Free Kuwait... Oh, Wait, You Meant FREE Kuwait

In a land that is free, I girl should be able to go down to the beach at 6:30am on a Friday (which is like Sunday in the states: aka church day) without recourse.

But, Free Kuwait is not such a free land.

There is a small group of kung fu'ers that meet at the beach on Friday mornings to practice and train. Doug and I went one morning two weeks ago and came home bruised and sandy. Good times had by all. There was another girl there too, so I figured that it would be safe for me to go back on my own when Doug is at work on Fridays. So, that's what I did today. I went down to the beach at 6:30am.

The beach at this hour is on a Friday is very busy. It seems that everyone who gets up for dawn-prayers takes their family out for a picnic afterward. And then there's the roving bands of dudes that just seem to show up in every public gathering spot. Knowing this, I never where "beach clothing," instead I where a huge t-shirt, long board-shorts, a baseball hat and sunglasses. Remember that it is a constant 120 degrees Fahrenheit in Kuwait at this time... it's bloody sweating hot!

Arriving at the parking lot, I am scoped out by an early twenties local in a Jeep with animango hair (see my post on The Mango for a better description). This is not alarming. Being stared at is status-normal in my life. I get to the spot where the kung fu takes place and no one is there. So, I wait. Animango-boy, who has followed me from the parking lot, waits with me. After a few minutes I am satisfied that the martial arts group is not coming, so I head back to the car. I didn't notice anyone behind me this time, probably 'cuz I was focused on avoiding the 3 mountain bikers posted up at the truck parked next to my car. I got into my car and locked the doors; standard procedure (other girls have warned me about dudes trying to get into their cars while they are stopped at traffic lights).

It's a short drive from the beach to home, and I noticed a Jeep behind me most of the way. Now, I'm freaked out. It this the same Jeep from the beach? The animango hair profile is hard to miss. I have to decide; do I go straight home where it's safe, or do I drive around and try to loose him - not showing him where I live? Having just moved to a new neighborhood where lots of the streets are blocked at random times due to construction, I opted for the first. Go straight home.

At our new residence, I have assigned parking for my bright red Peugeot outside the building; not in a secure underground garage like our last place. I parked with a vengeance nearly taking off the passenger side-mirror. Animango takes an unlucky turn onto a deadend street and has to turn around. By the time he got back to my car I was just getting out, hoping, dear God, let the front door of the building be unlocked. Animango drove past me and around the corner in front of the building entrance, but again, had to turn around a large SUV in a small street. This gave me just enough time to duck behind a palm tree with low-hanging branches and pop out at the front door. I took the stairs in two leaps and blew through the door like 132lb line-backer. Luckily, it was unlocked.

I slamed the door, locking it behind me. Our night "security officer," a 50-something 5'6" Indian man who weighs less than me, bobbled his head and mouthed a barely audible "Morning Madam." Good morning indeed, security guy. Thanks for the backup.

In Free Kuwait, you are free to do what you want. Women can drive their own cars, go to the beach in a bikini if they want, go to the grocery store un-chaperoned, and even vote (as of 2006). None of these things are illegal. If they were, how else would the men of this country entertain themselves without the show that women are putting on for their sole benefit. Why else would a girl go to the beach at 6:30am other than to whore herself out to the first taker? I mean, what is a man in Kuwait supposed to think. All women unaccompanied are prostitutes, right... Isn't what being "free" is all about?

Hello Mamser!

Upon entry to any "serviced" establishment in Kuwait, I am greeted by no less than 2, but no greater than 5 Fillipino employees chiding in chorus, "Hello Mamser!" or "Good evening Mamser!" or any of the other common salutations followed by Mamser (pronounced like mom-sir or on a rare occasion, mom-sher). Apparently, there has been an addition to the English language. Mamser, the bastardized interbreeding of the titles Ma'am and Sir has been shortened into one world for the sake of ESL convenience.

Any group of all male patrons will be referred to with "Good evening Ser" (singular) with a focus on the "rrrr." Add one female and the entire group becomes Mamser. For instance if I am in the back of the group and we walk into a restaurant, I will hear the round of "Hello Serrrr" and then, when they see me, "Oh! Hello Mamser! I'm sorry Mamser!" As if a smart slap across the face is in order for any service person who forgets my Mamser.

What's most incredible is that the tone and pronunciation is exactly the same across the city. No matter where you go, all restaurants that expect to serve Westerners employ Fillipino workers and everyone you meet knows the Mamser.

I've heard theories of gene migration; when after a great enough number of a particular species learns a new trait the entire species group then knows the trait without having to learn it. Like the little monkey who lived on an island and learned to wash his yams in the sea before eating them. He taught the other monkeys on his island to do the same and when 100 monkeys all knew to wash their yams in the sea, the monkeys on another island who had never witnessed yam washing started the practice as well. I'm not comparing Filipinos to monkeys; that would be racist. I'm just saying, gene migration man; it's the only possible explanation for the recurrence of Mamser.

I Graduated! Finally.

The day came and went without any pomp and there was definitely no circumstance but, it was a milestone worth talking about, none the less. I am now the proud holder of a Bachelor's of Arts in General Studies, concentrating in: Business, Sociology, and Dance. Big title. I'll hang that on the wall right next to my Associate's of Science in Biology.

I think I will take a break from the assigned reading for a while and stick my nose in the books that I want to read. Oh, and I have a great recommendation if you are looking for more literary stimulation. Check out Lamb by Christopher Moore. It is the Gospel according to Biff; Jesus' hilarious and irreverent, childhood best friend. He tells tales of their adventures during the missing years of Jesus' life – between young teen and thirty. Apparently, Jesus (called Joshua) and Biff were the original inventors of Cappuccino. The royalties on that must be a mint. Maybe that's why Starbucks charges so much for their coffee?

Doug and I took a short trip to Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt on the Sinai Peninsula to celebrate my graduation. We went diving, got sunburns at the beach and came home with a bad case of the Pharaoh's Revenge (that's the nice way to say it). All in all it was a nice break from Kuwait and fantastic place to visit. I highly recommend going, and bringing Immodium. Nice people, those Egyptians. I would include pictures, but we didn't take any. I know; never been to Egypt before and we left the camera in the hotel room.

Well, there's not much else to say about that, so I'll give you an update on the new job as well. I still really enjoy working for the magazine. It has been more hectic than usual; last month and my first full month, we published the magazine's biggest ever issue (172 pages). This month we are publishing our annual Living Spaces and Design Guide along with the June issue.

I've been running around to furniture stores taking pictures and writing product reviews. In case you ever need to know; walking into a store with a camera is about the quickest way to make managers very angry. Of course we get permission to be there ahead of time, but the message isn't always passed along to the guys with the radios, manning the exits.

I'm settling into the rhythm of Middle Eastern business, sort of. There is the language barrier even when both parties are speaking English. For example, I thought I was taking a phone message from someone named Patti. My boss was confused when he returned the call asking for Patti only to find that the company had no such employee. There was, however, a Fadi in accounting. Yeesh! Close enough, right?

Adventures in Arabic: Origins of the Word "Bethlehem"

Doug, our friend Seth, and myself have been taking weekly Arabic lessons from a private tutor for a couple of months now. Well, okay, "weekly lessons" gives the impression that we are attentive language students who practice daily and look forward to each lesson with the eagerness equal to the opening of a Godiva box.

'Tis not always so... we've taken a short sabbatical, but recently got back on the horse to learn some more adverbs to ad to our "I'm not a Jew, you're a Jew!" conversations. Which, by the way, sounds like this: "Ana mu yahoodi, enta yahoodi!" Feel free to practice with your friends a co-workers. It's a laugh-riot.

Moving on. I suppose in an effort to keep us interested in the material, our teacher started a section on food and questions applicable to restaurant situations. We learned that the word for meat is pronounced "layham." But not just "layham;" it is "ham" with that hhh that sounds like a throat affliction. Practice that. Now turn to a friend, with conviction, say "layHam." Good. One of the first words we learned was "bayt." Pronounced like "bait," or jailbait, it means house.

As an interesting side note; the Arabic language doesn't have a letter for the p sound, nor do they have a letter that is a straight up i vowel. So, in the event you are printing a story about the internationally coveted Brad Pitt, his name is read Brad Bayt, or Brad House.

Okay, back to my lesson. We now have the ingredients for the word Bethlehem, or Bayt-layHam. Translated as "The House of Meat." So, just to clarify; Mother Mary traveled the desert by donkey to the House of Meat where she bed down in a stable to give birth to the Baby Jesus among the shepherds, sheep, and cows. Incidentally, the word for cow is "bocar," and when specifying your choice of cow meat you would ask for "lay-Ham bocar." Practice that one, "layhambocar." Now, turn to a friend and say "Abi layHam bocar, fil bayt layHam." (I want cow meat in the house of meat).

Congratulations! You have completed your first Arabic lesson and learned how to call some one a Jew, translate Brad Pitt's name into Arabic, ask for cow meat, and the origins of the word Bethlehem.

You're welcome.

Tune in again for more Arabic lessons and vagina insults. (Yeah, that's the worst kind of burn out here. Apparently since women are Satan's chosen instruments, their privates are actually portholes into hell itself. And you know what they say, the path to sin is a slippery slope...)