Happy Thanksgiving!

This past week, I had been feeling out of my element ... grouchy and impatient and putzy and just overall, not very happy. The thing that tipped me over the edge was a very strange encounter with a middle-aged Omani man on Tuesday afternoon, when I was asked why i shouldn't have two habibis (boyfriends, essentially ... but "habibi" is a general term of endearment and is also used between parents and children, as well as brothers or close male friends) one in the US and one in Oman (offering himself up as no. 2 ... ew) when i told this man that I already had one habibi in the the US, just to get him out of my hair. I spent the rest of my Tuesday evening a bit unsettled, abandoning all plans to watch the movie "Atonement" (which was out in oman before it hits US theatres!) and sulked in my apartment.

My mood really turned around on Wednesday, when, after my class, Liyam called me up to invite me quite last minute to their overnight trip to Nizwa. "There's a camel race!" Perfect.

We Fulbrighters had all been sent a camel race schedule (it is prime camel race season), and Liyam was told by some of her and Marcus' friends in Nizwa that the final round of a race was to be held on Thursday morning, in the Wilayat of Adam, just outside of Nizwa proper. I couldn't refuse Liyam's invitation and an hour later, we were driving through roads winding through the Hajar Mountains, all the while, I was marveling at just how beautiful this country is, if only for its landscapes and seascapes ... Quite a different experience than driving down the highways of Qatar, where all it really was just sand, more sand and even more sand. We saw an isolated rain storm in the distance (an unusual phenomenon) as the road meandered through the various towns and villages, still situated in the wadis (dried-up riverbeds that can get very dangerous when it rains).

We got to Nizwa in the late afternoon, only to discover that the fort had closed just before our arrival. So we spent the evening in search of food and wandering the souq, which had quite interesting wares on sale ... We all crashed early (relatively so, after being interrupted by honks and cheers of a wedding party outside our hotel and generally being uncomfortable with our hard-as-a-board mattresses ...) to get up in time for the races the next day.

Thursday morning, we meet up with friends Liyam had made on her last trip to Nizwa, Abdullah, As'ad and Mohammed (Abdullah's ADORABLE 3 year old son) We were late, Adbullah said, but off we went, speeding down the road 140 km per hour, in typical Omani style, with the three Americans squished in the back and Mohammed chilling on the armrest between his father and uncle.

The race track at Bushair is about 6km in length and the camels started far beyond our field of vision. For the beginning of the races (we had missed only the first out of six rounds, alhamdullilah), I stayed in the top booth, in actuality, the men's booth, where the dignitaries were sitting (in the front row of course), completely packed with Omani men and general Omani hospitality (all were served Halwa and Omani coffee), save the random group of Chinese tourists blatantly gaping at the Omanis and snapping pictures all around without an utter of a "Sura, min fudlak?" let alone "please?" ... and of course, Liyam, Marcus and I, sticking out like sore thumbs. (Digression: I suppose I was thought of as a "loose woman," despite my body being fully covered, my hair was not, and I had no male accompaniment since Marcus was clearly with Liyam ... Ah well :o))

Abdullah invited us downstairs, and we went straight up to the finish line of the race track, to see the camels come in, and as we waited, we learned a little bit more about the sport of camel racing. It is the sport of the Bedouins, and the camel jockeys have to be small and light to achieve maximum speed (a camel can go pretty fast as I surprisingly found out). Young boys not older than 7 years old at most are the chosen camel jockeys, and it can get very dangerous for them, as they can fall off during the race and get trampled or even die. It's gotten so bad, that in Dubai, camel jockey children have been replaced by robots!

As the camels race around the track, they are followed by a caravan of trucks and 4-wheelers and sometimes buses filled with Omanis yelling and cheering on their favorite camel. (No bets are made during the races, although the winner of the whole race gets a prize, usually cash, but sometimes in big races, they are presented something for the whole audience to see like a car!) It was quite exhilarating, seeing the camels race by, to be stopped by the young boys waiting at the finish line with their sticks (a part of the Omani male traditional dress, a hooked stick used to catch camels) because the jockeys can't control the camel's steering or braking or stopping ... just its acceleration, it seems. After each round, the winning 3 camels of the round are "blessed" with saffron, provided by one of the local Bedu women.

In between rounds, a group of Bedouin men were singing songs and Liyam and I got a chance to speak with the Bedouin women, sitting in their own section (guarded nicely by female members of the ROP). Bedouins speak Arabic, and I try to use my Arabic whenever I can, but their accents were quite different from what I was used to in Nizwa and Muscat and they spoke quite fast, so I could only catch snippets and smile and nod emphatically when they finished speaking. They all wore the traditional burka, a black mask with openings in the eyes (which they say emphasises their beauty) and colorful patterns under their sheer black shawls. They were all very sweet and I really look forward to working with these women in the future as part of my research ...

[that's me on the right! can't you tell? :o)]

After the races, Abdullah took us to the rather large farm of a member of the royal family (who never accepts visitors to the grounds when he is there, Abdullah says, but since we were American visitors, I suppose he obliged). The farm belongs to man called Seyyid As'ad and Abdullah kept joking that it was our friend As'ad's farm ... as I'm sure he wished. The grounds were packed with animals of all sorts (peacocks! flamingos! goats! deer! cucumbers!), and we marveled at the rather large palace that the man built all for himself ... ah royalty and oil money.

Then we all ate a traditional Omani meal at the local school near the race track; the meal was surprisingly camel meat (which is rather good -- Liyam and I both thought it was goat) and we all wondered what they did with the camels who came in last ... But the meal was rather delicious, although Liyam and I ended up sharing a plate with As'ad, who commented on that people were probably wondering why he was eating with two women (Bedouin women don't eat in front of men). There I go again, being the loose woman that I am. The lunch conversation revolved around my ability to speak Arabic ("Mashallah," always the response to the ease at which I converse with Omanis -- alf shukrans to Driss and Prof. Eisele for teaching this amazing skill) and whether or not I was married ... of course. I explained that in America, women marry later in life, and that I am still rather young to get married. And the conversation ended at that, alhamdulillah. (Not that it wasn't uncomfortable being around these men; they're friends of my friends and just absolute sweethearts, and are the epitome of Omani hospitality. They were very respectful, especially As'ad, who I assumed wasn't married ... hence his being the first to ask if I was or not, I suppose ... hehe.)

Afterwards, we passed through Bedouin village which seemed quite deserted, except for the goats of course, and I was encouraged to ask a Bedouin woman where everyone was. She didn't know, but in true Bedouin fashion, we were promptly invited for coffee and dates at her home. (Digression: How ironic that the day before in Arabic class, my teacher and I were discussing a text about the Bedouin ... ) Soon, kids came rushing to the car, eyeing Americans, spouting out English, and duly surprised and happy when they found out Liyam and I spoke Arabic with them. We all went to her courtyard and shared in the tradition of eating dates (always firsts) and drinking coffee (always after the dates, shake your cup politely if you don't want anymore) and fresh fruits. We took our leave and before heading out for Muscat to be in time for Thanksgiving dinner at the American club, Abdullah took us to the ruins in Minah, a crumbling city which the Sultan funded 2 million OMR for the Ministry of Heritage and Culture to restore to its former glory. I seem to have a thing for such historical sites and make up stories in my head about the families who lived in these old rooms, what their lives were like and what they thought about their neighbors ... We all mused at what rooms were used for (some were obviously kitchens and bathrooms), as we all kept precocious watch on Mohammed, who is Mr. Adventure ...

Thanking my new friends for their kind hospitality and for such an enjoyable morning, we jetted back to Muscat for Thanksgiving dinner at the American club, with all the turkey fixin's ... all we needed was a football game! It was nice to have a taste of home and to reminisce about past Thanksgivings in the States. I was quite thankful for that wonderful morning spent in Nizwa with our Omani friends and spending time with our makeshift Fulbright family that evening (we had home-made apple pie at Meredith's! With ice cream! And we listened to Christmas carols! And we put up a [paper] Christmas tree!), knowing that the material comforts of home may not always be the same or found while abroad, but the warmth of friendship and family can always be felt wherever you are. It isn't hard especially being in a country like Oman, where hospitality and family values are ingrained into society, but this past week, I had lost touch of that. Thank God that I snapped out of it and reminded myself that I am here in this country for a reason, and I should be thankful for whatever that reason may be. And in the meantime, I should be thankful for all the gifts bestowed upon me, especially on that day, where I experienced the best of both the American and Omani cultures.