Newsletter 23
21 August 2005, Sunday
Back to the curtain saga. I’d heard nothing from the curtain man since Tuesday, the 16th so on Saturday, yesterday, after work I decided to wait until 6:00 and if I’d heard nothing I’d call him. Well, nothing new happened and I called. I could hear sounds appropriate to curtains being hung in the background and he, after greeting me in the usual lengthy Arab way, which includes asking at least three times how one is, he told me they could not come, they were hanging curtains in a villa and it would take all night. He and his crew would come “tomorrow at this time,” and later assured me they would be here “in 24 hours from now.” I asked probing questions to solicit the information I needed (ala my time as a survey research interviewer) and he promised they would bring the master bedroom curtains “down” and he would bring a “board” to cover the top and someone would come to paint the cooker table. When I asked how they could do the painting here, he asked, “You want they come get it now, paint it, bring it tomorrow?” I was trying to tell him, “Yes, that would be good,” but he rushed on and finally ended up assuring me they would come tomorrow and the man would bring “colors” and come to paint the table, which is now actually a cabinet with a door on the front and a marble slab on the top but I’m not going to try to get into semantics with the curtain man! He kept talking to me in Arabic and I replied to everything I recognized and knew the response to but when he got into unknown territory I called a halt. “You don’t know Arabic?” He asked (he must consider it our inside joke by now because every time he asks that, I always reply, “Shawaya, shawaya Araby” [very little Arabic].
Well, now it’s “tomorrow” at 6:05 and no one has called or come but they will undoubtedly be running on Arabic time if they will come at all so if nothing happens by 8:30 I’ll assume nothing will.
At work today I did get a phone call, however. It was from my cleaner who is no longer coming regularly on Saturdays since Bonnie is back and she is his regular Saturday customer. He had told me he would call when he had time and could come to clean. That was the purpose of his call; he was free today and could come at 4:00. Did I want? I definitely did! So he’s here now and he’s left the master bedroom until last so the curtain people can work in there before he cleans but if they don’t get here before he’s finished I don’t know what will happen about cleaning the bedroom. I guess I’ll have to call the curtain man soon and see what is what.
Now, a few words about men's beards. Most men here wear beards. For the Arab Muslims it apparently has religious significance. The three styles here are either precise, natural, or somewhere in between. Indian men don’t generally wear beards; my cleaner, for example is clean shaven except for a mustache, as is the Indian shelver at the Art Library. Anyway, among the Arab men who don’t let their beards take their natural course, the style is something I’ve tried to covertly observe so as to describe it. I’ll do my best. First, the men have heavy black facial hair. If they shaved completely in the morning, they would probably have a five o’clock shadow at 10:00 in the morning! Anyway, part of the preferred style seems to be the same as that favored by a lot of men in the States right now, hair growing in the mustache area and on the chin, sometimes coming down from the ears to the chin. It is always very precisely cut. Then they’ve added a twist. Above the area of that beard they have another area of beard that is more closely shaven in a definite pattern, kind of like two shallow “U’s” one on each cheek. This area is even more precisely shaved and the line of demarcation between beard and skin is like the difference between night and day. So, there are two lengths of beard on one face and it is really quite fascinating. I have to be very careful that I don’t stare at that shorter length area!
These men do not do their own shaving! La, la, la [no, no, no]! They go to a barber to have it done. I learned this from Brian, a white American, who had a natural sort of beard when he arrived here a week after I did and then showed up at work one day with a precision cut! This is what he wrote in his blog about the experience, “The barber is an Indian, he takes great pride and care in his work. My friend who referred me to him told me that the barber hates it when my friend rushes him. He gave me a great haircut (well, as good as I'm capable of getting) for just 10 dirhams. So I went with my friend the next week, and he said, "you should get a shave." It seemed sort of ridiculous, but I tried it, and it is great. And only 5 to 7 dirhams. To me it is pocket change, but to this man and his family it is a living. And to most of his customers [I think he means expat laborers] I'm guessing that a weekly or monthly haircut and shave are the only 15 minutes of their lives where they are the ones being pampered, instead of the other way around.” BTW, if you are interested in reading his blog, which consists of a series of concise, pithy comments on life here, view it at http://bssandbrninalain.blogspot.com/. Anyway, Brian’s beard was definitely a different creature after the custom shave even though it wasn’t one of the “two tone look” kinds.
National women here are almost always swathed in black when they are in public so one of their only means of expression is wearing flamboyant or classy sandals! They spend a lot of money on footwear and often have some kind of lovely strappy sandals on. Which brings me to this week at Maqam. Yesterday was the first day for students to be on campus. Apparently registration and testing is ongoing
Oops! I just called the curtain man to check if he was coming; it’s 6:39. I could hear a voice in the background and he was not his usual talkative self. I identified myself and he asked only twice how I was, then he said, “I will come to you after ---.” I said, “After what?” He repeated, “After praying. I praying right now. After, I come to you.” Embarrassed, I said, “I’m sorry. I’ll see you soon,” and hung up. Toooo awful! I hope he forgives me. (Actually, I’m in my home office, from which I can clearly hear the Azan when it sounds from the nearest mosque, less than a block away, and I haven’t heard it yet!)
Oh well, back to the Maqam story. There were a fair number of students walking around on campus, all wearing their black abayas (robes) and sheilas (long scarves that cover hair, neck and chin, pronounced “shay-la”). I have to tell you that from the back or side, they look for all the world like nuns in habits! It is almost spooky. Since I’m not Catholic even though I when I was young all nuns wore habits, my visual memory of nuns are from things like seeing the nuns in the convent in “The Sound of Music,” but seeing these girls is very much like that! Their attire and their regular prayer times, their prayer beads and their devotion to their holy book remind me strongly of all I’ve read and movies/shows I’ve seen about cloistered nuns. Anyway, these girls’ abayas open down the front but cross over so that what they are wearing underneath cannot be seen. When the girls are in a place where there are mostly females, such as while walking on campus, they sometimes let the abaya part in the front or allow the wind to blow aside the uppermost side, revealing brightly colored and sometimes surprising clothing. I’ve seen blue jeans, a previously mentioned pink velour running suit, plunging necklines (going so low I’d never wear such a thing!), etc. And then there are their sandals! So, self-expression runs rampant even though it can’t be seen much in public.
Mary Kay was back at work today! It seems like forever that she’s been gone, having left on vacation about two weeks after I arrived. I was about ready to leave Zayed for Maqam when I saw her and we spent about 20 minutes talking in the hallway outside her office before I grabbed my stuff and left to walk out to the main street and catch a taxi. Although I’ve had trouble upon occasion trying to make my Taxi Arabic understood by taxi drivers, no one so far has had trouble when I say, “Jama binat manaseer al Maqam,” one of the longest phrases I’ve used. Jama means university, Binat means girls, manaseer (I think) means something like campus and al Maqam of course is the area of town where it is located and is used to denote which UAEU campus one is referring to.
Ah, ha! Just now the Azan is sounding from the nearby mosque. Sunset has begun to paint the sky to the west. As always, the only words of the Azan I can distinguish are “Allah akbar,” which is often stretched out to take up an amazing length of time and shows off the muezzin’s melodious voice nicely, although he is probably doing it that way for the purpose of having it be beautiful for Allah rather than for personal glory. Anyway, I don’t know what the curtain man’s story is. I dare say I’ll find out at some future time.
Okay, it’s 7:30 now and still nothing. The cleaner is nearly finished with the rest of the flat and asked me if they would be coming. I said yes, but I didn’t know when and he could decide whether to clean the master bedroom last or leave it until next time. The latter idea didn’t appeal to him; he’s a perfectionist. Finally, when they hadn’t come, I told him to go ahead and clean the room. It turned out just as well because when they did come, at 7:40 PM, he had just finished and all the curtain man did was place a strip of veneer over the top of the curtains and tell me to notice in the morning if any light came through. If so, I should call him in the morning; if not, the problem was solved. He said his people will come tomorrow, same time, to bring the curtain “down.”
When he wanted to place the veneer on top of the curtains, he asked for a chair to stand on. I led the way into the majlis and slid out one of my Danish modern half circle chairs and he was amazed! He loved it! He had to sit in it and feel how comfortable it was; he asked where I’d purchased it and how much it had cost. I told him
It turns out that the table is made with Formica and can’t successfully be painted over. I was amazed that such a good quality material had been used to construct it. Then I realized that it was only the strange color on the frame for the marble that had made the overall coloring look so odd. Would it be alright, they asked, to leave the Formica the color it is (kind of a cream yellow) and paint the frame to be the same color as my kitchen cabinets? I said yes. The young man also tried inserting silicone filler between the edge of the marble and the frame but it wasn’t working or something. He spoke at length to the curtain man about it and the curtain man in turn explained to me that tomorrow the painter would bring something like “iron” (that’s what it sounded like) but the gestures he was using indicated something pliable, that would be the same color as the grey veins in the marble. It would look very beautiful, he conveyed, and then confirmed it by repeating it himself. The young man took one of my kitchen drawers with him when he left, for the purpose of matching the colors. During this discussion, the curtain man emphasized several times to the young man that I was his (the curtain man’s) “sister” and used a word that sounded like “omah,” which I guess, but don’t know, means “sister” in Arabic. “I want it to be beautiful for my sister,” said the curtain man. The young man looked at me searchingly, probably to see what could possibly have prompted his employer to refer that way to a Westerner, what could possibly be that special about me.
The young man will return tomorrow with the paint and the “iron” for the table (and with my drawer, too, hopefully!) and with him will come another one of the curtain man’s crew to bring my master bedroom curtains “down.” They will come at the same time as today, about 5:00 (!), after praying, at this same time. So if they actually come, it will probably at about 8:00 and will also be the final chapter in a long, long saga. I think I’ll miss all the circuitous and half-understood conversations and the fun sense of humor of the curtain man.
During all this, my cleaner was finishing up and then waiting to be paid. Finally, I excused myself from the curtain man and the painter and paid the cleaner. They all ended up leaving at the same time but first, I managed to convey to the cleaner that it would be all right if he came to clean on Saturdays after he finished at Bonnie’s if it wasn’t too late. “It be okay?” He asked. I said, yes, even if he couldn’t do the whole place. “Just some?” Yes, that would be fine. He agreed and said he would call if/when he could come. With English and Arabic words of Shukren/thanks and Bukra/tomorrow and Inshallah [God willing], all three men took their leave. It was 8:20, definitely a record short visit from the curtain man’s people. I’ll watch tonight and tomorrow morning for light coming in from above the curtains in my bedroom and let the curtain man know tomorrow if any light seeps through. Maybe, eventually, possibly even tomorrow night at this time, I will finally have a useable cooker table (unless the “iron” has to dry or set overnight) and bedroom curtains that completely block out the light. Bliss!
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