We Would Like to Inquire of Your Absence

"As we aim to improve educational environment in our institute, We would like to inquire of your absence from sessions?

Your clear answer support us to develop our services." 

اسماء عبدالله صالح قاسم اليافعي'

** 

Dear اسماء عبدالله صالح قاسم اليافعي'

 

Thank you for your email. This is why I stopped attending programs at Fanar:

You cancelled my upper level class after I'd worked so hard to get there

You fired my teachers

You would not allow a conversation majlis (ie, no opportunity to use what I'd learned)

Poor parking around Fanar

Ever increasing, horrendous Doha traffic

I returned to Fanar in Fall 2014 after the summer break ready to begin LEVEL FIVE Arabic. There were just two people in the class, however, and we were told that a day class would not be made available. My classmate and I had worked hard for THREE YEARS and were the last two remaining from a 2011 entry program that had included 30+ students. Our efforts were rewarded with "the possibility" of an evening session but we have families and night classes are not feasible for us.

 

Plus ever increasing traffic in the souk area makes night activities at Fanar undesirable.

 

I paid the 300 QR fee and prepared to retake level four Arabic just for practice. The teacher was MUMTAZA JIDDAN. I liked her very much. But in the end there was too much traffic to make the effort.

 

With the help of your wonderful female staff (ma sha allah) I attempted to gain permission to organize a ladies' conversation majlis. I submitted a handwritten letter in Arabic to the mudier and met with your female staff. This would have been a hour once or twice a week when Arabic speaking staff and learners of all levels would gather, yeshrub shay and SPEAK ARABIC, whether fusha, khaleej or other 'amaayah. This has never been allowed.

 

My teachers were MUMTAZEEN. As I reached higher levels, classroom instruction was always conducted in Arabic. The staff was kind and helpful and often let me sit with them so I could hear and speak Arabic. HOWEVER, as Arabic is generally not spoken on Doha streets and it is difficult to meet locals (especially the ladies), without a majlis there is LOW TO ZERO opportunity to practice what I've learned at Fanar in Doha.

 

It is for all these reasons that I stopped attending Fanar programs.

 

Sincerely,

سندي كنالي

Baseball and Abayas

Bob, Kyle, Brad, Matt, Dawn (with little Mikus on deck), Aaron

celebrate the home team's ALCS victory 3am in Doha

photo credit: Matt Mikus (read Matt's travel blog: postcards and playlists)

 

Thousands of miles away and across the road too, the rest of my world celebrated the Kansas City Royals baseball ALCS victory and qualification for World Series competition.

 

Go Royals

 

I slid into abaya and hijab to attend Arabic classes at someplace new.

 

Maryam Center "Markazy Maryam" offers courses in Arabic, Quran and Islam

to Muslim women

 

The villa was surrounded by a high wall and tucked into a quiet community near a mosque. In front of the wall, a man guarded the sandy street. Behind the modesty-protecting barrier, shrouded women slipped through a paper covered door.

 

sorry, guys

 

Inside, black garbed women circled a stairwell. Windows covered in stained glass muted the hot sun. Like everywhere interior Doha, the air conditioning was set to "arctic" and the chill raised goose bumps on my blanketed skin. Three ladies worked at computers as dark eyed women rustled in and out of quiet rooms. In a windowless office, a lone woman sat at a mahogany desk, her title etched in Arabic on a wooden nameplate.

 

A brief consultation and the mudiera left the room. When she returned, she said: "Our classes are for women who are already Muslim. But you are so," here she supplied an Arabic word that she explained meant you-seem-Muslim, but might also refer to the preacher kid in me, ie, perhaps-your-dad-was-a-pastor-and-your-mom-a-church-pianist.

 

She handed me a registration packet. "I told him I wanted to give you a chance."

 

"Him" (no, not God): the unseen man who maintains unilateral authority

no matter how grand the boss-lady's desk.

 

For three years I've participated in the Arabic program at Fanar, the upside down ice cream cone minaret lighthouse-for-God at the center of downtown Doha. After a three month summer hiatus, one other woman and myself were ready to begin the final session of Fanar's five level program. That's when everything changed: new leadership, teachers fired, upper level courses moved from mornings to evenings. And new rules: we needed three more students before our class would be scheduled.

 

My classmate, a busy young Muslim mother and French expat, chose to go on to other things. I determined to follow our previous instructor to her new teaching position at Markazy Maryam.

 

abaya and hijab required

 

Here's what it's like to climb stairs carrying a purse and book bag as a newbie in abaya and hijab: sheer fabric clings to jeans, tangles at knees like a bed sheet to pajamas and (especially if it's front snapping) the robe flaps open. You instinctively release the handful of material gripped to prevent abaya from dragging as the skirt extends beyond shoes. Muted hallway sounds increase as you flail at the fly-a-way robe. Meanwhile, hijab slides off ears, slips over face. Disoriented and off balance, you, too, might shuffle over the abaya's hem, drop purse, trip over bag, turn the wrong direction and, blinded by a scarf, face plant.

 

Other activities, like the aerobic event that is the Arab greeting, maneuvering into a student desk or using the bathroom will be left to your imagination.

 

My teacher did not immediately know me with my sun-bleached hair and western attire hidden. Upon recognition she wrapped me in her arms and joyfully praised God.

 

"No, I'm not Muslim," I whispered in her ear as that's where my mouth was at the time. "I'm here for your class."

 

She squeezed me tighter. She kissed my cheeks and introduced me.

 

 

I settled into a front row seat and, along with six other ladies in black, learned about 3, 4 and 5 letter past tense root verbs using examples from the Quran.

 

foretelling baseball future?

Christmas Day Dhow ride, 2012

Go, Royals!

Goodbye, Lighthouse...?

In Arabic, fanar means "lighthouse."

In the same way a lighthouse illuminates safe passage for those seeking the comfort of shore, Doha's Fanar Islamic Cultural Center seeks to share the good news of Islam with the world - and you.

 

Inside, a wide, two story, tiled entry. A guard at a podium. An ornate split staircase leads to a first floor balcony. A tall vase stands at the heart of three doors.

 

To the left is a majlis meeting space with authentic-ish red and white cushions. Glass bookcases highlight Qatar's achievements and a ceiling mural depicts the country's proud history.

 

The middle door opens into a narrow hallway filled with cozy leather couches where, if you sit, a bearded man in a long white robe might bring you a glass mug of sweet Arabic tea. "Welcome, welcome," he'd say as you peruse ancient Korans and other artifacts in square wooden display cases and read a book about Islam etched on the walls in life-sized, full color print.

 

 

A third door, to the right of the vase and tucked under the stairs leads to the Ladies Section.

 

This is where women from all over the world - including Qatar - meet for the purpose of spreading the good news of Islam - that all, including you - might see the light and be saved. If you are persistent, you might learn some Arabic here too.

 

You visit the lighthouse this week in hopes of enrolling for an Arabic class. After three years of study and association, all that remains is the final course in the Center's five level program.

 

But it seems that Fanar is under new management. The familiar, hardworking teachers you'd come to know are gone; fired. Arabic class times are limited. In the same way that laws pertaining to freedom of speech took your blog, and malware lodged in your internet provider curiously limits access to your own website…new rules promise to swallow your Arabic classes too.

 

An optimistic woman in black pledges to intervene on your behalf. "I will ask him to make a time for you," she says. But she does not add in sha allah.

 

 

You pay the fee for a class that doesn't exist in hopes of maintaining a connection. Then you leave the way you came in: through the door tucked under the stairs.

Najla**

Two beautiful Western women on red couches,

ma sha allah!

 

The room is full of chattering Western women in jeans, skirts and tee shirts. They sit on red and black cushions placed in rows on the floor, facing a wall sized screen where two Asian men with beards huddle over a computer and projector.

 

In a corner, a shrouded figure stands quietly against the wall. Of course it's a "she" - a black scarf is draped over her head and face. The sheer fabric shields her features, hides the curve of her shoulders, neck and chest, until it meets her abaya which conceals the rest of her from arms to toes. She is silent behind the veil, calm, unmoving. I have to look twice to realize she's a person and not part of the wall.

 

 

I search for the shadow behind the curtain. I smile. "Salaam alaykum."

 

"Wo alaykum salaam," a voice whispers. She chuckles and I know her. I say her name with a question mark. We hug.

 

She's not separated herself from me; I know this. She's stepped away because there are men in the room and her traditional interpretation of Islamic principles inhibits interaction of any kind between non mahram men and women. The covering is one expression of her conservative Islamic beliefs.

 

A woman's mahram is a person whom she is never permitted to marry because of their close blood relationship (such as her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, etc., and her son, grandson, great-grandson, etc., her paternal and maternal uncles, her brother, brother's son and sister's son)…

islam qa

 

I feel the curiosity in the room, hear the whispers as women peek at her and wonder to each other: Who is she? Why is she hidden? Doesn't she want to be free? Who told her she had to cover herself?

 

Of course she knows what they're saying. She understands the discomfort and confusion and isn't bothered or offended. Her job is to teach, explain, enlighten Qatar's female visitors. Her mission is to share Islam.

 

 

I want to go from person to person and introduce this amazing, bright, enthusiastic, intelligent woman no one can see. I want to tell them how she's a diplomat's daughter who's travelled all over the world and speaks three languages. She has a university degree. She's an accomplished presenter and writer who is happily, joyfully married to a man she adores. She's fun, funny and smart. She has a large, loving, welcoming family who, if you were fortunate to visit in their home, would ply you with sweets, coffee and tea. They would intervene when your daughter is asked if she'd consider marriage to a local man ("she's focused on her studies at this time") - and send you home with a bag brimming with chocolate.

 

I want to tell them to look beyond the veil and the differences it represents.

 

But instead I find a spot against the wall, sit.

 

After the men leave it's just us girls. The veil comes off and personality takes its place. Questions are answered. She is a warm and welcoming representative of her country and culture as well as a bridge to understanding both Qatar and Islam.

 

Curious? No need to whisper. All you gotta do is smile and say hello.

 

**Not her real name, of course.

 

 

Yes, my blog is late this week. Thank you to everyone who wrote to let me know! I'm spending the summer stateside where I will be very busy jogging in the street, working in my green, green garden, fixing my house, eating Chipotle and watching Big Bang Theory with my beautiful (ma sha allah) children. Plus and especially, loving on the two most wondrous grandbabies God ever made (ma sha allah!). As such, my blogging schedule may be less routine - and more eclectic - than usual. Thanks for reading!

 

Why I love Arabic

study time

 

First it was me and the girls from the 5A class, chatting in the hall. The Turkish student didn't speak English so conversation was necessarily in Arabic.

 

Where are you from? How long have you studied Arabic? How many children do you have? How old are you? What languages do you speak?

 

Then class, as always, conducted in a rapid fire mix of classical Arabic with a side of Egyptian dialect, garnished in English (but only when absolutely necessary).

 

And finally, the ladies:

 

Wahashteenee! I've missed you! How is your health? How is your family? When is your baby due? (Not mine.) Where will you travel this summer? When will you be back?

 

The Sudanese jewel was a teacher in her country but stays home now. The Moroccan is expecting twins. The Kenyan's first language is English but she learned Arabic in Mombasa where a dialect is spoken. The young girl from Nepal is learning Arabic like me.

 

I ping ponged through the building, collecting hugs and kisses, laughter, words. One young mother liked my Arabic children's books. A ten year old is learning Arabic in English at her French school. There was talk, reading, writing, explanations, diagrams, corrections and fun.

 

With a limited vocabulary spanning a narrow range of subjects, I float in a sea of sound in search of the island of understanding. When opportunity for conversation meets a day my brain is (more or less) tuned in, I'm reminded of the many reasons why I love Arabic. Here are a few:

 

Interesting display near the Convention Center

God is part of everything. When I expressed joy over a friend's pregnancy, she hesitated then said, like a mother telling her child to remember to eat his peas: "say ma sha' allah" (what God wills).

Hospitality is so deeply engrained in the language that it overflows into culture: a greeting must be returned in the same or bigger manner. Kind words are a gift. A smile is a form of charity. The most difficult subject gets an alhum du il allah (praise to God).

There's music in the alphabet: the hissing cat (khal), long breath (Haa), gargle ('ein), growl (ghein), pause (hamza), open throat sigh (Saad), hollow dee (Daad). Sounds mix, flow, surge, rest. One word may mean many different things and an altered tone or pitch, length, vowel choice or the placement of the word or sound in a sentence can change the essence of an interaction.

the chameleon "jeem"

makes a different sound depending upon where the speaker is from

 

I like that differentiation in order or pronunciation is generally chalked up to dialect (and not a slow brain). And that if I talk for more than a minute, someone always, always asks: are you from Egypt?

 

Qataris cheerfully break speech speed records but Egyptians talk slow and easy. A Syrian can say the exact same thing and I don't understand at all (to my ear it's like the difference between American English and whatever it is Australians speak).

 

Innumerable dialects add confusion and misunderstanding but also multiply, divide and grow nuance, beauty, mystery, magic, music.

 

I like the way comprehension doesn't come from a single word but a combination of meaning, form and intonation. And that understanding happens in waves that stream over you like a warm summer breeze. "You must feel the language," says my teacher.

 

I'm a grammar geek, so I love that there are countless rules and word groups. For example, "kanna and her sisters" and "inna and her sisters" affect sentences in opposite ways. And you only add alef to tanween when it comes with fatha but not if there's an alef lam. I like searching text for mafgool bihee and mansoob and the many different forms of fael. And how Sifa the describer must match moosouf the described in gender, markings, number, grammar. And that majroor follows harf il jar the preposition which predictably - in a seeming morass of unstructured structure - calls for kessra.

 

And I like that that none of this - none of it - matters once you start talking.

 

But among the most important reasons I enjoy Arabic: I like the ladies.

 

jelabia

for special occasions

The woman in abaya and sheer red and yellow hijab sat in an empty classroom, Arabic Koran and notebook open before her. Sabah al kheer, I said. Good morning.

 

She blinked.

 

Kayf ilhal? I said. Izzayik? Chismich? Hatha ghorfa f-ay mostawa? How are you? What's your name? Which class is this?

 

In a lilting Indian accent, she replied in English. "No, no. I'm in the Islam class, so I only read Arabic. I don't know what the words mean." She took my level 4B Arabic book, slid a finger below individual words as a Kindergartner recites from a primer.

 

"You see? I can read." She shook her head. "But no meaning. Yet."

 

Ahhh. Her fun is just beginning.

Tea and Arabic

Hospitality Tea with Mary Anne at Fanar

March 2013

 

I'd passed her desk three times - as I skipped from administrative offices, to the bathroom, to class, to offices.  Hurry, hurry, rush, rush.  "Salaam alaykum!" I said.  Peace be with you.

 

"Wo alaykum salaam," she said.  And with you, peace.  She was covered from head to toe with a dark veil over her face.  She held out a hand as if to say, Stop, wait.

 

I am fluent in Arabic - as long as dialogue is limited to:

Hi.  How are you?  I am good.  How do you say (English word)?  Where are you from?  Where is the bathroom?  Do you have it in red/black?  How much?  That's expensive!  I'm married.  My husband works (here/there/Heart of Doha).  I love you/him/her/them/it.  Yes/no/maybe.  Wow, that's a lot of cars/traffic!

 

I can also say:

• "where" in Qatari, Egyptian and classical Arabic (wayn-fayn-ayna?)
• please/thank you/excuse me/I don't understand
• no problem/whatever

I can greet a man or a woman in Qatari dialect (Shlonich?  Shlonak?).  And, while I don't always remember the exact, proper response, I am ready to reply "things are good" (the only acceptable answer to "how are you?") in a variety of ways: bikheer/tammam/alhumduilallah/kwayiss.

 

Of course, my fluency is enhanced when the person I'm talking to: a) confines conversation to words I already understand; b) doesn't speak Arabic; c) doesn't respond.

 

"The Arabic language is beautiful and easy."

- Fanar Arabic book, level three, pg. 45

 

But that's just the spoken language.  Written Arabic is another thing altogether.

 

Subject, predicate, noun, verb, object - these are concepts that translate into English (sort of).  Rufa', mansoob, majroor, majzoom, moodahf wo moodahf ilee - these ideas are harder to reconcile with my current knowledge-on-tap.  Plus, in Arabic, there are words that change depending upon where they appear in the sentence (ma'raab) and those than keep the same form (mabnee) "no matter what."  There are singular, plural and dual tenses for - literally, it seems - everything; male and female adjective endings and those circle and dash-like symbols that appear above and below words.

 

Yeah, those little marks mean something.  Sometimes they mean everything.

 

Qatar's national language is Arabic but given the distorted expat to homeboy/girl ratio, English is more widely spoken.  This means that studying Arabic in Qatar today is much like attempting to learn Arabic in, say, New York, Kansas City or Sweden.

 

I speak Arabic for approximately two hours, twice a week.  In my class - which is conducted in Arabic.  And at Fanar - where kind ladies from a variety of places pause in the midst of their busy workday to wait patiently for the puddle in my head to form and output something response-worthy.  Every now and then I get it right.  But most days these wise, wonderful, patient women earn extra points toward heavenly rewards thanks to two hours, twice a week of, well…me.

 

Um.

 

The woman grasped my hand, pulled me close.  She flipped the veil over the back of her head.  "Anti heloo," she said.  You're sweet.  She smiled.  "But you must relax, slow down, sit."  She patted the chair beside her.  "Drink tea.  The language, it will come."

 

To pause the clock for tea while there are questions to ask, books to read, places to go, things to do, language to learn?  This is a lesson too: in patience, tolerance, culture, understanding…and, it seems, Arabic.

 

You must feel the language.

- Arabic teacher

My First Qatari Wedding

a sweet little girl, henna, a shiny, sequined dress

 

"The Arab dance is like walking," said my new friend, when there was a break in the music.  She raised an arm shoulder high, wrist loose, fingers down, lifted a foot, took a step.  "You see? Easy."

 

In the middle of the room, ladies danced on a raised platform.  Like a model's runway it spanned nearly the length of the space, meeting the stage in the middle to form a "T."  On the stage high above the platform was a long white divan covered in luxurious white, gold and red pillows, flanked by columns and surrounded by roses.  Later, the bride would sit here.  Much later, the groom would join her.

 

Hips rolled, shoulders dipped, arms moved like ribbons on boneless bodies as ladies slowly circled the runway.  Thrumming, drumming, sinuous, sensual Middle Eastern style music resounded through speakers from the live (male) band tucked into a hidden space behind the stage.

 

Maybe walking was the first dancing lesson, but the rest of it?  Definitely.  Not.  Easy.

 

Some women wear abaya and sheyla to marriage events, but

traditionally each celebration is an opportunity to see and be seen

guests dress up hair, makeup, clothing

photo above offers a Very Conservative Sample of Qatari wedding attire

 

The hall was wide, bright and surrounded by a flowing white curtain to protect ladies' privacy.  Crystal chandeliers hung from a sky high ceiling.  Attendants in brilliant white and gold served sweets on luminous gilded trays.  Round tables decorated in white and yellow featured tall candles and vibrant bouquets of rich red roses.

 

Lines of velvet covered chairs flanked the runway.  Grandmothers, mothers, aunts, matchmakers and other relatives occupied these seats.  To enjoy the dancing - but also to consider the young, unmarried guests as prospective wives for sons, nephews, brothers.  Velvet seat relatives ascended the runway with stacks of QR notes which they shuffled into the air above a dancer's head.  Money poured like rain over the platform.

 

Special servers collected the notes in brown bags.  The money would go to the band.

 

my beautiful friends, Nancy and Ania

world travelling, multi-lingual mother-daughter pair

masha allah!

 

Here's what I've learned about Qatari weddings (from presentations at Fanar and personal experience):

 

There is no celibacy in Islam

Prophet Mohammed (PBUH)

 

Choosing a Partner

Most Qatari marriages today - nearly 100% - are arranged, preferably within the same tribe.  This is to keep money and property in-house, but also to protect the bride.  It's easier to know a man's true character when he's already a member of the same family.  Traditionally young couples spend the first week after the wedding with the bride's mother before moving into a space in the groom's family home.  Nowadays many young couples eventually move into their own, separate, house.

 

As Qatari life adjusts to meet demands of a changing world, more young men and women meet and choose prospective partners themselves - through work, school, friendships.  The arrangement process, however, remains the same - mothers, aunts and matchmakers consult, father's/guardian's approval is obtained.  The couple talk on the phone, email, meet (always with family members present) and the young man is allowed to see the young woman uncovered in a chaperoned setting.  If everyone agrees - including the young couple, each of whom may decline - the contract is signed.

 

The Contract

This is when marriage conditions are spelled out - like the bride's desire to finish school, work after marriage or be the only wife.  Potential disagreements are aired, discussed, agreed upon - like a pre-marriage counselling session with legal implications.

 

The mahr - a kind of dowry - is offered by the groom's family.  The money is a gift to the bride payable before the wedding - and usually (in Qatari society) spent on the wedding.

 

After the contract is signed, the man and woman are officially married.  Consummation of the union does not occur until after the actual ceremony.  A change of heart after the contract is signed requires a divorce.

 

Engagement

The engagement may last days, months or even (in the case of children promised to one another, for example) years.  There is an announcement party where the couple's intention is declared and sometimes a celebration called walimah, a banquet specifically for the families to become acquainted.

 

Weddings

There are two weddings: one for the women and one for the men.  Traditionally, the men's party takes place in tents outside of town and involves sword dancing, nose tapping, food and good hospitality.  Generally, it is an open event and invitation is by word of mouth.  To learn more about Qatari weddings from a man's perspective, read this wonderful 5-part account by Qatari blogger Osama Alassiry.

 

The ladies' wedding begins with the engagement party and includes a henna night as well as the actual wedding.  All ladies' parties are private events, usually held in a closed hotel space.  Printed invitations are issued and phones and cameras are taken at the door.

 

Other Stuff

Qataris are known for their hospitality and a wedding celebration is the ultimate opportunity to honor one another with food, nonalcoholic beverages, sweets, perfume and other gifts.  The cost of a Qatari wedding today may exceed 1 million Qatari Riyal.  Both the bride's and groom's families contribute to expenses.

 

gift bags: so pretty!

 

inside gift bags: harakat!

(Qatari dialect for wow!)

 

Sometime after 10pm, attendants pulled back a curtain and the bride appeared under a white arch.  She wore a modern, glittering white gown with a wide skirt and train.  Gems in her dress reflected the silver jewels in her hair, ears and around her neck.

 

So lovely:  masha allah.

 

Sweet bukhoor wafted about the room with as the bride made slow progress toward the steps leading to the runway.  Lit candles glowed along the platform, marked the stage, shimmered at each table.

 

There was hugging and kissing and whirling clouds of money.  Professional photographers took photos and video.  Sweets were offered on golden trays by gold attired servers.  A female singer performed inside the hall - and money filled the air - 1, 5, 10QR notes and American bills too.

 

At an unseen signal sometime after 11pm, ladies donned abayas and sheylas.  Arch curtains opened and the groom appeared in dress robes and flanked by his father, other male relatives and three young boys with swords.  The boys performed a sword dance as the group moved slowly up the stairs, across the runway and toward the stage where the bride waited, hidden now behind a screen.

 

More hugging and kissing, photos, video and a hurricane of QR notes.  The groom's male relatives and friends (those not allowed to see the bride) left the room.  The screen was removed.  The bride stood.  The groom moved to stand beside her and his relatives circled the couple.  There was hugging and kissing, photos, video and more raining money.

 

The groom joined his bride on the divan.  They held hands as money swirled around them.

 

A fantastic buffet dinner was served after midnight.

 

pretty table display

 

Around 1am, servers returned with bukhoor and bottles of sweet perfume, signaling time for the bride and groom to depart.  Together the young couple stood, walked slowly hand in hand across the stage, down the runway, through the curtain and disappeared under the arch.

 

We took a turn on the runway after the party was over, walk-dancing from one end to the other, waving arms and swinging hips.

 

No one tossed money.  Masha allah!

This Week in Doha: Fasting, Garangao-ween, Unlawful Sex

Fanar offered non-Muslim expats three opportunities this week to share a "traditional" iftar experience (breaking the day's Ramadan fast by eating together) in a program titled, "Come Fast With Us."  Fasting before the meal was not required.  To enhance the experience, I decided to fast anyway.

 

Fanar: Qatar Islamic Cultural Center

 

Every year Muslims all over the world abstain from food and drink (this includes water) for the 30 days of Ramadan, from dawn (about 3:30am) to sundown (about 6:30pm).  All Muslims…excepting the insane or children under the age of 10 years.  Those who are sick, travelling, pregnant, nursing or menstruating are not expected to fast, but must reschedule the missed experience for a later date:  "a day for a day."  People who are old or chronically ill feed a needy person in lieu of fasting.

 

Ramadan occurs during the month of the Islamic ("Hijri") calendar when it is believed that the Holy Quran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH: this means "peace be upon him" and is the English equivalent of what follows the Prophet's - PBUH - name or title).  Each year the date Ramadan begins changes slightly as the rhythm of the Islamic calendar is affected by the moon.

 

Fasting is one of the Five Pillars of Islam.  It is a gift to God, opportunity for prayer, introspection, self-reflection, empathy. If you're Muslim, fasting earns you reward in the afterlife.

 

The Five Pillars of Islam:

1.  Faith:  the Shahada

2.  Prayer

3.  Zakat:  charitable giving

4.  Fasting

5.  Pilgrimage: the Hajj

Islamicity.com

 

If you're non-Muslim, expect a body cleansing, soul freeing, emotion enhancing experience. Do not expect to earn points toward the (Islamic) Heaven.

 

How to begin fasting:

1) rise before dawn (unless you're the mom, sister, aunt or other able bodied female, in which case you get up even earlier to cook…or if you're like many young Muslims who stayed up all night feasting/playing, you would make your way home to gather with the fam and eat some more before the new fast begins).
2) enjoy a pre-fast meal called "Suhoor."  The meal may consist of anything you like except alcohol or pork, which are forbidden in Islam.
3) express your intention to fast: "I intend to fast today."
4) stop eating and drinking.
5) pray.

 

At dawn, approximately an hour and a half before sunrise, the muezzin chants the first Adhan, called "Fajr."  All eating and drinking ceases about 5 minutes before the call.

 

At 3:15am I drank a bottle of water, said a prayer.  Catholics, like Muslims, have standardized prayers - the Lord's Prayer, Hail Mary, Angel of God, etc.  But when I talk to God (especially at 3am) it's usually in the Baptist way, ie, a variation of this:

 

Dear God, Bless my babies, Chris, Katie and Kimberly, Krissy and Killian.  Bring them happiness, peace, joy, love.  Send angels to guide their decisions, guard their hearts and keep them safe.  Thank you for Amazing Bob, his wisdom, kindness and all the sacrifices he makes for our family.  Thank you for Mom and Dad and Kitty and Kay and Charles and Bernie and  (insert your name here).  Help us to love one other.  Let me make a difference in someone's life today.  Amen.

 

I won't detail the rigors of my first Islamic fast.  Let's just say:  it was difficult.

 

I read.  I napped.  I (tried to) write.  I watched "Dora the Explorer" in Arabic and baked brownies for the next day's Secret Ramadan Lunch.

 

The no-food part wasn't that big a deal for me.  The no-liquid part, however, was a moment-to-moment challenge.

 

(In the interest of full disclosure:  because of the extreme heat, I'd made plans to stay inside most of the day, which is not usual for me.  While temps soared to a scalding 105F, it was not humid and there was a rare, God-gifted breeze, so I was able to sit on the balcony.  I did not sleep the day away.  But I cannot claim to have done my "regular" thing while fasting.)

 

By mid-afternoon, I couldn't type straight anymore and my eyes had stopped working.  I was exhausted, dull, cranky and sad.  But I was no longer hungry or thirsty.  (Kind of like when you stop feeling cold just before you freeze to death?)

 

With the end of my first fast in sight, I joined a group of other non-Muslims at Fanar as Brother Domenic, a bearded Irish convert with Leprechaun-pink cheeks, twinkling eyes and an impish grin outlined Islam, explained Ramadan and detailed how fasting works.

 

Brother Domenic:  "When is orange juice like alcohol?" Answer: "During daytime hours in Ramadan."

 

The group separated by gender.  In the ladies' area, we sat on the floor and enjoyed the communion of (vacuum packed) dates and (bottled) water and a traditional rice, lamb and salad feast.  We learned more about Islam from an eloquent, fun and funny niqab-wearing convert from Virginia, USA, who speaks fluent Egyptian and Gulf dialects - and was the only participating Arabic speaker.  (To my knowledge there were no Qataris - or Arabs - present.)  Each guest received a tee shirt and a book about Ramadan.

 

tee shirt

 

Later, I ate a bowl of popcorn, nibbled a few cookies and fell asleep watching "Conan" (the talk show host , not the Barbarian).  I didn't feel the need to stay up all night eating, but then…I wasn't going to be fasting the next day (or the next or the next or the…) either.

 

Garangao

 

photo ops galore

 (camera trouble: please forgive pic quality!)

 

Once upon a time, the full moon on 14 Ramadan (the day that marks the celebration's half way point) meant children dressed in traditional costumes going door to door to collect treats and money from family and friends.  Today, tribes are spread throughout the city and unrelated multi-ethnic strangers hunker next door.  Instead of the traditional door to door-ing, parents and children gather at specified locations and, in the same way that America's Halloween has become "Trunk or Treat," children move from station to station showing off costumes in exchange for bags of candies and nuts.  (Click here to read more about Garangao.)

 

"Cauldron" of goodies outside a restaurant reinforces Halloween analogy

(same disclaimer about photo quality)

 

Garangao-ween (without the devils, demons, zombies and fairies)?

 

Garangao is a Gulf tradition.

 

Unlawful Sex

 

In March, 2013, a 24-year old Norwegian businesswoman from Doha is raped by a coworker while at a business meeting in Dubai.  She reports the assault and is charged with having unlawful sex, making a false statement and illegal consumption of alcohol.  She is sentenced to 16 months in prison.

 

Her (alleged) assailant, who is married, is convicted of public intoxication and having sex outside of marriage.  He receives 13 months in prison.

 

This week, following a world-wide outcry against the treatment and sentencing of the victim, all charges against the young woman are dropped.  She is pardoned by royal decree.

 

Since there is no longer a case, all charges against the (alleged) rapist are also dropped.

 

"While Dubai has a reputation as a cosmopolitan city that boasts Western influences, where visitors can drink at bars and restaurants and unmarried couples can share hotel rooms, the country adheres to Islamic laws and traditions.

 

Having sex outside of marriage and public consumption of alcohol are both violations of the law in the United Arab Emirates."

cnn.com

 

The young woman and her (alleged) attacker are both fired from their jobs in Doha for "drinking alcohol at a staff conference that resulted in trouble with the police." cnn.com
 

Street Talk

When I was 15 years old, thanks to my adventurous parents, Indiana Jones and Marian Ravenwood (aka Charles Hedrick and Peggy Hedrick), I lived in Cairo, Egypt - where the language of the street was Egyptian Arabic:

 

Indy, Marian, Kay and Cindi on top of the Great Pyramid, New Year's Day 1975

Minus brother Charles Hedrick, Jr. who slept in that morning (slacker!)

 

I jogged around the sphinx, visited Tut's tomb and sort-of-met Henry Kissinger.

 

sneaking a peek, 1974

 

I attended high school, trolled the bazaar ("Khan al Khalili"), rode trains, shopped markets. Wandered into the desert on horseback to oasis-like Sahara City…where a group of errant teens could prop boots on railings, sip "lamoon" (lemonade) and chat with Bedouins.

Most locals did not speak English. 

Surrounded by the language, I learned to produce Arabic sounds like:

the hissing cat (khal - خ)

the gargle (ein -  ع)

choking-on-a-bone (ghein - غ).

 

Later, I returned to Cairo alone during a college year abroad and my Egyptian Arabic came right back.

 

So, relearning the language in  Doha should be easy, right?

 

Wrong.

 

There are two very distinct categories of Arabic:  "Street" Arabic, which encompasses a multi-bazillion number of dialects.  And Modern Standard Arabic, which is the language of the Koran, education and the foundation for all those multi-bazillion dialects.

 

"Street" Arabic varies from one country/area/neighborhood/family to another and are not written languages. 

 

Modern Standard Arabic is written and read all over the Arab world and among Muslims in every country everywhere…but generally - it is not spoken.

 

from my workbook: doula Qatar (Country of Qatar)

 

In Qatar, locals speak a form of the Gulf ("Khaleeji") dialect - which is very different from Egyptian Arabic. 

 

Arab nationals from Syria, Lebanon, Yemen, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Emirates, Egypt...along with Muslims from every country in the world live and work in Doha.  All speaking their own form of Arabic.

 

While most do not speak a second dialect, nearly everyone understands MSA.

 

Many Arabs are surprised to hear MSA spoken by a Westerner.  Often…they laugh.  I am told that I have an "Egyptian accent" which somehow makes everything funnier.

 

But when the laughing is done…communication happens.

 

So why learn MSA?  Here are a few reasons:

• More than 250 million people comprise the Arab world (New World Encyclopedia)
• Nearly 26% of the world's population, approximately 2 billion people, are Muslim  (Islamic Web)
• Educated Arabs read, write and understand MSA, regardless of their home dialect
• Muslims often understand MSA, regardless of their home country or native language
• Arabic is a beautiful, musical language, thick with nuance
• Knowledge of MSA is necessary to study the Koran, read Arabic books, street signs, menus and more
• The best way to understand a culture is through its language

And if you're ever in a Arab country where you don't know the dialect - you might still rent a horse…or camel.

 

Katie and Kimber hanging out in the Qatari desert

I Have a Dream...

through the rear window of the car in front of me - where's the light?

 

…where I die while parked at a red light.  Cars stream past in long lines, honking horns, flashing brights, cutting in, out and around my stalled vehicle for years and years until the SUV disintegrates into a rusted heap, mixes with my dry bones and rides a sandstorm to far, far away.

 

Traffic is ever worse in Doha. (Click here to see what driving in Doha looks like.)

 

"Cindi, you must ask your husband, WHEN will Mshiereb project finish?" say the Ladies at Fanar, only half joking.

 

An important stretch of road sealed for the project means increased traffic around the Cultural Center, tie-ups on the Corniche, waiting through three (or more) green-back-to-red lights.  Long, slow rides to work, students late for class, fender-benders -- and worse.

 

Mshiereb at dusk - cranes over giant hole

 

While it's true this one massive project slows movement around town…it's not the only monster on the block.

 

All over the city, there is construction.  Streets dotted with cones, lined with concrete dividers, interrupted by big-bodied cranes, loaders, lifters, scrapers, shovelers. Trucks brimming with concrete and steel rumble alongside buses full of workers.  Slow moving Toyotas stuffed with impossibly-awkward, intently worrisome trundles of "rebar" and heavy flatbeds crammed with pyramids of brick and stone compete for road space with moms in minivans, businessmen in BMWs and Suburbans full of bouncing children (seatbelts not required), while ladies in niqab (ie, only eyes visible) wearing sunglasses drive Explorers and McDonalds deliverymen dart about on motorcycles.

 

In Doha, traffic surges just one way with a green light. This means only one quadrant of an intersection moves at a time.  A light may remain green up to 5-10 minutes - a lifetime if you drank a bottle of water half an hour ago but nowhere near long enough if you're 200 cars from the front of a blocked intersection.

 

Entering and exiting a roundabout is like dancing into a game of double dutch - maneuvering into the space between two moving ropes without breaking rhythm and crashing (a street game when I was a kid, now a bonafide sport):

 

 

There are no shortcuts either - traffic blocks alleyways and back roads just as it clogs the city's major arteries.  Most of the time you're better off putting the car into park, chain-chewin'-you-some-gum and waiting for the dance to begin:

 

Jump Rope Rhyme for a Doha Roundabout

 

Roundabout Roundabout let me in

Goin' to The Pearl to drink some gin

If I should die before the light:

passing is prohibited on the right.

 

Got a frustrated-in-traffic rhyme? Share, please.

 

Tourist Qatar: Where We've Been

Katie and Kimber in Doha, UPDATE:

 



Beach Beach Beach Beach

 

Yeah, we love The Beach.  But we've been one or two other places, done one or two other things.  For example:

 

jogged around tanks on National Day, donned abayas and sheylas, drove into the desert, shopped Souq Waqif, Carrefour, Spinneys

 

okay these last two are grocery and stuff stores, but since things spoil so fast here (no preservatives) we have to go ALL THE TIME and these shops are interesting and different and therefore are counted as tourist-ish someplaces

 

run the Corniche, stepped behind the 10-foot walls and through the steel gates of the Catholic Church of Our Lady of the Rosary, hung at The Pearl

 

above the boardwalk, among the yachts, upscale shopping, restaurants and near the merry go round…we live, jog and tourist The Pearl daily

 

done City Center/Landmark/Villagio/Al Khor: Malls… Imam Muhammad Ibn Abdul Wahhab Masjid and Katara: Mosques; Fanar, Inland Sea, Doha Bay Dhow ride, Museum of Islamic Arts and park, Singing Dunes

 

Katie scales the dunes

 

visited Al Khor, hiked Purple Island, missed the run but caught the camels at the Camel Races, poked around Film City

 

real-ish desert village set created for a Qatari tv show -

you need gps to find it

 

feted New Year's Eve at Souq Waqif

 

dinner at the souq

 

searched for and found Al Mazrouh Yard where 22 Doha farms reputedly sell locally grown fruits and vegetables

 

no produce, but this scarecrow-like dude was dressed for salty-soil-farm work

 

pet a falcon

 

Raw chicken off the bone: yummmmmmmm

 

supped at Turkey Central, Zaatar w/ Zeit, Fuddruckers, Chili's, Magic Corn, Haagen Dasz… attended Swalif, leaped pools of standing water during a freakish day-long rainstorm, baked brownies, grilled chicken, boiled rice, made homemade hummus, rolled down a hill at Islamic Museum Park, got pants full-a sand while dunes rumbled beneath us…hung with some really fun peeps

 

Mshiereb Madness BMD style

 

And there's still time for more!  Like, for example, this weekend?  DUBAI.

 

 

We'll keep you posted...