The Issue of FGM in Oman

Published January 1, 2013 - Muscat Daily

A year and a half ago I wrote a column titled ‘Woman with an incense burner’ where I tried as delicately as possible to highlight the issues concerning female genital mutilation (FGM) in Oman, and Dhofar in particular where the practice is still very common.

The feedback I received from readers and acquaintances was overwhelming. Most of them expressed how horrified they were to learn this tradition was still going strong in Dhofar. Some advised me to tread carefully, whereas others told me to keep spreading awareness.

Naturally, I also received plenty of negative feedback from relatives and colleagues claiming I was hanging Dhofar’s dirty washing for the world to see and criticising a practice that they believe is purely Islamic. I paid little attention to these criticisms because I know the practice is harmful and primitive.

It was my intention to write today's column in February to mark the International Day of Zero Tolerance for FGM. However, a little over a week ago the United Nations General Assembly passed a historic resolution calling for an FGM ban in all countries. What does this resolution mean for Oman?

Although FGM is banned in hospitals in Oman, in Salalah for example the woman with the incense burner still roams the halls of the maternity ward at Sultan Qaboos Hospital chopping up newborn girls' genitals at their mothers' request. The nurses and doctors know she exists, yet they turn a blind eye. Other women take their newborns to older women in the tribe who perform it quietly then pierce the baby's ears at the same time to make sure people think the baby's howling is caused by ear pain

Should the government pass a legislation immediately banning the practice in Oman? Not necessarily. Introducing a new law before spreading awareness is a recipe for failure. The subject is still very taboo and is not even discussed in private, let alone in public. The first step is to bring it out into the open. In such a conservative society, this can prove to be quite a challenge.

One must also take into consideration the fact that women have been carrying out this tradition for hundreds of years. I mention women specifically because it is my understanding that most men are kept in the dark about this practice. In fact, several men who were willing to discuss it with me explained how horrified they were to discover their daughters had been circumcised. In the north of Oman I believe it's more of a paper cut. In the south, the practice is more brutal and involves chopping off part of or the entire clitoris.

Although locals wholeheartedly believe the practice is healthy and obligatory in Islam, our religion neither encourages the practice nor condemns it. Information explaining why it's harmful to the child is not readily available to mothers. I blame the Ministry of Health mainly for this. I have spent enough time in maternity wards to know that the ministry is doing next to nothing to spread awareness. Women are terrified of what will happen if they do not circumcise their daughters, and by keeping silent the ministry is feeding the belief that the practice is healthy. Perhaps they think that by ignoring it the practice will go away?

It is worth noting that the MOH five-year 2006-2010 health plan included the need for studying the prevalence of FGM in Oman with plans to design awareness programs. To date, none of these plans have come to light, and goodness knows whether combating FGM is on the current agenda. The ministry's website is either very outdated or the current five-year plan has yet to materialise.

Assuming I were the Minister of Logic, I would encourage the Ministry of Awqaf and Religious Affairs, the Ministry of Social Development, Ministry of Health, and Ministry of Education to collaborate in launching a nationwide campaign to spread awareness among Omanis.

The walls of maternity wards across Oman should be plastered with awareness posters explaining the dangers of FGM. Mothers of newborn girls should receive an awareness kit including a booklet about FGM with a message from the Ministry of Awqaf and Religious Affairs confirming it is not obligatory in Islam. There should be health officials visiting maternity wards in the country to talk to mothers of newborn girls.

Continuing to ignore the practice will not look good for Oman. Our country has already made headlines in the international human rights arena too many times than is good for us in the past couple of years since the Arab Spring protests in 2011. Our reputation when it comes to freedom of speech and assembly is already tainted. Do we need to see more embarrassing reports concerning Oman's unwillingness to address the issues concerning violence against women (i e FGM)? With the new UN resolution, people will be watching Oman carefully. I say it's time for some action. What do you think?

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

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

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!

Ramadhan & Food

Published August 17, 2010

There are very few things in my life that I consider to be a living nightmare. Among them are 8-hour transits at Dubai airport, running out of cooking gas just before your guests arrive, and inching through traffic on payday. However, at the very top of my nightmare list is going to any supermarket in Salalah the week before Ramadhan.

Before I start my spiel about supermarkets and food, I'd like to highlight the fact that, in addition to focusing on religion, one of the main purposes of fasting is to teach Muslims about patience, humility, and empathy for those who are less fortunate. We are supposed to 'feel' hunger and count our blessings, thus becoming more charitable and willing to give to the poor.
 

Many Omanis on the other hand seem to be doing the complete opposite. Yes, we survive without food or water from sunrise to sunset, but then too much emphasis is placed on the preparation and consumption of the food with which we break the fast. In fact, most of my acquaintances end up gaining weight in Ramadhan despite the fact that they fast for most of the day!
 

I needed to pick up a couple of urgent food items at one of Salalah's major supermarkets a couple of days before Ramadhan started last week. It was just after three o'clock in the afternoon and I thought I'd be able to run in quickly before the Ramadhan shoppers arrived. No such luck! It took me twenty minutes to find a parking space and then I had to fight my way in through a sea of frantic shoppers at the entrance only to find there were no shopping carts or baskets left. The huge Ramadhan displays at the front of the supermarket would baffle any person unfamiliar with our Ramadhan cuisine. All you see are pyramids of tins of Captain Oats, creme caramel mixes, dumpling mixes, and of course the largest collection of Vimto bottles this person has ever seen.

Everywhere I looked, people were crammed together in the impenetrable aisles with their enormous shopping carts overflowing with the exact same items for their predictable Ramadhan menus. I started feeling slightly claustrophobic. By the time I made it to the front of the store with my sad little collection of items and took one look at the cashier lineups, I had had enough. I dumped my items on the nearest mountain of creme caramel and left. I haven't been into a supermarket since and have been avoiding them at all costs.
 

Why the obsession with food, you may wonder? Most families in Dhofar send their women into the kitchen four or five hours before sunset to start preparing for Iftar, the sunset meal. I'm inclined to say that 90% of households in Dhofar serve the exact same dishes every day for the entire month of Ramadan. The basics are sweet dumplings (luqaymat), greasy samoosas, oat soup, thareed (local dry bread soaked in a meat sauce), Arabic coffee, dates, jugs of Vimto, creme caramel, jello, watermelon, and anything deep-fried. All this food is laid out on a long plastic mat across the family living room or majlis and when the call to prayer is heard, everyone dives into the display of fifteen or more dishes. They spend the next hour or so eating non-stop, only taking a few minutes out to pray the sunset prayer. Imagine what mixing samoosas, spicy soup, meat, sweets, coffee, and watermelon every day can do to your stomach.
 

By the time everyone is finished eating, they've only consumed half of what was on display. What happens to the rest of the food? Many people keep leftovers for the sunrise meal, known as suhoor; however, most of it gets thrown out (to the benefit of stray neighborhood cats). It's a complete waste and completely defies the purpose of fasting. I read a report somewhere saying Arabs spend more money on food during Ramadhan than at any other time of the year. If that's true, then there's something very wrong with our understanding of Ramadhan. Perhaps as people in Oman become more health-conscious (and money conscious), these terrible eating habits will slowly be replaced by more sensible Ramadhan menus.

Forever White

Published July 20, 2010

If you’ve ever been to Salalah you may have noticed an unusual number of stores claiming to sell ‘women’s necessities’. If you’ve actually been into one of these shops, you will observe that at least one large section of the shop is dedicated to whitening products, and another even larger section to an extraordinary selection of makeup. The complexion of the female cashier ringing up your items at the front of the store is a pale greyish white. It seems a little odd to you. As she fumbles to give you the right change, you notice that her hands are the colour of coffee beans. You look up again at her face and try not to gasp. Surprised? Don’t be. She is only one among thousands of female victims in Salalah who were brainwashed into thinking at an early age that in order to be considered beautiful, you must be white.

It’s no secret that Dhofari women are obsessed with being white. In fact, we seem to be quite famous for it! There are several women in Salalah who are well-known for their secret whitening ‘mixes’. They mix three or four whitening products with bleach and sell them for a high price in glass jars, catering mostly to young women and especially to brides-to-be. I’ve known girls who removed several layers of skin from their faces (using one of the mixes) in a feeble attempt to look white. Despite the fact that they end up looking like burn victims, many of them are satisfied. They seem to think it will make them more presentable ... more worthy (of what?). It’s very sad.
 

Our weddings are even worse. Somehow, over the past twenty years or so, Dhofari women have developed strict wedding makeup standards that no woman, in my opinion, should ever feel the need to comply with. Women spend months trying to book a makeup artist for any wedding they plan to attend, even if they are only distantly related to the family of the bride. In order to hide the natural colour of the girl’s skin, the female makeup artist applies several layers of unnaturally white makeup to the face, neck, back, chest, and any other visible part of skin (sometimes even legs!).

She then pulls out a pallet with an unidentifiable white substance on it that has the consistency of Vaseline and uses a paintbrush to apply it to the eyebrows, covering them completely in order to draw fake stick eyebrows an inch above their natural place. She then spends at least a couple of hours working on the eye makeup and lips. The girl ends up leaving the makeup artist’s house or salon several hours later (and fifty to a hundred rials poorer) looking like something between a geisha and a Goth. The look is bizarre. And then they proceed to the wedding, where they join hundreds of other unrecognizable women who are all equally plastered in white.
 

And if you thought that getting Dhofari makeup on was a struggle, wait until you hear how it is removed! My friends and relatives claim that dish detergent and a spoon for scraping is the only successful method. After an hour of scrubbing, scraping, and washing, the expected result is a sore but clean face.
 

I was at a wedding recently where the woman sitting next to me looked at my simple makeup with sad eyes and said ‘You are lucky to have enough confidence to come here looking like that.’ Looking like what? Myself? What is so shameful about that? I wanted to scream at all the women around me and tell them they are stunningly beautiful as they are.
 

Despite being educated and aware of all the health warnings, they continue to think white is more beautiful. All the shops continue to stock up on whitening products to support this local obsession. High school girls think that by smearing poison on their faces that they will live a happier life. I understand that this problem happens in many places in the world, but I tend to believe that it’s more visible in Dhofar. Most females here are unable to see that their dark-skinned beauty is something to be proud of! How beautiful we are, in all our shades and hues taken from the very earth we walk upon. Time to wake up and see beyond colour!

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.

Preparing for the Big Day in Salalah

Published February 16, 2010 - Muscat Daily

Every town in Oman has its own set of characteristics that makes it unique. Living in Salalah has its charms but I think it's safe to say that weddings are probably the most stressful aspect of life here. In fact, they're so stressful that I'm going to have to dedicate this entire article to wedding preparations alone.
 

A couple of days ago I was talking to a friend whom I hadn't spoken to since she graduated from university six months ago. I asked her if she'd found a job yet and her response was 'I can't look for a job.. My brothers are getting married in August'. No, you don't have to check your calendar. It is indeed February 16th. So why do people need to spend a year preparing? Aren't weddings supposed to be simple, happy occasions? Not in Salalah!
 

I think we've reached the highest peak of wedding insanity in this town. After securing a bride, young men (regardless of whether they have a good salary or even a job) are expected to pay anywhere from five thousand to fifty thousand rials as a dowry to the bride and her family. Some families demand gold in addition to the dowry. Once the dowry part is over, the groom spends long weeks and months worrying about preparing the bridal suite - normally a five-star bedroom and bathroom in his family's house. Many families refurnish their entire house for the celebration. The women in the groom's family will often take over the whole process of selecting the best tiles, the most expensive carpets, glittery gypsum, curtains, and furniture. The man is left to pay the accumulated bills. The main purpose of all this is simply to impress relatives and guests. Quite often both the bride and the groom end up hating the décor in their bedroom (over which they've had no say). 
 

Meanwhile, as the women work on the suite, the man is busy trying to figure out how many cows or camels need to be slaughtered for the men's and women's separate celebrations (usually held over a period of two days), which restaurant will cook the food, which hotel or wedding house will host the women's part of the wedding, how many people will attend, and how much it'll all cost. Overall, if we add up the dowry and wedding costs, I'm guessing a young man can spend up to 50,000 rials just to get married.
 

The bride's side of the story is even more bizarre. As soon as the wedding date is set, most young women go into a 'beautifying' frenzy. This can involve months of whitening, softening, fattening and other preparations. Salalah still believes in the concept of 'fattening the bride for marriage'. A common trick is to drink a potion made containing ghee, brown sugar, cinnamon and milk three times a day. A bride spends months buying 'necessary' items for her trousseau - thousands of rials worth of velvet, silk, abayas, lingerie, makeup, perfumes, frankincense, watches, bags and shoes. Most brides are kept in hiding at home for at least a month before the wedding because being 'seen' at that point is still taboo for many families. Just before the wedding, many families invite relatives to view the bride's trousseau, which is laid out in the majlis to impress guests.
 

When did this all become the norm? These aren't 'our' wedding traditions from the past. They just aren't. What they are is a reflection of how we as a society have adapted to the modern world. Since when was marriage about getting into terrible debt and spending your life's savings (if you have any) just to impress people? What happened to the idea of opening a new page with your spouse and starting a new life, young and free? Weddings are so stressful and expensive that families have started marrying off two or three (or even more) sons on the same day to cut costs. Smart move.
 

Don't get me wrong here. Not every family is falling into this societal trap. I know some people who are trying to break away from these materialistic insanities, and I salute them for trying. But have many succeeded? Not really. After having observed the results of too many ostentatious weddings, I encourage couples to start out simple. You won't regret it. In the end, nobody's going to remember the how many perfumes you had on display or how much you spent on the bathroom tiles!

The Shisha Café Scene

Published January 19, 2010 - Muscat Daily

Anyone who visits Salalah is bound to drive along Haffa beach in the old souk area, or what we locals call 'The Corniche'. It used to be a quiet area where you would often see families sitting at their doorsteps chatting or fishermen mending their nets on the sidewalk under the coconut trees. Sadly, now all you see on that long stretch of beach are white plastic tables and chairs belonging to the cheap restaurants or ' cafés ' that basically serve tea and shisha (commonly known as hookah), and very little else.

 If you drive along the beach any evening of the week, between 5 p.m and 2 a.m, you'll see hundreds of Dhofari men in small groups at these tables smoking shisha and drinking tea. Not only is it popular here among local young men, but it seems to be very popular with the tourists. Shisha restaurants don't exist only on the beach, but can be found practically anywhere in town, in hidden alleyways, in farm plantations, and now even extending up into the mountains. Is Salalah slowly turning into the shisha hub of Oman? Do we want that kind of publicity?

Looking back, I am guessing that this unhealthy habit appeared in Salalah back in the mid 1990's. However, nowadays it has become a social trend that is well integrated into the daily routines of men in Dhofar. Most of the men who hang out at these restaurants are between the ages of 20 and 40. Dare I compare them to pubs in England? Both are male hangouts. Both provide the opportunity to socialize. Both are places where you can watch sports on television. Both may or may not employ attractive female waitresses. Last but not least, both serve an addictive substance.
 

It amuses me to see that men tend to believe that spending hours smoking shisha adds to their social status & sense of prestige. I asked a number of people I know why they find shisha so attractive, and their answers were very similar. They all agreed that shisha makes them high, kills all the spare time they have on their hands, and provides an atmosphere for socializing. As a person who suffers from allergies, I have no respect for people who smoke. What's so great about filling your lungs and the air around you with smoke? Does it make you feel good about yourself in the long run? I doubt it.

Sadly, there are several places in Salalah now where even women can get their dose of tobacco. Personally, I think it's an extremely unpleasant and unhealthy habit and I will never understand why men do it, let alone women.
 

I've come to notice that many users here believe that shisha smoke is significantly less dangerous than that from cigarettes. The moisture induced by hookas makes it less irritating and thus may trick the smoker into thinking it's the healthier option. Studies by the World Health Organization have confirmed that use of shisha is as harmful to a person's health as smoking cigarettes, if not more. In a one-hour shisha session, users consume about 200 times the smoke and about 70 times the nicotine as they do in one cigarette. People who smoke shisha have five times the risk of lung cancer as non-smokers. Why do it?
 

Several shisha smokers I know claim that if they had something more interesting to do, they'd probably quit. Perhaps Salalah needs more sports facilities, useful entertainment centers, bowling alleys, bookstores, cinemas, and more decent places to kill time? More activities for young people? Sounds like a topic for one of my future articles!

Maniacs on the Road

Published December 22, 2009 - Muscat Daily

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A colleague of mine bought the car of his dreams a few weeks ago, and I saw him driving down the highway without his seatbelt on. I was horrified so I asked him the next day at work what the heck he thought he was doing speeding around town without wearing it? His answer was 'I spent 25,000 Rials on this car. You want me to drive around Salalah looking like a 2-year-old strapped to a child's car seat?' Yes, those were his exact words.

Speaking of car seats for kids, Salalah has yet to discover the benefits of using them. I cannot speak for other parts of Oman because I haven't left Salalah for a while, but here you will often see young children on the driver's lap or hanging out of the window or standing on the seats in a speeding car on a major highway. Parents seem to think their children are protected by some magic voodoo.
 

Is it just me or do others agree that a large percentage of drivers in Oman seem to have acquired their driver's licenses out of a Cheerios box? Whenever I'm on the road, I'm always on the lookout for old men from the mountains in ancient pickup trucks who think the highways are a free-for-all and who seem to exist in a parallel traffic universe, or the young men in expensive sports cars who overtake any vehicle in front of them that isn't going at 120 km/hr on a highway with a speed limit of 100 km/hr. What about the underage boys secretly driving their fathers' land cruisers who are too cool to indicate when switching lanes?
 

Why can't drivers judge distances and the speed of oncoming cars when they pull out? Why would you even consider overtaking on the left of a vehicle that is turning left? Need I mention the terrible habit of men who proceed to put their turbans on while driving during morning rush hour? They seem to control the steering wheel using their knees (while driving at 100 km/hr on the highway).
 

Last but not least, what in the world makes people in this country addicted to using their mobile phones while driving? I know that people all over the world do this but people in my town seem to wait until they get into the car to start making important phone calls. It's completely insane. They're not only endangering their own lives, but others' lives as well. The obvious complete absence of a sense of responsibility is extraordinary.
 

I was shocked to read the latest road accident statistics for the first ten months of this year. Almost 800 lives lost on the road and almost 8,000 injured in 5,895 accidents. Why did all those people have to die? Is it so difficult to drive carefully? We all know that using the phone while driving, speeding, being distracted, etc, is dangerous, but must we really wait until we are in a vehicle collision to fully comprehend what it all means?
 

I'm pleased with the fact that police officers seem to be spending more time on the road looking for offenders. Several people I know have been given a ticket during the past few weeks for even holding their phone in a small alleyway or for not wearing their seatbelts. I've also recently come to notice the new huge signs around town with messages practically begging people to be more careful. Kudos to the ROP for being more strict, and a salute to His Majesty for appealing to citizens to show restraint on the roads during his Meet-The-People Royal Tour last month.
 

I hope Oman introduces a new driving school program where not only are they required to complete at least 60 hours of training, but where new drivers are forced to watch lifelike videos on the results of texting while driving and which show in detail what actually goes on in a car during a collision. There are some really good and rather graphic videos available on YouTube and other sites. Please make an effort to drive carefully and avoid taking chances on the road. Don't wait for a tragedy to teach you the value of life.

Arranged Marriages

Published November 24, 2009 - Muscat Daily
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I remember the night five years ago when I received a frantic call from my best friend telling me that her father and uncles had summoned her into the family room that afternoon to inform her that she would be marrying her cousin, nine years her senior. She had three months to get ready. I remember listening to her saying 'I can't believe this is happening to me. I can't believe it'. We were both devastated. She was looking forward to starting college and making a life for herself. Meanwhile, her family informed her bluntly that high school was enough, and that having an unmarried 19-year-old daughter in the house was a burden. In the end after a lot of pressure from her father she was forced to agree. She never saw or spoke to the man who was to become her husband until the night of their wedding. Now, five years later, she shares a house with her in-laws, has two very young children, and a husband who does not love her, and who will not allow her to study or work or even leave the house without his permission.
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Are you surprised? This happens in Oman all the time. Arranged marriages are in full force, especially here in Dhofar. I'm against such marriages, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they don’t work out. I've seen some positive examples of beautiful relationships that started off as an arranged marriage. However, I believe that it's a matter of luck and that those couples simply hit the jackpot. I know for a fact that most of the time it doesn't work out. With all due respect to conservative thinkers around the country, arranged marriages cause a lot of pain, trauma, and sadness.
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In Oman, arranged marriages usually occur between cousins, preferably paternal ones. As far as I know, the reasoning behind marrying cousins comes from families wanting to keep the family blood 'pure' and their wealth within the family. Distribution of inheritance is of extreme importance in our culture. Arranged marriages become more like a contract between families and not individuals where both parties feel responsible if it doesn't work out. I remember almost blowing up at a colleague who casually mentioned that he was proud of his tribe because all the girls married their first cousins, and that he would do the same for his daughters to maintain this beautiful tradition. I wanted to shout at him, "Who gives you the right to determine the fate of your unborn daughters?!" You cannot force two mature adults onto each other and expect them to build a happy life together. You cannot 'arrange' love and successful relationships. Life doesn't work that way. Not nowadays. Oman is a modern country! Marriage expectations among young people are very different than they were some years ago. As far as I'm concerned, young men and women have the right to choose whom they are to marry. They also have the right to get to know one another, and then decide whether it's right to take that big step. Marriage is not a game. It's not something fathers can decide on the spur of the moment in the family majlis over a cup of tea. Not any more.
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I've discussed this topic with many male colleagues who argue that arranged marriages do not end in divorce and are therefore more successful. The reason they do not end in divorce is due to family pressure. Most of the time, the couple are miserable but are too nervous about telling their families that they want to end the marriage.
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On a more positive note, over the past three or four years I've seen many families in Dhofar who are allowing their daughters to talk to their fiancés over the phone before the wedding in order to get to know each other a bit more. Often the couples are allowed to end the engagement if they feel it's not going to work out. Furthermore, many young people are defying tradition by choosing their own partners. I salute the open-minded parents who support their kids in making their own decisions when it concerns marriage, and I encourage other parents to give advice, love, support, and to simply let it be.

Dining in Dhofar

Published November 17, 2009 - Muscat Daily

'Where can we find elegant restaurants in this town?' asked the young American couple that had just moved to Salalah. 'The Hilton? Crowne Plaza?' I answered sheepishly, while racking my brain for more ideas. They looked at one another, disappointed. 'Muscat is only an hour and a half away by plane!' I added cheerfully.
 

Truth be told, we only have a handful of half-decent sit-down restaurants in Salalah where you can take your family for dinner. And by a handful, I basically mean two Chinese restaurants where they never get your order right, a couple of Lebanese/Turkish restaurants, and the one and only Pizza Hut! Anyone reading this in Muscat should count their lucky stars for places like Biella, Mumtaz Mahal, and Chili's to name a few.
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I'm not saying we lack food. We most certainly do not. Salalah is studded with hundreds and hundreds of tiny window coffee shop/juicers that serve hamburgers and shawarmas with too much hot sauce and fresh juices (but no coffee). The type of place where you drive up, honk your horn, and wait like a king (or queen) until a waiter comes up to your window to take your order. You then drive away with a plastic bag filled with junk food packed in neat little styrofoam boxes that will take 500 years to disintegrate, causing even more damage to the environment (I'm serious about the styrofoam. Look it up on Google).
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Visitors must wonder why Oman's most popular tourist destination has no decent restaurants. With hundreds of thousands of tourists every year, you would figure we'd have more restaurants than Muscat! It's a mystery; even to those of us living here.
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The café situation is even worse. We have one decent café with a lovely family section that serves many kinds of instant coffee with fancy names disguised as real coffee. It's the only place in town where you can have a cup of coffee with a friend. Need I remind you that Salalah is the second largest city in Oman? Perhaps we deserve a little more than one café?
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Without even having to study the market, there's obviously a need in Salalah for decent franchise restaurants and cafes. Hanging out in cafes is a trend in Dhofar, as many of you know. Anyone would make a fortune by opening up a Costa or Second Cup in Salalah. A fortune! Why not an Italian restaurant on the beach or Darcy's Kitchen in a coconut grove with a cute family section? A little creativity could go a long way. All we want, really, are nice venues with decent food, good service, and a family section. In a conservative society like Salalah where women aren't generally keen on eating in front of strange men, catering to the locals isn't as difficult as it seems. Smart restaurant owners should provide private family areas where women can remove their face veils and enjoy a relaxing dinner with their friends and families. Locals and tourists from the GCC are definitely willing to pay. Wake up businessmen of Oman! You're missing out on huge opportunities here!

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On a more positive note, our new commercial tourist complex 'Salalah World' will be opening up in the near future. Rumor has it that in addition to the cinema and bowling alley, there will be a franchise café that serves real coffee. Keep your fingers crossed, everyone!