Changing Eid Traditions

Published August 13, 2013 - Muscat Daily

As I flew across three continents on the last day of Ramadan for a much needed month-long holiday with my family, I couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt at not being home in Salalah for Eid al Fitr. It is probably safe to assume that many Omanis feel the same way. More and more families I know of are going away for Eid or simply refusing to partake in endless week-long Eid activities.

 

Eid traditions are very strong in Muslim communities around the world, and Dhofar is no exception. Growing up, the last few days of Ramadan always involved a frenzy of activity in preparation for Eid. My mother and I would bake hundreds of cookies and sweets, stock up on the best Halwa, prepare the house for hundreds of guests, and make a list of all the relatives that we would have to visit.

 

During my childhood, the night of the moon-sighting at the end of Ramadan was a big deal. We would gather around the television after iftar and wait for the Omani moon-sighting committee to tell us whether Eid was the next day or not. If Eid was declared, the announcement would be followed by several hours of intense activity and majlis-preparation. If the moon wasn’t sighted, we would breathe a sigh of relief and look forward to an extra day of fasting and more time to prepare.

 

On the morning of Eid the men of the family would head off to the mosque after dawn for Eid prayers while the females frantically prepared the majlis for the first envoy of guests who were bound to start showing up at eight o’clock in the morning. Traditional Eid songs would be playing on the radio or on television. As a child, Eid meant gifts, new clothes, sweets, and small change that is handed out to children in the form of brand new 100bz notes.

 

The first three days of Eid involved non-stop visiting with relatives and friends. The days that followed were usually a bit easier. Nevertheless, the visiting and catching up with relatives did go on for at least a week. In other words, Eid was a big deal

 

Then came the Internet and cellphones and life in Oman began to change more and more rapidly. Keeping up with Eid traditions and hundreds of relatives became overwhelming and no longer feasible. The number of guests has dwindled as people have become busy with their own lives.

 

For an introvert like me, I still love to spend the days before Eid baking for guests but having to be on guest-duty for at least three days just doesn’t entice me anymore. Furthermore, Eid al Adha is only two months away. I’m ready to make an effort with Eid traditions, but at the moment I think one Eid a year is enough for me. As selfish as it may seem, I’d much rather use my time off to travel and relax. Staying at home without partaking in Eid activities is just not an option in Oman at the moment.

 

Thinking of all the Eid traditions and special memories that helped to shape my childhood in Salalah can make me feel slightly nostalgic but not for long. I’ve accepted the fact that life changes and so do traditions. So, from the back patio of my holiday hideaway I tip my mug of coffee to you and hope you enjoyed your holidays. Back to my pile of vacation reading!

Salalah Musings

Published May 7, 2013 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the column on the newspaper's website.

As we struggle to recover from nationwide jetlag (my sister’s words, not mine) caused by the new weekend, many of us in the south are still scratching our heads trying to figure out how to plan our days from now on.

Dhofaris are huffing and puffing about the local wedding schedule. In a tightly-knit tribal region like Dhofar, weddings are a big deal and they almost always happen on Thursday. Now that Thursday is a working day, Friday is a holy day, and Saturday is an early night, when are we supposed to have our weddings which go on till three o'clock in the morning?

Some furious locals solemnly swear they'll continue to have their weddings on Thursday and simply skip work. In fact, one of my relatives is getting married this month on a Thursday and they’ve decided to just go ahead with the wedding and pretend that it’s still a weekend.

As simple as it may sound, I highly doubt it will work out that way in the long run. Then again, when will we do our banking? Do we really want to run errands on Saturday? Will businesses remain closed on Friday? What about businesses that work six days a week? Will they close on Friday and open on Saturday?

In all cases, Dhofaris bid farewell to the last Thursday this past weekend with a full-fledged madar (traditional celebratory dance) on Haffa Beach at midnight. Apparently, it was quite a sight.

Meanwhile, in case anyone has been following the land drama down south, 16 locals who spent a week behind bars over a controversial tribal land dispute involving a water well and the planned medical city project are free at last as of last Wednesday. Tribal politics in Dhofar are something that cannot be explained in a book let alone a column, so I’ll leave it at that.

On the topic of tribes and land, last month I randomly attended a rally in Canada to support Canadian First Nation peoples in their battle for land and respect for their languages and heritage. It was an eye-opening experience for me to mingle with native tribes. To be honest, I found many similarities between those proud Canadian natives and the mountain tribes in Dhofar. Strange but true! If you’re interested in learning about the Canadian crisis, look up the Idle No More movement.

Other controversies this week in Salalah include baby sharks being sold at our local hypermarket, and an eyebrow-raising campaign infiltrating the school system encouraging high school girls to sign an oath of modesty. I’m all for modesty, but one of the posters of the campaign shows a figure dressed in black from head to toe (including full face, hands, and feet!) with the caption that said something to the effect of ‘modest queen’. I’m yet to become aware of a religious text that claims women must dress in black tents from head to toe in order to become more pious.

And finally, Salalah is busy this week with Oman’s first pantomime festival. Believe it or not, there’s a very active male-dominated underground theatre scene here in the south. Most theatre groups put on their popular plays in the monsoon during the Salalah Tourism Festival when the city is bustling with tourists. Speaking of monsoon and tourism, the Dhofar Municipality had better announce festival dates. Monsoon is six weeks away!

PS (I am drowning in post-grad assignments, hence the 'light' column).

The Cousin Debate

Published April 23, 2013 - Muscat Daily newspaper. Click here to view the article.

Earlier this week during a brief jaunt to Muscat, I picked up some trousseau items for a young friend of mine who will be marrying her first cousin in a few weeks. Naturally the marriage is arranged, as is the case with most marriages at this end of the country.

Although he is her first cousin, she barely knows him. He approached her father for her hand in marriage and given the family connections, the father felt obliged to agree to his nephew’s proposal. The marriage was settled, a dowry was paid, and a wedding date was set. She was given ten weeks’ notice to get ready.

Like any good Dhofari bride, she will be so busy preparing for the wedding day that she won’t have time to think about what her future will look like with this man. She knows that she will be moving into a bedroom suite in her relative in-laws’ house. As for the groom, she may hit the jackpot and end up with a very nice guy who will encourage her to pursue an education or - heaven forbid - a career!

Most likely however, she will end up with a man who will get her pregnant immediately and then she will have no choice but to stay at home and be a good wife regardless of whether their relationship works out or not. If she were ever to consider a divorce, the entire family will pressure her to drop the idea.

If she insists, her father will probably swear that he will divorce her mother. The poor bride will end up being forced to remain silent and obedient.

Cases like this happen regularly in Dhofar. Not only are a large percentage of marriages arranged, but they are almost all between first, second, and third cousins. This tradition of inter-breeding goes back hundreds of years and is protected fiercely by the conservative south.

A few years ago a colleague of mine almost married a man from a different tribe. After the engagement, one of her cousins stepped in and swore she would not marry the man. He slaughtered a cow as a symbol of his determination to stop the marriage, and the poor girl’s engagement had to be cancelled because her cousin’s wishes had to be respected. As ridiculous and medieval as this may seem, the practice is very much alive in Dhofar.

Almost everyone in my immediate and extended family is married to a cousin. In fact, if I were to list the number of relatives who have approached me for my not-so-delicate hand in marriage, you would be baffled. At age 15, the first of the relatives came knocking at our door. The argument went along the lines of ‘You’re a treasure that must be kept within the tribe to protect you and keep the blood pure’. Treasure? Tribe? Blood? I’d almost forgotten we were living in the 21st century.

Rest assured that I do not intend to mock our way of life here in Dhofar, but I am concerned that this out-dated tradition may not be appropriate anymore. Not only does it complicate the idea of choosing one’s marriage partner for young people, but genetic and blood disorders are rampant in Oman. In fact, according to data published by the Ministry of Health almost 60 per cent of Omanis carry genes of inherited blood disorders. If this isn’t enough to put you off inter-marriage, then I don’t know what is.

The reasons behind the prevalence of inter-breeding in the south of Oman are purely tribal. Because Dhofar is a patriarchal tribal society, there is an obsession with keeping tribal blood pure and strong. Furthermore, some research has shown that inter-breeding can lead to higher fertility rates. Marrying cousins is also cheaper because dowries are lower, requirements are fewer, and the girl can easily move into her uncle’s house and get along with her in-laws.

If it were up to me, I’d ban cousin-marriage altogether. However, I would say a more logical and fair solution would be to enforce pre-marital genetic screening for relatives. Your thoughts?

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!

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?

Burqa - A Dying Tradition

Published December 18, 2012 - Muscat Daily.

If you live in Muscat and spend a considerable amount of time in shopping malls, chances are you've spotted a rather large number of women in fashionable abayas wearing the black face veil with a slit for the eyes.
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It's safe to say that almost every one of those women is from the south of Oman. The veil, more commonly referred to as simply 'the burqa', is almost exclusively Dhofari. The south of Oman has traditionally been more gender-segregated and conservative than any of the other regions. Women in Dhofar start wearing the burqa from the age of about 18.
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During my years at a public girls' high school in Salalah, most of my classmates were already wearing it. When I first started college, I was one of a handful of females on campus who did not wear it.

All the hundreds of other females at my university were hidden behind veils. The only time I ever saw my colleagues' faces was in the prayer hall.

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In 2005 while I was still at college, the government enforced a burqa ban in all institutions of higher education in the country. Naturally, the ban hit Salalah like a tsunami. Tribal meetings were held non-stop for weeks on end while furious families tried to decide what to do. Locals staged demonstrations and wrote long letters to various ministers, but to no avail. Many young women dropped out of college because their families couldn't handle the so-called 'shame' of having their daughters' faces exposed to the world for the first time.

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For months Dhofar suffered what can only be referred to as severe social unrest. Slowly but surely, the young women got used to having an identity on campus. They became more confident and started carrying themselves differently. Some of them even stopped wearing the veil outside campus. The changes were fascinating to watch. Today, most young women in Dhofar don't think twice about uncovering their faces at college or at their offices.
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The past couple of years or so have also witnessed hundreds of young women obtaining their drivers' licences and heading out onto the road without a face veil. Things are changing, but the general consensus down south continues to be that a woman's reputation and identity should be concealed and 'protected' whenever possible. The burqa is a symbol reflecting that mentality.
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The one and only time I wore a burqa was about ten years ago when I was forced to go wedding crashing with my cousins. You may lower your raised eyebrow while I explain. Dhofari wedding crashers, otherwise known as ‘mutafarrigat’ are women whose greatest pleasure is putting on their burqas and slipping in to strangers’ weddings anonymously to view the bride and guests without being recognised. I refer to them as simply 'Dhofari paparazzi'. Many families line up chairs along the walls of the wedding ballrooms especially for these women.

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As much as I respect freedom of choice, I am sorry to say that the face veil is not something I would wish upon anyone. Covering a woman's face is not something I associate with my religion. If a woman makes the decision to wear the burqa, then it is entirely her choice - if it really is her choice. From my experience, I can assure you that no young woman wants to wear it nowadays.Once you've become empowered and discovered what it's like to have a public identity, there's no going back. The tradition of the burqa is dying slowly in Dhofar, but it couldn't go away soon enough.

The Vacation

Published November 6, 2012 - Muscat Daily

As many of you know, Dhofar is a region where working and driving is still taboo for many women. It is a region where marriages are arranged, female genital mutilation is widely practiced, polygamy is almost normal and where most women go nowhere without a chaperone and a face veil showing only the eyes. Things are changing rapidly but Dhofar remains the most conservative region in Oman for women.

On a quiet evening a little over a year ago a few of my very Dhofari female friends were fantasising about all the countries they'd love to visit as a group of friends. Naturally, the thought of young women going off together on vacation was unthinkable. As we sat quietly on the beach sipping our tea, I suddenly asked them 'Why not? What are the real barriers to you getting on a plane and going on vacation? You all work and can afford it'.

Their eyes widened then they sat upright and started listing the perceived barriers. It is taboo, everyone would find out, the number of suitors would dwindle, reputations would be stained, upset families, tribal problems, general societal unrest, and the possibility of male relatives getting the police to stop the girls from leaving the country.

After reviewing the list carefully, they realised there were no solid barriers. Fortunately, His Majesty Sultan Qaboos bin Said is an advocate for the empowerment of women in Oman. As far as I know, currently there are no legal restrictions when it comes to women and travelling. Following two hours of intense discussion, the girls decided to apply the law of attraction and turn their dreams into plans. Anyone who walked past our group of huddled abayas on Haffa Beach that evening didn't know they were witnessing history in the making.

After 14 months of outrage, fights, tears, blackmail, and sheer determination, the girls packed their bags and we flew out to a beautiful European city at the top of our travel list. Many of our overly conservative male peers in Dhofar would probably assume we immediately threw off our headscarves and went clubbing. What really happened, though? What happens when you release a group of Dhofari girls from conservative families into the world for the first time on an allgirls trip?

Believe it or not, our intense seven days of pure bliss over Eid holidays last week involved bright-coloured headscarves (a wonderful break from the traditional black), long breakfasts at little cafes, bookstores, museums, galleries, lectures, long walks, many cups of tea, exploring the city on foot, and skipping through puddles in our boots.

The whole trip was everything we had wished for and more. Goodness knows we earned it. Several times a day the girls would ask each other 'Is this really happening? Am I really here?' On the flight back to Salalah we high-fived each other and celebrated our success as we slipped back into our fashionable black abayas.

Our trip may not seem like much of an achievement if you're unfamiliar with this region, but it means a lot to us. I remember when the idea of going to college after high school was still taboo. I remember when young women first started to drive and work. When breaking deeprooted traditions that are not practical, someone has to start. Someone has to pave the path for others.

Following the usual 'What did you do over Eid?' conversations this week at work, I sat through long uncomfortable silences followed by awkward conversations with my traditional middle- aged male colleagues after I confirmed that all my fellow travellers were indeed unmarried independent Dhofari females. They were difficult conversations but they needed to happen. Change has to start somewhere. What comes next? Another vacation? We may have opened up a whole new world for girls in our conservative little town.

I'm not calling for an immediate revolution and saying all Omani girls should get a passport and go backpacking through Europe. All I'm saying is that your life is too short to be tied down by invisible chains. Quite often the only real barrier stopping you from achieving your dreams is you. Your life and your choices are your own. I know mine are.

Celebrating Eid al Adha

Published October 23, 2012 - Muscat Daily.

It’s rather hard to believe another Eid is knocking at our doors. I haven’t quite recovered yet from Eid al Fitr celebrations nine weeks ago!

For many of you, it may sound like just another Eid, but both occasions are quite different for Muslims worldwide. Eid al Fitr that we observed in August was a celebration following the completion of Ramadan, the holy month of fasting. The last few days of Ramadan witnessed intense worship and prayer rituals followed by a communal sigh of relief as we all re-discovered the privilege of eating and drinking during daytime for the first time in a month!

On the other hand, Eid al Adha that we will be celebrating this Friday is a commemoration of the Prophet Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his eldest son to God. It also marks the end of the Haj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca that Muslims must complete once in their lifetime. It is not uncommon for Muslims to go two or three times, hence the millions of pilgrims each year.

Last week Dhofar bid farewell to this year’s many pilgrims as they embarked on their journey to Mecca to complete the Haj rituals. Going on the pilgrimage is a big deal and the farewells are often filled with emotion. I was approached by several acquaintances of mine who went off to Mecca asking me for forgiveness if they had ever done me wrong. They wanted to go off to the holy city feeling relieved and unburdened. I haven’t been to Mecca yet but I am very much looking forward to my pilgrimage when the time is right.

On Thursday every household in Salalah will turn on the television early in the morning to watch live coverage of the pilgrims as they observe the final day of Haj, otherwise known as Yom Arafa.

At dawn, the pilgrims will head to Mount Arafa, the site where the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) gave his farewell sermon. Families will gather around the television to try and spot their loved ones among the millions of pilgrims dressed in white. It is a rather extraordinary sight and I recommend that you tune into any Arab television channel on Thursday to watch part of it.

The first day of Eid on Friday morning will involve a lot of animal slaughtering (ie our sacrifice), plenty of meat, excited children, and then endless visiting of relatives and neighbours.

During the weeks leading up to Eid the main topics of conversation in this town are often limited to the following questions; ‘Anyone from your family on the pilgrimage this year? What are you slaughtering? When do you think the holidays will be?’ Naturally, the third question is always the hardest to answer. The powers that be in this little nation of ours aren’t always generous with holiday information. We are often informed of the public holiday a mere four or five days before Eid. It’s rather unfair to people who have travel plans.

Speaking of travels, I have noticed an interesting trend in Salalah these past couple of years. Many families have taken to escaping during Eid to avoid the hassle of having to slaughter and then visit a hundred relatives. This is rather surprising for such a family and tribal-oriented region, but in many ways I don’t blame them. I personally find that two back-to-back Eids can be a little overwhelming.

While the whole population of Salalah heads out into town today to create traffic jams (a favourite pastime) and stock up on last-minute Eid goods, I will be quietly packing my bright red suitcases in preparation for my own Eid escape. Even though I’m not fond of visiting and the thought of large quantities of meat make me feel rather ill, this trip isn’t about escaping. It is more of a social experiment involving a group of rebellious Dhofari girls eager to see the world. Stay tuned….

The Final Week

Published in Muscat Daily on August 14th, 2012. Click here to view the column on their website.

As I write these words, I am sitting on my back steps here in Salalah in my traditional thobe budhail with two cats curled up on either side of me for warmth. We are quietly enjoying the monsoon drizzle and listening to the gentle rustle of the leaves on the fig, henna and frankincense trees. This is beginning to sound like a poem, isn't it? Forgive me, I've been fasting for almost 12 hours and have another three to go. We do tend to get a little delirious towards the end of the day in Ramadan!

To be honest, I find it hard to believe the holy month of Ramadan is coming to an end. Despite the long hours of fasting, time flew. As we wait for the new moon to mark the end of fasting and the beginning of Eid, I find myself thinking about my favourite and not-so-favourite aspects of Ramadan in the 21st century.

I will definitely miss the atmosphere in Salalah during Ramadan. When an entire region is fasting together, it feels like a month-long celebration instead of a hassle. To be honest, I have no idea how Muslims in non-Muslim societies cope.

Thanks to shorter working hours and fewer commitments, I will miss the extra time for reflection and reading. I will miss the thousands of people rushing to make it to the mosque for every prayer and how everyone makes an extra effort to be calm and generous.

I will miss seeing plates of food being carried through the neighbourhood during the hour before sunset on their way to the mosque to feed fasting labourers. I'll miss all the excited children who are fasting for the first time. I will miss peeking out of my window at 4am and seeing all the neighbours' lights come on slowly one by one as they prepare for dawn. The list is long.

On the other hand, I will definitely not miss the Ramadan work ethic among Omani employees. I'm not exaggerating when I say next to nothing gets done in Ramadan. Muslims only work six hours during Ramadan, but most of them might as well not come to work at all. Somehow fasting and productivity don't go well together for many people.

The obsession with food and the long line-ups at supermarkets at all hours of the day and night will not be missed either. Most families spend up to four or five hours in the kitchen each afternoon preparing to break the fast and end up making up to ten different deep-fried dishes, most of which go to waste. This completely contradicts the purpose of fasting in my opinion, but to each his own, I suppose. In my home, my mother and I have dinner down to a 54-minute art. In the hour before sunset, we manage to produce a starter, a healthy main course and occasionally a dessert.

Believe it or not, our meals don't even involve the basic Omani Ramadan staples - oil, samosa wraps, puff pastry, crème caramel and Vimto. Sleeping well at night and fitting in a healthy breakfast before sunrise means I have energy during most of the day, for which I am grateful.

One aspect of Ramadan that drives me crazy is the increasing commercialism. I find I am able to shut myself off most of the time because I never really go into town during Ramadan. Furthermore (brace yourselves), my house is probably the only remaining house in the sultanate without cable television.

I can just about handle the very short episode of the Omani Ramadan cartoon Yom wa Yom in the evenings on Oman TV because I find it hilarious. However, the empty and mindless commercials that come on every five minutes during the episode remind me why I choose never to watch television. Life's too short.

I will not miss all the daily phone messages from car dealerships trying to brainwash me into believing I need a brand new RO25,000 car because I'm delirious, hungry and looking for distractions that don't involve food. What is it with car deals during Ramadan anyway?

I’m sad to see the holy month end because it’s a special time of year; a time of reflection, discipline and spirituality. However, I am also guilty of looking forward to going back to my normal work and study schedule. Trust me, trying to do post-graduate work while fasting is like pulling a tooth. Come next week, I'll be reunited with my sacred morning mug of coffee and I might just be able to catch up on all my studying...Insha Allah!

Women & Photography

Published July 17, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the article on the newspaper's website

I'm writing this with my feet in buckets of cold water as I recover from a seven-hour hike with all my camera equipment through an unnamed city in a faraway land where I am taking an intensive outdoor urban photography course.I know it’s not considered the most feminine of activities, especially for a young woman from the conservative south of Oman. Fortunately though, being feminine and proper is the least of my worries most of the time.

I cannot recall exactly when I first became interested in photography, but over the past ten years or so my interest has evolved into a passion. My early days involved experimenting with black and white photography using film cameras (remember those?). I have since progressed to Digital SLRs with multiple lenses.

Despite my passion and ability to take good photos, I am not by any means a professional photographer. I would like to become one someday though, hence the investment in good equipment and the intensive photography hikes overseas with an incredibly talented photographer and teacher. Had I attempted the same adventure in Salalah, I would have ended up in serious trouble for endangering the reputation of my tribe (I’m only half-kidding).

This brings us to the topic of today’s column; females and photography in Oman and Salalah in particular. First of all, I’d like you to keep in mind that the relatively small community of photographers in Oman has traditionally been all-male. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the public emergence of females in the field of serious photography has occurred only over the past three to five years at the very most.

In Salalah, the only semi-acceptable photography profession for women is wedding photography. Women who take on this profession usually see it as a quick way to make money (approximately RO100 per wedding) in an all-female environment. Most of them go out and purchase an expensive camera, but due to lack of proper training the results are usually far from professional. I’ve seen results where the bride had red-eyes in almost every photo.

Besides wedding photography and without sounding too pessimistic, I can almost say that society frowns upon female photographers here in the south and perhaps in other parts of Oman as well. I know this from experience. I’ve appeared in public a number of times with my big chunky camera and was either given strange stares and asked what on earth I was doing, or word reached one of my male relatives that I was seen in public drawing attention to myself. A couple of years ago I ventured out into Muttrah Souq in Muscat with a female photographer friend and we also received plenty of glares.

To be fair, things are definitely improving quickly in the Muscat area and very slowly in other parts of Oman. There have been a few exhibitions in the capital over the past couple of years highlighting the work of female photographers including a very recent one at Shangri-La’s Barr Al Jissah.

Furthermore, a little over a week ago, His Majesty Sultan Qaboos bin Said ordered the establishment of a governmentsupervised Omani Photographers’ Association. Up until now the only outlet for photographers innSalalah has been the photography branch of the Omani Fine Arts Society. Again, it has been entirely male dominated until very recently. The handful of females who were brave enough to join is practically invisible according to an inside source. Personally, I have always felt a little intimidated by the club and didn’t consider joining.

On a final note, I hope the new association pays extra attention to training and to the unique role women can play in the Omani photography scene. After all, we do represent half the population! I know there are many hidden female talents behind closed doors in Salalah that are simply waiting to be encouraged and unleashed. The future looks a little brighter. Till then, I’ll be counting the days until I can freely set up my tripod in central Salalah and shoot to my heart’s delight without feeling judged or intimidated!

Thobe Budhail

As we survive one of the worst heat waves Salalah has witnessed in the past few years, I am grateful for many things in life. I'm grateful for airconditioners that work.

I am grateful for a demanding office job that keeps me at work until after 5pm when the heat is slightly more bearable and I am able to walk to my car without turning into a puddle in the parking lot. I am grateful for iced tea, sunglasses and cool showers.

Most of all though, I'm grateful for my thobe budhail. If you're not familiar with the term, you're probably new to Oman. Thobe budhail translates into 'Father of the Tail'. Exclusive to the South of Oman, it is basically a loose-fitting square colourful garment with holes for the hands and head. The back of the dress is about a foot longer than the front and it comes with a big matching rectangular headscarf, commonly referred to as a losee or leeso.

There are many folktales attempting to explain the tail at the back of the dress. One common tale tells the story of a man who fell in love with a woman and she refused to marry him. He traced her footsteps to know where she lived and put a curse on her. To protect other girls, a tail was added to the dresses to erase their footsteps.

Another myth has it that a king used to sprinkle magic powder on the ground and any woman whose feet touched the powder would fall madly in love with him. To protect themselves, Dhofari women would use their tail to sweep the powder away. Many Dhofaris tend to agree that a few generations ago the thobe budhail sported a leather tail to erase women’s footsteps in the sand when they were out herding their animals.

Regardless of how it all started, the tradition of the thobe budhail is still going strong in Dhofar. Every single female over the age of about 12 wears the thobe budhail at home at all times. That goes pretty much without exception. Even babies wear them occasionally! They are available in every type of material imaginable from delicate silk to denim. Day-today thobes are cotton and come in a thousand different prints from delicate flower prints to wild African designs.

Some even have designer brand names illegally printed all over them. Recently, I saw someone wearing a thobe that had ‘Blackberry’ written all over it. I’ve also seen Prada, Louis Vuitton and Versace. Day-to-day thobes cost about RO3 each and are worn by all females; rich and poor, young and old. My wardrobe at home hosts about 40 of them.

For special occasions, women may don thobes made of slightly more expensive material. Wedding thobes are usually made of velvet and have a million little crystals sewn onto them. These can cost up to RO500. Since women in Dhofar are very much into fashion, the thobe budhail business is always thriving. There is an entire section of Salalah's main stretch – Al Salaam Street - dedicated to thobe budhail shops. It is lined with about 40 or 50 shops selling different prints.

A colleague of mine who used to own one of the shops on that stretch told me that during the weeks before Eid, he would sell up to 500 thobes a day in his tiny shop. The only argument against this popular garment is that it’s not very practical, especially for active women. I’ve almost mastered the art of skilfully hitching it up while doing housework, but it can be a nuisance sometimes. Wearing them can also enhance weight gain in my opinion because it conceals pretty much everything. You also need to replace them regularly because their lifespan is short. I’m not a big fan of shopping, so I usually buy five to ten at a time.

As far as I’m concerned, the advantages of wearing them completely outweigh the disadvantages. They’re beautiful. The way they flow is extremely elegant and feminine. They’re comfortable. They’re affordable. In extreme situations, they act as a mobile dressing room. They're great gifts. Last but not least, they’re perfect for hot weather. Did I already mention that I’m not a fan of heat waves? Monsoon in Dhofar is 17 days away!

Published June 5, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the column on the newspaper's website.

The Evil Eye

Published Tuesday April 24th, 2012 - Click here to view article on Muscat Daily website.

A few weeks ago I was sitting with a group of women from my extended family sipping tea and exchanging tribal news. One woman was asked about her newborn granddaughter.

The grandmother immediately started speaking loudly 'the baby has dark skin and big ears! She's so ugly!' All the other women nodded. I sat up furiously and said 'Hey, that's not true. She's absolutely adorable!' I had been holding the baby a couple of days earlier and she was one of the sweetest bundles of joy I had ever seen.

The protective grandmother gave me a furious look. My mother nudged me and whispered 'You're not supposed to say that', so I settled back down into my chair and let them get on with the conversation. I had forgotten about how superstitious my family is. The woman was simply trying to protect her grandchild from the evil eye.

Although superstitions are a big part of our culture here in Dhofar and in other parts of Oman as well, the evil eye isn't just superstition. It is considered an everyday hazard. If you're not familiar with the concept of the evil eye, it is a 'look' that is believed to be able to cause harm or bad luck for the person at whom it is directed. It is often fueled by envy.

In Islam, the evil eye is a common belief that humans have the power to look at other living creatures or objects to cause them harm. Although talismans are not commonly used as protection among Muslims, certain verses from the Holy Q’uran are used to ward off the evil eye. It is also a tradition among us that if a compliment is to be made you must say 'Masha'Allah' (God has willed it) as protection against such evil.

In Dhofar, many locals believe that the evil eye can bestow a curse on victims and may even cause death. In fact, I have heard of a few people in this town who are actually well-known for the power of their evil eye. Apparently, they have a history and many eyewitnesses to prove it. Sometimes I think my people find it hard to distinguish between the evil eye and hardcore black magic. Salalah is a peculiar town when it comes to dwelling in the unknown.

For the first few months of a baby's life, it is not uncommon to see small amulets containing verses from the Q’uran pinned to the child's clothing. Babies are thought to be the main victims of the evil eye especially when praised by childless women or strangers.

I remember an incident a year ago when I smiled at a baby in the middle of a supermarket in Salalah. Its mother saw me and immediately grabbed my arm and said 'Say Masha'Allah! Say Masha'Allah! Quick!' It took me a few seconds to realise what was going on before I could mumble the words and put her at ease.

Remember my last column on the bridal fiasco? During our three hours with the makeup artist, I had to sew verses of the Q’uran into the bride's wedding gown to protect her from the evil eye.

Other common practices include slaughtering an animal at the door of your newly built house to ward off evil. When buying a new car, locals often play recorded Q’uran CDs in it for the first few days to protect it from envy. Until recently it was not uncommon for Dhofaris to slaughter animals before harvest in order to pour their blood into water springs and throw scraps of flesh throughout their fields to ward off envy.

Naturally, I am a little superstitious as well because it's part of my Dhofari upbringing. However, I most certainly do not let it affect my day to day life. I'm sure there are plenty of evil forces out there, but I choose not to obsess about them!

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!

Lest We Forget : Anniversary of the Dhofar Protests

Published February 28, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the article on the website.

This week, the people of Dhofar are quietly observing the first anniversary of the protests that erupted in Salalah on February 25, 2011. It's hard to believe that a year has gone by since the day protesters marched through the centre of town with banners demanding reform.

They set up huge tents and a stage in the Minister of State's parking lot in central Salalah, where they remained for 77 days. The parking lot – nicknamed 'Freedom Square' – became the centre of attention during those months. Hundreds of people from all walks of life visited the sit-in on a daily basis to talk about a new Oman.

On Fridays, thousands flocked to the square to listen to the widely anticipated Friday sermons. Temporary food kiosks and water facilities were set up to cater to the needs of protesters, and donations were pouring in on a daily basis to help provide meals.

Dhofar wasn't the only province that suffered from Arab Spring fever. Despite very little media coverage in most local newspapers, protests were erupting all over Oman.

After negotiations took place between sit-in organisers in different parts of Oman, a final list of demands was delivered to the palace and then printed on a large banner and fastened to the Minister of State's main gate in Salalah.

The long list included demands for better economic conditions, more jobs for Omanis, freedom of speech and an end to government corruption. During those difficult few months, the government worked through the list in a remarkable and efficient manner.

Royal Decrees were issued on a semi-daily basis announcing jobs, benefits, a new public university, legislative powers for Majlis A'Shura (the closest thing our politically immature nation has to a parliament) and many other major changes.

Unfortunately, the sit-in didn't end peacefully in Dhofar. By the end of April, many satisfied protesters had gone home, but a couple of hundred who were hoping for more change continued with the sit-in. By then most of the major demands had been fulfilled, and the rest were either unrealistic or required more time.

On the evening of May 12, all hell broke loose in Salalah when the army arrived and aggressively took over the square. All communication services were shut down in Dhofar during the raid and several hundred men who happened to be in the square at that time were arrested and taken to the local prison.

Nearly a dozen key speakers and activists were plucked out of the square by helicopter and taken to a prison facility up north, where they remained for over 50 days.

Unfortunately, I was near the square at the time and had my precious Nikon D90 confiscated by the ROP after foolishly trying to get a shot of locals clashing with the army at the entrance to the square. After being interrogated and forced to wait in my car for nearly two hours, my camera was finally returned to me and I was allowed to leave.

The next morning, supporters flocked to the square and formed another quiet sit-in to demand the release of their friends and relatives from prison. A friend of mine managed to get onto the roof of a nearby building and snap photos of the army during their second raid.

Sometimes I look back at those photos and think to myself, “Did this really happen? How very un-Omani.” For weeks afterwards, the army presence remained strong in central Salalah. They finally withdrew just as our busy monsoon tourist season was starting.

To this very day, most locals frown upon the excessive use of power that ended the peaceful sit-in in Salalah. After all, it really was nothing more than a large communal debate in a parking lot over thousands of cups of tea.

Regardless of what happened, I think the Omani version of the Arab Spring is something to be proud of. Our uprising was a good example of how a nation can work together to create positive change…peacefully. It was liberating and very healthy for us.

At the height of the Arab Spring drama in the Middle East, several renowned international media publications had the audacity to compare the situation in Oman to places like Egypt and Libya. Only those of us living here knew how ridiculous these allegations were.

The situation here was completely different. People wanted economic reform. There was no rebel party and no one was trying to bring down a regime. Omanis wanted to voice their opinions and be heard.

Looking back now, I think one of the main lessons we learned as a nation is that public dialogue is not a crime. Standing up against corruption is not a crime. Challenging the status quo is not a crime.

During the past year we've broken boundaries that many of us never knew existed. The fact that I can discuss this in a local newspaper is quite something! I'm proud of the protesters for speaking up on behalf of all of us. Without them, tens of thousands of people would still be without jobs and none of these incredible changes would have taken place.

I'm also proud of how the government and His Majesty Sultan Qaboos bin Said handled the messy situation. Excluding those few days of chaos in Sohar, the Omani uprising was peaceful.

Looking forward, one thing is clear to me; with freedom comes responsibility. We can no longer be referred to as a 'sleepy nation.' The only way forward is hard work and dedication.

Muscat Beckons

Published February 14, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view article.

Every summer tens of thousands of Omanis from northern Oman head to the south for their annual Khareef migration. Dhofar's lush monsoon is the perfect getaway from the soaring summer temperatures in Muscat and the interior.Local newspapers bring up the migration on a regular basis throughout the monsoon season and the Ministry of Tourism posts teams at airports to record the number of visitors going into Salalah. It's a big deal.

However, has anyone noticed the annual exodus of Dhofaris to Muscat during the cooler months of the year? I have. Last weekend I treated myself to the spectacular South African ballet performance at the Royal Opera House with a good friend.

My weekend involved the usual shopping, a mandatory coffee at Shatti al Qurm and a brief visit to Muscat Festival at Qurum Park. The difference with this trip is that I spotted people from Dhofar wherever I went.

Muscat Festival and the major shopping malls were packed with Dhofari women on shopping sprees. Dhofari men could be seen lounging in all the cafes on the beach enjoying Muscat's beautiful February weather.

You may be wondering how I can pick out a Dhofari in a crowd. Trust me, it's easy. Dhofari women can be easily identified from the face veil with the eye slits, glittery abayas and their clip-on hair pieces the size of large melons.

The men are even easier to identify from the way they walk and – for lack of a better word – their swagger. Their dishdashas are usually quite long and sometimes even touch the ground. Their kummas' (caps) are usually tipped slightly to one side and often they have a tasseled turban thrown over one shoulder or draped casually over their heads. The Dhofari accent is also very easy to identify.

So why have Dhofaris chosen Muscat as their top holiday destination? First of all families in the south can be quite large. It's convenient to pack the whole family into a couple of cars and drive up to Muscat to spend a week or two in a rented apartment. Salalah is pretty deprived when it comes to shopping malls, cafés, restaurants, cinemas and entertainment, hence the fascination with Muscat. The capital area is a very nice place to be in during the winter.

Whenever I'm in Muscat, I use my time to catch up with friends, meet new people, stock up on treats, and pretty much indulge myself in every way possible. There's always something interesting going on, and the newly opened Royal Opera House has given me even more reason to fly up regularly. I have been to four performances already and look forward to many more in the coming years.

As a Dhofari woman, Muscat also allows me to be anonymous if only for a few days. I relish the freedom of cozying up in a café and working on my laptop without worrying about being stared at or recognised by members of the tribe (female…. face exposed …spotted at café… chaperone-less…must report!) I'm exaggerating a bit, but you know what I mean.

Dhofar is pretty conservative when it comes to women. I know Muscat and Salalah are only a 1,000km apart but they might as well be two different countries.

I do enjoy my brief jaunts to Muscat, but I'm always ready to come home when they're over. The hustle and bustle of the big city is fine for a weekend, but I can't imagine spending more than a week in Muscat. When the pilot announces the beginning of the descent to Salalah on the flight home, I put my book down and look out of the window to admire the view. I can never get enough of it. The moment the desert turns into smooth hills and I see the green banana plantations, palm trees and pristine beaches, my heart skips a beat. Muscat has its charms, but home is where the heart is!

My Take on Polygamy

Published January 17, 2012 - Muscat Daily ... click here to view article

I come from a polygamist family. My father currently has three wives and fifteen children. Do you find that incredibly weird? I must confess, occasionally I do too. Most of the time, however, I never really stop to think about it.

A few months ago, I was on a training programme with young citizen journalists from different parts of the world. On our first day I spent my lunch break with a Muslim girl from Europe. Halfway through our meal, she asked the inevitable question, “How many siblings do you have?”

After I answered her, she was silent for a few moments, and then whispered, “I've never met anyone from a polygamist family before.” She spent the remainder of the programme questioning me about what it was like. To be honest, she made me feel like I'd just landed from outer space. I've been thinking about it ever since. Is it really that unusual?

Polygamy has been practised in different cultures around the world throughout history and is still legal in most Muslim countries, with the exception of Tunisia and Turkey. Even though it is legal, I know it’s not widely practised outside the GCC.

In Oman, polygamy may have died out in most areas up north, but the tradition is alive and well here in Dhofar. I assume the reasons behind this are somewhat related to the stronger tribal ties at this end of the country.

Why do men in Dhofar choose to take on another wife? Islam allows up to four wives under certain circumstances and conditions.

Despite this, I believe very few men in Dhofar these days remarry for religious reasons. I hate to sound negative, but most polygamists I know (the number isn't small) remarried for entirely selfish reasons.

In many cases men take on a second or third wife to show off their wealth or to produce more sons who will carry on the family name. Some men who are unhappy with their first wives but can't divorce them due to family pressure choose to remarry. A large number of polygamists marry women half their age to help the men feel 'young' again. That seems to be the most common reason.

There are also a small percentage of men who take on a second wife for semi-acceptable reasons. For example, a former neighbour of ours took on his deceased brother's wife as a second spouse in order to take care of her and keep the kids in the family. I can't say it made sense to me, but it seemed to work for them.

Some men whose wives are infertile will marry other women to bear children while keeping their first wives. Divorced or widowed women also tend to end up being second or third wives since most single men here wouldn't consider them for marriage. Most polygamists take on a second wife after they hit 40 or 50 and realise they're not getting any younger. Having two wives isn’t uncommon in Dhofar. Three or four is rare.

The big question is, does polygamy really work? In my opinion the answer is a big no. A few years ago I was involved in a research project here in Dhofar on polygamy. After hundreds of interviews and months of work, it became obvious that women are victims when it comes to polygamy.

None of the women we interviewed were happy in their marriages. On the other hand, the men seemed to be fine and most had remarried for entirely selfish reasons. It was truly heartbreaking.

Polygamy may have worked for many centuries and it probably made sense in many cases. However, in this day and age I think it causes more heartache than happiness and I'm confident that no man is able to love and care for two women equally, let alone four! Furthermore, no woman in her right mind wants to share her husband with another woman. Men may fantasise about being the perfect husband who loves and treats his wives equally, but who are they kidding?

People may argue that I'm generalising and that they know a happy polygamist family. But are they really happy? When two wives live under the same roof, they are under enormous pressure to appear to live harmoniously, regardless of their feelings. I'm sure there are a handful of really decent polygamists out there who treat their wives equally and who manage happy homes, but I have yet to meet one!

Naturally, the law in Oman doesn’t protect women when it comes to polygamy. A man can remarry without even informing his first wife. That doesn't speak well for women's rights in Oman, but I'll save that rant for another week.

Many non-Arabs may wonder why the first wife simply doesn't ask for a divorce if her husband comes home with a young wife. If only it were that simple! Most women above the age of 40 are not educated. They have no means of supporting themselves and probably have at least five children. Where do they go? Do they head back to their father's house if he's still alive? Camp out in their siblings' spare bedroom forever? They have no choice but to stay with their husbands and endure the pain.

If you think polygamy will die out with the current generation of middle-aged men, think twice. I can think of three men I know under the age of 40 who have two wives. I also know two young women around my age who became second and fourth wives respectively in the past 12 months.

In fact, just a few months ago, a married man asked for my hand in marriage. I wasn't planning on sharing that piece of information with the world, but seriously…how could I not? Someone in this day and age assumed a young independent woman like me would be okay with being a second wife! Fortunately, I'm not. As much as I love my family and all my stepmothers and step-siblings, I am against the practice.

On a final note, a couple of years ago I read an article that suggested polygamy contributes to lower divorce rates in Oman. Whoever assumed that probably hadn’t had their morning cup of coffee. Polygamy will die out sooner or later. Until then, please say a prayer for all the women who've suffered through this bizarre tradition. And if you have a positive polygamy story to tell, do share....

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