What would Dorothy Day do?

11.6.14

A watery beige moon rises calmly full without event in the eastern sky.  Yesterday roads were filled with celebrating locals blaring horns and waving flags for their ailing King’s televised message.  He is alive, he is not well, he looks gaunt, cancer does its awful damage showing no respect to kings and paupers.  There is natural concern when the country’s only modern era leader passes away.  Ten years ago Sheikh Zayed died and the Emirates mourned for a month, closing schools and government offices.  If it happens here there is fear there could be a run on the banks.  I’m not worried about that, but I’d like to leave if the university shuts its doors. Where would you go?  Well, there’s only one place close enough.

There is also concern about who will be the next Sultan.  The government doesn’t talk about it in public but one wants to believe they are prepared for the transition.  Then again, maybe they’re not.  The Muslim isn’t akin to looking at a future unknown and no one ever expects or wishes for the day their father dies.

 Does Muscat expect a struggle from the Dofarians or even the locals here who wish for closer ties to their neighbors on the other side of the ugly fence?  We shall see, my dad liked to say.  Meanwhile, all I want to do now is sleep.

11.7.14

Upon returning to Buraimi the customs official says go to the office.  Why?  Go.  The woman says the man didn’t record my exit.  “Come Sunday, pay fine.”  I remember the first time I crossed and the shmuck, and that’s the only word I can use here though criminally incompetent fits, simply waived me on.  So, a pleasant morning at church followed by a spiced pumpkin latte and a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the park then a walk to Choitrams to look for a lint roller, clothes pins, anything unavailable on the other side is derelict. 

These are moments where it is better to be a woman.  Cry, make a scene and the wonkers will waive you on.  Damn.  This isn’t what I wanted to ponder on a Friday afternoon.

A Catholic worker would be overjoyed with this scenario.  Take me for a fool, rob me, stab me, wait, the doorbell rings.  I can’t say no to the woman with a baby.  But I do object to lazy and clearly intentionally deceitful customs officials who steal.  Paying a $75 fine for someone else’s intentional ineptitude makes me…aarrgh.  Lord.

Babu from Kerala was my taxi driver to St. Mary’s and he said he was a Protestant.  “You see so many go to church now, so many.”  They’re afraid, they watch too much news.  “Yes, they afraid, they want God. Many bad things, many signs.”  Signs like the end of the world, they want to be right with God before it’s too late, right?  Don’t take any chances.  

 I am not surprised anymore with coincidences but they do irritate and this one won’t help me deal with an unfair fine.  The readings and the homily today reminded us to be ready for no man knows the hour or day when Jesus will return.  Sigh.  Matthew 25 and the ten bridesmaids and Paul’s first letter to the Thessies proclaiming with the kind of rapturous hope believers then would be caught up in the clouds, not us two thousand years later and counting. 

Five years ago I wrote no one but God knows the day and hour Jesus would return and like a Haight Asbury hippy proclaimed that day and hour had indeed occurred.  Eager spirits hope more than we do.  The poor and the suffering hope more than the gainfully employed or the young.  The young have it right, they don’t want an ancient promise on their minds with so much life ahead of them.  What schizophrenia there is to sing Maranatha every day and then forget nothing is going to happen before they die.

I am rehearsing my argument with the Emiratis.  I wish I weren’t rehearsing my argument with the Emiratis.  It’s pretty clear who is wrong.  Will they fess up and admit they hired the son of a son of an uncle with no knowledge, no experience, and a who cares attitude, I am master of your fate shnozzola. No you aren’t, shnozz, a master of my fate.  The question if they don’t rescind the fine is, will I pay.  What choice will I have.  Refuse, they refuse my entry and there is no guarantee it won’t happen again. 

Well, I might get a car on loan next week.  I’ll do the jizi shuffle and destroy the card.  If I have a car.

I talk about the consequences of life and there are always the ‘what ifs’.  What if I stayed in Tianjin for a second year, my whole life would have wound up somewhere else, perhaps in a profession I don’t call a default.  What if I insisted the incompetent customs turd record my exit?  The last twenty four years is what it is because of the consequences of my actions in China.  There are no decisions, no events, prior to 1990 that I can say what if, it’s all what it was and there are no regrets.

11.8.14

A restless night of thinking too much so I get up a little after five, overnight rain cleans the air.  I role-play a conversation with the Emiratis tomorrow.  I’ll pay the fine but not without a dressing down, to let them know they are wrong.  There, that’s the Catholic worker way to deal with it, right?  Let them wipe their feet on you but not without a warning.  Oh brother.

A couple of isolated thunder showers rolled through dropping enough water on the balcony to squeegee the horrendous accumulated pigeon shit in front of the screen.  I have finished the bulk of two versions of the midterm exam and my back is stiff.  All laundry is done, my black/blue trousers hang to dry.  Lunch was the usual weekend fare of fried egg in a pita with cheese, tomato and cucumber.  And it is time to lay down.

Last week I was asked where I’d been before landing here.  It’s a hard question, one I can’t answer quickly.  So, I explain since July of 2009 I have lived in eight places.  To qualify as a place of life I decided three months in one spot was a life spent.  Everything in between the eight places has been on the road.  I record this if for nothing else, a reminder to myself in case I have an accident and can’t remember what I ate for breakfast one morning.  Places in red indicate life spent less than three months in any given location.

July 1-October 2009                Nepal, India, Thailand, China, West Coast, North America

October 1 2009-April 2010     Pittsburgh

April 2010                                  San Diego

May 2010-April 2011              Gazientep, Turkey

April 2011-August 2011          Sarangkot

September 2011                      Al-Ain UAE

October 2011-July 2012          Salalah, Oman

August 2012-May 2013           Sarangkot

May 2013-July 2013                Troy, MI

July 2013-Sept 2013                Rochester, NY

October 2013-present             Buraimi, Oman

(“you go to Sharjah?”  The border official asked this and after a few minutes said, ok, no problem.  All that worrying, my rehearsed argument and admission were all for naught.  A sigh.  And look, accumulated hail that looks like snow fell along the Batinah coast this weekend.  Is hell freezing over? Last week I said I’d believe in climate change when it snows in Dubai.  This was pretty close)