A Tramp Abroad

Yes, it has been too long since my last post. This has not been due to lack of things to say. Many times, I was close to writing an extensive rant about how terrible my new students are and how literally and metaphorically foreign the working conditions are. Not being one to give in to wanton, knee-jerk reactions, I thought the wisdom and experience of time would provide with a more humane assessment. This is my attempt at that.

I won't bore you with details of my pedagogy, but I think some details about my work situation (kinda the reason I came here in the first place) are rather overdue. I'd give you information about my school, but that is rather frowned upon. I can give you a little bit though. I have three sections of 10th grade boys. Even though they have technically had English classes for the past 10 years, I am still working on teaching many of them to write their names. Some students are great. Some students are terrible. That is the truth in any country though. Regardless, they do all like to talk...a freaking lot. This is one of the biggest challenges, aside from yelling, wandering away, fighting, spitting, sleeping, and other assorted awesome behaviors. Everyday, my classroom management includes several techniques that would get me fired instantly in many U.S. schools. Unlike many of the Arabic teachers (great guys from countries such as Egypt and Jordan), I refuse to punch my students. However, I have no problem with pushing, pulling, lifting, grabbing, or otherwise physically intimidating them. For example, today a student refused to listen to what I was saying after I requested he stopped talking several times. I then made the decision (important because it's kind of bad form to do things out of anger) to walk over to his desk, look him in the eye, and then pick his desk up and throw it into an empty area half-way across the class. This had the desired effect. Anyone who has seen me teach will realize that this is not my normal behavior, but sometimes you just need to change to fit the situation. I also have used extra class time to have my students line up to arm wrestle me. This has the dual benefit of demonstrating that I am stronger than all of them thus, increasing my intimidation factor and also making me feel good about myself for having bested a dozen or so spindly Middle-Eastern children.

As you can imagine, the intense work demands result in equally intense play demands. Wasting very little time, I have taken up my usual hobby of finding the seediest places in a given city to visit. I don't know why, but I find it surprisingly life-affirming to visit life-negating locales. In the span of one weekend, I visited two uniquely different establishments filled with miserable, soulless creatures. The first was a "night club" that has a grand reputation for being a house of ill-repute. Well, here in a Muslim country at least partially governed by Sharia law, this was something I just had to see. Without going into detail, it did not disappoint, or maybe it disappointed a lot. I'm not quite sure about this one. Long story short, the world's oldest profession is absolutely miserable and pathetic when it is genuinely staring you in the face. This is intentionally vague, and I'm sure there will be more details in my second book, "Yet to Be Titled," which I will start on right after I am done with the first one. For the time being, this is a relatively PG blog.

The following day, I went on a tour of the local pet souk (a souk is essentially a market, for lack of a better domestic term, it's like a bazaar). As I wandered through shop after shop, inhaling a stench that was vaguely reminiscent of feces, newspaper, and death, I thought, "those Sarah McLachlan commercials ain't got nothin' on this place." I was a bit disappointed by the lack of exotic animals. Sure, there were your standard puppies, kittens, birds, and fish, but only rarely was there a pair of peacocks. And never was there a cage of squirrels, as I was promised. "Anthropomorphize" is generally a curse word for me, surpassing many 4-letters words in offensiveness, but these animals all looked at me and seemed to communicate. Unanimously, they said the same thing: "Put me out of my misery." This was the second time in as many days that I had seen this look. The first time, it was not from anything as harmless and cuddly as a small animal though.

I'm not so sure how I feel about my foray into the darker corners of a country better known for its innovative architecture and palm tree-shaped islands. It does shed light on reasons why a nation would retreat into its ancient culture and values while it expands its modern, global presence. Even with a strong emphasis on traditional moral values, the exploitation of humans finds a way to seep in. I guess wherever there is a buck to be made, someone will try to be making it. And where there are millions to be made, many people will be trying to make it. I guess in the end, that is what really brought us all to this crazy desert metropolis, the animal peddlers, the ladies of the night, and lets certainly not forget, the teachers.

The End of Ramadan

I realize that a post about Ramadan drawing to a conclusion is about as timely right now as a job stimulus plan in the U.S. (please click here and push the red button to complete this joke), but I have a lot to catch you folks up on. Since I last checked in, Ramadan has indeed ended. Stores have opened back up. Once again, we could all indulge in the pleasures of eating and drinking in public. Eid also came and went. After a month of fasting, Eid is the week-long celebration in the Muslim world (and parts of Michigan) that occurs at the end of Ramadan. During Eid, I moved to my permanent residence, Yaqut Tower #1106, which is located behind the Holiday Inn Hotel on Airport Road. This is basically what amounts to my address. Many have been confused by the seemingly purposeful exclusion of addresses in what is an otherwise very purposely planned out metropolis. I can only surmise that since there is no centralized mail service, addresses are not that important. However, it can get a bit frustrating when trying to give directions to one of the multitudes of Bengladeshi delivery drivers. The extent of my local geographic guidance consists basically of saying, "Behind the Holiday Inn on Airport Road. It is the tall white building with green windows," followed closely by, "BEHIND. HOLIDAY INN HOTEL. AIRPORT ROAD. TALL BUILDING. GREEN WINDOWS." For the full effect, please try to roll those r's and lengthen those o's while you imagine said conversation in your head. Also, repeat that last part about four or five times and hang up your imaginary phone in exasperation.

View of Sheikh Zayed Mosque from my balcony

After having a portion of my furniture delivered, my appliances delivered, and my appliances repaired, I finally began to settle into my new place (sometimes yelling directions slower and louder does, indeed, work). It is a 21 story building occupied mostly by new teachers. This makes carpooling rather convenient. I did my best early on to win over the largely South Asian staff that keeps this place going. My fondness for cricket was clearly advertised in hopes of bridging this gulf. I learned that the maintenance man's name was Ramadan, which was a rather presumptuous choice by his parents. I talked with him quite a bit in broken English about cricket and securing "illegal" cable. Who knew that "illegal cable installer" was such an international profession? I eagerly awaited the arranged day for Ramadan to bestow me with about 500 channels for 250 dirhams (about 68 dollars). The setup took a lot longer than both of us anticipated. After several hours of signal searching, Ramadan was happy to show me all 571 of my channels. Unfortunately for me, all but about 8 or 10 were Arabic, Lebanese, Syrian, Sudanese, Eritrian, Bahraini, or Qatari channels. But let me tell you though, that Syrian dramatic programing is...well...about as riveting as you would imagine.

Once that disappointment of an evening was concluded, I sent Ramadan on his way and got ready to set out for the local grocery store. The evening had already extended longer than I had planned, and I was just hoping to get some late night food in my stomach. On my way out of the building, I ran into Ramadan again, who mentioned that he forgot his mobile phone in my apartment. I quickly went to retrieve it, and then almost as quickly realized that my apartment would not open. Immediately, I realized that this was because I had put a key in the deadbolt on the inside (not locked), which kept the key on the outside from inserting all the way (don’t think about it too hard, just go with the story). I returned to give Ramadan the bad news. "This is very, very bad," was his refrain. How to break into an 11th story apartment with a solid wood door became the question of the evening. The obvious choice (to one of us) was the balcony. All we had to do was go to my neighbor's apartment and climb over. Well, if you know me, you know there is absolutely no way that I was going to climb out on an 11^th floor balcony, hang over the edge, reach over, and climb onto another balcony. So I watched as Ramadan found an old plastic chair, sat on the railing, and attempted to use his hands (pressing flat-palmed on the glass dividing our balconies) to keep him from falling 11 stories to his death because I left a key in my lock. The irony was not lost on me during this moment. While I was celebrating Eid that week and the end of the Muslim holiday of Ramadan, I was anticipating viewing the end of another Ramadan. This one was an under-payed Bangladeshi maintenance man who installed illegal cable.

As my neighbor (who I barely knew outside of saying "hi" while passing in the corridor) and I watched, Ramadan carefully, but not too carefully, made his way to my balcony, only to find the balcony door locked. I thought we were lucky that he had made it to my balcony without falling to his death. Surely we were pushing our luck. Being the responsible party, I envisioned having to travel back to his village hometown and share the bad news with his family. As the barefoot, dirty, children ran up to me, all I could do would be to offer the remnants of this, once, marginally successful man. His kin would then break into sobs around me.

Fortunately, this did not happen, and Ramadan made it back to safety. We could assessed what we both agreed was a very, very bad situation. The only remaining option was to drill out the existing lock and replace it with a new one. I shoved some dihrams into Ramadan’s hand and sent him on a late night search for a locksmith shop. I waited about a half hour before I became too restless to remain useless. I knew the key was on the inside of my lock. It just had to be coerced out somehow. Seeing as mechanical concepts are not my strong point, I decided to violently thrust my key into the keyhole, repeatedly, in the hopes that the key on the inside would somehow wiggle out. Well, wouldn’t you know it, that arguably inane idea actually worked. I happily re-inhabited my apartment and waited for Ramadan to return so that I could say, “Thanks for nearly killing yourself, but I managed to get into my apartment with a little thing we like to call good ole’ fashioned American ingenuity.” When he did return, he seemed to accept the events with resignation, confusion, or a combination of both, and then, with little more than a wink and a nod, he disappeared into the night.

I hope that story was marginally entertaining for some of you and a giant waste of your employer’s time for others. I know you all want to hear about my school and my students, but you will have to wait…about three days or so. I am finishing my first week with students, and then I will be more than happy to spin you a yarn or two. Check back soon. Check back often. I will do my best to barely meet your needs and expectations.