Just an Omani wannabe

           Similar to American culture, a popular topic of discussion here is the previous weekend’s events. Every Saturday after my Thursday-Friday weekend, I am expected to recount my experiences in Arabic in class. And I decided that for this interesting experience, I would simply record here a few unique things that I did this past weekend.

            Thursday started out slow. I slept in and most of my morning was spent trying to finalize my fall semester schedule back at the Academy. At 1, George came over and we went running for about 20 minutes. Not the greatest idea in the Omani heat. Mental note to myself that that’s the last time I do that. The evening was fun – we went over to the neighbor relative’s house for a buffet dinner. Everything on that long table looked delicious, and I would be at a loss of words how to describe some of the foods there. Some were Zanzibari, some Arabic, some attempts at American. Everyone – the men, women, and children – sat outside in their respective circles on pieces of carpet and ate. After I was finished, I really wanted to go up for seconds. I had taken a modest portion at the beginning, and I then regretted that decision, because now all the women were in the buffet line getting their dinner. That’s Arab culture; men always eat first. There was no way I was going to barge through that line with all those women. Even after living here for three months, I’m still a bit shy and afraid to break some Arab custom.

            After a bit, the men went inside to sit down and I followed. Six of them began a game of cards and I watched intently, hoping to pick up on it. One of the older men Khaled volunteered his help in explaining the rules to the game called “61” or in Swahili, “Karata.” After about twenty minutes of observing and listening to Khaled explain the whole game to me in Arabic, I had it down. I even got to play a few rounds with the men. Later, in my journal, I wrote down all the rules, including the names for “heart, spade, clover, diamond” both in Arabic and in Swahili. I’m not sure what use this will have for me later on in life, but you never know.

            One of my friends that Ahmed had introduced me to at the Khuwair shisha restaurant invited me to hang out with him Friday afternoon, and that turned out to be an awesome opportunity. Mesaab picked me up promptly at 1, and he drove me in his brand new Chrysler to his house located in the nicer part of town.

            As I entered his home, I was ushered by a couple of his sisters to a large room covered with Iranian carpets. A group of his siblings then brought me fresh juice and we introduced ourselves and enjoyed some small talk. After that, they guided me to the other part of the room where we were then brought meat and rice by their two Filipino maids. After the main course, they carried in fruit salad. And then blueberry cheesecake. Tapioca. Omani helwa and coffee. I have had a problem with not getting enough food here during the last three months, but I certainly did not starve this day. After a relaxing couple hours meeting Mesaab’s family, he and I said goodbye and we headed out.

            He then gave me a tour of a couple places on the outskirts of town that I had never seen or heard of before. He introduced me to these hidden spots, priding himself in the fact that these sites were unknown by the tourist companies. I made sure to write in my journal how to get to these secret locations so that I can visit them again (one of these was a hot springs tucked away in the mountain - I put a finger in the water for a brief sec, but quickly withdrew it, cause the water was boiling hot).

            By the end of the day, I was pretty exhausted. I have found that thinking in another language is taxing on the brain, and although Mesaab invited me to spend the night with him and his friends at the shisha restaurant downtown, I decided to relax a bit at home and catch up writing in my journal. Another terrific weekend in the books.

Mesaab and I near some hot springs (Mesaab is my 4'9'' Omani friend who comes up to the middle of my bicep. You can tell how I was bending my knees and hunching over to make it look like we're the same height... we're most definitely not! haha