A bad Africa day...

I am really turned off to Africa in general and Ghana specifically, after a particularly ill-fated work event in Kumasi, mis-managed by a staff person to the extent that everyone was adversely affected and the whole project looked bad.  These were the doings of just one person, of course, but the overall level of ineptitude and "stupidity" (admittedly a cultural perspective), plus really foreign attitudes and practices, has just sent me over the edge.  I feel like some old, complaining, demanding harpie and haven't been able to let go of it.This is exacerbated by having received a copy of a beautiful article that appeared in the Gettysburg Times last week, written by Greg Bowles in Leon, Nicaragua, in memory of Gary's death.  So I'm pretty weepy right now.

I am also right now so sick of the traffic, and hawkers in the street, and motorcycles that don't pay attention to traffic laws and police who don't stop them, and garbage (especially plastic bags) all over the place, and open sewers, and public urination and nose-picking, and villages that have no indigenous pride so allow their buildings to be completely painted (and indeed taken over, it seems) by cell phone companies with their ubiquitous logos and strewn with garbage, and men who keep stroking their pants-covered genitals, and the yelling and loud music and omnipresent cell phones with their really irritating loud "rings", and "international standard" hotels where the lightbulbs don't work and there are housekeeping oversights, and everyone moves SO SLOWLY, especially when they're crossing the street in the  middle of traffic, and the price-gouging (especially if you're white)...

And then enroute back from Kumasi to Accra, we stopped at a roadside stop -- great idea, except even though you pay to go to the toilet, the stall doors don't close or lock (or there may not even be a door), the toilets don't flush and the water doesn't run.  And of course, there's no way to dry your hands. The young people who are selling food are doing so inbetween bites of the food they're eating, with their hands. By the time I got back to the bus, I was so pissed off that I made a remark about Africa being amazing because the toilet facilities don't work but everyone has a cell phone.  That did not go over well; not a good choice (and of course I felt badly as soon as I said it).  Even though Africans themselves will criticize, and even though we can have a shared laugh about these things on occasion, and even though there are rantings on the radio from Africans about these situations (as there was, in fact, just after I made my remark), you have to know when it's okay to say, and when not.  This was a not.  But they got back at me.  Everyone ignored me for the rest of the trip and our staff admin assistant decided to tell me I should just get a taxi from the drop-off point in Accra, rather than be taken back to the office.  I questioned that, and the plans were changed, but not without a lot of attitude from her -- and me, too, I must admit.

It's time  for me to change my attitude.  I'm not going to change Ghana/Africa,so I simply can't let it stress me out.  I'm not here forever, just for the experience (and the money and health coverage, to be truthful).  And I have family coming who are going to expect a pleasant visit and new adventure, not an "old" complaining lady having a bad Africa day!

xxooox Grammy

Grammy in Oman

I decided to really get away -- as far away as possible -- for this first Christmas/New Year holiday without Grandpa.  Furthermore, the two oldest of you grandkids were going with your mother and stepdad to his father's place in Michigan, and you younger ones were going to be with your other grandparents.   I didn't want anything that smacked of tradition or the past; it would just be too painful.  So I decided to go to the most interesting, exotic place I could think of -- the Sultanate of Oman on the Arabian Peninsula. 

(When I told my friend Terry of my plans, in her typical effort to be supportive, she sweetly commented,"Well, that sounds Christmasy".  Cracked me up.)

Oman is a beautiful country with one coastline on the Oman Sea (across from Iran), and the other on the Arabian Sea.  It has magnificent, bare, jagged rock mountains that rim the seacoasts, spectacular snorkeling (so I'm told), exquisite deserts and wonderful wadis (riverbeds -- some times dry, sometimes heavenly pools of water).  Its history is ancient and its traditions embedded. 

Oman is a country of the senses -- frankencense (everyone uses incense in the home), perfumes (the very expensive fragrance "Amouage" comes from Oman), date palms, textiles from all over the Orient, gold and silver jewelry, cities with stunning white architecture and lush parks, golden deserts, ancient forts, green phosphorescent surf (plankton), Bedouins ( who live in houses, not tents), camels and and an amazing irrigation system known as "falajas" -- winding, cement or stone-lined channels that use gravity to bring the water down from the mountain springs. It's also challenging for the tourist because everything closes between the 12:15 p.m. prayer time and about 4:30 p.m. and then re-opens until 7 or 8 p.m. This makes sense during the very hot seasons, but in "winter" it's a beautiful 72 degrees and a big chunk of the day is lost.
Oman is a Muslim country with mosques in every neighborhood and the five times daily "muezzin", or call to prayer adding to the sensory experience.  Even one of my taxi drivers stopped at a very basic mosque enroute for a "prayer break" while taking me from one town to another. Enriched by natural gas and minerals (not so much oil), the country has been ruled for 40 years by the same Sultan who lives in an extraordinaryturquoise and gold seaside palace (as well as other homes and the world's second or third largest yacht -- one of several), and seems to be as well respected internationally as he is loved at home.  Perhaps his most salient accomplishment is overseeing the modernization of a formerly "backward" country while retaining its cultural traditions. 

Muscat, the capital city, (on the Oman Sea) and is extremely modern, clean, and quiet, and a ride along the Corniche (seaside road) east to the old town is another sensual delight.  The Omanis dress traditionally:  the men in white dish-dashes (long "dresses" that are incredibly ALWAYS clean and well-pressed) and embroidered skull caps or intricately woven head scarfs. All the women are completely covered, usually in black, in abbeyas (long cloak-type coats) and head-scarves, with only their faces, hands and feet showing.  Some (but not many) cover their faces, too.   (THIS is a whole other -- complicated -- topic.) Women and men do mix -- unlike in the more conservative Muslim countries -- but only up to a point.  Women do go to school and work, and even hold government positions, but beneath the surface of modernity and relative liberalness, there is a thick cultural layer that to me, is unknowable, unfathomable, and unpenetrable.

The people are extraordinarily friendly -- when they take time for you in between incessant cell phone calls and texting, which frighteningly are conducted while driving, sometimes on more than one phone!.  Definitely a "car culture", Oman is is replete with late-model (typically white) cars, and driving behavior that all  too often results in head-on collisions.  It has a public transport system that I couldn't figure out, so spent much too much money on taxes -- as much as $62 one day! (My hotel was too far from the center of the city.). 

Surprisingly, the second largest population after Arabs is Indian (initially from the construction era), but they're so prevalent in commerce -- restaurants and shops, in particular -- that they actually seem to comprise the majority of the population.  Even the "Omani cuisine" is actually Indian -- like chicken biryani and masala!  Wonderful, fresh fruit juices.  Hard to get a decent cup of coffee.  Chai (tea) is served with cream and sugar, unless you specify otherwise.  No one smokes.  Everyone asks, "Where are you from?"  "How long are you staying?"  "How did you find Oman?"  (i.e.,"How do you like Oman?")  You must answer you love it.  Omanis are hospitable if nothing else -- to the point of stress-inducing excessiveness.  You MUST be happy.  If you're not, they consider themselves failures as hosts, which reflects not only on themselves, but on their friends, and families, and the whole country, and...  Truly, it got to be too much.
At least it did with Juma.

Juma is a 28 year-old young man whom I met at the Grand Mosque in Muscat, which he was visiting with his younger (male) Omani friend Salah, and his 29-year old (female) friend, Nadia, from Cape Town, South Africa.  (The Grand Mosque is magnificent, with public admission allowed for a few hours each morning.  There is a strict dress code for women.   I had to go back a second time because I wasn't dressed correctly the first time, and in fact even the second time had to buy an inexpensive abbeya and scarf to cover up some body parts somebody found offensive.) 

Juma was so friendly, so welcoming, so big-hearted, and so generous -- or so it seemed -- that, to make a long story short, I accepted his invitation to not only go touring around Muscat with them that day, but also to stay at his home, where Nadia had been staying, in the small town (large village) of Tiwi, between Muscat and the seaside resort town of Sur, where I had planned to spend New Year's Eve.

Juma offered an amazing experience. Because of him, I got to experience a bit of village life, went to the desert (Wahiba Sands), two or three wadis (which is the "hang-out" for local folks, as well as camper-tourists), saw the dhow-making yard (the exquisite, traditional boats), ate local foods and joined him, Nadia and his many (male) friends at very modest local "coffee shop" (seldom coffee -- just food, snacks, soft drinks and juices) where the evening's entertainment was always a raucous and wild game of ....Uno.  Well, boys will be boys.

It turns out I had also inadvertently walked into a relationship drama between Juma and Nadia, fueled to no little extent by Juma's by then inexplicable invitation to me, and his almost obsessive-compulsive need to be a "good host".  It turns out THAT was was driving Juma -- not hospitality, but self-image. The upside was that Nadia and I became good friends, and she even came to stay with me for a couple of days in Muscat, where we had some long coversations and great laughs. 

The dynamic between the sexes is very complex and pretty much no-win for a foreign woman who may enjoy the company of an Omani man for a while, but probably will not achieve a long-term relationship.  Men bond with men.  They adore their children, and I saw many of them in the park with their wives.  But it's pretty clear that men have the power and women are not to be seen much, nor heard.

The pressure to conform in such a society is subtle, but obvious.  When children pointed at me and laughed, I thought that if I were to live in such a society, I, too, would wear a head scarf.   On the other hand, when one in a group of 20-30-something young men called out a vile comment to Nadia, I marched back and took on the whole table with my indignation ("What would your mothers think?  I expect you to act like good Muslim men!  What kind of adults are you going to become?!").  En masse, they pulled out their cell phones and busily texted or pretended to -- probably more of out of embarassment than anything else, and it is considered rude (defiant)  in Muslim culture to look someone older/of higher poisition than you, i the eye. Even though they all snickered when I marched away, Nadia in tow, the theatre was pretty good.
Nadia and I got the last laugh, though.  Sitting in a small public square in the Mutrah section of Muscat, waiting for the souk (market) to re-open, we found ourselves the only women (never mind non-Arab and not covered).  "Well, will you look at that," I marveled.  "Here we are, two women, no head cover, bare skin exposed, and not a single man  is unable to control himself."  We started to laugh...and then we got hysterical.  We couldn't stop.  All this ...STUFF...about men and woman just seemed so ridiculous.  "Are you happy?" we asked each other.  "Do you like Oman?"  And we were off again, in paroxysms of laughter.  And you know, the men didn't seem to mind at all.

xoxoxoo Love, Grammy