Milestone

Got a complete draft of my article (actually a chapter for a book that a colleague here in Sharjah is editing) done.  About 10,000 words.  I should cut 2,500-3,000 words, but it feels good to have the draft done.  A milestone!  I wrote this in the past three weeks, though it's based on research I did in Lebanon two years ago, and based on two presentations I've given about the work.  I've had slides from those two presentations as well as data and other notes spread out on my dining room table for three weeks.  This is a good time to switch to a new venue for working.  For the next project I'm working on, I might get into the habit of writing in the library and work there for a few weeks.

At any rate, WRITE.  EVERY.  DAY.

Off to the races, part two

So the camel races are pretty much where you would expect: in the middle of the desert.  The track's in a little place called Al Marmoom, on the road between Duabi and Al Ain--pretty much a vast expanse of desert.  You have to be a V.I.P. (it wasn't clear to me whether that means you have to be Emirati, or you have to me a club member, or what--definitely didn't include me) to sit in the plush part of the stadium, which has nice cushions and a constant flow of hot (!) tea.  Everybody else sits off to the side in regular stadium chairs and a guard keeps watch to make sure non-V.I.P.s don't photograph the VIPs or even their section.  Odd.  On the up side, it's free and guys walk around with trays of dates and baby-sized cans of soda.

Okay, the races.  No jockeys.  I guess until a few years ago, most of the jockeys were little kids brought in from South Asia and kept skinny for maximum speed.  Luckily, that's no longer the practice.  Instead, the camels are ridden by little remote-controlled robots.  "Drivers" race on an inner track in big SUVs, leaning out the window with remote controls and cheering for their camels.  The races run constantly.  One ends and the next one starts moments later.   I stayed for a little over an hour and saw untold numbers of camels race.  Farms and camel pens surround the track, pretty much filling all of Al Marmoom, and I spent a few more hours just walking around the desert (I'm like Moses with a sunburn).

 

Cool today

It's a breezy, overcast day on campus, cooler than most.  Palm trees sway and the groundskeepers have no need for keffiyehs to protect their heads from the sun.  I take the long way to the language building where I have a midday meeting for all those teaching English 204 this term so I can walk through the well-tended groves of palms.  The air as clean as the polished marble-like sidewalks.  The morning was writing, doing laundry, cooking eggs.  The afternoon is this meeting followed by research in the library.  But I'll take the long way to the library...

It wasn't me

Tonight I worked out at the "leisure center," a small gym specifically for faculty and faculty families.  I was sweating away on a precor machine while two teen boys lifted weights and watched MTV (the music video channel, not the Lebanese news channel), as teen boys often like to do.  They finished their workouts, left, and a video by P!nk began airing.  Now I'm no prude, but this video made Madonna's Truth or Dare* look like a Hallmark channel Christmas movie.  So I'm sweaty, alone in the gym, and this verging-on-porn video is playing.  Of course you know what happens next.  Two faculty members walk in, nod at me, look at the television screen, look down, and say nothing.  Awkward.  And to think, the Sheikh was just on campus two days ago.  Glad he didn't visit the leisure center.

*Totally showing my age with this reference.  At least I spelled P!nk's name right.

The visitor

So my Arabic class meets in the main administrative building on campus.  Got there a bit early yesterday and was walking toward a men's room when a guy stopped me and said "you can't use."  Okay.  Headed to a different bathroom down the hall, then went to class.  My teacher Mozna asked if any of us would be spending time with the sheikh.  Apparently he was on campus for a regents meeting.  In addition to being the ruler of Sharjah, he carries the title of University President.  After class, what looked like a security detail was standing at the building entrance.  The take away: I think I tried to use a bathroom that the sheikh was using.  The campus Facebook feed had pics of his visit, including shots of walking through the student organization fare in the student union, itself a spectacle: a dj playing really loud techno music, huge crowds, and free eats (Lebanese culture club giving out k'neffee, Palestinian club had some type of fatayer, etc).

Headline watch #3

The National never disappoints.  This story profiles an emirati restaurant that serves a 20dH (about $5) camel burger that you can wash down with a milkshake made from camel milk.  The headline: Can I See The Desert Menu?  I'll never talk Nicole into eating one of these, so get ready Tony.  We're totally getting these.

Old school

My English 204 students had a great session in the library this morning, complete with research tips and practice doing keyword searches.  It's been a long time since I taught the old-school "research paper" course, having in recent years opted for various thematic and service learning approaches.  For some reason, this term doesn't seem like a step backwards.  Teaching the research paper doesn't have to be limited/limiting.  Admittedly there are some bad ways to approach such a class (thesis statement, research as merely a way to support "a position," etc), but baby/bathwater/yadda yadda yadda.  Feels a bit like being back in grad school.  Cool to look over students' shoulders, literally and figuratively, and help direct them to deeper inquiry, critical reading, and open exploration of questions that interest them.

Campus manners

Speaking of manners, I was in a fairly long, first-week-of-classes line at the campus bookstore last week when the clerk waved me to the front of the line.  "You're a professor, right?  You don't have to wait in line."  Weird.  As Veronica Corningstone says to Ron Burgundy, "when in Rome" ("yes, please go on").  As was the case in Lebanon, most students call me "Sir," which sounds respectful but also kind of creepy and colonial.

Mosque manners

Day after tomorrow I'm going on a AUS-sponsored daytrip (FREE!) to the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi.  Third-largest Mosque in the world and one of the most spectacular.  Here's the picture the University attached to the email confirming I have a seat on the bus.  Kind of makes it look like, as a guy, I have to wear either a dishdasha/keffiyeh, full suit, or clamdiggers.

Another great headline

The National does it again:

Bill Clinton to join Kill Bill's Daryl Hannah at Abu Dhabi summit

First of all, I love the idea of Bill Clinton and Daryl Hannah as co-headliners at a global summit; nothing reps the global village quite like two random American celebrities.  Second, Hannah's association with Kill Bill makes its way into the headline.  I guess that's become the most important credential on her resume.  Sorry Splash.

Impossible!

Headline in today's National:

"Impossible" not in UAE's dictionary, Sheikh Mohammed tells summit

If you've been to Dubai, you know that this statement pretty much sums up the construction, architectural, and business development philosophy professed by the ruling sheikhs of the country.

"First-Year" Writing at AUS?

To call the English-language writing requirement here "first-year composition" (as it's often called in the U.S.) would be a misnomer, mainly because most students end up in a writing course every semester for their first two years, and sometimes beyond.  Depending on performance on various assessments, a fairly common experience is to take a two-course sequence in academic writing, offered by the Department of Writing Studies, during the first year and then, sophomore year, students move over to the Department of English, and take a research writing course one semester and, often, an English for special purposes (professional writing) course the other.

If they pass into the lower writing studies course, that tacks on one more semester of writing.  If they take the public speaking course that the English Department offers, that's one more semester of communication-across-the-disciplines.  Plus, a relatively new Writing Across the Curriculum requirement means that all majors have a writing-intensive upper-level course, so THAT is one more semester of writing as well.

Three years of coursework in writing isn't uncommon.

More images of Sharjah City

Al Maskoof, an Iraqi place in the Al Mareija area, is my second favorite restaurant in Sharjah.  Each table has a big wooden bowl on it and waiters walk around and make sure you always have a piece of khobz tanoor (bread made in a tanoor oven) in your bowl.  Their kabob is a highlight--you can watch a guy behind glass grinding big pieces of lamb, shaping the ground meat onto skewers, and putting the skewers in a big open-flame oven.  Behind another glass is a fire pit (also open flame) where they cook fish; they also boil their tea--everybody gets free tea after dinner--on the same embers.

Worked up an appetite walking much of the city--around the lagoon along the corniche, through the Qasbah and all the parks that circle the water downtown, back to the "heritage" area where all the old souks are.  Highlights were DEFINITELY the livestock and fish markets.  First the livestock market, where the guys selling goats were willing to help me practice my Arabic:

 

And the fish market:

 

Night on the town: fingerprinting and dinner

I'm nearly finished with the process of getting my residency permit.  After work yesterday, went to the Municipal Health Center in Sharjah City.  Think, pretty much any bureacratic building you've visited (American friends: the DMV comes to mind), except that 80% of those living and working here are not Emiratis and must get work/residency permits.  So it's a massive operation. 

I had my handy notebook and so was able to work on my Arabic letters while I waited and waited.  I was given a medical form listing various examinations, but no further instructions (in English nor Arabic).  Finally got somebody to tell me to go the x-ray room on the men's side of the building.  Walked in and a doctor instantly tugged at my shirt and said "remove!"  He took chest x-rays, stamped my form, and all of a sudden a group of maybe twenty Pakistani guys entered, all shirtless (they apparently knew the drill).  Wow, got there just in time.  Found the same person who told me to go the x-ray room and said to her "halas?" (that's it?).  She shook her head and said "blood," pointing toward another room.  Waited in line, got blood drawn (which often makes me pass out, but I said to myself: "you're here by yourself and you can't pass out"...worked!).  Back to the same lady: "halas?"  She nodded. 

Then, next door for fingerprinting.  They have a sweet digital machine with a scanner.  You place your palm and then each finger on the scanner, one by one, both hands.  Then a retinal scan, a photo, and you're done.  I should be a legal resident (permit gets embossed right in your passport) on Sunday or Monday, test results pending, inshallah.

If you know me, you know I'm not going to waste a trip into the city.  Last trip, I had unsuccessfully looked for a place called Saddaf, a Persian restaurant that's supposed to be good.  Found it this time, but it's also on a street--Mena Road, Al Marija St--with some other, even more interesting places to eat, especially the Iraqi and Afghan places across the road.  Sorry Mazin, the Iraqi place looked good (saw some good looking khobz tanoor through the windows) but had to give the nod to the Afghan joint where most dinner are like 22dH (about five dollars) and had outdoor tables.  By now it was like 7:00, the sun had set, and there was a nice breeze from the lagoon/creek (the little Gulf inlet).  What food.  Place is called Al Kabab Al Afghani Al Jadeed, a real mouthful.  The polaws are like biryanis--spiced rice dishes with raisins and your choice of meat.  Huge platter of food, plus a little salad, broth, and yogurt.  Such a great savory and sweet dish.  Loved it, and gave scraps to the cat sitting under my table.  The meat seemed especially good (the cat thought so too) and upon exiting I noticed we were right next to the livestock auction.  Doesn't get much fresher than that.  Hope to go back to the area this weekend and try the Iraqi place next door.  Made haste to al Itihad Square in time to get the night's last bus back to University City.

Student Union Economics

In the student union a shawarma sandwich with garnishes of french fries and pickles costs 5 dirhams (about $1.25 U.S.).

In the student union Starbucks, the average drink costs 16 dirhams, or about $4 U.S.

Similar dynamic in Beirut:
I used to joke with my students in Lebanon about the economics of coffee on campus, where one could spend around the equivalent of five dollars for a Caribou Coffee from the student union, or walk outside the main gate and buy an Arabic coffee from an old man on the street for 1,000LL (sixty cents!).  Cultural Capital 101: students in Lebanon posting Facebook pics of themselves drinking Caribou while I post pics of myself buying an Arabic coffee from a little old man on Bliss Street.

Off to the races

Waiting for the bus to Sharjah city yesterday (my campus is out of town in an area appropriately called 'University City'), I strike up a conversation, as often happens in the Mideast, with a total stranger.  The guy is named Tajudin, or "Taj" for short, and is from the Sudan but has worked in the UAE for sixteen years.  Buses move slowly so we had a long chat and he insisted on paying my busfare.  As we made our way toward the city center, he invited me to join him and his friends for a trip to Dubai for the horse races that evening.  Here is the kind of thing that never happens in the U.S.  Nicole and I had met one of our closest friends in Lebanon--Nisreen from Jordan--on a bus.  People on buses seem to want to chat.  We exchanged numbers, both anticipating a day of hanging out in Sharjah, and he told me to let him know about the races by late-afternoon.

I think I walked as much yesterday as I ever have in my life.  I wanted to get a sense of how to navigate Sharjah on foot, at least for the time being (probably be too hot to walk in another month, given that the past four days have all climbed to 81-82 degrees) and made my way to all the major souks for lots and lots of browsing.  The central souk, or "blue souk," is the place for Islamic clothing, carpets from Iran, weird old antiques, and everyday items too.  Two area of old, more traditional looking, semi-outdoor (covered and cooled) souks offer pretty much everything you can think of: textiles, jewelry, food and spices, junk, you name it.  Like the markets in Tyre or Saida, Lebanon, or Homs, Syria, or, really, most cities in the region.

I had read about a Persian restaurant that sounded amazing but couldn't find it...a big part of why I walked so much.  I WILL FIND THAT PLACE EVENTUALLY.  So I ate in a little cafe that seems to serve primarily the guys who run some of the old stands in the souks.  You could wash your hands at a little open-air sink and then sit on cushioned benches.  I was definitely the only Western person there, and the only person eating my biryani with silverware.  All they had was rice biryani, but you could choose fish, chicken, or mutton.  The guy brought out broth with a big piece of some type of squash in it, a little plate with shredded cabbage and a couple pieces of cucumber, and a huge mounded plate of amazing rice biryani.  Big chunks of chicken, cinnamon sticks, cloves, various dried fruits and spice pods you had to be careful not to bite into.  Real deal.  Equivalent of about $3.

So after a day out in the sun, power walking, I'm sweaty.  Pop into the "Mega Mall," wash my face and hands, get an espresso, and call Taj, who tells me to go outside, get in a taxi, and then hand the phone to the driver.  I do.  Taj instructs the driver to take me to this grocery store where Taj is out front with all his Sudanese friends.  I join them on the stoop until their van arrives and we chat.  Abbas runs inside and buys a bottle of water for me, and one for him.  "Diabetic," Taj whispers to me.  They've hired a full-sized van to take them to Dubai.  Nineteen of us pile in, clowncar style.  "Now we'll go pick up everybody else," says Taj.  We go to another grocery store.  One guy comes out and after much talk about the most appropriate seating arrangements, he gets in the middle of the front seat and the only woman in the van sits next to him by the door.  Then a husband and wife climb into the back of the van, more conversation (pretty sure it was about decency because I hear the word "haram" a lot), they get out, and we head to Dubai.

Traffic is snarled, so I comment that there are more cars than people in the UAE.  Taj laughs, translates my joke, and everybody laughs.  Newspapers circulate with information about the evening's races.  Taj explains that "gambling" is not Islamic, so the Meydan race track works like this: you fill out a card with your guesses and pay no money to enter the track or turn your guesses in.  But you can still win big money.  The purse comes entirely from advertising revenue.

We get to the track and upon entry are given a scantron sheet to pick the top three finishers in each of the six races.  You fill in your cell phone number and get a text message if you win any money.  Taj helps me fill out my card, we find seats, and he goes off to pray (there's a big prayer area on the lower level).  The place is maybe seventy-five percent Sudanese, who apparently love horse races, and then a handful of Gulf Arabs and Westerners.  Many Sudanese have brought kettles (not thermoses...kettles or pots) of tea and glasses with them.  Periodically you hear a glass break and each time, somebody jokes that they must have had too much to drink, always prompting hearty laughs.  The races are fun but last about ninety seconds.  Then, you wait thirty minutes for the next race, generally while reviewing the race card and checking the horse and jockey bios.  They're really into it.

Alas, we won no money, but, hey, we didn't spend any either.  Amazing people watching with some friendly guys, too.  I told Taj next time we should go to the camel races instead (he goes periodically but clearly is all about the horses).