The Language Crisis

Published February 12, 2013 - Muscat Daily

Recently I was privileged to meet a foreign researcher who was in Salalah to learn the Dhofari mountain language more commonly known as Shahri or Jebbali. Chances are you never knew such a language existed in the south of Oman.

In fact, I’m willing to bet you had no idea that in addition to Arabic, four other languages are spoken in Dhofar. The four unwritten Southern Arabian languages are Shahri (Jebbali), Mehri, Hobyot and Batthari. There has also been debate as to whether a fifth South Arabian language known as Harsusi can be considered a Dhofar-based language.

Contrary to what our ever-so-useful Wikipedia says, general consensus seems to be that Shahri (Jebbali) is spoken by approximately 50,000 or more Dhofaris from mountain tribes as well as a large number of individuals from town tribes. Mahri is also spoken by a decent percentage of the Bedouin population of Dhofar. I apologise if I have confused you with the terms ‘mountain tribes’ or ‘town tribes’. The tribal system in the south of Oman is complex!

As for Hobyot and Batthari, it saddens me to say that fewer than 200 individuals speak these Dhofari languages and they will both become extinct within a generation. Although I have lived in Dhofar my entire life, I have never had the privilege of hearing Hobyot or Batthari being spoken.

Because I come from a mountain tribe, most of my family speak Shahri (Jebbali). I am ashamed to admit that although I understand a lot of it, I do not speak it very well. Many people from mountain tribes who live in the town of Salalah tend to simplify their Jebbali by mixing Jebbali phrases with Arabic words. When I am in town, I understand most of what is being said. The minute I head up into the mountains, the language gets harder and harder to understand.

Although both Mehri and Shahri (Jebbali) are widely spoken at the moment, they are both endangered and will soon become extinct as well. I say this namely because they are both unwritten, and because 90 per cent of all languages in our world are expected to become extinct within the next 100 years. Furthermore, modern life in post-renaissance Oman has forced Dhofaris to speak Arabic every day in addition to English.

Another reason these beautiful South Arabian languages will die quickly is because authorities in Oman have made no efforts to preserve them. Simple as that! I am ashamed to say this, but almost every effort to research and document our dying languages in the past few decades has come from Western researchers.

Many efforts by locals to document and promote these languages have been quietly ignored by authorities, particularly the Jebbali or Shahri language also known as the language of the rebels during the Dhofar Rebellion in the 1960s and 1970s. As you can guess, the language comes with a lot of baggage.

Several years ago a huge controversy took place in Dhofar after a very interesting book was published attempting to study the history and roots of the Shahri (Jebbali) language. In addition to a build-up of other factors, the book’s aftermath led to a governorate-wide controversial debate on the history of the language and what to name it. Without going into too much detail the situation became ugly, several people got arrested, and the book was banned from being published or sold in Oman.

Although the speakers of any unwritten language are mainly responsible for its preservation, I feel it is not enough in Oman. It is my humble opinion that the Omani government should at least openly acknowledge the existence of the nine or so unwritten languages in Oman and support those who speak them to preserve their identity. Our culture lies within the language. Preserving cultural artefacts will never be enough.

I will try to say this as gently as possible and I beg you to try your best not to misunderstand me. Occasionally it feels to me that in an effort to make Oman and Omanis as ‘Omani’ as possible, the powers that be may have intentionally overlooked the importance of the diverse sub-cultures that lie within Oman.

The mountain tribes in the south of Oman with their pride, unique language, beautiful poetry and strong traditions are not something to be weary of. The same goes for Luwati, Mehri, Kumzari, Swahili, Balochi, and all the other beautiful languages spoken within our borders with their fascinating cultures. We should be proud of our unique identities.

Public discussions concerning tribes, languages, and sub-cultures within Oman are not often welcomed by authorities due to historical baggage. I find this very sad and frustrating at times. Omanis are an incredibly diverse population spread out across 309,50sq km.

Nevertheless, we all speak one common language, wear the same clothes, work in the same establishments, pray in the same mosques, receive the same education, cheer for the same soccer team, and are loyal to the same wise leader. Surely this is proof enough that we are able to maintain our own unique cultures while embracing a common Omani identity. In diversity there is unity!

Child Safety

Published October 9, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view article on their website.

No, this isn’t another column about road safety even though I’d very much like to mention our road safety crisis in Oman every fortnight until authorities do a little muscle-flexing and enforce some of the existing laws.

This column is about child safety, another issue that drives me up the wall in Oman. The number of fatal accidents caused by child negligence in Salalah over the past few years seem a little too abnormal to me.

Just last week an innocent child fell out of a fifth floor window to her death in busy central Salalah. A teenager accidently drove over his toddler brother who just happened to be out in the middle of the road with no one watching him. Three young kids drowned earlier this year because their parents thought the ocean was a friend. A child fell out of a car window while her father sped like a maniac. A little kid was electrocuted while playing with loose wires in his home. The list seems unusually long for a town like Salalah.

This doesn’t even include all the precious children who lost their lives in car accidents because their parents didn’t bother putting them in car-seats or fastening their seatbelts. I do not have access to official statistics about child deaths and injuries in Oman, nor do I know if such statistics exist. What I do know is that many of the avoidable incidents I have witnessed over the years reflect a casual ‘Insha’allah everything will be fine’ attitude towards child safety here in Oman.

I observe the gangs of wild young kids in my neighbourhood who play soccer in the middle of the road and harass cars into the late hours of the night and can’t help wondering where their parents are. They don’t look left nor right when crossing the street and aren’t old enough to judge the speed of oncoming cars.

There’s a fierce little four year old in my neighbourhood who is determined to get run over by my car every afternoon when I get home from work. He is often roaming around the neighbourhood on his bicycle for hours at a time and his family is nowhere to be seen. Need I say more?

Recently I had an eight year old in my car. Before we started driving, I asked her to put her seatbelt on. She gave me a puzzled look and asked, “Why?” I gave her an equally puzzled look and after a rather awkward conversation where I tried ever so patiently not to start screaming about safety, I finally managed to explain why seatbelts exist. Apparently, she thought it was better not to wear a seatbelt because in the event of accident it would be easier to get out of the car in a hurry instead of being stuck with a seatbelt. I explained as delicately as possible that in the event of an accident the most likely scenario would be her flying straight through the glass windshield and landing in a motionless heap in the middle of the highway. What have her parents been thinking?

A few days ago the State Council of Oman posted a discussion topic on Facebook asking if it’s time to make car seats mandatory for babies and young children in Oman. I decided to mention it to a few of my colleagues and to my surprise they were furious. They felt that authorities had no business making decisions concerning their own kids. I tend to disagree. Omanis have proven time and time again that they have no understanding of road safety, especially when it comes to children. The only Omani I know in Salalah who owns a car seat for their child is my sister.

I don’t want to generalise but the overall attitude of many people in Oman seems to be that the minute kids are out of diapers they can take care of themselves. The reality of it is that they cannot.

I am not a mother, but I am very much aware of the fact that kids are small, vulnerable, and ever so fragile. You can never be too careful. Are there laws in Oman against child neglect? Do you think many families in Oman are too laid-back about their children’s safety? If so, how can we improve the situation?

Time for Action

Published September 11, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the article on their website.

Nearly 800 people have died in around 6,000 car accidents in Oman this year even though it's only September. When looking at worldwide statistics, you'll realize with horror that countries ten or even 20 times the population size of Oman have fewer accidents and even fewer deaths.

I spent the month of July in a western country with a population of 35mn and I never saw one accident during my entire stay there. Since my return to Oman, I have witnessed at least one accident per day!

The population of Oman is less than 3mn. Over half a million are under the age of 17. Furthermore, many women don't drive, and our several hundred thousand labourers probably don't own cars. Do the math. There aren't that many drivers out there.

This national crisis has been discussed endlessly over the past few years, and we have witnessed many awareness campaigns pleading with citizens to drive carefully. Despite these efforts, collisions and fatalities are on the rise.

To prepare for this column, I decided to monitor the number of maniacs who graced my seven-minute drive to work a couple of days ago. I counted 13 drivers zooming in and out of lanes without indicating, tailgating at 100 kmph, pulling out without bothering to judge speed of oncoming cars, and reckless overtaking.

After many discussions with colleagues and friends, the general consensus seems to be that our road problem – simply put - is an attitude problem. As far as I'm concerned, expensive awareness campaigns are essential but they will never be enough. They aren't going to fix the attitude of a nation. Rules are.

Assuming Oman established a new Ministry of Logic and I was appointed minister, this would be my action plan:

1) First and foremost, I would enforce the law. Believe it or not, laws do exist in Oman. Did you know that you could spend between one and five years behind bars for speeding, endangering others on the road, or reckless overtaking? It's in the ROP Traffic Law. Why such a law isn't being enforced regularly baffles me. If you're worried that there aren't enough prison cells, set up temporary prison camps. That would solve many of our problems instantly.

2) I would bring down the speed limit on most inner-city highways from 100 to 80kmph. Clearly we're not responsible enough to handle anything above 80kmph.

3) Fines for not wearing a seatbelt would increase to RO50 for the driver and adult passengers (current fine is RO10), and RO100 for anyone under the age of 18 without a seatbelt. That would prevent more than a few deaths.

4) I would introduce new speeding ticket regulations. Currently, going 35kmph over the speed limit can cost you only RO5-10. Going 60kmph over the speed limit costs about RO40, and a mind-blowing 80kmph over the speed limit can cost you as little as RO50, I kid you not. The lives of everyone sharing the road with that 200kmph murderer are worth only RO50. In order to control speeding, fines must be significant enough to damage people financially. That's the only way things will change.

5) I would make car seats mandatory for every child under the age of four. In case you haven't noticed, babies in Oman often occupy the front passenger seat, some even on the driver's lap! Contrary to popular belief, children aren't protected by voodoo.

6) Road safety would become an official part of school curriculum. Seatbelts on school buses would become mandatory for each and every child.

7) I would increase the number of high-tech speed cameras and red-light systems.

8) Texting and holding a cellphone while driving would land you immediately in jail for three to five days in solitary confinement. Guaranteed you'll never do it again. By distracting yourself with a phone, you endanger the lives of others. You are therefore a potential murderer and deserve to be punished.

9) I would establish a National Driving Academy. The mandatory programme for obtaining a drivers' licence would include 100 hours of road practice, lectures, videos and demonstrations to show what takes place in a car during an accident, basic car mechanics, safety instruction, and a few mandatory hours in the emergency room at a local hospital. Furthermore, passing the driving exam should be a grueling experience.

10) The new laws would be introduced three months before they are implemented. I would launch an intensive national awareness campaign to ensure every citizen is aware of the new rules. That should do the trick.

I know my rules seem a little harsh, but when you're dealing with irresponsible humans with attitude problems, harsh is the way to go. I've seen enough tragedies recently to know that the carnage has got to stop. If there are no serious consequences, there will be no change. The magnitude of the problem will likely increase because impending demographic changes will produce a dramatic rise in the number of young drivers over the next few years. Let's not wait until it's too late!

PS ( this question was not published in the newspaper, but if you were involved in preparing an action plan, what other rules would you include? I'm interested)

War on Bloggers

Published June 19, 2012 - Muscat Daily

The past fortnight has been an unsettling one for bloggers, writers and activists in Oman. On June 4, a vague statement was released by the Public Prosecution announcing that the number of 'insulting' and 'negative' posts on local blogs and online forums under the pretext of free speech was on the rise. The statement went on to say that anyone caught engaging in such activities and spreading rumours that affect national security will be prosecuted.

A few days later, another statement confirmed that a number of bloggers and activists had been arrested for their online activities and that Omani authorities would not tolerate anyone who uses online platforms to insult, provoke and spread rumours.

The statements make no sense unless you understand what triggered them. Unfortunately though, the powers that be aren't really good at sharing information. After doing a little research through the grapevine, I now have a general idea of who was arrested and why. Regrettably, I can't share that information because then I would be committing the crime of - heaven forbid - spreading rumours!

What I can say is that on June 6, an odd piece was published in a local newspaper confirming that people were spreading negative rumours about our beloved head of state online. That type of criticism is taboo and we all know it.

Another disconcerting interview with the public prosecutor confirmed that they are keeping a watch on all social media platforms in Oman and that bloggers may spend up to two years in jail because the law is clear about such crimes. I tend to disagree. The law is not clear. What exactly constitutes negative writing or rumours? When the government doesn't share information with the public, everything becomes a rumour. As a blogger, I found the recent announcements vague and a little intimidating.

If the authorities are going to go around arresting bloggers for their writing and denying them immediate access to their lawyers, then perhaps they should elaborate more on the fine lines between criticism and insults according to the Omani law. Those of us who value freedom of expression but who are not interested in breaking the law would like to know. In the words of a blogger friend of mine, “How can you threaten people with jail/fines without explicitly setting out what the boundaries are?”

Media publications and the Internet in Oman have always been censored. The protests last year sparked a national discussion about ways to improve this country and handle corruption. For a while, it looked like we'd cracked some major censorship barriers, but now it seems we're back to square one. The days of going out into the streets to demand the removal of key government officials by name are over!

The Public Prosecution announcements were followed by an explosion of debate in the Omani blogosphere. Most bloggers openly condemn the arrests. Naturally, we've also made international headlines this week. A statement from Freedom House last week described the situation as ' a worrying indication of the deteriorating conditions for freedom of expression in Oman'.

Human Rights Watch called this flood of arrests 'A campaign of intimidation' and Amnesty International referred to it as a 'blatant attempt to stamp out freedom of speech'. Rather embarrassing for Oman, don't you think?

Do I believe it's okay to post offensive content online? No. Do I think the heavy handed approach by authorities is going to work? Not really. So what's next? Are they going to pull a Syria on us and block social media platforms altogether? You can't silence people. Not after last year.

I care deeply for my country and its stability. I also believe in the validity of human rights. In the end, freedom of expression is a fundamental human right. If the government chooses to ignore that in order to maintain stability within Oman, fine; just educate us first about the law and about our rights. A little transparency 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

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!

Beggars in Dhofar

Published October 5, 2010

A couple of days ago I was driving around Salalah looking for a functioning bank deposit machine, so I could put a small amount of money into a relative's account. At the first stop, I got out of my car and stood in line waiting for my turn. It was busier than usual since it was payday for most people. As I waited, I noticed a woman standing next to the machine. At first I thought she was waiting for a brother or her husband, but as the line grew shorter, she still hadn't moved. She was a begging, and to my surprise, I noticed she was wearing three gold bracelets. (This is not a smart move when you're trying to convince people you need money!)
 

When the gentleman in front of me reached the front of the line she watched him swipe his ATM card at the machine. She snatched the opportunity and said, 'Uncle, can you spare some change?' I noticed she did not have an Omani accent. As he fumbled for his wallet, he tried withdrawing the card simultaneously, but it go stuck in the machine. He hit the machine hard a couple of times, and then left in frustration since it was no longer working, shoving a couple of rial notes into her hand as he strode away. I gave her some change and headed back to my car.

That wasn't the end of it. Ten minutes later I managed to find another deposit machine. I parked my car, delighted to be the only person in sight. As I proceeded to take my wallet out of my purse I felt something tug at my abaya. Lo and behold, it was a little boy, probably six or seven years of age. He was well dressed and wearing what looked like brand new shoes. 'Give me a rial!' he demanded. I asked him where he lived. He ignored my question and again said 'Give me a rial!' I gave him half a rial and walked away, deciding to go and search for yet another bank machine to do my banking in peace. He followed me to the car, 'I saw you have money in your wallet! Give me five rials!' I rolled up the window and turned the car on.

As I drove away he picked up a small rock and threw it at me, missing my car by a few inches. I headed to the third and final deposit machine I know in my area of town, and as I looked for a parking space, I noticed a woman sitting on the ground next to the ATM. She had a piece of cloth spread out neatly in front of her with some small change scattered on it…yet another beggar. I honestly couldn't face another one at that point, and drove away without stopping.
 

Sadly, this trend isn't anything new to me. Just last week a woman wearing an expensive abaya strolled into my office at work and demanded money. When my colleague gave her a rial she became agitated and demanded more. We had to call the guards to come and ask her to leave the building. How she got past them in the first place beats me!
 

I first noticed an increase in the number of beggars around Salalah about a year ago. The original and more genuine toothless beggars (whom everyone in town knew) used to beg near supermarkets. They were grateful for whatever was given to them, be it five rials, or five hundred baisa. However, this new category of aggressive beggars who corner you wherever they feel like it is certainly a cause for alarm. They are almost always well dressed and sporting expensive phones, watches, etc. It's not surprising, since begging seems to be a thriving business in Oman! During Ramadhan this year I must have come across over fifty beggars!
 

As far as I'm concerned, I've just about had it with the women wearing gold and aggressive children who claim they are desperately in need. Since Omanis are known for their generosity and since begging is a relatively new trend in Oman, quite often it's hard to distinguish between genuine beggars and fakes. I recently read that the Ministry of Social Development is going to implement a new law to crack down on begging. I hope this happens soon, before the situation in Salalah gets out of control. Otherwise, this aggressive begging is going to develop into something even worse like violence and robbery!

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.

Change is Coming

Published April 28, 2010 - Muscat Daily

Less than a week ago the female population of Dhofar witnessed their first (and hopefully not their last) meeting with Oman's Minister of Social Development, Her Excellency Dr. Sharifa Khalfan Al Yahyai. The aim of the meeting was to discuss women's issues in Dhofar. In my opinion, this was a positive step taken by the Ministry to address some of the issues we face here in the South. We tend to feel a little neglected sometimes.

To my secret delight, the meeting was informal, a little discreet, and with barely any media coverage at all (I approve) and the buildup to it was a little hush-hush at first too. The names of the attendees were selected very carefully and invitations were sent out quietly. I was privileged enough to be among them. Most of the attendees were females in high positions in the government sector and private sectors.
 

There were about 90 females present from every corner of Dhofar, and quite an eclectic mix, too. Doctors, school headmistresses, volunteers, managers, social workers, writers, poets, researchers, businesswomen, etc. Seeing all these women in one place together moved me. It was, to say the least, empowering. For other women in Oman it may seem completely normal and unimportant, but for Dhofar this was new. We've become accustomed to seeing each other at weddings and other social occasions, but rarely are we privileged enough to see such a large group with their work diaries and car keys!
 

One of Her Excellency's first remarks as she looked at the congregation of women was "You have come a long way and you have overcome so many obstacles. There is nothing stopping you from achieving your goals and being active members of society." She spoke the truth. Ten or even five years ago it would have been strange to spot a young woman driving a car. Men would still feel nervous about speaking to a female cashier at a bank. There were very few women in high positions in the government and private sector. There were no women from Dhofar in the media. Most women still wore the face veil. There were very few women in Dhofar completing their higher studies, and you could forget about seeing any female executives at this end of the country!
 

Look at Salalah now! So much has changed, but we still have a lot more to do. I know we're blessed to be living in a such a peaceful country, but that doesn't mean we don't face any difficulties. Women in Dhofar have to deal with a lot. Society in Salalah is extremely conservative. A large percentage of women still suffer from huge social pressure, polygamy, lack of personal freedom as well as privacy. It's not easy.
 

Her Excellency touched upon several topics concerning women. One of the main ideas she was trying to communicate to us was that the educated and working women of Dhofar should become more active in volunteer work programs and in the women's associations in the province (there are about eight of them). I totally agree. If we use our brains to do good, change can happen more quickly. Women are more mobile now and definitely more flexible.
 

It was an informal discussion, and I thank her for taking the time out to come down to Salalah and exchange ideas and thoughts with us. I believe that change has to start from within. We can't wait for the government or some other authority to pave the way for us. Change can happen if we create it. To all the women out there who are nervous about what people will think as they break out of their shells, take one step; take it straight ahead, and others will follow. Throw a pebble in the water and watch the hundreds of ripples begin to form. Change is coming.

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!

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.

How Was Eid?

Published December 7, 2009 - Muscat Daily
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My alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m on Saturday morning. I cursed and begged for another day of holiday. Just another day! But no such luck. It just kept on ringing until I was forced to get up and go to work. Don't get me wrong. I love my job, but I really enjoyed Eid and those precious nine days of holiday. I'm figuring you all cursed your alarm clocks too.
 

Basic Eid rituals are similar throughout the Muslim world, but each society also has its own unique traditions to celebrate this religious event. Also known as the 'Festival of the Sacrifice', Eid Al-Adha is a holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God. It is also about spending time with family and enjoying the simple blessings that life has to offer. The first day of Eid occurs the day after the pilgrims conducting Hajj descend from Mount Arafa in Saudi Arabia.
 

This Eid is a major social event in Dhofar. The build-up alone is an event! During the week before Eid, it is nearly impossible to move in town. The streets are filled with frantic shoppers trying to do last-minute Eid shopping. Old men bargain with carpet sellers by the side of the road, children beg their parents for new toys, and women carefully select the colours and patterns on the traditional Dhofari 'thobes' that they wear for Eid. Meanwhile, cows and camels are transported around town in old pick-up trucks, on unsteady legs, unknowingly headed for sacrifice.
 

On the day before Eid, also known as 'Yom Arafa', most adults fast and prepare their houses for visitors while keeping an eye on their television sets which broadcast the live descent of the pilgrims from Mount Arafa in Saudi Arabia. Some are even lucky enough to spot someone they know waving at the camera through the crowd.
 

At dawn on the first day of Eid, mothers prepare food and burn frankincense while fathers and sons dress in their finest for Eid prayers at the mosque. After prayers, the males head off with their relatives to slaughter. In Dhofar, brothers often get together to buy a cow or camel. They then distribute the meat among their families and the poor.
 

By mid morning, the men are back from slaughter, and the women begin to cut up and cook the meat. Dhofar's favourite Eid dish is 'ma'ajeen', small pieces of boneless beef cooked in beef fat. It remains tasty (and sterile!) for months if kept in a sealed container. Many families also make ‘makadot’, or camel meat dried in strips.
 

Children put on their new clothes, meet up with friends and visit houses in the neighbourhood to eat sweets, giggle and collect ‘Eidia’ (small change). Usually men do their visiting in the afternoon and women in the evening. When I say 'visiting' I basically mean making an effort to visit every relative in the immediate and extended family as well as all the neighbours. This can take days.
 

Every visit is almost identical. Guests are greeted in the family majlis with the usual 'Eid Mubarak! How are you? And your family? Your health? Come and eat meat!' Every majlis offers exactly the same things; Omani halwa, Arabic coffee, nuts, sweets, orange flavoured Tang, fruit, and the required bowl of ma'ajeen. It can become a little overwhelming once you've reached house number ten! Some large families choose to have a tribal picnic on the third or fourth day of Eid to avoid visiting houses individually.
 

Eid is all about being social and 'doing your duty' by visiting family and neighbours. Most people in Dhofar would never be seen in shops or at tourist spots during Eid. They're too busy visiting the 1,000 relatives on their Eid list! Looking back, I know I ate enough dried camel meat to last me a lifetime, and I probably discovered at least 10 new relatives whom I never knew existed, but it was a great holiday and a time to touch base with people I don't see very often. Until next year!