Newsletter 16 - 4 August 2005 (Thursday)

Nov 18, 2005 12:32 PM

Newsletter 16

I know I've been very slow at sending newsletters lately.  I have

been unbelievably busy at work and when I get home I just crash.

Newsletter 16 was written when I'd been here two months and now I've

been here five and a half months.  It's amazing how fast time flies.

I will be leaving in two days for three weeks in SC.  I'll arrive

there about 6:30 PM on Monday and will leave just before Noon on 12

December.  Daughter Gina Little will be having her fourth child and fourth Caesarian

Section on the morning after I arrive.  I'll be spending nearly all of

my time helping out with Jayde, Zane and Kemp and assisting Gina as

she recovers from major surgery and adjusts to having a new Little one

in the family.  It will be a wonderful break for me in every possible

way.  It will probably also be exhausting!

The attached newsletter is six pages long.  The first three pages

cover several incidents that took place on one day and sounds kind of

scatter-brained upon rereading it, so I apologize if you don't see a

solid train of thought there.  The last three pages are a continuation

of my curtain saga.

I hope they help give you an idea of what it's like here, trying to

understand and be understood, and getting around town especially if

you don't have a car.

 Enjoy!

[The first three pages of this newsletter have some miscellaneous experiences; the last three are a continuation of my curtain-buying saga.]

Thursday, 04 August 2005

I’ve been here two months now and almost everything about living here seems normal. I still love my apartment and am slowly getting it furnished and equipped. My librarian friend Rebecca left for a couple of weeks’ vacation – going to hike in Tibet! – and I’m tending her plants for her. The splash of green they make in the flat looks very nice; I am going to have to go ahead with plans to get my own. I did a bit of shopping today and bought planter pots for the two philodendron starts a friend gave me as a house warming gift. I potted them when I got home today and they look very nice.

It’s been a busy day. I got up early and first called and then went to Etisilat to find out why my home phone and dial-up Internet service had no dial tone. I was afraid that they’d sent a bill I never received and it was overdue so they cancelled service but nothing of that sort showed up on the record, so they said they’d send a technician sometime today. I requested that the technician call before coming so I could be sure to be there.

(When they – there were two – came later in the afternoon, they determined that the problem had to do with my Internet cable. I checked where it went into the laptop and to my dismay I realized that I had inserted it into the LAN connection (it doesn’t really fit, the opening is too large). When I removed it and they checked the line again, the phone was working. The taller man, who spoke English, who had been very patient until then said sternly, “Next time you have trouble with your phone, check the Internet cable first!” And then without another word, they both left. The cat incident happened when they first arrived, though. There is a local cat that likes to rest at the bottom of the stairwell of my building in a spot that is kind of hidden and where it might be overlooked by people coming into the building.

When the men arrived, they apparently didn’t have the right flat number and called me on my cell phone. As I was describing which street number, building number and flat number they needed to come to, I walked out to the entry of my flat and could hear the person talking both on the phone and outside on the stairwell. I opened the door and saw one man half-way up the flight to my flat and the other on the landing just below. They were poised in mid-step. I soon realized it was because the cat was just a bit further up the stairway nearer me and was on the foundation of the stair railing, hissing and looking terrified. Because people here do not treat animals as cat-crazy Americans do in the US, the cat is very afraid of people. I tried talking to it to reassure it; it made a few starts as if to jump to the stairs below the railing but seemed to think it was too far. After several attempts on my part to get it to move, I suggested that the man on the stairs walk very slowly up and past the cat while I moved back toward my front door. I motioned for the man on the landing to move to the wall to leave as much room as possible for the cat, should it decide to make a break. Both the men slowly and quietly came up the stairs and as I backed into my flat and they approached the doorway, the cat made its break, charging down the stairs like a streak. Thus began the visit by the telephone technicians.)

After leaving Etisilat I went to the bank to withdraw some of my recent pay for (1) paying tithing and offerings, (2) sending home to my bank in the US and (3) retaining enough to pay cash for the curtains I’m having made – more about that later. (So far, I have paid for everything in cash since I’ve been here. I have a debit card but it, unlike the credit cards offered by banks in the US, it is totally your responsibility – if someone gets a hold of your card and uses it, even if you can prove the signature is not yours, you are liable for the total amount charged against your card. If the card is stolen and used, you are liable for all the charges and have no recourse. So, I don’t pay for things using my debit card and have only used it twice, both times to withdraw cash from the ATM at the bank itself.) I also changed a 10-dirham bill for 10 dirham coins. I always like to have plenty of change on hand for paying taxi drivers! Then I caught my third taxi of the day and had it take me near the Thomas Cook office. I don’t know the way to get right up to the Thomas Cook building so I had the driver let me off near the subway, the underground passage and market place under the street, and came up on the side near Thomas Cook. Once I got inside Thomas Cook, the person who helped me was surprised that I still had my temporary membership card and asked if I hadn’t received the permanent one in the mail. I said no. So they took my photo again and said they’d make up a new one and hold it there for me to pick up. We went through the process of exchanging my dirhams for a draft on a US bank in dollars made payable to me at my US bank, paying 5 dh for the check/draft, paying 40 dh for the DHL service to get it to the states, and while the clerk filled out the DHL mailer, I filled out a deposit slip for my US bank account and sealed it with the draft in an envelope that the clerk placed inside the DHL envelope that was going to my bank. This was my second time doing this. Last month the deposit made it to my bank in record time.

Then I walked, again to the Al Ain Co-op, by going down and through the subway and up near a small, beautiful, white, ornate mosque and crossing a narrow street. Inside the co-op, I looked around at leisure (last time I went there, directly from my first visit to Thomas Cook, I had a severe attack of traveler’s tummy and had to make a hasty trip home.) This time I was fine and got to see much of the store. I bought some hydrogen peroxide, iodine and q-tips. Which reminds me, I haven’t written about my trip to the pharmacy – later. I caught a taxi home, had lunch, sewed a button on a blouse, and did some ironing and other miscellaneous things.

Then I decided to go to the Al Ain Mall so I caught another taxi and went there, first going to Home Centre, where I found three items I’d like to buy but didn’t because they do not total 1000 dh and so I would not get free delivery and set up and I’m not sure I could set them up myself, lacking the tools. I have to think it through. I also visited a couple of other stores and ended up at the mall’s Mega Mart where I bought more canned hommos, the two plant pots and a bar of soap. Big spender! Then I caught a taxi to the Mega Mart near my flat and bought a couple of grocery items and potting soil before catching a final taxi home. I must have spent 20 dh (less than $5.50) on taxis today. I had hoped to buy a plastic cabinet of drawers for the master bathroom which has no cabinets or counter. I want to use the top of the cabinet as a kind of counter and then put things like T.P., toiletries, first aid supplies, etc. in the drawers.

I also wanted to get a nice small basket or lidded box of some sort to keep my socks in to put near the front door so I won’t always have to carry them from the back of the flat to the front door to put them on before putting on my shoes and leaving the house. I’ve resumed the custom I learned in Uzbekistan of removing my shoes when I come in the flat. I put on a pair of slippers for house wear. The shoes are my trusty Rockport Prowalkers and I wear very low cut white socks with them. No way could anyone wear pantyhose in this climate! The local women all wear sandals with bare feet. If I didn’t have to wear my Prowalkers, I would, too. But the socks with the Prowalkers work fine.

After I got home, I cooked the meat I bought, let it cool, packaged it for the freezer; potted my two plants; and fixed chip-n-dip for dinner.

Now to continue the saga of curtains for my flat. After my last visit to the “Curtain Man’s” curtain shop and subsequent ride home by him with several books of fabric samples for me to ponder, I could not make up my mind even after Rebecca kindly gave me excellent pointers on colors. I finally realized that I just cannot spend as much money on curtains as either of the quotes he gave me and made myself prioritize what I truly wanted in curtains and then it wasn’t so difficult. I want blackout, to keep the morning sun from fading my “two seater” and “three seater” couches in the majlis, to keep all light out of the master bedroom at night and block off possible sight of the room at other times so I can change clothes in there if I want, and of course for private use of all rooms after dark. I wanted vertical blinds for the office and side bedroom. I wanted a small table for my cooker to stand on so I can use it easily and it won’t be taking up space on my kitchen counter. So I decided to tell the curtain man I wanted simple curtains made out of blackout (I was not overjoyed thinking of having plain all-white curtains, but there it was. Next, I had to get the books of fabric samples back to the curtain man and tell him my decision. Although he was more than willing (eager, even) to come pick them up and give me a ride to his shop, I didn’t want to do that.

I think I need to say at this point that the curtain man is about my age, is Egyptian and told me he has been living in the UAE for something like 30 years. He owns a shop that exclusively does curtains as well as a furniture manufacturing shop behind the curtain shop. Like good salesmen or merchants anywhere, he is very facile of tongue and he can talk his own brand of English at a mile a minute. He is what I think of as a typical Arab merchant, charming, full of effusive comments, compliments and expressions of goodwill, devotion to the customer and a high-flown sense of his own abilities and of ensuring customer satisfaction. He talks so fast and sometimes so circuitously that it’s possible for a native English speaker to be totally confused halfway into a conversation.

I called Umer, an English-speaking Pakistani taxi driver who has many contacts and a network of taxi drivers and whom I’d learned about from Bonnie, and arranged for a taxi to come pick me up to take me to the curtain shop, assuring him I could direct the driver to my destination. He said he would send someone and call me when the driver, who did not speak English, arrived. Meanwhile, I stuffed all the sample books into a huge shopping bag. When I got the call, I trundled the bag down the steps and out to the street where the taxi waited. I directed the driver to the curtain shop, giving directions in Arabic, “Seda [straight], yimeen [right], seda, seda, seda, yimeen, woggip [stop].” The driver graciously carried the bag of sample books and I led the way into the shop, which was actually the shop of the curtain man’s brother, where they, too, make drapes as well as custom-made furniture. I thought I’d have to ask them to track down the curtain man for me – possibly in his own shop a block away - but there he was, sitting at the desk just to the left inside the door. He was inspecting some fabric samples, and had sample books spread on the desk in front of him. When he looked up and saw me, he looked amazed – not surprising since it had been several weeks since he’d left the samples with me – and delighted. He gestured for the taxi driver to put the bag down behind the desk. The driver did so and then stood nearby, waiting. The curtain man invited me to sit on a chair in front of the desk (and sideways to it, as is traditional here).

He reluctantly put aside the samples he was fingering, looked up and greeted me effusively (also traditional here to known customers). I responded in a similar vein. He apparently decided this was going to take a while and asked if the man who had brought in the bag was my taxi driver. When I said yes, he said, “Send him away; I’ll take you home.” Although I had not asked the driver to wait and even though I was not comfortable with the idea of the curtain man taking me home, for a fleeting instant the cheapskate in me wavered (I could save a taxi fare!). I looked over my shoulder at the driver, standing stoically to the left of the desk. He was Pakistani, with dark black hair and dark brown skin. He wore traditional Pakistani clothing - a long, long white long-sleeved shirt and long baggy white pants - and had dark brown eyes and a deep crease going down each cheek. He glanced at me and moved his head one time to the right side and forward again. It looked to me like half of an emphatic, “No,” even though he apparently doesn’t understand English, which is what had been spoken. I hesitated one more second and then fortunately my good sense won out and I said, “He will stay.” The curtain man gave in with good grace and invited the driver to sit in a chair facing the desk and to my right, about a yard from my chair.

I then broke the news to the curtain man about the curtains (Americans just have to get to the point instead of doing the traditional Arabic five or more minutes worth of greetings) – no design curtains, no handles, no ropes, no trim, no sheers, no fabric, just blackout, vertical blinds in two rooms and a cooker table. He was devastated but resilient. Did I want white blackout or a color fused on top of blackout? He pulled out a sample book and I remembered he had shown it to me before. It had samples of about 10 different solid colors that were fused to blackout. I looked through them with a sinking heart, thinking, “Here I go again, having to make up my mind about what color would look best with my olive green couches.” Obviously, the curtain man was not about to give up possible income without a fight. Did I just want the fabric stretched over the windows or did I want it pleated like curtains? And on and on. It must have taken half an hour and all the while the taxi driver sat without moving, taking it all in, as were three male customers and one of the men from the store, who were seated on a couch several feet behind the driver, drinking tea.

I don’t know if any of them spoke or understood English - I doubt it - but apparently we were good entertainment. The curtain man and I were using a lot of hand gestures to put across our ideas and he, smooth salesman that he is, was throwing in flowery compliments, numerous expressions of wanting to serve me well and pithy suggestions for the curtains, trying – I’m sure – to raise the price as high as possible although it would never reach as high as his original quotes. I was very relieved at having the chance to choose blackout in a color – I really hadn’t wanted white, but didn’t think I’d have a choice; and I really did want something that looked like curtains rather than sheets stretched across the window. When he gave me the final price of 2,200 dh for blackout curtains on the three windows in the majlis and the one in the master bedroom, vertical blinds in the office and side bedroom and a cooker table, I was satisfied. Then I had to choose a type of wood for the table from a display board of samples, then he pressed the blackout sample book and two vertical blind sample books on me, told me to go home and choose colors and when I was ready, call him and then he and the table maker would come.

I thanked him, “Shukren.” He responded, “Afwan.” I stood and shook his hand (sealed the bargain) and said goodbye, “Maasalema,” and he replied, “Maasalema.” The driver stood and he and I went out the door. Upon approaching the taxi, I realized the motor had been running all the time but the driver didn’t seem concerned; he got behind the wheel and I got into the rear passenger seat clutching the three small sample books and we headed to my flat. I paid him 15 dh (for his time, the rides and his silent head shake), and went inside to start trying to decide colors.

It was not until Wednesday after work that I called the curtain man again. I had decided on what I wanted for the two vertical blinds and also for the curtains for my bedroom (green, of course – dark green to keep the room totally dark at night), but was waffling between five colors for the majlis – a yellowish cream, a medium brown, a golden, an off-white and a brighter yellow. I had folded the samples so each possibility was showing and kept holding them up to the couch to try to decide, without success. Finally, I just called the curtain man. It turned out that he was in his car with the table maker and they were quite near my flat. They would be here in 10 minutes, he said. Sure enough they arrived, with a third, much younger, man in tow. I think he might have been the son of either the curtain man’s brother or one of the shop’s workers. The curtain man has four daughters; he had told me at one point. One’s children, but never one’s spouse, are a usual topic of conversation here.

The table maker had a tape measure and the curtain man had him measuring all the windows and writing down the numbers. I showed the curtain man the colors I had chosen for the back rooms. He agreed with my choice for the office, “It goes well with your desk.” Pointed out that the aqua color for the side bedroom was almost the same color as the dress I was wearing. Reminded me that I liked to wear green (I’d been wearing my green outfit when I’d gone to the shop last) but didn’t say he approved of my choice of green for the master bedroom (I know it doesn’t really go with my bedspread or the furniture, but I’ll like it and I’m the only one who’ll be using the room, so that’s all that matters.) And then, finally, about the majlis, I had to confess I hadn’t been able to choose a color and showed the curtain man the ones I’d been considering. That is when he proved the truth of his self-designated title, “Mr. Color.” He pointed to the yellowish cream and the medium brown and said, “It has to be this one or this one. You choose. If you want bright, choose this one [yellowish], if you want dark, choose that [brown].” The yellowish was the one I’d liked first and best but wasn’t certain it would go well with the couch. I definitely wanted light and I also wanted something that would have a warm feel to it when winter came. So I pointed to the yellowish one and he laughed delightedly. It was appropriate, he said, because it went with my bright self (charming flatterer, that’s the curtain man). So it was decided.

Then we went into the kitchen and the table maker measured the space where the cooker table will go and inspected the cooker itself, standing on the kitchen counter. A rousing discussion ensued, with the curtain man translating between my English and the table maker’s Arabic and talking with both of us at the same time, in our own language. It was quite amazing. We finally decided on a table with light color wood and a top of either thin marble or tile the same color as the kitchen cabinets, a light creamy yellow, and having a little cupboard under it with doors but with a gap at the floor where I could put my feet (at least my toes) when I use the cooker. They all three thought this was rather odd but I was adamant. I don’t want to have to lean toward the stove to use it, which is necessary when it (or in this case, the table) comes straight down to the floor. I indicated to the curtain man before he left that if I like the table, I might order more tables and I sketched out with my hands a coffee table in the majlis. (I also have in mind a small table just inside the front door and a long narrow table in the office where I can lay out my papers so they’ll be in plain sight. Maybe others.) He said anything I wanted him to do, he would do, just let him know. Then he told me everything for the curtains and blinds could be ready on Saturday but I said my cleaner would be there then so I suggested Sunday after I get off work and it was agreed. Finally they all left, with many expressions of thanks and good will from all of us.

Later I realized that I’d tentatively told Brian I might babysit for him and his wife on Sunday. She and their four children are arriving tonight and Sunday will be her and Brian’s wedding anniversary. I said I wanted to meet the children and be sure they would feel comfortable with my staying with them in their new home in a strange place while their parents went out for a few hours before I committed to do it. So the curtains can’t come on Sunday. Today when I came home for lunch I called the curtain man and broke the news; he was fine with it – whatever I wanted, whenever I say, he will come with the curtains, just say the word. We decided on Monday at 6 PM. Then he asked me if I was sure I didn’t want “chiffon” (sheers) for the majlis windows so I could have the curtains open but not have the room exposed during the day. Clever man, still upping the price! Actually, however, I’d had the very same thought this morning as I was getting ready for the day, dodging the uncovered glass patio door to get clothes from my wardrobe and taking them to the master bathroom to change. I wished I’d thought about including sheers for the master bedroom and the majlis because it would offer much more flexibility regarding privacy.

So I asked him how much it would cost, and he said 300 dh for the three majlis windows. He would give me as a gift [i.e., at no extra charge] the chiffon curtain for the master bedroom. This took me aback, but he had rushed on and with his unique English, I lost track of what he was saying and finally realized he had backtracked to trying to convince me of the value of having “chiffon” – and then he said if I didn’t have it, it would be “like the Iranians.” That struck me as very funny although I’m not quite sure what it means; perhaps Iranians use simple, basic curtains and he considers that gauche, and I started laughing and almost couldn’t stop. He was delighted to think he’d made a joke I thought was so funny. When I’d convinced him I did want “chiffon” he said I had to choose the colors [here we go again!] and I had to call him if I wanted him to bring the sample book to me or I could come in to the shop, either way.

He also repeated about giving me the chiffon for the master bedroom and tried to get me to agree. Not knowing what, if any, cultural (or other) implications it might have, I was trying to think of a graceful way to deal with it when he said something like, “as your brother.” Well, I’ve been here long enough, and encountered the term in enough conversations – particularly with Nationals who’ve spent time in the US – to know that “as a brother” has platonic or familial meaning, which alleviated my concern somewhat. The conversation rushed on and I didn’t get a chance to emphasize, that if “as a brother” he wants to do this – or wants to do it to thank me for the business or whatever, maybe I can accept it; otherwise, no. In the end it was agreed that I’d let him know how and when I would view the fabric samples for the sheers and the conversation ended abruptly at top speed. I’ve decided I’ll go to the curtain shop after work on Saturday. I’ll try to arrange for the same taxi driver to take me, come in and wait, and drive me back to my flat. I can’t spend a lot of time at the shop because my cleaner will be at my flat and I’ll need to get back to pay him before he leaves.

So now I have my next four days filled up, which is something I try to avoid, but by Monday night, I should [finally and at last] have curtains!