Sandy weather

As time passes, I'm developing a clearer picture of what the seasons in Abu Dhabi are really about. I landed in August in the middle of the damp oven of summer. Fall wasn't much of anything but steadily increasing puffs of cooler and cooler air from the north that eventually settled into the balmy nirvana known as "winter." Now the temperature is (regrettably) on its way back up. This is accompanied by a string of dust storms that mark the beginning of the Arabian spring.

Don't think of the Hollywood wall of sand that causes well-timed drama in movies like "The Mummy" and "Hidalgo," though those do exist out in the open desert. In Abu Dhabi, a dust storm blows in with the wind, much like loosely organized fog or smoke from a forest fire. The sand hangs in the air like soot, giving the sky (and everything else) a yellowish tinge. When you walk through it, you can actually feel the grains hitting your skin in the same way water droplets coalesce in a low cloud bank. There isn't much velocity in the middle of a city, though most people stay indoors. The sand finds its way through the cracks in windows and flows through the vents. Today, both K and I came home to a thin coating on tables, chairs and floors. The dry metallic smell was everywhere. There will be a very long line at the car wash tomorrow. That is assuming the storm has stopped. Last week, it took a few days before the sand was scrubbed from the air. A prevailing wind from the ocean helps, as does gravity. As for my apartment, there's nothing to do but bust out the vacuum cleaner, dust rags and a mop--repeatedly. If these dust storms keep coming, I might start looking forward to summer.

Not in California anymore...

[Probably not a post to read to grandmothers]

This Thursday, the apartments in my building were inspected by representatives of the Sharia Court. For those who don't know, the Sharia Court is the Islamic law compliance arm of the government here in the UAE. Civil law governs most areas of life, but family law (marriage, inheritance, etc.) is faith based. The Sharia Court in Abu Dhabi is known for its mellowness, especially compared to simliar courts in the region (ie: Saudi Arabia, Iran, Kuwait). It's rare that they even bother with non-Muslim foreigners. But they decided to bother with our building, tipped off (so rumor has it) by a disgruntled former colleague who claimed unmarried straight couples were living together in school apartments. Shacking up before marriage is an on-the-books no-no that is often ignored, don't ask-don't-tell style...until someone tells. Then the inspections start. Turns out, the couples in question are actually married--and were never living in the building to begin with. In fact, no one is shacking up in my building. Even the guy on the fourth floor with the Bulgarian flautist girlfriend usually goes to her place--and then only on the weekends.

There's nothing like having your privacy invaded to really get the red-white-and-blue juices flowing. Those freedoms we take for granted really come in handy sometimes--and you never really miss them until someone decides to inspect your apartment without your knowledge or permission on the basis of a crank tip from a moron with an axe to grind. Not that I'm bitter. Interestingly, the inspectors seemed to spend most of the their time in the bathroom. I guess that's the place to go for evidence of cohabitation. They left the fan on in K's bathroom, and noticeably moved both of our shower curtains. In the apartment of another colleague, all the lights were left on. She didn't know what had happened, so she thought her cats had suddenly found a way to work the switches. Luckily, the superintendent of the school emailed both K and me (and several others) so we knew we weren't going crazy (especially since we don't have cats to blame).

It was creepy to know someone else was going through my stuff. It was creepy knowing that they can do so at any time, though the likelihood of this happening again is extremely unlikely. I was a little chagrinned that I hadn't made the bed. I was relieved that I'd put away my bras (which until that morning were drying on the bathroom door knob). But why should I feel one way or the other? No one should have been in my apartment to begin with! I hate the idea of someone looking through my books (as they did at K's--and probably at mine, too, but my bookshelves aren't as neat as hers). And, at the same time, I might have earned a few Sharia points, thanks to my little sis, who lent me all the course material for her Vocabularies of Islam class. There were articles and books on Islam scattered all over the coffee table. And not just for show--I've actually been reading them. Ironically, the book on top of the stack was titled "The Place of Tolerance in Islam."

And that's why I also, to be honest, hate the idea of telling you all this. I don't want to confirm any preconceived ideas that I live in a theocratic police state. Because I don't...at least not most of the time. (I live on the same peninsula as one--and across the Persian Gulf from another. But here is nothing like that.) Nor do I blame all Muslims for condoning this kind of thing or point to something inherent within Islam that has inspired an institution like the Sharia Court. Christianity doesn't exactly have a pristine track record in this department either. (No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!)

I'm tempted at this point to keep on blogging about how perfectly reasonable, ancient faith-based movements for social reform and radical equality (as both Christianity and Islam were during the time of their respective prophets) could morph into rigid institutions in need of even more reform. But I'll spare you the religious history. Though, if I can stay ecumenical for one more minute and borrow from the Hindus, I hope karma really bites that damn ex-colleague in the butt.

Trippin' on citizenship

My advisees are 13 of the quirkiest 6th graders in the school. I love them all to pieces--and yet even I have to acknowledge that they are off-the-charts bizarre. We were talking about citizenship last month. Advisee groups were encouraged to identify a problem in the community and brainstorm ways of solving it. After that, they came up with an action plan and made it happen. Some teams found ways to help out the janitorial staff or the endangered Arabian falcon. One group is promoting an energy-free day. Another is raising money for children in Palestine.

My group chose mushrooms. Specifically, the role fungi play in preserving the environment. Apparently, they discussed this in science for about three minutes, and, man, did it stick. For awhile they wanted us to start a mushroom garden at school. When importing spores turned out to be a bureaucratic nightmare, they decided to write a play to educate others about the role of mushrooms in the ecosystem. A Powerpoint presentation will accompany the play to further spread the word about the importance of fungi. The play itself is called "Mario and his Amazing Mushrooms." It features Mario of Nintendo fame, a Charlie's Angels-esque trio named Shitake, Matake and Ling Chi, a grove of dying trees and two meddlin' kids who litter, drive a Hummer and generally cause mayhem. The thuggish kids start the mess, the trees dial Mario (on a cell phone, as they collapse dramatically) and the girls come and clean up the mess with their "mushroom power." And lest you are tee-heeing about a psychedelic angle, let me assure you that this is completely non-ironic, 100% wholesome weirdness.

Apparently 90% of the plant growth on the planet is aided by mushrooms and other fungus. Who knew? (My advisees, since you asked.) Without mushrooms, the soil would be almost useless. "Fungal mats" (fungus colonies) are among the largest biomasses on the planet and some cover up to 20,000 acres. There are between 1-2 million species of fungus on Earth, and apparently each plays a crucial role in keeping the system running smoothly.

We are performing for the 5th grade classes on Monday. I spent today coloring red polka-dotted mushroom cap hats for the the Charlie's Angel girls while the kid playing Mario found his inner Italian. (He went to a progressive school in Manhatten last year.) The trees lived and died several times, each more dramatically than the first. The thugs added a photo-snapping pantomime to their act. (They even pretend to shoot pictures while they are acting out a scene! See below for more on this whole "pose and shoot" phenomenon.) The dress rehearsal is Sunday. Wish us luck for our debut. We are discussing "kindness" next month. I can't wait to see what they'll come up with next...

Coach

As many of you know, I realized a lifelong dream this week and officially became a JV softball coach. In high school, some of my happiest moments were spent on the rough grassy diamond opposite the well-manicured varsity field. None of my closest friends played JV softball (though many great girls did). It wasn't even in the solar system of the cool sports, like soccer or lacrosse. But it was hugely fun and open to all. No one cared if you struck out or missed a pop fly. Our only batting sign involved the coach knocking his knees together and wildly shaking his arms. This signaled that we were not to swing at the next pitch because the girl on first was going to steal second. We had decent success at this, mostly because the other team was so flummoxed by our coach's behavior that they forgot to throw the ball. We never got tired of this sign, which (in addition to stunning the other team into submission) caused everyone in the dugout to collapse with laughter.

Now, I'm the coach, full of enthusiasm, if lacking in wacky humor. Not only that, I currently have 27 girls on a roster who actually call me "coach." This is because most of them are in high school and don't know my name. But I'm digging it anyway. We had tryouts yesterday and Sunday. Unlike my halcyon high school days, JV softball at my current school is a bit more cut-throat. For one thing, there isn't a varsity, so JV is the only option available. I have to get my list of 27 down to 13, which is the maximum I can have on the official league roster. I'm already dreading injecting disappointment into such a mellow game. Shaping a well-honed team is completely appropriate in basketball or soccer. But slo-pitch, JV softball, a game in which a lot of hustle or an earnest swing can turn the weakest link into the biggest hero in the blink of an eye? Maybe I should just draw names from a hat?

The official team list will be up by next Tuesday, and practices will start for real. We will have all of three games during the regular season (which lasts until mid-April), all with the largest American school in Dubai. Not surprisingly, this region doesn't field many girls softball teams, so we take what we can get. The season will culminate, as athletic seasons at international schools typically do, with a four-day tournament with similar schools from the region (in this case, the Gulf and Egypt). The school from Qatar is apparently the team to beat, but I think we have a chance. Not that it matters...

Stay tuned for softball updates, and feel free to share your own softball memories here...

What's love got to do with it?

This past winter break, I was busy eating my way across the United States or off being awed by Oman (which is still there, btw, waiting for you to take that dream vacation you will have if you go). I didn't have time for a pithy blog about the presence of Christmas trees, little gingerbread villages and genuine, white-bearded Santas that appeared everywhere in the UAE, your friendly neighborhood 99.9% Muslim country. Sure, expats hold down a huge percentage of the population, but this isn't a nation that hides its religious identity. The call to prayer sounds everywhere, five times a day, and don't even think about eating in public during Ramadan, regardless of where you're from. So, I found it a little odd this December that there was exactly one place in town to buy bacon, but countless opportunities to purchase cheesy plastic Nativity scenes with every character (including the camel) in a garishly molded bow to the Baby J.

It's the same thing with Valentine's Day. From the heart-shaped pendants fluttering from lamp posts to the sunset silouettes of cuddling lovers on countless displays, you would never guess this is a culture where most marriages are arranged and anything beyond hand holding in public is a potentially jailable offense. If I were an Emerati girl, I would be a bit confused. Should I long for my prince (sheikh?) to arrive on a white horse holding a fez-wearing teddy bear and a heart-shaped mylar balloon declaring Be Mine? It's one thing for us to roll our eyes at the bald commercialism of Valentine's Day. We grow up negotiating our own crushes and painfully working our way through the heartbreaks and lessons-learned from romantic encounters. We understand that "I Luv U" on a chalky heart does not a relationship make. But how does it look to sheltered girls, who rarely meet a man who is not a member of their family until they are about to marry? And then it's back to the family, in-laws now included.

Of course, despite this very real situation, girls are surely more sophisticated than I give them credit for, and feel no conflict gliding by big boxes of chocolate and the mooney-eyed cardboard couple flirting with each other (and legal prosecution) at the entrance to the supermarket. Maybe they tell themselves the same thing they do at Christmas time: this is just what we find in the stores right now. We see lots of things in public that we only use in private, like tank tops and earrings--and valentines. I'd like to ask an Emerati girl, but I don't know any. I'd like to know if they are sewing red sparkly hearts on their abeyyas and hoping for a secret admirer, or coolly shrugging off the latest annually imported craze. If you have any ideas, let me know...

Pose and shoot

A few weeks ago, a teacher at my school invited a student to the overhead to explain a concept. As the girl was making her way to the front, another student stood up, snapped her picture and sat back down. My colleague, somewhat aghast and certainly surprised, confiscated the camera and gave a short lecture about the appropriate time and place to take photos. As teachers, we give it our all, but this is not a speech we expect to make. ("Now remember, class, no gum, candy or flash photography. Please hold your applause until the end.") It turned out the budding Annie Lebowitz was taking pictures of this friend in a variety of situations (as a quick scroll through her camera showed). She didn't mean to be rude or disruptive. All she wanted was a good action shot. Duh.

A few days later, K held a going-away party at lunch for one of her advisees who is returning to Canada. After cake, the kids' idea the perfect way to spend the rest of lunch was to take photos of each other. This makes sense at a going-away party, though these were not comemorative shots, but rather elaborately staged poses destined for Facebook.

This is harmless fun, of course, but it's made me think about how much things have changed in the digital age. Previously, you needed a special occasion to point and shoot (like a major holiday or a vacation). Only the most dedicated of photogs or pro newshounds carried a camera everywhere. Now, we all have them. Always. Not only can we be reached at any time, but the same device (our trusty cell phones) also makes it possible to be seen and recorded at any time. Reality TV probably has something to do with it, too. If anyone can be a celebrity, then anyone can have their own personal entourage, complete with flashing bulbs. Even a classroom can be a stage, if you can get your friend to play the role of paparazzi.

And, lest you think otherwise, this is not a phenomenon exclusive to middle class teenagers. Everyone is invited to get in on the act. The same week my colleague took away her student's camera, the mall down the street set up cardboard cut-outs of popular action heroes in the corridors between stores. They are the kind with a big round hole instead of a face. You stick your face in the hole and suddenly become, say, the Incredible Hulk, a member of the Fantastic Four or the Pink Power Ranger (True! I had no idea they were still around).

There are probably 20 of these cut-outs sprinkled around, and they have caused no end of delight to mall patrons, both young and young at heart. Because everyone has a camera, taking picture of yourself and your friends is now a form of public entertainment, provided to lure folks to a certain location, much like playground equipment, live music or big sales. In fact, these particular cut outs are not very kid-friendly (most being "life size," and much too tall to accommodate the 3-11 set). They are designed, it seems, for the very people who will use them most: adults and teens with cell phone cameras.

And use them they have, although plenty of kids have gotten into the act as well. The most common scene I've witnessed involves a group of 20-something southeast Asian men, hair slicked and pants pressed to military crispness, out for a turn around the mall. Amid gleeful laughter, they snap each others photos with their cell phones, trading off whilst others call out advice about the best face position. The second most common scene is a child from any locality, being propped up to the face hole and balanced on the knee of his/her mother. Dad point-and-clicks the iPhone or Nokia on the other side. I would love to witness a woman in an abeyya and full veil (only her eyes showing) sticking her head through the Little Mermaid board, but I think that's too much to hope for.

Mall fun aside, I haven't even mentioned the most obvious result of cameras being everywhere, the situation you see the most. At any given event or disaster (natural or otherwise), spectators are now not merely staring in glee or horror, but viewing the scene through their cell phone screens, all the better to post later.

As I mentioned before, I'm not writing this to sound like an old fogie harping for the good, ol' days of film and those annoying strips of slippery negatives. Hardly. My first camera was one of those kid-proof rectangles, which only took that ridiculous 110 film (pictured left). In high school all the way through the Peace Corps, I had a decent, totally manual Minolta, which I liked. But my 2003 digital point-and-shoot can do everything that Minolta could and more. Plus, I can erase the shots I don't like. What's not to love? I've just been thinking about how normal it has become to pose and shoot no matter where we are or what we are doing (at school, on our way to buy socks, etc.). Just like it has become normal to keep a hands-free device constantly clipped to our clothes/ear, or call someone five minutes before we arrive, and tell them we will be there in five minutes. It's a function of the times, and the labor-saving devices we've invented to make our lives easier. And now, since we don't have to save dimes for pay phones or plan ahead to arrive on time or dress up and go to Sears for our yearly portraits, we can do lots of other things. Like write blogs.