“Why Would They…?”

(Written February 2012) During our years in Cairo, my husband devised a game called “Why Would They?” It proved to be an expat game of trying to hold your tongue.

The rules in Cairo were simple, for every, "Why would they?" exclamation -- typically uttered when witnessing some fantastical, or wildly amazing, or just implausible and gravity-defying feat, such as "Why would they carry a plate glass window on a motorbike?", or "Why would they step out into traffic without ever looking?" -- you would get one point against you. If you were somehow able to NOT exclaim this constantly, then you were probably asleep; there's really no other explanation. Our favorite supplementary game, was to see how long it took visitors to utter their first “Why would they” sentence, which was sometimes within minutes of leaving the airport.

We have tried to play the game outside of Egypt, but frankly it’s just not as fun. Yes, wild and wacky sights can be spotted in Venice, or London, or Alaska, or Muscat, but so far nothing can compare with the sheer volume of wondrous mind-bending sights in Cairo.

Life is much more sane and less like a carnival in Kuwait, but having said that, we have come up with two “Why Would They’s”. The first is quite simply, “Why would they constantly drive with such recklessness?” No, it’s not as much fun as “Why would they put grandma on top of the pile of watermelons in the back of the truck (in Cairo)?”, but we work with what we’re given. The driving remains a constant source of stress here, but I am trying to train myself to fully expect to be passed on an on-ramp and cut-off in a merge lane, so as to lessen the stress spikes. Not to mention constantly checking rear and side mirrors; I’ve learned all too often that just because it’s clear one second doesn’t mean there won’t be a Hummer H2 climbing up your tailpipe in the next.

Our second “Why Would They?” comes from something I have failed to share, until now. It’s not because I’m trying to hide it, but frankly I find it so baffling that I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s simply this, is certain areas of town, Kuwait City stinks.

It really stinks. The sewage smell can be overwhelming in some neighborhoods, particularly those close to the water. I've heard all sorts of rumors as to why, including a broken sewage pipe flooding Kuwait Bay and the Persian Gulf with raw sewage, and an on-going search for an engineering firm to fix it. I don't know what the real story is, but I can certainly attest to the real result. Pew.

So, sadly, one of the best parts about Kuwait, their 180 miles of coastline, is strongly affected by this. No one wants to come to the beach, when the beach doesn't smell like a beach should. Personally, I would think that the high-end resorts lining the waterfront would team up and demand that the problem be addressed. I can’t imagine paying $500 a night for a room with a waterfront view (and complementary smell), let alone trying to take a dip in the water and dodge the debris (I'm making an assumption here; I have yet to take a dip in the Gulf and frankly can't see it happening anytime soon).

And so, it still stinks. We recently visited friends who had a gorgeous villa, just a block from the water, but when we parked and open the car doors the stench was so overwhelming we ran for their front door with our breaths held. We’ve taken walks along the beach on the promenade, and one minute everything is lovely, the next the wind changes and you’re suddenly speed-walking to the car.

So it comes down to this. In a country as flush with cash as Kuwait is, "Why Wouldn’t They Fix the Sewage Smell?" Okay, one point against me; let the game begin!

The Trouble with Truffles

(Written February 2012) Finally, after living here for four-and-a-half months, my husband and I made it to Kuwait’s infamous Friday Market. We didn’t really know what to expect; I was envisioning an Arab swap meet of sorts, and in part, I was right. But it encompassed far more than that.

We were told it was in the area behind “The Avenues” Mall and I had driven by it and seen some tents set up, so we headed in that general direction. The first grouping of tents proved to be the actual tent-maker area. We drove through, but realizing that we really weren’t in need of a canvas tent right now, we headed on to the next batch of tents (but not before noting the location for “Ready Tents & Accessories” – because there’s just nothing worse than a Not-Quite-Ready tent, right?).

We parked with a bunch of other cars, figuring they’re here for a reason. Unfortunately, that reason was the live animal market which we stumbled directly in to. I was suddenly surrounded by 50 parakeets crammed in a cage, or sad fishes swimming in a tiny bowl, not to mention the squaks and clucks I was hearing farther in. No one there had a life-expectancy beyond a few months, I’m sure. I sped through, keeping my eyes and ears averted until I bumped in to the fruit and veg sellers, almost literally. All of their goods looked great, and despite us leaving in three days, we bought half a kilo of strawberries and oranges, all for just two dinars (about $7). So we may have found our weekly fruit and veg place.

Just across the street were two rows of bright orange tents. We wandered into the first row and it appeared they were all selling the same thing: stacks of lumpy, dirty-looking potato-like things. But they weren’t potatoes, far too light, and I mused to my husband that maybe they were mushrooms of some kind. As we kept walking, he approached one seller and we learned that all of these booths were selling truffles. Piles and piles of truffles; little truffles, medium truffles, and big truffles. For about $25 we could get one kilo of the large truffles, or for $18 a kilo of the medium ones. Apparently this is truffle season here and they’re grown locally, as well as in Oman. Considering our imminent departure, we opted to forego the kilos of truffles, but I have it earmarked as a possible venture out next February.

As we were departing truffle-ville, I took out my camera and the seller beamed and indicated that I could take his picture, and as seems to be the custom, he told my husband to come around the counter and be in the picture with him (I’m thinking this will make a great February in the “My husband posing with various foreign men” calendar everyone can expect this Christmas). After taking their picture, the two sellers next to him indicated that I could take their picture as well, so never one to say no to a truffle-seller, I took their picture, too. Saying our farewells to the trufflers, my husband casually asked the seller if he was Kuwaiti (as we’re really dying to actually meet one), but he laughed and said, “No, I’m from Iran.” Ha, ha, ha. Then he and the sellers next to him all laughed riotously as my husband and I walked away. Truffle humor, I guess.

Crossing back through the parking lot, we headed toward a large fenced-in area that looked like a huge arena, without walls. The entire area was roofed and was filled as far as we could see in all directions with stuff. Beds and dressers, couches and diwaniyas (like an enormous couch set that lines the edges of a room), mirrors, kitchenware, clocks, rugs, curtains, washing machines, TVs, clothes, shoes, bags, etc. All of this appeared to be new, then we entered the “Arab flea market” area and you name it, it was here. From mountains of old tools, to rather filthy well-used strollers and cribs, to every TV remote made, to Singer sewing machines from the 1920s (I really wanted one, but they wouldn’t budge on the price), to bicycles and vacuums. We found a lot of amusing items, and even some fun purchases, but didn’t buy anything. This was more of a scouting mission. Continuing with our get-out-and-explore momentum, I went with a friend a few days later to the Kuwaiti fabric souq. I’d been hearing about it, and knew it was relatively close to the “Heritage souq” that I’d been to already, but when she offered to show me around, I jumped at the chance. It wasn’t anywhere near the excitement and adventure and dysentery levels that Cairo’s Boulaq fabric souq was, nor did it have the can’t-resist, must-buy-more, penny-pinching prices, but I will say that in terms of variety and pretty much all you could ask for, it could hold its own. All of the fabric shops were corralled in two shopping centers, with shops inside and outside, and tailors galore on the second floor. We wandered and explored, bought some gorgeous fabrics from India on sale, and found a wonderful all-things-made-in-China store that will provide all the “I heart Kuwait” buttons, red teddy bears, paper gift bags, and more miles of ribbon than I could possibly need over the next two years.

So, while we’re still accepting that this ain’t Cairo, we’re getting out and have actually had a few fun outings; visiting the Radisson Hotel to check out their gym and pools, making three attempts to see a movie, the last of which was finally successful (apparently everyone else has figured out that there’s not a lot to do here, so going to the movies is a highly popular event and one that must be planned ahead accordingly – we ended up having to wait an hour for the next film so we wandered the 360 Mall and my husband pointed out that it really wasn’t any fun to window shop in a Mall where you can’t afford anything; he's right).

So, having properly donned our adventure-seeking hats, we will now plan more outings, with well-stocked diaper bag and baby-in-tow, tucking away our low expectations, and continue with our Kuwaiti adventures. Now, on to planning that all-truffle dinner party for next February.

Wacky Mall Walkers

(Written January 2012) The other day I borrowed the car, after dropping my husband off at work around eight. My adventure for the day was to hit The Avenues Mall. I had no idea when the mall opened, but figured I could window shop until the stores awoke. I found myself with almost an hour to kill before Carrefour, the grocery store, opened, with the rest of the stores following at ten. During my hour of perusing the Rolexes, the Jimmy Choos, and double-take earrings with emeralds the size of Chiclets, I saw mostly mall employees prepping the stores or buffing the floors. It was quiet and clean and I can see how this could be a weekly pastime for expat moms, particularly with babies in strollers during the summer.

There were a few other non-employees like me milling about, but unlike me, and my lazy perusing, these were the Kuwaiti mall walkers. They didn’t clump in a group, but rather walked alone, and most were women. Clad completely in black (some with face scarves and gloves, others with just the head scarf and galabeya). But other than the outfit, they were just as determined as the mall walkers back home, who seem like they wouldn’t break stride and might even hurdle your crumpled form if need be. I kept my eye on them as we passed during our routes, and like any time you come across someone else actively exercising, I suddenly felt very tired and sloth-like. But I pushed through and at nine o’clock did my grocery shopping with great deliberation, since I still had an hour to kill. Luckily Carrefour is a huge Wal-Mart-like store so I ambled happily.

Much like back home, many of the mall stores were advertising big post-holiday sales, so once everything opened, I took a wander through Bath & Body Works. As I was choosing my sale items (which now made them just below the U.S. prices) I found myself rubbing elbows with an Arab man, wearing his traditional garb, and studying with great concentration the shower gels, obviously trying to decide between Sensual Amber and Moonlight Path (my vote would be for Moonlight, but I didn’t feel it was my place to interject).

This was one of those moments where your expat mind has to take a few extra seconds to process what you’re seeing, because it doesn’t add up with what you’re used to. I’m finding that despite the modernity of daily life here, many of the people have maintained the look they’ve had for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The men wear dishdashas, similar to a long lightweight robe (typically in white). Sometimes they wear a kefiya or ghutra (cloth head-dress in white or red-checked, similar to those worn in Saudi Arabia) with an agal/akal (black ring used to weigh it down). The women wear a galabeya/jellabiya, like the men’s dishdasha, but typically in black, and a hijab (head covering). Some may wear a burqa, which covers the hair and face entirely, or a niqab, which covers the face and is worn in conjunction with the hijab (it really isn’t as confusing as it sounds). Unlike Egypt, most of the women here wear all black, none of the peacock plumage I used to love seeing in Cairo. Granted, a lot of the black is adorned with jewels and sparkles, and the fabrics here are obviously rich and luxurious. Some women who descend from the bedu people (desert dwellers) may even wear a fuller face-covering that completely hides them, where you can’t even see their eyes. One book I read said these women, “are fiercely proud of their right to be protected from the gaze of men”. I believe this is primarily used for public settings, and non-familial men, and it’s probably not used when driving or chopping vegetables.

After leaving Bath & Body Works, where the poor man was still mulling (I think the scents were getting to him), I wandered through a few more sales, Pottery Barn Kids, Gap Kids, things like that. And I ended my three-hour mall-walking at Ikea, where I happily purchased a mattress for our crib (which is good, considering I'd also managed to acquire some adorable sheets at Pottery Barn). All in all, a quite successful mall walking day.

Seeking Emily Post in Kuwait

(Written January 2012) “Dear Ms. Emily Post, we received a lavish assortment of luxury chocolates and porcelain Limoges boxes presented on a silver platter from our landlords this year for the holidays. We’ve never actually met them, so in hunting down their contact information I came upon an important fact: our landlord is related to royalty, and he owns most of our neighborhood. I’m assuming our thank you note needs to be a little more formal than, ‘Your Highness, thanks so much for the chokies!’ Any suggestions for thanking royalty for an extravagant pile of chocolates would be greatly appreciated. As an aside, he's somehow connected to the Al Sabah family, who has ruled Kuwait since 1752, in case that adds another layer of formality.”

I haven’t sent it off yet (is there even still an “Emily Post” out there?), but nor have I sent the thank you note. I learned all about our landlord one day while sitting at our dining table watching a carpenter swap out our door handle. We finally put in a request to change our front door’s locking mechanism, primarily after I lost my set of keys in the house and was essentially locked in for two days (I’ve since found my keys).

Spot on nine the next morning, the buzzer buzzed and I went out to meet two men, one of whom was the spitting image of the Keymaker in “The Matrix.” This was apparently the Carpenter. They checked out our door, did some measurements, then said they’d be back, and they left. Just before their arrival, two other men had come to hook up the dryer’s vent, and they were working down the hall in the laundry room. When they went to leave one of them asked me, “Did I hear the Carpenter?” And I said yes, and explained that he’d had to go get supplies. Apparently the man truly has no name.

It took a few hours, and more than one trip to the store, but finally the Carpenter was able to outfit our door with a proper handle and locking mechanism, so no one could be locked in again, or at least not as easily. While I watched them work (I’m never sure what to do, do I hover, do I linger, do I read a book, do I watch TV?), the Carpenter told me the history of our house, including our landlord's status and the fact that it's been rented out to expats for the last ten years.

I had been nagging my husband to get some contact information for the landlord so I could write the thank you note, but upon learning this I backed off. I think I may be out of my depth here. So now, back to Ms. Post.