stream of consciousness: on learning Arabic and The College

When did it become November? I suppose autumn is upon us here in Muscat; I don't need to have the A/C on at night and I've seen many people driving with the windows down ... Lately the skies have been cloudy (I think I've cursed myself for exclaiming at the constantly blue sky!), but perhaps that's the tropical depression that's been affecting Dhofar in the South.

Hard to believe that I've been here almost two months; it seems that I've just started on getting things done with setting up my new apartment and all (photos to come) ... it's true; things moved very slowly during Ramadan, virtually nothing of any importance got done (i.e. finding a suitable apartment, setting up appointments with the ministry, etc) and now that I'm nearing the end of the CLEA portion of my grant (CLEA = Critical Language Enhancement Award; a supplement fund that allows for at least 3 months of intensive language study before the start of the actual Fulbright grant), I feel rushed to get my residence card (the ministry only granted me a 3 month visa; I need to have a year-long visa to get a residence card) and to get my research up and running, and doing the things that I tell people that I'm doing here ... inshallah's all around ... and advanced apologies for the profuse usage of parenthetical digressions.

The good news is that I'm once again back into the Arabic groove, as I like to call it. During the year-point-five that had lapsed without any consistent form of Arabic study after graduation from the dearest College (and by consistent, I mean using the language for at least one hour every day for at least 5 days a week), I longed for the daily conversation, greetings, discussions of current events or the every-day hum-drum. I could physically feel my skill level diminishing as I failed to use it (you'd think by working at a place that deals with Middle East issues, I would be hard-pressed not to speak Arabic ... lies! I think the only time I used it was joking around with Abdallah during my internship or greeting Laurie and helping her prep for her beginning Arabic class). Thankfully, I've got not one, but two amazing tutors, two of the sweetest and kindest and most generous people I've met here so far.

On Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays, I trek the 35 km out to Al-Khod (west of Muscat proper, near Sultan Qaboos University) to spend a good two to four hours with Ihsan. She has become like a mother to both me and Liyam, offering advice on marriage (to Liyam, who's a newlywed; and joking around with me, saying that I'm "waheeda" -- like Maha, remember??! -- but I retort by saying, "La ... ana ghayr mutazawija!" ... not lonely, just not married ... ), what to buy for our respective apartments where, and even offering her houseboy (really a 30-something Indian man whom Ihsan has known all his life, she says) to help out with whatever Mr. Fix-it problem arises in our respective houses. I've gotten so much more comfortable in my speaking and even find myself easing comfortably into the local dialect (lord knows it's so much easier to understand than the Maghrebi dialect!). I know that I can carry on a conversation with her about the war in Iraq or the status of women in various Arab countries or the Islamic history of the region (props to Professor Rafeq for extensive background on the latter!). She always brings me and Liyam out to the majlis (sitting room) to chat with whatever visitors she has that day, and as they are always women, I treat each encounter as a piece of my research puzzle ... albeit informal and unofficial. The language barrier is definitely broken during these lessons within lessons, and Liyam and I always converse with the ladies about why we're in Oman, how long we've been here, and in turn ask questions about the various women ... and impress their shy children with our Arabic, of course! ;o) The ones who've visited are Ihsan's neighbors from next door or around the way, and it seems there's a core network of women in the neighborhood who help each other out when needed. (Generosity in whatever form is never short here ... but more on that later.)

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I head to a little piece of home - to the US Embassy - where I spend one to two hours with Buthaina, the resident tutor. Thanks to her, my grammar has gotten sharper (despite the creeping in of the various case endings, silly duals, female duals and plurals ... grr ...), my translation skills have become more acute, and I've been getting used to inserting various transitions instead of "wa" ("and") and learning to use many different sayings to express a single word or thought or idea. (Unlike formal English writing, brevity is discouraged in formal Arabic writing. It isn't unusual to see newspaper articles repeat an idea but in a different form. I remember learning various ways of saying "he died" in various Media Arabic classes ... thank you, Al-Jazeera.) The Embassy is arguably one of the most secure buildings from your start-to-finish experience there, but al-hamdulillah, the guards have recognised me and my schedule so that the time for my security process has shortened significantly (of course, i learned my lesson early on and don't bring whatever prohibited and/or suspicious items with me). Perhaps one day I will muster up the courage to tell the 6-foot-whatever tall, muscularly intimidating (sometimes) Arab man that "I am here to use the Information Center where I have class with Ms. Buthaina" in perfect Arabic ... but for now, I suppose "Saba7 al-khayr" (Good morning) and "Ma3salaama" (goodbye) will do.

Ihsan has praised my progress and has encouraged me to continue my studies in Arabic, saying that a gift will be wasted if I didn't. I remember a similar statement said by none other than our dear Ustaaz Driss (who'll give you a double bagel if you hesitate on an answer) a little less than four (four? really? has it been that long?) years ago. Honestly, if you had told me back then (still unbelievable how time flies by so fast) that I would be where I am now, I'd laugh in your face.

Being the only Fulbrighter who has such an extensive background in Arabic and Middle East Studies, I feel pretty lucky. I'm also really grateful because I know I didn't get here alone. When reviewing grammar points with Ihsan today (luckily, we both don't like grammar ... but we both agree that it's necessary to know all the rules so you can break them), I told her about all the charts and worksheets Professor Eisele would have in his classes and how Noureddine would always insist we read every news article with all the correct vowelings. I also told her about all the cultural exposure we got in the MES program and in the W&M student body in general ... I remember days in Driss' 101 class where he didn't teach us anything about Arabic but rather recalled a story from his childhood or movie nights at the Arabic house when Chahinez would cook copious amounts of food to the starving masses or even those hot summer nights in Tangier when we spent hours upon hours doing our homework just to get to sleep at a decent hour before lessons began early the next morning. I got to know various pieces of the Arab world during my time at W&M and those experiences - though short in the grand scheme of things and compared to the worlds of experience of various Middle East specialists I know - has made all the difference in my getting settled here and my day-to-day interactions with Omanis and non-Omanis alike.

Now if only I can be constantly surrounded by a great and supportive and loving community as I had been at The College. But alas and alack, I found that all too soon after graduation that such a community, with all the chance encounters and friendships and relationships and experiences - academic and otherwise - come only by chance, a once-in-a-lifetime serendipitous moment. It is that moment that spurs other moments and soon the momentum is so great that one may even get to experience something as actually using one's degree in international relations and middle eastern studies ... and ultimately, living one's dream ...

Ah, enough ramblings for now. Nostalgia for The College rarely makes itself known in these blog posts (why would they?) but I suppose now, that nostalgia is warranted. And I think I got a little sappy. Sorry about that - again, I rarely get sappy in blog posts. Next time, I will have to talk about something not-so-sappy ... driving and as-saa'iqeen al-majaaneen fi 3oman (the crazy drivers in Oman). A subject that's actually rather frustrating ...

Till then, I'll just hope for these strange clouds over Muscat to clear away and for the bluer than blue skies to return once more ... I need to go to the beach! :o)