YOUR SUNDAY, MY TUESDAY
It’s Sunday, the second day of my workweek. Yesterday I went in to the Ministry. I hadn’t heard from Suad but I knew that she would be there. I needed the computer and printer in my office to download Thomas’ novel and I needed to get out of my apartment.
So I spent 3Kd (approximately $7.20) on a taxi to go to work. (I’ll write about money in another post, after I’ve been paid.) The printing is going slowly because the printer is tempermental. But I’ve got 9 chapters so far and I may relent and begin reading because I just can’t wait anymore. I read one chapter, I think it the 9th that I was snorting with laughter and the people passing by my office were giving me strange looks. I’m trying to avoid reading this novel online. So I had plenty to do.
After I gave Suad my condolences she said, “You shouldn’t have come here!” How could I explain that I needed to download the novel? That I needed to be doing something? That if I stayed in my apartment one moment longer after the long weekend I might just….explode? So I told her I had work to do and that I’d wanted to see her. That seemed to calm her. She said that I would be in the Hawalli are for the week with Mrs. Nuria. Salwa my neighborhood is included in Hawalli. I gave her my cell phone number and address.
I woke up this morning in a vile mood. I slept an hour late and skipped yoga. I hung up the clothes that I’d piled up on a chair in my bedroom, and I prepared to hem a pair of pants. I was enraged. I thought it was rude of Mrs. Nuria not to call me to let me know what time she would pick me up. I was sure I’d been forgotten. It was 8:20 a.m. I settled down to sew on my (my!) wretched plaid couch, sure that I’d been forgotten when my cell phone rang. Mrs. Nuria was waiting for me outside. I didn’t have time to analyze what was going on with me. I quickly brushed my teeth, locked the door and emerged from my microclimate into the day. It wasn’t hot.
Mrs. Nuria drove a late model Nissan. The front passenger window had a small hole in it. It looked as if a small stone had gone through it at a high velocity. She has brown skin. She was well dressed, hair and body completely covered. Elegant. She was smiling but she was not warm. We said the usual pleasant things to each other and I got into the car. As she drove I gave her a rundown of my qualifications, areas of expertise. Then I told her about my last week with Miriam, my thoughts and impressions of the English language teaching in Kuwait public schools. I did not tell the whole truth and I did not lie. I repressed a sigh when I realized this would be the drill with each new Senior Supervisor. Inwardly, I struggled to find my charm and switched it on. She mentioned that she was driving her son’s car. Then she asked me if I had children. I said no. The conversation came to a halt. I remembered that the same thing had happened when I met Miriam, Suad, and Azza. In the silence there were many unanswered questions, recriminations and guilt. I switched to yoga breathing and we resumed the conversation with a different topic.
We went to the Salahedin Secondary School (for boys) in Hawalli, not far from my house. This is the best run school I’ve seen so far in my visits. The school was not new but the principal is a man on vision and hard work and he had gathered some talented teachers.
I observed a 10th grade English class, I met with a group of (top) students in the library. It seemed a little strange to meet with students but I did it thinking perhaps I would understand later on. They told me what they wanted in terms of English. They want to be able to speak, they want to do things not be bored and they don’t want to be taught for the test.
After this meeting I sat through a presentation by Nizar, a Syrian teacher who has developed software for the students using Flash. He also showed some of his lessons that he put on PowerPoint. I was deeply impressed with his work and his commitment to the students.
Then I met with the EFL teachers. We discussed the role of creativity in teaching which they regarded as diametrically opposed to getting through the curriculum and preparing their students for the test. When I suggested that perhaps more creativity could help them do both, an interesting discussion ensued. It was the most satisfying conversation I’ve had with teachers here.
I toured the school with the principal. We went to a listening lab that looked like something out of a 50’s psychology movie: a narrow carol with headphones and a button to push to talk. I saw the auditorium. I also saw a technology room, which is being restructured, and I heard about the plans for this room. It all sounded good.
I took pictures throughout this visit with my nifty digital camera. Nizar took pictures with a standard camera. The visit was very enjoyable. The principal asked me to write about my visit in a big book (very confusing because the book opens from the left and goes backwards (in my little world) and I wrote a heartfelt and true summary of my visit.
Before we left Nizar asked if I could email him the photos on my camera: he needed to put them on the website. I said that I couldn’t email them but we agreed that I would put the images on a disk and he would call me later and we would arrange for him to pick up the disk.
Walking back to the car Mrs. Nuria commented that it was a shame the principal couldn’t show me his hospitality with food and tea but it was Ramadan. Once in the car we got onto the subject of diets. She said, “I can see that you don’t enjoy diets.” I told her that I did and described the last one I’d been on, then added that it was a great deal of trouble to bring the powders and oils necessary for it to Kuwait. But I’d had enough of this woman for today.
I couldn’t get into my apartment fast enough. I took off my clothes and put on my bathing suit. Whatever frustration I felt I could work off in the pool. I ate a quick lunch and headed out with my sunglasses and a book. The pool was occupied by an African-American boy who looked to be about 10 years old. His mother was with him and I sat with her at a table. Another American ex-pat was sitting at an adjacent table. I read my book and listened to their conversation. Fifteen minutes later the man left, then the woman and the boy. I hadn’t introduced myself to any of them.
I swam until my frustration went away. Then I was joined by the California woman and her granddaughter. The California woman told me there were lots of good looking men around. I said I hadn’t seen any. As if on cue, a nice looking man walked into the pool area and greeted the woman and the girl. When he left, California woman yelled, “See what I mean? I think he’s a good looking man.” Why was she yelling? “There are lots of them around. I asked her where. “At the Hilton there are flyboys, that’s what they call them even though they’re mechanics” and she named some other clubs were the ex-pats hung out. Why were we discussing this in the pool? Why was she yelling? Did I look so desperate? I needed to make some phone calls. I introduced myself and California woman asked me to repeat myself three times. She said she had a hearing problem. Ah!
I was in the middle of the fourth paragraph of this missive when Nizar called. I went out front with the disk I’d prepared to wait for him. It took him a half hour from the time of his call to arrive. While I waited I met a man from Florida who was waiting for a delivery from Kentucky Fried Chicken. All of the restaurants deliver here. At no extra charge. You never need cook in Kuwait, if you have enough money. Florida asked me if I was waiting for a delivery too. I told him I was waiting for a friend.
Nizar finally arrived. He was very apologetic for being late and he asked if I was busy for the rest of the evening. I said that I needed to go to Souk Mubarakea, and he offered to accompany me. I went in to fetch my bag.
Readers, what can I say? Even if I had prayed for a friend I couldn’t have conjured up one like this: A kind, literate poet, who prefers British English and speaks it well.
Nizar recited his own poetry and Shakespeare’s while navigating Kuwait City traffic in a huge, dark, American Chrysler. He not only drove me to the Souk, he parked and took me to his money exchange place where I got a good rate. Then we walked around the informal market that surrounds the Souk. As I remembered the things I needed to buy I told him and we found them. We had dinner at an outdoor café—mutton kebabs, cucumber and tomato salad with a good olive oil, arugula (there’s an Arabic name for this green salad leaf, but I can’t recall it) grilled and raw onion, and big, round flat Iranian grilled bread. We both drank mango juice. While we ate Nizar told me some things about the teachers at is school. He said that they didn’t want to be creative because they felt they weren’t paid enough. I asked him about the pay. He said teachers from the Gulf made 350 Kd a month. (My apartment is 300 Kd a month) Kuwaiti teachers are paid more. He said that what I saw when I observed a class was different from what when on when the teacher was alone. Teachers regularly teach to the test because that is how they will be evaluated. He told me there were two types of teachers from the Gulf: those who had studied English literature and were fluent in the language, and those who had taken a one year course in English and passed a test. He concluded that the Kuwaitis were sinking their own ship with their hiring practices. I asked myself what the hell I was doing here. Then I asked him some questions. As we discussed the situation he reminded me that I should take everything he says and that anyone else says with a grain of salt. Then he asked me why I didn’t look him in the eye when I was talking. I said that I was warned not to. He said I needed to figure things out based on my own experience. [Did I mention that my second day here, the guy I bought my cell phone service from had one wonky eye and I just didn’t know where to look!] So I looked him in the eye, we ate and I ordered myself not to fall for him because he had a wife and family he’d just sent back to Syria. He is just the kind of nerdy, romantic, intellectual that I like, not at all bothered to be seen eating in public during Ramadan with a heathen American infidel who is clearly not his sister, wife, sister-in-law, cousin or aunt.
I thought I might get a fish education with Nizar. But my heart sank when he told me he usually eats fried fish. We went to the fish market and I explained the concept of broiling. I asked him to point out the fish that he ate. He didn’t know all the names, but he could point and ask. Then I remembered that I don’t have a rack for my oven (I’ve asked several times, I don’t think the management believes that anyone cooks here. (Why would they? Hardee’s delivers.) But I cook three meals a day. Nizar said I was welcome to come over to his place and use his oven and that I didn’t have to cook for him. And somehow, at the mention of that oven rack ,the flirting began in earnest.
So I spent 3Kd (approximately $7.20) on a taxi to go to work. (I’ll write about money in another post, after I’ve been paid.) The printing is going slowly because the printer is tempermental. But I’ve got 9 chapters so far and I may relent and begin reading because I just can’t wait anymore. I read one chapter, I think it the 9th that I was snorting with laughter and the people passing by my office were giving me strange looks. I’m trying to avoid reading this novel online. So I had plenty to do.
After I gave Suad my condolences she said, “You shouldn’t have come here!” How could I explain that I needed to download the novel? That I needed to be doing something? That if I stayed in my apartment one moment longer after the long weekend I might just….explode? So I told her I had work to do and that I’d wanted to see her. That seemed to calm her. She said that I would be in the Hawalli are for the week with Mrs. Nuria. Salwa my neighborhood is included in Hawalli. I gave her my cell phone number and address.
I woke up this morning in a vile mood. I slept an hour late and skipped yoga. I hung up the clothes that I’d piled up on a chair in my bedroom, and I prepared to hem a pair of pants. I was enraged. I thought it was rude of Mrs. Nuria not to call me to let me know what time she would pick me up. I was sure I’d been forgotten. It was 8:20 a.m. I settled down to sew on my (my!) wretched plaid couch, sure that I’d been forgotten when my cell phone rang. Mrs. Nuria was waiting for me outside. I didn’t have time to analyze what was going on with me. I quickly brushed my teeth, locked the door and emerged from my microclimate into the day. It wasn’t hot.
Mrs. Nuria drove a late model Nissan. The front passenger window had a small hole in it. It looked as if a small stone had gone through it at a high velocity. She has brown skin. She was well dressed, hair and body completely covered. Elegant. She was smiling but she was not warm. We said the usual pleasant things to each other and I got into the car. As she drove I gave her a rundown of my qualifications, areas of expertise. Then I told her about my last week with Miriam, my thoughts and impressions of the English language teaching in Kuwait public schools. I did not tell the whole truth and I did not lie. I repressed a sigh when I realized this would be the drill with each new Senior Supervisor. Inwardly, I struggled to find my charm and switched it on. She mentioned that she was driving her son’s car. Then she asked me if I had children. I said no. The conversation came to a halt. I remembered that the same thing had happened when I met Miriam, Suad, and Azza. In the silence there were many unanswered questions, recriminations and guilt. I switched to yoga breathing and we resumed the conversation with a different topic.
We went to the Salahedin Secondary School (for boys) in Hawalli, not far from my house. This is the best run school I’ve seen so far in my visits. The school was not new but the principal is a man on vision and hard work and he had gathered some talented teachers.
I observed a 10th grade English class, I met with a group of (top) students in the library. It seemed a little strange to meet with students but I did it thinking perhaps I would understand later on. They told me what they wanted in terms of English. They want to be able to speak, they want to do things not be bored and they don’t want to be taught for the test.
After this meeting I sat through a presentation by Nizar, a Syrian teacher who has developed software for the students using Flash. He also showed some of his lessons that he put on PowerPoint. I was deeply impressed with his work and his commitment to the students.
Then I met with the EFL teachers. We discussed the role of creativity in teaching which they regarded as diametrically opposed to getting through the curriculum and preparing their students for the test. When I suggested that perhaps more creativity could help them do both, an interesting discussion ensued. It was the most satisfying conversation I’ve had with teachers here.
I toured the school with the principal. We went to a listening lab that looked like something out of a 50’s psychology movie: a narrow carol with headphones and a button to push to talk. I saw the auditorium. I also saw a technology room, which is being restructured, and I heard about the plans for this room. It all sounded good.
I took pictures throughout this visit with my nifty digital camera. Nizar took pictures with a standard camera. The visit was very enjoyable. The principal asked me to write about my visit in a big book (very confusing because the book opens from the left and goes backwards (in my little world) and I wrote a heartfelt and true summary of my visit.
Before we left Nizar asked if I could email him the photos on my camera: he needed to put them on the website. I said that I couldn’t email them but we agreed that I would put the images on a disk and he would call me later and we would arrange for him to pick up the disk.
Walking back to the car Mrs. Nuria commented that it was a shame the principal couldn’t show me his hospitality with food and tea but it was Ramadan. Once in the car we got onto the subject of diets. She said, “I can see that you don’t enjoy diets.” I told her that I did and described the last one I’d been on, then added that it was a great deal of trouble to bring the powders and oils necessary for it to Kuwait. But I’d had enough of this woman for today.
I couldn’t get into my apartment fast enough. I took off my clothes and put on my bathing suit. Whatever frustration I felt I could work off in the pool. I ate a quick lunch and headed out with my sunglasses and a book. The pool was occupied by an African-American boy who looked to be about 10 years old. His mother was with him and I sat with her at a table. Another American ex-pat was sitting at an adjacent table. I read my book and listened to their conversation. Fifteen minutes later the man left, then the woman and the boy. I hadn’t introduced myself to any of them.
I swam until my frustration went away. Then I was joined by the California woman and her granddaughter. The California woman told me there were lots of good looking men around. I said I hadn’t seen any. As if on cue, a nice looking man walked into the pool area and greeted the woman and the girl. When he left, California woman yelled, “See what I mean? I think he’s a good looking man.” Why was she yelling? “There are lots of them around. I asked her where. “At the Hilton there are flyboys, that’s what they call them even though they’re mechanics” and she named some other clubs were the ex-pats hung out. Why were we discussing this in the pool? Why was she yelling? Did I look so desperate? I needed to make some phone calls. I introduced myself and California woman asked me to repeat myself three times. She said she had a hearing problem. Ah!
I was in the middle of the fourth paragraph of this missive when Nizar called. I went out front with the disk I’d prepared to wait for him. It took him a half hour from the time of his call to arrive. While I waited I met a man from Florida who was waiting for a delivery from Kentucky Fried Chicken. All of the restaurants deliver here. At no extra charge. You never need cook in Kuwait, if you have enough money. Florida asked me if I was waiting for a delivery too. I told him I was waiting for a friend.
Nizar finally arrived. He was very apologetic for being late and he asked if I was busy for the rest of the evening. I said that I needed to go to Souk Mubarakea, and he offered to accompany me. I went in to fetch my bag.
Readers, what can I say? Even if I had prayed for a friend I couldn’t have conjured up one like this: A kind, literate poet, who prefers British English and speaks it well.
Nizar recited his own poetry and Shakespeare’s while navigating Kuwait City traffic in a huge, dark, American Chrysler. He not only drove me to the Souk, he parked and took me to his money exchange place where I got a good rate. Then we walked around the informal market that surrounds the Souk. As I remembered the things I needed to buy I told him and we found them. We had dinner at an outdoor café—mutton kebabs, cucumber and tomato salad with a good olive oil, arugula (there’s an Arabic name for this green salad leaf, but I can’t recall it) grilled and raw onion, and big, round flat Iranian grilled bread. We both drank mango juice. While we ate Nizar told me some things about the teachers at is school. He said that they didn’t want to be creative because they felt they weren’t paid enough. I asked him about the pay. He said teachers from the Gulf made 350 Kd a month. (My apartment is 300 Kd a month) Kuwaiti teachers are paid more. He said that what I saw when I observed a class was different from what when on when the teacher was alone. Teachers regularly teach to the test because that is how they will be evaluated. He told me there were two types of teachers from the Gulf: those who had studied English literature and were fluent in the language, and those who had taken a one year course in English and passed a test. He concluded that the Kuwaitis were sinking their own ship with their hiring practices. I asked myself what the hell I was doing here. Then I asked him some questions. As we discussed the situation he reminded me that I should take everything he says and that anyone else says with a grain of salt. Then he asked me why I didn’t look him in the eye when I was talking. I said that I was warned not to. He said I needed to figure things out based on my own experience. [Did I mention that my second day here, the guy I bought my cell phone service from had one wonky eye and I just didn’t know where to look!] So I looked him in the eye, we ate and I ordered myself not to fall for him because he had a wife and family he’d just sent back to Syria. He is just the kind of nerdy, romantic, intellectual that I like, not at all bothered to be seen eating in public during Ramadan with a heathen American infidel who is clearly not his sister, wife, sister-in-law, cousin or aunt.
I thought I might get a fish education with Nizar. But my heart sank when he told me he usually eats fried fish. We went to the fish market and I explained the concept of broiling. I asked him to point out the fish that he ate. He didn’t know all the names, but he could point and ask. Then I remembered that I don’t have a rack for my oven (I’ve asked several times, I don’t think the management believes that anyone cooks here. (Why would they? Hardee’s delivers.) But I cook three meals a day. Nizar said I was welcome to come over to his place and use his oven and that I didn’t have to cook for him. And somehow, at the mention of that oven rack ,the flirting began in earnest.
posted by Roja at 2:53 AM
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