A Qatari Farm Visit

The woman in the scarf was a delight to meet--extremely vibrant, outgoing, and strong-minded.  Don't let the scarf fool you that she is timid or withdrawn!   The woman in the background was from Iceland, my own heritage.  None of us knew one another ten minutes before this picture was taken.  But friendships, sisterhood, and similarities were immediately discovered.

The Qatari Women's Association invited about 100 women--all from many diverse nationalities--to a farm outside of Doha to talk about living the Bedouin, nomadic life decades ago here in Qatar.   A bountiful, lavish lunch was provided.  In typical Middle East style, they could have fed twice as many people.  The concept of "hospitality to the stranger" that is taught in the Quran permeates every encounter and interaction here.  

As we gathered together on the floor around the meal, shoes and inhibitions were thrown off, as we entered the beautiful tiled home.  Women from about 20 countries sat knee to knee, while they spoke of their varied experiences, travels, ideals.   From one Egyptian woman, I was offered Arabic lessons, and another Middle East woman told me I would make a good Muslim because she said, "We really are so similar."  

The host invited many of us to share our experiences and thoughts of her country. When we were finished with the meal, all the guests were given fresh eggs and cut herbs to take home.  We were strengthened or fueled, not only with sumptuous food, but were instructed how to have a more boundless heart, a heart that can never have too many friends.

One of the ways guests are shown hospitality is the abundance of food that is always served.  Before this meal, we had already been fed many varieties of local pastries and fruit.

   





Several older Bedouin women spoke on what it was like to live in Qatar when cars were thought of as "monsters" on the street. She said as children they would run away from them, frightened that it was an alien from another world.  One said there was no sickness because people ate very simply, with lots of yogurt.  No one ever saw a doctor.  They shared the sparsity of what they possessed with one another.  Families lived closer to one another, she said, and life was much simpler.  

To leave the bustle of the city was soothing, nourishing--like drinking water when you are quenched for thirst.  But the farm visit was even more enhanced by meeting women from all over the world, and knowing that we are really all the same.  We had birthed children, studied, buried loved ones, tried to find joy, and most of all, loved. Hopefully, we have all laughed a lot too through the journey. One Qatari woman told me, " We women must never divide our love; we need to multiply it, make more of it.  We must not settle for only giving small amounts of love, but we need to learn to make our heart grow --especially in our family relationships."  Wise counsel from a woman with six children and ten step-children!

The purple finger tips were dipped in henna, as they were long ago--just as we modern women apply fingernail polish.  It is now more common to have designs on the body with henna.  Women of the desert used fragrances,  flowers in the hair, and scarves to appear more beautiful.  I agree!  A woman can never have enough scarves.....

All homes and even tents in the Middle East have some designated area for guests, even strangers, to be entertained and given hospitality of spirit and replenishment--however meager or abundant.   The three religions of the Middle East, Islamic, Christian, and Jewish, all are rooted in deserts places, where sojourners, and even foreigners were given precious nourishment and water.  This is a picture of an majlas (a place where men generally gather), an area away from the home or even separate from the home to host visitors--both family, friends, and strangers alike.

This room is located in an adjacent area in the same building, a place where people gather to drink and eat together.  When a person shares a cup of tea or meal with someone, one is almost transitioned to becoming a family member.  To entertain the stranger is to invite God or His angels to one's house.  This main pillar of Quran is not only believed, but lived with a magnanimous generosity of spirit.  I am constantly humbled by the kind acts and invitations I have been given in the few short months I have been here.  

This is the entrance to the farm.  Believe me, a lush, verdant field is very rare here in Qatar.

A picture, from the Art Gallery at the Souq (outdoor market) shows women on a farm sharing the work together.  

Lessons that I took home that day on the farm are shown in this painting:  This painting, also from the art gallery in the Souq (outdoor market), with the featureless faces, reminds me that we really are all so similar--poor and rich, young and old, illiterate and educated, religious and secular.   We all want to connect, have joy, and laugh heartily.  We all deserve or need a little more light and love as we intersect in our lives.  There is potentially profound purpose in the casual encounter.  If we allow the boundaries and definitions to define us, there is so much beauty and learning to be lost.  My first post in September, 2014 describes some of my own walls falling down in 'My New Neighborhood' when I first came here.  I will always be grateful that a woman in a burqa (my next door neighbor) taught me how to thrust off fears and preconceived notions of who my friends could be.

Behind the Wheel in Qatar

I recently realized that I must have put you all in suspense.  You never heard that I officially passed my Qatar driver's license back in November.  I am certain there has been eager anticipation for this earthshaking announcement!  My dear neighbor and friend, Abier, picked me up at 5:00 am to go to the driver's school two times (You can read a post about her that is called 'Unexpected Sisters' in November). The driver's school opens at 5:30 am, yep, that's right--not a typo!  Life starts early around here.... 

In order to get a driver's license in Qatar, you must pass medical, written, and two practical tests (in parking and driving)--plus a test about the parts of a car engine.  Abier, who has endeared herself to me now forever, arranged for me in Arabic to have a driving test 2X before I actually took the formal driver's test.  The director of the driver's school assured me, "You will do fine.  You look like a driver."  I am not sure what a driver "looks like," but I hoped my tester would agree.  When I heard that I would receive my very own driver's license here, I felt about the same elation as when I finished my master's thesis--no joke!  It can be difficult, even subjective, to obtain.

As a new driver in Qatar, you have to learn a whole new array of signs.



The only difference from this picture is that often hundreds of cars are waiting to zig zag through the roundabout.  No exaggeration!  The inner lane has priority here, and many people just zoom in front of you--crossing over to another lane or spoke of the wheel to exit.  Sometimes there are three lanes with bumper to bumper traffic, as all the cars converge into a two lane roundabout. Most of the time no one uses a signal or "indicators," as they are called in the UK.  Each time I hit a rush hour roundabout, I take a deep, calming breath, and put my radar up in all directions.  Everyone in the car suddenly becomes quiet; often times there is a nail-biting silence until we have safely passed through the serpentining roundabout.  Cars are buzzing, honking, and squeezing around each other.  I resolutely try to stay unruffled in the mayhem surrounding me. 

In busy traffic, police direct cars at each spoke in the wheel (I am sure it is one of the most dangerous jobs in Qatar).   One must keep their wits, humor, and senses sharp to drive in this place--especially as a few cars give thunderous honks behind and/or at the side of you.  Sometimes I feel like I am almost in a rodeo; it takes some grit and guts to get behind a wheel here.  Every time I return to my compound, a sense of peaceful tranquility envelopes me--relief that I made it home!There are very few countries in the world that a driver can spot a sign to beware of camels crossing....  I chuckle to myself every time I see these camel signs.  If I ever forget that I am on the other side of the world, these road signs immediately remind me. Ha!

These signs are in front of the schools--reminding people to turn off their cars!

Another favorite....  I call them "speed bumps", but here they are called "speed humps" in Qatar--maybe because of the abundance of camels?

A favorite neighborhood--in the embassy section.  You need to know where you are going when all the signs are in Arabic!

These are the signs to watch for pedestrians--showing the thobe (men's wear in Qatar).

A beautiful sunset, about 30 minutes out of Doha.  It is a small country, but the vistas, bays, oceans, and everlasting horizons of sand evoke peace--even when it can be a bumpy ride to your destination....

My Cello Love Story

The cello, the embraceable cello, is known as being the instrument that sounds the most like a human voice.
The deep richness of its base notes to the high ranges capture the soulful sound of a love story.  

When our friend who is a neurosurgeon heard three years ago that I was learning to play the cello, he pronounced, almost like a medical prescription, "Learning to play a musical instrument is amazing for your brain. What a great idea--all those dendrites linking up.  Keep it up!" I appreciated his affirming assurance, but my aim was not necessarily to attach more neurons--even though, I am sure, I could profit from more neurons linked together.  Put simply, while I was trying to help my son with autism learn to play the cello, I unintentionally fell in love with it's rich resonating sound. It was completely serendipitous to become smitten with this heavy and cumbersome (to carry) instrument, but suddenly, with no warning, I was entranced. There was no going back down the mountain.   Falling in love with the cello has been a blessed accident, a tutoring journey every step of the way.

When I finally get the tone, tempo, and technique right, this instrument fills my heart, mind, and soul every time.

Many people automatically assume I have been playing for decades when they see me lugging around my cello or hear that I am now playing in an orchestra here in Doha, Qatar. I am a mediocre pianist, and play the guitar. But there is an interesting story, I would even say a love story, behind the grit and determination to play the cello. People ask me often why I would attempt such a fantastic notion--to devote any extra hours of the week I can spare--to learn to bow and pluck this instrument.

Here is the story behind my devotion:

A few years ago E. was captivated by the cello as he listened to Handel's music on youtube in his free time. The music must have been soothing or comforting to him because he listened to it incessantly.  For months, he pleaded to learn how to play the cello, and I would immediately suggest another instrument--or perhaps a different activity?  But he was persistent, repeating several times a day (as children with autism or I might add, any child will) that he wanted to play the cello.  Since I watched my older son learn to play the cello, I knew it was a very technical process to learn and would likely require more coordination and focus than he could manage.

One afternoon I was at my dear friend's home, and she heard him beg for a cello (she has a daughter with Down's Syndrome so she understands about listening to children with disabilities).  Luckily, she was intently listening to his pleas that day, and said to me, "Why don't you just let him try it?  Who knows?  Just give him the chance.  And guess what? I have an extra cello in the basement. You can borrow it for awhile."  In my heart, I knew she was right.  Why not try it?

Soon afterwards, I found a patient teacher who was willing to teach him. As I listened to him learn the cello and tried to help him, my own interest in the instrument piqued. My husband suggested,"Why don't you just take lessons along with him?" The dual lessons lasted a few months, but my son had a rough time, as I predicted (we soon thereafter found a patient piano teacher for him).

I surprised even myself when I asked his teacher if I could continue with the lessons. I inherently knew that it would be hard and require much rigor, but my aim to make beautiful sounds outweighed any doubt or hesitancy.  We worked together for about a year; I anticipated each lesson with great eagerness, as I plunged into learning how to play. When she moved away, I cried like a child because she gave me hope that I could really accomplish such a seemingly impossible feat. I found another teacher, this time from Bulgaria, who taught me more technique and precision.

I love this picture of Audrey.  Sometimes I have that same exasperated expression when I play too.

As I learned to play a few Christmas songs that first year, my cheeks were wet with tears, my heart raced faster, and goose pimples appeared on me.  A pure joy washed over me,  and I knew I wanted to always have the joyful feeling of my heart, mind, and soul merging together as I played the cello.   I ached to be able to play with others in an orchestra.  It seemed like a far fetched goal, but I still secretly kept it tucked away in a hidden pocket. Sometimes I would (and still do) become a little discouraged with the process--trying to multi-task and concentrate on about eight techniques on the cello at one time. Needless to say, I am not necessarily a precise person, but I continue to play--resolute to capture beautiful music from the strings with precision and the correct rhythm.

It is certainly not the end of the cello love story, but I successfully auditioned to be in an orchestra last fall when we moved to Qatar. It is a phenomenal group of musicians from all over the world, most of them trained in music conservatories.  In the cello section alone, there are six of us, all from different countries.  To be in this orchestra has not only fulfilled a mid-life dream for me, but it has softened my transition to live in a faraway place. I have a whole new set of friends from Yemen, Australia, France, the U.K, Columbia, the Netherlands, among other places, who play beautiful, stirring music with me.  One highly accomplished cellist from Australia, when I revealed that I was a beginner cellist, turned around with a smile, and said, "There's room for everybody on this bus." His encouraging words enabled me to feel like I fit into this talented, amazing group of musicians--that I have a another home so distant from everything familiar and known.

Often times I gaze over at my E., and remember it is him who gave this musical gift to me--to play this gorgeous instrument that nourishes and fills my soul. I hope that I can give him gifts that will foster joy and feed his soul too; it is one of my dearest dreams.  In my quiet moments (and they are very few when he is around), I thank God for a son with autism who teaches me every day. I am trying to listen to his every timbre, tone, voice, rhythm, expression, sound in his heart--some of the exact same skills that I am learning when I play the cello.

A Christmas concert in Doha....

I just had to add this picture of an ice sculpture that was found on the streets during the recent Boston blizzards! I am sure the sculptor has a love story with the cello too!

Introducing our Picasso

E. about to begin his painting--with no timidity or hesitation to create--just a bold desire to mix and twirl the colors.  Pablo Picasso said, "All children are artists.  The problem is how to remain an artist once they grow up."

I have always thought that being creative helps us to feel more alive, more happy--whatever age.  I am learning that art is a way to glimpse the beauty my boy with autism sees around him.  Part of our home routine is now getting out the paint and clay. 

E. and his art teacher working together in an after school session.  I guess I could also say 'Introducing our Jackson Pollack.' His teacher, Mr. Gabe, taught him to splash paint on a piece of paper, with cardboard in the background.  

Sometimes I scratch my head with bewilderment on how to engage my 13 year old son with autism--how to release those submerged emotions that sometimes erupt in unexpected, and yes, occasionally inappropriate ways.  Although he is extremely verbal (sometimes his speech is repetitive and silly), I am deeply grateful for his ability to communicate, answer questions, and thus, move others with his simple, earnest thoughts.  However, much of the routines of a typical child, like academics, play dates, extra curricular activities are all haltingly hard for him, and sometimes difficult for me to navigate.  I would say that autism + adolescence = some swirling storms.

Yet, even amidst the tempests, I feel blessed.  In our autism journey together as a family (and it has required ALL of us), there have always been people who have appeared, almost magically, to come to our rescue when I desperately needed a clue on how to proceed.  These relief workers even pop up in Qatar.  When one moves across the world with a child with a disability, it is particularly poignant to find someone who is willing to enter into your child's world--to travel with you, even sporadically on this autism journey for awhile.

The first time I met Mr. Gabe, E's middle school art teacher,  I knew we were kindred spirits.  Both of us have the same dream of teaching art in a barn someday (he is ahead of me because he already owns his barn).  His current classroom is a delightful, colorful refuge from E's academic efforts--a place to create, discover, learn, and thus foster self-understanding for him.  Although he teaches him two times during the school week, he offered to work with him one afternoon after school--just one-on-one.

Preparing for a painting....    One of the things I like about doing art with E. is that he is free of any self-criticism; he believes he can be an artist any time he brings out the paint or clay.  There are no reservations about the endless possibilities to  create in his mind.   

Each time I go to pick him up, creativity seems to pour out of a hole in the roof-- to not only my son with autism, but to me.  There is always some mellow jazz or inviting classical music floating in the air--settling any residual conflicts in him that occurred during the day.  When I hear the rich, sonorous sounds of the music and watch him create, ideas distill on me also.  I do not only desire to pick up a paint brush, but I am configuring how to duplicate a studio for both of us in my small patch of grass in Qatar.  I want to see E's bold temerity in front of a canvas at home too--the same inquisitiveness, focus, and desire to create that I see in Mr. Gabe's classroom.  William Carlos Williams's words from a poem comes to mind:  "Catch an eyeful, catch an earful. and don't drop what you caught."  His class stirs, motivates me to "catch" some creativity, to make something beautiful with my son.

The experience of entering Mr. Gabe's classroom reminded me of a book that I utilized with my other five children called Doing Art Together: Discovering the joys of appreciating and creating art as taught at The Metropolitan Museum of Art's famous parent-child workshop By Muriel Silberstein-Storfer.  I bought the book when my first child was a few months old in NYC as I carried her around The Met one day.   I was envisioning many dreamy, but yet productive hours behind the easel with my children.  And we did have many messy, creative times in the ensuing years.  But somehow I forgot about that book when Elias came along with his autism.   We have created with clay, paint, paper (actually, many times), but I now realize it was not nearly enough.

Mr. Gabe has reminded me that I need to do more art with him--listening to him as he discovers himself on the canvas or paper.  His comments intrigue me, as he fuses his own inner world with the paint and clay.  This week as he patted the paint on the canvas to make autumn leaves, he said that the colors were "spicy--just like Indian food."  As we stirred the warm colors on the palette, I observed his joyful face--no self-judgment--just pure joy to create.

These mediums, so unassuming and seemingly insignificant sitting on a shelf, are like a window for both of us to expand his world.  As Dieter Uchdorf said in a talk on creativity, "The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul."  So until I get my barn someday, I have made a little studio in our backyard in Qatar-- hoping that streams of creativity will pour down from the sky to us. You never know... maybe we really will open a gallery here in our compound.

“The soul should always stand ajar.  Ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.    --Emily Dickinson

 

E. and I in our new Qatar studio outside on the patio--trying to be open to any creative sparks that are ready to come alive....

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Travels with Camels!

My dad trying to talk to a 'camel whisperer' from Sudan.

Going to the San Diego Zoo as a young child, I always had to stop and take a peek at the camels--whether they were the dromedary (one hump) or bactrian (two hump) variety.   Camels, with their spindly legs, bubble eyes, long lashes, and winsome grins, in my innocent experience, only belonged in zoos. However, while living in the Middle East, one can observe they are ubiquitous in paintings, sculpture, road signs, fairs, and even alongside the highway (fenced in a pen).  But the camel racing season in Qatar from November to February takes the camel spotting to an entire new level. 

The 'camel whisperers' off to train their camels.

It is a singular experience to be surrounded by camels, with riders from all over the world, elegantly hoisted behind the one humped dromedary.  Early in the morning you can stand in the sand, alongside the tracks, as caravans of camels pass by--shouting greetings and encouragement to the 'camel whisperers.'  In the past there were human rights allegations for underage jockeys, but  in 2005 Emir Hamad Al Thani of Qatar issued a ban on all child jockeys, and pronounced camel races would be directed by robots. 

These are the robots that the camels wear on their backs as they race.

Imagine yourself standing next to the caravans with hundreds of camels sauntering by--off to the race track. It almost makes you feel like you are traveling on the Silk Road many centuries ago or a character in The Arabian Nights.

There are seemingly hundreds of camels and their riders; it is a national sport here, as it is in Bahrain, UAE, Egypt, Mongolia, Pakistan, Jordan, Oman, and Australia.  Few ' camel whisperers' speak any English, but they all hold up their thumbs, and wave as they saunter by on the camels, perched behind the hump.  

Young 'camel whisperers' off to train the camels.

Feed Store for the camels out by the racetrack.  There are camel veterinarians, seamstresses that make their mouthpieces, and even a Camel Race Grocery Store.

 In the early morning the camels are being trained--meaning they trot around the track, often times with younger camels next to them, showing them their future.  The camel tracks are very long ovals (4km-6km) so there are just a few seats to watch the races--no large grandstands.  Just imagine three concentric racetracks next to each other, with the camels in the dirt racetrack in the center.  The camel owners are in their SUV's racing alongside their prized camels, and the outer track is for the spectators who are driving along side the track--trying not to crash into one another as they watch the camels run the speed at 65 km/h or 40mph in short sprints.  They can maintain a speed of 40 km/h or 25 mph for an hour.  

My childhood intrigue with camels continues here in Qatar.  To bounce along on a camel in the desert have been some of my most magical moments in the Middle East.   A trek, a journey, a chance to travel... maybe I was meant to be a sojourner.   But to travel with a camel, in my opinion, means you are doing it in style!  

Camels on their training track.

Beware of camel caravans on the road in Qatar!

There are only a few countries in the world that  have road signs for drivers to warn them about camels!

Make way for camels....

   

My mom and dad at a museum with a Bedouin tent, and a fake camel in the background.  Camels can drink 30 gallons of water in about 13 minutes.  I am sure the Bedouins toted immense amounts of water in all their travels.

Every day I pass a camel farm when I take my son to school, right here in Doha.  At this particular sighting, one of them seemed to be slow dancing back and forth to music.  It is hilarious when all of them in the same pen twist their long, angular necks to look your way, batting their long eyelashes, and unabashedly stare at you. They have no sense of propriety that the stare was little too long.  Ha!    

My personal favorite logo here in Doha (from the post of 'An Event or Rare Extraordinaire).  

Some of my family near Gaza--their first camel rides.  'Camel Whisperers' in Egypt named their camels (mine was named Michael Jackson),  and clucked their tongue at them, scooting them along.  They whistled, sang, and really did whisper to them.  It is easy to observe that they have traveled many roads together, and know one another well.  I guess in order to cross a sweltering desert together one must have a mutually reciprocative connection--a trust that you both will not be nomads forever....  

Sand Sledding in Qatar

Circa 2002 Good times with friends at Art Hill on a toboggan in St. Louis.  Yep, the sled is thaaaat long!

Circa 2010 One of the city sledding landmarks for generations in St. Louis--Art Hill, which is across from the St. Louis Art Museum.  Underneath the statue of King Louis IX is a blazing bonfire that people are standing around.  Sometimes there were several fires at the top of the hill--enough room for anybody to warm up.

It is a biting 60 degrees over here in Doha during the day.  On the streets and in the compound, I see workmen wearing stocking caps and gloves.  Yikes, it is the winter season here in Qatar!  Lately I have been making hot chocolate, herbed tea, savory soups, and even wearing a stocking hat myself to the mall!  Ha!   For a girl from San Diego, California, I always relished the gray, icy days in New York City, Baltimore, New Jersey, and even in Beijing where I have lived as an adult.  My sentiments exactly match those of Robert Frost (notice his last name), the poet from Vermont, "You can't get too much winter in the winter."  In the ensuing years with my children and their friends, I made up for any snowy days I did not experience in San Diego (although my memories of wintry beach walks are magical too).  As their mom, I would yelp with joy as loud as any of them when a snow day was announced--maybe even in a more booming tone....

Circa 2001 Children's faces in the snow=one of my favorite things....

When I see the weather reports of minus degrees and polar vortex in parts of the world right now (as I am surrounded by sand), my inner child gets a little homesick.  To wake up in the morning and see the world blanketed with snow is like entering into a fairy tale; the lace of snow seems to renew the world--especially the first snowfall of the season.  The backdrop changes in the seasons never fail to rejuvenate me, and make me feel like a child again.

Sometimes I yearn for a crackly fire in the fireplace, snow days off from school, snow forts, and jumping in the big van with a pile of sleds and kids to go slide down a hill.   I would bring thermoses of steaming hot chocolate for everybody on the hill, and the wintry magic would blow--encircling us with warmth--even in the stinging air.   Sometimes the kids would stay on the same hill for the whole day--making jumps to fly over on the sled, as they wove around their fellow sledders.  I am glad I didn't trek them home too early--not until they ached and pled to leave the hill.  I knew these moments would last forever--not only in me, their snow-starved mother, but in their sacred chambers of memories.

Circa 1999 I told you I was crazy for snow.

When I heard that outside of Doha there were sand dunes to slide and sled on, my inner child was entranced, even excited, to explore the beige barrenness of sand around me.   Although it meant a messy car with peppered sand, I was ready to try this new kind of adventure in the sand dunes.   I wanted to carve some seasonal activities that make me feel like it is actually winter--besides making a hearty new soup.   The vast openness of the horizon, and stomping and slithering around in the sand were an unexpected gift to someone who is missing a snowstorm right now.  Indeed, our inner child can be filled and enlivened in a myriad of ways--especially if there are children around to show us how.

Joseph and I tramped up a few times, and slid down the dunes--barefoot, and blissfully happy--just like a pair of wonder-awed kids....   

J. feeling like he is King of the Dunes--just about to slide down.

Looking at the sunset on the horizon.  It started to get cold so a bonfire was made for "the sledders."

We might be in the desert, but a bonfire is still a welcoming reception after the desert chill blows in.  

No hot chocolate here on THIS hill--just give me some water please....

E. learning how to slide down a sand dune in Qatar

Z. at the top of the sand dune.  Funny thing is, he is my son's good friend (and a special family friend), and came to visit us in Qatar.  I remember giving him hot chocolate in St. Louis on top of another kind of sledding hill....

Look who came to the party!  We found a desert sojourner on the crest of the dune.

Lessons Learned:

1) Seek the companionship of children because they use all their senses to experience every moment.  Adventures with them make us more alive, and revitalize our sometimes weary-worn adult spirits.  Tiptoe around tide pools and slide down sand dunes--even if you get sand in your hair.  

2) Adjustments and adaptions to former traditions are always possible.  You can even make yourself believe it is really winter in Qatar.