Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun

Geez Darryl I am sweating. Starting a blog is like starting a novel. People might actually read this. (My family have to read this, by the way). I have absolutely no idea what to write, so I’ll just set the
scene instead...

It’s a Friday/Sunday night and I marvel at how the haunting tune of Carte Blanche can follow one like an intercontinental drift of kakness. It seems that one can escape Sunday but the back to boarding school Sunday night blues will always survive, even on a Friday. My apartment is surprising quiet apart from the noise of a sewerage truck sucking up the contents of the weekend’s frivolities and curries. There also seem to be some cats somewhere that are determined to keep the population of wild eyed, emaciated felines of Muscat well stocked, the last time I heard noises like that was when the bergie who lived under my window in Cape Town had her duvet stolen.

Getting into this country was a truly marvellous experience. All it took was R180 and my passport and that was that. Getting into the US,however, involved months of inoculations for everything, from yellowfever to indigestion; it also involved paperwork equivalent to that of rewriting the constitution for a small African country and let us not forget that delightful little interview at the American consulate. What I’m trying to get at here, if you hadn’t already got my gist, is that it’s very easy to visit Oman, easy and inexpensive... and I have a spare room.

On getting picked up from the airport by Naz, who is in charge of admin at the Modern Gulf Institute (my new employer), I was taken to see the school. I was so overwhelmed by the fact that I was actually officially in Muscat that I took very little notice of things (specifically the names of the Arab people who work there, they struck me as being pretty tricky) I will have to give details of the school at a later date.

I was then taken to my new apartment which is a couple of blocks away from the school. It is a spacious two bedroom apartment, fully furnished. To arrive in a place where people have gone to the trouble of stocking the fridge with fruit, milk, bread and other small necessities (including tissues – how did they know?) is a small gesture which can make all the difference. After Naz had left me I returned up to my flat and looked out the window at my new view. Beyond The Star restaurant and the Beauty Centre stretches the desert and beyond the desert a range of mountains that make the Drakensberg mountains look like soft squishy marshmallows. The terrain is rugged and stark, it is made of rock and ocean and there is no time for fannying about with shrubbery and touchy feely grass. After taking in the view for about two milliseconds I burst into tears realising that I am indeed away from everything that is familiar.

This emotion, which happens very rarely in ones life because one can generally cling to something that seems familiar, is something that brings one the closest one will ever get to oneself. When faced with the certainty that the only way one will survive is through ones own courage, perseverance and character one comes to understand why these odysseys are completely vital to becoming a better human being. If one cannot understand and support oneself through hardship how can one possibly think that they can do the same for another human being?

After crying/unpacking for about an hour I collapsed on my bed, realising that sleep deprivation was certainly adding to my emotional state. I have no idea how long I slept for but when I woke it was almost evening and it was time for me to prepare for the annual theatrical event that takes place in Muscat. Apparently people look forward to it for months because the only other entertainment comes in the form of whirling dervishes accompanied by readings of the Koran.

After drinks we headed off to watch them, the stars of Muscat, all four of them, who together make up the ‘Muscat Amateur Theatre’ (and the crowd goes wild). The show was called ‘Mat Hatters’ and involved a collection of skits from plays I have never heard about whose playwrights were equally shadowy. The scenes were performed in a garden. I am not entirely sure on what basis the scenes were  chosen but I have no doubt that if Janet Buckland (of the Rhodes drama department) got her hands on these scripts they would no doubt have not made it onto the garden pagoda in Dr Someone Or Other Arabic’s garden. One thing I can complement the garden recital on was the unbelievable scent of jasmine, so when the over accented ramblings of Mr Ramsbottom to Mrs O’Henry became too much I would close my eyes and smell the jasmine.

The event was a truly remarkable experience. I felt like I had gone back in time to about two centuries ago when the bloody British were still colonising all and sundry. The luxury and the sheer Britishness of the evening probably best describe my first impression of Oman – it is being colonised but this time it’s through the boardrooms of their country. Another fascinating figure to emerge during the evening is the South African ambassador. After a lovely intermission where gluwein and mince pies were served (I kid you not) we were sung a lovely little ditty that pretty much encompassed it all – ‘only mad dogs and the British go out in the midday sun’. In the song the aboriginal people from all over the world were referred to, some being called natives, and remarks were made that everyone, apart from the British, see the sense in taking a midday siesta. It was then that I concluded that I certainly cannot be a descendent of British blood.

My next day was spent getting the necessaries for living (including two pin plugs etc) and then Sarah, who also works with me, took me for a drive around Muscat. The photos I have taken will perhaps do the city justice because it will take forever to describe what it looks like. I had my first taste of what it means to be a foreign girl in this country. We were at the Sultan’s palace and we walked passed a VERY heavy girl who was wearing the toitest denim shorts in the world with a strapless little crop top. I know there are camels in Oman but I was not expecting this camel toe. She looked repulsive. Having left every article of clothing at home that might show my knees or a clavicle I found this situation ridiculous.

Here was a young teenage girl, whose outfit would have turned heads on Point Road, and she was unabashedly walking around with her parents in an Islamic country looking like Anna Nicole Smith’s uglier sister. Needless to say a few minutes later we passed her again and this time she had enough young Arab men around her to form an army, they were all pawing at her and trying to take photos of her. She was looking less comfortable at this point and will no doubt be wearing her mother’s trousers, socks and sandals for the rest of her stay.

Apparently I will be teaching for a company on the other side of Muscat to I’ll have to learn to drive in this place quickly, the prospects of arse kreeper drivers, driving on the wrong side of the road and suicidal Indians who throw themselves in front of cars in order to get blood money sent back home to their families is all a little bit daunting. At this point however I have to throw caution to the wind otherwise I will not survive in this place. I have no idea how disciplined I am going to be at this whole blogging thing, I am however going to do my best. So along with my goal for a successful blog I would like to set out my other goals for this year...

1. I will see the year through.
2. I will do a diving course.
3. I will write my book.
4. I will become mentally and physically healthy.
5. I will save enough money for an epic trip to Europe once I have
completed my contract.
6. I will be happy.

‘...we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering
produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.’
                               Romans 6: 3-4