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Bahrain - Celebrations
Posted Nov 14, 2006
October 15th 2006
It must be dawn. I am woken by the sound of the imam calling the faithful to prayer. I lay in the half-light listening to the sound of his voice. His tone is calm and soothing, and although I don’t understand the words I find it very spiritual. Eventually I drift off to sleep again.
The apartment block is situated next door to a mosque, so it’s surprising that I haven’t heard the imam before now. As I’ve wandered past the mosque I have noticed many people gathering at the ifta tent that they have erected in the grounds. During Ramadan free food is given to anyone who requires it, and I’ve seen large groups of men sitting on mats outside the building waiting for the food to be served.
This evening, along with several other westerners we’ve been invited to share ifta (breaking of the fast) with a local family. Ali and his father Haji are local contractors working on one of the construction sites. James explains that throughout the evening I will be in a separate room with the women, and that he will be in a different room with the men. I consider myself to be a reasonably confident and intelligent woman, so the news doesn’t cause me any problems. It will be good to meet some local people, especially the women. I’m really looking forward to it. Roll on tonight!
We arrive at Ali’s house at 6.30pm. Haji and Ali are waiting to greet us. James has explained on the way over that some of the other western women will probably not be attending. They are not very happy about the segregation. In a way I can see their point, but for myself I’m keen to meet other women here. I am living in their culture, and I can also sense that it will be far easier to get to know people if I’m willing to step into their world for a short while, rather then to expect them to step into mine.
After the introductions Haji turns to me and booms ‘Women through that door.’ I’m not sure why - but I find myself wanting to grin. I notice a pile of women’s shoes outside the door he points to, so removing my own I step thru and find myself in a corridor where Haji’s wife is waiting to greet me. She smiles and leads me into a side room where there are several other women seated on the carpet, and some small children playing.
I introduce myself to everyone and then join them on the floor. Their home is very simple, but it has a comfortable feel to it. As well as Haji’s wife, there is Ali’s wife, her teenage sister, her two sister-in-laws and three small children. All the women have a very high standard of English, and soon we are chatting, and telling each other a little about our lives.
Ali wanders through a couple of times to check that I’m okay. I can’t help but think that he looks like a darker shade of Chris Martin from Coldplay. Very good looking and very laid back. ‘Our home is your home,’ he tells me with a smile. ‘If you wish to come thru and join us in the other room please feel free to do so.’ I appreciate the gesture, and thank him but tell him I’m perfectly happy where I am.
Haji’s wife spreads a long plastic table cloth on the floor and the women disappear into the kitchen. Soon they are back carrying large dishes of food. There is a huge platter of fish, large bowls of chicken biryani, salad, rice, freshly cooked dates and several other dishes especially prepared for the celebrations.
Ali’s wife tells me that they are concerned that I might not like the food. Not like it? It’s absolutely delicious. I especially like the chicken biryani and the dates. I’m left handed but I try to remember that I must eat only with my right hand. We chat as we eat, and several times I automatically place the fork back into my left hand, maybe because I’m distracted. Ali’s wife would like me to sample every dish, so I only have very small portions as there are quite a few dishes to try.
The children eat, play and roam freely around the house, maybe to go and see their father’s thru the other room. But they soon return to be with their mothers. With no males present there is definitely a different atmosphere in the room. It’s softer, gentler and I feel very relaxed with the all female company. The women make a great deal of effort to keep the conversation in English, (I expect so that I don’t feel excluded) and only now and again do they talk amongst themselves.
Once the main course is finished they clear the plates away. And then a huge bowl of fresh fruit cocktail, various sweets, and large jugs of tea and coffee appear. The tea is delicious and Ali’s wife explains that they add about 5 tablespoons of palm water to approximately a litre of water. This is what gives the tea its unique and pleasant taste. She also tells me that the women have shared the task of preparing the food. It’s just as well. Unbeknown to me there are ten men eating thru the other room, so that evening they had provided food for 16 adults plus the children.
Eventually Haji comes thru to tell me that James is waiting outside, and then he disappears again. ‘But I haven’t finished my tea yet,’ I exclaim. ‘Its okay, Ali will be outside with James,’ says Ali’s wife. Take your time - make him wait.’ ‘I will,’ I reply. All the women laugh. And that’s exactly what I do. Finally, armed with a big container of chicken biryani that Ali’s wife has kindly given me for our lunch the following day I head outside into the night.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Nov 14, 2006
Celebrations
Posted Nov 14, 2006
October 15th 2006
It must be dawn. I am woken by the sound of the imam calling the faithful to prayer. I lay in the half-light listening to the sound of his voice. His tone is calm and soothing, and although I can’t understand the words I find it very spiriotual. Eventually I drift off to sleep again.
The apartment block is situated right next door to a mosque, so it’s surprising that I haven’t heard the imam before now. As I’ve wandered past the mosque I've noticed many people gathering at the ifta tent that they have erected in the grounds. During Ramadan free food is given to anyone who requires it, and I’ve seen large groups of men sitting on mats outside the building waiting for the food to be served.
This evening, along with several other westerners we’ve been invited to share ifta (breaking of the fast) with a local family. Ali and his father Haji are local contractors working on one of the construction sites. James explains that throughout the evening I will be in a separate room with the women, and that he will be in a different room with the men. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent and confident woman, so the news doesn’t cause me any problems. It will be good to meet some local people, especially the women. I’m really looking forward to it. Roll on tonight!
We arrive at Ali’s house at 6.30pm. Haji and Ali are waiting to greet us. James has explained on the way over that some of the other western women will probably not be attending. They are not very happy about the segregation. In a way I can see their point, but for myself I’m keen to meet other women here. I am living in their culture, and I can already sense that it will be far easier to get to know people if I’m willing to step into their world for a short while, rather then to expect them to step into mine.
After the introductions Haji turns to me and booms ‘Women through that door.’ I’m not sure why - but I find myself wanting to grin. I notice a pile of women’s shoes outside the door, so removing my own I step thru and into a corridor where Haji’s wife is waiting to greet me. She smiles and leads me into a side room where there are several other women seated on the carpet, and some small children playing.
I introduce myself to everyone and then join them on the floor. Their home is very simple, but it has a comfortable feel to it. As well as Haji’s wife, there is Ali’s wife, her teenage sister, her two sister-in-laws and three small children. All the women have a very high standard of English, and soon we are chatting, and telling each other a little about our lives.
Ali wanders through a couple of times to check that I’m okay. I can’t help but think that he looks like a darker shade of Chris Martin from Coldplay. Very good looking and very laid back. ‘Our home is your home,’ he tells me with a smile. ‘If you wish to come thru and join us in the other room please feel free to do so.’ I appreciate the gesture, and thank him but tell him I’m perfectly happy where I am.
Haji’s wife spreads a long plastic table cloth on the floor and the women disappear into the kitchen. Soon they are back carrying large dishes of food. There is a huge platter of fish, large bowls of chicken biryani, salad, rice, freshly cooked dates and several other dishes especially prepared for the celebrations.
Ali’s wife tells me that they are concerned that I might not like the food. Not like it? It’s absolutely delicious. I especially like the chicken biryani and the dates. Ali’s wife would like me to sample every dish, so I only have very small portions as there are quite a few dishes to try. I’m left handed but I try to remember that I must eat only with my right hand. We chat as we eat, and several times I automatically place the fork back into my left hand, maybe because I’m distracted.
The children eat, play and roam freely around the house, maybe to go and see their father’s thru the other room. But they soon return to be with their mothers. With no males present there is definitely a different atmosphere in the room. It’s softer, gentler and I feel very relaxed and at ease. The women make a great deal of effort to keep the conversation in English, (I expect so that I don’t feel excluded) and only now and again do they talk amongst themselves.
Once the main course is finished they clear the plates away. And then a huge bowl of fresh fruit cocktail, various sweets, and large jugs of tea and coffee appear. The tea is delicious and Ali’s wife explains that they add about 5 tablespoons of palm water to approximately a litre of water. This is what gives the tea its unique and pleasant taste.
She also tells me that the women have shared the task of preparing the food between them. It’s just as well. Unbeknown to me there are ten men eating thru the other room, so that evening they had provided food for 16 adults plus the children.
Eventually Haji comes thru to tell me that James is waiting outside, and then he disappears again. ‘But I haven’t finished my tea yet,’ I exclaim. ‘Its okay, Ali will be outside with James,’ says Ali’s wife. Take your time - make him wait.’ ‘I will,’ I reply. All the women laugh. And that’s exactly what I do. Finally, armed with a big container of chicken biryani that Ali’s wife has kindly given us for our lunch the following day I head outside into the night.
Discuss this Journal entry [2]
Latest reply: Nov 14, 2006
Bahrain - Other people
Posted Nov 11, 2006
October 15th 2006
There is still no internet connection. The apartment block does provide free internet but it has been set up under a ‘fair share’ policy. This means that a set amount of free internet hours are allotted on a monthly basis. The hours are shared by all the residents in the building. But once the hours have been used up for the month the internet automatically disconnects.
The apartment manager informs us that one of the residents has probably been downloading overnight, and that’s why it’s all been used so quickly this month. So much for the fair share! I find this thoroughly frustrating especially when he tells me that the next month’s allotment doesn’t begin until the 23rd October. He’s determined to find out exactly who the culprit is, and then he intends to cut them off. Great! Go for it! But that isn’t much comfort to me right now.
James decides to order our own internet connection. In the afternoon he takes me back to site to check e-mails. Malesh the tea boy has been asking James every day where Madame is. Bless him! Malesh brings me a cup of coffee and I tell him that’s its okay to call me by my Christian name. But I think he’s just as uncomfortable with calling me Pauline as to what I am with him calling me Madame. He calls me Pauline a couple of times but soon reverts back to calling me Madame. He tells me more about his life here, and that he intends to join his girlfriend in France in two years time.
Once we leave the site James happens to mention just how much the tea boys are paid. I tell him that’s a pretty poor wage for a week’s hard work. That’s not for a week he replies, that’s for a month. A month! I am well and truly horrified. It runs thru my head that I had spent almost two weeks of his monthly wage in the beauty salon the previous day. That is so unbelievable. James explains that Malesh will be earning enough to keep himself, and support family members back in India. That’s beside the point. For me it kind of brings the different lifestyles people have here into prospective. It might be the way of the world - but it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about it. It only serves to remind me of just how lucky I am - and to remember this the next time I feel like moaning about something.
October 16th 2006
There are two guys from the south of India who look after the apartment block where we live, Shams and Jaya. Jaya has been here for almost twenty years and Shams has lived here for about fourteen. Sham is cleaning the apartment today. Part of their duties is to clean the apartments twice a week, a task they share between them. They also do all our washing and ironing, but that’s something they are paid for. They are more than happy to do this. It gives them a bit of extra cash, and I’ve never liked ironing that much anyway.
Shams and Jaya are both from a place called Kerela. Shams explains that 80% of the people from Kerela work in the Middle East. That’s roughly about a million people. Most of them do not have their families with them. Many would be employed as construction workers living in labour camps, restaurant and bar workers, maids, nannies, cleaners etc. Few would get the chance to see their wives or children very often.
I’m reading when Shams arrives. He asks if I enjoy reading - and I explain that I do but that I’ve only brought a couple of books with me. Later in the day he arrives at my door with an armful of books. These are books that have been left by other residents when they’ve moved out. He’s actually given me some good stuff to read - apart from the two German books. I hand them back and we both laugh about it.
Jaya tells me that he hasn’t seen his wife for two and a half years, and although he’s here in body, his heart and his thoughts are back in India. He’s reaching the point where he feels he really needs to go home. He writes poetry, and he expresses some of his sadness about his situation through his writing.
Discuss this Journal entry [2]
Latest reply: Nov 11, 2006
Bahrain - The Beauty Salon
Posted Nov 10, 2006
October 14th 2006
Before I left the UK I arranged the last of the home improvements that I'd been meaning to sort out for ages - but you know what it’s like. Sometimes you just keep putting certain things off. But I was leaving the country - so it was now or never...
The improvements included decorating - carried out by yours truly, a new bathroom, new skirting boards in the bedrooms, a radiator in the conservatory, a new stair carpet and floor tiles in the hall. Anyone who has ever undertaken home improvements knows it’s great when all the work is finished - it’s just the upheaval and chaos involved in getting there that seems to be the problem.
Needless to say, by the time I’d bought all the materials, organised everything and everyone, made endless cups of tea and coffee for various tradesmen, swept up dust and rubble, moved furniture out of rooms - and then back in again, scrubbed the emulsion off my body, (how on earth did I manage to get it there?) all while trying to organise myself for a long term move to another country I was beginning to feel pretty frayed at the edges.
So that’s why I find myself sitting in a beauty parlour in Bahrain on a hot and humid Saturday morning. A facial, a manicure (for my now broken nails) and a pedicure sounds the perfect tonic.
The girls working in the salon are all from Thailand, and the girl giving me a facial is called Lin. We chat briefly, and she informs me that she has lived here for about two years. I ask her if she likes it, and she just smiles, shrugs her shoulders and tells me that it’s okay. The language barrier prevents me from probing any further. So she takes me into the back room and I just lie on the table and allow her get on with what she has to do. The facial is very relaxing and I can feel myself drifting away.
And now we go back into the main salon for the manicure and pedicure. While Lin gives me a manicure another Thai girl called May starts on my feet. I’ve never had a pedicure so I’m really looking forward to it. Oh my goodness! I have completely forgotten just how ticklish certain parts of my feet are. May starts to scrub - and I start to laugh, I laugh gently at first - and May continues with her work. But this is really ticklish, and my laughter gets louder and louder. I apologise (several times) but now that I’ve started I just can’t seem to stop. I’m squirming in the chair and roaring with laughter at the same time. May tells me that she wants to make my feet look very nice so she carries on regardless. I look around and see three Bahraini women laughing at my laughter. Soon May and Lin are laughing as well. And now everyone in the salon is laughing. How embarrassing, LOL!
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Latest reply: Nov 10, 2006
Bahrain - Manama Souq
Posted Nov 7, 2006
October 13th 2006
Until Ramadan is over there is little for me to do during the day. So I read, play music and relax. This evening we visit the Manama Souq. It’s a bustling marketplace located in the heart of the city, near Bab Al Bahrain. - the ‘gate of Bahrain’ that was built by the British in the 1940s.
The Souk is the biggest jewellery centre in Bahrain. Tonight the area is thronging with people, mostly Indians, but there are also local people, and people from neighbouring Gulf countries. The jewellery is beautiful, although some of it a little too ornate for my taste. Having said that I do appreciate all the work that has gone into crafting each delicate piece. There are dozens of side streets to wander, and I see shops selling spices, fabrics, soveneirs, perfumes, handicraft, designer copy handbags and more or less everything you could think of.
I notice the taxi drivers gathered together on the corners chatting and drinking tea as they wait for their fares. Traders stop us or shout out and ask us to look at their goods. A young Indian guy at a counter sells me a bracelet. It is not gold but it’s very pretty so I buy the matching earrings. He flatters me terribly (a good salesman I expect) and tells me he is from Bombay and has been in Bahrain for four years.
When we move to the next counter to buy perfume he shuts his counter down and appears at this one. He talks to me more and tells me what a spiritual country India is. I tell him I visited India in 1998 and how much I enjoyed my visit. As we leave he grabs my hand and informs me he will be waiting for me to come back. It makes me smile. James reckons I have some sort of affinity with Indians. I’ve certainly felt a thousand dark eyes on me tonight. Maybe it’s the blonde hair and the pale skin.
As we stroll past a café in a side street I see several older men sitting around smoking sheesta, a sweet tobacco that has the most wonderful aroma. The smell of spices drift across the area in the warm night air. There is something about this place, the hustle and bustle, the people, the excited voices and the sweet smells that makes me feel truly alive. It’s a good feeling - and I’m sure tthe souk is a place I will visit time and time again.
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Latest reply: Nov 7, 2006
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