No Mosque for Me: the solitary Muslim

"The mosque needs to be a hospital for the broken, not a guild for 'good people'."

-Nihal Khan, Mosques are Missing the Point

I took my shahada with two of my very best friends in the whole world - Ali Alqattan and sayyed Hussain Yaseen - as well as a man I'd never met and an Iraqi (I think he was Iraqi) shaikh, at the Al Zahraa Islamic Center in South Denver. Honestly though, I really said my shahada at about 1am on a cold October night in 2008 a year before. This shahada, the moment when I really surrendered my soul to God, will never be recognized by established Islam. Why? Because there was no witness but Allah and I. There is no better witness than He...

I have been living in the city of Doha, Qatar for about 6 months now. I could not be happier that I decided to fling myself across the globe and land in this chaotic, dirty, and sometimes frustrating place. I do love it here, and as the 'isha call to prayer begins its slow ripple across my unpolished corner of the city, I can feel my heart begin to swell. Every day, five times a day, that beautiful reminder comes calling to us from the lips of hundreds - maybe thousands - of dedicated muezzins. I wish there was a better word to use in English... The Arabic, adhan, seems much more fitting, because for me this adhan does not always call me to 'prayer' in the way that Muslims are prescribed.

When I first converted to Islam, I was told to seek out other Muslims, since one cannot practice Islam in solitude. I was told that Islam is communal, and that it is only through community that one can experience the full range of the religion. For me this has never been the case. I took my shahada alone, and I have aways been a solitary Muslim.

I don't feel welcome in mosques. Perhaps it's different for the brothers who frequent various mosques, anonymously joining different groups and masjids. Today, as a woman, I do not feel welcome in the mosque. Any mosque. I have yet to find a masjid where I feel as if I can connect with God or experience any remnant of spirituality.

One of my favorite lines from Michael Mohammed Knight's The Taqwacores is when a group of 5 characters visit the Rochester mosque after dark. Muzammil, a gay punk Muslim expressed my exact sentiments: "The only thing that ever made me uncomfortable in a masjid, was people..." As a woman, every single time I want to visit a masjid I have to run through a mental checklist that begins first and foremost with the hope that the mosque even accommodates women. In Doha it's all too common for there to be no section for women at all. If it were up to me, I don't give two shits about praying next to men, but unfortunately 90% of the Muslim population doesn't agree with me on that.

Even if I find a masjid that has a section for women, it is usually run or staffed by self-righteous khaleeji types who scold you to stand in a straight line, or chastise you for making wudu with fingernail polish on. Women these days have a tendency to dissect one another, picking each other apart piece by piece in an effort to boost their own self esteem in comparison. I do it too, I won't lie. The problem is that too many people do not leave these habits and unhealthy emotions at the door of the masjid. They carry them inside, heavy as weights, ready to cast them upon someone else. I don't like going to the masjid anymore.

Let's be honest, as a female convert who identifies as Shia, who has light skin and light blue eyes, I attract attention in any masjid I decide to visit. The problem with being an obvious convert is that my brothers and sisters, praise them, always think they are helping me by pointing out my flaws. God bless them for trying to help (if they really are saying it for the right reasons), but most of the time I'm aware of the tiny "flaw" they're pointing out, whether it be nail polish or letting my hijab show part of my neck, and I could not give a flying fuck.

I don't go to the masjid because I want to know about the "latest scholarship" from mullah so-and-so that's  going to set Muslim thinking back another few years. I go to the masjid because it is the house of my God, and I want to be closer to Him. I want to come to the masjid because it is a safe place to be, and a place where I can feel the arms of God closing in around me...

There is no mosque for me... No masjid I can visit and feel welcomed and swallowed up by Allah. At least none that I have visited yet. This strict, robed vein of Islam that now throbs through the tribal sandscape of the Arabian peninsula is dead to me. I do not see in it a reflection of the Allah who witnessed my shahada on Quince avenue in Boulder that frozen October evening.

Is He not the God of all this Earth? Islam should be open and embracing, not cold and exclusive.

If there is no masjid for you, should you build your own? I came across this amazing occurrence of women only masjids in China, and totally fell in love with the idea. Reading about the phenomenon on OnIslam.org, within a paragraph or two the reader is assured that "Prayers are led by a male imam in a mosque 100 meters away with the service usually piped into the room through a loudspeaker to the female worshippers." The women are also "masculinized" through their 'dubious and heavy workload'. That's all bullshit. 

I read another article on the same topic from China Daily  that describes something much closer to reality. It talks about how this phenomenon spread across China hundreds of years ago, after women felt unwelcome in mosques and set out to create their own holy space. It talks about how many women trained to be imams, so that they could lead their fellow worshippers in prayer. I can hear the words bubbling up from your lips already "That's biddaa!! Women as imams?? Blasphemy!!"

In my humble opinion, I think that the prophet might smile upon such an initiative, when women no longer feel welcome in mosques today. "Children of Adam, take your pleasantness to every Mosque." (Qur'an 7:31) he might say...

This leads me to imagine what my own "utopian women only mosque" might be like. All criticism would be checked at the door, none would be allowed to call out another for their appearance, or for their words and actions outside of the mosque. It would be a safe place where women could come and lay down their souls before Allah without fear of reprisal, a place where they could truly connect with and experience the divine in almost any way they saw fit. No Muslim woman would be excluded. 

The fact that this description is laughable to most Muslims worries me. Has Islam so fundamentally lost its way that it cannot imagine such a space for its women? Where is our mosque? The mosque for women and converts, Shia and uncovered, the unclean and the junkie? 

I'll tell you one thing for certain, it's nowhere to be found in Doha.

Peace and love always <3

Five Reasons Why I'm Dangerous: Inspired by Bahrain

"You gotta snap some collars and let them motherfuckers know you here to take them out anytime you feel like it! You gotta get the ground beneath your feet, partner, get the wind behind your back and go out in a blaze if you got to! Otherwise you ain't shit! You might as well be dead your damn self!"

- Tupac as Bishop in Juice (1992)

After having finished my first semester of graduate school successfully, I was planning on cutting out on responsibility entirely. I decided that before heading back home to Colorado to see my family and catch up on some other quintessential Colorado activities, I would take 24 hours to visit neighboring Bahrain and spend some time with an old friend. For those who aren't aware, Bahrain now has mandatory security checks for first time visitors to the tiny Persian Gulf country. Your passports are shuffled off into a sketchy back-room where they are scrutinized carefully by security goons. By all appearances, they simply plug your name into Google and see what it spits out. If you're not too offensive in any way: *stamp* welcome to Bahrain. But for those of us who don't know how to keep our mouths shut, it's a bit more exciting. 

After 3 hours of waiting in a security corral, I was eventually asked to go into said sketchy back-room and talk to the head goon. He informed me that my name had been flagged by immigration upon the initial security screening. After a series of secondary security checks, they decided that I was a "national security threat" and they could not issue me a visa to enter the country. I pulled all the strings in my arsenal yet eventually conceded defeat, and flew back to Doha 6 hours after arriving.

Fullstop. Me? 

Why would anybody even care about stupid ol' Maria Hardman? I mean... I'm kind of a bad ass and all, but last I checked, a lack of badassery wasn't a precondition for visiting Bahrain. Am I right? And yet, I feel as if anyone who gets denied entry to Bahrain must be doing something right. But does my tiny little voice, amplified solely by modern technological marvels, carry any weight at all? This got me onto a whole existentialist mind-track where I started questioning all of my actions since arriving in Doha.

Since having arrived back in Colorado, I've had plenty of time to drink green tea, sing Kumbaya, go skiing, and not shave my legs... It's given me plenty of time to become one with the Buddha and gag on clouds of Nag Champa incense. I've since solved all of the world's problems, naturally, and have new insight into why I would be a danger not just to the Bahraini government, but to any government or institution that doesn't like people who don't keep their mouths shut (I sincerely apologize for that sentence).

Reason #1: I see this world as impermanent

After spending a few hours doing yoga and "getting in touch with my inner goddess" (wherever the fuck she may be), I realized how much my body has deteriorated since being in Doha. Stretching out my joints I realized how brittle my own body really is... This is true for all of us, not just pudgy Maria. 

This body is but flesh and bone, and will stay and rot on this earth forever. That's some dark shit. But it's true. No matter what you try to do (unless you're cremated I suppose), all of those little atoms that you're made of will break down, decay, and rejoin with other atoms. Your body will cease to exist. That's the reality of it. But the mind, not just your mind, but the collective human consciousness will live on, as long as there are humans to think. 

I perceive this tangible world to be just as impermanent as our own bodies. That could make me dangerous for many reasons, especially for my unwillingness to abide by the rules of materiality. 

Reason #2: I don't keep my mouth shut

In grade school - up until I turned 12 and all hormonal hell broke loose - I was always that kid that would go "tattle" to the teacher. Yeah, I admit it: I was a little bitch. That spirit carried on, and I got busted/suspended/caught so many times growing up just because I didn't know when to pipe down.

It is for this reason that social media is a bad idea for people like me. I spare no details on my twitter feed. There are Youtube videos I wish I could edit the crap out of. These kinds of details and ramblings are probably what got me kicked out of Bahrain in the first place, but I don't know if I'll ever stop belting them out. What good is experience if it's not shared? Why should I censor my own true sentiments? Thanks to my rodeo-going, ice-cream eating, instant gratification getting American upbringing I'm a firm believer in the freedom of speech and the idiot's right to say anything stupid he so desires.

I'll continue to live by this. Keep it in mind. There are times you will wish you hadn't been listening while I abuse my First Amendment rights.

Reason #3: I call bullshit

If I see bullshit, I'll call it. I firmly believe in standing up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. It is a core belief of mine that we are all equal, and we are all the same, and I will not stand by to watch somebody trample over others out of self interest. I've gotten myself into trouble a number of times for pointing out general stupidity, although it never goes well for me. I have a deep belief that the exploitation of any human being is wrong, yet sadly this is not a belief I share with much of the rest of the world. I challenge you all to call the bullshit.

Reason #4: I see no differences between people

OK, yes, this is a bit cynical. But seriously! I get this more in Doha than in Colorado, but this is true of any place I believe. I honestly don't know why, but people are hierarchical in any social setting. I think this is a part of human nature (and I'm sure I do it too); a person's entire being should not be measured by their worldly status. This goes not only for race, gender, sex, and all those other PC terms, but also for wealth, education, past, etc. I see no difference between myself and the Nepali cleaners that wipe down my desk at QU every day. I do not discount the friendly Kenyan barista at my neighborhood cafe to be any less than myself; the same way I see intimidating intellectual bigwigs as my human equals.

Don't get me wrong, respect the differences between people - that's what makes us so damn interesting. But don't ever think that you are valued more or less than any other human beings on this earth. We are all equal, and that pisses some people off.

Reason #5: I want to stir the proverbial pot

I'm not exactly sure when it started, but whenever somebody would ask adolescent Maria what she wanted to do when she grew up, the response was "I'm going to save the world". That's still my answer today when anybody asks what I plan to do after I get my MA. The truth is, I have no idea what I want to do, just as long as I can do something somewhere that makes a difference to someone, I'll be happy.

If I have to stir a pot, I'll stir it with a vengeance.

It's for all of these reasons that I: Maria Hardman, could be perceived as dangerous to any government or institution that does not know how to deal with people that can't keep their mouths shut. As long as people can tolerate a crazy Muslim hippie from the mountains of Colorado transplanted to the modern Persian Gulf, all is well.

It's only when you try to shut off my bullhorn that I start to get really pissed.

Peace and love always <3

Little fish, big Doha

Happy New Year y'all!!

I know that " y'all " just throws 80% of people into outright confusion. Don't panic. Read on, dear viewer!

When you take a fish out of the water, does it only then learn the importance of the water in the first place? Rather, do you only ever come to understand something when you are taken out of the very same situation? There's a reason I left America... It was to get away from the sticky American mentality. I didn't realize how far away I'd gotten until I tried to be "American" again... I much prefer being - "whatever-the-fuck-I-am" - to trying to fill a certain stereotype. Maybe that's why I like to travel, to absorb different aspects of different people... The trick is to always be dynamic - never give yourself long enough to take on a personality other than your own.

I was taken out of my normal routine this week, and got to experience (if ever so briefly) another side of Doha. It's so hard for me not to be cynical of this side, since it's so.... Elitist. I know Doha's famous for its 5 star hotels and swanky, ritzy parties and hooplah and what not, but I honestly think I prefer smokey evenings in "Pakistan" (I decided my neighborhood has the ethnic makeup of Peshawar... Maybe with a few Filipinos thrown in for good measure) to an overpriced meal at a hotel restaurant on the beach. Don't forget that you're in Doha. Why come to Qatar if you'll spend your time holed up in a whole different universe? Just because those places serve alcohol... You'll cordon yourself off from ever experiencing the real thrust of the city? 

I'm starting to figure out Doha... I'm getting used to it; but these latest experiences totally threw a wrench in my understanding. It's a completely different world out on the West Bay Beach; a world most people in "Pakistan" would never ever see.

Something related to income level or priorities? Whether one prefers booze or ganja? Islamic morals or Christian ones? Really I don't know... I've said it before, but if you consider the population of Doha to all fall into some sort of spectrum (possibly related to income and country of origin), those on either end would never cross paths. While being lost and looking for the entrance to swanky restaurant that was my destination, I stopped and asked a construction worker which way to go (first in Arabic then English), and he shook his head saying he didn't know where the place was. It ended up being less than 100 yds away.

My boss once gave me a ride home and said: "wow, you really live... with the people," and honestly I wouldn't have it any other way.

Peace and love always <3

What's the difference between Doha and yogurt?

Yogurt has an active culture.

Doha isn't a good city to come to if you're lost. In a figurative sense directions in this city are a nightmare - but in a metaphorical sense, the city isn't grounded. If you yourself are not grounded, it makes for one hell of a drifting sensation.

Seriously. Before moving to Qatar I was at a point in my life where I was just coming to figure out who and what I am, but nowhere near to sealing the deal. I was beginning to form the basis of my identity, and decide what exactly it was that I wanted to do with my life. I thought that moving to the other side of the world would help, since traveling has always been my salvation in the past.

For the first time, I may have found a place more confused than I am. There is, believe it or not, a deep tradition and culture in this region. For centuries the people that lived in this area were forced to be intricately intertwined to the landscape for survival reasons. There was a deep rooted tribal culture spanning hundreds if not thousands of years.

While remnants of that tribal heritage still linger today (and will most likely continue to do so), Doha has been completely swept up in the tides of globalization. I have written before about how the Qatari government is right to try to protect the rights and culture of it's outnumbered population, but I think that they may have already lost the battle. I cannot think of a single place in Doha where somebody could go and really soak up the true culture of this place.

Traditionally, the main Souq would be a place where some of the same families who had been there for generations would be selling their wares (often living as well) and providing a flare of local culture. Doha's main Souq - Souq Waqif - is an Arabic Souq-ish Disneyland. Don't get me wrong, it's a great Disneyland - beautiful with great restaurants, fabulous shisha, and a remarkable ambiance. But it is not Qatari. Souq Waqif was renovated just a few years ago to be transformed into the tourist-friendly destination that it is today. It's a great place, and perhaps my favorite spot in all of Doha, because that's as close as it gets.

Qatar is in the middle of creating a new identity for itself, for all Qataris. What it means to be Qatari is not the same thing as it was 30 years ago. Today, to be Qatari means to be wealthy, financially stable, living in a palatial villa with a handful of servants and maids. To be Qatari today is to express your national identity through consumerism and superiority, by sporting the latest trends, Prada purses and Cartier necklaces. Can any Qatari youth under the age of 30 tell you what it meant to be Qatari when there was no abundant spending of oil/gas wealth?

Any country's national day showcases the most typical aspects of their particular culture. In America, people get drunk, gorge themselves on dead animals, and blow shit up. I'm seriously looking forward to Qatar's national day to see what happens. I had assumed celebrations would be minimal (after all, the Qatari population is outnumbered 5 to 1), but decorations bearing the Qatari flag have shown up even in my neighborhood supermarket by the airport (in which I don't even think I've ever seen a Qatari). I've heard from people who've been here longer than me that say it's actually a raucous affair, which really seems hard for me to believe. It seems as if the migrant population joins in wholeheartedly for the celebrations, but for the life of me I can't exactly see why. I can't wait to see what it will actually be like.

Doha has been good to me in a professional sense. I am gaining more than my fair share of professional experience and connections. If I can manage to stick it out for the duration of my degree I think I'll be set to head off in any direction I would want to choose. On an inward and spiritual level, Doha is wearing me down. Life here is so fast paced - quick quick quick - move on to the next big thing. I'm a slow moving being by nature, and I'm realizing I wasn't cut out for such a hectic life. In all honesty, I know things will become much more bearable once I wrap up this killer internship and can move more freely with the flow of things. And soon enough I'll start dedicating my time to research for my thesis, inshallah. Somehow I've just got to survive the next 6 months or so in a seriously uncomfortable position. I know I can do it, but those of you who read my blog will need to deal with a lot of bitching.

Sorry about that.

I think that's why I've been getting a seemingly insatiable desire to go traveling. 'Traveling?' Say you. 'Why Maria, you're in the Middle East!'. Yes, great freaking observation. However, I've been confined to a tiny patch of sandy desert shut off from the rest of the world by the Persian Gulf and a big bad bully named Saudi Arabia, who won't allow me to travel to it based on my anatomical configuration. One of the central tenants in the history of Islam is travel. Let's just say that Ibn Battuta is one of my role models, and perhaps you'll better understand my itchy feet.

I know it sounds so strange to those of you who have known me for a while (it sounds weird to hear myself say it!) but I'm actually insanely excited to go back to Boulder in January, if JUST to feel some motion! I think that's the main problem, I hate feeling stagnant like I am right now. Water that stands still is unfit to drink, and so too we must always keep the rivers of our hearts flowing. I've been stuck in the same spot for too long (a whole four months is apparently long enough for me), and I need to get out and get moving - feel the wind on my cheeks.

(If anybody ever knows about cheap ways/deals/opportunities of getting out of Qatar ever, do let me know. I'm ALL ears.)

Peace and love always <3

Doha... As an onion

Doha has so many layers… So many different types of human beings shoved into one tiny space in the middle of the map. This is a city of almost 2 million people. The roads are cramped, and you can find a man from Nepal, who works cleaning offices at Qatar University for about $6 a day – brushing shoulders with young Qataris who work less than 8 hours a day for more monthly than the Nepali will ever earn in his lifetime.

Even the city itself has layers. Pockets of enormous, skillfully built villas are surrounded by clusters of cramped quarters roofed with corrugated metal, where the doors don’t lock, and there is no AC. Some apartment buildings are spotless and brand new, while others are peeling inside and out. This is a city of contradictions.

There are almost 2 million people squished together in approximately 51 square miles (according to Wikipedia).  Talk about a serious city. It’s not like Los Angeles or any other big, western city. There is just city and then desert. No suburbs or neighborhoods to lull you into a gentle transition. None at all.

The interesting thing, is that even though the residents and layers of Doha are so tightly packed together, they almost never come into contact with each other. To someone at the very tip top layer, having to do anything that lowers you to the level of a common migrant is unthinkable. I say this not just about some (not all) Qataris, but about so many expatriates from the upper echelons as well.

These layers are so plain, and so visible. Nobody can deny that Doha has classes, socially constructed and clearly defined hierarchies built into the society. How much or how little you conform to these hierarchies seems to depend on how close to the ends of the spectrum one is located. Those of us who find ourselves somewhere in the middle seem to care less and less about fitting in to a certain stereotype, since we’re forced to participate on both ends of the spectrum regularly.

The problem is that there are SO few of us. I know we exist, I’ve come into contact with a few like minds since I’ve been here, but really… It’s kind of sad that in a city of 2 million people, a place that could be such a confluence and celebration of culture, there is such structure and expulsion of anything difficult or different. Don’t get me wrong! The Qataris have every right to be nervous! They really should be scared of having Qatari culture wash away in the high tides of immigration.

Qatari culture… I honestly couldn’t tell you too much about it. I know bits about it, and more now since I’ve started my course, to be honest. It’s so complicated. There seem to be some Qataris who have been totally consumed by the new internationalization of Doha. Their kids may not even know much about the history and culture of Doha or Qatar. And yet – as always – there’s another layer of Qataris who are warm, kind hearted and fiercely loyal to their identity. I have no worries that this group of Qataris will raise a generation who may be able to bridge this great rupture that is tearing Doha apart.

The Qatari government is right to think that it needs to exert some influence to protect Qatari culture. Without some government intervention, the culture would surely get swallowed up in a great big heap of globalization.

At the same time, they seem to be changing their stance on immigration from one of tolerance and hope for the future, to one of protectionism and antagonism. This huge influx of outsiders was too much, too soon for poor Doha. Where once migrants signalized a burgeoning economy, now they are little more than a nuisance. So strange.

And still yet there is a layer of Western expats, all to varying degrees of wealthiness. While everyone comes to Doha in the hopes of earning a better salary, it’s safe to say that the westerners here (even the students and recent grads) come from lucrative backgrounds back home. They all seem to stick together (I’ve heard stories of some not leaving West Bay for more than a year), and frequent the few hotel bars on a weekly basis.

I haven’t been able to find my layer yet. I’m not quite sure there is one out there for me yet. There may very well be a layer for out of place westerners (who own a dog), converted to Islam yet appreciate Sufism and mysticism, who don’t earn all that much and just manage to get by, who don’t like the industrialization of the city and prefer the mangrove swamps instead… Maybe that layer does exist.

Clearly, I just haven’t visited enough mangrove swamps to find out…

Peace and love always <3

Sufism is a Curse

When I started down this long road of Sufism, I never imagined it would end up being quite so troubling. Honestly, looking back now, I don’t even know if I would recommend the option to anybody who truly is seeking answers about the nature of God and existence. The problem with Sufism is, that if you are truly determined and open to achieving your spiritual goals, you can do so.

Normally, of course, this would not be a problem. Learning about the nature of God and the spiritual threads that connect us all actually makes it so difficult, if not borderline impossible, to live comfortably in this dunya. I’ve never had such a hard time forcing myself to participate in the high-speed, non-stop, progress-driven world that we live in today. I don’t naturally move as quickly as the pace of today’s internationalized capitalism.

Honestly, if it were up to me, work wouldn’t ever start before 10am. Breakfast and coffee could be consumed every morning without exception. There would be time at night to sit outside and slowly enjoy your poison (whether it be a beer or glass of wine for you non-Muslims, a big fat doobie, or just a cut of tea….). I would give anything to be able to watch the sun set even twice a week. In a perfect world, I would be able to take Farrah out for a nice long walk in the evenings, without worrying whether I’m going to be run over or stared to death.

Why doesn’t the world work that way? Just think about that for a minute. How many people actually like to force themselves up in the morning, sleep deprived, dragging themselves to work for a job they may not even enjoy (driving in a car that statistically has a high likelihood of crashing), only to drag themselves back in the evening, too tired to enjoy life or take time to reflect? I’m guessing very few people.

The problem is that the way our world works, is in a way where we are constantly told that money is our only salvation. In this world, in this life, money is god. We work ourselves silly to get money, which allows us to live. It is only through money that we can truly express our inner human happiness (whether it be by buying a movie ticket, a plane fare, or just a good meal).

That SUCKS.

I want to wake up every morning and fill my heart with love and happiness, not suppress it with tons of caffeine and artificial light.

The problem is that while I recognize all this, I am also a realist to some extent. I realize that my options for working outside of the system in order to change it are so slim. The only reason I would work outside of the system is if I cared only for my own happiness; I could isolate myself from this fucked up society and live a happy life. For sure, I could do that.

I can’t, in good conscience, proceed with that plan. I love people, and seeing my fellow human beings suffer at the expense of the few who control this world system forces me to employ all of my privilege and ability to help them, and to change things.

That all sounds so noble, and I swear I’m not a tree-hugging self-righteous twat. I’m only one person; I can only do so much.

In the hopes that some day I can gain enough recognition that I could somehow exert an influence to help one group of people, or enlighten one other person, I continue on towards my goal. Slowly trudging my way through this shit-filled sewer that we call “the modern world”; I bide my time.

I have only one God, and He does not live in this soul-less compression of concrete, steel, and tarmac. My God is the one of the mountains and the sea, the God who makes the desert sands sing, who’s breath slips through my window and kisses my cheeks.

Sufi ramblings. Bleh.

Peace and Love always <3

Wash Your Heart

I know I’ve talked about something similar to this before, but I think I really found a profoundly reassuring way to cleanse the heart today.

As I’m sure all of you fabulous people will know, I’ve been moaning about being stuck in this big awful city, where there’s no nature, just concrete, and waah waah waah waah waah!!

Well, today I finally got off of my ass and went in search of some nature. Although, I’ll admit that it wasn’t exactly totally my first choice. Apparently I’ve used up all of my monthly internet balance for November, so I’m completely devoid of internet on my laptop until the 30^th. EGADS.

While this means I can’t spend my time sitting on my ass doing nothing over the weekend (such a shame, it’s really one of my favorite past times…), I figured I had to be capable of doing something productive.

I read this blog on my phone (dogs in Qatar blog), and it described (in great detail) how to get to the mangrove swamps south of Wakrah. And I mean like serious description. I actually got really lost, but was totally able to find my way there thanks to these killer directions. If you’ve ever been in Qatar, you’ll know that actually being able to get somewhere is an accomplishment in and of itself. Even if I did end up parking in the wrong place and getting chastised by “Ahmed, the property manager for this area”.

I ended up making it out to the Shuwaisma coast guard station just south of Wakrah. I wouldn’t be surprised if this station has been here unchanged since the 60s. It was actually refreshing to see something that wasn’t completely spotless and shiny and brimming with young, entitled Qataris. Shuwaisma coast guard station has a sign whose paint is peeling, a rattling old pickup truck, and the grandest looking tree for miles around. That tree must be such an old landmark (it’s the only reason I knew where to go). When there’s nothing around but flat, sandy desert, a 15ft tree really stands out.

I met a very nice Frenchman who was lounging near the station in a lawn chair, looking as if all that was missing were a beer. But this is Qatar. I asked him which way was the best way to go (I brought Farrah with me of course!!), and he told me that further south is way cleaner than any other options, so off I went.

I waded in the ankle deep, warm and gentle waters of the Gulf. Here I am in Qatar, pursuing a master’s degree in Gulf Studies, and feeling the Gulf’s warm waters for the very first time. Amazing. I think we tend to forget or try to eliminate the actual, geography of the earth from time to time…. It felt so good to reconnect and remind myself where I was exactly.

When I finally felt the strain of walking (and really needed to pee), I found a nice sandy spot surrounded by mangroves on either side, and just sat for a while. I brought a towel, so I kicked off my shoes and let myself just be a part of the landscape. Eventually, all kinds of birds started to appear. At one point, a big grey goose came flip flopping out of the mangroves to my left, checked me out, and kept flip flopping his way across the beach. Farrah thought it was just the most amazing thing ever, and stared like crazy. That goose just did not care about us at all, and just kept on his merry way, not 20 feet away.

Walking back I carried Farrah (since she appears to be terrified of the ocean) and waded through the tiny, crystal clear waves all the way back to Shuwaisma. Every tiny wave that sloshed helplessly over my ankles felt as if it were washing away a tiny part of the dirt that tends to cake up over your heart from time to time. Periodically I would stop, stare out to sea, and breathe in that sweet salinity… Each exhale carrying with it bits of dirt and ash.

By the time I had made it back to the sandy grounds near the Shuwaisma coast guard station I felt like a totally new person. I just wish that Mr. Ahmed hadn’t soured it by throwing his weight around, chastising me for my bad parking. There was also a dreadfully skinny dog that came bounding up to my car out of NOWHERE, who was just begging for love. Unfortunately I already have one charge, who happens to HATE most other dogs. So I gave this tiny guy some water and two stale ladoos that had been in my glove box since Thursday. I really hope he makes it. Breaks my heart to see an animal in need like that….

I hope my internet dies more often, so that I’m forced to go out and explore like that more often. Good show. I encourage you all to get out and see a little nature.

Peace and love always <3