I heart mosques

Today I discovered that the Sheikh Zayed Mosque, the newest and biggest mosque in Abu Dhabi, is open to non-Muslims for tours twice a day! This makes it one of only two mosques in the whole country accessible to the general public. Tours are in the middle of the morning and not on weekends, but I'm already counting the days to Eid break when I can go. (Eid Al-Fitr is the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan. It's September 30 this year and we have that Tuesday-Thursday off from school.)

I love mosques. Love them, love them, love them. I'm the daughter/step-daughter of two Presbyterian ministers and an Episcopal priest, so maybe a lifetime spent feeling at home in churches and cathedrals has turned me into a connoisseur of holy ground. Mosques feel as comfortable to me as any soaring Gothic nave. Maybe more so. Here's why...

• Mosques have domes, which make their interiors rounded and expansive. It also means they have columns and high arches, which again add to the airy, open feel. Not only that, but domes often have high, clerestory-like windows at the top, allowing light to stream down in warm, picturesque shafts. I could spend all day admiring the natural light under the central dome of a big mosque.
  
• Mosques have acres of carpet--and nothing else! (In fact, Sheikh Zayed Mosque has the largest carpet in the world!) No pews. No lectern. No altar area. No choir loft. Just carpet. Some of you have heard the story about my trip to the world-renown Blue Mosque in Istanbul. While eavesdropping on a British art historian tour guide, I noticed three little boys tumbling around on the antique carpet like it was their own personal playground. As a PK (preacher's kid), I could appreciate their level of comfort inside a place of worship--and I loved that their father looked on indulgently while his kids shrieked with delight and turned somersaults. In the Turkish equivalent of Westminster Abbey. Whenever people get all weirded out, thinking that Islam is some scary religion, I remember that scene.
• Mosques don't have any representational art (a big no-no in Islam) so they are instead filled with intricate tiles, inlaid mother-of-pearl designs, beautiful Arabic script and other decor. This is a lot harder to make cheesy than a picture of Jesus. (I love Jesus as much as anyone, but you have to go to Italy to find a decent representation of Him.) The Sheikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi is done to death, as you can imagine (semi-precious stones, heaps of marble, etc.). But in the pictures I've seen the sparkly designs are swallowed by the sheer size of the airy, open, dome-y space. I'll let you know how it looks in person when I visit.
• Mosques have graceful, multi-tiered minarets. Minarets are also the source of the call to prayer, one of my favorite things about living in a Muslim country. The call to prayer in Abu Dhabi is broadcast to the city's 2,500+ mosques from a central location (soon to be moved to the Sheikh Zayed Mosque). The recording of the muezzin, a smooth, melancholy tenor, is the best I've heard anywhere. It's not as dramatic or loud as prayer time in Turkey (when the call seems to echo through the streets) or as insistent as the little green mosque next to my host family's compound in Cameroon, but it is beautiful.

I realize I'm posting this on September 11, a day when the horrific actions of a few Muslims poisoned so many American minds against a faith as diverse and sacred to its followers as our own. When you come visit Abu Dhabi (you are welcome anytime!), we will go see the Sheikh Zayed Mosque. We will chill on the carpet under the dome, wrapped up in the scarves they issue at the door (or you can bring your own, if you want). We will marvel at the natural light and swooping Arabic script on the walls. We will stroll through the expansive courtyard; we will listen to the call to prayer in the shadow of the minarets. And you will see what I mean.

The meaning of back

I like Back to School Nights. If they were earlier in the day, they'd be perfect. As it is, getting home at 10 p.m. after a full day is made worth it by the chance to talk about how great the kids are (and perhaps make it worth it for parents to troupe around the school after a full day of their own). Back to School Night is too short a time to get into the nitty-gritty and too early in the year to have much to gripe about anyway. Everyone walks away with a warm glow--and that goodwill is money in the bank if things get hard down the road.

The Back to School Night here was different only in the sheer volume of parents who showed up. They took up almost all the chairs in my room, which had been set up for a 25-minute presentation by my buddy teacher, Ocanada and I. I teach humanities to half the 6th grade. She teaches math and science to the same bunch. (I call her Ocanada because she once campaigned passionately in favor of playing the Canadian national anthem during graduation at her former school near Toronto.) My partner teacher, Aussie (who has been mentioned before) is the humanities teacher for the other half of the grade. It's kind of a cool set up. Teachers share kids with one colleague and subject matter with another.

Anyway...our parents were a virtual United Nations of smiling faces. Before we started, we had conversations going on in Arabic, Dutch, German and every sort of accented English (Australian, British, American, Canadian). Many of them were first-time middle school parents, which can be as awkward a parental stage as adolescence itself. Let me hear from the moms and dads out there, but I can only imagine how it must feel to watch your child grow from a bright-eyed, apple-cheeked mid-sized kid into a furtive, sulky middle schooler. As is often the case, these parents nearly collapsed with relief to discover that Ocanada and I had seen it before and, yes, it would all turn out OK with just the regular amount of groaning and gnashing of teeth (yep, talking about the parents here, not the kids...)

It felt good to present a united front with Ocanada--we are very much on the same wavelength. I don't always feel that way here--and I'm not sure why. Is it the size of the school (about 90 teachers in grades K-12)? The lack of intensity surrounding the work? Or maybe this is what you get when people have work-life balance? They don't have to be in each other's pockets all the time. So they can do things like leave school at a reasonable hour. And, on the other side, keep materials to themselves or look at you a little funny when you suggest that everyone have the same classroom rules. It works both ways, but it seems to work.

Because at the end of the day what's cool about teaching is that the sum of all those little parts doesn't even come close to representing the whole. A group of smiling, somewhat nervous middle school parents; a bunch of 6th graders waiting outside the classroom door before school; the super-corny quotes; the kid who wedged himself in his own PE locker; the one who called herself the Swedish meatball; the cheers when I pull out the read-aloud book--these come closer. I'll let you know if I find the rest...

Running hot not cold

I want to mention this before it cools down too much more.

Of course, "cooling down" is a relative term. Low 100s now feel utterly livable, especially when there is no humidity. I step out of the building at 6:45 or 7 a.m. to catch a cab to work and have lately been cheered by a noticeable drop in morning temps. Mind you, it is already well into the 90s at 7 a.m., but recently it's been dry and the air has been moving (to call it a breeze would be going way too far, even now).

So, in light of the signs of changing seasons, I wanted to let you in on something everyone in Abu Dhabi knows, and everyone in the northern climes may find hard to believe. There is absolutely no need for hot-water heaters in this place from June to October. It's not a question of not wanting to take a hot shower; it's a question of not being able to take anything else. There is no cold water to be had. In fact, when one wants to take a hot shower, one jumps in and turns the faucet all the way to cold. Out pours deliciously warm water that steams the mirror and gets the job done. Putting the faucet on cold simply means the water will come in straight through the pipes and not via the water heater (which is the European kind you have to turn on and wait for 20 minutes for it to heat up). This water, straight from the pipes, is warm enough to fill your Jacuzzi. Every time.

As many of you know, I lived in Cameroon, a country in central Africa for two years. Never, even in the hottest, most tropical parts of the country or in the driest Sahel region up north was it ever hot enough to get hot water running out of the pipes. Assuming one had pipes that water ran through. The Arabian Peninsula is a whole new level of sustained heat. I'll be sure to let you know when I have to use my hot water heater again. Anyone care to guess the date?

Ramadan phenomenon: sneaking off to the liquor store

About a week before Ramadan, I paid $100 for the privilege of being allowed to purchase alcohol in the UAE. My liquor license is about half the size of a passport, complete with photo and passport-like pages. Supposedly, over the course of a year, the pages will be filled with evidence of my sojourns to local liquor store, as foreign a locale to the citizens of the UAE as Amsterdam or Peoria.

The best liquor store in town (and the only one I've been to so far) is actually right around the corner, across a parking lot, down a side street and in the second alley after the construction site. It looks for all the world like an old-fashion gay bar, with a very discreet sign and completely blackened windows. Inside is a duty-free shop wedged into a heavily air-conditioned brick cellar. The whole place is filled with alcohol from all corners of the globe, including a small, expensive shelf of California wine (the South African, Italian and Australian stuff is much cheaper) and decent selection of beer and hard liquor.

It shouldn't feel any different than heading down to the local Carrefour grocery store or to Ikea. But it does because it is so clearly not a part of the culture here. K and I went today and were advised by a colleague to be discreet about carrying the bottles home during Ramadan. To be honest, it's hard to be any more discreet than ducking down an alley and emerging with a bag made from no-way-can-you-see-through-this black plastic. I walked extra carefully so as not to clink even once. No one on the street raised an eyebrow or said a word.

As for the prices, they are also surprisingly reasonable. I was expecting to have to save up, but a decent bottle of Australian wine--or prosecco, my favorite type of Italian champagne!--costs about $15. More than I'd spend at Trader Joe's, but not crazy. Beer is sold by the bottle, as well as the six-pack. A bottle goes for about $1.50.

Apparently, every time I make a purchase, someone in the store is supposed to stamp or mark my little black alcohol passport with the amount I spent. (Presumably brand preferences and state of my palate go unremarked). I can only spend a certain amount per month (but it is ridiculously high--I'd never exceed it). So far, though, I haven't been carded. But I dutifully carry the license in my bag. Being caught buying liquor without it is a big no-no, punishable by all sorts of things including mad fines and jail time (but mostly fines). Don't worry...I won't duck down the alley without it.

The magic couch has landed!

Almost exactly one month of waiting, the magic couch has arrived! (Although with the foldy table!) I am now sitting ON SAID COUCH in my very livingroom, typing on my laptop just like the millions of other people worldwide with an apartment full of Ikea furniture.

Full is perhaps an exaggeration. My livingroom is on the spacious side and right now it has three pieces of furniture in it (two from Ikea) and that's about all it's going to have. My beloved godparents showed me the less-is-more school of interior decorating this summer, and I'm a faithful convert. (Plus, since when have I ever wanted a lot of furniture?) I think I'll get a carpet for the floor--nothing super fancy or Turkish, but woven and colorful enough to add some local color. (Check out the drawers in the foldy table--and K's cute purse...)

Pictured here is the magic couch in magic mode. The bottom piece pops up and the entire couch turns into a double bed. Check it out! There is also a whole secret storage compartment underneath the divan section of the couch (the part that sticks out).


The low coffee table is from the same non-Ikea place where K got her table and chairs. It's also the same place I got the leafy shelf thing (pictured below). If anyone has any ideas of what to put on it, post them here!

Ramadan phenomenon: no sipping allowed

People really and truly do not eat in public during Ramadan. In fact, the penalties are severe and include possible arrest. At school, it's amazing how quickly everyone has made the transition.

Kids, being kids, used to leave their plastic water bottles all over the classroom. After school, I'd inevitably corral some blameless child to recycle the 3-4 bottles on the tables--or end up doing it myself. Day #2 of Ramadan, there is not a water bottle in sight. Which is perfectly appropriate--and remarkably responsible for 11 year olds. K and I went to soda machine today and brought a plastic bag along so we could transport the cans anonymously through the halls. I then hid it behind my computer, when I wasn't taking sips practically under the table in an effort to be discreet. Yesterday, K ate lunch huddled in a storage room adjacent to her classroom. Today, Aussie asked during the team meeting if we'd mind if she ate a banana (none of us are fasting). Food is not supposed to leave the cafeteria or the staff room. In fact, the binds have been drawn to hide any eating faculty members who might be glimpsed through a small window in the hall.

This is my first Ramadan. Before yesterday, I would take a few sips of water during class, carry around a diet Coke at the end of the day and think nothing of finishing my lunch in the hall. Now, in just 48 hours, I remember to take a plastic bag to the vending machine. Sixth graders have significantly altered their habits (is a holy month that only 25% observe the trick to curing 6th grade issues?) I actually asked a kid if it was OK to put on chapstick in public. What did I want her to do? Issue a fatwa on the spot? (A fatwa is any religious opinion or ruling on an Islamic point of law, and it's not always a death sentence, like the one issued on Salman Rushdie.)

What is it going to be like after 28 days of this?

Ramadan Kareem!

The best translation of the title is Happy Ramadan! The holy month of started this morning at sunrise. I've learned a lot so far and am bound to learn more as the lunar month progresses.

Ramadan so far...

1. School schedules change, sometimes significantly. Our school day went from 8:10-3:20 to 8:40-2:10. Whoa! Some local schools start as late as 10:30 or 11:00 and get out at 4 p.m.

2. You can't eat food or drink water in public. At school, that means the cafeteria (located under the gym in the back corner of campus) is open, and food is off limits everywhere else. The water fountains are on (some schools turn them off), but kids are told to drink discreetly. About 25% of our students fast, which does not mean that only 25% of our students are Muslim. About 50% of our students are Muslim, but only half that number keep the fast. However, elementary students, mostly 4th and 5th graders, are among the 25%.

3. People gain weight during Ramadan! Every person I've talked to who fasts has told me this. I've been equating Ramadan with the Christian observance of Lent. It's true that Ramadan is also about reflecting on what you've given and gaining a deeper appreciation through self-denial, but there are significant differences. Iftar is a celebratory meal to break the fast shortly after sundown, and, from all reports, people go nuts. Meats, cookies, dumplings, the works! They eat again around 1 a.m. and some get up for one last meal before sunrise. In Saudi Arabia, the whole culture essentially becomes nocturnal, with everyone sleeping and lounging during the day and shopping, playing sports and hanging out all night. (Some Muslims have told me this rather breaks the spirit, if not the letter of the law.) Given the diversity of the UAE, things didn't seem a lot different today, in terms of traffic on the street, and folks going to work. Restaurants are closed during the day, but things seem business as usual so far. Or maybe I'm projecting my hopes into the air because I want the magic couch to come on Wednesday as scheduled.

Super corny quote of the week: "OK, OK, we can put the Ferris Wheel next to the volcano and the holy temple." (overheard in social studies as the kids were designing their own civilizations for future archeologists to uncover)