Life in the fast lane

It's time for a light-hearted post, something to take our minds off rampant, media-inspired epidemics, violence domestic and foreign, and the fact that there are already Christmas decorations going up in stores. So, I thought I'd fill you in on what has pulses (and engines) racing here in Abu Dhabi these days.

The Formula One Grand Prix, of course. What else?

Yes, everyone's favorite upstart emirate is hosting the final race of the season in just a few short days. Of course, there is a brand new race track. In fact, there is a brand new island for the brand new race track, along with a concert venue, an indoor Ferrari World theme park (as yet unfinished) and city full of hype. Tickets have been sold out for months and the Corniche is festooned with flags and banners from end to end, along with one of those digital countdown clocks that's recording the days, hours and seconds until the race begins. Beyonce and Aerosmith are scheduled to sing, and a lot of really rich guys with really expensive cars are arriving from all over the world to race around a 5-km circuit 55 times at speeds of up to 300 km/hour.

I can think of about 50,000 things I'd rather do than watch loud, souped-up cars zoom around for hours on end. Obviously, I am also in the minority. Formula One is big business and meshes perfectly with the nouveau-high-performance-shiny-fast-expensive vibe of the Gulf these days. The track itself rolled through millions of dollars and millions of construction hours, rose whole-cloth from the desert wastes and will be debuted on the world stage without passing go. It is said that at its height the workforce was made up of 41,000 men who consumed 17 tons of rice, eight tons of chicken and 156,000 pieces of chapati bread per day. Among other things, they built a 500-room hotel on Yas Island that straddles the race track, a first in F1 history (and pictured here). This, also, is no surprise in a country where hotels comprise 99.9% of the innovative architecture. It actually makes more sense to have a grand prix here than it does in recession-plagued, has-been places like Monaco and Belgium. I mean, really. Who exactly do you think are buying Ferraris and Lambourghinis these days? The Italians? The French? Je ne pense pas.

I will be in Turkey with 71 6th graders on November 1 when the clock on the Corniche finally counts down to zero and the gentlemen on Yas Island start their engines. We'll miss the roar of the crowd, the screeching turns and the flapping chequered flag of victory. By the time we get back the Fan Zone village will have disappeared from the Corniche, and the clock might be counting down something else. What will it be? The cynics among us might say: the time left until the oil runs out. But we're a few decades away from that yet. If you have a more nouveau-shiny-expensive suggestion, let me know. I'll be sure to pass it along to the Committee to Put Abu Dhabi On the Map.

The H1N1 hype

The worldwide swine flu pandemic has made me paranoid. Not about contracting the virus, which doesn't seem any more pernicious than other recent flu strains. But about the ability of the Powers that Be to use the media and peoples' natural fear of illness to whip up an insatiable (and profitable) market for vaccines and other expensive pharmaceuticals, not to mention pulling the eyes of the world away from their disagreeable and/or nonsensical policies.

As far as I've been able to research, there is very little that distinguishes the H1N1 virus from any other seasonal flu that makes the rounds each year. It came earlier, and it has affected a higher percentage of young people. But the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention state clearly on their website than 70% of the deaths from swine flu, including in those under 64, were people with preexisting conditions that made them more at risk, including asthma, heart disease and diabetes. These diseases, as we know, are also affecting younger people in increasing numbers. No one has suggested shutting down local McDonalds as a way to battle this particular pandemic.

But I digress. My point is that things have gotten out of hand. The image above is from India, but it could be from right here in Abu Dhabi. The little school girls in my building also have a surgical mask as part of the official uniform at the local school. The government has shut down several schools in the UAE, and requires all nurses to report any case of fever to the Ministry of Education. There have been no swine flu deaths in the in this country so far, and only a few cases. That hasn't prevented my principal from nervously informing us that we might be shut down if too many kids are sent home sick. A lot of kids and teachers (myself included) have had colds since the weather started changing. None of us has had a fever or the flu. Yet our upcoming school trips to Turkey and Thailand could be canceled, though, if our "sent home" stats keep rising. At this point in the year, it would be impossible to reschedule. Some parents, however, might be just as happy because they are already keeping their children home that week for fear of the virus.

The virus that is, may I remind you, the flu. A new version, but the flu nonetheless. It has killed--wait for it--4,500 people worldwide, as of October 7, according to the WHO website. I mean no disrespect to the family and friends of those 4,500. However, malaria, also preventable and curable disease, kills about 1 million people a year, including lots and lots of kids. Car accidents kill 1.2 million. About 500,000 people die from drowning, another 25,000 from lightning strikes. The list goes on. In fact, flu itself used to be just as deadly, though it isn't anymore. Back in 1918, the influenza epidemic killed 50 million people when the world population was just a fraction of what it is today. Imagine killing off every single person in the state of California. Twice. It's incredible to think about. That was an epidemic worthy of the constant drumbeat of fear. This isn't. In this case, it's the fear itself that's hurting people much more than the disease. The little girls who must now interact with their friends from behind masks (even playtime is potentially deadly!); the kids at my school who won't take part in a truly life-changing experience; and (more importantly) the millions in the developing world who die each day of curable diseases that could actually benefit from this much publicity.

I'm not railing against flu shots, and more power to anyone wearing a surgical mask on the airplane (though why not always wear one? TB never goes out of season, and it kills 456,000 a year.) It's just that I'm worried about all this fear-mongering with so little cause. So many words and so much worry when you, your children and your family are about six times more likely to be struck by lightning than contract H1N1. Seriously. Let's try to resist becoming sheep too soon, so we'll be sure to recognize the real wolf, if and when it comes.

B

I need to break the seal, get back in the saddle, learn to blog again. But it's been hard. Last week, I received some news about a friend and faithful reader, whom most of you may know only from his comments recorded here.

I have known my friend BrianB since we were both in pre-school. I remember him sitting on his heels in the Brown Room (the preschool classes were named after colors) as we gathered around our teacher for story time. He was looking up at her and smiling with his mouth closed, showing off his crater-like dimples. That is my first memory of him, but not my last. In my last memory, he is standing in my mom's living room just this past December, a man of 35 with his son wrapped around his leg. They were heading back to LA after a short visit with my sister and me. He had shaved his full beard that morning, and the dimples were once again on display. I could understand why a grown man, a serious scientist, wouldn't want to advertise a babyface, but it was nice to see them all the same.

In between the first memory and the last are years and years of school days, youth group meetings, choir practices, junior high dances, political debates, laughter, eye rolling, grade school crushes, and teen drama. We both volunteered at the same home for developmentally disabled adults all through high school. We canceled each other out completely the first time we voted in the 1992 elections. These endless pebbles of daily contact lay the foundation for the kind of friendship that can only happen between two people who have known each other as children and are now grown up. During his visit last December, the chipper politeness and catching-up small talk of reunited adults took place in a frame of golden fondness for the 5 year old, 10 year old, 13 year old and 16 year olds we once were together. My friendship with BrianB had a burnish like a halo; the icon of our friendship was finely wrought before we ever got back in touch, a little less than a year ago, thanks to this blog. His comments on these pages picked up a conversational thread that stretched back 30 years.

He was widely believed to be the smartest kid of our generation in the small California beach town where we grew up. He was a math genius, took every class in our high school's math department, then went on to an independent study. He attended the Naval Academy, and entered a PhD program in particle physics after his military service. He married, had a son who is as boisterous and silly as I remember him being at that age. He was deeply saddened by his recent divorce, and became depressed. When I saw him last, he seemed grief stricken but not outwardly embittered, as some people get, especially when a split isn't mutual. He was quiet and very, very sad. He was also attentive to his son and solicitous of my mom, whom he had always (we discovered) considered a second mother, especially after his own mother died of cancer some years ago.

You probably think he's dead too. But he's not. He shot and killed his ex-wife during a heated argument last week and will probably spend the rest of his life in jail. Nothing excuses what he did. But he was my friend, and I have known him all my life, and now that life is gone. But it hasn't gone, still burnished, into the grave. It's just gone. As someone who cares about him, I'm grieving as if he were dead, then feeling guilty because he's still alive. Then feeling the grief again--and not knowing what to do with it--as I reread his comments here, wondering what kind of person he always was if he is now a person with murder on his hands. We all make mistakes, incur weighty regrets and debts of shame, some heavier than others. Some suffer crippling mental illness. Others endure humiliations, perceived or otherwise. We hold ourselves to impossible standards and are devastated when we don't measure up. I know I've made mistakes that seemed to wipe the world clean of any good I'd ever done. But there are some deeds that wipe away an entire life--or take an entire life to redeem. Some would question if such redemption is ever possible. For the sake of my friend, I'd like to believe it is, either in this world or the world to come.

Though, if I were writing this entry about someone else, and BrianB was free to post, he would likely take me to task for being such a bleeding heart. A crime committed should be a crime punished, especially when there is an innocent child left behind. A life for a life, this proponent of the death penalty would surely claim, never imagining--do you understand how inconceivable it seems--that he'd be the one behind bars, facing the pulverizing wheels of the California justice system. And I'm not saying he shouldn't be punished. I'm simply grieving for the friend I knew who disappeared into one terrible moment, and grieving for the woman who was lost, and the lives of those left behind--his son, his own family, and his victim's family--who must now pick up the pieces.

I haven't written this blog to depress you, too. I debated if I should even post it. This isn't usually a confessional, and perhaps this knowledge is TMI. If BrianB hadn't posted so regularly, and at such length, I wouldn't have told you at all. But he is part of this publication, as humble as it is, and I can't go on without talking about him here, where I can still hear his voice. Please pray for his son and his family. And, if you can, pray for him, too.

To whom much is given...

Regular readers know all about Sheikh Zayed, founding father of the UAE and head of the royal family of Abu Dhabi until his much-mourned death in 2004. Some of you may even know that one of his last acts as sheikh was to commission the builing of a beautiful new mosque, a multi-million dollar extravaganza of gleaming white egg-cup domes, a forest of columns inlaid with mother of pearl and the world's biggest carpet AND world's biggest chandelier adorning the main prayer hall. (See the Sept 2008 and December 2008 entries for more details.)

Sheikh Zayed was a dedicated Muslim who probably loved Allah as much as the next person. The only difference between him and the super of my building (the be-scarved Mr. Aziz) was the wealth that comes from 8 percent of the world's oil reserves. As most public buildings commissioned by a single person, the Sheikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi speaks volumes about its patron--many more volumes, perhaps, than said patron intended. As a result, the mosque has come to symbolize the glorification of a deity, the growing status of a city, the fine taste of a family and the expansiveness of a ruler, among other things. Needless to say, no expense was spared.

But the Sheikh Zayed Mosque is more than a stunning prayer hall toured by school kids and tourists, but mostly empty outside of holiday times. I discovered yesterday that the sheikh may have outdone himself with the Turkish tiles and reflecting pools, but he also created a home for an equally stunning show of generosity.

Every night during Ramadan (that's a whole lunar month), the mosque is host to a gathering of over 10,000 people who come to break their fast at its nightly Iftar. Fire up those mental calculators and you'll see: that's about 300,000 meals total prepared by the UAE Armed Services and distributed at the mosque. A group of us went yesterday to check it out. What we saw were 12 huge marquee-style tents (with a/c) filled with men (many of them laborers in the city) sitting on the floor and eating. There were so many that some gathered outside. Their dinners came in large boxes, and almost everyone was carrying around a plastic bag of leftovers. After the crowd finished eating, some left on the large buses that would carry them back to their camps for the night. Others said their evening prayers among the tents or headed into the huge mosque.

Giving of alms is one of the main pillars of Islam, and it was heartening to see such an eye-popping example of generosity in the shadow of such an eye-popping example of wealth. It reinforced my belief in the sincerity and power of Ramadan, at least in one, inlaid-mother-of-pearl, Turkish-tiled corner of town.

In my tribe...

While journeying in Tanzania this summer, Jessy (intrepid guide) asked K and I about tribalism in the United States. In Africa, tribalism is a hot topic in many countries and is seen as an impediment to development. Thinking tribally, the argument goes, damages the concept of nationhood and leads to favoritism and questionable decision-making in an effort to benefit a small, familiar group over a more anonymous, yet equally deserving crowd. In Tanzania, Jessy said, it doesn't matter what tribe you belong to. Almost anyone can point to an example of one group throwing its weight around to privilege their own. Understandably, this breeds resentment and apathy. Why bother, after all, if forces beyond your control have such power to shape your destiny?

So are there tribes in the USA? Jessy asked. And what he meant was: are there groups of people who are united by something fundamental or deeply rooted? And do these groups use their affiliation to promote their own interests to the exclusion, either natural or intentional, of others?

K and I hemmed and hawed a bit, searching for stateside equivalents to African tribes. We mentioned the American Indian tribes, of course, but the influence of these groups is not felt throughout society in the way Jessy meant. We considered class, religion and race next. But these categorizations seemed too unwieldy to fall under the heading of tribalim. Am I denying that people privilege their own class, ethnic group, religion or race? Of course not. But it's a reach (and potentially offensive) to refer to such behavior as tribalism rather than the specific "ism," like racism. We then pulled back to more light-hearted divisions by region. K spent 12 years living in Brooklyn. I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Californian. Were these our tribes, each with its own linguistic pattern, cuisine and customs? Maybe. We spent some time making sweeping generalizations about East Coast and West Coast behaviors, trying to juxtapose a Wall Street banker with a surfer dude.

Then Jessy asked if it was unusual to marry a person from a different region in the USA? Did people avoid moving to a city not of their "tribe?" Could people change tribes if they changed locations? We realized that regionalism wasn't going to answer this question because it was so fluid. Tribal boundaries aren't fluid. People may choose to marry or live with another tribe in Tanzania, but such cases are rare and likely involve an acknowledged personal and cultural sacrifice. Moving from San Francisco to Baton Rouge, as startling as that might be, doesn't carry the same implications. People from the same tribe, Jessy explained, share a common understanding that is not easily put aside.

I was ready to give up, or attempt to explain poorly translatable distinctions like wine vs. beer drinkers or Yankees vs. Red Sox fans when K hit the nail on the head.

Political parties.

It wasn't always so, but we are all aware these days of how politics is no longer centered on opinions and policies. It's about how you view the world, how you live your life and how you think other people should live theirs. We call it the Culture Wars, but it is nothing less than the tribalization of the system.

Let's see how it measures up to the African version. Jessy is a member of the Chugga tribe of Tanzania. It is the tribe of his family and the foundation of his personal values. He is unlikely to marry outside of this tribe, not because he believes himself superior but because his own cultural perspective might be alienating to his spouse or vice versa. He would certainly not change his tribe willingly as he moved through life. To do so would mean denying lifelong beliefs. He is not in a position to make decisions that affect the lives of others. If he were, would he favor his own tribe? Probably. It is true that he would feel most comfortable with those who shared his outlook on the world and people he is closest too, people he spoke to us about during the journey, are those from his own tribe.

Does American political reality compare? Let's take me, RR, a member of the liberal Democrat tribe. This tribe didn't form my values, but my values are reflected (for the most part) in this tribe. It's true most of my friends are also liberal Democrats (though not all) and I can't imagine a relationship with a hard-core conservative. But what really clinched the issue , from the perspective of the road trip discussion in Tanzania, was this: to change my political party at this point in history really would represent a fundamental shift in my values. I wouldn't just have to change my views on taxation or the environment to become a Republican. I would have to change almost everything about how I see the world. I wouldn't do this lightly. In fact, I can't imagine doing it at all--and the same, I think, is true for most other Democrats, as well as Republicans. This, to me, indicates a more deeply rooted, tribalesque relationship to a political party, one that goes far beyond practicality and policy. In fact, as research has shown, people these days will often vote against policies in their own best interest because they are viewed as coming from the opposing tribe. We have been treated to several grueling months of healthcare debate obscured by the most truth-defying acts of blatant tribalism. Underinsured working people willingly believe that free healthcare is evil socialism rather than a enormous weight off their minds and pocketbooks. All because it's championed by the opposing tribe.

In Africa, countries with only two tribes are much more likely to fall apart dramatically (and often tragically) than countries with a melting pot/salad bowl mix. Rwanda, for example, is a country with two tribes. Cameroon, which is hardly ever in the news, is a country with many. I don't want to imply that the USA is heading for genocide and mass uprising. But I do think that there's more than one way to stop a country in its tracks, and we are nearing the point where inspired ideas, desperately needed leadership and, yes, even people's lives are being sacrificed in order to maintain the dominance (or regain the dominance) of one political tribe or the other.

Many countries in Africa are trying to confront tribalism, understanding that progress cannot be made while such divisions exist. We might want to take a lesson from their struggles before our own tribalism kills the country all of us--Democrats and Republicans--claim to love.

The Lamborghini and the Iftar tent

I just finished reading Anathem by Neal Stephenson, which I loved and which is another one of his brick-sized explorations of ideas and technology. His setting this time is an alternative universe where mathematicians, scientists and philosophers are segregated from the general population in a monastic-type setting. In between adventures involving otherworldly visitors, Tetris-like puzzles with real tiles and other fun sci-fi stuff, the characters engage in high-level debates on Platonic ideals, consciousness, symbolic reasoning and other heady topics.

If you don't understand after reading the previous paragraph why I love sci-fi so much, I will never convince you. In part, it's a way for a literary geek like me to understand (even be riveted by) scientific theories, mathematical principles, the way the natural world works, etc. Things like physics out of a textbook make me anxious and bored. Put the same content in a narrative and my brain can hum happily along for 1,000 + pages (Anathem weighs in at 1,008).

Which brings me to the Lamborghini, the Iftar tent and deductive reasoning I'm trying to apply to the villa across the street from my apartment building. I realize (thanks to Anathem) that my data will be faulty, that observation alone over such a short period of time does not allow me to draw the kind of conclusions I'm going to share a few paragraphs hence, but I can't help it. The juxtaposition is just too inviting.

Said villa is large, though no larger than the others on that particular block. Yet it is the center of neighborhood happenings in more ways than one. Take right now. An orange Lamborghini is parked in front. There are a startling number of wildly expensive cars parked on the streets of Abu Dhabi, though Lamborghinis are unusual, even for here. Beside the Lamborghini is an Iftar tent, a traditional shelter with cushions and a little swinging lantern. Back when everyone was a Bedouin, hosts welcome guests into their tents to break the fast. This tent, though traditional in nature is modern in design and features a built-in A/C unit. Nonetheless, Iftar tents are about as rare as orange Lamborghinis. These days, most people celebrate the meal inside with families or at the city's many lavish buffets. (Because restaurants can't open during the day, they go all-out at night during Ramadan.)

What does this mean? Who has a Lamborghini and an Iftar tent? At first glance , they are two symbols of the Gulf circa 2009-- wealth and tradition coexisting on a few feet of city asphalt. At the same time, they are mutually exclusive. Those holding on to the traditions espoused by the Iftar tent would resist spending the money it would take to buy a top-of-the-line Italian sports car in bright orange. Those who favor $200,000-worth of big engines and sleek European design would turn away from the rustic nature of the Arabian tent, A/C notwithstanding.

Because there is sometimes a metallic gold Mercedes parked next to the Lamborghini (!!) I've decided that the owner of the villa, let's call him Asaad, is a dealer in fancy cars, but his heart remains in the desert. He drives home his wares because he can't possible be seen in a more modest Beemer (or on a camel), but he likes nothing better than to ditch the glitz for a night in the tent. Or, Asaad could be a purveyor of Iftar tents for the modern Gulf family who has a passion for the flashiest of European automobiles.

Anyone else have any ideas?

Ramadan salam

It's that time of year again--11 days earlier (by the solar calendar) than last year and a few degrees hotter. I'm much more tuned in to the quiet of Ramadan this year, the lighter traffic outside my window (during the day), the calm of the streets (most people aren't into fasting and also walking around when it's 110 with 85% humidity), and my growing knowledge of what this month means to many people here.

Observing Ramadan is one of the five pillars of Islam. Not all Muslims observe it, but many here do. By law, no restaurants are open in the day time and eating in public is a huge no-no (punishable by a fine). At school, we follow similar guidelines. Kids eat in the cafeteria only (adults are confined to the staff room) and no one has a water bottle in class. Even chowing down while driving is frowned upon because you are clearly visible through the windows.

As a result, many non-Muslims moan and groan about Ramadan. It is one of the few times a year when Abu Dhabi is more foreign than familiar. I myself did some sighing at the thought of giving up my Friday morning cappuccino, shallow as that sounds. Ramadan is inconvenient and fraught with potential frustrations. Business change their hours. Government and financial business is hard to transact. Doors close early or open far too late. Going out for breakfast or lunch is impossible.

Given these issues (which affect everyone), I was surprised to discover how much Muslims look forward to Ramadan. Having to fast during daylight hours didn't strike me as something to anticipate gleefully. Something to endure for the sake of your faith, sure. Something that makes theological sense as a form of meditation and self-denial, naturally. But excitement? A time for twinkly light displays on the roads and celebratory decor in the malls? (Both happening.) But it's true, and it's cool. I read an article in the local Time Out magazine that profiled Muslims from all walks of life (from construction worker to chef (ouch) to business owner to belly dancer). All said they loved Ramadan. They loved the time of year. They loved iftar (the meal to break the fast at the sundown). They loved eating special foods and hanging out. The construction worker said it felt like a kind of holiday. Holiday? Due to the heat, the guy works from 9:00 p.m.-3:30 a.m. during the holy month. But he's down with it. On the first day of school, one of my old students (not profiled in the magazine) talked about how psyched she is for next Ramadan (already anticipating it) when she'll be able to spend most of it in Palestine with her extended family. I got an email from the parent of three of my students (they're triplets) talking about how her kids are fasting, not because they have to but because they love Ramadan so much. (And this is not a religiously conservative family by any stretch.)

Ramadan is also, I've discovered, not really about the food. Actually, for me, it'd be about the water. (I'd be much more into trying a fast or two if I could just drink water.) But it's not about that either. It's about abstaining in general. And I don't just mean fleshly pursuits (though those count), but about negative thoughts, anger, jealous, greed. People can "break their fast" by being rude or dismissive in the same way they can break it by sipping tea. In fact, everyone I've talked to about Ramadan says not eating is the easy part. It's the other stuff that's harder. After all, you get to eat a big meal with your family and friends at sundown and make up for the physical fast (many report that they actually gain weight!). It's harder to "make up for" being bitchy or judgemental. As a result, people try to be more generous and thoughtful. Ramadan is a time for reaching out and for charity. The huge Sheikh Zayed mosque (profiled in Sept 2008 and December 2008 entries) hosts a nightly iftar in its parking lot for over 15,000 people throughout Ramadan. 15,000 people. Every single night of the Holy Month.

All this positive energy floating around is almost tangible this year. I don't want to sound all whoo-whoo, but ever since reading about peoples' excitement (rather than the dread I assumed), I've picked up a distinctly peaceful, calm vibe around town. This may fade as the month progresses, but it's definitely noticeable now. My feelings toward Ramadan have also changed. Rather than feeling sorry for my Muslim friends and students, I'm happy for them. More than that, I respect (and am a bit envious of) their world view that transforms a (to me) draconian religious imperative into a genuine celebration. Sounds like a pretty good definition of faith to me.

Ramadan Kareem!