Wrapping up

          I remember last semester taking a culture test that graded you on your culture awareness. At the time I thought, “These questions are dumb and a waste of my time.” I breezed through the true-false questions similar to “In your opinion, America’s culture is better than other cultures” and “in your opinion, America is the best country in the world” with my obvious true’s. At the end of the test, naturally I received the results saying I was not very accepting of other cultures.

            After recent experiences, I considered it wise to write down some of my thoughts after spending four months in Oman, three of them living in an Omani home with an Omani family and daily experiencing Arab culture. Have my perceptions changed?

            Throughout my time here, I have been asked many times which country is better, Oman or America. And it is not a simple question. But my answer is always the same. America is the place I have and will always call home. I was born there, I live there, I’m proud to say I’m American, and it is the only country I would ever give my life for. But I have enjoyed the last four months in Oman, and I really like the land and its people. While I do love America very much, this does not mean that it is alone the greatest with every other country a lesser. At the end of the day, we’re all human. Regardless of what color or religion or background you have: no one’s better than anyone else, and it’s silly that any one man or government would think themselves superior to another.

            Oman has been a great experience for me, and I am going to miss all the friendships I have made. My host brothers: Salim – the evolving punk Omani with a quick texting hand, a slick car, and a right foot that likes to lie heavy on the pedal. Ahmed – the “studious” Sultan Qaboos University students who likes to leave his books on the kitchen table and educate himself through osmosis. Doolie – the sixteen-year-old who likes to include me on a lot of good fun. Osama – he has been great in making me feel like a part of the family. And Laith – Laith… the Nesquick-stealer, Snickers-looter bundle of joy who loves it when I’m around to play and drink tea with him. The house servant Rouanna – the kind housemaid who still has almost two years left in Oman until she sees her husband and kids in Sri Lanka again (a six month deployment isn’t the worst thing in the world). Huzaim – our Arabic media teacher who has been willing to help me out at any time of the day. George – my American friend from the Academy who I’ve gotten to know better over this trip and went on many adventures together in order to get the most out of this experience. The many youth I have met on the soccer field. The many relatives of the Aghbari tribe that I have shared meals with. The many taxi drivers that I have ridden with and talked about life with.

            The many amazing experiences I’ve had in Oman were only because I embraced their culture, wore their clothing, spoke their language, acted like them. Had I done anything else, my time would have been wasted.

            In order to remember the experiences I’ve had, I have been consistent in keeping a journal and writing in it almost every night. Not a research journal, just an account of my daily activities, people I have become good friends with, and leadership lessons I have learned. I don’t want to forget Oman and its people, but more importantly I want to remember the valuable perspectives on life I have gained and apply the lessons I have learned.

Joe, Huzaim, George, and I

Guy, my UK friend

Hitchhiking

            The last few days, George and I have been working on earning our Open Water diving qualifications at a German dive center near the small fishing village of Qantab. By car, it is about two hours away from our district of Ma’abilah, but since George and I have figured out the taxi system really well, we can get anywhere in the city for pretty cheap. This trip, in particular, is $20 for the two of us one-way.

            Saturday was our first day of diving classes, and it had just rained those past few days, and the foggy dust that Muscat construction usually produces was gone. The air was fresh and clean and one could see the tall craggy mountains in the distance. It was the perfect first diving day.

            After going to the pool and learning the basics of clearing out water in your mask and buddy breathing, we packed up our stuff and got ready to take the long taxi ride back. The only problem is that we weren’t near any taxi stands or modern civilization. No Starbucks. No indoor plumbing. We decided the hitchhiking approach was best. In such a friendly country like Oman, sticking your hand out for a ride is almost entirely safe, and I have done this on plenty of occasions.

            After waiting for a few minutes, the second car that passed by saw our need and stopped. The three Filipinos were kind enough to pick us up and drive us 30 minutes to the town of Ruwi. After talking with them for a bit and recognizing that they had a Third Day disc in their CD system, we found out that they were Christians too. This made them more eager to help us out, and even though they felt obligated to drive us further, George and I did not want to inconvenience them any further.

            We then hopped in a taxi from Ruwi to the Ma’abilah stop, an hour drive without traffic. The taxi driver, Joseph al-Abri, a member of the Royal Omani Police in the traffic department, escorted us there. After talking to us for a little bit and visibly impressed by our Arabic, he told us he would drop us off right by our homes, no cost.

            Two free car rides in a row is great, but as surprising as this may sound, I have received a lot of free rides in Oman. What’s my secret? Make good conversation, be interested in the other person, and if they’re Omani, I tell them I am here to learn Arabic and experience Omani culture. 60% of the time, it works every time.

Lunar eclipse

     Last weekend the Aghbari tribe got together for a night of meshakik (meat on a stick sort of like shish kabob). We had a great time hanging out and telling stories. I have now reached that point in the Arabic language where I can understand most of what people are saying. It's a bummer that it took this long to achieve this kind of status, but Arabic isn't easy. Four months of living in Oman have very much helped me become near fluent in this language.

     After that Aghbari get-together, my host family returned home, we got changed and then went outside to hang out outside and watch the lunar eclipse. It wasn't a full eclipse; only partial. But still fun and cool to think that only those in the Eastern Hemisphere could witness it this time.

Osama (my host brother - 11) and I

He can make the weirdest faces sometimes!

Ahmed, Doolie, and Osama

The best photo my camera could take of this stellar event.

Rain these past two weeks has flooded different parts of northern Oman. This is a lame picture of one of the roads that quickly became a river.  Since Oman only gets 3.9 inches of rainfall a year, there is no drainage system. This year is quite the exception, however.

Good pics of daily life

Since a certain someone informed me that my posts are lacking in pictures, I decided to post a few from the past several weeks.

So I don’t sleep in too late every morning and miss my ride in to school, my personal volunteer wake-up force of Laith and his female cousin Rahaf do the job. They like to come in and play on the ab bench and sing the English alphabet. They also love to go through all my stuff, which means I’m going to have to find a better hiding spot for my secret stash of Nesquick mix and Snickers bars.    

Mahfooth is quite the character. Not many of us understand him that well. Our guess is that he just tries to impress us with how fast he can talk. Either way, little comprehension. He's a pretty funny guy and loves it when we wear dishdashahs to school.

This is the room I have been living in for the past three months. It's nice, spacious, and I'll admit it usually doesn't look this neat, mostly because of the sandstorm named Laith who takes down everything in his path. My secret stash of food is hidden in a place I will not disclose on this online forum. However, as you can perhaps see, on my closet I have a canister of old-fashioned Quaker oats. That's not in danger, because no one in my family knows what it is and how to cook it.

Yeah, buddy, as much of a little tyrant you are sometimes, I'm gonna miss you! 

Impressions stick

            As I am finishing out my last two and a half weeks in the Arabian Gulf, I am reminded that wherever I go, people are watching. Based on my behavior, both as a US citizen and a member of the Armed Forces, people will make deductions about my country and its military as a whole.

            Yesterday my friend Mahmoud went with George and I to the mall to grab a bite for lunch and shoot the breeze. In conversation, Mahmoud asked a few questions about the US, trying to understand what life was like there. I could tell that he already had certain perspectives of what people did in America, and when I asked him, his answer surprised me.

            Another American that he had met before us was a hardcore college party animal from New York and had corrupted Mahmoud into thinking that all Americans party every night, get drunk, and sleep around promiscuously. Based on one person, Mahmoud naturally though that was the American way.

            Now trying to change someone’s perceptions in a couple hours is not easy. Mahmoud was confused, because he saw a paradox. On the one hand, he had met a college student who could not stop bragging to Mahmoud about having sex, drinking alcohol, and eating pork. The student portrayed America as the best country, because he could do all that and not get in trouble. Then Mahmoud met George and I, who came with humble attitudes, embracing Omani culture for what it was and trying to learn as much as we could about the Middle East. I was getting a bit heated, trying to explain that America is not defined by alcohol and sex and the pursuit of temporary earthly pleasures. America is defined by its freedom. Freedom of speech, freedom to worship your God without being persecuted, freedom to raise your kids the way you see fit.

            Many make the mistake of associating the military with going to war, but that is not the military’s mission. The military is a political and economic tool employed to deter war and build relationships. Both as a US citizen and a representative of the US military, part of my mission here in Oman is to represent my country as best I can. But it’s not always easy. Sometimes you have to undo the precedent set by others.

A bit about foreign policy

            It is easy to think of the Middle East as one homogenous region with little thought as to how the different countries in this region interact with one another. We associate Iraq and Iran and Oman to be one and the same. They’re neighbors, right?! So they must be allies! To group these nations together, however, is almost like saying the United States and Canada and Mexico are identical. As I’ve spent the past few months abroad gaining an Omani perspective on life, my eyes have been opened as to how much a nation’s foreign policy affects its position in both economic and political terms.  This past week, in particular, was especially helpful in understanding Oman’s foreign policy. Lecturer Alex Brown, a former UK diplomat for sixteen years and current president of his own consultation company in Muscat, visited the Center of International Learning and shared with us a bit about the history of Oman’s foreign relations

            Historically speaking, Oman’s foreign policy from 1900-1970 can be summarized in one word: Britain. From British perspective, Oman was a key link in British trade routes with India, one of Britain’s main hubs of resources and money. And Britain feared losing this connection to the influence of the French or Portuguese; therefore, it aimed at keeping a close relationship with Oman’s government. In regional conflicts, Britain also always took Oman’s side. Even from 1965-1975 when the Communist-led Dhofar Liberation Front began to propagate their Marxist-Leninist philosophy during the Cold War, Britain sent troops to help Oman’s government maintain control.

            The new sultan, Sultan Qaboos took over the reins of power in a coup against his father in 1970. Having been educated in England and having finished the military program at Sandhurst, Qaboos kept an ongoing relationship with Britain, but he changed his approach to foreign policy. Oman’s current foreign policy can be summed up by, “Don’t offend anyone else.” Oman is only concerned with not hurting anybody’s feelings and consistently remains on the fence regarding major political issues. For example, Oman is probably the only country in the world that holds military exercises with both the US and Iran. Not at the same time, of course. Naturally, a country has to maintain relationships with its neighbor and other major military powers, but slowly Oman is realizing that appeasement of everybody’s goals does not always work.

            While this foreign policy of peace seems attractive, it has major two downsides. First, you irritate your potential allies. When you’re constantly undecided, it is impossible to maintain strong relationships with other countries. Recently, in discussions with Australia and Japan about the whaling moratorium, Oman made a statement supporting Japan in its procurement of whales for “scientific purposes.” Australia then criticized Oman for supporting the killing of whales that were not for Japan’s scientific lab, but for eating purposes. A few days later, Oman silently revoked its former statement and supported Australia. This move angered the Japanese. While seeking to be friends with both nations, in the end Oman lost.

            With this foreign policy, Oman also runs the risk of alienating its own people. The government makes its own decisions and does not represent the opinion of the people. The common man then does not feel like he can play identify with any single position, because the government cannot stay committed to a single cause.

            From an American point of view, a neutral policy for Oman is certainly better than a pro-Iranian stance. If Oman were to ally with Iran, the Straits of Hormuz would be threatened and countries that normally depend on resources that flow through those straits would face uncertainty. While Oman may face pressure to ally with the West, it may not be the safest move politically. Oman is its own country that will soon have to decide a better foreign policy stance. Trying to make friends with everyone, they will instead be friends of no one.

            

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