Reevaluating

China is out. The Omani men’s soccer team beat China for a second time in the 2012 Olympic qualifying match we attended. With Kelley and McDonough blood pumping through my arteries, I of course relished the game in and of itself. However, it was also culturally fascinating. To start, there were two sections- the men’s section, and the “family” section, in which we were sitting. The men’s section was packed, with men in dishdashas and kumas, beating drums during heated plays, and playing bagpipes to celebrate goals. The “men” vs. “family” separation is prevalent throughout public Omani spaces. Nearly every restaurant, including those run by expats, seat men in the front, and escort any families, or female or mixed groups to the back. It isn’t entirely an issue of sexism, as most Westerners like to assume about everything from marital relations to hijabs in the Middle East, although it is certainly a manifestation of gender relations. Many women here prefer the privacy and anonymity, and as platonic relationships between the sexes are rare, this set up is the most comfortable and ideal for Omanis. There was also no women’s bathroom at the game; there was a mens bathroom and a handicap bathroom. The public sphere isn’t always welcoming to females, and despite children, and a security guard (all of whom were in purple camouflage), I saw no women at the game. 

China didn't even see it coming

Players and Officials Celebrate Oman's Win

On the way back, we rode in a tricked-out van. It was roughly a 12 seater, the size of a VW bus, and decorated inside with punk stickers placed on peeling paint in the faint outline of flames, blue christmas lights along the ceiling, a heart shaped pillow hanging in the back, and inches of dust soaked into the seats. The driver played a number of remixed American punk songs, and techno that lay somewhere between European and composed by an elementary school child playing with the sound effects on their new keyboard. Finally, the driver put on Akon, and we all broke out in dancing, to the point that the bus was as bouncy as a trampoline. 

Sri Lankan food this week! The best yet- the flavors without the spice of other regional cuisines. My friend Julie teases me, as I frequently make burritos out of the varied cuisines we indulge in. Most meals are served with some sort of bread- somewhere between pita and tortilla. Thus, I frequently mix the rice, meat, veggies, lentils, etc. and make a burrito out of them. What can I say, I’m a California girl at heart.

Saturday after classes, Liv, Shannon, and I cooked with our peer facilitator, Rasha. Rasha brought a number of ingredients, half of which were spices. First, we cooked a chicken, marinated with spice after spice, leaving the chicken a yellowish color. Then, the rice was cooked in the same pot, and benefited from the spices as well. The next dish was Egyptian besbusa, a delicious cake like dessert, spongy, and incredibly moist from its simple sugar glaze. The stovetop in the kitchen of the World Center however, could not work simultaneously with the oven, and thus Liv and I brought the besbusa over to the home of the Center’s director, just down the block. We had the opportunity to speak with his wife, who has been studying public health in Oman. The Omani government provides all Omanis with healthcare. As a largely developed country, the main concerns of health for Omanis are chronic diseases such as diabetes and heart disease, and child malnutrition, which remains a paradox.

Test Tasting! (Photo Cred: Shannon Mich)

The only other glaring exception from exceptional healthcare, is that within the expat population, as they don’t have access to free care. The same thing is apparent with poverty. While I’m sure there is poverty outside of the expat community, it is not usual. This stems from a number of things, but a large piece of it is familial relations. Families are incredibly close, and often extended families live under the same roof, with other relatives close by. No one is left on their own, to find their own way, to struggle alone. The family structure provides a strong network of support. Often, there is no distinction made between cousins and siblings, and varied aunts and uncles. 

The Sultan has worked wonders with Oman. When he deposed his father 40 years ago, he insisted upon educating the entire population, even girls, saying that he would helicopter students to school if need be. He also fostered a sense of Omani nationalism. Religious differences, between Sunni, Shia, and Ibadi people, are largely irrelevant. People identify as Omani first. There is no religious segregation in the ministries, in the schools, in the workforce, and thus, although people are often aware of one’s religious sect based on name and tribe, they don’t treat people differently or self segregate. 

The Sultan has also developed the country, as I mentioned previously. Yet he did so at an Omani pace. He fit development and globalization into Oman, as opposed to trying to fit Oman into the West. All buildings are still built in traditional fashion and none are particularly tall, the education style and curriculum is Omani based, and the country, while technically a dictatorship, is responsive and based solely on what is best for the people. The Sultan travels around the country annually and anyone can appeal to him personally if there is an issue. When riots occurred during the height of the Arab Spring, the Sultan immediately replaced a number of ministry workers and cabinet heads, and granted further benefits to students and the unemployed.

As Americans, we are taught to think of democracy as an absolute right. And not only that, but we invade weaker nations and undermine foreign governments in the name of democracy. One of the hardest lessons for humans to learn, something I am constantly trying to internalize, is that what is right for one person, one country, one society, isn’t right for everyone else. College isn’t right for everyone. Having a family isn’t right for everyone. Marrying someone of the opposite gender isn’t right for everyone. And democracy isn’t right for everyone. A benevolent dictatorship is what works for the current Oman state. Of course, that takes an exceptional Sultan, but it can work. The people aren’t too interested in politics. Their priorities lie within their own families, their own relationships. The Sultanate is often more responsive to individual people than the American government is. It certainly helps that Oman has a population of about 3.6 million, but regardless, this system is what works for them. 

Anyways... Saturday, Liv, Lili, Travis, and I went out with Travis’s friend Muhammad, and we met up with three sisters, friends of Muhammad. We went to a gorgeous and massive park, with fountains, several childhood fantasy sized play structures, a field of water spouts for kids to run through, and acres of grass. There was a group of boys break dancing, venders selling mangoes and cotton candy, drummers, and horses (one of which I rode!) Of the three sisters, two attend Penn State on scholarships, and one is hoping to attain a similar scholarship. They were a ton of fun, and insisted that we come over for dinner. 

Water spouts at the park!

The Center of the Park

Monday night Muhammad picked us up, and Lili, Liv, and I found ourselves on the steps of a mansion, or rather, a home bordering a palace. There were individual bedrooms, but also a number of large open sitting rooms, with couches extending across the walls, drowning in throw pillows. The house was a work of art, with arches as doorways and a luxurious pool. At dinner, servings of various dishes were layered on our plates, and while we were served 4 times as much as the family members, after shoveling a good portion of it down, they insisted we barely ate. Classic Omani hospitality :)

After dinner, they gave us a tour. One of the maids in the kitchen was so surprised to see Americans, that she asked to take a picture with us on her phone. Throughout the tour, our guides were constantly switched out. It was as if we were personal guests of every member of the house, as opposed to just the three (of many) sisters. We practiced arabic a TON. They were constantly giggling as we talked about our struggles trying to learn scores of new vocab words daily. They appreciated that we were interested in their culture and were learning Arabic, and in particular, studying the Omani dialect. No one ever tells foreign students- hey, THANKS for studying English, for being interested in our culture, our government, our politics. Yet Omanis are so impressed, so surprised, and provide us with such positive reenforcement. 

Various Omani Rooms

Tuesday, we attended the aerobics class again, however this time it was a deeper workout, and we were all feeling it today. Then we wandered around the mall with Rahma, where we saw burkinis, a selection of elegant abayas, and a corn stand. Yes, a corn stand. There isn’t much street food in America outside of concerts and fairs, but it usually consists of coffee or hot dog stands, maybe ice cream or swirling, rainbow, face-sized lollipops. However, at the mall, there was a corn-to-go stand, with the option of varying levels of spice. We then ate dinner at a Lebanese restaurant, and sorry Tarboush, but I have a new favorite. The Hummus Beiruty, Kebbe, and Falafel, were killer. The Kebbe was perfectly crispy on the outside, yet the meat inside remained medium rare, whereas the Falafel was softer than usual, and the inside was smooth and oily. 

I often feel that I have two very different career paths ahead of me, waiting for me to decide. At the same time, I can’t imagine I’ll have one career for the rest of my life, however there seems to be a large divide. I still want to be teach abroad, become a forensic investigator, and excavate Egyptian tombs as an archaeologist.  However, the two main paths ahead of me are reflected in my studies: International Health and Arabic. Part of me wants to work for the as an Arabic translator, or for the CIA as an analyst, maybe go into Foreign Service- essentially work with politics and intergovernmental relations in the Middle East. The other side of me wants to strap on knee high boots and wade into filthy water systems, to take samples, and find the source of some exotic disease that is plaguing a third world village, with a fancy latin name that means nothing to the ill. Or break all the rules about remaining professional and unattached, while working with victims of sexual violence in a war wrecked landscape. I don’t know what I want. Real talk, I’m 19, I don’t have a damn clue. Although, sometimes I wonder if I’ll choose the former path, because it would provide a greater sense of security, of comfort. The state department is sending me to the Middle East to study Arabic, and if I excelled in and pursued that path, I’d have a greater sense of job security, and stability, knowing I had become invaluable, knowing I was “in.” Maybe I’ll rock a blazer everyday and take the same route to work, yet take philanthropic vacations and sabbaticals, and litter my coffee tables with continent shaped coasters and end table books of amazon tree houses and foreign locations of worship. Sometimes I fear I’ll lose sight, or have to sacrifice. That’s life though, and the best way to prepare for the future is by doing your best today, and maintaining that self-awareness. Constantly reevaluating where you are at, and whether thats what you want, whether thats whats best, whether thats actually you. 

I don’t know what path I’ll follow. I don’t know what I want, or what is right for me. Maybe I’ll compromise, mix my varied interests, find a balance. In the meantime, I’m going to take as much out of the opportunities in front of me, and pursue every varied passion that strikes me.