It's been a pretty crazy two (or has it been three?) weeks. Long story short, Doug is here. Life seems better for me with him. I don't feel the loneliness and emptiness I felt before. I still have strong heart twangs when I see a newborn infant with a mother, or worse with a grandmother. Although Ella has not yet arrived, I am already grieving the absence of the holding and hugging and cuddling moments I am never going to experience with her as an infant. Those are the memories I hold so dearly in my heart from raising my own children. The milky fresh powder scent of a freshly bathed baby. The warm soft weight of a contented infant asleep on my shoulder snuggled against my neck as we gently rock back and forth in my favorite chair.
I miss my horses, especially now. This is my favorite time of the year to ride. I miss the changing of the leaves and trailrides through the woods. A few nights ago, I took Doug to a furniture store at the mall. I had to show him the lamp. This is not just any lamp. I wish I had the luxury of just being able to purchase this lamp just to have it. This lamp is a plastic mold of a full size horse, head, legs, barrel, rump, tail and all. To literally top it off, the horse has a lamp on top of its head, right between the ears, it sticks up and has a lampshade. I can stand beside this horse and feel like I am standing next to a real horse. I'm missing the entire tactile experience, of course, but it's about as close as I'm going to get to the real thing for awhile.
I just tried to upload a photo of it. I failed. But, I promise I will try again later, I will prevail.
I also have a photo of three camels riding in the back of a truck in downtown Abu Dhabi. Now, that is something I've got to see before I leave this country. I want to know how in the heck they get the camels in the back of the pickup, and how they get them to lie down, and how they get them to stay in. It's pretty amazing to me! Those camel guys already have my respect as I think about all of the horse trailer loading episodes I've gone through! I promise I will load that photo also.
This blog entry is short and sweet. I have much more to say, but right this moment, the pool is beckoning. More later. I promise.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Daze
It's been quite a while since my last post. I do apologize. Every school day is a challenge. Every evening after school is a new adventure and not usually in a fun or exciting way. I know these difficult times will pass, I know I will grow. I know I will emerge with new strength, but quite frankly, this part of the journey stinks.
Michelle implemented a rule that we could only take on one task, or errand each day. Fighting the traffic in Abu Dhabi at certain times of the day is sometimes unbelievable. If we can find just the right time of day to make a run, it is easy. Other times, agonizingly slow. One day we were out on a mission and with our objective complete, we headed toward the hotel. We usually have a good idea of the general direction to move, unfortunately we made a turn too early. At one point we could literally see the crown of our hotel only a block away. However, construction prevented us from making a direct beeline.... 45 minutes later, we made it to the hotel. Incredibly frustrating. I think that was when Michelle made the one errand rule.
There have been days lately since my last posting when we have had to break our one errand rule. There are so many things that we have to do just to be able to get by here. It seems that at some point, some one in charge decided that everything important, or even just slightly important, or even things not important to others at all needed to be made important. Importance here from my perspective is defined by the necessity of a "letter from employer," and/or by a stamp. Not just a stamp like a postage stamp we are familiar with in the states. No this is the kind of stamp that is inked and delivered mechanically with a fancy little machine with a wooden knob on top and levers and probably hydrolics that lift the official stamp away from the stamped paper. And, only an important person can personally stamp the unofficial paper to make it official and important.
Last week, Michelle and I spent many days visiting many offices after school in our long skirts to get things accomplished. At one point, as we sat with our queue numbers in hand, because when you go to visit an office to get a stamp, or anything, there is a little machine that spits out numbers telling you when you get to see the "man with the stamp," .... and... you have to make certain you push the right button on the number spitting machine to get the right man with the right stamp, or you have to start all over again. There is a very nice "lady voice" that comes over the loudspeaker that says in a soothing British-South Afrikan-Australian accent, "bing. Now serhving custahmeh numbah one-thirtee-five at counteh tw-elve." So, then you know where you are supposed to go, maybe.
So, as I started to say, at one point, as we sat with our numbers in hand, letting the ink smear from our nervous palms, I listened to the ka-chunk, ka-chunk of the stamp machines making things official. It was really quite amazing to me. I suggested to Michelle that we should count the number of ka-chunks we heard as we sat there waiting. She didn't want to play. Sigh. I missed my husband. Doug would have already been counting. He would have been ten ka-chunks ahead of me.
At that particular time, we were in an office at the mall waiting to pick up our translated marriage licenses. Of course they could only be translated after we paid the man at the counter across the room 160 dhirhams and then marched back across the room to wait for the man with the frown to come out of his important glass office behind the counter with his official stamp machine to ka-chunk our marriage license to attest that they were official. At that point, it was okay to leave our original marriage licenses that have already been authenticated in the USA at the county, state, federal and UAE Embassy level with the nice man named none other than Mohammed, to translate from English into Arabic, so that some one at immigration can read that we are officially married to the men we say we are..... so that eventually, we can get visas for our husbands to join us in the UAE.
Which brings me to to lowest part of my journey. Yesterday was beyond difficult for me. It was the day in which all of my frustrations and emotions culminated to the point that I literally layed my head in my arms upon my desk and sobbed. Once the tears started, and the sobbing commenced there was no going back. I just had to let it all out. Emster, where were you when I needed you? You always know how to get me calmed down. But, you weren't there, so I had to go it alone. My colleague was there. She saw the anxiety attack for what it was. She is a wise woman and she knew I needed something. Fortunately, one of the teachers at school who I consider a friend and acts as my Arabic co-teacher at times when she isn't stretched too thin between all of us LT's. Imagine, one Arabic co-teacher/translator between seven LT's. Unbelievable.
Back to my emotional breakdown, it all started when I received a text message in Arabic. I asked a colleague what the message said. She said that it explained that Doug's visa was ready at immigration. Yahoo! I was so excited. That was two days ago. That day, I went to man behind the counter to find out how to get Doug's visa. He said that the text only said that the visa was being processed and that it wasn't ready. And that he had drivers that would get the visa and get it to me immediately. I didn't believe him and I came away sad and disappointed with no visa. Once I get Doug's visa, supposedly, I can get his ticket here the next day, we'll see.
So, I went back to the hotel and asked at the front desk to have some one read the Arabic text again. That person told me the visa was ready to be picked up. Hmmm. So, yesterday during my break I was determined to get to the bottom of where the visa was and how I was going to get my greedy little palm on it. However, I didn't know who to call, or how to get them on the phone and then once I got them, I didn't think I would understand them and be able to communicate with them. I was stymied.
However, my breakdown came after a very frustrating and daunting morning in the classroom. Without an Arabic teacher in the classroom, the boys are very unruly and disrespectful. I don't believe it is malicious. I believe it is out of frustration and immaturity. They don't know what we want. They don't understand us. When we want to take them to another room to reward them and show them a movie, they become distrustful and frightened. They run. Survival mode kicks in and unruly behavior emerges. It happens all day everyday. And it is hard. It's beyond difficult. It's the hardest teaching assignment I have ever had. Even worse than the year I had my own son in school, and that was the class from H - E - double hockey sticks!
The day before yesterday, I had boys literally climbing the walls. Once one boy starts then at least two or three more follow. I was so afraid that some one would get hurt. I was in the room alone, and I was out numbered. Eventually, my co-teacher came in, she's a very strong teacher and order was restored with Arabic language and communication. Yesterday morning, in another LT's room, with two LT's in the room, one boy poked another boy in the eyelid with a pencil, fast. Blood flowed. With two teachers in the room, we couldn't stop it. It was unnerving, to say the least. Right after that, another LT brought a little guy into our room. With tears in her eyes, she said she needed to leave him with us to keep him safe because the other boys were ganging up on him and trying to poke him with pencils. Again, she was outnumbered. It's hard.
So, that is what happened in class right before my break. As I tried to pull myself together to address the issue of how to get Doug's visa, I lost it. It all just became too much. I didn't know where to start, or even how to proceed. And then the tears started the anxiety ensued. My Arabic teacher friend, and my other LT teacher friend, were able to coax out of me all of my frustrations and visa problems. They sorted through things, phone calls were made, and it was determined that indeed the visa was done, but the man behind the counter lied to me. They don't have drivers to pick up Doug's visa to get it to me immediately. The visa will be sent through the mail. Un-be-liev-able. More days delay. I could have had Doug's visa three days ago, I could have gotten his ticket for this weekend. But no, now I'm waiting on the mail, and more sorting out. I'm very angry, very frustrated, very, very upset.
I'll get over it. Doug will make it here. We will have adventures in Abu Dhabi, Inshallah. Today, I hate that word.
Michelle implemented a rule that we could only take on one task, or errand each day. Fighting the traffic in Abu Dhabi at certain times of the day is sometimes unbelievable. If we can find just the right time of day to make a run, it is easy. Other times, agonizingly slow. One day we were out on a mission and with our objective complete, we headed toward the hotel. We usually have a good idea of the general direction to move, unfortunately we made a turn too early. At one point we could literally see the crown of our hotel only a block away. However, construction prevented us from making a direct beeline.... 45 minutes later, we made it to the hotel. Incredibly frustrating. I think that was when Michelle made the one errand rule.
There have been days lately since my last posting when we have had to break our one errand rule. There are so many things that we have to do just to be able to get by here. It seems that at some point, some one in charge decided that everything important, or even just slightly important, or even things not important to others at all needed to be made important. Importance here from my perspective is defined by the necessity of a "letter from employer," and/or by a stamp. Not just a stamp like a postage stamp we are familiar with in the states. No this is the kind of stamp that is inked and delivered mechanically with a fancy little machine with a wooden knob on top and levers and probably hydrolics that lift the official stamp away from the stamped paper. And, only an important person can personally stamp the unofficial paper to make it official and important.
Last week, Michelle and I spent many days visiting many offices after school in our long skirts to get things accomplished. At one point, as we sat with our queue numbers in hand, because when you go to visit an office to get a stamp, or anything, there is a little machine that spits out numbers telling you when you get to see the "man with the stamp," .... and... you have to make certain you push the right button on the number spitting machine to get the right man with the right stamp, or you have to start all over again. There is a very nice "lady voice" that comes over the loudspeaker that says in a soothing British-South Afrikan-Australian accent, "bing. Now serhving custahmeh numbah one-thirtee-five at counteh tw-elve." So, then you know where you are supposed to go, maybe.
So, as I started to say, at one point, as we sat with our numbers in hand, letting the ink smear from our nervous palms, I listened to the ka-chunk, ka-chunk of the stamp machines making things official. It was really quite amazing to me. I suggested to Michelle that we should count the number of ka-chunks we heard as we sat there waiting. She didn't want to play. Sigh. I missed my husband. Doug would have already been counting. He would have been ten ka-chunks ahead of me.
At that particular time, we were in an office at the mall waiting to pick up our translated marriage licenses. Of course they could only be translated after we paid the man at the counter across the room 160 dhirhams and then marched back across the room to wait for the man with the frown to come out of his important glass office behind the counter with his official stamp machine to ka-chunk our marriage license to attest that they were official. At that point, it was okay to leave our original marriage licenses that have already been authenticated in the USA at the county, state, federal and UAE Embassy level with the nice man named none other than Mohammed, to translate from English into Arabic, so that some one at immigration can read that we are officially married to the men we say we are..... so that eventually, we can get visas for our husbands to join us in the UAE.
Which brings me to to lowest part of my journey. Yesterday was beyond difficult for me. It was the day in which all of my frustrations and emotions culminated to the point that I literally layed my head in my arms upon my desk and sobbed. Once the tears started, and the sobbing commenced there was no going back. I just had to let it all out. Emster, where were you when I needed you? You always know how to get me calmed down. But, you weren't there, so I had to go it alone. My colleague was there. She saw the anxiety attack for what it was. She is a wise woman and she knew I needed something. Fortunately, one of the teachers at school who I consider a friend and acts as my Arabic co-teacher at times when she isn't stretched too thin between all of us LT's. Imagine, one Arabic co-teacher/translator between seven LT's. Unbelievable.
Back to my emotional breakdown, it all started when I received a text message in Arabic. I asked a colleague what the message said. She said that it explained that Doug's visa was ready at immigration. Yahoo! I was so excited. That was two days ago. That day, I went to man behind the counter to find out how to get Doug's visa. He said that the text only said that the visa was being processed and that it wasn't ready. And that he had drivers that would get the visa and get it to me immediately. I didn't believe him and I came away sad and disappointed with no visa. Once I get Doug's visa, supposedly, I can get his ticket here the next day, we'll see.
So, I went back to the hotel and asked at the front desk to have some one read the Arabic text again. That person told me the visa was ready to be picked up. Hmmm. So, yesterday during my break I was determined to get to the bottom of where the visa was and how I was going to get my greedy little palm on it. However, I didn't know who to call, or how to get them on the phone and then once I got them, I didn't think I would understand them and be able to communicate with them. I was stymied.
However, my breakdown came after a very frustrating and daunting morning in the classroom. Without an Arabic teacher in the classroom, the boys are very unruly and disrespectful. I don't believe it is malicious. I believe it is out of frustration and immaturity. They don't know what we want. They don't understand us. When we want to take them to another room to reward them and show them a movie, they become distrustful and frightened. They run. Survival mode kicks in and unruly behavior emerges. It happens all day everyday. And it is hard. It's beyond difficult. It's the hardest teaching assignment I have ever had. Even worse than the year I had my own son in school, and that was the class from H - E - double hockey sticks!
The day before yesterday, I had boys literally climbing the walls. Once one boy starts then at least two or three more follow. I was so afraid that some one would get hurt. I was in the room alone, and I was out numbered. Eventually, my co-teacher came in, she's a very strong teacher and order was restored with Arabic language and communication. Yesterday morning, in another LT's room, with two LT's in the room, one boy poked another boy in the eyelid with a pencil, fast. Blood flowed. With two teachers in the room, we couldn't stop it. It was unnerving, to say the least. Right after that, another LT brought a little guy into our room. With tears in her eyes, she said she needed to leave him with us to keep him safe because the other boys were ganging up on him and trying to poke him with pencils. Again, she was outnumbered. It's hard.
So, that is what happened in class right before my break. As I tried to pull myself together to address the issue of how to get Doug's visa, I lost it. It all just became too much. I didn't know where to start, or even how to proceed. And then the tears started the anxiety ensued. My Arabic teacher friend, and my other LT teacher friend, were able to coax out of me all of my frustrations and visa problems. They sorted through things, phone calls were made, and it was determined that indeed the visa was done, but the man behind the counter lied to me. They don't have drivers to pick up Doug's visa to get it to me immediately. The visa will be sent through the mail. Un-be-liev-able. More days delay. I could have had Doug's visa three days ago, I could have gotten his ticket for this weekend. But no, now I'm waiting on the mail, and more sorting out. I'm very angry, very frustrated, very, very upset.
I'll get over it. Doug will make it here. We will have adventures in Abu Dhabi, Inshallah. Today, I hate that word.
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