opened and I stepped off. Both elevators read "out of service"...thanks for the warning people! I debated walking back down the 9 flights to report the problem to the harris, but decided that communicating my terrifying experience to a non-English speaking harris who mostly just stares at me like an alien from another planet was not on my list of fun activities for the night, so I walked into my apartment, locked the door, and figured that the elevators will probably be working by tomorrow. The end.

Livin' la Vie la Loca

2009-03-23T04:18:00.001-07:00

In case you're confused, the above title is a mish-mosh of English, French and Spanish and can be roughly translated as Living the Crazy Life (in addition to being a convoluted re-creation of the Ricky Martin one-hit-wonder song title). In any case, I think it is a fitting way to describe life these days. The expat life is full of contradictions, both outwardly and inwardly. Life is an adventure, with crazy stories and fun adventures and new foods and about ten different languages floating through one's brain and colliding in a confusing vortex of vocabulary. I wander the streets, navigating through the flow of floor-length dish-dashas and abayas (traditional robes for men and women), eyes unfocused in an attempt to avoid the stares, questioning glances sometimes judgmental and sometimes just curious following my aimless wandering. In the past month, people have thought me Lebanese, Persian, Western European, Ukrainian, Russian and sometimes American. An old Arab woman stopped me at the grocery store to ask me in Arabic if a particular brand of laundry detergent could be used in a fully automatic machine. She almost fell over when she realized I was American and didn't speak Arabic. She laughed for about five minutes and then asked me again, repeating several times that this was a FULLY automatic washing machine (as opposed to...what?). I gave her advice but was careful to end my statement with "inshallah"...meaning God willing. God willing this soap really does work in a fully automatic machine and doesn't result in your entire house being filled with soap bubbles. Then I went on my merry way. I have a Lebanese store clerk at a local electronics outfit who somehow knows me by name. I have an amazing older Jordanian coworker who brings me home-made lunch several times a week because she knows I don't cook. I just found out I have a long weekend in April and am trying to decide whether I want to visit Jordan or Beirut. Livin' la Via la Loca. But the flip side of this paradox is the mundane slow march of a work week, the bad days in the office when I just want to scream, the boring evenings sitting at home watching endless reruns of the first season of ER, and the fact that even though I can travel to Beirut or Jordan, I'm not sure I actually have a friend here I would want to travel with! As an expat, I try to be all things to all people. I am expat and third culture kid (having spent a significant part of my childhood overseas). I am adventuresome and I am a home-body. Life is incredible, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But as the gritty sands of the arabian desert begin their endless streaming voyage across this city and the sun takes up its vigil in the blazing skies, I find myself at times restless. There must be something more in this place, something I am missing. I am still settling, still meeting people, still learning my job and finding my niche. But the restlessness keeps me tossing and turning at night, my mind churning with the "what ifs" and the "what nexts". At the moment, my plan is to start writing a book...perhaps based on my own experiences overseas (Kuwait and other places). I don't know if it would be interesting or ever get published...or if a single other person would ever read it. But it's been a goal for several years, so what better time to start than in the midst of those long sweltering arabian days. Perhaps in the writing, a purpose will emerge and the restlessness will recede.

To Tell a Lie

2009-03-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

If I had a super power right at this moment in time, it might be the ability to see (and know about) the driver of a taxi before he pulls over in the middle of traffic and I jump inside. Case in point. After work today I walked out to the curb in front of my school, waiting to hail a cab just like every other day. The law of threes usually applies to taxi cabs...you can wait for an eternity and never see a cab, and then three will speed by in quick succession. Today, I waited for about five minutes, pretending to chat on my cell phone (a secret trick I learned so that I look busy and less susceptible to cars honking at me or guys pulling over to get my number). Suddenly, a taxi pulled over. Before I had a chance to step toward it, another taxi swerved dangerously through traffic and pulled in front of the first one. The second taxi was closer to me, so I jumped inside. I immediately regretted my decision, when I realized that the driver was sporting the full Muslim look (head cap, long flowing white robe, and the full length beard that I usually only see on tv). Now, I have no problem with the typical arab dress worn by many men over here. I'm used to it. But this degree of muslim fashion usually means one thing- Pakistan. People who know me will know that I am not into stereotypes...but having already had a bad experience with a Pakistani cab driver a week ago, I found myself wishing I had chosen the first cab.

Most taxi rides follow the same routine. First comes uncomfortable silence and discreet glances in the rearview mirror. This is followed by inquiries about where to go...usually a way to gage my level of arabic. This is followed by a question as to my nationality. Upon hearing American, I usually get an excited "Obama, zain!" (meaning, Obama, good!)...to which I chuckle and reply yes, Obama good. Then comes the dreaded question: are you married? When I first got to Kuwait, that question often took me off guard; now I expect it. And herein lies the rub. Up until today, I always replied honestly. No, I am not married. But that response is usually followed by various odd comments. So today, I lied. Yes, I lied. Now I know that as a believer, I am never supposed to lie. The lie felt odd on my lips. Yes, I am married. How long? Oh, almost two years. No kids yet, but maybe soon. Yes, he lives in Kuwait and works at the same university. And onwards and upwards. So I ask myself, is it wrong to tell this lie? Honestly, the part that upsets me the most is the need to tell the lie. As a strong single woman (and sometimes christian feminist), how dare a man make me feel like I have to tell a lie in order to be safe? But reality is different than ideal...and this strong independent world traveling christian feminist finds herself making up an imaginary husband in an attempt to self-protect. Life is easier this way. Maybe I should give him a name...Jason or David or Sawyer (shout out to those Lost fans). When I travel, I wear a ring on my wedding finger. Is this much different? Honestly, I don't know. But only three hours later, I found myself in another cab, being asked the same question, and telling the same little lie. This is funny and this is serious. This is life in Kuwait, and probably in the Middle East at large. It is another glimpse into the culture, and a sobering look at how that culture shapes and affects me every day. Sometimes I change to accommodate this culture, and sometimes I hold strong. Lord give me the strength to recognize and stand firm in the things that matter, and to let go of the things that do not.

Hallowness and Lent

2009-03-15T03:43:00.000-07:00

We had a three-day weekend this week. Having a day off was nice and I felt very productive (I finished my taxes and am getting a whopping $4 back!)...but as the end of the weekend approached, I felt hollow. I don't know if you have ever felt that way, but there are times when I just feel a pit or a hollowness inside...I often called it the Sunday slump in the US- the sadness you feel as the last thrills of the weekend fade away, only to be confronted by the impending buzz of the alarm clock hailing the advent of another Monday. Well, in Kuwait our weekend is Friday/Saturday, so here I live the Saturday Slump every week. Anyway, that is neither here nor there. Last night's hollowness was more than a normal saturday slump. I think part of it stems from the fact that I have had a really hard time finding a community of believers here- a church where I can feel at home. I miss solid teaching and awesome worship. So I stayed busy all weekend and went to a church service which did not feel filling...and then finally everything was quiet. It was 8pm on Saturday night and I was sitting at home after a long day of trying to get things done in Kuwait...and in the stillness the hollowness invaded. The homesickness came roaring into the hollow space and I found myself crying. Amazingly, it was the first time I had cried since the end of my first week in Kuwait. It was hard, but it was good. We all need to cry every now and then! But two things really spoke to me in the hollowness of those moments. One was the song Hosanna by Hillsong (lyrics below)...especially the last stanza. The second was a posting by Dr. Chuck DeGroat (my former counseling professor and seriously wise man!) in his blog...it speaks to the season of lent and the need to be still before God. It's worth taking a minute to follow this link...and I would encourage you to read through his other postings as well!
http://drchuckdegroat.wordpress.com/2009/03/02/the-executive-and-the-hermi/

Lyrics from Hosanna (by Hillsong)

I see the king of glory
Coming on the clouds with fire
The whole earth shakes
The whole earth shakes

I see his love and mercy
Washing over all our sin
The people sing
The people sing

I see a generation
Rising up to take their place
With selfless faith
With selfless faith

I see a near revival
Stirring as we pray and seek
We're on our knees
We're on our knees

Hosanna
Hosanna
Hosanna in the highest

Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me

Break my heart from what breaks yours
Everything I am for your kingdoms cause
As I go from nothing to
Eternity

~Happy Lent and may God break our hearts for what breaks His, everything we are for His kingdom's cause...as we go from nothing to Eternity.

Conservative Islam in the region

2009-03-09T02:09:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry it's been so long since my last post. Life has settled into a routine and sometimes it seems like anything I write would end up being mundane and boring; however, I often forget how completely non-normal life here really is. After ten weeks(!!) in Kuwait, most things feel routine. I've learned how to grocery shop (although I have settled into a terrible habit of only getting food out...it's actually cheaper than cooking my own food!). I am fairly adept at taking a taxi, although I realized the other day that it's not the safest thing in the world- more on that in a bit. I usually don't even notice the call to prayer that echoes from a thousand mosques at 5am and noon and 5pm and 9pm and midnight. The exact time changes every day but the only time I really notice it is on Friday mornings when I'm waiting for my cab to church and the long 30 minutes "sermon" comes over the loudspeakers. It's still a bit eerie when the music shuts off in the middle of H&M or Nine West so that the call to prayer can resound throughout the mall...but even that is getting a bit more normal. I'm learning my job and feeling more confident at work. I finally have my own cell phone and internet connection and feel connected to the world around me.

Yet in the midst of all this, I often forget how truly different this culture is. There are profound differences that go so much deeper than the paradoxes of fashion between the west and the muslim world. Fashion itself (I am using the word fashion notably to describe the common style of dress in both areas of the world- western clothing vs the hijab and abaya) is simply the most obvious marker of deeply ingrained differences that vacillate between almost invisible subtlety and glaring neon signposts. In a country with no alcohol (and thus no legal nightlife as we would define it in the US), Thursday and Friday nights turn the ritzy areas of Kuwait City into a veritable parade of teenagery adults trolling the mall's boulevard like so many newly minted teen drivers cruising down by the local movie theater. To navigate through this mosh pit of bmws and mercedes, one must contend with the loud wails of traditional arab music competing with the equally obnoxious thumps of postmodern hip hop. Here, bluetooth dating is the trend. What is bluetooth dating you might ask? It's a specialized form of "meet and greet" that involves a car with guys driving beside a car with girls (usually fully covered in the hijab). They wave and flirt with each other through cracked windows, and eventually exchange information over the bluetooth. That's the "meet" part of the equation. I haven't yet figured out the "greet" part...but I'll leave that research for another time. It is in these crowded streets that the clash of culture seems most apparent- conservative islam battling against the overly-permissive strands of western culture that have quietly woven themselves into the fabric of this nation. These are a few of the things that I observe from the passenger seat of my friend's truck, as I stare straight ahead and try to be noticed as little as possible by the passing revelers. My own reactions, on a much more personal note, stem from individual encounters and stories told within the confines of the western women's social groups. This week, an email went out from the US embassy warning western women of increased incidents of harassment and violence aimed against western women. I have personally been followed in a car (both when I was in a car as well, and when I was on foot), propositioned more times than I can count, ogled and have even had a man offer to buy me! I have had taxi drivers that phone-stalk me, and enough uncomfortable interactions to last me a lifetime. All of this in a country where even interacting with a single woman should be considered shameful within the religion. It is these personal stories that heavily impress on me the reality of a deep schism (I like to call it hypocrisy) between the outwardly conservative facade of words and the more hidden disdain for human dignity (and specifically the value and worth of women). Just like in my own culture there is disturbing hypocrisy sometimes evidenced between the teachings of the Christian church and the actual lives lived out by it's followers...so goes Islam. But at least I can safely say that in America, I never experienced harassment on the level I have learned to live with here. I'm getting used to it, and I still fight it wherever there is room to fight. But as hard as it is, honestly, it's an incredible experience. It gives me a small window into the lives of so many women around the world. I wouldn't trade this experience for anything, although I can say that there are days when I just want to scream. There are wonderful things about this culture, and there are dark and disgusting elements of this culture (just like in any culture around the world). In my opinion, it is when the dark elements remain hidden that they fester and grow out of control. So perhaps my role here is to observe and see and learn...and to bring these things into the light. I don't yet know what my purpose here will be. But until that purpose becomes evident, I will observe and I will try to bring my observations out into the light and maybe one day it will make a small difference!

For anyone interested in conservative islam, here is an interesting (and highly upsetting) article about Saudi Arabia and a recent court decision to punish an elderly woman (with lashes and prison time).
http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/03/09/saudi.arabia.lashes/index.html

Thanks for reading...until next time!

The Dust Storm

2009-02-15T21:08:00.001-08:00

So about a week ago I got up at 6:45am as usual. I got ready for work and went downstairs to meet my taxi. When I stepped outside my building, I was surprised to see that it was still a little dark. I assumed that it was just one of those gray days, and went about my business. By the time the taxi driver got there a few minutes later, I was starting to feel a bit grimy. I figured it was just the normal Kuwait air. Fifteen minutes later when my cab pulled up at work, it felt like the air was thick and dirty. I hustled inside. When I walked into my office, one of my coworkers greeted me with "how do you like your first dust storm?" Aha...so that's what was going on. Within an hour, the visibility out of my 5th floor window was almost zero. The water of the Persian gulf had retreated behind a yellow haze of swirling dirt. It came in through every crack and crevice...a mere window could never hold it out. Over the next 24 hours, the poor souls of Kuwait were smothered in an ever thicker blanket of yellow dirt. We wore flimsy surgical masks and scarves wrapped around our heads in an effort to keep out the dirt and dust (and various viruses that float around in it). Our eyes streamed from the dry grit and we canceled every plan that required movement outside. It was my first dust storm, and it certainly won't be my last. There is nothing glamorous about a dust storm. I remember seeing old movies with robed figures guiding their camels through the blowing dust, beautiful dunes stretching out behind them as far as the eyes could see. There was no beauty in this particular prank of nature. It was disgusting. But I survived! First dust storm...check. I'm sure there will be lots more to come...in the meantime, I need to begin the cleanup process and pick up some sealant for my windows. I also discovered that dust storms lead to dust in drains. Dust in drains leads to water problems. Water problems lead to 6:45am getting in the shower...followed by spluttering water, yellowish dust running out of the faucet, and then nothing. Dry as a bone dust-filled pipes. No shower that day. Washed my hair with a bottle of water and ran out the door. Walking through a dust storm + NO shower = misery. But the water was back up and running by the next day, and life goes on.

More to come soon...my parents visited for a week and I'm planning to load some pics from their time! I just picked up a new internet device, so once it is working I should be able to upload/download, and even stream video! Thanks for staying tuned.

Some thoughts

2009-02-03T22:35:00.000-08:00

I often find myself torn about what is "appropriate" to blog...how honest to be when it comes to culture and exposing the sometimes seedier under-currents of life. Every culture has its sins. It doesn't take long for an outsider to feel the dark depths that by nature soil our cultures...regardless of race, religion, socio-economic/developmental status, geographic area, etc etc. So if I make mention of disturbing trends and horrifying realities that rage through this desert place, please do not take this to mean that I somehow think that my own culture is better than this. I am by nature a fighter...I see injustice and it makes my heart race and my blood boil and my hands clench into fists. It's part of me. I can't stand idly by and refuse a voice to the voiceless. So there might be moments when I draw attention to this or to that...when I use my own voice to tell stories of the voiceless. I hope these things make your heart race as well and your fists clench in anger because this is not ok. This is not just "a difference of culture" and if we sit back and allow cultural relativism to rule our sense of justice then we are no better than the perpetrators, whether they be American, Arab, Asian, or any other culture.

So what, you might ask, led me to even write this little blurb? Well, the list is long so today's story will be short and to the point. I was riding in a cab last week with another American friend. The cab driver was very friendly, and delighted to have Americans in his taxi. He started telling us about himself- he is Egyptian and is married to a Philippina woman. He starts talking about his wife and how beautiful she is. Within a couple of minutes, he was handing us pictures of her...her passport and visa documentation and a few old photos. We said she was very beautiful and looked pretty young. The cab driver said that she was 18. We asked him how long they had been married and he said 4 years. The cab driver was 42. So, do the math. And one more detail? He had her brought over from the Philippines to be his wife (read: he bought her). So that story has been floating around in my head for about a week now. It's not the first time I've heard that story, and it certainly won't be the last. But today I stumbled across a story in the Times that I think you should read...it's about an incredibly brave 10-year old divorcee who has become quite famous for her bold decisions. Note that the girl in this story lives in Yemen...another of the Arabian gulf countries. Here's the link!

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1876652,00.html?cnn=yes

First Rain

2009-02-01T03:39:00.000-08:00

It rained today. I know, I know...What's so great about rain that it would deserve it's very own blog post title? Well, let me tell you...in a country where rain is a rare occurrence, the pounding sheets of falling water were a relief. Those first few drops were disgusting- large dirty blobs of water carrying the dusty pollution from high in the sky. But as the morning went on and it continued to rain, everything just smelled good! And to top it all off, there was thunder! According to one of my coworkers, that only happens once or twice a year. As an Orlando girl for the past three years, that thunder was a little taste of home.

And so I welcome the rain on a good day. My parents are coming tonight! Yup, all the way from the states (via Istanbul). I'm so excited to see them...and I think I'll finally get out and do some of the Kuwait tourist stuff! Whenever I live in a new place, I never get around to seeing the sights until someone comes to visit. So this will be a good excuse to see the area, take some fun pictures, eat some good food...and have a whole week to spend with my folks! Pictures and stories to follow soon...

A few too many medical trips...

2009-01-20T09:44:00.003-08:00

I've had my fill of Kuwait medical institutions. They actually aren't that bad...but check out the picture below! My Kuwaiti medical experience began earlier this week, when I realized that I was getting really sick. I had some kind of throat infection, and was getting so dizzy that I had to sit on the floor while blowdrying my hair in the morning to avoid blacking out. So, on Sunday (first day of work over here), I walked myself over to the hospital for a check-up. Now, keep in mind that walking around Kuwait can be an odd experience, since an American woman walking around the streets tends to attract a lot of attention. So, in the midst of honking horns and more stares than I care to imagine...I finally found my way to the hospital. The ER itself was pretty decent. It took about 30 minutes to be seen for the initial blood pressure check, and then another 15 minutes before I saw the doctor (a very disinterested apathetic foreigner who barely spoke two words to me). They don't ask for any medical history and you don't fill out a SINGLE form. They write down your insurance information (and you never fill out a medical history for that either!)...and you pay about $10 and that's it! I got a decent prescription for antibiotics and was on my way across the street to the pharmacy. The pharmacist apologized because my insurance didn't cover $6 worth of medicine...I was smiling with happiness at the cost. So after three days of antibiotics, I'm feeling a whole lot better!

Take two of the Kuwaiti medical experience was my health check-up required to complete my residency permit. Yesterday was fingerprinting day (an hour spent in a dingy office where they cover your entire hands with black ink and roll them over a piece of paper that is probably never seen again). The health check-up today entailed getting my blood drawn (to make sure I'm not bringing HIV or Hepatitis into the country) and a chest x-ray to make sure I don't have TB. I was sent with a driver and a male student who is also working on his residency. We spent the first half of the morning at the male medical facility (they are segregated by gender like all institutions in Kuwait). The male facility was an interesting experience since it was me and about 200 men waiting to have their blood drawn. I sat in the corner and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. They decided it was morally ok for me to have my blood drawn there, although the x-ray would have to be done on the other side of the city. The woman who took my blood was a bit rough...by which I mean she stuck a needle in my arm (thankfully a clean one although she didn't switch her gloves beforehand)...and proceeded to dig around searching for a vein. The result is below. :-( After that, we went across the city for my xray. At all the facilities, we were ushered past the waiting people (usually a couple hundred of them, many from southeast asian nations)...and brought straight to the director. It's special treatment, but it makes me uncomfortable. My heart continues to break for the oppression and injustice that occurs here...but that will be the subject of another post in the near future. So there you have it! I now have to wait ten days for my medical results, at which time I will have my residency and will be free to travel in and out of the country (Bahrain and Dubai, here I come!). Ten days after that I should have my civil ID, which is the equivalent of a social security card and allows me to do everything from getting a phone plan to taking advantage of the free public health system. Thanks for reading and more upates to come soon!!

First week of work...DONE!

2009-01-08T10:52:00.000-08:00

I've officially completed my first week of work. It all feels a bit more real now...I know some of my coworkers, I've interacted with dozens of students, I've even done a little academic advising and a couple short career counseling sessions! It's been a good week overall. I wish I could put into words what it's like living here- 10 days into the experience. At times it feels surreal. I look out my office window and see the beautiful water of the Persian Gulf. I walk down the streets and am surrounded by men in the dishdash (full length white robes) and keffiyahs (head covering) and women ranging from normal western wear (although usually dressed to the nines in every designer label imaginable!) to the full head and body covering. Many of the girls on campus go without the headscarf, or just wear the simple covering. But at the mall, I saw dozens of women that were completely covered except their eyes...we even saw one woman who was wearing the ultra-conservative covering that includes the veil over her eyes! The culture is a study in contrasts- conservative and liberal...western and eastern. But in the midst of all this, life is beginning to gain a semblance of normalcy. I have a driver (basically, a taxi driver who takes me to work every morning and who is available for things like driving me to church). I know how to give directions back to my house. I scoped out the local hole-in-the-wall store where I can buy bottled water and freshly baked bread. Normalcy and surrealism battle through every moment of the day. It's like sitting in a session with students where the language flows in an uninterrupted pattern of english and arabic. Words mixed together in every single sentence. Honestly, by the time I get home at the end of the day, my brain is completely fried...but I love it. It's different and hard and good and lonely and exciting...

I thought it would be fun to post a few pictures of my office for your viewing pleasure. The outside shots are the view from my office window. The water is the Persian Gulf. You'll notice tall modern buildings (they're building a mall- one of about a million in this city- near our campus). You'll also notice empty lots and piles of concrete. Kuwait City is metamorphosing at the speed of light. Old (and sometimes not so old!) buildings are being torn down and sleek modern buildings are being built. Many of these buildings stand empty- construction racing ahead of demand. Since the end of Saddam Hussein, Kuwait has finally felt safe enough to start building without the fear of another Iraq invasion...so who knows what this city will look like in 5 or 10 years! I also included a few shots of my actual office. And the comfy looking couch area is a large space that sits in the middle of our offices...couches and chairs and tables arranged so that students can hang out while they're waiting to see us (for career services, academic advising, personal counseling, etc). Enjoy!

I have Internet...AND first day of work!

2009-01-04T08:25:00.000-08:00

First off...I have internet in my apartment! The process was rather hilarious actually. It involved a wireless company employee sitting in my apartment for 20 minutes smoking a cigarette over my pristine new coffee table and computer! As I watched the ash get longer and longer, visions of a huge burn stain in the middle of my coffee table danced through my head, and I rushed off to grab a cup from the kitchen to catch his dangerously dangling ash. By the time he left, my internet was miraculously working but my apartment smelled like an ash tray. Thank goodness I had bought some scented spray just last night for such a time as this...I've noticed that smoking etiquette is a bit different in this part of the world. So as I type this, I am choking on a combination of stale cigarette smell and the overwhelming scent of Marine one touch glade (which I mistakenly sprayed right in front of my face while I was loading the cartridge).

In other news, I successfully completed my first day of work! The weekend in Kuwait falls on Friday and Saturday, which means the work week is Sunday through Thursday. My taxi was a bit late picking me up this morning, but I managed to get to work in 7 minutes flat (a far cry from my 55 minute commutes in Orlando). I have an office (with a door!) and a view overlooking the Persian Gulf. The water is pristine blue, although the view is somewhat marred by the huge amounts of dust and sand that tend to settle on every single surface here- including my office window. I met several people that work in my department, and absolutely love the other women on my team. They seem fun, down to earth, competent, and very welcoming. Today was a whirlwind since my department is in the middle of academic advising for the new semester, which starts in a few weeks. I will primarily be learning that part of the job (not my primary job, but I'll be wearing a lot of hats outside of just career counseling) this week...and will start focusing more on career counseling next week when my supervisor returns from abroad.

The campus itself is nice...although I didn't get many chances to really look around in my rush to get from building to building in the freezing cold wind! Contrary to my expectations, Kuwait is COLD in January. It actually hit below freezing a couple nights ago, and there is no interior heating. That basically means that no one sheds their coats, scarves (gloves, hats, etc etc) during the work day. There are five buildings on the campus, which also houses a restaurant/cafeteria and a STARBUCKS! Of course, regular trips to the starbucks here will drain my paycheck since with the currency conversion, drinks cost $6-10!

So all in all, it was a good, maybe even great, day. It was my first truly good/great day in Kuwait. Thank God for good days after the hard days that have piled up over this past week. I think I'll sign off for the night, since my fingers are really cold right now and I can't have my computer and my tiny space heater plugged in at the same time (electric outlets are somewhat sparce in my apartment). I have the Simpsons muted in the background (I don't actually watch the simpsons...but I find it somewhat comforting to have an American show on my Kuwaiti television), and the Twilight series is calling my name. More to follow soon!...

Pictures from Kuwait City!

2009-01-02T04:24:00.000-08:00

Today was my first venture into the city during daylight hours. I wanted to visit the protestant church that is downtown, so I was brave and called a driver (taxi) to take me! After 4 phone calls back and forth with the driver who wanted directions to my apartment (which unfortunately I could not give since I have absolutely no idea where I live)...he finally found me. After about a dozen u-turns in the downtown area, we finally found the church! I was able to attend an English-language service, which is attended by people from a variety of backgrounds- including americans, canadians, brits, indians, philippinos, germans, and many others. It's really an incredible experience to sit in that room with people from so many different parts of the world. I met an American couple who took me to lunch, and then drove me all the way back to my apartment! Along the way, I got to take a few pics of the city. I'm posting a few for your viewing pleasure- there are several pictures of the marina, as well as a few of the city and the tall towers that are a famous part of the Kuwaiti cityscape. Kuwait City is nestled up against the Persian Gulf, and is one of the best natural harbors in the region. Enjoy the pictures!

A few pics of my new place!

2009-01-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

Here are a few pics of my apartment. I'm not totally unpacked yet, so I'll post more when everything is settled. I have a couple pics of my room (bed and dresser)...it's freezing here so I have a bunch of blankets. Plus a pic of my kitchen, a couple of my living room with the couch and entertainment center, and a pic of the empty second bedroom that has now become my suitcase room :-)

I made it to Kuwait!!

2008-12-31T05:09:00.000-08:00

So this is my first official post from Kuwait! I'll keep it fairly short...with lots more to come later. My apartment DOES have internet, which is awesome. But it's not currently working, which is not so awesome. Anyway, the wireless devices have been installed, but the company is trying to fix the snafoos. In the meantime, the landlord was kind enough to lend me a wireless usb device for the afternoon!

My trip from Orlando to Kuwait was pretty easy. No major problems, and all SEVEN of my suitcases made it fine! I was met at the plane and escorted through passport control and customs. A gal from my department met me at the airport and drove me to my apartment, which is great!! I've slowly been unpacking, and can't wait to post some pics for all of you! Those should be coming as soon as I have more consistent internet. Aside from the internet, the only other snafoo was a lack of hot water. So that made for a very cold shower this morning. I did find out that not having hot water is not normal, so the workmen are supposed to be coming tonight (whew!).

I definitely appreciate your thoughts and prayers as I go into the next few days. Once I was alone in my apartment last night, I was just hit by a huge wave of homesickness. I did lots of crying and journaling, and am feeling a tiny bit better today. But I'm really missing my family and friends. I've been struggling with some doubts over this decision...wondering how I ended up on the other side of the world! I definitely know this is the right place for me...but at this moment in time I'm just feeling sad. This is all part of transition and will eventually pass...but making it through this time of sadness is hard!!

Ok, time to sign off from this particular post. But there will be lots more to come soon! I appreciate your thoughts and prayers, and am so thankful to have so many amazing people that have been a part of my life!

Leaving on a Jet Plane!

2008-12-29T06:49:00.000-08:00

So today is the day...I'm heading out the door at 2ish. It's been a crazy ride. I had an amazing Christmas with my family, and it was really hard saying goodbye. As of yesterday, I was all alone at home, which was hard but also a good time to begin gearing up for this next adventure, finish last minute packing, make about a million calls to various institutions to cancel cell phone plans, health insurance, paper statements, etc etc etc. Now I'm in the last few hours of preparation, and hoping like crazy that everything still sitting around my room and desk will fit into my carry-on. Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers during this time! I have no idea when I'll get internet access on the other side of the ocean, but I'm planning on documenting the move with pics and hand-written blog entries, so hopefully I'll be able to upload all that in the near future. As far as I know, my apartment does not yet have internet, but I start work on Sunday January 4th (their work week is Sun-Thurs, crazy!)...so I'll have wireless on the campus. Check back here soon for updates from the desert!