Dancing with Daggers

On Garrick's last full evening we went to Souk Waqif, the main souq (market) in Doha. There are all kinds of other, smaller, more specialised souqs here; a fabric souq, a vegetable souq, a meat souq, a carpet souq, an electronics souq, a gold souq and many others. Souq Waqif has been rebuilt traditionally and has always been the main souq here. It used to be the weekend market for the Bedouin who would get their staple goods in return for trading meat, wool, milk and weaving materials. Now it is a maze of little shops selling spice, incense, clothing, hardware. camping gear and kitchenware. There are coffee shops and even a little section where men work out of broom cupboard-sized offices with typwriters or computers, translating documents or writing letters for people. We were looking for Christmas presents and some souvenirs for Garrick before he left.

Now that winter is approaching the daytime temperatures range through the 20s, and the evening temperatures are around 20 degrees. It is very pleasant to walk around now. Souq Waqif was bustling. The Qatari men are starting to wear their winter thoubs, which are grey or black and of thicker fabric. Some of them also wear a red and white checked gutra in winter. I've even seen a few woolly hats and long scarves around people's necks to keep them warm in the freezing temperatures. The women, of course look just the same, elegantly covered in their black abayas and hijab headscarves.

We pottered about and found some new parts of the souq that we hadn't seen before and came across some traditional dancers, wielding khanja daggers, outside an Omani restaurant. Here's part of their dance which Leo captured on his state-of-the-art mobile.

We went into an antique sword shop and looked through lots of fearsome weapons. The shop owner told us when we were leaving that lots of Kiwis came through his shop and asked us to teach him some greetings from New Zealand. In a weird cross-cultural moment we were able to write down in arabic for him, "kia ora" and "haere ra". Our Arabic lessons are really starting to pay off.

Garrick and the Blending of Us All

Garrick left last night after a too-short and precious time living in one house together and coming together as a blended family. We waved good-bye to him at Doha Airport which was heaving with Eid holiday people. The second Eid of the Muslim calendar, coinciding with the Hajj, is occurring at the moment and this year happens very close to our Christmas.

Garrick is currently serving in the New Zealand Army, based at Linton with the field engineers, probably to resume his officers training next year. He arrived ten days ago looking utterly jetlagged and did the usual falling asleep at 9pm, waking at 3am for a couple of days. Due to rigorous army training in the sleep deprivation department he seemed to recover from his jetlag quicker than anyone else we've come across. His room was set out with military precision, and he soon started hounding Leo and Robbie about their bedmaking, willingness to carry out household chores, and general life habits. All this while tipping them upside down and rough housing with them before nipping outside for a fag and a quick bourbon periodically. The boys LOVED it. As did Ian and I.

Ian and he spent a lot of time together reconnecting, chewing the fat and, towards the end of his time with us, goal-setting and working out some good options for his life next year. Because we are such a new family we made sure that we just had lots of simple time together, making memories together while we have the opportunity. Leo and Robbie each were allowed a day off school to have some individual time with him. We did lots of activities together. Here are some photos:

The house feels very empty now that he is not with us.

Almost Dick Whittington

This week we have been in dual mode. We have been loving having Garrick here with us and have been doing lots of activities together (more on that in later posts). We have also been recovering from the onslaught of Robbie's activities which culminated last week with pantomime performances, an interschool soccer tournament, an interschool cross-country and a choir performance. Did I leave anything off the list?

Here's some panto pics from "Almost Dick Whittington" by the Doha Players. I hadn't really had too much to do with pantomimes before - they are a Christmas show based on a fairy story with music and dance, an English tradition with lots of audience participation, "bombs" exploding, villains, and of course one or two cross-dressing dames. Garrick arrived that morning from his long-distance flight and we dragged him off to see the show. It was great fun. We deafened ourselves with our audience participation, laughed, sang and then had to talk in post-party voices on the way home. Here's some pics of the budding star.

Make up call.

Whistle while you work.

Scrub scrub scrub.

The whole cast.

Post panto, by midweek, as I was dragging him out of bed to run in his cross-country, Robbie confided in me that he wondered if he had taken on too much, and he didn't want to get out of bed because he felt "bloody tired". I told him I felt a bit that way myself and nevermind, it was nearly all over and he would feel proud of what he had achieved once everything settled down. And he does. He has the certificates from school to prove it. He also got a certificate from Mr Gribble, his teacher, for best all-round improvement in the class. Now that's a real achievement.

The Walk of Shame

With a working life fast approaching, my days of running around scooping up all the stray household chores are numbered. I am trying to finish off all the outstanding jobs before I start. One of those jobs is to finally get the scratches on Priscilla Queen of the Desert fixed up and I have to say, Ian's car also. Ian has also made a corresponding scratch on the side of the Skateboard of Happiness. I got the police reports for his car as well as mine last week and after some asking around, worked out that I needed to visit the Qatar Insurance Company and go through a lengthy process in order to get authorisation to get the scratches fixed by a painting and denting shop. I heard horror stories about the lack of parking, the vast queues of naughty drivers and the scale of beaurocracy I would have to endure there.

Yesterday Priscilla and I went along bright and early to QIC to endure the bureaucracy and get the authorisation to get her tiny wee scratch fixed. To my surprise, although I had to park a distance away in a small patch of desert, I walked into a nearly empty room and was instantly attended to by a courteous young man. He attended to both cars' paperwork in one go, but told me that I needed to have a photograph taken of the damage by their assessor, and my husband would need to bring his car back another day to have the same thing done. A group of us trooped out together with the assessor, all to have our respective cars assessed, but very courteously the assessor insisted on going to my car first and took a photo while all the others looked on, do doubt marvelling why I would bother going through all that trouble for such a small amount of damage.

Today I went back again with Ian's car. The same young man hooked me into another hapless group of people needing their car's photographs taken and I was back outside very quickly with the same assessor as the previous day. Unfortunately we went out of the building by a different door. My poor sense of direction kicked in. I had no idea where I was.

"Where is your car?", the assessor asked me.
"I have no idea", I said brightly.

He turned away from me and we started walking around the cars "parked" outside the building. It was like the Walk of Shame. Each member of the group led him to their dented car. We all stood around and looked at the dent while he took a photograph of each one in turn. The dents were marvellous in their variety. We all talked about the incidents that had led to the dents. As we walked around I could feel my mirth increasing with each car we went to. I felt quite disappointed I had missed out on the fun yesterday.

We went around a corner of the building and I suddenly recognised where I was. By now there were just three of us. We photographed a young Qatari's black BMW door, while cars roared past the assessor a hairbreadth away.

"You have a dangerous job", I said conversationally.

We reached my little patch of desert and he looked at Ian's dent. Luckily by then I only had one teammate left, a small Indian man who had chain-smoked his way through the process.

"No need for photo", the assessor said, "only small damage. Excess 5,000 riyals. This dent cost only 1,000 riyals to be fixed. Just go to National Car Company with police report".

Thinking of Priscilla's photograph the day before, and the fact that this information hadn't been conveyed to me then I asked, "But don't I need authorisation from QIC to get car fixed anyway"?

"Sorry, my English no good," he said. I apologised for my rudimentary Arabic. My teammate started translating. In the end I was given the police report back and assured it was sufficient to get the car fixed.

As I drove away, far from feeling frustrated at the waste of two mornings getting the cars unnecessarily photographed by the QIC assessor, for some reason I felt unfeasibly cheerful. Doha sometimes has this effect on me.

I passed the assessor on the way out taking his last photograph and cheerily waved. He was talking to another man. He waved me down. I double parked. As cars roared past him with millimetres to spare he introduced me to the man he was talking to.

"This manager. His English good".

I valiantly asked my question about QIC authorisation again.

"You bring car January, Eid coming soon. It will only take four days to fix".

I tried not to look too puzzled at this. "National Car Company manager", said the assessor, beaming.

"Yes, bring car to National Car Company, Industrial Area. We will do a good job for you".

It dawned on me. This was not his own manager. Of all the car companies here, he had happened upon the manager of the one that I had to go to to get the cars fixed. He had taken the trouble to introduce me to him on the way out so that he could explain to me what needed to happen next. The Doha Phenomenon again.

Sidra

After several weeks of whisking around prospective workplaces I am pleased to report that I will soon be gainfully employed. The other day I signed an employment agreement with Sidra Medical and Research Center, a plush teaching hospital which is soon to be built and is partnered with Weill Cornell University in Qatar .

Sidra will be high-tech, offering clinical care, medical training and biomedical research in Qatar. Sidra will focus mostly on women's and children's health, as well as other issues affecting Qatar's general population such as diabetes, cardiovascular disease and obesity. Research will be carried out in the research centre part of the comples and will include genetic research.

Sidra is being built under the umbrella of Qatar Foundation, a private, nonprofit organisation, founded by the Emir of Qatar and chaired by Her Highness Sheikha Mozah Bint Nasser Al-Missned, the Emir's third wife and a driving force behind social and educational development in the country. Qatar Foundation is essentially a capacity-building organisation which aims to develop the potential of Qataris through education and improved quality of life.

Qatar Foundation has built a network of centres devoted to education, research and community welfare, mostly on the site of a remarkable part of Doha called Education City, which is a 2,500 acre building site housing outposts of many of the major learning institutions of the USA. They are being built as fast as you can imagine - no Resource Management Act hoops to jump through here. The institutions include Virginia Commonwealth University School of the Arts, Weill Cornell Medical College in Qatar, Texas A&M University at Qatar, the RAND-Qatar Policy Institute, Carnegie Mellon University in Qatar and Georgetown University. Social services, such as Qatar Diabetes Association and the Social Development Center are also run under the Qatar Foundation, as are volunteer and charitable services.

I was sent along for an interview at short notice by a recruitment agency and met a marvellous bunch of women who comprise the fledgling Clinical Planning Directorate. In typical Qatar fashion the process has been convoluted. I was offered a position coordinating maternity planning for the new Sidra hospital, which I accepted. While I was waiting for the contract to arrive, I was contacted again and told that they had relooked at the position and the project structure and, subject to executive approval, would I like to accept a more senior position heading up a team of six to plan maternity services. Needless to say I've accepted and will have the very grand title of Senior Consultant, Clinical Planning for Obstetrical Services, Sidra Hospital.

So I've had an interview for an unspecified position, been offered one they think I have suitable skills for, and have been given a promotion before I've even started! I hope I live up to their expectations, I've no idea yet what they expect a senior consultant to do.

I can start as soon as the police clearance arrives from New Zealand and I go through further CID checks in Qatar, and Department of Labour checks to ensure my husband has no objection to me working outside the home and that there isn't a suitable local person to fill the position......It will probably be early next year that I start.

Luckily, as Garrick arrives in a week for a holiday with us, closely followed by my sister Margie who will spend Christmas with us.

Here's a picture of Ian with me. He's clearly delighted to be in the company of such an august person.