Insanity in Dhofar

Published August 28, 2012 in Muscat Daily. Click here to view the article on the newspaper's website.

Insanity is the only suitable word I can think of to describe the current situation in Dhofar. In case you are living in a bubble or are new to the country, let me enlighten you.

While the rest of the Middle East melts during July and August, the Dhofar region in the south of Oman experiences a very cool and wet monsoon, and our town becomes a tourist magnet. This year the holy month of fasting happened to coincide with our rainy season and this caused a predictable decrease in the number of tourists.

We foolishly assumed that very few tourists would come during Eid because normally people spend Eid with their families, right? Wrong. On the first day of Eid local majlis gossip revolved around the Haima crisis. Apparently there were hundreds of vehicle stranded without fuel trying to get to Salalah and most stations along the desert route were empty. Slowly, traffic became more and more congested in town and you could practically hear the mountains rumble as convoys of UAE land cruisers sped their way into Salalah.

Within a few hours, car rental agencies were out of vehicles and all hotels and apartment blocks were fully booked. Rumour has it that hundreds of tourists spent the night in mosques or under the stars because they couldn't find any place to stay. By the second day of Eid, many locals had rented out parts of their homes or even their entire houses to desperate tourists who were willing to pay anything for a place to stay. Those who weren't able to find accommodation in Salalah sought shelter in the neighbouring towns of Taqah and Mirbat.

By the second day, Salalah was out of basic necessities like milk, bread and petrol. An errand that would normally take five minutes took more than an hour, and UAE licence plates seem to have outnumbered Omani ones at one point.

Police attempted to control the insane traffic with very little luck. The roads leading up into our emerald green mountains and valleys witnessed back-to-back traffic. In fact, ROP officers had to turn people away from popular tourist spots like Darbat Valley and Ittin to avoid a major crisis.

With the exception of one trip to the supermarket early on Thursday morning, I stayed home the entire week and haven't even been into the mountains yet because it is just not worth it. Speaking of that one trip to the supermarket, on the drive from the door of our house to the door of the supermarket and back we counted 592 UAE, Saudi and Qatar licence plates, I kid you not. That doesn't even include all the vehicles from the north of Oman.

Official statistics confirmed nearly 100,000 visitors to Dhofar last week, most of whom arrived by car. Do you have any idea what that means for us? The population of Salalah according to the 2010 Census was a miserable 172,000. This town and its roads weren't at all prepared for a 50 per cent overnight population increase. Locals are jokingly referring to it as The Invasion.

It's nice to see so many people enjoying our monsoon, but I am baffled at how the huge influx of tourists was handled. Were MoT officials snoozing during Ramadan? Millions and millions have been spent to promote tourism in Dhofar. If most hotels and flights were completely booked out in advance, surely someone could have suggested a back-up plan just in case? Temporary sleep cabins like the ones set up for the London Olympics would have been useful. Several hundred of Muscat Municipality's new portable paid public toilets would have come in handy as well. The long washroom line-ups at local mosques last week were insane.

Furthermore, I know this isn't the ministry's fault but someone is going to have to think of a better garbage system. Our beautiful mountains have been littered with zillions of soft drink cans and plastic bags because many visitors haven't been able to grasp the idea of storing trash in the car until you find a suitable place to dispose of it.

I know we like to pretend everything's fine in Oman, but the current situation is just embarrassing and frustrating for locals and tourists alike. Officials are going to have to think of a better way to handle tourism because the numbers are going to increase every year and our economy needs it. A little planning and logical thinking goes a long way.

Bridal Woes

Published April 10, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the article.

Don't be fooled by the title of this column. Fortunately my current woes are limited to work and academia. After five years of procrastination, I decided to dust off my nerd glasses and start a post-graduate degree.

Having just survived my first intensive session of classes, I'm afraid my brain isn't as focused as it should be right now on tackling social issues in Oman. I shouldn't feel too bad, though. The day after my recent column on women's rights was published, it was announced that Oman will be establishing a committee to work with CEDAW to eliminate all forms of discrimination against women in Oman. Coincidence? Who knows!

In the meantime, let me entertain you with a story. On a quiet afternoon a few weeks ago I was packing for a business trip to Muscat. My plan was to be in bed by 8pm in order to be up in time to catch my flight out of Salalah at 5am. My phone rang suddenly and I recognised the number of a bride whose wedding was taking place that same night. When I answered, I heard the frantic voice of the bride's mother shouting into the phone 'We need your help! You need to accompany the bride!'

Accompanying a Dhofari bride is a task usually given to an unrelated female with a vehicle. It involves picking up the bride from her home, driving her to beauty appointments, and then making sure she arrives at the wedding on time. My friend's companion had cancelled at the last moment. It was clear what needed to be done.

Within a few minutes I was on my way. As we loaded her humongous wedding dress into the back of my car, the make-up artist called in a panic demanding we pick up three sizes of fake eyelashes on the way over.

Half an hour and three eyelash shops later, we arrived at our destination. We were escorted by a nervous housemaid through a dark alleyway and into a house hidden in the shadows.

We were then shown into a room with a sofa set and no mirrors. Sitting on a large armchair in the centre of the room was a tough-looking woman who introduced herself as the infamous makeup artist.

On a coffee table next to her sat the largest collection of makeup this person has ever seen. On the floor was a young bride who was receiving the final touches to her bizarre wedding makeup, (think Michael Jackson's Thriller video meets Nicki Minaj). The so-called final touches took over an hour. It was going to be a long night.

For the next three and a half hours (I kid you not) I watched the woman plaster my friend's face and shoulders with white paint then proceed to use every colour of the rainbow on her twitching eyelids. Towards the end of the session, we got into an argument about the amount of glitter I was allowing her to apply to my friend's face. She wouldn't take no for an answer. The makeup scene ended at 11pm with the artist running down the hall behind the bride with a pot of glitter swearing she'd apply 'just a little more!' We escaped just in time.

The next two hours were spent with the hair stylist who ran an illegal salon business from her spare bedroom. I watched her glue my friend's hair to her scalp then attach a huge wig using what looked like 100 hair pins. She then proceeded to curl every single lock of fake hair using an entire can of hairspray and a curling iron. By the time we left, it was 1am.

We finally made it to the hotel only to discover the wedding photographer had failed to show up. The patient groom was sitting in the parking lot in his car counting the hours. As we helped the bride into her dress, it became apparent that I would have to be the spare wedding photographer as I appeared to be the only person among the 400 guests with a professional camera.

To cut a long story short, I managed to get home at 3am. I had 30 minutes before the airport check-in counter closed. Fortunately, I decided to be sensible. I called Oman Air and postponed my flight to the week after. I then sent explanatory e-mails to my colleagues who were expecting me in Muscat.

And that, my friends, is what most brides go through on their wedding day here in Dhofar. Not a very happy occasion, don't you think? My ordeal was a harsh reminder of why I removed myself from the Dhofari wedding scene several years ago. Never again!

The Lunch That Never Was

Published January 31, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view article.

Today you must bear with me. I will be complaining about an attitude that a large percentage of my Omani family, friends and colleagues suffer from. Foreigners living in Oman joke about it online and behind closed doors. Even Omanis sheepishly admit it's a problem. Before you read any further, keep in mind that I suffer from mild Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It's the small details that drive me crazy. I'm going to give you a list of scenarios that I had to live through in the past fortnight, and you help me pinpoint the problem.

Scenario One: Last week I arranged a workshop for 40 Omanis to attend. I booked the venue, arranged the menu, and sent out invitations. I also called all participants the day before the event to confirm their attendance. They all knew attending was mandatory.

On the day of the event, 25 people showed up on time and another five strolled in an hour late. When I called the missing ten their excuses were as follows: three forgot, two went to the wrong venue, four never bothered to come, and one was busy at the fish market. None of them bothered to let me know they weren’t coming.

Scenario Two: Last weekend a relative of mine got married. The bride's family announced they were slaughtering a goat and having a low-key wedding lunch. I was asked to make a wedding cake and 100 cupcakes as a favour. Never one to turn down an opportunity to bake, I happily agreed.

The day before the wedding I spent six hours in the kitchen making the cakes. On the morning of the wedding I woke up bright and early and spent another six hours decorating the cakes. I was proud of my work.

An hour and a half before lunchtime, the freshly cooked goat and rice arrived early from the catering company. The family decided that having fresh hot rice and meat was more important than the wedding luncheon, so they sent around trays of rice to all the invitees' houses instead of having them over. Lunch never happened. I never got an explanation or an apology.

Scenario Three: A college student who requested an internship in my office refused to start this week. Her excuse? She needs to catch up on sleep because a five-day break between the last day of exams and the first day of her internship just wasn’t enough.

Another student showed up on the first day, then never came back again and won't answer her phone. A third student had the audacity to ask if he could just skip the internship altogether but receive a certificate of attendance anyway in order to graduate.

I can think of endless other incidents of a similar nature that I witnessed in the past few weeks alone. Sometimes I find the attitude charming and try to convince myself that Oman is one of the very last nations on earth where people are still laid back, and that I should appreciate it while it lasts.

Occasionally I find it deeply amusing. Lately, however, I've been finding this lack of urgency and accountability simply irritating.

I questioned several Omanis about this recently and their only explanation was, “It's part of our culture.” I couldn't agree more. It is part of our culture and has been since the 1970s when modern life was handed to us on a silver platter. However, do we really want it to remain part of the culture? Are we proud of it? I'm certainly not.

There may be plenty of productive and professional Omanis out there, but they remain a shining minority. A large percentage of Omanis my age really do not understand the importance of proper work ethics, commitment, and most importantly the value of others' time and their own. It may be unintentional, but that doesn't justify a thing.

On a final note, in case you were wondering what happened to all the cupcakes from Scenario Two, rest assured that I made two neighbourhood soccer teams very very happy that afternoon.

The Salalah Shuffle

Anyone who flies Oman Air regularly between Salalah and Muscat will immediately know what I’m talking about. Someone had to write about it eventually. It’s just too comical to ignore.

Last week I was in Muscat and on my last day I had to attend an all-day meeting then immediately head to the airport to catch my flight back to Salalah. By the end of the day, I was exhausted and looking forward to a smooth flight home.

I checked in early to make sure I was guaranteed a window-seat, and the woman at the business class counter cheerfully confirmed she had secured it for me. I thanked her profusely and headed off to the superb Oman Air business class lounge; one of the perks of being a loyal Sindbad Silver member.

If my air miles were credited to my account accurately, I’d probably be Gold by now, but I don’t mind. I’m a pretty content flyer as long as I get my window seat. Did I already mention that?

When I reached the designated gate for my flight, my heart began to sink. I counted at least 20 veiled women waiting at the gate. This could only mean one thing; The Salalah Shuffle was bound to happen. Despite my intense prayers as we boarded the flight, luck wasn’t on my side that night. A very large veiled woman was planted firmly in my seat when I arrived.

I sighed and handed the cabin crew member my boarding pass. Without batting an eye, she directed me to an aisle seat a few rows down. I told her I had specifically requested a window seat but she repeated again that I had to move to the aisle seat.

I gritted my teeth and settled down in the new seat. I didn’t bother putting my bags up in the overhead bins because I knew I’d be shuffled at least one more time before the flight took off.

Within a few minutes, a tired looking man arrived and informed me that I was sitting in his seat. I stood up and apologised, explaining my situation. He nodded and confirmed that he was familiar with the Salalah Shuffle.

After consulting a cabin crew member again, I was shifted to yet another seat. By this time, all hell had broken loose on the flight. There were stubborn women blocking the aisles because they refused to sit next to any strange man. Other women had simply taken over empty seats and refused to move, as was the case with my precious window seat.

Honourable men jumped up from their seats and swore they’d give them up for any woman. Frustrated tourists were trying to understand what was going on. Cabin crew members were frantically trying to seat and re-seat everyone so the flight could take off on time.

And that my friends, is the Salalah Shuffle.

After being moved three times, I was finally assigned a middle seat at the back of the plane between two annoying people who hogged the arm rests the entire flight. Boy was I glad to get home that night!

If you’re not familiar with the Salalah Shuffle and think I’m exaggerating, rest assured that I’m not. I have been on over 35 flights between Salalah and Muscat in the past twelve months. If I’m not qualified to write about this, then I don’t know who is. I am a survivor. With every flight from Muscat to Salalah I am prepared for the inevitable chaos that will surely ensue.

Sometimes I’ll be settled in my seat when a cabin crew member will approach me and beg me to change seats because a stubborn woman somewhere is refusing to sit next to a man and somehow I look like a friendly person who doesn’t mind switching seats.

Most of the time I’m happy to oblige because I feel sorry for the flight’s cabin crew. The Salalah Shuffle is a bigger nightmare for them than it is for people like me.

You may be thinking cabin crew should just be stricter with their arrangements. That’s true. However, when an elderly woman (or several!) has taken over someone else’s seat and refuses to move, how do you deal with a situation like that?

You can’t delay the flight or force her to move. It simply doesn’t work. Shuffling and re-shuffling passengers is extremely frustrating and a complete waste of time. Furthermore, for security reasons I assume it’s important to have people seated in their designated seats.

Why not look for a win-win situation? Society in Salalah is still very conservative and I fully understand women’s hesitation to sit next to a strange man. My humble suggestion to Oman Air at this point is to unofficially dedicate the back few rows of every flight between Salalah and Muscat to women. Surely that can’t be too hard, right?

Whenever a woman checks in, send her to the back. It’s the same as dedicating the first row to women with babies. There’s a logical solution to any problem, and as far as I’m concerned the Salalah Shuffle has gone from being deeply amusing to plain annoying. Makes you wonder how Saudi Arabian airlines function!

Published December 20, 2011 - Muscat Daily

Monotonous Ribbons

PS (I wrote this immediately after the ridiculous women's event I attended. I was furious. And yes the guest of honor yet again was the Minister of State, HE Sheikh Mohammed Marhoon Al Mamari)

It all started when I was six years old. My first grade teacher would excitedly announce to the class that our school was having an event.

We would be forced to make posters and tidy up our classroom to impress a certain guest of honour who would be visiting our school. A makeshift stage would be set up, speeches would be written, and trash would frantically be collected from the school grounds.

Someone with wasta would contact Oman TV and beg them to send a cameraman to document 'the event'. Someone else would contact the newspapers and ask them to send reporters.

The guest of honour in most cases would be an Omani man, usually between forty to fifty-five years of age. He was almost always a senior government official, be it the Minister of State or the local municipality head.

He would arrive dressed in a crisp dishdasha, khanjar (dagger) and holding a fancy walking stick. The prettiest girl in class was usually chosen to hold the cushion on which lay a pair of shiny new scissors which His Excellency would use to cut the red ribbon at some student exhibition that was put together mostly by teachers.

He would nod and smile as students nervously explained the projects and posters their teachers had made to impress the guest of honour. After a quick tour and obligatory photographs, he would be rushed out by his entourage and it would all be over.

Did the event accomplish something? Was it organised? Not really. However, it didn't really matter as long as we made it to the second or third page of the newspaper the next day.

In college and high school, student clubs would snooze all year and then there would be a sudden burst of activity when the administration announced an 'event'. These events involved the usual red ribbons, long pointless speeches in flowery Arabic, tired dignitaries, and many exhibitions put together in a hurry to please the chosen guest of honour.

A few days later, an awards ceremony would be held to honour the students who participated in the frantic assembly of pointless exhibitions for the first event. The ceremony of course included the obligatory checklist of Omani red-ribbon protocol in addition to cheap gifts wrapped in shiny Christmas-theme wrapping paper.

Twenty years later, I'm still trying to figure out why we continue to organise such events. They involve no creativity or passion, and most certainly no humour at all. I mean, heaven forbid should we ever make our guest of honour laugh, right?

To me, these occasions fall under the category of 'Omani Red Ribbon Events' .i.e., events with lots of pomp and ceremony but very little content. Over the years, I'm pretty sure I have attended over one hundred events of similar nature, and on every single occasion I ask myself 'why am I here?' I know not all Omani events are as boring as my description, but almost 99 per cent of the ones I've attended were.

A couple of weeks ago on the occasion of National Day I was invited to attend an event honouring women from Dhofar. The invitation card stated that one hundred women from this part of the country would be honoured for their achievements and contributions to society.

I put on a fancy abaya, grabbed my notebook and pen and headed to the event. For the first time ever, I was actually excited to attend an Omani red-ribbon event.

I arrived at the venue and was immediately told I couldn't go in through the main door because women went in through the side entrance. I thought that was a little odd considering the fact that the event honoured powerful women.

Nevertheless, I didn't make a scene and quietly moved myself to the side entrance. In the gender-divided ballroom, I managed to find myself a seat with a good view of the stage and the audience.

As we waited for latecomers to arrive, I was able to survey my surroundings. Over a hundred male guest officials looking uncomfortable in their khanjars, tired looking cameramen, and the familiar table with a mountain of gifts wrapped in shiny gift-wrap.

Nearly an hour later, the guest of honour arrived with his entourage and took his seat in front of the stage. The first five-minute speech felt like an hour. The second speech felt like ten hours. People began to play with their phones and stare at the ceiling. I began to lose hope.

When the final speech ended, I clapped half-heartedly along with everyone else and waited for the exciting part. When the master of ceremonies finally appeared with a list of names and the guest of honour was invited onto the stage, I sat upright.

The first name was read, then the next, and people began to turn around and look at each other in confusion. It finally hit me that they were going to quickly read out a list of names without indicating who the women were and what they had done to deserve the award.

The names were being read so fast that at one point there were about ten women congregated in front of the tiny stage trying to figure out whose turn it was. After about eighty names, it was abruptly announced that the event organisers were handing the guest of honour a trophy.

Camera flashes went off and reporters gathered around the stage. Before the forgotten twenty women or so could object, dinner was announced and everyone stood up. One of the organisers unapologetically told our table that someone had lost the last page of names. Disappointed, I left the event.

Despite the event being wrong on so many levels, there was plenty of media coverage over the next few days as expected and the event was even featured on the news!

Till today, I have not been able to discover who those women were and what their contributions were to society. Perhaps I'll never know. What I do know is that the event was a replica of all the other pointless events I have attended over the years. If you want to renew my faith in Omani event management, invite me to something interesting. La fin.

Published December 6, 2011 - Muscat Daily

Maniacs Galore

A couple of days ago I was driving through downtown Salalah as usual, on my way home from work. As I neared a major intersection, a 25 seater bus passed me dangerously on the left in order to speed through the intersection before the lights changed.

I could tell from a mile off that there was no way either of us would make it and as I predicted the bus braked suddenly at the lights and slowed down. When I drove up, I noticed the bus was full of small children in school uniform. Some had their arms and heads hanging out of the huge open windows and others were hanging out of the door.

I thought I must be hallucinating, so when the light turned green I followed the bus through town until it slowed down to let a couple of kids off. To my utter astonishment and horror, the idiot behind the wheel was driving with the bus door wide open. A child who looked no more than six years old was sitting on the fold-out chair right in front of the door.

One tiny accident or even an encounter with a rough speed bump and that child would have been tossed out of the bus. I felt nauseated, so I pulled over but the bus sped off just as I was taking down its details. I called the emergency hotline and the efficient ROP officer who answered after the first ring told me to write down the licence plate number and file a complaint at the nearest police station.

I have seen thousands of maniacs on the road in my short four years as a driver, but that school bus driver takes the cake for utter recklessness and stupidity. After consulting with family members, I decided to first find out which school the bus belongs to. Salalah is a decent-sized town but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to locate the bus. Once I find out, I will pay the school principal a visit and then report the driver to the police depending on the outcome of my visit. I won't let this rest until I make sure those innocent children's safety is addressed.

Do you think I'm over-reacting? Unfortunately, I have seen enough car accidents and corpses these past few years to last me a lifetime. A couple of years ago I was in Muscat for a photography workshop. Just after sunrise, I was standing at my hotel room window trying to get a shot of the mountains when I noticed through my viewfinder a little blue car going at an insane speed down the road.

The car hit the kerb, flipped over six times and crashed a few metres away from my window. The body of a young man flew out of the car and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. Clearly hadn’t bothered fastening his seatbelt that morning. As people ran out of nearby shops and restaurants to help, I just stood there feeling numb and continued pressing the shutter button. It was all I could do.

For an hour, I stood there taking shot after shot. I watched as the restaurant owner checked for a pulse and shook his head. I watched as the police and ambulance arrived. I watched as they loaded the corpse into the ambulance and as the father of the young man arrived and identified the body. I watched as he stumbled out of the ambulance and covered his face with both his hands, sobbing.

The police officer touched his shoulder gently and offered condolences. I watched as the ambulance drove off and as he gathered his son's things from the car. I watched him leave just as the tow truck was arriving to take what remained of the car away. The last shot I took was of the municipality cleaner in orange uniform sweeping up the shards of broken glass from the sidewalk. All it took was an hour and life on that street went back to normal…except for me. All I could feel was a deep emptiness. I had watched someone die.

Since that day, my driving has never been the same. Every time I leave the house, I prepare to die. Pessimist? Not really. I'm just being realistic. I'm a very careful driver and I never speed, but apparently that doesn't matter here. No matter how careful you are in Oman, there are enough maniacs on the road to ensure your chances of getting killed on your way to work are high.

I see a car accident at least twice a week during rush hour. I also spot at least five or six people talking on the phone while out driving at any given time. As for speeding, I won't even begin to count the number of speed-crazed delinquents who cross my path every day. The number of road accidents in Oman has been increasing at an alarming rate. Every year hundreds of people die in car accidents, but people just don’t seem to get it.

When are Omanis going to wake up and realise how many lives they endanger every day with their reckless driving? We need higher fines and a strict point system where drivers lose their driving licence temporarily or permanently depending on the number of points in their traffic offence record. Road safety is a collective responsibility. From time to time I look at those photos to remind myself of the fragility of life. I’ve had my wakeup call. What about you?

Published October 25, 2011 - Muscat Daily

Customer Services Woes

I like to think of myself as the ideal customer. I'm easygoing and I always make sure to thank all customer service representatives with a smile. When they're being rude or seem irritated, I assume they're probably having a bad day and I go out of my way to be even nicer. In supermarkets I smile at the employees who stock the shelves, I package my own bags, I thank the cashier, I wheel my groceries to the car, and I return the basket to the basket rack.

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If a helpful employee insists on carrying my bags to the car, I tip them generously and make sure to thank them at least three times. If someone puts me on hold or keeps me waiting for a long time, I do not tap my fingers on the counter or complain loudly. I look outside and admire the clouds. I believe in the Golden Rule.
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Every once in a while I come across a customer service representative or a cashier in Salalah who actually takes a second out of their time to smile back or say 'you're welcome' when I thank them. When such an incident occurs, quite often I'm so surprised it takes me a few seconds to react. Remember, this isn't Europe or North America where clerks usually want to chat about the weather.
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I go out of my way to be extra polite to people every single time I walk into a store in Salalah. However, 99 per cent of the time I never get a response. I'm fine with that. I just continue doing what I'm doing hoping perhaps that one day, someone will smile back. Last week, however, I reached the end of my tether for a few moments. I debated whether to write about this, but the situation was so ridiculous that I decided I had to.
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I walked into one of Salalah's major supermarkets after work last Monday, grabbed a basket at the door and proceeded to tick items off my shopping list. During my 8.5 minutes of shopping, an employee who was stocking shelves dropped a tin of hummus on my foot without apologising. I bit my tongue, picked it up, smiled at him, and placed it back on the shelf. At the vegetable counter, I thanked the person who priced my vegetables. No response. At the cashier, I let an irritated older man go first because I could see he was in a bad mood. The female cashier literally tossed my items at me as I packed my bags then she threw my receipt and change at me without looking. I thanked her but she ignored me. There was no one else in line, so she could have tilted her head just a little bit and responded, right? Wrong. She just had to go back to gossiping with her colleagues.
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I placed my bags neatly in my basket and began wheeling it towards the door when I heard someone shouting loudly ‘Stop! Where are you going with the basket?' Along with several other people nearby, I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around. An Omani male employee wearing the store's uniform was marching towards me shouting that I am not allowed to take the basket one step further. I asked him patiently how he expected me to get my groceries to the car. He said 'this is the store's property. You are not allowed to take it out'.
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I began to feel my blood pressure rising, so I informed him politely that I would wheel my groceries to my car, and then return the basket to the place I picked it up from. Seeing how irritated I had become, he tried to convince me that he was joking. By then a crowd had gathered to watch the argument, so I just wanted to get out of there. He tried to take the bags out of the basket and help me carry them but I just grabbed them and left. I haven't felt that angry in ages. What on earth was he thinking? Every single major supermarket on the planet lets you wheel your shopping basket out to the car, right? I don't care if he was serious or joking. All that matters is that he shouted at me in front of at least fifty people and accused me of doing something illegal.
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I can handle crappy customer service most of the time, but as a human I'm allowed to complain every once in a while. Everyone knows that Oman is lagging far behind in the field of customer service. I know it’s not part of the culture to be friendly and nice to random people, but that has got to change. Banks, post offices and other service providers in Oman deserve an entire column of their own.

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To be fair, not all of them are as bad as the guy at the supermarket. If I were a typical customer, I'd probably report him to his managers, tell my male relatives, and use all the wasta I can sum up to make sure he loses his job. Lucky for him, I’m not that difficult. I'll just stick to this column! If you deal with customers regularly, please go out of your way to be nice to them, and if you're a customer, please go out of your way to do the same to the cashier at your local supermarket. We're all human beings who need to be appreciated.
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Note: my shopping cart story took place at Lulu Hypermarket Salalah, but I did not add that detail to my newspaper column. 
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Published - Muscat Daily - September 13, 2011

WASTA: Vitamin W, Oman's Hidden Force

Are you tired of standing in line at the ROP office to get your housemaid's visa renewed? Do you want to receive a humongous salary without doing any work? How about getting your lazy son a job at one of the country's most prestigious organisations without so much as a job interview? You can have all of the above. It's easy, trust me. All you need is one tool wasta.

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I don't think there is one person in Oman regardless of their nationality who isn't familiar with the word. Also nicknamed Vitamin W, wasta can have several meanings, but I think the easiest way to define the term is 'using someone’s influence to achieve certain objectives.' This can include anything from expediting official paperwork to passing your exams.

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It is arguably the most valuable form of currency in much of the Arab world, far more effective than bribes, and sometimes more effective than laws and rules. For many it is more important than anything you can put down in your CV. It has become so effective that most people now feel that getting anything done smoothly and quickly requires wasta. In Salalah, everyone seems to have wasta. The reason for this, I'm sure, is that tribal connections are stronger here in the South.

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I've been trying to write about wasta since I first started this column in 2009. Due to the sensitivity of the issue, I decided to spare my mother the worry and avoid the subject. However, now that there are protests all over Oman demanding an end to wasta and financial corruption, I'm guessing it's safe to briefly highlight the issue.

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It's embarrassing to think that one of the first words non-Arabs pick up when they get to Oman is 'wasta.' It all starts with getting your apartment, car, driver’s license, labour card, phone number, etc.

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You may even start convincing yourself that it's harmless. Don't be fooled. It may be useful sometimes, but have you thought about the damage it can do to those who don't have it? An example of such damage would be a straight A student from a poor family in the interior whose well deserved government funded scholarship to the UK was taken by some rich kid with the right connections.

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I went through a brief stint in recruitment a few years ago , and I absolutely hated the job. For example, we would interview five qualified young men for a job, and one of them would outshine the others completely. Naturally, the recruitment team would immediately recommend that person for the position. However, things would change overnight, and a sixth name would mysteriously appear on the list.

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After doing a little research, we'd discover that he's the son of the boss' cousin's friend. No, he's not qualified, and yes, he gets the job. That's how wasta works. I don't think I can ever go back to the field of recruitment in Oman, simply because I cannot stand to see another bright candidate get turned away yet again because he doesn't have the right connections.

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Not only is it unfair to all the job-seeking qualified candidates out there, but it also creates an incompetent workforce. In a competitive world, wasta should no longer be relevant, but sadly it still is.

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Each one of us has, at one time or the other, needed help to get something done quickly. Some forms of wasta are mostly harmless, like arranging for a private hospital room for your mother or getting a cool license plate number for your car. That happens all over the world. However, the minute it begins to control big things like whether you get a job or skip your jail sentence, it becomes unfair.
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Wasta is an ingrained phenomenon in our society that will take generations of hard work to eradicate. However, I choose to remain optimistic. With the recent movement for change in Oman, I'm sure many wasta-related cases will be brought to light.

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In the meantime, I encourage you to get rid of wasta in your own personal dealings. Stand up to people who believe that their family name entitles them to concessions, and have a little faith in rules and procedures. I'm willing to sign a pledge to give up wasta for good. Who will join me?

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Published - Muscat Daily - 10/05/2011

Why The Black Abaya?

Published February 8, 2011
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Have you ever wondered why women in Oman and in the GCC wear the black abaya? I certainly have. We started off pretty well. Take a look at photos from Oman in the 1960s and 1970s. Women wore modest, traditional and colorful clothing. I’m not quite sure when the black crept its way into Oman, but many people blame Iran and Saudi. Today, the concept of the black abaya has become so engrained in our society that we can’t imagine our lives without it. Most girls in are told by their families to start wearing it when they turn thirteen or fourteen and are stuck with it for life. Once you start, there’s no going back. 

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I started wearing an abaya in grade eight because all the girls in my class wore it, and I didn’t want to stand out. Now, ten years later I can’t even drive to my sister’s house down the street without putting it on. Why? Because I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t wear it. I feel as if I’d be committing a crime against society by not wearing it. In fact, I’m pretty sure society here in Salalah would also feel I’m doing something wrong, and someone would surely feel the need to report my scandalous behavior to someone from my tribe!   

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 I asked my male colleagues (regular victims of my random feminist outbursts) why they think women should wear the black abaya.  Most said girls must start wearing the abaya when they reach puberty to protect their 'reputation'. I asked them to explain what they meant by that but they just went around in circles repeating the argument about reputation. A couple of others believe society looks down upon girls who don’t wear it. My favorite answer was from a guy who said men wouldn't be able to concentrate at work if their female colleagues wore colors. Really?! 

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Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not against the abaya at all. In fact, I love wearing it. It’s practical and comfortable and I can wear whatever I want underneath it. Furthermore, it’s extremely fashionable. Black happens to be very elegant especially when studded with jewelry or adorned with silver or gold linings and other designs. The cost of abayas can range from twenty to two or three hundred rials depending on the detailed hand embroidery, designer brand, and crystals. Wearing the abaya is also an easier way to cover up without having to worry about coordinating an entire outfit. On the other hand, it gets dirty easily, gets stuck in the wheels of my office chair at least twice a day, and is a constant tripping hazard. Furthermore, during the summer the abaya becomes your own personal heating pad. Black absorbs heat like a sponge absorbs liquid.

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 So, why do we wear it? Because we’ve gotten used to it and are afraid of what people will say if we don’t? Why the obsession with conformity? Society in Oman has always had a problem with anyone different, more so here in Dhofar where it’s almost taboo to stand out of the crowd, especially for females. As a young woman who practically worships individuality, I find this very hard at times. I'm sure many young women out there share my sentiments. 

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 From a religious point of view, wearing black isn’t strictly required by Islam. Muslim women should wear loose fitting and modest clothing that covers the body. Can that not be achieved with green or purple? I knew a woman here in Salalah who made beautiful colored abayas and tried to market them to the local women a few years ago but most claimed their husbands would never let them. The word ‘let’ is what gets on my nerves. Abayas are beautiful, but every woman should have the right to choose whether she wants to wear it or not.  What concerns me is that girls all over Oman are being forced to wear black from a young age by their families. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a little color. In Muscat, things have changed and it’s not uncommon to see women in color but as for the rest of us, black rules. I don’t predict any changes in the near future in Dhofar because we haven’t even started tackling the issue of the black face veil, let alone the abaya!  Goodness knows how long it’ll be before women here can start choosing what they want to wear. Food for thought…

Holiday Woes

Published January 4, 2011
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On New Year’s Day 2011 a beautiful little country on the Indian Ocean woke up from a very long and blissful snooze that started on the first day of Ramadhan. I may be exaggerating a little, but it seems to me like we've had nothing but holidays and celebrations since August!
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During Ramadhan it was almost impossible to get any work done due to shorter working hours and non-responsive fasting employees. Then it was Eid Al Fitr for a week. Next came the heavy preparations for Oman's 40th National Day celebrations in every village and city in Oman. That meant most children in the public schooling system were out of school by 11 a.m everyday. Many adults participating in the celebratory events were also given time off work. We were then hit with more holidays for Eid Al Adha followed by a long series of National Day celebrations. Should I continue or is this becoming overwhelming? The holidays for the new Islamic year at the beginning of December were extra-long and after going back to work for a little over a week we were granted a beautifully long (and belated) National Day break at the end of December.
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The bottom line is that we were spoiled rotten by the number of public holidays in 2010. As wonderful as it may seem, it has been absolute chaos for anyone trying to get any work done during the last quarter of the year. If we were given actual 'dates' for the holidays in advance, we may have been able to plan around them, but given Oman's tendency to announce holidays at the very last moment, it's a wonder entire sectors haven't collapsed! I speak for project managers, newspaper editors, event managers, travel agents, conference organizers, surgeons, people working in academia, etc. My line of work requires planning events year round, bringing in consultants from abroad, and overseeing bookings. At the end of November rumors began circulating about the two sets of December holidays. I had several events planned at work for the month of December, and I also had several consultants flying in from places like the US and England. After many sleepless nights, frantic phone calls, and desperate attempts at picking up clues through the magic Omani grapevine, I gave up and postponed most of the events until after mid-January when I knew it would be safe. The stress of last-minute cancellations just wasn't worth it.
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Last week's nine day holiday was definitely a treat but is the privilege of, heaven-forbid, actually planning a vacation too much to ask for? If I had known about it in advance, I could have – for example - applied for an Italian tourist visa and flown to Milan for a week. The recent Oman Air ads were definitely tempting. Instead, I stayed home and read. Many expatriates I know in Salalah could have flown home to see their families but again didn't have enough time for last-minute bookings. Not everyone can hop into their Toyota land cruiser and drive to their family in the next village for a holiday, you know?
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I'm not criticizing the way things are run here in Oman, but I do enjoy a good rant every once in a while as you may have noticed. Despite the fact that the public holiday system in Oman drives me crazy sometimes, I still think it's charming and the anticipation can be fun. Furthermore, along with everybody else I'm forced to remain on my tiptoes and keep up my problem solving skills!
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Anyway, the good news is that real work may actually get done now that holiday season is over. Oh, and the bad news? No more holidays until September!

And The Chaos Begins ...

Published June 8,  2010

Driving through the streets of Salalah during the month of June can be a nightmare. Traffic jams at all times of the day and night in addition to occasional foot cramps and strained ankles due to hours of inching up and down the town's main streets can only mean one thing. The sight may be rather alarming to any newcomer, but all us locals know exactly what this means: preparations for the wedding season have only just begun!
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The shopping scene is utter chaos. It's almost impossible to drive anywhere near the fabric shops, the tailors, the beauty salons, and the shops dominated by females. Quite often, you have to park several blocks away from your goal and make your way on foot through tightly parked lineups of cars. They are all, to a fault, inhabited by sulky husbands with one or more babies on their laps, waiting patiently (or not) for their wives and daughters to emerge from the shops, tripping along in their high heels, laden with wedding accessories.
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If you find room to force your way in to any of the many 'women's necessities' shops (each one an absolute no man's land), what you'll see may well scar you for life. A pushy crowd of inhabited black abayas crammed together like tinned olives in an attempt to get a look at the latest fake Swarovski crystal beads. Or perhaps a six person deep lineup of women at the hair extension counters fingering the latest honey blonde wigs (an ugly but very popular current trend in Dhofari wedding fashion). Dare I forget to mention the exhausted Asian shopkeepers rolling out interminable yards of cloth, while individually counting out the hundreds of tiny beads that will be sewn into elaborate decorations on the traditional velvet wedding dresses?
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Of course, the underlying purpose of all this fuss is that mothers must view prospective brides for their sons at the wedding parties, and their daughters must view each other and fight for the position of the most beautiful girl, or the most talented dancer. This wedding fiasco starts in May with people trying to set their wedding dates so they don't clash with other tribal weddings. The scheduling also depends on whether they can rent a 'wedding house' or either one of Salalah's two hotel ballrooms for the proposed date. Women fight for invitations, even to the weddings from outside their tribes. The topic of discussion at work and social gatherings revolves around 'How many weddings will you be attending this July and August?' The answer can range anywhere from five to ten or more, I kid you not! (And for the men, it's many more, sometimes up to ten a week, but that's another story!)
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Once the women have established which weddings they will attend, they go into something of a frenzy trying to book separate henna, hair, and makeup appointments for each one of those weddings. Let me tell you from experience, this is not an easy process. Try to imagine the permutations! We are talking about many thousands of women here, and it's not that big a town. The next step is figuring out what to wear. Obviously, for most women, it's too expensive to produce a new dress for each wedding; however, it's also unthinkable in Dhofar to even consider wearing the same dress to two weddings. The women therefore must go to great lengths to find fashionable dresses to wear, either by adjusting old dresses, tailoring new ones, borrowing from relatives, or heading to any one of Salalah's numerous dress-rental shops. It's such big business now, women even run businesses from their homes, exchanging exotic dresses for a fee.
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Preparing for wedding season in Dhofar is an exhausting and stressful process for all the women involved, from the bride, to both the families of the bride and the groom, as well as all the female wedding guests. Despite the fact that most women here deem such extraordinary preparations to be necessary, I pray that all this madness becomes a dying trend in the years to come. I look forward to the day when simplicity is introduced to Dhofari weddings and when men don't have to go into debt any more to financially support the demands of the female members of their families. However, in the meantime, the chaos continues …

Diving into Debt

Published  May 11, 2010 - Muscat Daily

A few weeks ago, I received a frantic call from one of my colleagues asking me to come and pick her up at her bank immediately. Without asking any questions, I got into my car and drove to her rescue. She came out of the bank clutching a large envelope, got into my car and asked me to take her home. I asked her what was in the envelope and she opened it to show me bundles of 50 rial notes! I must have fainted momentarily, because she tapped me on the side of the head and said 'Drive!' And this is how I drove across Salalah with thirty thousand rials in my car. I felt like I'd just robbed a bank.
 

You may be wondering what the money was for. Well, so was I! Evidently, she had decided out of the blue to buy her dream car. She got the cash without any complications, through a personal bank loan, since she is too young to get that much through a car loan program. This girl is a recent college graduate, is in her very early twenties and has only been working for some months. It's going to take her ten years to pay off that loan. Is it just me, or do you also find that frightening?
 

 It's no secret that a large percentage of young Omanis, now both male and female, in their twenties and early thirties are living way beyond their means and are refusing to accept a standard of living that suits their income level. Many take loans to support their families, but a large percentage of them (like my happy or perhaps hapless colleague) decide to go into debt for a car. Car loans, bank loans, personal loans, misuse of credit cards. What next? Among the factors contributing to this phenomenon are the rise of consumerism in Oman, an increase in the cost of living, and the need to keep up 'appearances', especially in Salalah. With mobile phones and cars emerging as fashion statements and lifestyle necessities in the Gulf, the pressure to spend is on.
 

A recent survey revealed that the spending habits of youth in the GCC are such that more than a quarter of the respondents admitted that they were in debt. More shocking were the figures from Oman. Evidently, thirty five percent of youth between the ages of 18 - 24 in Oman claimed to have loans. Thirty one percent of them had personal non-business related loans. The culture of credit cards shoulders much of the blame. The survey found that the main concern among young people is the rising cost of living in the region. To keep up their lifestyles, they have to spend more money, and in turn, take on more debt.
 

The concept of living within one's means and earning something after hard work is lost to many young people (and older people obviously) in Oman. Most of my friends are buying cars on credit. And these aren't just any cars. The majority cost between 16,000-30,000 rials. How is a person in their mid-twenties going to come up with that kind of money? What makes them think they need that kind of car when they haven't earned it? The only thing worth going into debt for, in my opinion, is higher education. Anything else can pretty much wait.
 

 Whatever happened to the concept of starting small and working towards your materialistic goals slowly? Young Omanis should be able to see the fine line between what's 'necessary', and what's 'luxury'. This is not how we humans are meant to live. Banks shouldn't make it so easy for young people to be given loans on a silver platter. Unfortunately, though, we can't blame only the banks. With debt becoming an increasingly significant and not so positive issue in Oman, due to changing lifestyles, I don't think it's going to get any better in the near future unless people become more aware of the dangers of living beyond their means. Someone please start a campaign to educate our children on the dangers of debt before they even leave school! If we can scare them into not smoking, surely we can convince them that getting into debt is equally, if not more dangerous.