Finding Water in our Wildernesses

If the desert is holy, it is because its a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide and we are found.             --Terry Tempest Williams

The desert still has a memory of water, and that memory is a living thing. It is infused into the sand. It is part of its essence.      --Thomas Lloyd Qualis

Joseph navigating with a fellow traveler at an oasis spot in Qatar.

When I was a teenager, I begged my parents to allow me to go on a survival camping trip for one month in the southern Utah desert. About two days into the trip, there were some miscalculations and our group did not have any water as we trekked across the summer desert around Escalante for a day. I was 16, and my sister was 15. She and a few other hikers were having a difficult time--one was seeing mirages and the others were having trouble putting blistered feet in front of one another.

Drinking water, like breathing, rhythms we do without even thinking, suddenly became a premium. We will do almost anything to obtain them. On that fiery June day I learned how much a sip of water can mean to someone. I found the strength to go with one of the leaders to retrieve water to give to people who were depending on us. That was a day when water meant more than money, jewels, mansions, ice cream, anything. To find the water and then bring it back to my sister and friends was an errand I have never forgotten. I felt so much joy that I could give them the water they most desperately needed and wanted. And like all of us, sometimes the roles are reversed, and I have been the receiver as others have fetched and given me water in a figurative wilderness.

A favorite moment when we could serve to those who had fasted all day in the hot sun for Ramadan.

One time on a walk along the beach in Qatar, we were met by a clan of Sudanese people who invited us, their fellow travelers, to eat with them. Meeting people who you would have never met before happens in the wilderness.

After living in the arid Qatar desert for five years, I sometimes think of that day when I hear of the old Middle East caravans that roamed through the sand searching for their oasis or remote wells. Rawda means garden in Arabic, which are green pockets in the desert. They form in depressions in the desert surface. Fine soils blown  by the wind are gradually deposited and compacted in the depressions, allowing plants to grow in it. Rawda are known as sweet, fertile soil areas where people for centuries have tried to find a sign of water. These are where different plants, gardens, and date plantations grow in a parched desert--in unexpected places. As travelers in a wilderness, we need to know the traces and marks of where to look. Often times, there is not enough time to roam aimlessly: water is immediately needed. And then we stay at a particular oasis until we have been nourished and sustained enough--until we have to go to the next fertile place.

I think we are all trekking through our wildernesses, some with loaded camels of possessions, even abundant supplies. Others have barely anything or nothing on their backs as they search for their oasis in the desert. We are all on the look-out for water. Sometimes people are mistaken and see artificial wells of water, like ancient travelers saw mirages. They think the precious streams of water in their mind's vision are real, but alas, they have been fooled by the scorching sun. And then again water can be deceivingly crystal pure, but it holds poison and disease as it beckons us.

To find true, unadulterated water is a journey that sometimes we have to zig-zag across the desert for. The desert can be a teacher as we go alone on our pilgrimage to find our water. We have to leave comfort and the familiar to find the living water in the wilderness. Occasionally we do not want to pack up to go to the next oasis, but our guide tells us it is time to leave the sweet contentment of the oasis for another one that is better for our loved ones and/or ourselves. Changing course and adjusting to another terrain is part of searching for water. Being adaptable in a wilderness is definitely a prerequisite for a successful journey. Sometimes we have to be alone--other times we travel in a caravan.

As we have now left Qatar, a wilderness where I learned to grow and thrive, to live in China, I find myself a traveler going from one gorgeous rawda to another. Both places quench my thirst on the journey of finding living water. Like desert nomads, all of us have to retrieve water to nourish us--finding verdant places in an expansive wilderness. We have to learn to keep moving and filling our pots--opening our sky ever wider. And in the criss-crossing of the desert, we will find our fellow travelers again who were with at past fruitful grounds. Perhaps that is my strongest gratification. We are never alone in the wilderness. Everyone else is just trying to find their water too. For my friends who I miss, I know we will be in the same caravan again someday!

I like this picture behind our house--showing the small patches of vegetation we could see most of the time. 

A Syrian man who was selling fruit we met on a walk near our house one day in Qatar. Finding Fruit in our wilderness

The lush vegetation of Muscat, Oman

My mom on a journey to find the water, meeting an expected friend from Jordan.

A painting by @AnnyKu of the Zeekret wilderness in Qatar--notice the person on the pilgrimage in the background

Fellow travelers on a campout....

Sometimes the water comes sneaks up on us when we are not looking....

Finding the fruitfulness and harvest of the desert. If we keep searching, the abundance of the harvest will come. 

Qatar Public Art Baby Sculptures

"She (the baby) was needed, and then there she was among us, growing and changing every day, a living little girl, one of us. At first, she was only present, enclosed mostly in her own small being. And then, we could see it happening, she began to look out of her eyes. She began to see the light from the windows. She began to see us. She began to know us. She began to look at us and smile, as if greeting us from a world we did not know or had forgotten."  
                           --Wendell Berry from his book Hannah Coulter


When you think about it, we in this world have so many more similarities than differences. One of them starts from each of our beginning, our source. We have all been on the same journey to arrive here on this earth. Each of us has been cradled in the same kind of dark, warm and watery cocoon. The unfamiliar jostling of our birth to this world, I am sure, abruptly awakened our senses. Initially, the new journey must be disorienting and uninviting. Hopefully, most of us are greeted warmly to our new light-filled home.

Each time I have gazed at the shimmering 14 bronze sculptures by the British artist, Damien Hirst, here in Doha, Qatar that is called "The Miraculous Journey," I am flooded with awe. This continuous journey, which humanity has been traveling on for eons of time fills me with a renewed reverence for the breath of life. Each of the 14 sculptures illustrates a turning point on the journey we have all passed. As you walk along the path by the sculptures, they spark you to remember our singular common journey--that we were meant to change and grow. They show you that being alive means we are constantly developing and being shaped--that life is a wonderful wonder.

All of the 14 sculptures make up about 216 tons. When you are underneath them, you feel the magnitude of the scale and power of life. Furthermore, you sense the importance of how tremendously important every child/person is in this world. They came on "The Miraculous Journey" for a purpose all their own. And when we encounter all of these sojourners, we must remember the tenderness and goodness that each can bring to this world.

As my husband says who has delivered about 25,000 babies, "Every child is a miracle. I never tire of bringing a child (sometimes two or three or four at a time) to this world. I enjoy it so much that I would do it all for free. The moment the child arrives, the room is filled with unspeakable hope and happiness. And I feel like the luckiest person to be there in that room with all that joy. It is different every time, every family, each child. But the same joy is there. Every time."

The end of the gestation journey--a baby boy who is almost 46 feet tall.

The public sculptures in front of the new Sidra Women's and Children's Hospital that opened in January 2018.

The first one in the series of the gestational beginning in the uterus.

The splitting of the egg and then the division of the eggs. The top is called the morula, the early stage of an embryo consisting of sixteen cells.

The first three sculptures in a line show before the embryo is formed.

The beginning of the fetus

The fetus begins to form.

Growing 

The body begins to be distinguishable...

The one may be my personal favorite. Do you see the smile on one of the twin's faces? My husband is a twin so he particularly liked this one too. 

About 20 weeks or five months of pregnancy

About six months

About seven months

Giving another perspective of the different stages of life. My husband wanted to stand in front of the twins since he has a twin sister. Sometimes people ask if they are identical. The answer is no. He says she is much better looking. 

The Middle East: The Promise of Fruitfulness

What is important is how well we love. God will make our love fruitful whether we see that fruitfulness or not.  
                                                           --Henri Nouwen

If only people could be more reverent toward their own fruitfulness. --Rilke

Why not go out on a limb? That is where the fruit is!

A view from our compound pool in late May. I aspire to eat one of these dates at the end of the summer. Ha!
A blog about this same tree last summer: The Metaphor of the Raining Dates

Today I happened to glance up at a bunch of growing dates in a tree. The small green sprigs hung like nests in a few large clumps dangling from the upper branches. In the harsh, sweltering heat of the Middle East--during the hottest summer months--fruit actually grows on trees. The sweetest manna of fruit, the date, ironically grows as if in a burning fire here.

One would rightly assume nothing could grow in such abundance in this blistering air. Nonetheless, the date palm trees flourish with a harvest in late August/early September. The sweet and luscious dates plop to the ground in all their splendor. Often there is not much water that nourishes them in this Middle East furnace. Yet, these date trees magnificently produce one of the main staples of the region--the delicious and healthy date.

As I looked up and saw the verdant olive-like fruit above me in the date palm tree, I could not help but think that even in the heat of affliction, there is always hope. Maybe the fruit requires a long season to ripen or bear.  But the objective and lesson of life are: we plow with hope, sometimes when we feel or only see scarcity around us. When the good ground seems spare or cracked, we still believe the rain will come--even in the stifling heat. We work, cheer, encourage, and wait--knowing the promise of fruitfulness is there buried in the roots. The bumper crop will come. And we will be astonished at the arm-loads of abundant fruit that we will carry from the harvest.

Trees cover the ground after the Christmas season in Malaga, Spain. There is such an abundance that pruners must come in and cut some of the branches for fear the branches will break off with all the explosion of fruit.

Joseph and our friend, Mitch, near an old olive press in Provence, France near Voix. 

Olive orchards abound in Provence, France--waiting for the harvest in Decmeber.

A gardener in the late autumn near Lake Como, Italy. She was so pleased to still be arranging flowers from her garden in late October...

In Sierre, Switzerland where my daughter and her husband lived--there are vineyards in every crevice and corner. Orchards intertwine and surround the villages all over the French section of Switzerland--always a reminder that a harvest is coming...

The abundance of olives in a Morocco market

At a market in Tangier, Morocco--the place where tangerines were named after. I have never tasted better citrus in my life than in Tangier and Spain--and I am from California. I think I ate three-five a day while in these countries.

A Syrian man who I support at his fruit stand. Although his variety is not abundant, the fruit he sells is alway sweet and delicious. Lesson: There is never a meager offering. In the paradigm of scarcity and fruitfulness, fruitfulness will reign every time.

Qatar: Happy National Day 2017!

A little girl celebrating at the parade for National Day

Qatar just finished National Day or "Founder's Day." This year's theme was "Promise of Prosperity and Glory." The country celebrates when Jasim bin Mohammed Al Thani united the tribes on the Qatar Peninsula on December 18, 1878--conquering all external forces, such as Britain. Most everyone is given off the day of work and school. In fact this year, the emir gave two days off for everyone.

Crowds of expats and Qataris waiting at the parade for the emir to come.

This is my fourth year of being an expat in Qatar. Last year National Day was canceled due to the Battle of Aleppo in Syria. With an economic blockade that is now into its seventh month, this year was meant to be unifying--to bring stronger connections between Qatari residents and expats. About 2.5 million people live in Qatar, about 80% of them being expats from all over the world. Even with huge crowds, people from all sectors came out to celebrate.

Kids watching the parade at the Corniche in Doha.

This year we headed to the Corniche (the harbor where there was a National Day parade, to the Souq Wakif (a huge outdoor market with hundreds of stalls and restaurants), a festival (think state fair), and watched the school National Day celebrations. More than any other year, I observed tremendous pride--among the Qataris and expats. One American visitor who watched the parade was surprised at the complete and total solidarity--especially among the expat community too.

The entire country is decked in maroon and white, Qatar's flag. Flags hang from cranes, freeways, and some are fix or six stories high on skyscrapers.The celebrations last for about a week with festivities all over the country with parades, concerts, Quran readings, sword dancing, fireworks, camel riding, and being with family and friends. Here are just a few glimpses of National Day here in Qatar:

One student singing from the Quran.

Young boys practicing their sword dance, an ancient way to banter and speak with a sword.

Elias at his school celebrations on National Day.

At the Souq Wakif, the largest outdoor market in Qatar--a place that is like an endlessly fascinating outdoor museum.

All kinds of planes and gliders promoted national unity. 

At a wall near my house where many walls were covered with Qatari pride.

Flags and the picture of the emir were everywhere to celebrate Founder's Day.

Elias in front of a huge flag made of flowers for Qatar National Day.

At a large festival or carnival, you can get free camel rides.

Children dress in maroon and white or in military attire for about a week. 

Balloons for the kids at the carnival. 

A photo of Sheikk Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani with one of his sons. The emir was born on June 3, 1980, making him the youngest current sovereign worldwide. He has increased Qatar's profile worldwide with his emphasis on sports, especially with the attainment of the 2022 FIFA World Cup.