Do You See Me Now?

You know that game you play when you're little?  The greatest game on Earth, the one that can go on for hours and hours and hours and still be fun?

The 'peek-a-boo' game.  The one where your mom or dad asks:  ''Can you see me now? ... Peek-a-boo!'''

And you erupt into fits of giggles, and there's nothing, absolutely nothing, else going on in the world other than that most enthralling peek-a-boo game ...

I play that game these days.  Not with my Kiddo, she's far too mature and savvy at almost 9 to fall for my face hidden behind my hands.

Nope, not with Kiddo.

I play with my Dad.  In my head.  

Now that I've reached a healthier state of grieving, one where I can actually be sad, and look at old pictures once in a while, and MISS him - I play that game.

Yup.  In my head, I ask:  ''Can you see me now, Daddy?''

My game's a little more serious now though.  I'm really asking.  I'm really hoping.  I'm really wondering if he's looking down and seeing.  

Every once in a while, I'm tempted to say:  ''Peek-a-boo!''

Just in case he sees.

And hopefully it makes him giggle.

Non-Muslims in Qatar During Ramadan ...

Ramadan, the 9th month of the Islamic calendar, began on June 28 this year (2014) in Qatar.  (Because it is based on sighting of the new moon, it can begin on different days throughout the world - this year it began on June 29 in the United States).  It is a month observed by Muslims worldwide through fasting during daylight hours, and is regarded as one of the Five Pillars of Islam, which are:

1. declaring there is no god except God (Allah), and Muhammad as God's messenger;
2. praying five times a day;
3. giving 2.5% of one's savings to the poor and needy;
4. fasting and self-control during the month of Ramadan;
5. pilgrimage to Mecca (Hajj) at least once during one's lifetime if one is able to. 

The month of Ramadan lasts 29-30 days based on the visual sightings of the crescent moon.  

During the month of Ramadan, fasting is mandatory for adult Muslims except those who are suffering from an illness, travelling, pregnant, breastfeeding, diabetic or menstruating.  

Work hours in Qatar are shortened to 5h a day, in recognition of the strains fasting places on the body and mind.  Eating, drinking and smoking in public are strictly forbidden for all, whether Muslim or non-Muslim.  Alcohol is not served in any establishment in Qatar, the Distribution Center (Booze Shop) is closed, and restaurants do not open until after evening prayer.  All are asked to wear conservative attire, and during this month many Muslim women who do not normally wear the abaya will wear one.

Though fasting from dawn until sunset means refraining from food, beverages, smoking and engaging in sexual relations, these are allowed before sunrise and after sunset.  

In Qatar, the hours following sunset involve many a feast, with breaking of the fast marked by Iftar (usually breaking fast with dates and/or water, sometimes soup), followed by Sohur (main meal eaten between midnight and dawn).  

The streets become extremely crowded after the breaking of fast, and tents are set up throughout the country, on hotel grounds, in empty desert fields, in compounds, and outside private villas, to welcome visitors, Muslim and non, to partake in the meals that follow sunset.

You might think the grocery stores would be empty these days, what with everyone fasting, but the reality is, stores are never so full as during Ramadan.  Families fill shopping carts to capacity at 2:00 p.m. in anticipation of the feast to come that evening.  Since much of the premise of Ramadan is charity, tents and homes are open to the less fortunate, and as such, food is prepared in huge quantities in anticipation of many hungry mouths to feed.

As non-Muslim expats, we abide by the rules and avoid eating or drinking out in public, but in all honesty, we have our coffee and breakfast under cover of our homes after sunrise before making our way to the office.  We may thirst a bit at work, but chances are there is a break room set aside for us to discretely go have tea, coffee, water, and a snack if we've brought one with us.  We probably have a bottle of water stashed in our handbag or car, ready at the handy in case we get too parched on the ride.  As soon as we get home, we head to the water cooler or coffee maker.

We are discrete, because anything less would warrant a reprimand, but we still manage to go about our lives in relatively 'normal' mode.  Every once in a while we're jarred back to reality, like yesterday when I went to get Kiddo a Subway sandwich after work (her regular Thursday treat) and saw the 'Closed' sign on the door (restaurants don't open until after fast has broken, i.e. around 6:30 p.m.).  While grocery stores are open throughout the day, restaurants are not.  So yesterday we created our own Subway station at home.

Kiddo's Home-Style Subway Station ...

All the pickings ... who knew we could do this at home?

Adding a little spice to the mix ...

Vegetarian Subway sub looking good ...

Yummmm!  Yup, better than shop bought!

Many of us tend to avoid  venturing out into traffic at night during Ramadan.  Fasting Muslims tend to sleep a lot during the day in Qatar and go out all night, every night, during Ramadan.  Night becomes day, and streets, malls and restaurants are filled to capacity.  The streets are full of revellers, and the traffic can be chaotic.   So it is that we take advantage of the relative peace of the hours between working and waking (usually the quietest times are between 3:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m.) to do our shopping and errands, before returning home and tucking in for the night.

Occasionally, we'll go on a Qatari-like spree, stocking up as if there were no tomorrow, in an effort to avoid having to take to the roads for the next week or two.  Case in point, our trip to MegaMart today:

Spoils from Mega Mart, which stocks many specialty and imported goods.  Pockets empty, fridge full ... we're ready for company!

Kiddo's birthday will fall smack dab in the middle of Ramadan, and this means that there will be no opportunity to go buy her ice cream, bring her out to lunch or go see a movie during daylight hours.  This is the second year this happens, and even though she doesn't yet get it, she accepts it.  As doting parents, we celebrated her birthday two months early, before the Expat Exodus, when her friends were still in town and drinking and eating during daylight hours were no big deal.  On her birthday, we'll have a cake, open gifts and bring her out for dinner after sunset, but we'll remain thankful we made the day magic in May.

Poster for Kiddo's painting party, held in May this year, 2 months ahead of time.

The 'tableau' ...

Blank slate ... ready for imaginative minds.

Our outdoor drying gallery after the fake birthday party in May.  Some masterpieces here I do believe.

But I'm actually grateful in many ways to be in Qatar during Ramadan.  Traffic eases slightly, life slows down a bit, the office becomes less hectic, spring cleaning finally gets done, we get to hunker down and catch up on Survivor and Master Chef on Mac TV.  The work days are short, family time is abundant, and life is generally easier.

And even though we don't fast beyond office hours, Ramadan is a good reminder to all of us to tip a little bit more to the gas station attendant, the grocery bagging boy, the compound maintenance staff, the delivery man.  It's a reminder to give thanks for what we have.  It's a slowing of time that reminds us to stop and say 'thanks', 'how are you', 'have a nice day' to the person in front of us, beside us, behind us.  

Ramadan Kareem.

The Moment a Man Makes a Difference ...

I'm not doing anything much special this weekend.  I'll just be here, in Doha.

My first-born nephew, on the other hand, will be doing something quite special indeed.  He's getting married.  In Canada.  

I could easily write a post about how it breaks my heart to not be there on his special day.  But that goes without saying, and I have a lifetime to agonise over it, so why use up this teeny tiny blogging platform for yet another vent?

Instead I'm trying desperately to find the right words to express how much the oldest nephew means to the youngest aunt.  But I'm struggling, because I can't quite put my finger on what it is, if anything, he might like or need to hear from me.

I keep on wondering what's going on inside that gorgeous 34-year-old head of his.  I imagine he's excited, slightly nervous, perhaps even stressed.  I know he's in love.  I hope he's happier than he's ever been in his entire life.

I especially hope he's slightly unsure of what the future holds and what this all means for him as a man.  Because as long as we're not certain of the answer, we keep on looking for the best possible one.  Not knowing how good it can be - not knowing how good it will be - keeps us striving to make it the best we possibly can.

I hope above all hope that when he looks into his beautiful bride's eyes, it's not firm answers he sees there but endless possibilities and promise.  I hope that she will see those very possibilities reflected right back.

And I hope that when he looks in the mirror, every day for the rest of his life, he realises what a difference he has made, what a difference he will always make.  Because from the moment of his birth, he made a difference to so many people in so many ways.  Not by 'trying', simply by 'being'.

I turned 10 years old on the morning of his birth.  Yet on the eve of my 10th birthday, I remember crying and telling my parents that I never wanted 9 to end because it had been the best year of my life.  My Dad assured 'dramatic Me' that no matter how good something is, there's always a possibility for something better.  I went to bed still crying and doubting that very much (yes, I know, I was most definitely a drama queen).

And yet, when my parents woke me the next morning to tell me that I had a beautiful, healthy nephew, and that he'd been born on my 10th birthday, well I just knew that my Dad had been right after all.  What a gift!  Not just my nephew, but all the promise he brought with him.  And the absolute firm belief he gave me that there IS always the possibility for something better, for something unbelievable, for something great.

I've not let go of that belief for 34 years now.  It's kept me going through times when all I wanted to do was give up.  It's kept me searching, convinced that no matter how bad or good something may be, I have to look forward to tomorrow.

That was my nephew's gift to me.  I hope he can steal it back now and step into this next part of his life certain that there is limitless promise out there, just waiting for him to move forward.

I look at him today, and I still see the beautiful 2-year-old with the wild head of curly blond hair and the limitless stores of hugs and kisses.  And yet he is now a man, with a whole new life as a husband before him.  And I wonder when exactly he became that man.

Was it when he graduated?  When he got his first job?  When he repaid his first loan?  When my then-5-year-old started looking up to him like a prince?  When he travelled the world?  When he held his dying Pépére's hand?  When he asked for his bride's hand in marriage?

I tend to think it was that very moment he was born.  That very first time he made a difference.  And it just grew from there.

To my nephew and his new bride/my new niece, I wish for you health, happiness, joy, love, peace, prosperity, understanding, wisdom, courage, patience, gratitude, grace and so much more.  I wish for you possibilities - endless, endless possibilities.  I love you.

Ask me if I make a difference ...

I think most everyone asks themselves at one point or another what their purpose is.  Why are we here?  What have we done today or any day to make the world a tiny bit better?

Most of us aren't policy-makers or multi-millionaires; we can't change the plight of a village in a day or feed all the hungry.  We aren't all prepared to become full-time social activists or to voice a protest that would jeopardize our family's livelihood and wellbeing. 

But I'm a firm believer in 'voice'.  We all have a voice, no matter how soft or how loud.  No matter if we use it sparingly or constantly.   And we can use that teeny tiny voice or that GIANT BOOMING VOICE to make a little difference every day.

I'm living in a country where worker welfare has been thrust (finally!) onto the forefront of the national agenda.  There are many official bodies working to turn an existing system upside down to better the plight of foreign laborers.  Most of the agenda items they are dealing with are beyond my remit and my control.  I fully support them, but I realize that my voice carries little weight at that level.

A laborer heading home after a hard day's work in Doha ...

But some - SOME - differences I am able to make on a daily basis ALL ON MY OWN.  Simple things, little things, big things.  I can make a little difference every day.  Little differences that thousands of people just like me have used over the years to contribute and lend credence to the shift in perception that is now reverberating in this country.  I have a voice, shouldn't I be compelled to use it?

The other day, as I was dropping Kiddo off at school, I saw a dad give the crossing guards some juice boxes.  He made a little difference.  Because he was helping them stay hydrated, but mostly because he 'noticed' that they might be hot and thirsty.  And cared enough to do something about it.  We all like to know someone cares.

There are so many people toiling around us each day.  So many lives that we can touch by caring.  By caring enough to do something.  Or ask something.  Or show we care about something.  Even just a little something.

Every office, establishment and compound in Qatar comes with some degree of cleaning, pantry, maintenance and security staff.  These people do everything from clean toilets, offer to help carry paperwork, remember that someone likes mint but no sugar in their tea, and so much more.  

I've written out a list of questions below, for me, to figure out where I am using my voice to show these people I care and where I might try to use it more. 

Do I know the name of the young man who brought me my coffee with two scoops of sugar and a 'spot' of milk this morning?  Did I call him by his name and say 'thank you' when he brought it to me today?

Did I smile at the security guard who asked me for my I.D. before letting me into the parking facility at work and thank him for a job well done?  Did I ask him if the night shift had been long?

Have I ever brought the compound maintenance staff a nice chicken curry 'just because', or had my child bring compound security staff a note that says 'thanks for keeping us safe'? 

Do I hold the door open for the weighted down delivery man at the office?

Do I actually stop to have conversations with those people in my life who make a difference to me every day?  Do I actually care about THEIR day?

It may be that my greatest purpose in life ends up being 'caring'.  Caring leads to 'doing'.  There are many things I simply cannot do.  But there are little things I can.  Little things that show I care.

It's just a matter of recognizing them, and doing them.  And maybe, just maybe, one little thing will make a little difference in someone's life.  And make their life just 'a tiny bit' better.  And eventually, if we're all doing it, maybe collectively make a monumental difference.  Or maybe not.  Maybe a little difference in one person's life is all the purpose we need.

If we all commit to that little bit, eventually it might amount to a lot. 

I would love to hear how you've made a little or a big difference. In the world you live in.  Inspire me!

Message to Me from the Pit ... Life is Like a Bowl of Cherries

A few nights ago, like most school nights, Kiddo wistfully eyed my iPad and asked for the gazillionth time why SHE (unlike apparently every single other 8-year-old in the world) does not have the privilege of owning her own tablet.  Why SHE (unlike apparently every single other 8-year-old in the world) is not allowed to play on the computer at will, have her own e-mail address, or surf the web unsupervised.  Why SHE (unlike ... youknowwhereI'mgoingwiththis) has to wait for the weekend to enjoy an hour a day of highly scrutinized and chaperoned mind-numbing games.  Why her settings only allow her onto sites like IXL and BrainPopJr.

Just a sampling of the apps available to Kiddo on my phone ...

She didn't express it in quite those terms, but those very questions were reflecting back at me from her big blue pleading eyes as I answered "Because ..." and clambered wearily up the stairs.  

As I swapped my heels and business suit for a comfy pair of sweats, a thought popped into my head.  "Because life is the pits ..."  This led to memories of delightedly discovering Erma Bombeck's book "If Life is a Bowl of Cherries What am I Doing in the Pits?" when I was about ten.  This led to earlier memories of reading Erma Bombeck's advice column and cartoon strips (Hagar the Horrible, Beetle Bailey, Marmaduke, ...) every week as an expat child in Venezuela as my Dad would hand over the entertainment section of "The Daily Journal".  

THAT was my weekend indulgence, the HIGHLIGHT of my week - the colorful weekend funnies!  Waiting anxiously for my Dad to finish reading so I could catch up with the Peanuts' characters - what mission would the Red Baron set off on this weekend? - or try to finally 'get' the Dick Tracy plot.

I can remember those moments so vividly; some days I'd read right away, stealthily sneaking in a peek as I ate the French Toast my mom would make on weekends (trying desperately to look disinterested given the 'no reading at the table' rule).  

Other times, I'd fold the funnies up and save them for an afternoon read.  Then I'd grab the can of very expensive imported Cheez Balls my mom would buy at the Puerto Ordaz Delicatessen as a weekend treat and curl up on the couch, letting each ball melt slowly in my mouth as I tried to figure out the humor behind Blondie, and told myself I wasn't frightened by the blank orbs that made up Little Orphan Annie's eyes.

Funny what we remember ...

And in those wonderful memories I found one of those odd and extremely rare moments of justification and redemption as a mom.  In those wonderful, simple memories I was able to wholly convince myself that sometimes I do make smart decisions as a mom.  In those wonderful, redeeming memories, I was able to remind myself that sometimes having to wait for something - having to look forward to something, even the smallest something - is the best way to learn to appreciate something.

My child won't trail behind her classmates academically because she doesn't get a daily fix of Minecraft.  She won't be unpopular because she hasn't been able to design a fashionable wardrobe on Toca Design this week.  She won't be less sociable because she hasn't used a peashooter to blow off a zombie's head today.  She won't end up illiterate because she read a hard copy of Matilda instead of reading Archie comics on a tablet or an online TabTales version of Rapunzel.

Kiddo's upstairs right now building a LegoFriends cruise ship.  We haven't seen her or heard from her in the past three hours.  

So she may not be the world's next Steve Jobs ... maybe she'll just be an engineer ... or not ...

Yesterday, she went to a friend's birthday party at the Doha Aqua Park and came back bronzed and happy, full of tales and fully spent.    

Technology of a different sort ...

We watched Dances With Wolves last night as a family.  

Some nights we play Frustration or work on a puzzle.  

Her piano teacher tells us she's one of the most naturally gifted students she's worked with.  She'll never be a prima ballerina, but once a week she carts off to ballet, and once a week she does her best to perfect her cartwheel at gymnastics.  She's in a recycling club out of personal interest, and she's an avid reader.

So she doesn't own her own tablet or get to play on the computer every day ... life's not the pits.  It's delicious.  Like a bowl of cherries.

A bowl of cherries.  In a sand pit.  Glorious!

Kiddo will be ok.  Even without her own personal tablet and .com address at age 8.