Month: June 2014

There’s no minute like last minute

AKA: Inshalla

Yesterday was a normal evening at casa de Chartier. Sitting around watching Chopped while kids ran through the room and I read up on Venice travel details. Josh answered his phone and I figured someone from work was checking up on him since he had been home sick with the flu. Until I heard his surprised, “OK. OK.” and was kicked in the gut. He’s gone. 
I guess I had a bit of prior warning the night before when he fielded a call regarding another Marine who had just gotten word that he was going to Iraq. I asked why this Marine was chosen and not him (trying to calculate my odds of losing this particular lottery) and he said that since so many new people were arriving this summer, they wanted him around to provide continuity. Sounds good to me. 
Well someone not in Bahrain decided they knew better and scrolled through a list of personnel and Josh was one of the lucky few chosen to head to Iraq. With less than 24 hours notice. 
I traded my travel books for powers of attorney, visa renewal forms, and all the other administrative paperwork that Josh was going to take care of now that he was home from Jordan. We had an enjoyable week at least. 
Today he leaves in about 2 hours for an undetermined period of time. It’s really the best way to go — like ripping off a bandaid. Otherwise we sit around and look at each other and say things like, “I can’t believe you’ll be gone in a week” or “7 months is going to take forever.” We barely had time last night to do more than figure out which lose ends he could tie up this morning and which ones I had to handle after he was gone. He hadn’t even unpacked from his Jordan trip so he threw a few things in the washing machine and zipped his bag closed. That was it.

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So he’s gone, without a return date in sight, but we are good. We went and said goodbye to him at base this morning and as I was about to take a photo of him with the kids, a soldier walked by and she asked, “Would you like me to take one of all of you?”

Not how we expected to be spending our last day of school, but it’s done. And God is good. 

Tis the season

Our fourth Ramadan starts in about 10 days. I say “about” because Muslims follow the lunar calendar and they actually wait until the moon-spotter (I don’t know what his official name is) sees the small crescent moon and then they declare it (with canon fire, though Twitter or text messages is how we check to see if it has begun or ended because you can’t always hear the cannons). It’s a rather archaic way to go about it since technically we can calculate the moon cycles to know when Ramadan will be 20 years from now, but it adds to the mystery of things. 
It also means that we may call Ramadan before Oman calls Ramadan (each country declares it for themselves). Supposedly a spotter in one country may not see the moon due to cloud cover, but in our experience the Omanis manage to make Ramadan fall in a way that offers the most favorable holiday weekend conditions. I think last year we called it on Friday night and they didn’t call it until Saturday night. As a result they didn’t have to start fasting until the work week began. 
Technically, I don’t mind Ramadan — it’s not like I have to fast, but it can put a cramp in our normal routine. It is illegal to eat, drink and chew gum in public for everyone during the month of Ramadan. So though I’m not fasting, I can’t even take a sip of water while driving or shopping, even though it’s blazing outside. And there’s something about Ramadan that makes me extremely thirsty. The rest of the year I can go all day without thinking about drinking water, but during this month I’m like a man in the desert with a parched mouth. 
The other “problem” is that all restaurants and coffee shops are closed until the sun sets every day so there’s nowhere to actually go during the day to escape the heat, unless you like shopping. And even then it’s not like you can stop for a bite to eat or a cup of coffee. We do tend to get a bit stir crazy after a few weeks. Many who are fasting work in the mornings, sleep in the afternoons, and then eat and drink at night as soon as the sun goes down. 

Yes, an actual display on base. Ramadan approved!
But my biggest irritation with Ramadan has nothing to do with Muslims at all. The base has created a policy that during the month of Ramadan, all base personnel and their dependents must dress in long sleeves and long pants (technically elbows and knees have to be covered when seated). Supposedly this is out of respect for their conservative culture, but tell that to my Muslim landlord who strolls around in shorts and tanktops. Really, it’s a policy that the base would like to enforce just for women, but they can’t, so men have to suffer along too. That includes while working out — it must be done in long pants and long sleeves (unless you are in your house or on base). Have I mentioned it’s 110 degrees out? 
The knees thing doesn’t really bother me since I generally keep my knees covered anyway, but elbows? Come on. When we lived in Oman it was a policy to “dress conservatively as you do the rest of the time, being sensitive to their religious holiday,” but not a knees and elbows ban. All it really serves to do is make it super easy to pick out all of the Americans when you go to the mall. They are the only ones wearing long pants and long sleeves. Which seems ironic when we’re always told to keep a low profile for force protection, but whatever. I’ve got my “Ramadan sweater” so I can wear tank tops at home and then throw the sweater on over them when I go out. It’s not a real sweater, but a super thin, cropped cardigan that does the job of covering my shoulders and elbows. I tend to wear it all year since shoulders are forbidden (I say that tongue in cheek, though there is a base policy for shoulders to be covered) and once you’ve had them covered for a while, it feels naked to be showing them off. 
We purposefully planned our vacation to Italy for the second half of Ramadan. We’ll be walking around Rome in our tank tops and eating pizza by the slice, feeling absolutely free!

Happy Father’s Day

Yesterday was Father’s Day. The day on Facebook when everyone tries to one-up each other with touching tributes, photo collages, and effusive praise for the “best dad ever.” Whoops. Totally missed that one. I’m serious when I say that living in Bahrain is like being suspended in a time warp, where every day is the same and then all of a sudden: AMERICAN HOLIDAY! Except by the time people in the US wake up and start posting about it, our day is already halfway over. Add in the Sunday as a workday twist and we are perpetually confused.

I hate to admit that last week (or 2 weeks ago? Again, time warp) Josh’s mom asked what Camille would like for her birthday and it took me a few seconds to realize that we were already in the month of June and ohgoshIbetterordersomethingfromAmazonTODAY! I’m glad I have people in my life who are on top of things because otherwise her birthday would have been sprung on me when Josh brought home the boxes of presents from the Grandparents that came this week and I would have been left wrapping packs of gum and tic-tacs for her gifts. Instead she’ll be getting a Doc McStuffins costume (I know, I wanted to get her an unbranded doctor kit instead of the commercialized Disney one, but she wanted to be Doc McStuffins and I am weak to her charms . . . ), provided it arrives on time. 
In spite of my failings, I hope both dads in my life know how much I love and appreciate them. We couldn’t ask for more supportive parents. Many people ask, “How do your families feel about you being so far away/living in the Middle East?” and it surprises them to hear that not only do you encourage us, but that you’ve also come to visit us in both countries. When we hear about families that guilt trip about the distance and refuse to travel to this region it makes us love you all even more. (Moms too. Especially when we have taken your grandbabies to the other side of the world. Sorry.)
As for this dad, my kids are lucky that I picked such a good one. I knew he was the one when I was working as a nanny and he would carry Joe and help me put his infant carseat in the back of my gold bug when we’d take trips to the zoo. At 21 he was already showing that he had what it takes to be a great parent. And we are glad he is home! 

We are also off schedule because Josh is home for 2 extra days (as a break from their extended exercise) so the 3 of us headed to the pool/resort today for swimming and lunch. On actual Father’s Day I forgot to wish Josh a “Happy Father’s Day” until I saw a dad hugging his son in the mall and Josh cooked dinner for us that night. Whoops again.


Tomorrow is the boys’ last full day of school (and they are debating whether they have to attend the last 1/2 day or not) and then we are on VACATION. Happy summer!

beep, beep!

(Picture this scene on repeat — that was today.)

My car horn has started honking spontaneously. It’s a part in the steering wheel that has gone bad, but in order to fix it the entire airbag module has to be replaced. I don’t trust the mechanics here to do it and it’s not worth $1000 just to be able to honk at people who need to wake up on the road. For about 2 months I went without a horn because Josh figured out how to cut the connection so it wouldn’t wake up the neighborhood every morning at 5:30 when I would drive to bring Calvin to soccer practice. (Just putting the key in the ignition would cause it to start honking continuously.)

Finally this week, the mechanic came and picked up our car to fix the horn problem. They rewired it and instead of hooking it up to a separate button as originally planned, they hooked up the leads to the original (faulty) sensors. I’m not sure how they thought it was fixed because the very first time I turned on the car, it blared at me until I banged on the steering wheel hard enough to make it stop.

Carter and I were driving home today and the horn was blasting — no matter which way I pulled at the steering wheel panel and how hard I bashed it, it wouldn’t stop. Picture me driving down the road with a horn out of control, looking like I’ve lost my mind as I’m punching the center of my steering wheel. I guess it was funny enough that Carter took a video of (one small part of) it.

Privilege

I’m sitting in my car, AC running (of course because it’s three degrees below the flames of hell outside) and the only place to park is right by a group of laborers grabbing a few minutes of rest in the shade. What am I going to do while I wait 10 minutes for Josh? Let me get out my iPhone and see what is happening with my Facebook peeps . . . ugh, that feels uncomfortable and very “white princess.” These sweaty laborers probably don’t make enough in a year to purchase an iPhone and a data plan and here I am with a cool artificial breeze blowing in my face, lamenting that my electronics aren’t loading fast enough. And they sit watching me, because that’s what people do here.

I have bags of groceries in the car, but nothing I can give them. I don’t think they want a slab of frozen hamburger meat or cans of cat food. If I only had some bottles of water or snacks in my car. Oh great! I just realized that they are having to breathe in my exhaust while I idle here. I’m not only rubbing my excess in their faces, but I’m bathing their lungs in cancer causing fumes. Awesome, Rob.

Living here means always teetering on an uncomfortable edge somewhere between self-preservation and sacrifice. Yes, it’s awesome that I have a housemaid who takes wonderful care of us and does every little bit of laundry in the house. But with it comes guilt that she’s there mopping the floor and I’m here on a very expensive computer. Giving her a job and paying her well means that she can send money home to her family and care for many people, but it doesn’t answer the questions of “why me?” or “Why her?” or “What about everyone else?”

I’ve decided to start keeping drinks and snacks in my car (in a cooler) so when the opportunity arises, I do have something to share. It’s not much, but in a place that treats laborers as less than human, maybe a little kindness will go along way.

Sometimes it’s hard to find the balance — how can we justify spending money on a trip to Italy when there are starving people in the world? Should I be eating steak when I could eat more cheaply on rice and beans and give the extra to charity? I think (I hope) those answers come by listening to God’s promptings. Just after having this conversation with myself and thinking that I needed to keep an insulated container in the car so I could carry food and drinks to hand out (because otherwise the water would be scorching), I walked into a store and spied an insulated bag on clearance for $3. “Yes, do this!” is the answer I heard.

It’s been an exhausting week. Josh came home, our best friends moved away, end of year goodbyes and parties right and left . . .

Camille has been wanting me to braid her hair “like Elsa” (from Frozen)

All the layers in her hair makes it difficult, but she was happy. 

She was happy that her daddy finally came home on Tuesday. I guess it was only 3 weeks, but so much happened while he was gone, it felt like more than a month. We had house guests, Calvin came home from Germany, end of year award ceremonies, a baby shower, sleepovers, and endless amounts of driving. 

Reading up on Rome and Pompeii in preparation for our trip. I gave Carter a similar (easy) book about Leonardo da Vinci and he complained: “I don’t like books with facts. I don’t even want to go to Italy. Everybody goes to Italy!” Of course, 3 days later, he’s popping out facts about da Vinci right and left. Typical Carter.

Oh that’s right, we were dog sitting too. Huck left for New York with our friends and I keep feeling like somebody is missing here at home. 

Last goodbyes

What my bag looks like these days . . .

And finally, a little comic relief. Of course it makes perfect sense to block off the handicapped spaces to reserve them. I’m sure people with disabilities have no problem getting out of their cars to move the barrier out of the way . . .