Sometimes, You Just Gotta MakeYour Own Damned Pumpkin Patch

Ohhhh I am missing fall. Fall in Texas is when the first cool front sends you running to throw open your windows and breathe in that fantastic reminder that summer doesn't last forever, that football and trick or treating and turkey and Santa will give you something else to think about besides how damned hot and humid it is. Sometimes fall comes late and sometimes early...we check the Texas weather here and see that it was in the 40's this morning. Sigh.

On a brighter note, it's 82 here this morning, and that feels really nice.

We have a special love for Halloween in our house. Besides being the day that John Freeland Small made his appearance and changed the course of history forever, it is a holiday that hasn't yet succumbed to the monetary and performance pressures associated with Christmas. Christmas is not my favorite because I feel like no matter how hard I work, cook, or shop, someone is always disappointed and it's all over in the blink of any eye with nothing left for me to do but clean up the kitchen, take down the decorations, and deal with the financial aftermath. Then there's the childhood disease I call "Christmas Crack Addiction Disorder" which, in America, starts around Halloween. We haven't gotten that yet here, but yesterday I saw the first of the Christmas decorations in the Japanese dollar store, so who knows how we'll fare this first time around of Christmas in the Middle East.

So when I was feeling a little blue over the fall and Halloween and as I was refusing to chase around town to find the odd decoration here or the insanely over-priced pie-sized pumpkin there, John had a vision: why not make our own pumpkins out of beach balls and paper mache?

As they say at the Hogwarts of the Middle East: BRILLIANT!

So here's a slide show. First, we must start with some reminiscing of Halloweens past, then we go through the project.

This is dedicated to my sweet friend Joyce, who wins "best yard in Franklin" every. single. Halloween. And she so totally deserves it. I love (and miss) Joyce. :)

Now to the slides--mouse over the bottom part of the slideshow to find the "play" button. You can also pause to read the captions if inspired.



Happy Halloween, Y'all!

Bento Boxes, Part 2

I'm sticking with the Bento project, although my talent has not necessarily improved in terms of precision and decoration.  I am happy to report, however, that the kids are eating the food and the little portions and organized presentation does seem to encourage their interest and willingness to eat things like cauliflower.  Considering that last year was spent eating hot pockets and ramen noodles when they took their lunches (and for Hank, that was 3-4 days per week), I consider this is a huge win.

Last year, if I had the nerve to send an apple or clementine in their lunch, it always came back squashed and bleeding juice all over the lunch sack.  This year, many "faux Bentos" come back clean--especially for Hank and Jack.  Hannah just doesn't eat as fast.  They have two eating breaks--one from 9-9:30 AM and one from 12-12:30 PM. 

Here's the latest slide show. Mouse over it to find the play button if it doesn't automatically show up. You can also pause it to read the captions if you want.



My next big goal is ONE...just ONE...themed Bento, for Halloween lunch on Sunday. (Remember...Sunday is our Monday...). I'll take pictures and, if it's not too humiliating, post next weekend.

RPH: Camel Wagon Bobble Flower

This flower has a solar panel that makes it sway back and forth and flap its leaf wings up and down.  It is glued to the dashboard in the camel wagon.  And it makes us happy. It dances to Bob Marley as we drive through the insane traffic here.

This is taken driving down the road to our compound.  See that long line of trucks in the distance?  It's like an endless convoy from 8 AM to 5 PM.

Just in Case...

...you wondered what the kids have been up to lately...they've been painting at school.  Here's Jack's shirt...

AFTER THREE WASHINGS AND FIVE DIFFERENT STAIN REMOVAL PRODUCTS.

Sorry.  I had just had to get that off my chest.

Hurry to Collcet Me

On Thursdays, Hank stays after school to practice his French, so Hannah, Jack, and I have an hour to kill before we go pick him up.  His school is close to a fun store called Lu-Lu, which has good food choices plus an upstairs that's like a department store.  A couple of weeks ago, I bought Jack two pairs of shoes and they were running a thing where they gave you an in-store voucher when you spent a certain amount.  So we had the voucher to spend and headed on over to the toy department.

If you want to see a grown American woman looking like she's up to no good, then give her a cell phone with a built in camera and put her in the middle of a toy department in a foreign land.  The guards kept eying me suspiciously, which was of course the right thing to do, since I was looking rather shifty-eyed like I was trying to hide something (which I was...I was trying to hide my camera as I took pictures of the toys).   So here are a few of the fun things from the Lu-Lu Hypermarket toy section in Doha.  This is actually a pretty good toy section in terms of selection and price. 

That top picture is of a baby doll dressed as a belly dancer, sporting a diamond belly button ring.  This is a contradiction is so many terms that I don't even know where to begin...so I'll just leave it at that.

Next is "Um Saloom," which means "Saloom's Sassy Mama."  Actually, I added that Sassy part in there, but you can see behind her veil that her eyes have a glimmer of smarty pants going on.  I do believe she yells things at you in Arabic if you squeeze her tummy.  I have seen Um Saloom in several stores and am a little tempted to bring her home.  She and I look like we might have a few things in common.

Next up is...I have no freakin' idea what this is but it totally creeps me out.  Is it Sasha Baron Cohen (the actor who played Borat in the movie)?  Is it a punked out Grandaddy wearing red lipstick with his hair painted pink?  Check out the belt buckle and dog tags...all that went ringing through my head when I saw this was W.T.H.????  I was scared to touch it for fear that it might start singing or gyrating or something.  That little white bunny thing wearing the blue plaid skirt and standing in front of our man-dude looks like she may be getting ready to file molestation charges...

Maybe he's Um Saloom's crazy husband?

Let's just leave that whole cannerwerms right where it is.

Next up is our Barbie fest.
Hannah thinks she wants Barbie dolls, but once she has them, she ignores them.  This makes me, as her mother, happy. Hannah isn't ready to keep up with tiny little shoes and accessories, and she has enough princess in her to not need a big-busted role model any time soon.  However, she swoons over the Barbies at the store.  Whenever she sees one, she commands me to "put on the list." 

The list is a never-ending wish list which is not written down anywhere but which includes the entire Waco Walmart toy department as well as about 10,362 other things...when Hannah wants something I tell her we'll "put it on the list" and then when it comes time for Christmas or birthday, I have selective memory about what is on the list or not...this has worked like a dream since she was less than 3 years old. :) 

So the Sleeping Beauty Barbie that just got added to "the list" costs 145 QR. That translates to $39.72.  Compare that to $21.00 in the US.
Fulla is the Middle Eastern Barbie doll.  She comes with her hijab (head scarf) and reasonably modest clothes, along with Barbie's totally whack measurements, estimated to be 36" bust, 18" waist, and 33" hips (5' 9", 110 pounds).  Fulla isn't made by the Barbie people, and I don't think she comes with a NASA moon walking suit option.

Barbie and Fulla need to come to my house for some Tres Leches Cake.

Moving on again, we come to the plentify fake Barbie's whose arms fall off (never to be reattached) within one hour of opening.  This "Style Vogue Barbie" (immediately put on "the list") says "Hurry to Collcet Me" on the side.  Got to love the translated-into-English packaging.  More on that in a minute.

Compared to our "real" Barbie above, this Style Vogue Barbie was (I think) 37 Riyale--about $10.  So think "Dollar Store Barbie."  Bless her heart.

Finally, our Middle Easter Barbie tour takes us to Kareema and Jamil.  Jamil is dressed in a traditional thobe and guptra, while Kareema has on her hajib and a trench coat (?).  I wish Kareema had on the traditional abaya instead.  I also wonder what is under that trench coat? Old Borat up there may have tried to peek and gotten hit in the mouth with something...that may be what's up with his lips.

Finally, the last stop on our toy tour is at the "Benthal Fish."  This one was fun for what was written on the box.  The fish will "Swim happily and at liberty IN THE WATER."  It's "FUNCTION" notes "Accelerate to exercise suddenly, The fin also comes after the acceleration swing."

Over on the left, the box declares, "They live here marvellously.  Bottom of the Sea World."

Some time soon I need to take some pictures of the warning notes on these same kinds of boxes. 

Until then, my dear loved ones, I wish you good night at hope that you will "swim happily and at liberty IN THE WATER."

Opening a Cannerwerms

Today in class, my students and I were discussing their next project, an analysis of an article on higher education and politics in the Middle East.  This is a crazy fun bunch of freshman who routinely talk/yell over each other and are quite a challenge to control.  Sometimes, I just have to bring out the sassy.

One guy, who sits in the front of the room, likes to announce that class is over by randomly standing up no matter what I'm in the middle of saying or doing...and he was rather surprised last week when I yelled, "SIT DOWN, BUS DRIVER!" at him.  So today, he's asking questions that are, on the surface, legitimate, but which, given his personality, are really more like "playing with the boxes" rather than examining the actual content of the gift.  I look at him, in the midst of the other general discussion chaos--which is all on topic but which is going in 10 different directions all at once--and I say, "I don't think you want to open that can of worms." 

Like magic, the room went completely silent.

I took that as a cue that I was now in control of the class again, or at least they were going to let me think I was in control, and I started to move on to our next discussion point.  Then it started.

[Sidenote #1: The custom here is to call me and others like me "Miss" out of respect.]
[Sidenote: #2: Yes, my East Texus accent really sounds like it's spelled below.  Somehow, I have ESBSP...Extra Sensory BS Perception...that automatically triggers my accent into the overdrive setting.  An extra big glass of wine'll do that, too.]

Here's a close transcript of what unfolded. Different students were yelling out the questions... 

Student: "Excuse me Miss, what did you just say?"

Me: " I SAY-AD, 'Eye doent thank yew wanna ope-in that can.ner.werms.'"

"Miss?  What do you mean by this can of worms?"

"I mean a can.full.uh.werms.  It's sumthin' yew don't wanna o-pen."

"But Miss, why would you put worms in a can?"

"Well, in case yew wanna go fishin' I guess."

"Miss, canned worms do not really exist do they?  This is just an American saying?"

"Naw,  you can really go to a store and getchu uh cannerwerms."

"But Miss--how do they put the worms in the can?"

"Well, I reckun they just dump'em in thar and shut the lid."

"Miss! Miss! How can the worms live in a can?"

"Well, they throwsum durt in thar withum."

"Then what do the worms eat, Miss?"

"Uh.  Durt?"

"Miss! Miss!  Is this like a Pepsi can?"

"Naw, thuh ones I'm thankin of luk moorlikuh ice cream cartun."

"Do they keep the cans on the shelf in the store ma'am?"

"Naw, they keepum inuh frig-ger-a-ter.  Nextta thuh Pepsi." 

"But Miss! But Miss!  What happens when the worms get out?"

"Well, I guess they jus start crawlin alloverthuplace."

"But Miss, what do you do then?"

"Well, I guess yuh put 'em back in thuh can? Or maybe yuh jus go fishin'."

How Many Aggies Does It Take to Run the Beaters?

Reminder: I like knowing about the minutia of every day life...so this may seem very boring to you... :) I'll try to make it entertaining...

Our house is a study in strange plug adaptors and multi-national configurations. Here are two examples just from the kitchen and only show a beginning number of options.

Here's how electricity is supposed to function.  A plug is supposed to go into the wall.  Notice the on/off switches on the plate.  I actually love these, because they allow you to turn the whole plug "off."  Of course the plug being off is important because the shock from 240 volts can kill you.  I also think that most plugs are easier to insert if the switch is off...almost like the strong current is fighting against the plug being inserted? I am probably just hallucinating, but it really seems like that...

Now here's a sample multi-national configuration, more typical of how plugs in our house look.  The white one: USA Apple computer charger, designed in California and made in Japan, adapted with official Apple plug element (made in China) is plugged directly into the outlet. The black one: Official Samsung cellphone charger, made in Vietnam, is plugged into a multi-national power adapter which was made in China and may be coming apart in the middle.

Now, let's travel over to the other side of the kitchen, where the alleged beating took place.  Don't forget: that's why we're here...to answer that question about numbers of Aggies.

This is another plug configuration.  In this instance, which is very common, you have a three-hole outlet but only a two prong plug.  In the US, you would just plug in the two prongs and ignore the third (typically the grounding element).  But in Qatar, the third hole is actually a lock.  If nothing is inserted in it, then the other two, side-by-side prongs will not insert.

Think of it like an upside-down face.  If you don't shove something in the mouth, then you can't poke its eyes out.  Thus, you have, scattered around your house in various drawers, on top of the vacuum, under the couches, in your pockets, numerous plastic adapters like you see on the left.

That long plastic poker goes into the mouth and tricks it into thinking that it's doing something (sort of like a pacifier!).  The eyes open and you can plug in your gadget.  The problem then is that you have the thick layer of plastic pacifier thing between the actual plug and the power source.  This means that the plug might not function because it isn't really plugged all the way in. 

So, how many Aggies does it take to run the beaters?  In Doha, the answer is two.  One to hold and maneuver the beaters and one to keep power flowing to the beaters by holding the plug at the absolute perfect angle.  Otherwise, you don't get any electrical juice to make the beaters go.

This is banana nut bread in the making, for our friends Vee and Collin (Habib's parents).  I need to write a whole other post over how much I enjoy and will miss them.

Upstairs we have "regular" (Qatari) power strips with varied American/two prong European adapters.  We have multi-national power strips with American stuff plugged straight in. We have a step-down transformer plugged into the wall with 110 V. American stuff plugged directly into it.

Did you know our house is made of concrete, which means it won't completely burn down?

RPH: What I See When at http://www.google.com/

Remember, the internets know we are in Qatar.  We have ways of fooling the internets, but this morning when I wasn't foolin' anyone, this is the Google image I saw.  I think it's cool, but I would really love to know what that Arabic in the middle means!

Clouds. Yes, I get excited by clouds.

Amazing what happens when you know the season is changing at home but it's not changing where you are.  First you get really home sick. Then you wait for any tiny little sign that fall might actually come to Doha.  Over the summer, we rarely had clouds.  The sky is normally sort of a dingy yellowish-greyish color of sand and smog.  You know those beautiful summer popcorn clouds?  You know how you can watch day-time-heating thunderheads explode upwards and then dissipate during the pink time of sunset? Yeah.  We don't get that here.

But over the past two days, we have actually had something lovely happening.  It's not just the "well, it's just hot now, not hotter than Hades." It's actually something pleasant.  Maybe near 80 in the morning and only in the 90's in the late afternoon?

And then today, I looked out the window and I saw CLOUDS.  You think I am a freak for posting about clouds.  But when you haven't really seen them for months, they are a lovely sight to behold.

 What I see outside from where I sit at the computer.  The windows are tinted blue for UV protection.  And maybe to help me psychologically...

 Now the sliding door is open--see how the sky is lighter in the middle? But it's still relatively blue.  I had been sitting here drinking tea with John, when I yelled "OMG! THERE ARE CLOUDS OUTSIDE!"  No really, I did yell that even though it sounds crazy.

The clouds and blue look great here--I went outside rather than take this through the window. A cloudy day is a good day.

You do notice, however, that clouds have nothing to do with rain.  As someone who used to go play outside in summer storms, I may cry with joy when it rains some day.

My Children are Going British

You knew that, sooner or later, the kids would be affected by all the fun accents and voices and international phrases they hear at school.  I knew that, too.  I just didn't expect it to start so soon.

This week was reading week, and they had a character parade, where the kids dressed up as characters from their favorite books.  I have never seen so many princesses in my life as the day I picked up Hannah...

The kids at Hank's school had already been calling him the Blonde American Harry Potter because of his wild messy hair, his glasses, his green eyes, and his general ruffled appearance.  When Hank told me that he had to dress up as a character at 6 AM on the morning it was due, I grabbed an eyeliner, drew a scar, found an amazon.com box, and cut out a pair of glasses. When Hannah told me at bedtime the night before her's was due, I grabbed her book Pinkalicious and talked her into going as that character.  Thank goodness she didn't ask to color her skin or hair pink, too.  Thought #1: WHY DIDN'T I BRING THE DRESS UP STUFF FROM HOME?  Yes, I was yelling that, so all the caps were appropriate.  Thought #2: Hey!  We actually survived this without (a) the dressup box, (b) a sewing machine, (c) purchasing anything, or (d) more than 15 minutes notice.

Below are pictures of my Pinkalicious and my Harry Potter, along with how each brought home a Britishism this week.  (Jack, I think, just ignored the instructions to dress up...)

 

Cardboard + scissors + permanent marker + eyeliner
= Hanky Potter.

I actually got him to let me take the picture by promising I would buy him a hamburger for dinner.  

This week Hank came home and declared, "Mom--the Arabic teacher announced in front of the whole class.  I'm the newest person to start learning Arabic and yet I got full marks on my Arabic test."  Me: "Full marks?"  Hank: "Yeah, top marks."  Me: "Huh?"  Hank: "TOP. MARKS."  Me (prepare thyself for phonetic representation of East Texas speech characteristics): "Does that mean yuh got uh hun'erd?"  (Yes, it does.)

Pink shirt + pink twirling skirt + pink polka-dotted tights + pink sparkle shoes
= Hanni-pink-alicious.

Hannah, upon being wild and crazy as I picked her up from school on Thursday (which is Friday): "Mama!  I'm just a CHEEKY LITTLE MONKEY!"

Roti Roti Roti Roti Roti

This, my friends, is Roti.  It's an unleavened bread made across a number of countries and served all over Doha.  You can read about it on Wikipedia here.

It is basically flour, water, and ghee (clarified butter).  To make the roti, you make the dough, slather it with ghee and/or shortening, roll it up like a cinnamon roll, and then cut it into the rounds.  It's then cooked on a griddle, much like a Mexican comal.  Some cooks do different things to make the roti "flake" on top at the end of cooking, so it pulls apart into buttery lusciousness.

Some day, I will learn to make this myself.  The recipe pictured below (and linked here) is superb, so I'll try following it.  But for now, the Family Food grocery about 10 minutes from here makes fresh homemade roti for 1 riyale (about 30 cents) each...so why or why would I do anything else except go buy a dozen of them?

We have no flour tortillas, but we have roti.

Bento Boxes, Part 1

I couldn't bring my sewing machine because the electrical current here is 240 volts, and the motor would have burned up.  I couldn't bring my Kitchen Aid or food processor for the same reasons.  Cooking by recipe here is also very difficult because (1) you can't find unexpected things, (2) to try to find the things you hope you might find, you have to go to 3 or 4 different busy stores in awful traffic and then you get to the stores and none of them are laid out the way you expect so then you look for an hour but don't find what you had hoped to find, AND (3) some things just don't substitute well.  For example, here milk + vinegar or milk + lemon juice JUST DON'T TASTE LIKE BUTTERMILK.  Say that last part with a heavy East Texan accent for full effect.

Cooking and sewing were my main two forms of creative activity at home...therefore, I had to find something else that I could occasionally do for a limited time and budget but that would satisfy this strange need for hands-on activity.

So I'm trying to Bento.

Bento originated in Japan, where everything is cool, expensive, and teeny tiny.  There are web sites like Just Bento and Lunch in a Box that will show you what real artists do.  These people don't hesitate to cut shapes out of food and make lunch box art.

So mine isn't really Bento.  It doesn't follow the proportion rules...but it DOES require that everything is healthy and fresh.  The occasional cookie or granola bar helps for hungry bigger kids, but otherwise, I am making everything from scratch.  The kids eat TWICE at school, once at 9:30 AM and once at noon...so the lunch box contents have to fit this schedule. No candy, chips, or soda is allowed.

Did I mention I have a fulltime job, have to organize and feed and do hygiene quality control for three kids who all do after school activities, and am taking two graduate courses?  Don't be a hater on the not-real-artistic-ness in my Bento.  Just know that I'm trying. I typically spend around an hour each night prepping and fitting for the three hooligans. Then I pack a beer and corn nuts for my own lunch.

Here's a slideshow of some of my-version "Bento" from the first month of school.  Once I collect enough photos, I'll post an update. I'm also making a list of "stuff my kids will eat at school," so if you have any creative ideas (no sandwiches, noodles, crackers, muffins, granola, or chicken/rice...I've got those covered), please post them in the comments!

Since the term "Bento" doesn't exactly fit, I'll be working on a new term for "East Texas harebrain does quasi-Bento in a foreign land full of grocery puzzles."  Click on the play button to make the slide show start.

Bad Case of the Homesickness this Week

I guess I've never really been away from home long enough to know deep down homesickness.  I used to go to camp for three weeks at a time, and I would get a little homesick then.  In college, I got homesick, but that was sort of complicated for other reasons.

But oh, man, I'm having a flair up now.  My sweet friend and fellow "transplated Tex(strali)an" Raina-in-Australia right calls it "profound," and she is right on with that, because it reaches down deep into places you don't expect.

An interesting reflection is this: being homesick doesn't mean you aren't really happy where you are.  I am happy with my students, my growing friendships, my house, the kids' school, and everything else.  Good grief: my kids are each learning two new languages.  Jack is making a claymation movie and is scheduled to go on a field trip to one of the UAEs next month.  Hank is doing a cultural study on the Blues (style of music) and learning to play the violin.  [He says his teacher is "a hottie."  Will this encourage him to stick with the lessons?  We shall see.] John is doing amazing "new" work in development.  We live in a nice, big house and drive good cars.  I'm able to take two graduate courses that I otherwise couldn't afford. We are making an incredible home-away-from-home for ourselves.  I have no personal wants or complaints.  Period.

But when I think about the fall weather and the approaching holiday season and the upcoming birth of a very dear friend's baby.  Well, let's just say today is messy.

So I'm posting these photos from a year ago, October 2009.  They bring me a lot of joy and a lot of homesickness all at once.

Last October, we spent the night at the Waco Zoo with a group of former cub scouts.  This was one of the best kid adventures I have ever had.  We got to go "behind the scenes" and feed the big cats, giraffes, and rhinos at night.  We got to spend the night in the aquarium house.  And a previous cub scout fundraiser meant it was all free.

That lady with the wagon in the back is my precious Angie, whose baby is due soon.  Not being there to support her, to cheer her on, and to get my hands on that tiny little new friend...these things are feeding my homesickness most of all. 

 Although the leaves shouldn't be turning yet, I occasionally look at the Texas weather and see lows in the low 50's and upper 40's.  See their long pants and jackets?  A breeze was probably blowing, too.  There's a breeze blowing in Doha right now...and the light has changed...you know how it does when the days start getting shorter...so I keep thinking that when I open the door, the breeze will be cool and refreshing.

The temperature here is 99 with a "Real Feel" of 112.  That's coolER than 120 with a real-feel of 135.  Somehow, it's not cutting it for "cool breeze" today.

October of course makes me think of Halloween.  This is Hannah last year on trick or treat day at school.  Her best friend Audrey, who is next to her dressed as a princess, Hannah asks about every day.  She says that we will fly Audrey here for her birthday party next June.  Hannah was a cat in a tutu.  I made the tutu, tail, and ears.  Somehow, when she got to school, she got incredibly shy...yes, she used to be that way. It was also raining.  [I'm sorry, what?  What is rain?  I haven't seen any since June?]  The rain prevented us from doing trick-or-treat on the square.  So the people from the town businesses all lined up under a covered walkway and the kids ran the "candy gauntlet."  The business owners in Franklin are so sweet and generous at Halloween.  It is a really wonderful thing.

Of course, October means Jacky Jack's birthday.  He'll be 10 in just 25 days.  He's missing his Franklin best friends but is really thriving here, wandering the compound, meeting new people, and soaking up the different approach to school.  I'm so so so proud of him, and that has nothing to do with being homesick.

Enough self-indulgence. 
Time to yank up my Mama Briefs and go get the kids from the school bus... :)

RPH, Dedicated to Elin P.: Mama Briefs

This is posted with love for Elin P., a sweet friend and amazing woman who at key moments helps to remind me that sometimes, you just have to yank up your big girl panties and get on with the program.  Here in Doha, we yank up our mama briefs.

RPH: Idjit Tracks

No difficulty stalking the elusive idgit (pronounced with a short i, like in "ink" + jit..."ijit" and properly spelled "idiot") here.   This may have even been an idjit swarm, heard of only in the fables of yore...or even better, fresh evidence of idjit rhythmic dancing.

Princess PooterPants Wins an Award

When you go to Hogwarts of the Arabic Gulf, you have weekly assemblies.  There are no owls with notes tied around their legs and no magical ceilings that look like the night sky.  But there are bunches of precious disheveled kids from all over the world wearing uniforms and sitting politely while someone with a fantastically Brrrrritish(!) accent makes announcements and leads a group lesson.

School assemblies are held on different days of the week, and Hannah's first assembly was last Thursday.  The teacher sent us home a note, "Hannah will be getting an award at our first assembly tomorrow morning at 7:45 AM.  You're welcome to attend if you can."  Well, I thought maybe it was like in the US where everyone gets a trophy for living through the first two weeks of school.  But John and I were free, so we decided to go.  We didn't tell Hannah because we had no idea what to expect.  Instead, we just sent her on to school, and like the good gas-guzzling Middle Eastern expats we are, drove two separate SUV's to go see the assembly.

The campus principal is a smart and enthusiastic British lady.  She led the assembly by teaching a lesson about "what makes a school" (hint...hint...it isn't the building).  She had students name behaviors, activities, and characteristics starting with the letters G, N, I, N, R, A, E, and L.  Each letter had a big sty-ro-fome (can't spell it, so I'm going for East Texus fo-netics instead) letter on it, and as she stacked it up, the kids figured out it made a TOWER OF LEARNING.

Then the lovely British principal asked, "What happens if I take out one of these ingredients?  What happens if I take out the R?"  The answer, of course, was that the "learning would topple," but it was all I could do not to jump up and scream out, "YEWD HAVE LEANIN' INSTEAD UH LEARNIN'!"  Cause you know when I yell, my accent goes on hyperdrive.

Then  they handed out the awards.  Turns out only one child from each class got a recognition.  (I'm pretty sure it will be one child, per class, per week.)  Hannah's class was last to be announced.  The principal calls out...and I'm going to try clumsily to capture the accent in Texus fo-netics, "And now, from Misses Hodge's closs, an awad foh gud be-have-yuh goes tew Honnuh Smoll!"  At which point, everyone started looking for Honnuh Smoll, but Hannah Small was sitting there wondering who the hell Honnuh Smoll might be.  I think she called out Honnuh's name 7 times.  Finally, the sweet child next to Hannah informed her that she and Honnuh were, indeed, one in the same.

 

That's her...the tiny one on the far right.

Of course, Honnuh/Hannah didn't know John and I were in the audience (only about 8 parents were there).  She was rather mortified at all the attention, and slowly made her way to the front, strings of self-cut hair hanging in her face and staring down at the floor.

They gave her a sweet certificate and had her line up at the front with the others as additional comments were made.  She stood there looking shell-shocked at the floor until we, waving frantically like the Soccer Mom and Dad of the Year that we are, got her attention.  Oh how I wish I had had my camera out...because the moment she saw us, she snapped out of shy mode, waved, smiled brightly, and pulled one of her "America's Next Top Model" poses showing off her goods.  It was priceless.

Yea for Honnuh Smoll and her behavior!  We're off to a jolly good start.

The certificate reads: Weekly Award Certificate. Name: Hannah Small.  For being thoughtful and caring towards her friends and making them feel happy. 

Habib Report: Part of the Flock

Habib has become a full-fledged member of the Small Flock...he has accepted our chaos with grace, dignity, and an excellent sense of humor. 

Here he is having his dinner with us.  While we eat at the big counter in the kitchen, he eats from a little tray.  I have figured out that I can tuck the edge of the little tray under the little lip of the gate that's holding on like a drawbridge to the bigger perch.  This prevents delays him from throwing the whole damned thing on the floor.

I even got him to step up on my hand a couple of days ago!  This was from the floor, not from his cage or perch.  When I try to get him to step up from his cage or perch, he looks at me like I've lost my mind.

I taught Habib to say "Cowboy...YEA HAW!" and then I taught him to yell "BIRD MAN!"  But Habib has a habit of not liking compound words, so now he yells "COW BIRD! YEE HAW!"

I have also christened him with one of my obnoxious nicknames, "Bee-bo."  This evolved from Habib to Habibi to Beebee to Beebee-Loo to Bee-Bo.  Now when he wants me, he calls out "BEE BO!  Schum on! It's okay, Bee Bo."  For those of you Sandra Boynton fans, the Belly Button Book uses the name Bee-Bo for a belly button.  Just a nice coincidence.

Habib's fantastic parents Vee and Collin came for a visit last Saturday.  Thanks to Habib, we now have life-long friends.  I treasure them and their daughter (Dawn)--such fun and friendly people.  It's really cool to see how much Habib loves Vee, too.  He gets all lovey and excited the second she walks in the door.  As I've said before, she has a special gift with birds.

Vee verified Habib's problem with compound words.  She told me that she tried to teach him to sing "Happy Birthday to You," but that he would just sing "Happy Birth to You, Happy Birth to You."  Well, I guess that works, too. :)

An Adjustment: Men, Men Everywhere

To review bigger-picture here.

According to the CIA World Factbook, a common resource for demographic questions, Qatar has...

• A population of 833,285.
  Other places list it as closer to 1-1.2 million.
• Of the population, 75.9% is immigrant workers (us included!), based on a UN report.
  That is the third greatest percentage of immigrants in the world, second only to Vatican City (100% immigrant) and Andorra (which has a population of only 52,000).
• A male/female ratio of 2.44 males to every 1 female (ages 15-64)
  To compare, the world ratio is 1.02 male/1 female and the USA is 1/1.

Culturally, women are much less likely to be seen around town.

• Many of the female expats work as housemaids and stay with their sponsoring families.
• Many traditional Arab women, especially my age and older, will stay either in their own houses or in locations that are female-only (such as salons or spas).
• Women of any culture who are perceived a being "out on the town" without a male escort of family are suspected of potentially immoral behavior.  Actually, the same can go for (non-Arab) men in certain places, too.

Therefore, we have a population with 2.5 times as many men as women, where many women are either (1) not in public or (2) are careful about the public places they choose to go.  The result?  In the evenings, especially after the labor day is done, certain parts of the city are filled with men.  All men.  You might spot one or two women (escorted by their husbands or brothers) in the sea of men.

A street scene on the way to Souq Waqif at about 7 PM.

You can't see the faces in this photo, but trust me: they are all male.  The sidewalks are so crowded in some places that it looks like photos of NYC sidewalks at rush hour.

A park where men are socializing.

We come in contact with these folks dozens of times throughout the day.  They are the labor works and service providers who make this huge city run.  They are the human beings that make this city/country function.

Especially interesting is pulling up to a bus load of workers.  If they are laborers, then it is an open-windowed bus, and they are all wearing the same jumpsuit (typically blue).  Or it may be an air-conditioned bus of immigrant security guards.  When you pull up next to a bus or when you stop at a light on a crowded street, as a female you STICK OUT LIKE A SORE THUMB.

Sitting next to a bus at a stop light, I have had men take pictures of me and (moreso) of Hannah through the bus/car windows.  The men will openly gaze at us.  Sometimes I smile, nod, and turn my head.  Other times, I put myself in a bubble where I pretend they can't see me.

The open gazing is exactly opposite to cultural expectations in the US.  If a man openly gazes at you, it is either an invitation or lewd.  This has been a big adjustment for me.  At first I was confused: what are these looks?  how do I deal with this gazing/looking/leering?  what does this mean when they're looking at my daughter?  I've never felt unsafe here, only confused.

Then I started thinking about the lives these men lead.  They are separated from their families.  They live in camps--sometimes in dreadful, subhuman conditions--of only men.  They work incredibly long hours under the hot sun often 6 days per week (may even 6 1/2?).  They have often left wives and children behind in their home countries.  They should get to make a trip home each year, but I don't know if that really happens for the true physical laborers.

Now I have adjusted.  I don't really feel confused any more.  When I see them looking at me or at Hannah, I imagine them thinking of their own mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, and other loved ones they don't get to see.  I've talked to a couple of other Western women here, and we all have our ways of thinking and dealing with it.

Sometimes I smile and nod, and sometimes I use my bubble.  I will most likely adjust even more, so that it will fade into the background.  But I hope I don't ever take for granted the luck and blessing of being born where I was born and being blessed with the privileges that came with that.

Breakfast and the Object of My Affection:Alu Padji and Paratha

Thanks to some generous and loving friends, who take us on wild culinary tours at South Indian restaurants and who make us fantastic homemade things to eat, we are both getting entirely too fat enjoying a new world of flavors and techniques.  This is one of my most favoritest things so far, both in Qatar and in life.

Behold the Alu Padji and Paratha:

John went to breakfast with our most esthpecial Indian/Cajun brother at a hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant called Jawahar.  This is a place that workers go to eat.  The inside is clean enough but very plain.  It reminds me oh-so-much of small town Texas diners and Tex-Mex places.  The folks that work there are sweet, humble, and very talented at making/serving fantastic food.  No pretensions.  Just deliciousness.

So my Good Man brought me home some traditional South Indian breakfast.  Alu padji (potato stew) is potatoes, onions, curry leaves, mustard seeds, and some other spices.  It has a tiny bit of heat and good spiciness--potatoes are so bland that this is no small feat.  That container holds about a cup of alu padji.  The bread is homemade (made in the restaurant, not in my home) paratha.  Paratha roti is made by layering the dough with ghee (clarified butter).  It is then cooked on a hot griddle, much like a Mexican comal.  After browning, the paratha roti are put in a container where the steam off the hot bread makes the soft layers sort of crust up and separate into layers of luscious.  It's like a cross between a fine flour tortilla and a croissant, if you can imagine. 

Alu padji is the thing (so far) that I have to learn to make.  Our friend gave me a lesson, and his padji was not this creamy/soupy and contained other veggies, too.  So padji's are partially an interpretation/adaptation of their owners.  They are not difficult to make, but I think this is deceptive.  A great alu padji is probably as elusive as a great pot of pinto beans.

Amstel ZERO.No, not zero calories.Zero alcohol.

Of course, in a Muslim country, alcohol is either tightly controlled or forbidden.  By that doesn't stop the citizens here from consuming significant amounts of "non-alcoholic malt beverages."  This is not a cultural tradition we will be adopting.

RPH: What is Happening Here...Right...Now.

 

I tend to wonder "what's it really like?" in a place.  What does it look like inside the houses or grocery stores or cars in those pictures?  So this morning, I took this RPH.  At 10:30 AM Doha time, I had just finished breakfast, John was playing solitaire in the living room, and the kids were simultaneously playing with homemade play-doh, eating fresh naan that John brought from a local Indian bakery, and making a huge silly ruckus.  They are all still in their PJs, without hair brushed...just like me, which is why I'm not in the picture.  Habib was sitting quietly watching and learning.

Doha Gothic

Hannah needed a family photo for school.  I tried to take it one morning while John was eating breakfast and was promptly informed that the plan was not going to happen.  So I took this after school one day.  Thus, Hank is disheveled, John has on his sloppy shirt, John is sweaty in his trampoline jumping clothes, Hannah is sweaty, and I have bird poop on my back.

We are all laughing because I yelled, right as the timer was about to go off, "HANNAH STOP PICKING YOUR NOSE."  I do believe she has a bogey in her grasp.