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. 

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. 

School Days

Wow!  I have a few more followers!  I love that!  I am so sorry I have not posted anything for about 10 days.  I suppose that would be because I started school.  When I come home, I am whipped and my feet hurt!  Except for today, I wore my birkenstocks, much better on tile and on my toes! 

So, I suppose you want to hear about the schools, especially since that is why I'm here.  My school is beautiful.  There are many murals on all of the walls, and the windows are painted so they look like stained glass.  I teach in an all boys school with an all female staff.  We have around 500 students from grade one to grade five in my building.  The day is broken up into seven forty minute periods with five minutes between periods.  We share our students with an Arabic teacher, so normally the LT's (licensed teachers) have two classes, one in the a.m. and one in the late morning and early afternoon.  The Arabic teacher takes one class in her room, while we teach the other class in our room.  Last year the children switched classes every forty minutes.  This year we have moved to block scheduling, so we have the students for English, math and science for a total of about two hours and fifteen minutes.  Right now, that is plenty of time, but I know it's going to get tight once we start hitting the curriculum really hard.

The students attend activity classes throughout the day.  We have two sports teachers, two art teachers and two music teachers.  We also have IT teachers for computers, but I'm not certain yet how many.  So, the LT teacher gets a planning period while the boys are at activity class, and the Arabic teacher gets a planning period while the boys are at another class.  My boys today had sports and music.

We start school at about 7:10 a.m.  and the boys leave at 1:00 p.m.  We stay for another hour after they leave for professional development.  Kind of sounds like a piece of cake, but let me tell you, I have checked my watch often just to make certain it is still working.  The time can move very slowly sometimes. At 7:10 or 7:15 the music teachers begin to play music in the courtyard with drums and a  keyboard, and all of the students and teachers and administrators gather in the courtyard.  The boys line up in straight rows by their teachers, and the sports teachers have the microphone.  They have a routine of shouting commands and the boys respond with their arms above their heads, to their sides, in front with hands on the boy's shoulders in front of them, they clap, they stomp their feet, and they march in a 360 degree pattern in place.  Then, the musicians move into the national anthem.  I love to watch the boys sing.  They shout out the words with great pride and enthusiasm. Sometimes the principal makes announcements or older students recite readings.  Eventually, each class will present a skit or some type of presentation.  I'm not certain what exactly happens yet, but I am certain I will find out!

I know that my first grade boys can learn.  They are really smart about a lot of things.  They know exactly what's going on and how to get what they want.  These first few days have been very difficult for me.  The language barrier is very frustrating.  My boys are very good when their time is occupied and when they know what I expect from them, but it just takes one little stinker to get bored and to misbehave and then I've got five or six followers, and they think it is very, very funny.  I don't.  My greatest frustration is the "runners."

These little fellows are very, very fast!  To my great dismay and embarrassment, they will dash out the door.  I suppose they would be very good at stealing bases in baseball, because when I am away from the door they will make a run for it!  It is a very funny game to them.  It goes all against my grain, but we were told to not chase the runners.  The school is locked and the social worker will go after them.  They find them and eventually return them to our class.  But, then, when the door opens, out pops another runner!  And, it's not just me, there were runners all over the place the first day.  On day two, we were more prepared and we recruited more adult bodies to deter runners and return them.  If we have another adult in the room it is much easier to monitor and manage the class.  

They sound so naughty, but I don't think they really want to be.  I was in an Arabic class to learn very basic phrases for orientation and my head hurt after ninety minutes.  It was so much unfamiliar information.  I wanted to run, too!   So, I get it.  I understand, it is hard.  It's hard to sit, it's hard to listen to a bunch of words you don't understand, and I have found that when I plan right, things go very well... today.   Notice, I didn't say, plan hard, I said, plan right.  I planned really hard, and very thoughtfully after day one, and I met with some success, but boy things fell apart in a heartbeat on day three. 

It was hard.  I'm a veteran teacher.  I know stuff, I have experience, I've managed tough classes, I've worked through some tough kids, but this was tough.  However, I'm very fortunate that I have some very excellent colleagues and furthermore, I only have one class of students.  I am support for the other two first grade classes during my three periods without students.  Right now, that support has taken different forms.  On day two I was able to just be another body in another LT's classroom.  I've tried to just be where the trouble starts and put out fires so the teacher can teach.  That has been working very well and now things are starting to work better within the classrooms.  I think another adult in the classroom makes all the difference in the world.  Much of my time the last few days has been filled with discipline.  However, today I noticed a change.  It was good!

This morning, I was fortunate to observe my friend in the room next to me.  She is very good and I can tell she has taught ESL students before.  I believe her special education experience is a huge advantage.  I noticed how she is very good at conveying messages with her body language.  She uses facial expression and very concise phrases to get her message across.  She also has visual cues on her bulletin board.  I have always raised my hand and counted down from five to get students' attention, but she was awesome.  She had visual cues to tell the students what she expected to happen at each number countdown.  I totally stole her management plan and it worked fabulously for me this afternoon!  I did tell her I was going to use it, she gave me her blessing.  She really didn't need me for much today, she's got it under control, so next week, I should be able to start teaming with her to meet students needs academically and not just as a disciplinarian.

One thing I have noticed from my own little slanted view, is that it is very difficult to communicate with these little guys in English.  We use our cell phones to call in recruits for extra help.  Our building is so cool, we have several people who speak English as a second, or third language, very well.  It has been a huge help to me and to other LT's, especially in first grade, to have an Arabic person in our room to help explain things.  I can teach a lesson.  I can get my point across in a lesson, it's the management things that go awry.  It's getting the little tykes to put their papers in their backpacks, to get them to raise their hand when they need Miss Sheri instead of ganging up on me in a pack, or getting them to clean up and put things away and to not squirrel the science toys away in their pockets to take home, or to get them on the rug to hear a story, or to get them to leave their backpacks in their cubbies, or to let them know it's not time to go home when the bell rings between each period. They are very good when they know what's expected of them.

This is all new to me.  I'm certain anyone who has had experience teaching ESL (English as a second language) students is getting a good chuckle out of all of my bungling mishaps, or perhaps they are shaking their head and tisking their tongues.  Yesterday, I was very discouraged, I felt like a first year teacher all over again, actually not really because I had great confidence when I was a first year teacher, I guess ignorance was bliss then!  But, now, oh my goodness.  Yesterday, I felt like such a failure for needing to call in extra help.  I felt like my authority was taken away when another adult came in to help me restore order, but today, I managed my needs better.  When I requested help, I asked that things be explained to the students.  I had my expectations made clear to them, and I felt better, and I think my little guys felt better, too.

I was even able to get out manipulatives for them... puzzles and legos and blocks, and it was not a nightmare!  They were great!  They even helped restore order and sort everything out to put things away.  It was a great success.  They were so proud of the things they built.  I took pictures and I've got to print some out to display in the hall tomorrow.

Another thing that is different for me is their names.  I am embarrased to say that I do not know all of their names after four days of school.  How can that be you must be wondering.  I would wonder, too.  I've always known my students' names, usually after one or maybe two days.  But I do not, much to may chagrin.  Here's the deal.  There are many Mohammad's and Ahmad's and Abdullah's.   What happens when there is more than one Mohammad, or maybe it's Mohammed is that his second name is his father's name. So then I might have Mohammad Abdullah, or Abdullah Mohammed.  Right now, I think I have at least three, or four Mohammad's and a few Abdullah's and at least two Ahmad's.  It's all very confusing for me, and when they tell me their names, they are very quiet, cute, but quiet...and while I am crouching down to hear a whispered name....the door is untended... next thing I know... I've got a RUNNER!!!   Hmm, perhaps it is a conspiracy :)  Stay tuned and watch me grow.  I have so much to learn.

Sights.....

Yay!  I have more followers.  It's exciting for me to see my little list of followers grow.  I love it when you write comments, too.  So, please continue to feed my incentive to write. 

I've been wondering what next to write about.  Things are pretty quiet around the hotel, now.  It became quite festive on Friday, the first day of Eid.  Many, many families came to the hotel to hang out by the pool and to enjoy great meals and visits to the mall. 

Abu Dhabi Mall is attached to the Beach Rotana Hotel.  We don't even have to go outside to get to it.  It's quite large.  The mall has a big food court, and a co-op, where we shop for food and necessaries.  The co-op has almost anything you might want.  It's a market and a department store all wrapped into one place.  And of course there are beautiful jewelry stores, and shoe stores, and many of the top name brand stores.  Most of us LT's don't shop at many of the stores because they are a bit out of our price range.  There are also furniture stores and a movie theatre.

Tonight, we finally made it to the far end of the mall.  There is a store with an item that many of us have wanted to find.  During one of our first days of orientation one of our speakers showed us photos that she took when she first arrived in Abu Dhabi five years ago.  One of the photos was of a camel resting while riding in the back of a pickup truck.  Another photo was of a lamp.  This was not just any ordinary lamp. It was a lamp of a horse.  It wasn't just a horse lamp, it was a life size horse lamp. Yep.  You got it. It really is real horse size.  We found it tonight.  Can you believe it's still there?  Five years later, that horse lamp is still there.  Go figure.

I haven't personally seen a camel in the back of a pickup truck, but I have seen three goats riding in the back of a truck.  I did hear a story today.  It's not a good story, but it's a story worth recording.  I did get the story second hand so please forgive me if I get any of the facts confused.  Apparently, some people went on a road trip yesterday. They went to one of the cities further away.  On the way home, the driver and the passengers spotted a camel along the road.  It was the first camel they've all seen.  So, the driver decided to circle back to get another look. 

It was not a good sight to see.  Once they arrived back at the camel sighting scene, all of the traffic was backed up.  The camel had been hit by a car and killed.  And, I can't confirm it, but I believe there may have been a fatality, too, in the ensuing  vehicle pile up.  Like I said, it's not a good story.  But, it's a story.  In Michigan, it's common to see deer carcasses alongside the road.  A deer can really mess up a car, but a camel?  I hope to avoid camels and cars.

Back to the mall.  Things were much livelier at the mall the last few days.  I avoided the mall Friday night, but it was busy.  It was packed with people and entertainers, and children ran to and fro.  The children carried balloons and met up with adults who gave them candy and money! 

Over the weekend, I did see drummers and dancers.  The dancers were men dressed in their long, loose white robes called kandooras with ghutras on their heads.  I think most of them had red and white checked ghutras.  The square ghutra is folded in half like a triangle and held in place with a black cord called an ogal, on top.  According to Ali, a local celebrity, the cords used to be used to tie a camel's legs together so it wouldn't run off.  Now, the ogal helps to keep the scarf in place. 

It's interesting to me to watch the young Emirati men as they wear their ghutras.  The fold is placed toward the front of their head. I don't know the answer to this question, but I often wonder if the ghutra is starched?  Many of the men wear white ghutras.  I have seen them carefully and oh so tenderly run their fingers across the folded edge of the material, as if they are shaping it to gently flow upwards like a small brim.  It reminds me of the good ol' boys I've seen back home shaping the bill of their baseball caps, coaxing just the right curve to get just the right fit.

I also am fascinated by the way the men mess with the long flowing tail of the ghutra.  I'm certain there must be a name for the part of the scarf that hangs down their back but I don't know it.  I've watched the men who have been invited to speak to us fold and flip and toss the sides of the ghutra back behind their shoulders.  An animated speaker may toss a side back and then repeatedly continue to do so as they move about.   Others will  layer first one side and then the other, carefully, gently as if to prevent wrinkles.  It must be a learned technique, because I have seen some ghutras slip back to hang down, and I've seen others stay in place, stacked just so and piled behind the head and off the neck.  I've yet to see a wrinkled ghutra.

And, oh my goodness, the abayas!  An abaya is the long black robe that the Emirati women wear.  I've seen very basic black plain abayas, and I've seen very beautiful elaborate abayas.  The ornate gowns can be adorned with sequins and jewels and laces and crystals, sometimes with black accents and sometimes with striking blazing blue, or pink, or silver or gold accents.  Lovely.  They wear a scarf on their heads called a sheila.  These also can be plain or elaborate. 

I don't get how they drape them to make them stay in place.  When we toured the Grand Mosque we were given abayas and sheilas to wear.  Some girls helped us with the sheila to wrap it around our heads. I was terrified that the security guards were going to whisk me right out of that mosque because I could not keep that slippery piece of film on my head.  My hair popped out and poked out.  I twisted and twitched the material to keep my hair covered.  I folded and adjusted and pulled it forward and layered and loosened and tightened and tucked all to no avail.  I finally settled on just holding the topmost edge and pulling it forward over my forehead.  So, there I stood, or sat looking like I was tipping my hat to passersby. I'm certain I missed most of the interesting information because of my preoccupation with keeping that sheila in place.   And Michelle, she looked so serene in her sheila.  It stayed so snug against her skull, no hair peeked out from her perfectly framed face.  Since that experience, I have noticed some women have a decorative pin, almost like a hat pin that keeps everything in place.  I'm not certain how I would get along with a sheila and a pin.  I hope to avoid sheilas and pins.

Change

Many events have transpired within the last few days, not all developments are encouraging and I don't want to appear as a whiner so I won't elaborate and embellish... or maybe I will. It all depends. I've heard that phrase often here. It all depends on when the moon appears as to when the three day Eid holiday begins, marking the end of Ramadan.

I received a wonderful email from my employer encouraging me to relax and to enjoy the holiday weekend. It informed me that I would not be kicked out from my hotel and that my stay has been extended for another ten days. That was good news. Also, I was told my housing paperwork was all in the right hands, more good news. Of course, nothing will be determined until after the holiday.

Many of us, myself included were, well, basically freaking out with our western ways when we noticed out the check out date on our key folder said our stay terminated on the 10th. Well, it was the 8th and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be sleeping in my rented car, and if the AC would work well in a parking ramp. What I forgot to remind myself was that it was only the 8th. Not the 10th. I still had until the 10th. Why worry on the 8th when I still had two more days? Inshallah. I trust my employers, I know they want us to be happy and they want to make us feel safe, and that they want to take care of us.

On a more interesting note, a few nights ago, a friendly group of us trouped on down the road to a neighboring hotel that hosted a Mexican chain restaurant. Yay! And, to our joy we even found out the restaurant served all you can eat ribs, as in pork ribs. More cause for celebration. Yay! We even found baked potatoes. Yahoo! Life was looking good and our cause for celebration and merriment increased as the evening wore on.

Looking to carry on with pleasant chit chat, I asked my neighbor lady across the table about her hoped for living accommodations. As it turned out she was seeking a spot in the same complex as myself and my friend, Michelle. Now, Michelle and I have formed a loose allegiance to each other. She's my neighbor at the hotel, and we seem to end up as partners in many of our endeavors. We even were assigned living space across the street from each other at our, inshallah, future complex. Way cool.

Thinking we could be neighbors, I further inquired just exactly where in the complex the lady across the table from me might be living? She went on to explain in a very excited voice all about what a wonderful location it was, and how conveniently located close to the entrance it was, and how easy it was to find, and then I asked if she remembered the lot number? Of course she did and she pulled out a piece of paper with a map of the complex and pointed to it. It turns out she was indeed my neighbor. Her lot was exactly the same lot as Michelle's! Oh dear. The friendly tone at the table suddenly took a turn to awkward as Michelle sitting next to me whipped out her iphone and began to feverishly text our realtor.

Many texts and emails later, we still have unresolved ownership and rental agreements, as, you see, many things here "depends" on which realtor is the most savvy, and on whose paperwork is most accurate and on many factors of which we are just totally unaware. And so we wait. We wait for Eid to be over. We wait for businesses to resume work. We wait for teaching assignments. We just wait. We wait for the sun to go down a little bit so we can go to the pool.

The pool has become quite the place. It's the place to gather, to hang out, to catch up on the day's activities and events. We all migrate there around the same time. We shed our outer skins of long sleeves and long skirts, we don our swimsuits and either plunge, or tiptoe, into the cooled water. The pools are actually cooled here as opposed to heated back home.

We wade and stand on tiptoe or tread water, or some more vertically challenged (whom shall remain un-named) clutch children's styrofoam noodles to remain afloat. And our heads bob above water like turtles in a pond. We gather in groups and let the fears and frustrations of the day slough away as we cool off and either listen with empathy or interest. We talk about the day and logistics, we talk about home, we talk about work and families and what brings us here to this place.

Sometimes our floating circle changes as members drift off to hang onto the vertical wall that faces the Arabian Gulf. The wall is like a waterfall. The pool water flows over and down the wall into a channel and swimmers and watchers cling to the wall and sometimes pull themselves up onto the edge, again reminding me of turtles sunning on a warm rock at the edge of a pond.

And so, at times I drift away from the group. I cling to the wall and I watch. I watch the construction going on across the Gulf water upon an island. One of my friends told me about a woman she met at the pool. The woman apparently visits our hotel every year. Just last year, she said, that island that I watch was just desert. Desert with sand and camels on it. Now the island is occupied with many giraffe like cranes. Tall and long and bent cranes lifting large construction things into place. Steel rebar sticks poke into the air like bristols on a hedgehog's back. Concrete walls emerge daily, and glass walls continually climb the sides of buildings . I am amazed at the work that is done across the water from me. It goes on all the time.

In the evening, it seems the place comes to life, or perhaps we just notice it more then. The cranes begin to move in slow arcs. The lights come on and twinkle and shine, and muffled sounds creep across the water towards us. Modernization continues in Abu Dhabi and often I think, I would have liked to see that desert island with camels.

The Waiting Game Continues

So sorry to belabor the whole waiting game bit.  However, it is becoming quite old.  It seems like I have gone from frenzied nonstop getting ready to go overseas to a screeching halt of inactivity.  I'm not quite certain how to handle the time I have on my hands.  And, I'm tired.  I don't know why.  I just am tired.  Perhaps it's the heat, perhaps it's the unmeasured time, perhaps it's the continual worry and wonder of where I will be, and when I will be there.  Perhaps it's the whole culture shock of not quite knowing how things work here.  One thing I have learned is that our pushy western ways will not work. 

Patience, I keep telling myself.  Live in the moment.  Enjoy the moment.  Enjoy knowing that I don't have to make my bed.  That breakfast will be served.  That the beautiful pool will be cool and refreshing... but then, those nagging thoughts break in...but, will my apartment be approved?  Will our advance come through?  Will I have enough money to get through?  Will I have to wash my unders in the tub again?   And, just what exactly am I going to do on the first day of school?  Will I have supplies?  Will I have resources?  Will I have books?  WILL I FREAK OUT AND LOSE MY COOL AND GET DEPORTED??  Will I love my school?  Will I get along with my Emirate colleagues?  Will my principal like me?  Will I teach 1st grade?  Will I be able to teach a classroom full of boys?

I love boys!  Of course I will be able to teach a bunch of boys.  I am a veteran teacher.  I have experience on my side.  I have training. I know best practices.  I know assessment.  I know how to know what kids know.  I know how to figure out what they need to know.  I know how to scaffold the learning.  I can feel the worry and the tension literally flow out of my fingers as I write all of my "I knows."

I can do this.  I am a survivor.  I ask questions when I don't know.  I am a watcher and a lifelong learner.  I will be fine.

Yesterday, my friend, my adopted daughter, my colleague and my navigator, Michelle, and I rented a car.  I believe it was the last car available from that particular car rental agency.  We were so fortunate because Michelle actually put out email feelers to a variety of agencies and the one fellow that called to provide information was American.  He was even from Michigan!  Yay!  This helps with the language barrier.  Sometimes I get so exhausted carrying this wide eyed lifted eyebrow expression on my face.  It's the face that says, "Huh?  I think I got most of that conversation, but I'm quite certain I totally lost the most important clause or phrase that is going to cost me grief in the form of money down the road."  Perhaps if I open my eyes wider I will be able to see and understand better. Perhaps if I just listen "harder"  I can understand everything.  Sometimes, it's exhausting.  Maybe, just maybe, that's why I'm tired.

And so, we rented a car.  I took a deep breath, said a prayer and got in behind the wheel.  Yikes!  Right away panic set in.  I didn't fit very well.  The seat was too far forward, the steering wheel too low.  I immediately longed for my Dodge Caravan.  The AC blew warm air.  Immediately, I began chanting, "I hate this car, I hate this car, I hate this car, I hate this car,  I hate this car!"  Poor Michelle, she saw the maniac woman in me emerge.  I ordered her to call them back get an upgrade, and began a tirade of everything that was wrong.  The poor girl, she was at my mercy, by this time I was moving into traffic. She had no choice but to do as I said.   So very calmly she requested an upgrade with my ranting in the background.  Sorry madam, we won't have any upgrades available until Sunday after the holiday, more cars will be returned.  Perhaps we could just bear with it until then.  In other words, suck it up, Sheri.

And so, by this time, other drivers were already requesting that I allow them to move in front of me. No problem.  We got to the end of the block made a U turn and entered the parking entrance for the mall across the street.  A security guard actually motioned us into a spot directly in front of the mall. SW-EET!  Until we were ready to leave after our shopping spree.  A van was blocking our way.  The poor fellow sitting in the van tried to no avail to move the van.  He didn't know how to drive a manual.  So we waited. Eventually, a driver in the car behind us waiting to get out jumped in and moved the van.  With a seven point turn, I made it out to the tune of taxi toots and beeps behind me. Inshallah.

With more prayers, a reminder mantra of  "I love my car, I love my car," patient directions from Michelle and only one extra lap around the block due to me missing the hotel entrance on a one-way street,  we made it back, handed the keys over to the valet and entered the safety and security of our beloved Beach Rotana Hotel. We were greeted by our smiling doorperson and our beautiful lobby.  Ah, hotel sweet hotel.

The Stories

Many things are running through my mind today as I begin to post.  First, I have a sadness, an emptiness within.  I miss my home and all the things that make it my home.  My animals, my people, my couch.  I miss my couch and I hate that stupid couch.  It's old, it's falling apart, I can't lay down on it to take a nap for the life of me, too many lumps and bumps.  But, when I sit.... ahh, all my parts find a place of comfort.  I can prop up my feet and read, or watch TV or write in my journal, or decline Rufus' plea to plop in my lap.  For those of you who don't know, Rufus is one of my dogs.

Rufus is half lab and half Australian Shepherd. He doesn't easily fit on my lap but he gives good hugs and is quite the snuggler.  Sniffle, ragged breath... I'm okay, Rufus is in good hands right now.  I'm quite certain he's happy to chase a frisbee, or take a dip in his pool. Yes, I have a kiddie pool for my dogs.  It's quite entertaining actually, for me, to watch his head pop up over the top of the pool as he pants away the heat taking a break from retrieving the frisbee or old soccer ball, or just watching over his herd of horses.  Life would be simple if I were Rufus.

But, I'm not Rufus, I'm not home, I can't sit on my creaky couch.  I'm in a hotel room.  I have hotel furniture, it's never quite comfortable, except for the bed. Ahh, the hotel bed!  I worried at first that it would be too hard.  Very firm indeed, but I have not had a bad night's sleep since I've arrived, when I actually sleep, that is.  I've not had a single day of awakening with a sore back except for the night I used the wrong pillow and then I only suffered a little bit from a stiff neck, but I soon worked out all the kinks.  Silly things to be concerned about, silly things to blog about.

So, now I will stumble about and try to come up with something of substance.  Hmm, what could it be?  Ah, yes, the stories.  I believe there are many stories to find here in Abu Dhabi.  A few days ago during orientation to develop our cultural awareness, a few people shared some of their stories with us.  Their English could be measured in varying degrees from broken to excellent. But, who am I to judge?  Who knows how many languages each of the speakers could own?  Ask me about my Arabic classes! HA HA!  I fail!  There could be no comparison.

One speaker was a mother who told her story reading word for word from her handwritten pages.  Her composure was stiff but her story!  She fled from her home country seeking safety for herself and her children, yet still she misses her home country.  Another spoke with great presence and confidence explaining how she came here to sing with a band, and to send money home to her family.

And another, an Emirate man spoke with great feeling, affection and compassion.  He shared his story of growing up during the time before the oil discovery.  He described being the youngest and being able to ride the camels during his family's move from one place to another.  How the camel's slow plodding, rocking gait caused him to fall asleep and his family worried that he would fall off, they then packed loud clanging pots and pans around him to keep him from falling asleep.  With a chuckle he explained when that didn't work, then they would find rocks to put in the pans to clank and make more noise to keep him awake and safe!

He told us how they would begin to travel early in the morning, and stop to rest during the heat of the day, then to continue on in the evening when it cooled down some, and if they were lucky and had moonlight they would go on into the night. Then, with a smile he explained how that journey might take them four days, and now with the highways and an Emirate's love of fast cars.... forty-five minutes.  

He showed us a photo of a Bedoin home in those days, made out of palm trees, similar to the Native American longhouses, built in a circle to provide housing for the entire family, the father, brothers, cousins.  In his words he said, "It was better, I think, in some ways then, to have the entire family together.  Not spread out like today."  Our facilitator then went on to explain how many villas or homes our speaker owns today, along with the six cars, not camels, in his mansion driveway.

Our Emirate speaker also shared with us a personal experience of his meeting the beloved Father of this noble country Sheikh Zayed.  After hearing his story my respect and admiration of Sheikh Zayed was deepened and my curiosity piqued.  Sheikh Zayed's vision and leadership took seven sparse tribal territories and united them eventually into the United Arab Emirates.  The UAE is a young nation, it became a nation on December 2, 1971.  Sheikh Zayed saw to it that the Emirate people were able to benefit and profit from the wealth of the oil wells.  He also saw that the oil wells will run dry someday, and that is what has brought me to this country.

I am here to contribute my tiny piece to UAE history. Educational reform has snagged me in and carried me across the world.  I can only use my meagre knowledge and experience to teach in one small classroom to maybe make a difference.  Our orientation has made it perfectly clear that we are not here to "westernize" the children, we are here to "modernize" the children.  In no way shape or form am I to take the Arabic out of the children.  Perhaps the children can instill some Arabic ways in me.

In many ways, I fit in here already.  We've been told that there is "Desert Time" and there is "English Time."  I think my "Sheri Time" is very closely linked to "Desert Time."  Over and over we've been told to be patient, to be flexible, to go with the flow, to be respectful, to save face and to never, ever publicly humiliate. EVER.  Our pushy western aggressive ways will only get us nowhere here.  I'm thinking the three P's, patience, persistence and politeness will work the best in most cases.  Now, if only I can remind myself of these three P's when I get into a jam, I may manage to not get myself deported!

It can happen, and it has happened already when an expat lost his cool waiting.  I really don't want to be deported.  I want to see what's in store for me.  Some of my challenges in the near future will be to get my marriage license and my driver's license translated into Arabic.  This entails perhaps taking a cab to a certain street, locating a little shop and finding some one to literally write out in Arabic calligraphy my marriage license and my driver's license.  This will help when I need to get Doug a medical card for insurance and when I go to the Arabic equivalent of the Secretary of State to get my UAE driver's license, after I receive my UAE ID card and my residency visa.  So many steps and hoops to jump through. 

But first, I need to be free of this five star hotel!  Ah, life is SO difficult at times.  My greatest pleasure I look forward to is to have my own refrigerator.  We went shopping for appliances yesterday.  Ah, the joy and the thrill I experienced when I discovered the ice tray in the freezer compartment!  No, nothing quite so sophisticated as an actual ice maker, but (do you hear the bugles blowing?) an ice tray. I typed those two little words oh so reverently and slowly.  ......i....c....e.......t....r...a....y.   Where I can fill the little cube trays full of water and twist them over, they have their own little compartment with a twisty lever knob, where once the water is frozen into cubes, I can dump them into an   i....c....e......B.....I.....N!  Collecting oh so many frozen bits and chunks of ice!  All that I want, to use as I want, I can fill an entire glass full of them if I want and pour my Arabic Coke Cola Light over them and I can replenish them if I want. I can have an ice cube frenzy if I want, when I have my own place.  It's the little things that matter to me.

And then, there is the ....w..a..s...h...i...n...g........m....a...c....h....i...n....e.  Deep inhale..exhale. I won't take you to the murky depths of my thoughts there.  And with that thought, I will leave you as I must go wash my delicates in the bathtub, or perhaps the bidet, before I take myself to the five star pool.