Assalamu Aleikum!
Eid Mubarak to all!
It has been declared that Eid will be on Wednesday 19th December (at least here in the UAE). I'll be flying back to the UK and have been checking out the weather reports. It looks like it's freezing back there. I wonder how it'll feel coming from short sleeves and hot, sunny weather back to winter in Britain.
One of my colleagues at work is a Muslim from just outside London. His mosque has decided to celebrate Eid on Thursday. He explained it to me - the mosque celebrate Eid according to their home country. Now, is this Pakistan or the UK? But irrespective of whether it is Pakistan or the UK how can a mosque not follow what happens in Makka? In the old days before phones, internet, TV etc I can understand that a remote village would have to calculate when Eid was themselves. However, we are in the 21st century!
Masalamah
Yahya
Sunday, December 16, 2007
My first time in Dubai
Assalamu Aleikum!
Since moving to the UAE I haven't visited Dubai. Lots of brothers warned me of how much they hated it when they visited. To be honest everything they have in Dubai I can get in Abu Dhabi and it's closer! So it was going to take a special event to get me into Dubai. That event came yesterday with the final day of the Dubai Film Festival. The festival had a real international feel with movies from Africa, the Middle East and Asia. Not the usual American fare. So myself and a friend signed up for 3 movies over the course of a day including one from Lebanon about last year's war.
The drive up was long and tiring. As we drove towards Dubai I caught sight of the city. The only way I could describe it was like something out of the Wizard of Oz. These massive skyscrapers rising out of the flat sand. Actually on second thoughts it was like a cross between the Wizard of Oz and Bladerunner. Is this what cities will look like in future? Land is plentiful and yet the architects were designing buildings as high as the next. Each building was about twice as high as the ones in Abu Dhabi.
In the malls there was a marked difference with Abu Dhabi. The traditional clothes worn in Abu Dhabi almost didn't exist here. In fact you would never know you were in the Middle East. After a day in Dubai I'm quite glad I live in the desert.
Masalamah
Yahya
Friday, December 14, 2007
He's behind you!
Assalamu Aleikum!
Well, I'm back safe and sound from the panto.
I mentioned in my previous posting that I was off to see a panto at the British Club. Actually the name of the place is The Club. I guess they dropped the British bit off somewhere along the line. But once you get inside it's as British as roast beef. There is a pub which looks like any pub back in the UK complete with Irish folk singers. They serve a mean beef pie and chips. Although the chips were the stringy kind rather than good old fat chips. Other than this the food was excellent.
The panto was a sell out and had loads of laughs. There was a lot of innuendo and I mean a lot. My Arab friends missed a lot of this and I had to explain. They were also a bit confused with the men playing women and the women playing men. But I explained that this was a British pastime - cross-dressing! All in all we all had a thoroughly fun evening out.
Tomorrow it's the Dubai Film Festival and I'm down to watch 3 films in a row. The films look great. They've got lots of Arab films and a few western ones. They're the sort of films you never hear about especially in Blockbusters.
Masalamah
Yahya
Well, I'm back safe and sound from the panto.
I mentioned in my previous posting that I was off to see a panto at the British Club. Actually the name of the place is The Club. I guess they dropped the British bit off somewhere along the line. But once you get inside it's as British as roast beef. There is a pub which looks like any pub back in the UK complete with Irish folk singers. They serve a mean beef pie and chips. Although the chips were the stringy kind rather than good old fat chips. Other than this the food was excellent.
The panto was a sell out and had loads of laughs. There was a lot of innuendo and I mean a lot. My Arab friends missed a lot of this and I had to explain. They were also a bit confused with the men playing women and the women playing men. But I explained that this was a British pastime - cross-dressing! All in all we all had a thoroughly fun evening out.
Tomorrow it's the Dubai Film Festival and I'm down to watch 3 films in a row. The films look great. They've got lots of Arab films and a few western ones. They're the sort of films you never hear about especially in Blockbusters.
Masalamah
Yahya
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Would you Adam and Eve it?
Assalamu Aleikum!
I'm recovered from the excitement of the football match and now look forward to my trip into the city. A few of us from the desert have been invited to the big city to watch a pantomime. It's being put on by the British Club and we have a few friends on the stage. I do enjoy a good panto and thought I might miss out being out of the UK. I haven't been to the British Club yet so I don't know what to expect. I have visions of that scene in Lawrence of Arabia where Lawrence appears out of the desert dressed as a Bedouin much to the disgust of the gentlemen officers in the club.
It's almost the end of this semester and things have slowed down. To help pass the time I've borrowed a few books from my American colleague. They're written by Spencer Wells and concern the Genographic Project. He uses the study of DNA to investigate where we all came from. It's a fascinating read. One of the things he says is that we all originate from Africa from ancestors he calls Adam and Eve. He talks about mtDNA which is passed down through the maternal line. Men and women inherit it from their mothers. Wells goes on to explain that there is a group of mtDNA called haplogroup J. Bedouins in Arabia have a high frequency of haplogroup J as do the peoples of northern Europe especially Britain and northern Germany. It's lower in southern Europe.
So we're all cousins after all!
Masalamah
Yahya
I'm recovered from the excitement of the football match and now look forward to my trip into the city. A few of us from the desert have been invited to the big city to watch a pantomime. It's being put on by the British Club and we have a few friends on the stage. I do enjoy a good panto and thought I might miss out being out of the UK. I haven't been to the British Club yet so I don't know what to expect. I have visions of that scene in Lawrence of Arabia where Lawrence appears out of the desert dressed as a Bedouin much to the disgust of the gentlemen officers in the club.
It's almost the end of this semester and things have slowed down. To help pass the time I've borrowed a few books from my American colleague. They're written by Spencer Wells and concern the Genographic Project. He uses the study of DNA to investigate where we all came from. It's a fascinating read. One of the things he says is that we all originate from Africa from ancestors he calls Adam and Eve. He talks about mtDNA which is passed down through the maternal line. Men and women inherit it from their mothers. Wells goes on to explain that there is a group of mtDNA called haplogroup J. Bedouins in Arabia have a high frequency of haplogroup J as do the peoples of northern Europe especially Britain and northern Germany. It's lower in southern Europe.
So we're all cousins after all!
Masalamah
Yahya
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
There's some people on the pitch
Assalamu Aleikum!
"There's some people on the pitch. They think it's all over. It is now!"
I went to our local professional football team's match last night. We were second to bottom of the league at start of play with only one victory all season. The tension was obvious as we moved towards the stadium. Bus loads of kids had arrived in the yellow buses they travel to school in. The drummers/cheer leaders had settled themselves into the stands next to the glass enclosure that held the shaykhs. Worried looking men were dragging on cigarettes. The player's wife (singular!) fashionably dressed with a headscarf strategically placed over her head took her place in the posh seats.
We had our usual frisk at the gates for any weapons. The police were taking no chances! A little boy of about 3 was frisked as I was. Fortunately no offensive weapons were discovered. Then we took our seats and settled down to a game of 2 halves. By the end of the first half our team was 3-0 up and there the excitement ended. The second half produced no shots on goal but a lot of players falling down injured only to jump up a minute later after the opposition had sportingly kicked the ball out of play.
The final whistle blew and our team jumped into each other's arms. The new Egyptian coach, looking like Gareth Southgate in a smart suit, ran over and congratulated his players on only their second win of the season. As I was watching this the person next to me spotted something else going.
"Look over there! This win means a lot to them."
I followed the direction he was pointing and saw hordes of kids invading the pitch. But rather than the parkas the Hereford fans wore when their team beat Newcastle in the early 70s these kids were all wearing the kandoora (long white shirt). The glee in their faces was palpable. And yet within those gleeful expressions was a look of steely determination. As if they had a greater motive than just celebrating their team's win.
Then it dawned on me. "The balls!"
Too late the footballers realised that they had left the balls that they had been warming up with on the side of the pitch. Each boy made a grab for a ball. Some stuffed them under their kandooras and dashed out of the ground looking like pregnant 10 year olds. Others launched them over the fence to waiting compatriots. By the end of 2 minutes the ground was cleared of footballs.
Free to watch and you get a football to take home with you. I wonder if it'll catch on in the UK?
Masalamah
Yahya
"There's some people on the pitch. They think it's all over. It is now!"
I went to our local professional football team's match last night. We were second to bottom of the league at start of play with only one victory all season. The tension was obvious as we moved towards the stadium. Bus loads of kids had arrived in the yellow buses they travel to school in. The drummers/cheer leaders had settled themselves into the stands next to the glass enclosure that held the shaykhs. Worried looking men were dragging on cigarettes. The player's wife (singular!) fashionably dressed with a headscarf strategically placed over her head took her place in the posh seats.
We had our usual frisk at the gates for any weapons. The police were taking no chances! A little boy of about 3 was frisked as I was. Fortunately no offensive weapons were discovered. Then we took our seats and settled down to a game of 2 halves. By the end of the first half our team was 3-0 up and there the excitement ended. The second half produced no shots on goal but a lot of players falling down injured only to jump up a minute later after the opposition had sportingly kicked the ball out of play.
The final whistle blew and our team jumped into each other's arms. The new Egyptian coach, looking like Gareth Southgate in a smart suit, ran over and congratulated his players on only their second win of the season. As I was watching this the person next to me spotted something else going.
"Look over there! This win means a lot to them."
I followed the direction he was pointing and saw hordes of kids invading the pitch. But rather than the parkas the Hereford fans wore when their team beat Newcastle in the early 70s these kids were all wearing the kandoora (long white shirt). The glee in their faces was palpable. And yet within those gleeful expressions was a look of steely determination. As if they had a greater motive than just celebrating their team's win.
Then it dawned on me. "The balls!"
Too late the footballers realised that they had left the balls that they had been warming up with on the side of the pitch. Each boy made a grab for a ball. Some stuffed them under their kandooras and dashed out of the ground looking like pregnant 10 year olds. Others launched them over the fence to waiting compatriots. By the end of 2 minutes the ground was cleared of footballs.
Free to watch and you get a football to take home with you. I wonder if it'll catch on in the UK?
Masalamah
Yahya
Sunday, December 9, 2007
My little mosque
Assalamu Aleikum!
I live in an apartment next to the local football ground. It never ceases to amaze me that a place as small as my little town has a professional team that plays in the top division of the UAE league. Currently we are second to bottom with just one win this season. But inshallah that will all change as the crowd of about 100 supporters get behind the team.
I mention the team and football ground because this is where I go to pray. Within the grounds is a small mosque. It reminds me of the mosque at Reading University in that it is a portakabin, terrapin or whatever the term is for a fairly basic temporary structure. I guess it is there for the footballers but many local men use it. To get there I walk past all the building work (in UAE there is always building going on!) and over a clump of sand. I pass the gym where all the young lads who want to be Arnie hang out. Then I come by the social club and arrive at the mosque. If there is no football then there are probably about 5 worshippers but if football is on then the whole team is there in their best tracksuits.
The imam is youngish. I would guess in his thirties and often has his son with him. When I arrive I'm greeted with a smile. The imam calls the adhaan himself and leads the prayer. His recitation is carried over loudspeakers so if you're late you know how far through he is.
Many of the worshippers speak fluent English and they seem genuinely pleased to see someone like myself going to the mosque. Before I came to the UAE I thought I would be praying in large, stately mosques with minarets. But in saying that my little mosque is just right because of the warm welcome I receive. As many people say it's not what's on the outside but what's on the inside that matters!
Masalamah
Yahya
I live in an apartment next to the local football ground. It never ceases to amaze me that a place as small as my little town has a professional team that plays in the top division of the UAE league. Currently we are second to bottom with just one win this season. But inshallah that will all change as the crowd of about 100 supporters get behind the team.
I mention the team and football ground because this is where I go to pray. Within the grounds is a small mosque. It reminds me of the mosque at Reading University in that it is a portakabin, terrapin or whatever the term is for a fairly basic temporary structure. I guess it is there for the footballers but many local men use it. To get there I walk past all the building work (in UAE there is always building going on!) and over a clump of sand. I pass the gym where all the young lads who want to be Arnie hang out. Then I come by the social club and arrive at the mosque. If there is no football then there are probably about 5 worshippers but if football is on then the whole team is there in their best tracksuits.
The imam is youngish. I would guess in his thirties and often has his son with him. When I arrive I'm greeted with a smile. The imam calls the adhaan himself and leads the prayer. His recitation is carried over loudspeakers so if you're late you know how far through he is.
Many of the worshippers speak fluent English and they seem genuinely pleased to see someone like myself going to the mosque. Before I came to the UAE I thought I would be praying in large, stately mosques with minarets. But in saying that my little mosque is just right because of the warm welcome I receive. As many people say it's not what's on the outside but what's on the inside that matters!
Masalamah
Yahya
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Spot the difference
Assalamu Aleikum!
The Hajj season is fast approaching and so to help me understand the pilgrimage I'm reading two books written by men who went on Hajj. One is a modern account and the other is a medieval account. There is quite a distinct difference in approach by both men. I thought I would quote from each book and see what you think.
"At dawn on Monday, we sailed from this place, by the favour of Allah Most High, under a light breeze - Allah is the disposer of all things. There is no Lord but He."
"I share with them a love for the great achievements of Muslim civilization and culture, but I can only perform the rites knowing that I act simply for pure pleasure and the desire to understand - with respect, of course, for the pilgrims and their beliefs, but unable to adopt the truths of absolute knowledge they profess."
Masalamah
Yahya
Friday, December 7, 2007
You know Eid is near when...
Assalamu Aleikum!
You know Eid is near when you start seeing goats tethered on the front lawns of the houses.
It's Jummah here in the Empty Quarter and as I made my way to prayers I noticed that many houses had new visitors. There were goats tied to trees eating out of cardboard boxes. They looked calm and serene; oblivious to their fate in a matter of weeks.
The translator at our school is going to perform the sacrifice himself. He's never done it before but he says he has a few brothers who will advise him. Over here in the UAE there are fewer rules with things Islamic (other than Islamic rules of course). I just imagine the bureaucracy involved back in the UK. All because of health and safety.
It puts me in mind of my daughter's aqiqa a few years ago in Wales at one of the New Muslim Project camps. A very good friend from London had bought a farm in rural Wales and was running it despite having no experience in farming. My daughter's aqiqa was performed by his son. I must say how professional he was. And also how well the family ran the farm. The meat was made into a delicious meal for all the guests at the camp. One sister even made our daughter a cake. Truly unforgettable. But despite all this it will be a very long time before I would wield the knife.
Masalamah
Yahya
You know Eid is near when you start seeing goats tethered on the front lawns of the houses.
It's Jummah here in the Empty Quarter and as I made my way to prayers I noticed that many houses had new visitors. There were goats tied to trees eating out of cardboard boxes. They looked calm and serene; oblivious to their fate in a matter of weeks.
The translator at our school is going to perform the sacrifice himself. He's never done it before but he says he has a few brothers who will advise him. Over here in the UAE there are fewer rules with things Islamic (other than Islamic rules of course). I just imagine the bureaucracy involved back in the UK. All because of health and safety.
It puts me in mind of my daughter's aqiqa a few years ago in Wales at one of the New Muslim Project camps. A very good friend from London had bought a farm in rural Wales and was running it despite having no experience in farming. My daughter's aqiqa was performed by his son. I must say how professional he was. And also how well the family ran the farm. The meat was made into a delicious meal for all the guests at the camp. One sister even made our daughter a cake. Truly unforgettable. But despite all this it will be a very long time before I would wield the knife.
Masalamah
Yahya
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Tents and houses
Assalamu Aleikum!
I drove over to visit an imam with one of the Muslim brothers I work with. The imam is from Mauritania and his mosque is on the outskirts of the town. He was friendly and interested in meeting a Muslim from the UK. Unfortunately our conversation was limited as he spoke no English and I speak very little Arabic. He was from Africa but he didn't look African. He looked either Arab or Indian. I wondered about the Arab influence in that part of Africa.
When driving through the town you see lots of big tents outside the houses. This was especially so in the outskirts. The Bedouin have only been in permanent dwellings for a couple of generations and their ties to the nomadic lifestyle are still strong. It reminds me a bit of Gadaffi's tent in Libya. It also reminds me of something I read a long time ago about the Australian govt building houses for the Aborigines and the complaint from the whites that they didn't look after their homes. That they slept outside! The Aborigines were still tied to the land and their nomadic existence.
An excellent book about nomadic lifestyle/Australia is Songlines by Bruce Chatwin. In fact I would rate it as one of my all time favourite books. It has little nuggets like the idea that babies cry when they're not being rocked because in a nomadic culture the baby will always be carried on the mother's back and hence be rocked as she walks. If there is no rocking going on then the adult is not around for protection.
I guess things like the hajj are nomadic experiences. It has always been my dream to do the hajj 'properly' i.e. overland. It always seems a bit of a cheat flying. One minute you're in London and a few hours later you're in Mecca. In the old days doing the hajj took years and was a real achievement when completed. It would be marvellous to recapture some of that in this modern age. Maybe stop over in Bosnia, Istanbul, Damascus etc for weeks at a time.
Getting back to the local Bedouins they will often go to the desert. This includes the kids and it is often a complaint from the teachers here that kids will be absent from school for weeks. They're usually looking after their family's camels. They range over the Empty Quarter into Saudi Arabia and Oman. With it being desert there are no real borders or at least none that you could see. In this day and age with passports and visas it is refreshing to hear of people travelling without these boundaries.
Masalamah
Yahya
I drove over to visit an imam with one of the Muslim brothers I work with. The imam is from Mauritania and his mosque is on the outskirts of the town. He was friendly and interested in meeting a Muslim from the UK. Unfortunately our conversation was limited as he spoke no English and I speak very little Arabic. He was from Africa but he didn't look African. He looked either Arab or Indian. I wondered about the Arab influence in that part of Africa.
When driving through the town you see lots of big tents outside the houses. This was especially so in the outskirts. The Bedouin have only been in permanent dwellings for a couple of generations and their ties to the nomadic lifestyle are still strong. It reminds me a bit of Gadaffi's tent in Libya. It also reminds me of something I read a long time ago about the Australian govt building houses for the Aborigines and the complaint from the whites that they didn't look after their homes. That they slept outside! The Aborigines were still tied to the land and their nomadic existence.
An excellent book about nomadic lifestyle/Australia is Songlines by Bruce Chatwin. In fact I would rate it as one of my all time favourite books. It has little nuggets like the idea that babies cry when they're not being rocked because in a nomadic culture the baby will always be carried on the mother's back and hence be rocked as she walks. If there is no rocking going on then the adult is not around for protection.
I guess things like the hajj are nomadic experiences. It has always been my dream to do the hajj 'properly' i.e. overland. It always seems a bit of a cheat flying. One minute you're in London and a few hours later you're in Mecca. In the old days doing the hajj took years and was a real achievement when completed. It would be marvellous to recapture some of that in this modern age. Maybe stop over in Bosnia, Istanbul, Damascus etc for weeks at a time.
Getting back to the local Bedouins they will often go to the desert. This includes the kids and it is often a complaint from the teachers here that kids will be absent from school for weeks. They're usually looking after their family's camels. They range over the Empty Quarter into Saudi Arabia and Oman. With it being desert there are no real borders or at least none that you could see. In this day and age with passports and visas it is refreshing to hear of people travelling without these boundaries.
Masalamah
Yahya
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Holidays are over
Assalamu Aleikum!
I'm back at work. The 2 day holiday is over and I've returned to a strangely quiet school. Exam season is upon us and the pupils are only coming in for their exams and then going home again. It means that the teachers are all busy with administering the exams, marking the exams or sorting papers. I guess it gives us all the chance to prepare for semester 2 when a lot of hard work will have to happen.
One of the great things about UAE is that with English being so widely spoken there are lots of bookshops selling English books, magazines etc. If you then add to the fact that it's a Muslim country you get loads of books about Islam in English. Suits me fine! I picked up a book translated from the Arabic into English by Ibn Jubayr. I had never heard of him but it appears he was a bit of an Ibn Battuta i.e. traveller. His account tells of his travel on Hajj in 1183 and visiting Egypt, Sicily, Baghdad etc. I'm looking forward to enjoying his accounts of Muslims of that era. One of the things that struck me when reading Ibn Battuta a few years ago was how each Muslim community had kept to the fundamentals of iman but had also developed a separate culture influenced by local surroundings.
The sun is still shining
Masalamah
Yahya
I'm back at work. The 2 day holiday is over and I've returned to a strangely quiet school. Exam season is upon us and the pupils are only coming in for their exams and then going home again. It means that the teachers are all busy with administering the exams, marking the exams or sorting papers. I guess it gives us all the chance to prepare for semester 2 when a lot of hard work will have to happen.
One of the great things about UAE is that with English being so widely spoken there are lots of bookshops selling English books, magazines etc. If you then add to the fact that it's a Muslim country you get loads of books about Islam in English. Suits me fine! I picked up a book translated from the Arabic into English by Ibn Jubayr. I had never heard of him but it appears he was a bit of an Ibn Battuta i.e. traveller. His account tells of his travel on Hajj in 1183 and visiting Egypt, Sicily, Baghdad etc. I'm looking forward to enjoying his accounts of Muslims of that era. One of the things that struck me when reading Ibn Battuta a few years ago was how each Muslim community had kept to the fundamentals of iman but had also developed a separate culture influenced by local surroundings.
The sun is still shining
Masalamah
Yahya
Monday, December 3, 2007
What's in a name? Part 2
Assalamu Aleikum!
I might have mentioned before that I finally moved into my apartment after too long in hotels. In order to make my stay here a little bit more comfortable I've signed up for internet access (fastest they've got) and satellite TV (lots of live football games featuring Chelsea). Each of these comforts require forms, forms, forms.
Signing up for the internet I sit at a desk in the local internet provider's office. Opposite me is a friendly and helpful Arab. He apologises at first for not being used to dealing with British/Americans (we're always lumped together).
"We usually only see Arabs or Indians here."
"No problem. I want an internet account; fastest you've got."
"Ok. Let's see. Your name is....." He looks at a form from my employer. Sadly it's the same form that translated my name into Arabic and back into English ending up as Joey.
"Yahya Joey."
I look a bit perplexed. "The first name is correct."
"Ah, Yahya. That's a Muslim name isn't it?"
"Yes, that's right. I'm Muslim."
"So, your second name is Joey. But that's not Muslim."
I go into the account of my conversion to Islam (edited highlights only) and he looks a lot brighter.
"But just one thing. Joey is not a Muslim name; in fact it's not my name. My name is Guy."
"It says Joey here."
"I know but it's wrong. It should say Guy."
A light appears to go on above his head. "So, what's Joey? Is it a nickname?"
"NO! My name is Guy. It was a translation error." I attempt to explain the English to Arabic to English phenonemon. At the end he says," Joey, Joey. He's in that American comedy Friends. You can get that if you sign up for satellite TV."
I thank him for his help and say that my next task is to sign up for satellite TV where I'm sure to see Joey.
Masalamah
Yahya
I might have mentioned before that I finally moved into my apartment after too long in hotels. In order to make my stay here a little bit more comfortable I've signed up for internet access (fastest they've got) and satellite TV (lots of live football games featuring Chelsea). Each of these comforts require forms, forms, forms.
Signing up for the internet I sit at a desk in the local internet provider's office. Opposite me is a friendly and helpful Arab. He apologises at first for not being used to dealing with British/Americans (we're always lumped together).
"We usually only see Arabs or Indians here."
"No problem. I want an internet account; fastest you've got."
"Ok. Let's see. Your name is....." He looks at a form from my employer. Sadly it's the same form that translated my name into Arabic and back into English ending up as Joey.
"Yahya Joey."
I look a bit perplexed. "The first name is correct."
"Ah, Yahya. That's a Muslim name isn't it?"
"Yes, that's right. I'm Muslim."
"So, your second name is Joey. But that's not Muslim."
I go into the account of my conversion to Islam (edited highlights only) and he looks a lot brighter.
"But just one thing. Joey is not a Muslim name; in fact it's not my name. My name is Guy."
"It says Joey here."
"I know but it's wrong. It should say Guy."
A light appears to go on above his head. "So, what's Joey? Is it a nickname?"
"NO! My name is Guy. It was a translation error." I attempt to explain the English to Arabic to English phenonemon. At the end he says," Joey, Joey. He's in that American comedy Friends. You can get that if you sign up for satellite TV."
I thank him for his help and say that my next task is to sign up for satellite TV where I'm sure to see Joey.
Masalamah
Yahya
Sunday, December 2, 2007
What's in a name?
Assalamu Aleikum!
I've got 3 names or at least I have for the last 17 years. I have my Muslim name of Yahya that I adopted on my conversion, my name of Guy given by my parents and my family name. I had always moved effortlessly between them depending on who I was talking to. At work and to most non-muslims I was Guy; to Muslims I was Yahya and to some people who knew me in both worlds I was both Guy and Yahya.
When you move to the UAE there are lots of forms to fill in and officials to meet (often on more than one occasion). At these meetings my name of Yahya (it's on my passport) is met by confusion. The pale skin and dark hair lead some to think I'm Lebanese until they encounter my poor Arabic. Almost all are even more confused when I explain I'm from Britain (I never explain Wales as it only adds to the confusion!). "But you don't speak Arabic." I patiently explain that there are many Muslims in the UK who are not fluent in Arabic and that I am not some weird aberration from Cardiff. At this they usually scratch their heads as if to say 'Well, I never!'
One notable exception to all this was while in the bank in my little town in the desert. I was with 2 non-muslim colleagues asking about bank cards and the like. The woman serving us was dressed in the full abaya and was helpfully answering all our queries. While looking through our papers she noticed the name Yahya. The confused look started to appear and she said," Yahya, that's a Muslim name."
"Yes, that's right. I'm Muslim."
"Oh really. Well, congratulations!"
Any forms we have in English are always translated into Arabic and there's a thriving industry of translators. While awaiting processing of my application for a UAE driving licence I took a look at a form in Arabic which had been translated back into English. The form included my name and had obviously caused a lot of head scratching by the translator to judge from the scribbling out. My name of Guy had been translated into Arabic but there was no 'G' so the original translator had opted for jeem. Being put back into English made my name Joy. That was the translator's first choice but unfortunately Joy is a female name and I am most definitely male. So he opted for Joey. The only Joey I could think of was the character in Friends. So here I am with another new name. How am I going to break the news to my parents?
Masalamah
Yahya Joey
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Happy Birthday!
Assalamu Aleikum!
I missed a day writing this blog as I was out celebrating. 36 today! Not me, the UAE. The UAE was created 36 years ago and it's currently the school holidays for 2 days at least. Yesterday I ventured into the big city for the first time in a long while. As it was a celebration the local lads went a bit mental and there were cars painted in the national colours, boys sitting on the roofs of speeding cars, confetti being thrown at everyone and me sitting in the longest traffic jam ever trying to get to the mall. The last time I experienced anything like this was when Wales won the 6 Nations and all of Cardiff ground to a halt. In the end I gave up and headed off for the desert at about 11pm. I think I will try again on Monday, inshallah.
Back in the desert the celebrations are altogether more civilised. So on Thursday our little town had a procession of people riding camels and horses, and lots of school kids. Ours had been given the day off so the headteacher had to go around persuading a few to join the procession. But the Scouts were there in full regalia with the scout leader (one of our teachers) marching in front. A Bedouin village was set up for the day with traditional singing and dancing, food (my favourite) and as much coffee as you could drink. Some of the Bedouin boys brought their falcons and explaining the training regime for them. Apparently they only fly in the winter as the summer is too hot for them (interesting fact No 1). The Bedouin women gave me some food that was delicious - a bit like pancakes. At this point the dancers started up and they reminded me of morris dancers - all in white, carrying sticks and skipping/walking around to a set pattern. They danced to songs sung by a line of men. I didn't see it but my guide, the PE teacher, told me that when the women dance they swing their long hair around. He said it's an amazing sight. He's from Jordan and said he didn't really meet Bedouin up there as most people were city-dwellers.
All of the above was for the local Bedouin peoples. A celebration of their culture. There was not one tourist in sight. It's a real privilege to join in with the celebrations.
At the end of the event I went to a building where there was some more Bedouin music going on. As I get to the steps I noticed about 12 policemen spread out in front. I turned to the PE teacher and asked," Are they expecting trouble?"
"That's for the children. Only adults are allowed inside."
I looked at the police with their truncheons at the ready and moved inside. I enjoyed the singing inside and when we all stood for the national anthem the police must have decided to let some kids in. It was just after that I heard a scuffle behind me and saw a young lad bearing a remarkable resemblance to my over-the-wall escapee running across the tops of the chairs with a policeman in hot pursuit. I sighed to myself and thought about my 2 days off and fresh challenges when I return.
Masalamah
Yahya
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tribes and breaktimes
Assalamu Aleikum!
School breaktimes with the Bedouin are an interesting affair. We have 2 breaktimes at the school and no lunch break. We start school at 7am and so finish at 1pm in time for the kids to go home for lunch. The first break is a conventional playtime and the second is given over to Zuhr prayers.
We can usually tell when first break is starting by the camel calls coming from the boys. They have a technique for calling the camels which is a bit like shepherds in the UK whistling to their sheepdogs. Their call sounds more like shouting though. The teachers tell us that the boys love their camels and they love this call. Once in the playground the boys head as one towards the tuck shop. Stationed strategically at the tuck shop are teachers whose job it is to ensure good order in the queues. Queues, I hear you say. Queues and Muslims are not words you're likely to use in the same sentence. But it is our job to try to do just that. Once the queues have been established the boys buy some food. Food on sale include pizza, crisps, falafel & juice. The amount of food consumed is extraordinary. It's not unusual for one boy to have 3 bags of crisps, 2 pizzas and 4 juice drinks. As you can imagine there are a number of overweight boys.
As I was keeping order in the queues one day a teacher turned to me and said,"See that."
"See what?"
"Those boys sitting in groups."
I stared over to where he was pointing and sure enough there were groups of boys sitting in circles on the floor. Each group had about 10 boys.
"That's their tribe. They sit with their tribe."
And he started to name each tribe and the group they were sitting with. I expressed amazement at this and tried to compare it with my old school in the UK. After a long pause the teacher turned to me and said, "They want to be in the desert. They want to be with their camels. This is how they would sit in the desert."
Masalamah
Yahya
School breaktimes with the Bedouin are an interesting affair. We have 2 breaktimes at the school and no lunch break. We start school at 7am and so finish at 1pm in time for the kids to go home for lunch. The first break is a conventional playtime and the second is given over to Zuhr prayers.
We can usually tell when first break is starting by the camel calls coming from the boys. They have a technique for calling the camels which is a bit like shepherds in the UK whistling to their sheepdogs. Their call sounds more like shouting though. The teachers tell us that the boys love their camels and they love this call. Once in the playground the boys head as one towards the tuck shop. Stationed strategically at the tuck shop are teachers whose job it is to ensure good order in the queues. Queues, I hear you say. Queues and Muslims are not words you're likely to use in the same sentence. But it is our job to try to do just that. Once the queues have been established the boys buy some food. Food on sale include pizza, crisps, falafel & juice. The amount of food consumed is extraordinary. It's not unusual for one boy to have 3 bags of crisps, 2 pizzas and 4 juice drinks. As you can imagine there are a number of overweight boys.
As I was keeping order in the queues one day a teacher turned to me and said,"See that."
"See what?"
"Those boys sitting in groups."
I stared over to where he was pointing and sure enough there were groups of boys sitting in circles on the floor. Each group had about 10 boys.
"That's their tribe. They sit with their tribe."
And he started to name each tribe and the group they were sitting with. I expressed amazement at this and tried to compare it with my old school in the UK. After a long pause the teacher turned to me and said, "They want to be in the desert. They want to be with their camels. This is how they would sit in the desert."
Masalamah
Yahya
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The Great Escape
Assalamu Aleikum!
As I sit here with December almost on us in my summer gear of T shirt and sandals one of the things I miss most is the Sunday afternoon film. The central heating would be turned up and I would settle back on the sofa with a steaming hot cup of coffee to watch Steve McQueen try to jump that barbed wire on his motorbike for the umpteenth time. Something about his character in the Great Escape always appealed. Maybe it was his attitude to authority or just the cool clothes and bike. Well, whatever it was that film has to rank as one of my all time favourites.
You are maybe thinking 'What's all this talk about daring escapes from Nazi POW camps?' Here in the middle of the UAE we had our own daring escape plan with me in the role of the German guard. The school I work at is a secondary school and an all boys one. So you can imagine surly Bedouin teenagers whose main aim in life is to avoid work and experience the pleasures beyond the school walls.
It started a few months ago when I was investigating the school property looking for opportunities to improve teaching and learning. I found various hidden corners but the best was an outside playground complete with basketball court, football pitch and volleyball court. It had a strange unkempt quality and so I asked the headteacher about it.
"Is it used?"
"No."
"Why not? It's great. You've got all these hormonally challenged teenagers with energy to run off and here, in the school, are 3 sports they could be playing."
"They escape."
"They what?"
"They escape. They climb the walls and run home."
I thought for a while. Yes, I had seen a high whitewashed wall around the playground. But the wall was at least 10 feet high. Kids couldn't scale that especially our ones who I had never seen break into a jog let alone a run.
Last month we'd put the finishing touches to our sporting programme to get the kids running and make breaktimes a bit more interesting. And yes, we'd decided to use the outside playground as well as the gym. Before the programme I went out to look at the walls one more time and muttered to myself 'Yeah, escape. Over the walls and away. I don't think so!'
The programme was a resounding success. Kids were queuing to join in and behaviour on the playground was much improved. The final day I volunteered to stand guard on the door to the playground to stop kids taking food out and wandering out without sports kit. Now, at this point I must state that there are a number of doors that lead into the playground and a few budding Steve McQueens must have found one, open and unlocked. Before you could say 'Achtung' a group of boys had made their way to a portion of the outside wall which was unseen by teachers supervising the sports. Having many years of practice as a teacher I sensed something wasn't right (it's called sixth sense I think!). I walked swiftly towards the wall in a way only teachers can - remaining in control but going like the clappers. I was just in time to see a foot disappear over the wall but also just in time to grab a Grade 6 Steve McQueen before he pulled himself over. With a firm grip on his leg and his left sandal in my possession I tried to persuade him back into the playground.
"Come down!"
"No!"
" Come down now! I'm not letting you go!"
"Kitab."
"What book?"
A bystander offered some advice. "His books are over the wall."
He shouted a few words over the wall and minutes later his book bag came sailing over. I glanced at the book bag, turned and looked at my escapee who had now jumped down. Finally I surveyed the crowd of boys enjoying the free entertainment on what might otherwise have been a boring breaktime for them. Taking to my new role as camp guard with relish I marched the boy off to the cooler (otherwise known as the social worker).
Later that day the headteacher's words came back to me 'They escape'. They certainly do and it's amazing how agile they are at scaling walls. The next step is to check for any tunnels.
Masalamah
Yahya
As I sit here with December almost on us in my summer gear of T shirt and sandals one of the things I miss most is the Sunday afternoon film. The central heating would be turned up and I would settle back on the sofa with a steaming hot cup of coffee to watch Steve McQueen try to jump that barbed wire on his motorbike for the umpteenth time. Something about his character in the Great Escape always appealed. Maybe it was his attitude to authority or just the cool clothes and bike. Well, whatever it was that film has to rank as one of my all time favourites.
You are maybe thinking 'What's all this talk about daring escapes from Nazi POW camps?' Here in the middle of the UAE we had our own daring escape plan with me in the role of the German guard. The school I work at is a secondary school and an all boys one. So you can imagine surly Bedouin teenagers whose main aim in life is to avoid work and experience the pleasures beyond the school walls.
It started a few months ago when I was investigating the school property looking for opportunities to improve teaching and learning. I found various hidden corners but the best was an outside playground complete with basketball court, football pitch and volleyball court. It had a strange unkempt quality and so I asked the headteacher about it.
"Is it used?"
"No."
"Why not? It's great. You've got all these hormonally challenged teenagers with energy to run off and here, in the school, are 3 sports they could be playing."
"They escape."
"They what?"
"They escape. They climb the walls and run home."
I thought for a while. Yes, I had seen a high whitewashed wall around the playground. But the wall was at least 10 feet high. Kids couldn't scale that especially our ones who I had never seen break into a jog let alone a run.
Last month we'd put the finishing touches to our sporting programme to get the kids running and make breaktimes a bit more interesting. And yes, we'd decided to use the outside playground as well as the gym. Before the programme I went out to look at the walls one more time and muttered to myself 'Yeah, escape. Over the walls and away. I don't think so!'
The programme was a resounding success. Kids were queuing to join in and behaviour on the playground was much improved. The final day I volunteered to stand guard on the door to the playground to stop kids taking food out and wandering out without sports kit. Now, at this point I must state that there are a number of doors that lead into the playground and a few budding Steve McQueens must have found one, open and unlocked. Before you could say 'Achtung' a group of boys had made their way to a portion of the outside wall which was unseen by teachers supervising the sports. Having many years of practice as a teacher I sensed something wasn't right (it's called sixth sense I think!). I walked swiftly towards the wall in a way only teachers can - remaining in control but going like the clappers. I was just in time to see a foot disappear over the wall but also just in time to grab a Grade 6 Steve McQueen before he pulled himself over. With a firm grip on his leg and his left sandal in my possession I tried to persuade him back into the playground.
"Come down!"
"No!"
" Come down now! I'm not letting you go!"
"Kitab."
"What book?"
A bystander offered some advice. "His books are over the wall."
He shouted a few words over the wall and minutes later his book bag came sailing over. I glanced at the book bag, turned and looked at my escapee who had now jumped down. Finally I surveyed the crowd of boys enjoying the free entertainment on what might otherwise have been a boring breaktime for them. Taking to my new role as camp guard with relish I marched the boy off to the cooler (otherwise known as the social worker).
Later that day the headteacher's words came back to me 'They escape'. They certainly do and it's amazing how agile they are at scaling walls. The next step is to check for any tunnels.
Masalamah
Yahya
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Ahlanwasalan (welcome)
Assalamu Aleikum!
One of the things I had no idea about before I came to work with the Bedouin in the UAE was how they greeted each other. I presumed, in my ignorance, that they shook hands and said 'Assalamu Aleikum'. If pushed I might have hazarded a guess that they would hug each other. I remembered reading an anthropological article many years ago that said the Arabs stood closest to each other when conversing. This was out of all the other peoples. If I remember rightly the British stood furthest apart!
When Bedouin men meet they touch noses much like the Eskimoes. It seems to only be the Bedouin as the ex-pat Arabs simply shake hands. It's wonderful to watch two men move their faces slowly together until their noses touch. For a split second they are looking each other in the eye with only an inch or so separating. It seems very intimate and for a good solid Briton a touch too intimate. A firm handshake seems more my cup of tea.
Masalamah
Yahya
One of the things I had no idea about before I came to work with the Bedouin in the UAE was how they greeted each other. I presumed, in my ignorance, that they shook hands and said 'Assalamu Aleikum'. If pushed I might have hazarded a guess that they would hug each other. I remembered reading an anthropological article many years ago that said the Arabs stood closest to each other when conversing. This was out of all the other peoples. If I remember rightly the British stood furthest apart!
When Bedouin men meet they touch noses much like the Eskimoes. It seems to only be the Bedouin as the ex-pat Arabs simply shake hands. It's wonderful to watch two men move their faces slowly together until their noses touch. For a split second they are looking each other in the eye with only an inch or so separating. It seems very intimate and for a good solid Briton a touch too intimate. A firm handshake seems more my cup of tea.
Masalamah
Yahya
Monday, November 26, 2007
Fajr adhan
Assalamu Aleikum!
I've moved to the town and have all facilities close at hand. My apartment is next door to a mosque and I was woken at 5.30am to the call to prayer. Unlike when I lived further out and it came gently over the sands this was much louder and urgent. One of my non-muslim colleagues found it quite annoying - he doesn't appreciate being woken so early!
This evening I sat on the roof of the apartment building and watched a football game between the local professional team and another team I didn't recognise. The view is amazing! I drank tea and let the warm breeze blow over me. It's a far cry from the cold winters in Wales. As I watched the game I also managed to look out over the town. Beyond the town limits are the endless dunes off into the Empty Quarter but within the town are date palm trees and lots of grass being endlessly watered. There seems to be an endless supply of water.
Long before I came to this part of the world I read most of Wilfred Thesiger's books. He was a British explorer from 1940s who travelled with the Bedouin through the Empty Quarter. It was a hard life with little to eat and even less to drink. The Bedouins I work with are descendants of those Thesiger met on his travels. Thesiger's books are well worth reading not only for their insight into desert life but also the insights he provides into Islamic society from this area.
I attach a photo of the view from my apartment.
Masalamah
Yahya
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Maghrib
Assalamu Aleikum
A photo of the land behind where I lived for the first few months here. I could hear the adhan over the dunes and knew it was time for prayer.
Masalamah
Yahya
A photo of the land behind where I lived for the first few months here. I could hear the adhan over the dunes and knew it was time for prayer.
Masalamah
Yahya
First Posting
Assalamu Aleikum to you all
Here I am in the Empty Quarter working in a school with Bedouin boys. When I first arrived here in the summer the heat was unbearable. Getting out of the airport it felt like a sauna. I caught a taxi to the city and had some relief with the air conditioning. But for the next few weeks I couldn't walk outside for more than about 10 minutes without the heat becoming too much. It's now November and the weather is beautiful. It's a bit like a hot summer's day back in the UK. I guess it's about 30 degrees celsius.
Bedouin culture is very traditional. Where I work women generally only venture outside to go shopping and are almost always accompanied by their husband. There is a lot to do for men - gyms, football games to watch or play etc. Talking about football all the matches are free as in you don't have to pay to watch. This is the national professional league as well. I went to one game in the local town/village and the crowd included some African cheerleaders complete with drums. They kept up their beating and singing all the way through.
I might as well mention the reason for the name 'habibi'. I believe it translates as darling or beloved. The locals use it in the way that some Londoners would use 'darling'. If you live here you get called it a lot.
Masalamah
Yahya
Here I am in the Empty Quarter working in a school with Bedouin boys. When I first arrived here in the summer the heat was unbearable. Getting out of the airport it felt like a sauna. I caught a taxi to the city and had some relief with the air conditioning. But for the next few weeks I couldn't walk outside for more than about 10 minutes without the heat becoming too much. It's now November and the weather is beautiful. It's a bit like a hot summer's day back in the UK. I guess it's about 30 degrees celsius.
Bedouin culture is very traditional. Where I work women generally only venture outside to go shopping and are almost always accompanied by their husband. There is a lot to do for men - gyms, football games to watch or play etc. Talking about football all the matches are free as in you don't have to pay to watch. This is the national professional league as well. I went to one game in the local town/village and the crowd included some African cheerleaders complete with drums. They kept up their beating and singing all the way through.
I might as well mention the reason for the name 'habibi'. I believe it translates as darling or beloved. The locals use it in the way that some Londoners would use 'darling'. If you live here you get called it a lot.
Masalamah
Yahya
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