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

American Bedouin: Traversing Northern Qatar

"So we live in our old van; travel all across this land.

We drive until the city lights; dissolve into a country sky."

-Free, Zac Brown Band

So, back in Colorado it's one of my favorite activities in the whole wide world to load up my dad's Chevy Suburban and drive off into the mountains of Colorado. I've traveled those highways and backroads since I was a tiny tot, so I'm comfortable blasting down the highway, and four-wheeling over jeep trails. I find that when one needs to feel that sense of freedom, of overwhelming joy and tranquility, that feeling that all is well with the world; the road is your best friend. 

I've had dozen of impromptu road trips that have saved me pieces of sanity, calmed my heart, and re-situated me within the universe. That all sounds like such hippie-dippie talk, goddamn. But I guess I'm an introvert at heart, and some of my happiest days are those that I've spent elevated, cruising down the highway with a twangy country song wafting through the speakers...

In search of something remotely similar to clear my head of the incestuous city of Doha for a day, I loaded up tons water and my chihuahua in my little Toyota Fortuner - and hooked up my iPod, loaded to the brim with the best country music in my collection. 

The problem with going anywhere outside of Doha is that this country seems to be fundamentally opposed to maps, and good directions are almost as hard to come by. I had been planning a trip out of Doha for a while, but owing to my odd sleep/work/class schedule, I could never really make it happen. So when I happened to wake up early-ish on this most lazy of Fridays, I took it as a sign that I should take the plunge. After gassing up the tank and grabbing an extra-large karak, Farrah and I took off heading North, up Al Shamal road.

Initially, I was apprehensive to go, as I knew most of the journey would be on that awful Qatari highway, five lanes with no uniform speed average... Cars going 80 are interspersed amongst Land Cruisers flying by at 200kph. It's not a relaxing journey, and every now and then there happens to be that one car that has to drive next to you for 2-3 kilometers, staring intently, just to make sure they really are seeing a white girl in a car with Saudi plates. Yeah, go ahead, take a picture...

Anyways, eventually I reached the turn off for Al Ghuairiyat (otherwise spelled Leghriyat on the road signs), and was oh so pleased to discover that just past the (under construction) overpass the highway slimmed down into some familiar looking two-lane country. I even saw a sign that said "Highway 59", and my heart leapt a little in excitement. Finally, I really was away from Doha for just a moment. As I burned up that highway 59 tarmac, Farrah asleep in the passenger seat, I kept stressing that I would miss the turn-off for Al Zubarah fort, a monstrous landmark restored in 1937 by Sheikh Abdullah Bin Jassim, and I could not have been more wrong. The Zubarah Fort loomed in the distance a good while before it was even clear where one should be turning. I pulled in to the well-paved parking lot, and leapt out (Farrah in my arms, since there were 2 Filipino security guards milling around the parking lot). With a dozen other tourists, all of us speaking English, I read the signs that were posted, and took a handful of shots of the fort itself. I was not too impressed; only glad that I had made it to one of those gentle, introductory "historical" sites in Qatar. I heard some heavily accented English, and asked a Portuguese man to take a picture of me and Farrah over by the fort.  His companion, a pinky, round, Scottish man with teeth missing, asked me where I was from ("I figured you were from the States, but where?"). He went on to tell me that this was the first time he had left Doha in 6 months. Whether this was the total amount of time he'd since been in Qatar I didn't ask. After a quick pit stop (they have great bathroom facilities here!), Farrah and I loaded back up and went in search of the tiny abandoned fishing village of Al Jumail.

Having heard that it was visible from the road, and seeing tons of pictures before I went, I sort of knew what to look for. Just a little ways before Abu Dhalouf and the adjoining Al Ruwais, I spotted the rounded shape of the abandoned minaret in the center of Al Jumail. Pulling onto the rough, but in no-ways impossible, track to the village, the town came closer into view. I found a shady spot to park in amongst some of the buildings, and Farrah and I again got out to explore. Al Jumail is a really great spot to see in Qatar. Ruined houses and clearly defined streets (which you know aren't so old but feel ancient) lead to a (dirty) beach.

Having read a blog which talked about how the old minaret was still accessible and climbable, I left Farrah in the car and trudged over to the old masjid, keeping away from the various Qataris hovering around in their Cruisers. I entered the old mosque ground, right foot first, and traversed what must have been the old prayer grounds, spotting the qibla on my right. I entered the small doorway of the minaret, and climbed a small, dingy staircase to come to the top of the old mud tower. Four windows speckled the dome, and the view from each was equally splendid, though the Westernmost window was unparalleled in the serenity it exuded. From it one could look out across the town, down towards the beach, with its wet patches and visible sand, due to the low tide. Beyond that the Gulf stretched out in mellow tranquility, soft and open.

Minaret at Al Jumail Masjid

Horsemen across the beach

I sat for a long while in the top of the minaret, trying hopelessly to catch the feeling of the moment with my little iPhone camera. Through the Southern window, I suddenly saw three horsemen appear along the waterline, dressed in dazzling white, each with a red-checkered ghutra. They had a fourth horse with them, not tied to any saddle or bound by any rope, the fourth horse trotted playfully alongside the horsemen, clearly familiar with them and their respective mounts. I lost site of the men as they rounded the Al Jumail beach, but just as quickly as they had appeared, I suddenly saw them loping leisurely along the beach through the western window, northwards up the coast, heading towards Al Ruwais. It was a moment lost in time, a moment non-repeatable, one unable to be captured by lenses or technology. 

Eventually I tired of the dome at the top of that tiny minaret, or it tired of me, and I made my way back to the car. I continued northwards just a bit, until I reached the signs for Abu Dhalouf Park & beach. When I pulled up at the far west edge of the cornish area (I hadn't wanted to go to the main paved area since Farrah isn't always received well), and was immediately uncomfortable. Two or three teenage boys would not stop whistling (at Farrah, but still), and almost sooner than I'd showed up I was gone, back on the road to Al Jumail. It seemed better to return by the two-lane country track than by the big, noisy, Al Shamal Road for the whole journey. 

The sun was setting, the country music was blaring, and the numbness was setting in. I kept pulling over periodically to take snapshots of the glorious sunset, typically Qatari in its magnificent splendor and extravagance. You could not have bought a more brilliant dusk. Meandering down the way, I caught sight of a cloud of dust and a strange, black moving mass on the horizon. As I rounded the corner, I came upon a scene straight out of the 1970s. An old, weather-worn man trudged along at the head of a large heard of floppy-eared goats. The man matched the animals, skinny yet tough, with a long-sleeved shirt a size too big, hanging about his torso like fur that needed a trim. In one hand he held a long wooden stick. I screeched to a halt on the side of the road and rolled down the window. Farrah quickly rushed to the window to stare at this odd pack of "dogs", and a cross cultural exchange of the next level transpired. The man saw what I was doing, and held out his arms to bring the flock to a stand-still. Once the goats stopped walking, and began looking around in confusion, the man put his arm up and waved. Hastily, I snapped as many shots as I could... It was one of those "National Geographic moments" as my Dad said.

I shouted "SHUKRAN" to the man, rolled up the window and continued on my journey. As I picked up speed, I realized that the whole situation had probably been equally bizarre to each of us. As one of those few rare glimpses into the traditional life of this tiny peninsula, I was overjoyed and floored to have ran into this man and his goats, just as the sun was setting. It was unforgettable. Though I thought, more-so for him. He had simply been running his sheep along, (he was experienced to boot, judging from the way he'd stopped the flock on a dime), when an SUV with Saudi Arabian plates had slammed to a halt, only for a little white girl with her chihuahua to emerge through the driver's window to snap a few shots with her sparkly iPhone. What a place, what a fantastic country.

I spent the rest of the drive collecting my thoughts and ruminating on everything I had seen.

Doha is incredible; an amazing place with the most fitting name that means: "The Big Tree". I love this name, because it's so accurate. Everybody within the city is from a neighboring branch of humanity, although often from a branch so far away you've only ever heard of it by name. Despite this romaticized image, the city can get incestuous and overwhelming. It's easy to lose yourself in the bad driving, unending traffic, city lights, late nights, and smoky mornings.

In Colorado I would just drive myself to sanity, going as far as I was able and comfortable - to get away from people and everything about society that depresses me. That's not possible to do all the time in Doha, but if you make a point of it and plan the journey well, it's something you can squeeze in over the weekend between deadlines. 

There should always be time to take a back-road and watch the sun erupt over the sea into broad, sweeping flame.

"Yield"

Don't forget that we live in a natural world.

Peace & 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

Doha: As seen from above

"Sí, soy joven, no soy bruta

Con veintiuno, tú no me asustas

Vivo en un mundo donde se juzga

Por la malicia y no se te educas

Pero está bien, está bien

Estás diciendo lo que no es

Hablando y no tienes ni cien

Ya no creo lo que dicen" 

- Kat Dahlia

Doha can and will sweep you up. Doha will swallow you; chew you up and digest you.

This is a city of luxury, of five star hotels built on the backs of slaves; run and maintained by the world's hopeful. Doha is a playground for the wealthy, and a feast for the aspirant and hopeful. And this city, Doha, has been good to me. In some ways I showed up here more like the low-income workers coming to Doha for the first time on planes flying West, not coming from it. I didn't know a soul, save a few hand-me-down contacts. I don't want to rehash my journey and my story, since many of you who've stayed with this strange blog throughout my random disappearances will know plenty about my first few months in the Gulf.

To say the least, my first year in Doha was a rags to finer rags journey (I wouldn't say riches, this place gives you a whole new appreciation for the meaning of that word). I went from a wide-eyed, naive, and expectant convert into the wide world and managed to make my way. I fought to stay on, I took chances (some I shouldn't have), and emerged all the better for it.

It's a strange thing to watch others go through an experience that you too have undertaken. This year, as is the norm at institutions around the world, we witnessed a surge in new students at Qatar University, and a huge increase in the number of students entering the Gulf Studies program in their first year. I'm watching all of these people, some of them Americans like myself, and often times I can't help but compare their experiences to mine. Sometimes there are some seriously green feelings of jealousy, but mostly it's just fascination, curiosity, and often empathy.

Not only am I getting to know these new recruits, I've met a whole cohort of new people outside of my professional contacts that are new to me, some new to this strange place as well. People real and raw, qualities so hard to come by in this place. People who see the holes, and blow smoke through them.

Sometimes it gets hard for me to watch people get swept up in the craziness that is Doha City. I watch people throw away dollars on the pettiest material products; people that six months ago were complaining about debt, the unfairness of the system, and seeing eye-to-eye with their common man. So much changes when these tax-free salaries start flowing in. I see people get swept up in the flashy lifestyle of it all, finding equilibrium in the diversions and entertainment so promoted by this crazy Gulfish capitalism. Sometimes it's hard, but I see it all.

I have to remember that I too was once swept up in this ride. A look back at my older blog posts are some serious evidence. I was swept up in the Doha tide, for sure. How, then, can I manage to look at this now from such a reserved station, you may ask? The answer is in the fact that up until a few weeks ago when she took a new job (way to go MOM!!), I was making equal sums with my mom at my job in Doha - which also stopped paying me for 3 months during the summer. The answer is with my grandma, that moved half way around the world from South Africa to come and live with my mom, dad, and brother in Colorado - the only part of her family willing to take her in and love her fully and without reserve, no matter the cost this would add to the one income (my father's, off "slaying dragons" as he puts it) supporting 5 people (2 college students, and 3 dogs).

I don't want to turn this into a pity party. That isn't what my point is about. I'm only trying to paint a big picture to tell you that when I went back to Colorado over the summer, I had to leave the Doha lifestyle behind. I went from talking about the Syria crisis with diplomats and academics, to trying to explain to middle aged housewives that Syria didn't share a border with Iran. It was a tough adjustment to make.

I traveled (tons) this summer, as always seems to be the case with me. I ran all around Colorado, spending night after night in the back of a Chevy Suburban, camping in a different spot every night. I flew to the UK for a fancy-pants conference, and then found some of the dopest crew in London to kick-it with afterwards. I came back to Colorado and was often forced to things people in the Gulf would balk at so that I could scrape up enough cash to buy some pre-departure provisions (not to mention the headache of trying to find enough cash in one place to buy plane tickets). Don't think I'm full of just complaints, I cherish my time in Colorado often more than anything I do here in Qatar. All I'm trying to say, is that over the summer I lived an incredibly different life than my Doha existence, for better or for worse.

This split with my Doha reality has caused me to see things here in a whole new light. I'm still as embedded in the Doha-life as I ever was (more so the case when I'll finally have wheels next week), and yet I feel myself divorcing and removing myself from those things that cause me grief, things I may never have minded (or things I aspired to) last year. I am changed, I cannot avoid it.

I embrace this change, and I know that I am a stronger, and a better person for what I have seen, experienced, conquered, and been submitted to. I am harder, true, but it's a crazy world out there, and we all need a hard shell for protection. More so than this, my outlook has changed. The lens through which I see the world is clearer than ever, and all too often it feels as if I see things about people that they themselves do not yet see. Either that, or I've gone bat-shit crazy.

I'm excited to see what this new time ahead of me will bring. I just hope that I can manage to keep a cool head, and to travel a little bit more.

Peace and love always <3

The Spaces Between Places

"...I said what about my eyes?
God said: keep them on the road
I said what about my passion?
God said: keep it burning
I said what about my heart?
God said: tell me what you hold inside it
I said pain and sorrow
He said: stay with it,
the wound is the place where the light enters you." - Rumi

Ok, so yes... I have not blogged in a long long time, but to be perfectly fair, Boulderhijabi has not been in Doha, and as such it seems unethical to talk about boulderhijabiindoha, for indoha she is not. Yet. In 10 days time I'll be boarding one more cramped and oversold United flight bound for Doha.

This is my first summer as an expat, if you will, and I'm finding that I'm actually kind of tore up to be leaving! Don't get me wrong, I have so many good people and such a good life waiting for me back in D-town, but Colorado is hard to beat. Seriously, my time here has been so unbelievably packed with the best of everything. I've reconnected with some old friends and made plenty of new ones, I've driven through Colorado sunsets on the Western Slope, camped in the wild, burned plenty of plant matter (legally), exorcized a demon in the woods, and stared up at the mountains with pupils the size of saucers. Really, this summer has been hard to beat, as Colorado summers are known to be.

The past few months have allowed me ample time to ponder so many of the questions that accrued throughout my time in Doha. Perhaps due to a change in perspective, I've found answers to so many of these nagging questions, and I feel renewed and restored. Personally, I can see God more clearly by the banks of the Lake Fork of the Gunnison just shy of Hinsdale County, than I can see Him in the manicured mosques of the Gulf. So shoot me. I still say la illaha ila Allah and revere Mohammed and his ahl al-bayt. I am still a Muslim; nobody can say different. I can't help it if God flowed into me more strongly when I stood barefoot in the Boulder Creek far up the Boulder Canyon, than when I bowed my head at Fanar during juma'a prayer.

This time last year I was raring to get out of this small town where I live and head out into the big wide world, set out and make my mark... All said, I have accomplished SO unbelievably much, and I'm excited to head back and work my big ol' butt off. Being away in the dusty, concrete jungle of Doha has rekindled my love and appreciation of Colorado tenfold. Where before I couldn't wait to get out, now I'm melancholy at the thought of leaving my beloved state of Colorado behind. I don't have to hide  who I am while in Colorado at all. While I enjoy my Doha life, and I'm good at what I'm doing, there are huge parts of me that I can't show or cultivate while I'm in the Qatari desert. As always though, there are parts of me that I cannot cultivate in Colorado, yet are best fine-tuned in Doha. Life is always a two-way street. The grass isn't always greener on the other side, it's only greener when you water it.

So much has changed in the past year. Where last August I was an idealistic young girl setting out into the great unknown, now I am harder, tougher, and I won't take sh** from anybody. Ain't it the truth. Yes, I am a little rougher around the edges, and I have lost what little naivete and innocence I had when I moved to that big dusty city, but I am also more confident, and I am sure of myself and who I am. I am emboldened. I have a vision, and I will mow down anyone standing in my way.

Moving to Doha the first time was the best decision of my young life thus far, I just hope that moving back a second time will prove just as fruitful. I'm liking the mobility of expat life; I can never manage to be content staying in one place for too long. Give me a month or two in one town and I'm ready to burn the whole place down just for a change of scenery.

That's all for now, I know it's super concise. There will be more to come, I do promise you that.

Peace and love always <3

Writing about Islam on drugs: a review of Michael Muhammad Knight's "Tripping with Allah"

I have literally just finished reading Michael Muhammad Knight's latest production, "Tripping with Allah". Even though everything I know about reviews of anything tells me that I should wait to give this plenty of thought, the other half of me is so  ridiculously wound up over everything I just read I just want to SPIT IT ON OUT!

I should mention that I've been waiting to read this book for ages. It was released 2 days after my flight to go back to Doha for my second semester of graduate school. After an unsuccessful attempt to buy the book online and have it shipped to me (the package was seized and destroyed by customs officials), I attempted to find it on a short trip to London, only to discover that the UK release date wasn't until next week and again, I'd miss it. I asked Foyle's Bookshop to save me a copy when it came in anyways. I then tried (unsuccessfully) to convince a number of my friends who frequently traveled back and forth between Doha and London to smuggle me a copy back somehow.

All of these attempts were unsuccessful, and I was forced to wait to get my hands on a copy until I was back in this fine democracy, where everyone is absolutely free to be a total idiot.

Prior to this point, I had (accidentally) the pleasure of discussing the author (Michael Muhammad Knight) and his works with a friend back in Doha who shall remain nameless, but who directs some serious research at an equally serious policy institution out somewhere on the Qatari peninsula. Apologies if the conversation isn't completely accurate, it was a long time ago and my memory is shot to pieces. Somehow the conversation had drifted, and I was mentioning something about MMK's Taqwacores to this guy.

"Well, some people find his work really controversial."

"How so controversial...?" He asked in this way that just reinforced my already strong perception that he knew everything and I was just a wide-eyed white-girl adrift in the Persian Gulf (I've become exceedingly familiar with this tone, unfortunately).

"Well, you know, Muslims drinking and doing drugs and stuff... But I still find it hard to say that they definitively aren't Muslims."

"I know what you mean, I had this friend here for a long time," he paused and shifted out of the Dr. Academic frame for a few moments, "She wore hijab and would always pray on time and everything, but she would go to these crazy parties out here and sleep around without shame." He sat back definitively and puffed on his shisha. "I know about Michael Muhammad Knight... I remember all these guys I knew from the Muslim Students' Association getting swept up in the Taqwacore thing."

This kind of floored me. Maybe it's just that I grew up in Colorado, surrounded by only a handful of Muslims - 90% of whom were straight FOBs from Saudi Arabia coming to study at American universities, and to fuck and drink and stay up late watching porn and playing video games. So until talking with this guy, I've only ever interacted with one other person on a real-live basis (excluding conversations about the topic online) who had even heard of MMK or the Taqwacores. It's safe to say that there is no counter-Islamic culture in Colorado, and definitely no Taqwacore just yet.

He took another long drag of shisha, and exhaled. "So what, then, you're like one of his groupies or something?" Again, back to Dr. Academic and the wide-eyed intern who gets eye-fucked from across the room at foreign-policy events. Never you mind I would have gladly played the part of the wide-eyed intern getting a stern reprimanding across the desk of my big bad boss....  But I'll blame that on Knight's recurring erotic descriptions of houris and masturbation; my mind's polluted. Shame on you.

While I consider myself to be an American Muslim, I'm really not connected to this American Muslim "scene" that apparently exists somewhere out there in densely populated parts of the USA. I didn't even know enough about being an "American Muslim" to know that liking and praising Knight makes me a veritable persona non grata to the ICNA-type crowd; the protectors of the "real" American Islam.

I don't give a fuck one way or the other if liking the books of Michael Muhammad Knight disqualifies me as an "American Muslim", or even as "American" or "Muslim" at all. My Islam is not for the world. No longer will I wrap my scarf so tight, parading my conversion around to be gawked at - a reaffirmation for the rest of the Muslim world to cluck and coo "mashallah, look at how she became a Muslim and was born again." I hate that. Nobody can be "born again" after converting to Islam. Some people tell me that all of my sins will be erased. Assuming that they mean my sins before converting, I would still have a heck of a lot to repent for. Converting to Islam didn't suddenly remake me into an abaya wearing, rule-following, chaste piece of property that a man could one day own. That's the other thing I hear all the time that just makes me want to scream "ya habibiti, you know now you can only marry a Muslim man. Are you nervous about that?" Shut. Your. Mouth. I'll marry whoever I want to marry (if I marry) and I will not be consulting you about it.

Should I actually say something about the book itself? Perhaps...

This book is remarkably well timed to speak to my own transformation not only as an American-Muslim, but also as a writer. It seemed to me that the most heartfelt passages, and the ones that spoke to me the most, lamented Knight's transition as a writer - a pain I often feel as I transition from ranting blogposts and raunchy short-stories to essays and dissertations. It's painful, and I could see - even before Knight reveals himself in the end of the book - that it was a work of someone in transition. Not really research, not really a road novel, and not really a work of nonfiction, the book is solely the creation of the author's addiction; his drug of choice. At times it did feel labored, but even these passages seemed to have something more to say. I know this awkward style that he's writing in well... It reminds me of my own work. Labored, not sure how much (if any) passion to insert into a particular piece... The soul-sucking feeling of writing academic papers in a never-ending cycle just suuuuuuucks.

That's what stuck with me the most, really. I have to say that I just LOVED the climactic piece with Fatima and Ali... Perhaps because I can relate to the experience of spiritual soul-searching with a hallucinogenic/psychedelic aid. I had never given much serious thought to reconciling my Islamic identity through the consumption of psychedelic drugs, but MMK's book had me googling the nearest Peyote Way church of God and checking my bank account balance. Keep kids off drugs, don't let them read Tripping with Allah.

Overall, I just have great warm fuzzy feelings about the book, much the same as I do when I read his other books. I suppose most people probably finish and get angry or feel unsettled. I'm just walking around with a big smile on my face thinking "thank Allah there are freaks out there that think like I do.... But seriously, I mean goddamn! That sex scene where Knight became Fatima was hot. Wish that had been me."

Gender seemed to be a running theme throughout the book, but now I don't want to emphasize this book's discussion of gender over his others, as Knight clearly states that often people don't realize when he is writing satirically about gender. As a female it's interesting to read about male struggles with feminism, sexuality, gender, etc. - but at a few points I kind of felt as if Knight was almost hijacking femininity. Don't get me wrong, I salute the courage of any male to openly admit he's a feminist, or supportive of total equality between the sexes (not to mention having experienced Fatima as "the divine feminine"), but when men become the ones to experience, talk about, and analyze femininity, it cuts out the most important piece of the equation: the woman herself. It has now, apparently, become possible to discuss femininity without involving any females (with the exception of the ayahuasca-induced vision of Fatima). In the world of today, the feminine has become an object of male discussion just as the female body has become an object of male exploitation.

This is probably why they tell you to wait to write reviews, since now I can't hardly remember all I wanted to say about it. I almost wish that this book had been Knight's next book that he briefly foreshadows at the end of Tripping with Allah. I liked the main body, which had a lot to say about the context of drugs in Islam, and analyzing academic writing, as well as Knight's "set"- but it left me a little hungry. I had almost expected to be told about the amazing visions and Knight's own experience (albeit with some background, for sure) and then be treated to an in-depth sort of analysis of what it brought up. Maybe we won't get this, maybe we will. Who knows. I'm quite satisfied as is.

Whatever the point of Knight's latest and greatest, it was so so welcome, and a long overdue celebration of the kind of American Islam that I know and love. I'm glad I was able to slip it in somewhere between all these heavy academic tomes on the Gulf and this hanky-panky conference I'm attending in the UK next month.

Peace and 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