Bombs over Tehran

"I had learned that you should always shout louder than your aggressor." 

-Marjane Satrapi, Persepolis

I have a strong desire to just copy-paste the beginning of my friend Alex bint Eissa's latest blog post here to sum up my current state of blogging melancholy.

[Insert sentiments here concerning lack of emotion towards blogging, disillusionment with writing, general apathy for most two-legged creatures...]

I don't even know when the last time I blogged is, all I know is that nothing stays the same. I stopped writing because people were reading. A lot of people were apparently not liking what they were reading, which I guess is to be expected. In general, nobody agrees with others all the time, or even half of the time. Discussion, arguments, and critique are a natural part of the writing process, that's for sure. Doesn't my little bio even say that I want to spark controversy and discussion? I think I had to change controversy to discussion - too strong a word, you see.

All of the events of the past 4-6 months have lead me up to this moment. This one tiny moment where I'm about to make another very real and risky gamble in the Doha game. It isn't a decision I'm making lightly, but it's one that could have profound and very real consequences, even if I succeed. 

The little apartment I've occupied for the past 12 months in Doha is not an uncomfortable one. It's got these cheery, muted-lemon colored walls, and more than enough space for Farrah and me to make our own. Despite its generally pleasing appearance, it's a place that has become my veritable fortress of solitude. A cave I crawl into to take refuge from the never ending whirr of Doha that continues on outside unabated.

I'm finally taking a risky leap, and moving to a place that is conducive to both my mental and physical well-being. And I'm forking over a ton of money for it.

I was recently lucky enough to go back to my hometown in Colorado for about a month during the mid-semester break. It was heaven. I had forgotten who I was most recently in Doha. The tide of Gulfishness had swept me up, chewed me hard, and spit me back out a mangled mess. I couldn't recognize this acne-ridden, overweight face in my mirror. Who was this? Could this thing I was seeing really be a reflection of myself?

During my 5-week Colorado foray I realized that the person I had become in Doha was not who I wanted to be. I couldn't be that person that sells their soul to the game, who plays whack-a-mole to the top, to reign down from the mountain lauding power over others. There's only one way to get to the top of that mountain, and I refused to take part in the madness any longer. 

As the state with the highest average elevation, it's safe to say that I've climbed my fair share of hills and gullies during my years growing up in the Colorado pine and juniper. Some hills are harder to climb than others, some are steeper, some are longer - but the only way to get to the top is to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how slow you go, or how much it hurts. 

I think that a lot of people in Doha could benefit from climbing mountains. Yes, we're all miserable little fat blobs, but it would also teach us something about life as we know it.

With Gulfishness, you can get to the top of the most well-known mountain by riding on the backs of others, the veritable Sherpas of the professional world. It's easier, it's fun, it's exciting, and it's social. What this Gulfishness can blind you to, though, is the fact that there is a whole skyscape full of mountains, each just as beautifully snowcapped and decorated as the others. Some are small and scraggly, while others loom tall, and majestic. 

There is more to life than just this one mountain up ahead, but sometimes it's hard to look around and realize it.

Certainly now, as I've been thrown off that mountain with no desire to return, the path ahead looks very steep. So steep, that I'm tempted not to climb, but to lay down at the trailhead and sleep instead. Light my pipe and sit in the shade, watching the world go by.

I know this must all just sound so garbled, but sometimes the heart has to speak in messy spurts. Gross.

***

I've reached a point in my life where my ever enduring life mission (to "save the world") looks bleaker than ever. Sometimes it feels as if I'm standing at the bottom of a very large, concrete pit with steep unyielding walls. In my mind's imagination, to emancipate people, bring them freedom, and work towards true justice requires the total destruction and elimination of the steeply sloping walls of this concrete pit. Though I know I could never tear them down on my own, it is my hope that I could someday make a big enough dent that others would be inspired, drawn to arms against this tyranny.

That task looks ever harder from this side of the world. In a part of the world that needs it most, the Gulf could never be farther from the adoption of a humanistic view of its people and the world (that's right, I said it). In this, the global petroleum hub - a strategic shatterbelt of vital importance, the earth's oil reserves are exploited by greedy hands that silence dissenters.

So much can be said for America's continued support for accelerating this dilemma, despite my great nation's repeated (and repeatedly humorous) calls for "democracy", "equality", and "freedom". We claim to have achieved a democratic oasis in North America, though I would be the first to dispel this illusion to anybody proposing the point. Though it took me a while to see, I was forced to learn that the America I was born into was not the idealist paradise we were often made out to believe. This became even more apparent to me the more I travelled - to South Africa, Morocco, Nicaragua, Kuwait, Mexico, and Europe - East and West. 

After pursuing my studies and being drawn to this tiny little peninsula, my sentiments about the above have culminated. Not only this, but it has never been clearer to me that the current world system (in the Wallersteinian sense) is one of interconnected global exploitation at the expense of others, of the world, of our humanity.

I guess that's kind of heavy for a boulderhijabi blog post, but I had to dish it up. It's been cooking for the past four months.

I'm ready to renew myself for the long road ahead, and to prepare myself as best as I can for the battles I may be forced to fight in the near future.

If I do have to struggle, it's nice to know I'll have the world's feistiest 7 pound chihuahua by my side.

Peace and love always <3

The struggles of being a single female in Doha

Being a woman is tough. In and of itself. I don't think this needs much explanation, and to anybody confused by this statement: why are you even reading my blog? Seriously...

Being a woman in Doha is even more difficult. In a country where the sex ratio is 2.00 males/females (and 2.47 males/females in the 15-64 age range), you can actually feel your own presence as a woman wherever you go. What do I mean by this? I mean that in a strictly numeric sense, women stick out in this country. Seeing a woman is not as common as seeing a man, and therefore it's often a noticeable event. In a country where the vast majority of foreign workers are males (think: construction industry, drivers, manual labor, etc.) who have left behind their families and often their wives so that they can make a living, it's sometimes painfully annoying to be a woman.

For example, when I leave the house, I know I'm going to be stared at. Let me also clarify, that it doesn't matter what I'm wearing. I could be dressed like a stereotypical American, a vanilla hijabi, or be wearing a big black abaya and I will be stared at no matter what. I repeat, it does not matter what clothing I choose to wear, the staring is constant. I'm not just talking about being stared at by the hordes of male students who gather to smoke at the door right by office, I'm talking about standing in the grocery store trying to decide which pasta sauce to buy, only to look over and realize some guy on the other end of the aisle is undressing you with his eyes. I'm talking about going to a fully professional foreign policy event at a notable think tank and getting eye-f****d by the guy across the hall. I'm not trying to channel "damsel in distress" here, I've seen and heard this happen to every single one of my female friends as well, Qatari and non-Qatari.

When I first came to Doha I thought it odd how many of the Qatari women were closeted, and not that enthusiastic about going out in public or public events. While I initially thought it was exemplary of what so many in the west choose to call the "subjugation of women" in the region (ie suppressing their presence in public life) I now totally get it. I've been here only a little over a year, and already I'm starting to get fed up and frustrated with the way that women are devoured and coveted by the male population here. I'd so much rather stay home so much of the time.

To be clear, and also to dispel the myth of the sex-crazed Qatari male chasing after western women, I have personally been stared at, harassed, hit on, followed, tailgated and flirted/hollered at by every nationality under the sun. From Indians to Qataris, Egyptians, Khaleejis, Africans and even other westerners. The only commonality amongst these guys is simply that: they are all men.

I've been able to handle and deal with this as most women here are forced to do, but there are always those certain events that really put things into perspective. This past week the biggest story in the Doha scene is that of Lauren Patterson: a 24-year-old British primary school teacher living in Doha who was murdered (allegedly by two Qatari males, though this remains unconfirmed), and whose body was burned beyond recognition out in the desert. This is unprecedented in Doha, though the event does come about a year after another European female teacher was murdered by a (Kenyan) security guard. Of course, these things don't happen often in Qatar. These events are so rare here, and really we are lucky to live in a country that is, for the most part, incredibly safe.

This said, it really shakes me a bit to hear the story of Lauren. I can guarantee that every single female expat in Doha (and even the married ones when away from their husbands) has felt what I have talked about previously. I myself have had a handful of times where I've actually felt genuinely nervous or scared because of the approaches, actions, or words of a male (whether a friend, acquaintance, or some random guy in the grocery store). What I'm trying to say is that while the case of Lauren Patterson is obviously an extreme act committed by some seriously MESSED up guys, but it is also symptomatic of the gender dynamic in Qatar. We females are always on guard, and hearing stories like this just makes us even more nervous, and raise our guard just a little bit more.

I honestly can't think of a proper solution for this problem off the top of my head. My only recommendation would be for the government to possibly make it easier for expatriates to bring their families and/or wives (but of course, then here you run into the problem that the government doesn't actually WANT to encourage family life/settlement here). Really, the gender ratio should be more equal, and the half-assed segregation of so many places should really stop. I see this all the time at Qatar University: half-assed gender segregation gone wrong. It's one thing to have an area be strictly male, or for it to be fully integrated. But having a male area that is open to females should they want/need to go there makes the presence of any female in said area a noteworthy (hint: stare-worthy) event.

How do you males think this makes us feel? Yes, in your mind you can't miss the opportunity to hit on this female creature that has just crossed your path; while in our minds, you're just the 15th guy to whistle, "tss tss", or holler at us on our way to work. Seriously. Just stop. STOP.

This isn't to say that I feel unsafe in Doha at all. Far from it. Doha is one of the safest places I've ever been in, for sure. But if left unchecked, this sex ratio imbalance and the annoyance it breeds amongst resident and local females will continue to rise and threaten the general livelihood of women in Qatar. To be sure, it is the state of society and NOT a government policy of "repressing women"that is to blame here.

The best solution is with you, men! Simply: STOP STARING! Walk on by! Don't harass us at every traffic light! Don't follow us home! Don't stalk us in the grocery store! Don't softly whistle or "tss tss" us as we walk by! For serious, people! Just leave us be on our daily business. We are exactly like you, save some of our anatomy.

Ok, that's all for now. Apologies if it was super "rant-ish" but I just had to get it out of my system...

Peace & love always <3

"Gulfishness": 10 months of Doha in review

I will never be able to understand how and why my parents decided to support me when I told them I was going to move to Doha. Honestly.

Looking back now at Maria one year ago today, she had just graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder fresh with a BA in International Affairs and a minor in Political Science. Determined to change the world, she was building castles in the sky out of farfetched plans to move half way around the world. Chihuahua in hand. On July 7th 2012, I was notified that I had been admitted to Qatar University's MA in Gulf Studies program. A few weeks later, my plane ticket had been bought and I had absolutely NO plans for after my plane landed in Doha. Fresh off the plane: I knew nobody in the country, had no place to stay, about $500 to my name, and a doped-up chihuahua.

Somehow, I ended up in a small and dirty apartment in the ghetto of Doha, following all the instructions I was given by QU. The first few months I was in Doha, I worked my ass off. Not only was I taking a full load of my very first graduate classes, I landed a graduate assistantship with the Gulf Studies Program that ended up funding the rest of my stay, and I also scored an internship at a prestigious policy institution. Seriously not bad for a girl who, 6 weeks prior had been slinging hay bails as a dude ranch wrangler outside of Estes Park, Colorado.

Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing and no idea what I was getting into. I ended up surviving my first semester (if barely), feeling like I'd just finished the Imogene Pass 18 miler in under 4 hours.

Second semester was, believe it or not, much more of a whirlwind. After having survived and worked my ass off the first semester, I was able to reap some of the benefits of having penetrated the underbelly of the Gulf Studies academic circle.

Gulfishness sucks you up. At least, it sucked me up. Before I even knew what was happening, I had already been branded, labeled, and locked in to my position. When I still thought of myself as a "nobody" I had already been blacklisted from Bahrain and drawn attention from activists in Canada, Pakistan, and Malaysia (not to mention a healthy crop of dissidents in the Gulf).

In this strange Gulfish system, a person is defined less by what they have done or accomplished, and more by who they are associated with. Who you know is who you are. In the Gulfish way, I am far more than just a grad student burn-out with an adolescent, ranting blog. To the Gulfie, I am tightly wound up in the Gulf studies academic circle, associating with radical academics banned from more than one Gulf state. More than just a pissed off blogger, I'm a possible American spy, who has interned with a US policy institution accused by many a nervous government of inciting unrest.

In all honesty, I really am a nobody. Gulfies really shouldn't be nervous of me, and if they are, its a reflection of their own insecurities. I'm just an eager student with an internet connection (and the world's cutest chihuahua to keep me company), ready to tout my bullhorn and make a ruckus.

I have a Guy Fawkes mask hanging on my wall, but it gathers dust. It hangs in my living room between a giant painting of Imam Ali Rezza and a Mexican paraffin candle sporting La Virgen de Guadalupe. I live always by my revolutionary principles, but being a nobody, they remain safely confined to my living room and my blog. I have accomplished nothing of great worth or note, and I remain a self-proclaimed "nobody". Despite this, I am so much more of a "somebody" based on the people that I know. That is the essence of Gulfishness. Proximity to greatness amounts to worth in the Gulfish way.

For now, I still have yet to do anything of note. I'm biding my time, riding the tides of Gulfishness that inadvertently swept me up. For sure, I'm enjoying the ride, and the hippie in me wants to just sit back and go with the flow. I can continue to comply with Gulfishness simply by continuing my associations, I would never have to lift a finger to get somewhere or be somebody. Just ride the Gulfie tides....

That's not me, though. And honestly, to hell with Gulfishness. While I'm not saying I don't appreciate the prestige of my associations, I'd much prefer to make a ruckus on my bullhorn, and continue to scream and shout in my corner until I do something of consequence; enough for people to get pissed off and take note.

While I look around my (insanely dirty) apartment and start to speculate what I'll take back to the States with me for the summer, I realize how far I've come in the past ten months - and how crazily far I have yet to go. As I said, I've just barely scratched the underbelly of this strange, socio-political-academic monster, and I intend to work my way through to its small intestine (so that I can make it shit on command).

I still have one year of graduate school left and a thesis to write in order to be conferred my MA in Gulf Studies. After this, I have a ridiculously good shot at being admitted to a handful of prestigious schools in the UK to get my PhD, if I so desire. Can you imagine? A pissed off, nobody, ganja-loving, white-South-African-American-Shia convert with a PhD before the age of 25? Yeah, hard for me to wrap my head around too.

For now, I plan on packing up my cheerful apartment in Doha and heading back to a beautiful Colorado summer that's calling my name. I plan on being highly irresponsible, indulging in some vices, and reading way too many books about the Gulf. I'm sure I'll periodically assault you lovely people with more blog posts, maybe even taking a nostalgic political platform reminiscent of Justin Gengler's "Religion and Politics in Bahrain". Yeah. I wish. I am far too lazy, and far too much of a nobody for that.

Peace and love always <3