Images of Oman

Images of my drive to Sifah.

Piff Paff

So it turns out that I was indeed right about my previous tenant. My boss and a colleague read my latest entry and were very amused – I am indeed sleeping in the bed of a sloth whose concept of hygiene was limited to knowing what a bathroom was. I doubt, however, that he used it much. My body is covered in bites and I have been searching high and low for bed bug repellent.

Now, when one looks for insect repellent generally their names go along these lines – ‘Mortal Death – makes bugs bleed, even in death’ or ‘Pest Terror – a way to end your nightmares and to start theirs’. I find it comforting knowing that these hideous miniscule creatures are going to die an agonising, painful death. It puts a content little smile on my face. I also like the pictures on the canisters – there is nothing more beautiful than an upended mozzie. Don’t even get me started on the Rattex boxes – too stunning. One can imagine my disappointment when I discovered that the Omani version of ‘Raid – kills germs dead’ is ‘Piff Paff’. I swear to you they have called a bug repellent ‘Piff Paff’. So what’s their pathetic little catch phrase going to be? ‘I’ll piff and I’ll paff and I’ll blow your house down’. Puh leez.  

Because I have very little faith in this namby pamby Piff Paff I have spread almost an entire box of powder onto my bed. And now I sit here, smugly, I can almost hear the strangulated cries for help from those little bastards and it is music to my ears. Rohini, the cleaner at school, will come over later to perform the funeral...with her vacuum cleaner. I will be there in full mourning.

I have had to over come my fear of driving into the desert twice a week, it is going to be my toughest challenge. I drove out there yesterday by myself. I knew that if I was going to rid myself of my anxiety with regard to the trip I would have to do the journey alone and so now, not having even been here for two weeks, I have taught myself to drive and will be driving a road that could be compared to Chapman’s Peak’s older brother who was once on steroids. It is a spectacular drive though and I will post pictures of the best bits onto the blog shortly.

‘Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the desert these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep His commands.’                                                                                               Deuteronomy 8: 1

Operation Desert Storm

When I first arrived at my flat and began to unpack my worldly wares I started to judge the person who lived in this flat before me. This is not an unusual thing to do, and I think we can all admit to deciding on a person’s entire life story judging by the state that they left the oven in when they vacated the premises.

The person who lived in this flat before me, judging solely on the few discoveries that I made, definitely had an affliction of some sort. Now you may be thinking to yourself ‘ok Nancy Drew give us your proof’.  And I will, in a minute. I need however, to add that I surmised that the previous tenant had one of two possible afflictions.

My first impulse was that the tenant was a British male (no woman would ever leave a kitchen in that state) and so would have been unused to the Arabian heat. As a result he broke into a heat rash that soon covered his body in flaky bits of skin. These flakes then drifted slowly onto the ground like a lazy snow storm. Soon his hair, his clothes and his bed were reminiscent of a volcanic ash cloud. This would also explain my rather terrifying suspicion that there are bed bugs in my bed. It was this miniscule white matter that I then spent half an hour cleaning from the drawers that were to house my underwear, something which I was not altogether over the moon about. And thus my first hypothesis was this – our British hero, in a near state of leprosy, abandoned his life in Arabia to seek cooler climates and thus vanished in a cloud of his own dust.     

My second suspicion was that the previous tenant had a fetish for talcum powder. Perhaps he was not a fan of bathing, or even worse, was phobic of water and so in an effort to keep smelling relatively fresh bathed himself in a cloud of powder every morning (this again would explain the bed bugs). Perhaps one day, while innocently loitering in the bathroom, he slipped and fell and grabbed hold of the first thing he could find. Here I need to explain a little device used in Muslim plumbing for those of you who have yet to visit me. All toilets have a little hosepipe thing with a nozzle at the end hanging next to the cistern. I gather it is used as a replacement for toilet paper. There are also drains in the floor for when one is ‘tidying up’ or whatever one does with the hose. I personally find it very handy for cleaning the floor. Anyway, back to my story. So our hero trips, grabs hold of the hose, unknowingly sets off the nozzle and sprays water all over himself. Streams of chalky white gunk begin to run freely off his body and years of sweat and dirt begin to cake the drain. This trauma is all too much for our hero, he can never trust himself to loiter in a bathroom again and so he packs his bag and sets off to a place where he knows he will be safe from water and where the sands of time will serve as his talcum powder, he disappears into the desert, never to be seen again.

I thought both these stories were highly plausible and I was proud of my sleuthing abilities, I left no stone unturned. And so I set about sweeping, mopping and cleaning in order to rid my flat of the dusty white memorabilia of its tragic previous tenant. I opened the windows, sang the song that Snow White sang when she cleaned the seven dwarves’ cottage and I like to think that goats, donkeys and camels surrounded my block of flats as I whistled while I worked. Oman is a little bit short of rabbits, squirrels and blue birds. After a long day of cleaning I dramatically mopped my brow and collapsed onto my couch, satisfied. I could feel the cool breeze of the desert blowing in through the open windows and I could hear the distant sound of a head on collision as yet another person added to the death as a result of an accident per capita quota. All was right in the world.

That night I slept well and I nestled further into my duvet when I heard the wind begin to pick up its momentum. When I woke up the next morning and stepped out of bed I felt a familiar and definitive crunch under my foot. I pretended to ignore it and by the time I reached the bathroom the soles of my feet could no longer feel the floor because they had amassed such a thick layer of kak. It was then that I forced myself to realise that I was not living in the former home of someone (who if treated properly) could become the world wide ambassador of Head and Shoulders. I was also not living in the home of an aqua-phobic. I was living in the desert. And I have quickly come to realise that the desert will come right into your home if you are not careful. It will hide in those crannies that are an absolute bitch to clean and it will layer your clothes like a soft sprinkling of icing sugar.

I still sleep with my windows open, one must relish a breeze while one can, but it is with reverence that I now look out of my window to the endless desert. I am only a visitor here, the desert has made that blatantly clear and though I may one day leave the desert will still be here sweeping bits of itself into this place, claiming its rightful ownership over the entire city.

A few pics around Muscat

My first week in Muscat

Butterflies

This morning I woke up in a positive state of mind. There have been things that have been worrying me, but I have decided not to let them worry me anymore, because worry leads to fatigue, anxiety and doubt. And so I set off to do some shopping. Before I tell you a little story about my walk to the shops (which yet again involved a few drive-bys from curious men), I need to explain that the only form of fauna I have seen since I got here has been goats and donkeys. Apparently there are mozzies, but they have yet to step into my presence, luckily for them - I have come armed with enough Peaceful Sleep to rid the whole of Africa of insects in general.

Anyway, as I was walking, a beautiful monarch butterfly came and flew around me, it continued to flutter alongside me for a while and then disappeared down an adjoining street. Some of you, but not all, will know that I lost a very special cousin, Sammy, on Christmas day. She had leukaemia and struggled with the illness for two years before she passed away. Her special symbol was a butterfly. All her thank you cards to the people who helped raise and donate money for her bone marrow transplant received butterfly cards, and inside them Sam wrote that butterflies were a symbol of new life and she thanked everyone who helped for being part of giving her the chance to create her new life. And so as I seek to be positive and to create a new life for myself that is in constant celebration of God, the people I love and my purpose on this earth, I thank Sammy for giving me the first nudge in the right direction.

It is Wednesday today. Apparently I don’t teach on Wednesdays. I’ll be getting my car today. This prospect is met with a mixed amount of trepidation and excitement. It’s been horrible having to rely on others to fetch and carry me but I think it’s going to be even more of a trauma to eventually have some wheels of my own. Again, I cannot begin to explain what it is like being in a car on these roads. Think the centre of Maritzburg, on fast forward, with less indicating.

A major source of my anxiety has come from the knowledge that I will have to drive out into the desert twice a week. I have a contract with the German construction company Lupp and they are building a massive resort in the middle of nowhere and their engineers etc need to learn English. The drive to Sifah is spectacular. One drives through a stark mountain range for an hour, one then comes over the crest of a mountain and below is a turquoise lagoon flanked by mountains on all sides. There are quant little fishing villages in this valley and one gets the first feeling that this is the real Arabia. These villages are just as one would imagine – the architecture is beautiful and each village has its own mosque. It’s quite astounding - even the most humble of hovels has the ubiquitous air conditioner. I shudder to think what summer is going to be like. In my mind these villages will probably look like goat towns in summer, and that is not a typo, seriously there are goats everywhere and I doubt they get to have a spot next to the air conditioning in summer.

For all the beauty that this drive holds there is one slight problem with my having to drive out there twice a week. In fact there are two slight problems – I don’t know how to drive on the other side of the road yet and the road itself is the stuff of nightmares. I doubt the engineers who designed that road get much sleep at night. I certainly don’t. But this is where I have to be positive. Yes, it’s going to be kak, but diamonds get made under extreme pressure, or magic, or something, they’re also apparently a girl's best friend blah blah etc etc.

I have been warned by concerned friends that I must be careful what I say in this blog as it could get me into trouble. It’s all rather confusing because I chatted to my employer yesterday and she said as long as one does not insult the Sultan one has a right to remark on the country. She even went as far as to say that if I had a controversial blog she would like to put it on the school’s website in order to attract attention to the school. I’m just going to have to learn to balance what and how I say things. I know I’m new here but the point of this blog is to document the things I learn during my time here. I have no doubt that even in a few months time I will read my opening blog and think ‘if only you knew’. I would also argue however that a fresh pair of eyes in a foreign country pick up the most, whereas once one is used to a new reality it is more difficult to comment on the differences because one has got used to them. And so I will continue to comment on my findings, I will just do so while writing with caution.

And so I have survived my first week in Muscat. It feels like a lot longer. Einstein was right.

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die.
Where you invest your love, you invest your life.
Awake my soul,
You were made to meet your maker.

                                (Mumford and Son)

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