Saturday, January 22, 2011
Random Tear-Inducer from Here: Blue Morning Glory
والله : a.k.a., WA'ALLAH!
We start today's blog post with a blatant cut and paste from Wikipedia:
{Your Correspondent chimes in here to say that wala in Hindi means someone who sells something, like a street vendor. In Bombay the walas often have little ryming songs they sing to attract customers and give info about their wares. Our little Wa'Allah has a song - he sing it for you anytime.}
And now we introduce the reason for this post:
This is the baby African Grey we purchased last night. We don't know its gender, but I have a strong inclination it's a girl. Every time I've had a strong inclination about gender (being pregnant, with our previous Grey, Cosmo), I've been WRONG. Therefore, this is probably a boy. For now, we'll use the masculine pronoun, "he."
We bought him from a pet shop at the souq. These shops are questionable at best, and pet owners typically sharply divided into one of two reactions (1) So what? They're just animals or (2) OH MY GOD HOW COULD YOU EVER BUY SOMETHING FROM THOSE HEATHENS AND FUND THEIR HORRIBLE TREATMENT OF ANIMALS! BLAAAAAAAAA! That "Bla" at the end is where the hysterical person either attempts to attack you physically or runs away in terror and disgust at the sight of you.
When we first moved here, I tended towards the second group and swore to find a "reputable" and "kind" and "clean" breeder. Guess what? No such thing exists in Doha. So you are left with these options (although I say "bird," it applies to "dog," "cat," "turtle," "chicken," "goldfish," and "turnip," too):
So when we found out Habib was going to Saudi, we started keeping our eyes open at the souq. About two weeks ago, there was a perfect little gentle baby (~ four months old) that I really wanted. However, we weren't sure Habib would make it to Saudi, so we were in limbo. I went back to the same animal dealer three days later, and the baby had been sold.
Last night, we went back again. The young boys weren't in the mood for any souq adventures, we got a late start, and Hannah was getting grumpy. The parking lot was full. Conditions did not look good. I promised we would walk straight to the pet area, look around quickly, and leave. We walked straight to the pet area, immediately spotted this bird, handled it and talked to the shop owner, and decided he must come home with us.
His name is Wa'allah (pronounced Wa-lah), and you've seen what that means above. We chose Wa'allah because it's fun to say, not offensive, and fits the situation in many ways. The kids asked me about a dozen times, "Do you really promise? Can we keep this one?" So Wa'allah is a promise. Wa'allah is also a promise to the bird to take good care of him. Wa'allah is "sent from God," because I think there was a reason I had to wait and go back last night--there's a reason we didn't buy a bird last summer or even two weeks ago. This one was meant for us. Yes, I'm a blithering romantic fool, but I believe it. Finally, Wa'allah informally means "Really?" as in "Really? You really just went out a bought a bird--who will live about 75 years--in five minutes?" Yes, really. Wa'allah!
Wa'allah is still getting hand-fed twice per day (and the shop people sold us the feeding supplies for that). We're comfortable with this from our experience hand-raising El Jefe many moons ago.
Notice how his eyes are dark grey--that is a sign that he's still rather young. Notice also that little metal band around his left foot (visible in the top photo). That's crucial--it means he was bred in captivity and is the central item ensuring we'll be able to bring him home with us (navigating through export/import permits).
Wa'allah's super sweet--doesn't know anything about biting and makes precious little baby chirping noises. He's also not expert at balancing or moving yet--he sort of moves in a clumsy way like a toddler. He won't show signs of talking for several more months, but he likes to cuddle up under your neck and is very loving. We're a lucky bunch after all.
Wa'allah (Arabic)
By Allah (Arabic: Wallah, والله) is Arabic expression meaning "[I promise] by God" used to make a promise or express great credibility on an expression. It is considered a sin among Muslim to use this phrase and follow it up with a lie. Also, some Muslims argue that this is one of the few valid ways of making a promise, the variant "I promise on myself" or "I promise on my own soul" not being allowed, in contrast to "I promise by the one who holds my soul" ie God. An alternative is Wallaahi, "By my God", often contracted by non-Arab populations in Africa to Wallai.
Another meaning is "Really?", "Is that so?" (referring to "Do you swear on it?", used in spoken Arabic), "By God!" (this meaning has been adopted by Modern Hebrew slang as well).
{Your Correspondent chimes in here to say that wala in Hindi means someone who sells something, like a street vendor. In Bombay the walas often have little ryming songs they sing to attract customers and give info about their wares. Our little Wa'Allah has a song - he sing it for you anytime.}
And now we introduce the reason for this post:
This is the baby African Grey we purchased last night. We don't know its gender, but I have a strong inclination it's a girl. Every time I've had a strong inclination about gender (being pregnant, with our previous Grey, Cosmo), I've been WRONG. Therefore, this is probably a boy. For now, we'll use the masculine pronoun, "he."
We bought him from a pet shop at the souq. These shops are questionable at best, and pet owners typically sharply divided into one of two reactions (1) So what? They're just animals or (2) OH MY GOD HOW COULD YOU EVER BUY SOMETHING FROM THOSE HEATHENS AND FUND THEIR HORRIBLE TREATMENT OF ANIMALS! BLAAAAAAAAA! That "Bla" at the end is where the hysterical person either attempts to attack you physically or runs away in terror and disgust at the sight of you.
When we first moved here, I tended towards the second group and swore to find a "reputable" and "kind" and "clean" breeder. Guess what? No such thing exists in Doha. So you are left with these options (although I say "bird," it applies to "dog," "cat," "turtle," "chicken," "goldfish," and "turnip," too):
- Rescue/adopt a bird.
There are no bird shelters in Doha...so this is an issue of random luck. That's where our adventure with Habib started. - Import your bird.
We tried that, and the poor Wildlife guy had a triple bypass and didn't get our paperwork done in time. The backlog is 6-8 months to export from the US, and trying to do that from Doha would be a nightmare. El Jefe is also with his new owner 8,000 miles away, and I'm not in a position to ask for him back. - Don't have a pet.
This is always an option but not one I wanted to choose. We need a creature to make our family complete. - Buy one from the souq (or similar) dealers.
So when we found out Habib was going to Saudi, we started keeping our eyes open at the souq. About two weeks ago, there was a perfect little gentle baby (~ four months old) that I really wanted. However, we weren't sure Habib would make it to Saudi, so we were in limbo. I went back to the same animal dealer three days later, and the baby had been sold.
Last night, we went back again. The young boys weren't in the mood for any souq adventures, we got a late start, and Hannah was getting grumpy. The parking lot was full. Conditions did not look good. I promised we would walk straight to the pet area, look around quickly, and leave. We walked straight to the pet area, immediately spotted this bird, handled it and talked to the shop owner, and decided he must come home with us.
His name is Wa'allah (pronounced Wa-lah), and you've seen what that means above. We chose Wa'allah because it's fun to say, not offensive, and fits the situation in many ways. The kids asked me about a dozen times, "Do you really promise? Can we keep this one?" So Wa'allah is a promise. Wa'allah is also a promise to the bird to take good care of him. Wa'allah is "sent from God," because I think there was a reason I had to wait and go back last night--there's a reason we didn't buy a bird last summer or even two weeks ago. This one was meant for us. Yes, I'm a blithering romantic fool, but I believe it. Finally, Wa'allah informally means "Really?" as in "Really? You really just went out a bought a bird--who will live about 75 years--in five minutes?" Yes, really. Wa'allah!
Wa'allah is still getting hand-fed twice per day (and the shop people sold us the feeding supplies for that). We're comfortable with this from our experience hand-raising El Jefe many moons ago.
Notice how his eyes are dark grey--that is a sign that he's still rather young. Notice also that little metal band around his left foot (visible in the top photo). That's crucial--it means he was bred in captivity and is the central item ensuring we'll be able to bring him home with us (navigating through export/import permits).
Wa'allah's super sweet--doesn't know anything about biting and makes precious little baby chirping noises. He's also not expert at balancing or moving yet--he sort of moves in a clumsy way like a toddler. He won't show signs of talking for several more months, but he likes to cuddle up under your neck and is very loving. We're a lucky bunch after all.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Where the Streets Have No Name
Robertson County is like this, too. No one--at least none of the natives--knows the names of the streets. Everything is by landmark: "Go to Old Widow Jenny's house, turn right. At the deadend by Crazy Frank's house, turn left. It's near the broken street lamp." When we first moved there, I learned the street names and when I used them in directions ("one block from the Mitchell/Railroad intersection, turn left on Pine") people would look at me like I was nuts.
So goes the directions in Doha. We live down Racetrack Road, right through Stinky Intersection, exiting left out of Scary Roundabout, then going right at Roundabout Marker 2. Or, an alternative route is to go Lights and Bumps Road and straight through Scary. These are not directions that I make up. Many, many other people understand these same names. Part of this comes from not being able to pronounce or remember the actual street names, and part of this comes from the sheer terror of driving. Who has time to read a sign, when sniffing and screaming are much more instinctual?
The best part is that these names then become "fact." The official map of Doha is littered with these: Tilt/Slant Roundabout, Burger King Roundabout, TV Roundabout. Even though these intersections have official names, no one knows them, again, because they are TOO BUSY DRIVING IN CIRCLES AT 40 MPH HOPING NOT TO FLIP THEIR SUVs or SLAM INTO ANYONE or POOP to stop and try to pronounce, in a thick Texas accent: "I'll Mawr Cob Ell Shaw Zah See Inn Ter Sex Shun. Whaaaa?"
So now I'm trying to collect evidence, and here are two beginning pieces. Like RPH (random photos from here), I need a short hand name for these as I post more in the future.
So goes the directions in Doha. We live down Racetrack Road, right through Stinky Intersection, exiting left out of Scary Roundabout, then going right at Roundabout Marker 2. Or, an alternative route is to go Lights and Bumps Road and straight through Scary. These are not directions that I make up. Many, many other people understand these same names. Part of this comes from not being able to pronounce or remember the actual street names, and part of this comes from the sheer terror of driving. Who has time to read a sign, when sniffing and screaming are much more instinctual?
The best part is that these names then become "fact." The official map of Doha is littered with these: Tilt/Slant Roundabout, Burger King Roundabout, TV Roundabout. Even though these intersections have official names, no one knows them, again, because they are TOO BUSY DRIVING IN CIRCLES AT 40 MPH HOPING NOT TO FLIP THEIR SUVs or SLAM INTO ANYONE or POOP to stop and try to pronounce, in a thick Texas accent: "I'll Mawr Cob Ell Shaw Zah See Inn Ter Sex Shun. Whaaaa?"
So now I'm trying to collect evidence, and here are two beginning pieces. Like RPH (random photos from here), I need a short hand name for these as I post more in the future.
What's Cooking in Dohaland
Explaining what expat life is like (at least in the Middle East) can be vague--it's not rough like rural parts of developing countries. We have an overabundance of retail outlets. However, it's not that easy. People say things like, "you can find most of the food stuff you need, but sometimes you have to go looking for it, and sometimes they have it once but never again so you better buy everything you want (horde it)." This happens relatively often with cereal.
About a month ago, John really wanted/needed some Bran Buds cereal--he sprinkles it on other cereal in small quantity. One box of Bran Buds lasts about two weeks if he eats it every morning. We remembered seeing it at one store. No luck. I had to go to five different stores and ended up paying $9 per box for it. The store where I finally found it had probably 20 boxes, but I limited myself to only three...paying 100 Qatar Riyale (about 27 USD) for three small boxes of bran made me a little weak in the knees, but you know, when you need fiber, you need fiber. Enough said.
Now understand that this issue extends to all ingredients beyond the basics. Now imagine having to plan meals (including school lunches for 3 kids X 5 days EVERY FREAKIN' WEEK) and you see why you don't just find a yummy looking recipe on the internets and expect to make it for a meal any time soon. That is, unless you're willing to devote your life to grocery hunting-gathering, which I refuse to do.
Except last week, the Pioneer Woman had a recipe for chicken tortialla soup that looked soooooo good. It reminded me of my grandmother's taco soup, which I can't make because no one here has ever heard of hominy. This recipe looked more do-able, with a couple of exceptions: (1) black beans are hard to find, and (2) fresh cilantro I have never seen in Doha. Well, we can skip the cilantro (dammit) and I know if I am patient I'll find black beans.
Except I'm not patient. I make my list and go to the be-hated Carrefour, Superwalmart of France now with a branch in Doha, Qatar. Did I mention that Doha is hosting the Asian Cup (regional soccer thingy)? Did I mention that Carrefour is flanked by a huge soccer stadium and one of the fan zones? Did you know they had a game starting around 2 PM last Friday? Did I mention that even finding a parking place took 15 minutes and required exemplary parking lot stalking skills otherwise only demanded on the campus of Texas A&M? Except add in the total chaos of "international driving standards" (aka, if there's a space, ram your way into it, regardless of whose turn it was, but make sure to wave with all five fingers or you could get deported).
Yes, I'm rambling. But you need to understand the mental context of all this. The saving grace was that the kids were home with John, so this was me out on lone battle. Otherwise, I would have turned around and left.
I made it through my list except for the black beans. I went to the "gourmet" organic dried bean area and found adzuki beans as well as black lentils and mung beans but nothing close to regular old black beans. Next, I went to the canned beans, where I was delighted with this...
Salted black beans! In small cans, yes, but each can only cost about 75 cents. Considering I had seen this half-size can of Bush's black beans for about $4 per can 4 months ago, I was beyond pleased.
Of course, I was also skeptical. I'm no fool.
So I checked everything about the item I could find.
Clue #1 (not good): Lots of Japanese writing.
Clue #2 (not good, but not uncommon): Unknown brand.
Clue #3 (good): Label reads "black soya beans"...
Black soyas are listed as a substitute for regular black beans on sites like this.
Clue #4 (good): More label..."salt, water, and..."
Clue #5 (not good, but unsure): "sugar."
I looked at other cans on the same shelf and some were marked "fermented black beans." I didn't want anything to do with fermented beans, so comparing those to this can, these looked like they weren't fermented. Lacking other options and refusing to go store hopping, I decided to try.
But I'm no fool.
So look on the same shelf and buy two cans of kidney beans (ha! something familiar!) and one can of _____________________ beans (the one on top). But you see...I've learned. You have to turn it in 360-degree angles and look for the fine print. A ha! "Americana White Beans"!
[Sidenote: If you would like to imagine family grocery shopping here, please pause and think about doing this sort of investigative/critical thinking for at least 20% of your groceries. Step away from the seppuku knife and carry on.]
I was happy. Foolishly happy. Then I came home and made the recipe, drooling more and more as it went along. Thankfully, before adding the beans to the rest of the soup, I was wise to taste them first. I would like for you to now close your eyes. You may have to have someone else read this part to you since you can't see it: Imagine a jelly bean. A nice black, firm jelly bean. It looks normal. It smells normal. Bite into it. Now imagine that you have just done a short class full of the stinkiest, thickest, saltiest, fishiest soy sauce on the face of the planet.
Open your eyes.
I used the red kidney beans and _________________ beans instead. And yes, the soup was good.
About a month ago, John really wanted/needed some Bran Buds cereal--he sprinkles it on other cereal in small quantity. One box of Bran Buds lasts about two weeks if he eats it every morning. We remembered seeing it at one store. No luck. I had to go to five different stores and ended up paying $9 per box for it. The store where I finally found it had probably 20 boxes, but I limited myself to only three...paying 100 Qatar Riyale (about 27 USD) for three small boxes of bran made me a little weak in the knees, but you know, when you need fiber, you need fiber. Enough said.
Now understand that this issue extends to all ingredients beyond the basics. Now imagine having to plan meals (including school lunches for 3 kids X 5 days EVERY FREAKIN' WEEK) and you see why you don't just find a yummy looking recipe on the internets and expect to make it for a meal any time soon. That is, unless you're willing to devote your life to grocery hunting-gathering, which I refuse to do.
Except last week, the Pioneer Woman had a recipe for chicken tortialla soup that looked soooooo good. It reminded me of my grandmother's taco soup, which I can't make because no one here has ever heard of hominy. This recipe looked more do-able, with a couple of exceptions: (1) black beans are hard to find, and (2) fresh cilantro I have never seen in Doha. Well, we can skip the cilantro (dammit) and I know if I am patient I'll find black beans.
Except I'm not patient. I make my list and go to the be-hated Carrefour, Superwalmart of France now with a branch in Doha, Qatar. Did I mention that Doha is hosting the Asian Cup (regional soccer thingy)? Did I mention that Carrefour is flanked by a huge soccer stadium and one of the fan zones? Did you know they had a game starting around 2 PM last Friday? Did I mention that even finding a parking place took 15 minutes and required exemplary parking lot stalking skills otherwise only demanded on the campus of Texas A&M? Except add in the total chaos of "international driving standards" (aka, if there's a space, ram your way into it, regardless of whose turn it was, but make sure to wave with all five fingers or you could get deported).
Yes, I'm rambling. But you need to understand the mental context of all this. The saving grace was that the kids were home with John, so this was me out on lone battle. Otherwise, I would have turned around and left.
I made it through my list except for the black beans. I went to the "gourmet" organic dried bean area and found adzuki beans as well as black lentils and mung beans but nothing close to regular old black beans. Next, I went to the canned beans, where I was delighted with this...
Of course, I was also skeptical. I'm no fool.
So I checked everything about the item I could find.
Clue #1 (not good): Lots of Japanese writing.
Clue #2 (not good, but not uncommon): Unknown brand.
Clue #3 (good): Label reads "black soya beans"...
Black soyas are listed as a substitute for regular black beans on sites like this.
Clue #4 (good): More label..."salt, water, and..."
Clue #5 (not good, but unsure): "sugar."
I looked at other cans on the same shelf and some were marked "fermented black beans." I didn't want anything to do with fermented beans, so comparing those to this can, these looked like they weren't fermented. Lacking other options and refusing to go store hopping, I decided to try.
But I'm no fool.
So look on the same shelf and buy two cans of kidney beans (ha! something familiar!) and one can of _____________________ beans (the one on top). But you see...I've learned. You have to turn it in 360-degree angles and look for the fine print. A ha! "Americana White Beans"!
[Sidenote: If you would like to imagine family grocery shopping here, please pause and think about doing this sort of investigative/critical thinking for at least 20% of your groceries. Step away from the seppuku knife and carry on.]
I was happy. Foolishly happy. Then I came home and made the recipe, drooling more and more as it went along. Thankfully, before adding the beans to the rest of the soup, I was wise to taste them first. I would like for you to now close your eyes. You may have to have someone else read this part to you since you can't see it: Imagine a jelly bean. A nice black, firm jelly bean. It looks normal. It smells normal. Bite into it. Now imagine that you have just done a short class full of the stinkiest, thickest, saltiest, fishiest soy sauce on the face of the planet.
Open your eyes.
I used the red kidney beans and _________________ beans instead. And yes, the soup was good.
Expat Life: Hellos and Goodbyes
Here's one thing I've learned after a scant 6 months as an expatriate: living abroad is full of hellos and goodbyes. New people cycle in, and established friends cycle out.
In the first months of our time here, several dear friends have gone "home" (back to America), including some who we knew well and loved a lot, and some we met only long enough to think, "Wow, I wish these folks were staying here long enough to know them--they seem really wonderful." I can think of 10 people/families that are gone in just this time. Others come in their places, but as we all know, making good friendships requires a special chemistry, especially among couples. Anyone who has ever had a friendship where there was ambivalence or dislike involving the spouse(s) will know what I mean. Coming from a community where we had 10+ families that we considered close, dependable friends, this expat comin'-and-goin' is a new experience.
Well, yesterday, we had someone very close to our hearts land in the goin' category...
Yesterday, Habib went to Saudi Arabia to live with Vee and Collin. Vee missed him enormously and found a...um..."non-standard" way to get him into the country with them.
Habib was a fun and loving bird. I attribute much of this to Vee's excellent attention, patience, and devotion, but I also attribute some of it to him/her just being a "good bird." Over the past months, he had gotten to the point of calling for me to come get him. I would put him on my shoulder and he would sit for an hour, getting neck scratches and letting me give him little kisses on his head. I can't remember being bitten by this bird. He bit Jack once, pretty hard, but it was when we had company, so the house was full of loudness, and Jack made the mistake of trying to show off how the bird was so easy to touch. This was a human mistake, not an aggressive bird problem.
So I thank Habib for proving what our friend/bird breeder Patrick had promised me: a good bird is a good bird no matter if it's hand-raised or comes from a difficult background. A "difficult" bird can be trained and helped but will always be more challenging than a "good" bird.
After all the upheaval of last summer and after saying goodbye to all those creatures from our own home, Habib's goodbye is especially sad, too. The reward is knowing that we were able to help another family and learning that we can make this work. The reward is also knowing he might, occasionally at least until he forgets, say "Cowboy, Yee-haw!" or "Beeeee-bo" or call out Hannah or Hank's name or, when asked if he wants a nuts, go, "Whoop!" like he learned to do here.
We're pondering what to do next. Another bird is likely, but this time bought and kept for sure (with a band/papers so we can bring it back to the USA).
In the first months of our time here, several dear friends have gone "home" (back to America), including some who we knew well and loved a lot, and some we met only long enough to think, "Wow, I wish these folks were staying here long enough to know them--they seem really wonderful." I can think of 10 people/families that are gone in just this time. Others come in their places, but as we all know, making good friendships requires a special chemistry, especially among couples. Anyone who has ever had a friendship where there was ambivalence or dislike involving the spouse(s) will know what I mean. Coming from a community where we had 10+ families that we considered close, dependable friends, this expat comin'-and-goin' is a new experience.
Well, yesterday, we had someone very close to our hearts land in the goin' category...
Yesterday, Habib went to Saudi Arabia to live with Vee and Collin. Vee missed him enormously and found a...um..."non-standard" way to get him into the country with them.
Habib was a fun and loving bird. I attribute much of this to Vee's excellent attention, patience, and devotion, but I also attribute some of it to him/her just being a "good bird." Over the past months, he had gotten to the point of calling for me to come get him. I would put him on my shoulder and he would sit for an hour, getting neck scratches and letting me give him little kisses on his head. I can't remember being bitten by this bird. He bit Jack once, pretty hard, but it was when we had company, so the house was full of loudness, and Jack made the mistake of trying to show off how the bird was so easy to touch. This was a human mistake, not an aggressive bird problem.
So I thank Habib for proving what our friend/bird breeder Patrick had promised me: a good bird is a good bird no matter if it's hand-raised or comes from a difficult background. A "difficult" bird can be trained and helped but will always be more challenging than a "good" bird.
After all the upheaval of last summer and after saying goodbye to all those creatures from our own home, Habib's goodbye is especially sad, too. The reward is knowing that we were able to help another family and learning that we can make this work. The reward is also knowing he might, occasionally at least until he forgets, say "Cowboy, Yee-haw!" or "Beeeee-bo" or call out Hannah or Hank's name or, when asked if he wants a nuts, go, "Whoop!" like he learned to do here.
We're pondering what to do next. Another bird is likely, but this time bought and kept for sure (with a band/papers so we can bring it back to the USA).
I Wonder What Moses Played With...
Disclaimer:
If you are easily offended by religious references or male body parts,
then you probably don't want to read this.
There.
You've been warned.
I don't make the news. I just report it.
I don't make the news. I just report it.
The kids just got home from school today, and Hank (7th grade) told me this story... There's a child in his class named Jesus. Now, in Texas, we all know this is pronounced Hey-soose, because just like the Prophet Mohammad and just like Allah, we differentiate between the man and the MAN. However, some sort of wiring disconnect affects people when they cross the Atlantic ocean, and so all the teachers (Brits, Aussies, and even a Canadian) as well as the students call this child by the "real" name, Jeezus (the proper pronunciation, unless you're like my beautiful, smart Chicana friend's Mama, who says Cheezits).
Well, Jesus of Qatar (after all, we must differentiate between the man and the MAN) had some little magnetic BB ball things. Apparently, they were doing all sort of creative things with them at school.
When Hank got off the bus yesterday, he had one inside his bottom lip and the other on the outside of his face, so it looked like he had pierced his face in the area just under his lip. All in the space of a millisecond, I remembered the look on my Mom's face when she first saw and then promptly proceeded to deny the existence of my first tattoo...and all I could utter nothing more than "oh no you didn't." Thankfully, no he hadn't. It was a good, humbling moment--my Mom will be glad to read.
So Jesus (remember to pronounce it like the teachers, Jeezus), the distributor of these magnetic items, had more of them at school today. As they were sitting in English class, Jeezus was tucking them into his lip to make "piercings" along his chin rather than paying attention. The teacher, a good Brit who also spent time in Australia, looked up an announced in a nice, clear voice:
Jesus, stop playing with your balls.
As reported by Hank, fresh off the presses.
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