ARRIVAL
The Kuwait airport is modern and very clean. It took me only a few minutes to get my visa, for which there was no charge. When I asked the officer about it, he said our countries were friends.
I collected my luggage and a porter appeared to help me load the cart. As soon as I exited customs I saw a tall American waving to me in greeting. This was my contact from the embassy, whom I had thought was a woman because of the way his emails were signed. He loaded my stuff into a vehicle and we set off to my apartment. Te first thing I noticed was that it was not very hot, maybe 70° F. Ali told me I missed the worst of the heat that it was beginning to cool down.
On the highway there were slender poles with colored lights in floral, abstract and starburst designs, seemingly randomly placed. The driving was furious featuring high speed tail gaiting and impulsive lane changing. The traffic wasn’t so heavy that night and the driving wasn’t as bad as I would see later but I was surprised to see people talking on their cell phones while whipping down the freeway.
I was taken to a two-bedroom basement flat in Salwa, a suburb of Kuwait City. The door opens to the living room, an irregular pentagon attached to a rectangular room. At the end of the rectangle there is a door that leads to a very small foyer. From the doorway you can see four other doors. From right to left they are the kitchen, another room that contains a table and four chairs, a bathroom with an accordion type door, and lastly the bedroom.
The entrance of the apartment in down a set of stairs and the windows in the living room, kitchen and dining room are at ceiling and give minimal light. The bedroom looks out to the pool and has a large window. I wondered about the design; the first week I moved the furniture around until it made sense to me. That first night I tried to absorb what Ali was telling me and after he left I fell into a dreamless sleep. At three thirty in the morning I was awakened by a call to prayer. I wondered how ong it would take for me to be able to sleep through this
The call to prayer is sung. It is lovely and melodic. Unlike the call to prayer I experienced in Istanbul, which was unmelodic, barked and broadcast over a sound system that rivals the worst of high school PA systems. My sleep time was over so I began to pack, only to discover that hangers are no included in the apartment. Okay, first item on my list of things to buy. I wanted to attend to my toe. I made a warm saltwater solution and soaked it. There was nothing else to do. I didn’t have any antiseptic, antibacterial, isopropyl alcohol, nothing. So I did the best I could.
I arrived in Kuwait City on a Friday night. The workweek is from Saturday to Wednesday. I rested on Sunday, on Monday I went to the airport to get one of my bags. I had inadvertently taken someone else’s suitcase. I called a taxi to take me to the airport. I was intimidated because my Arabic language skills are close to non-existent (with the exception of greetings, thank you and thanks be to Allah) As it turned out the dispatcher spoke and understood English.
What I didn’t know was my address. That is, I didn’t know what of the information comprising my address I needed to tell him. He fairly yelled that he needed my area, block number, street number and building number. He told me to wait inside until the taxi arrived. I couldn’t understand this because it was daytime and the apartment complex is locked behind a gate. When the taxi arrived the dispatcher called to let me know the taxi was outside. What service!
I did some shopping at the airport. There is a twenty-four hour mall there with two Starbucks. Two! I changed money, bought cell phone service, got betadine for my toe (the pharmacist flatly refused to sell me antibiotics. He said I’d be fine with betadine, and (thankfully) he was right), then I exchanged the bag I had for my own. At the airport there is a cadre of uniformed, Filipino women. They are expediters who can help you get things done. After being pointed in various directions by various people I went to the kiosk and an expediter affected the switcheroo. I went home and collapsed in a heap.
I got up because I felt the need to finish unpacking. As I did so my eye caught the brightly painted, canvas plastic bag holder that Pedro and I made. He had insisted I take it with me. It was a good idea because it is small, easy to carry and reminded me of home. At the sight of it I burst into tears. I cried for a couple of minutes, dried my eyes and continued unpacking. I was really living in Kuwait.
The next few days I spent getting Internet service, shopping for food, visiting the embassy for briefing. On one shopping trip, I was walking around in the afternoon heat when all the sensible people were home resting with their families. I’d forgotten to eat lunch (didn’t have much of an appetite, and still don’t, though the food here is delicious.) I staggered into a Burger King to order a meal. I was standing in line minding my business when a woman in an adjacent line started asking me questions about my hair; was it real? Was it mine? How did I wash it? Didn’t it unravel? How long did it take me to do it? (And the most dreaded question (ha!) Could she touch it? (At least she asked, unlike some people in New York.) We got to talking and she introduced herself and her sister-in-law. She is from Lebanon and her sister-in-law is Palestinian. Nice people. I still haven’t called her yet...but I will.
What do kind of art do you suppose was on the walls of the Burger King? Miró. When have you ever seen Miró prints in a Burger King is the U.S.? That was the most impressive part of that meal. I went back to shopping. I bought a new cell phone.
My friend Giovanna called from Brooklyn. I was in the middle of an electronics store speaking loudly (in Italian…can you hear me? I can hear you!) I got some very strange looks. What could I do? It was a new phone. I barely knew how to answer the thing.
The days that followed were a blur of receptions, parties and a concert. I met the people I’d be working with, embassy staff and the occasional Kuwaiti. The embassy parties are somewhat dry--folks stand around practicing their diplomatic skills, including me, discovering skills I didn’t know I had. I am being very well cared for here in Kuwait and I have never felt safer living in a foreign country.
At the reception for Tanya, the new PSA Director for Kuwait, this sista from Philly got up and addressed the crowd in fluent Arabic without notes! Very impressive. She’s a lot of fun too, chatty and not afraid to speak her mind, which is good because she’s one of my bosses. I also met Rebecca, the regional director for the Arabian Peninsula. She is smart, funny and knows ESL in the region. I am glad to be working with her.
I collected my luggage and a porter appeared to help me load the cart. As soon as I exited customs I saw a tall American waving to me in greeting. This was my contact from the embassy, whom I had thought was a woman because of the way his emails were signed. He loaded my stuff into a vehicle and we set off to my apartment. Te first thing I noticed was that it was not very hot, maybe 70° F. Ali told me I missed the worst of the heat that it was beginning to cool down.
On the highway there were slender poles with colored lights in floral, abstract and starburst designs, seemingly randomly placed. The driving was furious featuring high speed tail gaiting and impulsive lane changing. The traffic wasn’t so heavy that night and the driving wasn’t as bad as I would see later but I was surprised to see people talking on their cell phones while whipping down the freeway.
I was taken to a two-bedroom basement flat in Salwa, a suburb of Kuwait City. The door opens to the living room, an irregular pentagon attached to a rectangular room. At the end of the rectangle there is a door that leads to a very small foyer. From the doorway you can see four other doors. From right to left they are the kitchen, another room that contains a table and four chairs, a bathroom with an accordion type door, and lastly the bedroom.
The entrance of the apartment in down a set of stairs and the windows in the living room, kitchen and dining room are at ceiling and give minimal light. The bedroom looks out to the pool and has a large window. I wondered about the design; the first week I moved the furniture around until it made sense to me. That first night I tried to absorb what Ali was telling me and after he left I fell into a dreamless sleep. At three thirty in the morning I was awakened by a call to prayer. I wondered how ong it would take for me to be able to sleep through this
The call to prayer is sung. It is lovely and melodic. Unlike the call to prayer I experienced in Istanbul, which was unmelodic, barked and broadcast over a sound system that rivals the worst of high school PA systems. My sleep time was over so I began to pack, only to discover that hangers are no included in the apartment. Okay, first item on my list of things to buy. I wanted to attend to my toe. I made a warm saltwater solution and soaked it. There was nothing else to do. I didn’t have any antiseptic, antibacterial, isopropyl alcohol, nothing. So I did the best I could.
I arrived in Kuwait City on a Friday night. The workweek is from Saturday to Wednesday. I rested on Sunday, on Monday I went to the airport to get one of my bags. I had inadvertently taken someone else’s suitcase. I called a taxi to take me to the airport. I was intimidated because my Arabic language skills are close to non-existent (with the exception of greetings, thank you and thanks be to Allah) As it turned out the dispatcher spoke and understood English.
What I didn’t know was my address. That is, I didn’t know what of the information comprising my address I needed to tell him. He fairly yelled that he needed my area, block number, street number and building number. He told me to wait inside until the taxi arrived. I couldn’t understand this because it was daytime and the apartment complex is locked behind a gate. When the taxi arrived the dispatcher called to let me know the taxi was outside. What service!
I did some shopping at the airport. There is a twenty-four hour mall there with two Starbucks. Two! I changed money, bought cell phone service, got betadine for my toe (the pharmacist flatly refused to sell me antibiotics. He said I’d be fine with betadine, and (thankfully) he was right), then I exchanged the bag I had for my own. At the airport there is a cadre of uniformed, Filipino women. They are expediters who can help you get things done. After being pointed in various directions by various people I went to the kiosk and an expediter affected the switcheroo. I went home and collapsed in a heap.
I got up because I felt the need to finish unpacking. As I did so my eye caught the brightly painted, canvas plastic bag holder that Pedro and I made. He had insisted I take it with me. It was a good idea because it is small, easy to carry and reminded me of home. At the sight of it I burst into tears. I cried for a couple of minutes, dried my eyes and continued unpacking. I was really living in Kuwait.
The next few days I spent getting Internet service, shopping for food, visiting the embassy for briefing. On one shopping trip, I was walking around in the afternoon heat when all the sensible people were home resting with their families. I’d forgotten to eat lunch (didn’t have much of an appetite, and still don’t, though the food here is delicious.) I staggered into a Burger King to order a meal. I was standing in line minding my business when a woman in an adjacent line started asking me questions about my hair; was it real? Was it mine? How did I wash it? Didn’t it unravel? How long did it take me to do it? (And the most dreaded question (ha!) Could she touch it? (At least she asked, unlike some people in New York.) We got to talking and she introduced herself and her sister-in-law. She is from Lebanon and her sister-in-law is Palestinian. Nice people. I still haven’t called her yet...but I will.
What do kind of art do you suppose was on the walls of the Burger King? Miró. When have you ever seen Miró prints in a Burger King is the U.S.? That was the most impressive part of that meal. I went back to shopping. I bought a new cell phone.
My friend Giovanna called from Brooklyn. I was in the middle of an electronics store speaking loudly (in Italian…can you hear me? I can hear you!) I got some very strange looks. What could I do? It was a new phone. I barely knew how to answer the thing.
The days that followed were a blur of receptions, parties and a concert. I met the people I’d be working with, embassy staff and the occasional Kuwaiti. The embassy parties are somewhat dry--folks stand around practicing their diplomatic skills, including me, discovering skills I didn’t know I had. I am being very well cared for here in Kuwait and I have never felt safer living in a foreign country.
At the reception for Tanya, the new PSA Director for Kuwait, this sista from Philly got up and addressed the crowd in fluent Arabic without notes! Very impressive. She’s a lot of fun too, chatty and not afraid to speak her mind, which is good because she’s one of my bosses. I also met Rebecca, the regional director for the Arabian Peninsula. She is smart, funny and knows ESL in the region. I am glad to be working with her.
posted by Roja at 10:46 PM
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