#Metoo- Black Girl Edition

"As you become more clear about who you really are, you'll be better able to decide what is best for you- the first time around." Oprah Winfrey

I have been trying to avoid the #metoo campaign. But every day, as I wake up with my view of the Abu Dhabi Corniche, I open my news feed to find another story of a male who is apologizing for his overall disrespect of a woman. The patterns are pretty similar: a white male in a position of power, a white woman feeling empowered to speak up, an apology, a public show of disappointment from the employer, and we move on. But every day there are more and more stories of women stating that they have been sexually harassed. However, the narrative from women of color is hard to find. Especially when your harasser is of the same race as you.

At least, that is my story.

I was an idealistic activist who wanted to change the world. The summer before my senior year of college, I participated in Union Summer through the AFL-CIO in Stamford, Connecticut. That summer I was surrounded by like-minded young people, wanting to fight for the rights of the working class. As interns, we felt like the cast of The Real World (true story of 12 strangers, different backgrounds, etc.), but instead of living in swanky digs, we slept on mattresses in an empty office and took showers at the YMCA around the corner.  Our coordinator was a mix of a lot of fun, knowledge, and I admired him like a brother. It was in part his influence and the experience that led me to apply for a very coveted spot with the organizer apprenticeship program.

I was selected and offered a chance to go back and work in Stamford after graduation. But during a training in Baltimore, I fell in love with the city and her people, and when the lead organizer at the site offered a chance to work there I accepted a role at that site. He was the black male lead, I was the only female at that location, I thought for sure that he was my brother. Things were fine, but then things got really uncomfortable.

My lead, a black man, made it difficult for me to work there.

The thing about sexual harassment when you are 21, is that you don't know anything about nuance. Flash to a scene in 9 to 5 where Dolly Pardon's character is constantly attacked, and that is the image likely in your head about the topic. Also, sexual harassment was a white female problem. Coupled with the fact that the movement at the time did not have a lot black male leadership. I didn't want to be that black woman keeping a brother down.

Things were initially mild. Comments about how nice I looked or how smart I was; I was flattered. But comments became more pointed about my dating life or my clothing. Often when it was time to go into the field to talk to workers, I was with him instead of my co-workers. Often I had no choice. Often stops became longer with stops back to his apartment because he forgot something, or a file had to be retrieved from his computer. Conversations became more about his marriage issues. I was often at a loss for words.

And I was uncomfortable but never said anything.

Because in my head, being sexually harassed was not nuanced, and maybe my feelings were just me being an awkward black girl. It was my boss' attempt to get to know me.

My coworkers saw my steady decline. I had a friend who worked there who always seemed to show up at the right time. My supervisor even assumed that I had a thing for him. Always asking why I spent so much time with him. I was shocked by the thought because I knew my friend's wife first and embarrassed that he even questioned my relationship with him. The other guys on staff were always super sweet, and I never felt awkward around them. I felt safe with them; I felt that I could be myself.

But I didn't feel safe with my supervisor. And I didn't say anything.

It took my brother, my internship coordinator, to come into town to see how unhappy I was with my situation.  He helped me get out. I did one more year with the labor movement, and my contract was not renewed. I loved the work, but I felt as if I was a hypocrite. I could I encourage others to speak up and stand up, and I was afraid to because I thought I was turning against my people. I wasn't as effective as I thought I could be and I never said anything.

I never said anything because I thought it was all in my head.
I never said anything because he was a black man, and black men get treated so wrongly in the world.
I never said anything because he was my boss, and I was afraid to lose my job.
I never said anything because his actions were not overt.

Flash forward to almost twenty years later and the wisdom of living has settled in. Sexual harassment is when your coworker or supervisor has the ability to create a work environment that is hostile and affects performance. It is nuanced; it is not always overt. And if you feel unsafe you should say something.

It amazes me that the #metoo stories focus a lot on white women, but sexual harassment happens in communities of color, too. Movements that grow too often ignore the additional crosses that women POC's have to bear. You saw it in the abolitionist movement, voting rights, equal rights, and you see it now in Trump era women's rights. You're not only supposed to support the cause of your sister, your brother, and your friends, but we are also supposed to not look angry and ask for what we want because of the image of the "angry black woman."

However, what makes me angry, as more and more stories come out, is that I never said anything about how I felt and never told anyone. I never said anything.

Now in my current role as a counselor, I tell my girls to not apologize for asking for what they want or to question a motive. To never be afraid to say that this makes me uncomfortable, and not to feel obligated because of race or advertised female roles. I hope for my nieces as they grow older, that they also know that your feelings are valid- that they owe no one anything out of race or age obligations.

Because the last thing I want for them is to sit in reflection, 20 years later, wishing that they would have said something.

 

Zumba, Twerkin', and Female Sensuality with Hijab

“The assumption that women in hijab are less enlightened or empowered than those rocking daisy dukes is arrogant at best. Feminism should fight for all women to have he right to live as they choose, not for all women to live the same exact lives like we're all in some sort of Sims game.” 
― Luvvie Ajayi, I'm Judging You: The Do-Better Manual

In my goal to reclaim my life, and to lose 40 pounds before 40, I went ahead and joined a gym this school year. The decision did not come lightly- I wanted a place that wasn't far from my home and that had nothing to do with my school (the reasons for that can be discussed in another post). So I found myself joining the ladies only gym near my home.

It is something kind of empowering to workout around women. We are all after a goal to look and feel better, and I do feel more freedom to make a complete ass of myself in the name of fitness. No thoughts wondering if a cute guy is checking me out. I think for me it is an act of feminism, although culturally it is preferred for women and men (in the areas of health and fitness) be separate. But there is freedom of knowing that no men are allowed, so in that spirit, I've been stepping outside of my comfort zone and going to some of the evening classes. So the other night I went to Zumba.

This was not the plan. I know my capabilities- I have rhythm but I am normally in the, "wave your hands in the air, wave them like you don't care," area of the dance floor. My two step is fierce and kinda cute. Zumba however is coordination with hips and sexiness. I only play sexy in my subconscious. However, the class that I thought I was going to do was 30 minutes earlier. And the choice came down to going to Five Guys or stay and workout, so I did Zumba.

And I made a complete fool of myself.

And I waved my hands in the air like I just didn't care.

The class was actually a lot of fun. But what made it fun was that I was in room of women who just let themselves loose, and twerked themselves into happiness. Women in this region are built like black women in my family: they have butts, they have chests, they have curves. You would never know that the same woman who was backing her thing up in class is the same woman who covers when she leaves the gym. It's kind of awesome, and also empowering.

There is often a misunderstanding of the woman who chooses to cover. Yes there are areas in the world where women are forced to, but for the most part the women that I meet who cover do it as a choice. They choose to share their sex appeal with their husbands, and they choose to share their womanhood with other women. The intimate spaces of being around others who understand what it means to be female can be very inspiring.

And maybe, it is ok to decide to protect my modesty, instead of feeling that covering is the same as oppression.

The Root of it All

"A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots." Marcus Garvey

My grandmother, Ernestine McDade, was a badass.

I think I had this healthy dose of fear and respect of her when I was younger. When I got older, I started to see the nuance of the struggle of being an educated, black woman, who set her own rules. I loved it, admired it, and sometimes hated it. She was always a woman who managed to have the last word. Her last words to me, after I finished my first year working in education was, "Well, I told you so." That was my Ma-Ma, and I love her dearly. I miss her so much.

One of my greatest memories was riding with her to Chicago to cousin Bill's house. They would get together before family reunions and gather information, share photographs and stories, and I had an amazed seat at the table while they worked on family history and stories. All of this culminated into our family reunion which was held almost every year. The honor of knowing at least a little bit about my history was this advantage, a treat. I wasn't this lost black girl not knowing where her people were from. However, the root of it all is that a piece of my history was still a bit lost.

I had these two Kuwaiti students, who used to take myself and my friend Yolanda around to different sites within their country. They knew their roots, their family line, the history and movements of their people. I have friends from the Continent, that can tell you about their tribe and history of their family; the why behind divides, colonialism making decisions about where people were supposed to settle. The root of it all is that they have intimate sense of their past, and it's something that I am quite envious. Although I have some, more than others, there are still parts of my history that I was dying to understand.

So here comes technology.....

I did a DNA test this summer and I received my results this week. Ever since, my mind has been filled with so many more questions and ideas about where my roots are truly from.

• 68% West African- Mali, Guinea, Senegal, Mauritania, Nigeria 
• 22% European- British, Irish, Mediterranean
• 1% East Asian and Native American

Then the interesting thing about the West African result is how the results broke apart my maternal side DNA. How through my mothers side, it traced the movement of her roots. How their language, religions, and traditions spread throughout Central and Southern Africa. It also explored my West African roots, and confirmed the movement was reflected in the Atlantic slave trade. I didn't need a DNA test to tell me that, but it brings a level of awareness that this is scientifically a part of my history. Thanks to my uncle, who did the testing a while back, I know that my paternal side is most likely from the Horn of Africa: Ethiopia, Sudan, and Somalia. The root of it all is that I am a product of some of the greatest empires that existed in this world. 

I haven't even started to dig in on the European part- I am still so overwhelmed with what I know already.

I was really trying to move on from the Middle East for work to explore other parts of the world, but I feel as if God planted me here because of its vicinity to where my roots are from. The language and religion of my scientific history, is one that is shared with my current physical location. It's so hard to explore these places from the states, but it is so much easier to do it from here. My dream to visit the continent could never be affordable over there in education. But here, if planned thoughtfully, can be something to deepened. The root of it all is that there is always a reason for reasons why we are where we are in this world. 

I wonder what my grandmother would say about all of this. I bet you she would've been one of the first to try to organize some trip and contact a distant relative or family member. And as I discover more, and figure out a way to honor her work,  I will indeed share my journey. It's the title of this blog after all....

Silence Sometimes Ain't Golden

"I don't regret anything I've ever done in life, any choice that I've made. But I'm consumed with regret for the things I didn't do, the choices I didn't make, the things I didn't say." Trevor Noah

I have been confronted recently with reactions to and acts of silence regarding everything: from work, to Charlottesville, to personal life. I was hoping to glide into 39 with an ease of a duck in water- seemingly smooth on the surface. But I forget that the duck is often flailing back and forth underneath.

And just like the duck, the appearance of things are never really what it seems, is it? I sometimes feel that silence buys you more time in that lake of tranquil peace, making light waves on the surface so the that the water stays pretty and picture perfect. But being silent about anything after awhile is just as harmful. Ecosystems thrive from disturbance. That's why after a torrential storm, the skies opens up and brings unique smells and flowers, death and life.

I didn't realize that I was into science that much. Shout out to my Biology teacher, Mr. Moss. RIH.

Back on track.....

Silence is never the issue when decisions about anything has to be made, not involving me. I am always willing to speak up for my students, or others, or when I see something that just isn't right. But I am very, very guilty of being silent when it comes to me and my needs. Like for some reason, my demanding/asking/recognizing that I need/want/felt something, is less than the needs of everyone else. And sure I can blame society placing limits on the voices of women, or even never wanting to appear to be an angry black woman in my majority white place of work. But my silence buys someone else another chance to dictate and control my life. And maybe, just maybe, it's time that I start seeing myself as valuable enough to speak up for my needs along with others.

I am guilty of being silent, when times has called for me to be loud. Some of you reading this won't believe this about me, but I comfortable sitting in silence when I am so shocked and hurt about something; or when I disagree with a decision and haven't quite figured out the right thing to say or how to react. Because it brings up feelings that I don't want to face, and brings out insecurities where I want to try to runaway.

But nothing says I'm getting older and better, like finding my voice. Like that storm of self-doubt eases a bit quicker; that there is a beauty in what rises up out of the quaking moment of just saying whatever it is from your heart. It does get a bit easier as you get older because you get to a magic moment of knowing that you are worthy of being heard and speaking up.

I told a female student the other day, "Don't ever apologize for advocating for yourself." I wish someone told me that when I was in my twenties. And now, when I speak up for myself?  Man- the sweet nectar of speaking up- well it's kinda awesome.

Crazy Maze

"To walk safely through the maze of human life, one needs the light of wisdom and the guidance of virtue." Buddha

I am officially a week away from my 39th birthday.

It's been almost three years since I last posted to this blog.

A major country move and a job later, I am still in the Middle East (or the GCC if you want to be specific) since my first posting.

And sometimes I admit that I may appear directionless, but it's only because of the latent fear of failure that sits in the back of my mind and follows me wherever I go. I tend not to listen to it, but sometimes it is hard to shake. So fear of failure follows me and in the attempt to try to shake it, I am in this maze of living that only my hope and faith will lead me eventually to the other side.

In some ways, running from this fear has led to many amazing adventures, and has blessed me to meet so many interesting people. I feel that the navigation of following faith instead of fear, has brought me a bit closer to my relationship with God. That the twists and turns are lessons that I have needed to learn.

And then there are moments when you have to face the fear that is chasing you, and own it for all that it is reflecting back to you.

- Like knowing when you get to a place in life where you can comfortably walk away and say that you've tried to save a relationship, a friend, a plant =)

- That admitting out loud that there is more to this life than work or a job. That happiness is your own personal shape of balance that you are trying to achieve and no one else's.

- That taking a risk is a good thing, and that the growing pains are just a sign that this is where you need to be. Although it may suck as you're going through it.

- That you really can never change a person, and knowing that the only peace you have is knowing that you stood in your truth.

- And just being able to say, "Thank you."

Last year was a tough year for me. I went through a ton of changes that scared me, excited me, disappointed me, and tested me. I stood in that maze feeling that I was retreating back to the same spot over and over again because I was definitely afraid of the mirror that fear was holding up to my face. So I took a look at that mirror, and pretty much said this is bullshit. I can't be stagnant in this moment any longer. It's time to find my way out. Fear, you can follow like a shadow, but I won't allow you to keep me standing still.

I feel like 39 will be this year where I take the things that I have learned and embrace the opportunities as they present themselves. I am embracing this crazy maze, and although I may get lost from time to time, I still have the faith and hope that I will see the light on the other side.

Crickets....

"Silence is a source of great strength." Lao Tzu

It's officially been six months since my last post. Not because I haven't had a lot to say, but more so I have so much to say that I didn't really know how to say it. Do you know what I'm talking about? That there are soo many things going on inside of you that you just can't seem to either process them or say it because you truly can't articulate it. I guess part of it was being home for the bulk of my summer and some of it was surely turning 35 in August.

Going home after my first major move in over 10 years was significant. Surrounded by people who love you no matter what, but still feeling as if you have a role and responsibility to your family and friends. It's being back in your old neighborhood where nothing and everything has changed. The streets so familiar, but with nuances that weren't there a year before; the realization that time does indeed marches on. Talking to people about where you live and what you've been up to and trying not to roll your eyes when complete strangers ask questions about the food you eat and the language. Then feeling just as mad at yourself for getting annoyed because a lot of Americans truly are not educated to what is going on in the world and people just want to know. Some days I felt that I was part of this weird talking museum exhibit.

Then coming back and seeing your life as not as a big adventure anymore. That moving halfway around the world isn't that big of a deal. That the familiarity of your current neighborhood feels strangely like coming home. You get stuck in routine after routine, trying to find this balance of not feeling guilty for being away from your family and just enjoying life where you are no matter what.

Then turning 35 was significant for me. Over the summer, as I was going through some old papers, I found my list of things I wanted to do by the time I was 35 that I wrote in college. Own a home, be a good wife and mother, have no student loan debt, travel the world, live in Africa, memorize the Bible, etc. Well, needless to say that I haven't hit those goals as I would have liked and that saddened me. What happened to that girl who made those plans? Is it too late to reach those goals? Then I felt like a fool for writing and showing my adventures in the first year because I felt that it was a bit cheesy and a little annoying.

But before the year changed to 2014, it dawned on me that God does indeed has a hand in everything and that the definition of those goals have been hit in some way. My home is truly what is in my heart and that will always be my family and friends. I fully own it and I try my best to make sure I invest in it. I'm married to my calling to work with kids, and my students are my children in a way. I get just as excited when a student tells me they got into their first choice college, and just as disappointed when they make unwise decisions. I don't have the Bible memorized, but I do know what verses to call on when I need a little extra strength. I wanted to live in Africa, but instead I was placed in an area that allows me to understand that the African diaspora is stretched so far and so wide. That although I haven't traveled the world, I have been so blessed to not only see what I see, but hear and learn from others. And on the flip side be allowed to share my journeys with people I care about. However, I won't get into the student loan debt =)

For me, I had to get a little silent to gain a whole lot of perspective. It's in the silence that I have been able to truly come to terms with my blessings and be able to begin to articulate the change that is happening inside of me. This silent moment has developed a lot of strength for me to carry into a new year.

One of my favorite memories growing up is opening the window of my bedroom when the weather was starting to get a little chilly. And the fresh air with the just the lingering sounds of crickets as the soundtrack to my hopes and dreams.....

Reflections and Blessings: End of School Year 2012-2013

"To witness miracles unfold in your experience, count your blessings and be thankful. Perceived small blessings accumulate to be the most powerful." 

T. F. Hodge

As the school year in Kuwait has come to a close, and my coworkers and friends are embarking on there summer journey's either back home, Europe, or even in Kuwait, I feel that its time to take a moment and reflect on the things I've seen, been a part of, and grew from in my first school year in the Middle East.

1. You are never to old to learn something new-- I will be a very proud 35 year old in two months, and I have been very challenged emotionally, spiritually, and mentally throughout this first year. From learning to work with others and taking a back seat (so not my character), to learning to navigate within a different language and culture, I am constantly learning. I thank God for that.

2. The power of the nap- I am now a creature of habit. Everyday I take a nap. 30-45 minutes of solitude and rest feels soo good on a regular basis.

3. Homesickness happens in phases- After the honeymoon period, homesickness appeared in phases for me; its never a one shot deal. Homesickness may not have to do with family either. Sometimes it was desiring to shop at a Cato or Lane Bryant; sometimes it comes on when something happens and the only people who understand are the people at home. Sometimes its just the weather. I missed seasons this year. The changing of the leaves, the snow on the ground. The cold rains in April....

4. But technology brings everyone closer- The world indeed has gotten smaller. Technology makes it that way. You don't miss nearly as much as you think you do. You just find ways to substitute or get what you need. I do love that fact that I can start my day while calling my family close to their bedtimes; or using facetime to chat with friends.

5. The friends you start with, may not be the friends you end the year with- Fast food relationships happen in Kuwait; then you see the true nature of people and realize that sometimes people are in your lives for a season and for a reason. But I'm lucky to see some of my friendships evolve into genuine relationships, while others I have been blessed to leave those behind.

6. It's never to late to try something new- This year I played rugby. And although I might have been the slowest and the biggest, I loved every minute of it. If not for the sport, but for the sisterhood that I feel that I am a part of now. This new sport, meeting new people, made my life in Kuwait a little bit better.

7. The world is indeed a beautiful place- I have been blessed to see so many great places this year: looking out the window on my initial flight over and seeing the sky change in an instant from dark to light; the tropical rains on the island of Zanzibar; street food and traffic in India; sunrise walking in Doha; the top of the world in Dubai; walking to school everyday. But those places can't compare to the people I've met along this path. The world is beautiful not just because of the places and things, but truly because of her people.

I feel soo blessed to have listened and followed my heart and spirit to a new journey in my life. I'm so thankful for all the help from friends and family in the states, to friends that I consider family here in Kuwait. I know that next year will present even more challenges as relationships evolve and my travels take me to other places. As I reflect on my school year, I am just so grateful for every minute of every opportunity.

Active Forgiveness

It's 3am, and I have to pee.

It's one of those things that is a part of my life due to just getting older. I should know that if I don't drink anything after 8:30pm and use the bathroom before going to bed, I can generally sleep through the night. But some days I don't get home until late, I have a glass of orange juice or tea before my 9pm bedtime, and next thing you know I am up at 3am to go pee. But normally I can go back to sleep as soon as I do that.

However, I have been having trouble going back to sleep recently. I go to the bathroom, crawl back into bed, and lay their trying to will myself to go back to sleep. Next thing you know the call of prayer goes off at 3:45am and then at 4:00am. My alarm goes off at 5am. I get sleepy about 6am, but I leave for work at 6:30am. Then I go into work sleepy, angry, and upset; craving a nonfat Chai Latte with an espresso shot and a breakfast sandwich. You snack to stay awake on all the things your body craves, and you're burnt by the end of the day. You want to go to bed but you know that if you go to bed too early, you're going to stay up the night.

My momma used to tell me that when I have times like that, it means that God is trying to tell me something. But what was it? I honestly didn't know. I thought I have handled my conflicts or moved on from issues stemming from co-workers and some students. I thought I moved on and forgave myself and them for incidents of misunderstanding and mistrust. I thought I forgave them, but in all honesty, I really didn't.

When I pass them in the hallways I cringed or didn't say hello; I used email and text messages to get any issues out. But I could have sworn I forgave them. But I didn't.

It's 3am and I have to pee.

Another night of troubled sleep and awareness that God is indeed trying to tell me something. My words in my head may have said that I forgave, but my heart which directs everything I do told me different. That's when I realized that forgiveness truly is an active verb. Clarissa Estes, a poet and psychoanalyst who specializes in traumatic experiences, stated that:

"How does one know if she has forgiven? You tend to feel sorrow over the circumstance instead of rage, you tend to feel sorry for the person rather than angry with him. You tend to have nothing left to say about it at all."

I think it's so much easier to forgive when you are younger, you move on quicker, you get your toy back, you may fight but have the ability to move on from that fight. But the older you get, the more those experiences where you are hurt, affect you so much deeper. It's seems that so much more is at stake and the heart and spirit can only handle so much. So when you open your heart and it gets hurt because of betrayal or lies, or even being irrelevant in a world where you once belonged, true forgiveness is simply hard because its admitting to yourself that your heart has been battered and bruised.

But bruises do heal. At least I think they do.

If anything the bruises heal enough that you don't notice them as much. You breathe, you move on, you can go back to sleep. And although there may be some scars, they do fade enough over time. When that happens, you can truly say that you have forgiven them and moved on; you can say I had an epiphany.

It's 3am and I have to pee.

I wake up and pad to my bathroom and empty my bladder. I return to my bed, snuggle under the covers. And for the first time in a couple of weeks and I did go back to sleep.

The art of settling; the art of compromise

"The middle path makes me wary.... But in the middle of my life, I am coming to see the middle path as a walk with wisdom where conversations of complexity can be found, that the middle path is the path of movement...." 

Terry Tempest Williams

This Thursday, I was leaving my principal's office after a very surprisingly productive parent/student meeting. My principal asked me how I was handling this last portion of the year, and I told him that I was learning so much: how to work with parent's better, learning to control my exuberance during conversations that particularly pissed me off, and learning to define my role in this school, after leaving a role where I was several positions in one body. That going from a position like that, to one where I am one role, has been the most difficult part for me. He then smiled at me, and tells me, "you must simply need to lower your expectations." I smiled and told him, "you know me enough by now to know that is difficult for me." We both chuckled, because we both knew that we were both right.

Fast forward to Friday night, Saturday early morning, celebrating a friend's birthday. It's about 2am and we get involved in a heavy discussion about relationships and expectations; Mr. Right, Mr. Right Now, and Mr. Fulfilling a Need that could lead to Mr. Right Now. How complicated dating gets the older we get, and do we really set ourselves up for failure with our internal lists of what we desire in a mate. The big question: do we need to lower our expectations to put a ring on it?

And this afternoon, I had the most vivid dream I have ever had during one of my naps. I dreamed that I ran into an old friend from college (This girl during undergrad was truly glamorous and had everything she ever wanted). When I saw her, she introduced me to her husband who was in a dirty track suit, who spat tobacco while we talked. She still looked the same, but her shine wasn't there like it was in college. She showed me pictures of her children and they both looked like pigs, and all I could say was, "Oh really!" I woke up soon after but couldn't help but think if she lowered her expectations or compromised to get married.

All of our relationships: work, family, dating, marriage, etc., take a bit of a compromise or even a lowering of expectations. Many of the friends and people I have met living in Kuwait didn't exactly have this country on the top of their list when looking for jobs overseas. But we settled/compromised in a way to work tax free: some people choosing to live here for a great while, some leaving as soon as their contracts expire. For those who stay, it's the things that they gain in this compromise that makes it work. To live in Kuwait you give up pork, alcohol, and in some ways organized infrastructure. On the other side, you can travel to exciting places, see the world, and enjoy the spoils in countries that allow you have the things you desire. You can also have daily afternoon naps and work late only when you need to, hired help to help you function, and a little bit of home in the array of chain restaurants located in this country (so last statement are more personal to me).

Its the same thing I believe when it comes to relationships. I admitted to myself a couple of years ago that I would like to be married, although in the back of my head I know the odds are stacked against me. Do you know that for Black women, the higher we are in our education and our lack of children, means that we are less likely to be married? I have two master's degrees and no children. The odds are truly stacked. Besides that, I also know that marriage is not promised to everyone, and I'm actually ok with that.

But I look around to the marriages I have been exposed to in my life: those who seem to have been married forever, those who do get married later in life, and those who started but couldn't quite finish. For those that worked, I know that compromise and a slight lowering of expectations had to take place, more for the woman then the guy (no offense fellas, but really). And you know what, those that work, work. Those who didn't work tried and tried until it did or until it failed. But effort was put into it either way.

Its the effort of living this life that opens you up to what it means to settle and what it means to compromise. In my twenties, I never wanted to compromise and I always wanted people to see my vision, my way. However, the older I get the more I am beginning to realize that my life was not that exciting because of that. I did some awesome things, have great stories, but because I was little uncompromising, that passion burnt me out.

As I look at my life right now, in this moment, its the shades of in-between that has made my life interesting. The more I am allowed to live this life, the more I appreciate my passion coupled with a healthy dose of complex experiences and thoughts. My conversations have more meaning, my relationships matter, and I still have a bit of myself. Will I ever get married or have the perfect job or perfect life? Probably not. But if lowering my expectations means that I get to enjoy the wonderful shades of gray that comes with living, then I'm ok with that.

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

"What do girls do who haven't any mothers to help them through their troubles?" - Louisa May Alcott

My Mom has a very uncanny ability to call when I need to just talk. Now mind you, I talk to my family on a weekly basis. The joys of technology and magic jack has allowed me to keep in touch with my family 8 time zones and thousands of miles away. I love talking to them on Sundays as I am getting home from work, and they are having breakfast before going to church. I even call my parents when I am about to go out of town for the weekend, as if I am just driving to Indianapolis for a meeting or a weekend. We are close. I'm actually very proud of that. 

But my mom just knows when I am having a bad day. Or a moment. Or just a thought that only she will get, or that I will get. The relationship of the mother and daughter in my experience, is one of this uncanny ability of just knowing. This week is just proof of that.

I can say that professionally, my ego and spirit took a hit this week. Mis-communication and the blurring of roles resulted in unnecessary stress that I haven't encountered since I left my crazy charter school life. And because I have issues with sharing what I really feel about a situation, or struggle to keep the, "Angry Black Female," in check, I internalize all of my anger and frustration and it comes out in the form of gastrointestinal issues. Then I get even more pissed that a small situation results in these feelings, which makes me even more sick and nauseous. 

I was determined to fix things myself. I told myself that I need to learn how to deal. I need to grow up. "Christina, you are 34 years old, deal," is what I had been telling myself. I made myself so sick that I came straight home from work and laid down because I was just physically, mentally, and emotionally worn out. And in classic mom mode, my phone rings just as I am about to doze off. I was going to let it go to voicemail, but I can't do that..... I don't want to burn in hell later.

Hello
"Hi Chris."
Hi Mom.
"You sound tired. Everything ok."
Yes Mom, just feeling under the weather. Stomach's been upset today. Just taking a nap (I swear this is all I said.).
"You know the last time you had that, you were dealing with all that stuff at that school (her reference to my last job). What's going on?"

And just like that, I tell my mom my troubles. I tell her what I did because my mom is the best BS checker in the game. I told her how I felt, and then she confirms my plan on how to deal, without me telling her what was in my head. This is common. Then my dad (yes even my dad) got into the act. My parent's tagged team me! When my dad was done, he gives the phone back to my mom to, as he put it, to bring it home. My mom makes me pull out my Bible, and read Romans 5:1-5. And she reads and we talk some more, and just like that, I feel a little better, a little braver, and confirmed about what I need to do. 

It's times like these when I know how blessed I am. Not just because I have built some genuine relationships here, but because I have parent's who pray for me and call me out on my insecurities and my bull. Even 8 time zones and thousands of miles away, I have some support in this strange land that I have started to make my home.

My fear is that one day waking up and not having this any more. But even a friend of mine who lost their mother a few years back, said that even now, the spirit of their mom just knows when they need support and some wisdom. Momma always said there will be days when we doubt ourselves, have some troubles, or a string of bad luck. But momma also always has a way to make things a little bit better. 

Game Changer

"Life is a song-sing it. Life is a game-play it. Life is a challenge-meet it. Life is a dream-realize it. Life is a sacrifice-offer it. Life is love- enjoy it."

Sai Baba

I was praying that we didn't have to play. We had six players, and I was the one that was most out of shape, the most not ready to play in this weekend's rugby tournament.

It had been a rough start to 2013 for me. I admit that I went into this "all by myself,"phase for a moment, avoiding all things social with exception to work. Its a habit that I have developed over the years for self-preservation. In addition, things were going downhill rapidly with a kid I was working with outside of work. I was hit with an awful respiratory issue that I couldn't shake, and my scale was starting to creep back up. My positive energy slowly began seeping into a negative realm that I did not enjoy. The one thing I had going on, rugby practice, being slowly put on the back burner to deal with my kid, heal myself. Instead it became the Christina Laziness Show starring take out and my television.

Then two things happened: a hookup from my local pharmacy and the cancellation of services for my kid. I went to the pharmacy after a night of hanging out with friends at a Murder Mystery party, and the older woman in a hijab heard my cough. She said: "You come here." She then peppered me with questions in her broken English: "Mucus yellow? Hurts when cough? Warm?" I nodded yes to all those questions. She proceeded to give me a box of antibiotics, cough syrup, and mucinex, all at a reasonable cost. "You rest, feel better," is what she ordered me.

The cancellation of my kid came around that same time. That was a blessing in disguise because as much as I wanted to continue (it was extra travel money), it wasn't good for him and it wasn't for me either. I went home most nights frustrated, too tired to care about anything else. When I had a week where I didn't have to see him, I felt almost sad that I was happy not to see him. I got stuff done, did my laundry, went to bed at a decent hour.... I didn't miss him or what I was doing. And it freed me of any excuse not to go to practice. Even after his service was over, and I was invited to help with another case, instead of doing it I declined. It was the smartest decision I think I ever made.

So now that my sickness was handled and my services no longer needed, it freed me to go to practice with no excuses. My personal game changer so to speak. But I wasn't ready to play in a tournament. At least I thought I wasn't.

We landed early Friday morning in the UAE, and with little to no sleep because I was nervous and a little afraid. Doubt filled my head, and of course the regular round of self-pity and doubt reared its nasty head. But I got up and prayed to God that whatever happens happen, that we will be safe, and that if he could permit, just make sure I didn't have to play. But as we all know, no matter what God you believe in, you may not get what you want, but you will get what He thinks you need.

I made some tiny mistakes in the first game but we pulled it out. The second game we played hard and had a slim lost. By the third game we had a rhythm and clearly defined areas, while by the fourth we were aggressive and pushed through. As a team we talked to each other, listened, and most importantly had some fun. And we won our division! And I had a hand in that! OMG! I didn't pass out and we waked away with some scratches, some bruises, and some minor injuries. Although we limped, we had our celebratory drinks and had a good time overall.

I wouldn't have been able to enjoy any of it if I was still sick and still trying to work with that kid. Instead, I feel as if I was being told that I can't be like everyone else and I need to enjoy my time here and get well. So here I am, trying my best to not envy what others have in regards to making extra money or being in perfect shape. Instead I am simply trying to live this life, my life, and the life I had been called to live. The game of life I think is one of individual pursuits, helped by those to help shape your thoughts and feelings. I am deciding that although it will be hard, living my life and playing the game without envy and regret will probably be the best thing for me to make it through. And ultimately, I will win this game no matter what.

Confession.... Good for the Soul

I must take this time and opportunity to confess something that only a few people know about me: I'm an introvert.

Let that sink in for moment....

At first glance, people would not think that about me. I'm the giggly black girl with the weird hair and bubbly personality. I don't sit in my apartment, wearing all black, and having silent conversations with my two fish (Donny and Roberta), reading books about philosophy and existence. I go out, hang out when I can, and willing to try different things to meet different people. But the energy it takes for me to do that is hard. Really Hard.

Why all of this confessing on my blog? Because survival/happiness in Kuwait is not made for the faint of heart. Fostering relationships with complete strangers is key to having a life here. And since I have moved here, I have been all in: going to events, playing rugby, online dating that never goes anywhere, dinner parties, etc. I came into Kuwait with this mindset of go big or go home. And I'm grateful that this attitude has definitely pushed my personal boundaries. But I must admit that I'm a little worn out.

When I tell people that I am an introvert, I get a skeptical look like I must be crazy. Even the web definition of an introvert doesn't seem to fit my personality at first glance: A person predominantly concerned with their own thoughts and feelings rather than with external things. It makes being an introvert sound like being a complete jerk, which I don't believe I am (maybe I am a self-centered person =)). But the traits of an introvert are dead on to my personality: the struggle of small talk, exhausting pressure to fit in when its hard to be with lots of people, the need to spend no longer than 20 minutes at a social gathering, the constant need to go to sleep after any social outing. All the things that are anti-survival to living in Kuwait.  

But being an introvert isn't such a bad thing. I am much better one on one because I want to know people's thoughts and feelings on an array of subjects. I guess that's why I'm a counselor. I love learning, gathering knowledge about things that I did not know. I love conversations that dip in and out of the realm of seriousness and hilarity. I do enjoy going out, I just need to have some coffee or a red bull before I go.

But recently it has been a struggle. I've missed out on some great things already in 2013, because my body and my head is still spinning from the close of 2012. When I get home at a decent time, all I want to do is have falafel and go to sleep. And as I am waiting for a Skype video with my family on MLK holiday, I am missing out again with rugby practice. So I thought I would write this little blog to let me my new friends know that it's not you, it's me, Madame Introvert.

So in a way, I am apologizing to my old friends who are used to my moody introverted ways, and also to my new friends that I have made in 2012, and ask for their understanding as I get through the first month of 2013. There is a reason for my moments of shyness. Just work with me and I will be ok. February is already starting to look up. Help me to continue to stretch my boundaries, but be gentle.

Now that this confession is over, I think I will go have a nap. Just typing this blog has worn me out. But before I close, I found this quote that goes with this blog, and represents my feelings well:

"Introverts treasure the close relationships they have stretched so much to make."

Adam S. McHugh

P.S. Fun posting about the 10 myths of introverts: http://www.carlkingdom.com/10-myths-about-introverts

How do you measure a year?

On New Years Eve, I was travelling to the city of Jaipur, India with a tour group of fifteen people. Most of us were a sleep but I was wide awake looking out the window at the countryside of Northern India. Then one of my favorite songs(from Rent, the musical) came on:

"Five hundred, Twenty-five thousand, Six hundred minutes moments so dear..... how do you measure a year?"

How do you measure a year? How do I begin to measure this year in particular? Soo many things happened in 2012, that it makes me excited and scared for 2013. But all of the blessings of 2012 didn't start out of the blue, I had to go through my own trials, heartaches, disappoints, lots of tears, before last year, to be open to what God had in store for me for this moment in my life in 2013.

How do I measure my year?

I think about my family first. I truly know that they support me all the way. We are a family that supports one another. I really know how blessed I am to have that. Mind you, they weren't exactly thrilled when I told them I wanted to work overseas, and then to say that I will be working in Kuwait, but they trusted me enough to know that I never fully hop into a situation without thinking and researching it. They also are a praying family so I know they are always praying for me, and I for them.

I think about my former students. For five years, I have watched these kids grow up. I was a school mom: proud of them when they made great decisions, disappointed in them when they made poor ones, but loved them every single day. I know that they knew that I would do anything for them (within reason), and they did the same for me (believe me, I can write a blog on some of their shanigans they did to support me). I was so nervous to tell them I was leaving, because I didn't want them to think that it was because of them. But they were happy for me because I have always told them that you have to go after your dreams and follow your heart. They said those same words back to me.

How do I measure my year?

I think about my hometown of Gary, Indiana. How I love it with all of its faults. How there are days that I wish I could walk to the coffee shop around the corner from my apartment, or to the beach, or to the local pizza place. How some days I didn't pickup a newspaper because I didn't want to know about the bad things that happened the night before. Even with its faults, I love my hometown. It allows me to appreciate what I have here in Kuwait.

I think about Kuwait. How it frustrates me so, but yet I feel as if I belong here. The proud moment when I knew what each change denomination was, and used it correctly. The first time I gave basic directions from Beirut Street to my apartment in broken Arabic by myself. Becoming braver in walking in my neighborhood, while also being very tenacious in where I go and how I get there. Meeting friends who aren't teachers, befriending a local person. My first date here....

How do I measure my year?

• Looking out the window flying over the Mediterranean Sea to get to Jordan and then Kuwait.
• The first time I went to church here. 
• Flying into Dubai and getting jealous that they have taxi's with meters and streets with sidewalks.
• Hugging a student who got into their first choice school.
• Seeing the Taj Mahal, a place I have dreamed about seeing since I was like 12 years old.

How do I measure my year?

I really can't measure my year. There are soo many memories that are flooding my mind right now, that I can't measure it. But I can be grateful and happy for the 2012 that I had. And I will be even more grateful and happy for my 2013, and the moments and memories that God will allow it to create for me.

Too Damn Nosy....

"Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people." 

Eleanor Roosevelt

One of my favorite pastimes since moving to this country is to read the crime section in the Arabian Times or the Kuwait Times (two English language papers in the area). The blotter is written like an American celebrity magazine with the strangely weird, the minor celebrity plug, or the disturbing images of crime that happens to maids and hired help. When I run across an interesting story that catches my eye, I have to find someone to tell. I don't know why! Maybe it is human nature.

The same can be said about interesting news that happens to ex-pats in this area. The circle of teachers and contractors is tiny. Spend an evening at a major event and you will probably run into some teacher who hooked up with some contractor, who may be dating that person's ex who works at another school. And you can try to be above it all and ignore the information, but you can't help but listen. Being honest, I do take a moment and think, "who can I tell about this?" Most times I ignore it, but honestly, the longer I stay here, the more nosy I have become.

I used to not be this way.

My co-workers in the past would mostly say that I tried my best to not be in the mix of information. It didn't win me a lot of friends, but it shored up a reputation that I could be trusted, and that I wasn't a gossip. It made for many lonely lunches at times, but I was simply happy to not be in the middle of all the drama. My focus was always on my clients, my students, my family. If I told anything it was to my best friends who live in Central Indiana and Texas. Sometimes it was a great relief to spill stuff about the crazy adults I worked with, knowing that those two trusted people did not know who I was talking about. I talked to my mom a lot, because she always managed to bring insight and honesty when I just needed to talk. Although they are only a phone call away, its not the same. You have to factor in work schedules and time differences, life differences.

Its different here because the people you work with, you also live with, ride with, and hangout with on the weekends. Its not the same because at times you just want to talk to somebody about the crazy of the day who knows exactly what you are going through. You develop quick bonds because you may have been on the same plane together, you work on the same floor, or you are neighbors. The lines get blurry almost too quickly. Conversations begin to merge dangerously between the facts and the opinions.  It's a scary place to be; especially when you used to be a person who could physically separate out work relationships with personal relationships.

Today was my day that I fully became a gossip.

It happened innocently enough. We were talking about some directive that came in the wake of a little scandal. I mentioned that it had been a crazy week, and because I assumed that every knew because I was normally late to the gossip dance, I spilled the beans on someone else's issue. Then I allowed speculation to happen to go along with it. When I got off the bus, and reached my apartment, I realized that in less than 2 minutes I became a 14 year old teenager again.

That scared the crap out of me. It really did.....

Because at the end of the day, you don't want to be known as a person who is a gossip. The ex-pat world is too small to be seen as that kind of person.  The struggle, however, is how to separate yourself from it when its hard to keep personal away from professional. No amount of training can prepare you for that. I constantly have to tell myself something that my mother has always told me: "Remember who you are and whose you are."

I can't reverse my mistake. Some may even say that its not that big of a deal. But whenever I start to feel pieces of my spirit and character begin to be chipped away, it is a big freakin' deal. I want to be known as a great mind, a great person, and a woman of good character. I know now that this will be a big issue for me to overcome. But all I can do is accept my faults, move forward, and keep my damn mouth shut.

Thanksgiving Blues.... and Happiness

"If a fellow isn't thankful for what he's got, he isn't likely to be thankful for 

what he's going to get." 

Frank A. Clark

I admit that this week I have not been in the best of moods. I was also full of gas, so I do wonder if the two go hand in hand. I thought it was PMS, but that wasn't true. I thought that it was all the rain we had this week, which might have been a partial reason, but not the full reason. Then I realized....it's the holiday season. 

For me, good, bad, or indifferent, holiday's equal family. I was talking with a friend of mine today, and realized that in my 34 years, I have always managed to spend Thanksgiving with family. That is a long track record, even for adults. There are traditions tied to this day for me; there are smells, sounds, and sweaters that made me happy. Even when I'm ready to choke my parents for running late, or sitting in traffic on the way to Wisconsin laughing with my brother,Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. 

My Thanksgiving last year, I knew that I was going to go overseas. A couple of months prior, I went to see The Help with my mom, and at the end of the movie, watching Viola Davis walk away from her career and begin to live her life fully, I felt what her character was feeling: a sense of uncertainty about a new path, but understanding that it was her time to move on. Despite all the drama and the stress of my last job, I loved it. I also knew that I could have stayed there forever. But I did feel that it was just my time to go. And when you love what you do to let it go for an unknown future, all you can say to God is please help me understand and trust.

That year I went to Wisconsin with my mom and dad. My dad was a classic backseat driver, my mom was nervous about traffic, and I wanted to scream because we were leaving an hour later than what I wanted to. When we finally did get on the road, everyone relaxed a little bit, I put on music that managed to make my parent's happy, and we made it to dinner about 2 hours late. However, the ride back was my best memory. My dad sat up front with me, and we ended up taking Highway 41 back to Indiana due to a traffic accident coming back into the Chicago area. Figuring out where to go without the aid of a GPS or Onstar, we were in our element. Although it was a drive about an hour longer than what it needed to be, the time spent laughing and talking with my dad and my mom dozing in the back, made me happy. Being able to drive my parent's around was refreshing.

For me that is what holidays are all about. I could dwell in the things that frustrate me so about going to relative houses, or the traffic, or any number of things that manage to piss me off a little bit about the holiday season. But the memories I cherish our those simple moments that just bring a smile to my face. I am thankful for that, because it is those memories that sustain me during times when I'm feeling a little blue and homesick. Those are also the times that help me appreciate even more the opportunities that have come into my life in this present, and what is going to happen in my future. 

As I am writing this, my mom is probably baking zucchini bread or some dessert. The turkey my dad always slow roasts on the grill has been on there since they went to church this morning. My brother DJ and his family are probably going to Lena's parent's first and then manage to do a lot of drive-by's. Tanisha and the kids are getting ready to go spend this holiday with my maternal side of the family. I'm missing out on family friendly jokes, video games, and food, food, food. But I am thankful for those memories. I am thankful for their prayers and encouragement.  But I am also so thankful for where my life is, where it is going, and the adventure and blessings that await. Being thankful for everything is what this life is all about. I am truly grateful and thankful. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.   

The Skin I'm In

"What spirit is so empty and blind, that it cannot recognize the fact that the foot is more noble than the shoe, and skin more beautiful than the garment with which it is clothed?"

Michelangelo

So I must admit that I enjoy my job. I get to meet interesting students, network with colleges, work with a staff that can go from Arabic to English in a millisecond.... For a girl who has loved being in diverse places all of her life, this job is a little bit of living out a dream.

On the other hand, the reality that plaques even the most privileged and comes up so often is the issue of race and shade. I was talking with a student today who comes from privilege but feels that she isn't pretty because of she does not look like her family. If they were in the US, her parents would probably be mistaken as Hispanic or mixed heritage, while she appears white. On the ever important college applications, students are confused about what to mark as their race. Are they white? Are they Asian? Are they more than just an Other? What to mark?

I was very naive to think and believe that in a country where all different shades exist, that the hangups of race  would not be an issue. It's not really race as much as it's shade of skin.

I think back into the history of countries like the USA, like South Africa, that the shade of skin determined your place in life. The lighter the skin, the better off you would be to society; but among your race, depending on the time in history, the lighter the skin the less black you were. Heaven forbid if you used complete sentences or did not dress a certain way. I know that a significant part of my life among classmates, and even among some family, white girl was the moniker given to me. But it took my parents, and my faith to help me become comfortable with who I was. Although my life and views are ever evolving, I have learned to embrace my skin tone, my shade.

I don't know what to say to students when this issue comes up. I am normally at a loss of words because I know how they feel about shade of skin. And the goal in conversations with students is to not sound like a greeting card or a commercial. I do ask them how does that make them feel, or how do they overcome. But I also share a piece of wisdom that I feel that has been shared with me. That is simply that yes people see the outside and make assumptions, positive and negative. But it takes a strength, patience, wisdom, and a little bit of time for people to see and understand the kind of person you are. That is the lasting impression that matters. Not exactly the skin that you are in. 

Same Same....But Different

"People are pretty much alike. It's only that our differences are more susceptible to definition than our similarities." 

Linda Ellerbee

It was 2:30 pm and the bell just rang in the high school as students prepared to head for home. Normally, students hang out in the counseling office, or in the hallways and stairwells waiting for clubs or sports activities. But today was a bit different because after school activities were cancelled due to a large summit in Kuwait City. Highways and byways will be blocked; the commute home just a bit longer than usual.

I was in my supervisors office just talking to him for a moment, and we both stared out the picture frame window that overlooks the parking lot of the high school. We watched as our students got into the backs of their fancy cars, watching their nannies struggle with their backpacks, getting ready to head home. A sight unfamiliar to both of us because we did not grow up with privilege. In all honesty, I think my life was more privileged than his, but both of our families struggled to make things better for us.

Its in times like this that I think about my students at West Gary the most. I admit that I was very close to my students. Almost taking on a big sister, motherly role in a way. For some reason God blessed me this ability to have a heart for them while also not letting up when they made poor choices. I truly loved my students, and I truly miss them, but at the same time I know that they are well because I am doing well.

I continue to look out the window at the groups of students walking to the local bakala (convenience store). I remarked to my friend that although they may have money, there are many similarities between these students and in my former students who seem to not have as much. They are Same Same, But Different (a phrase used locally to describe how certain things are similar, in clothing, in food, in life). For example:

Uniform violations are a daily thing- Same Same. Kids here try to rock hats with their uniforms, they hate the colors, and try every possible way to add their own twist of fashion to what they are wearing. The different part is that they can wear whatever shoes they want while my former students did but got in trouble for them.

Sneaking to the store or getting food before, during, and after school- Same Same. My former students were famous for sneaking to the local gas station before getting on the bus or as soon as the bus hit the school building, or their parents/family friends/even teachers would make restaurant runs for them because lunch normally sucks. The students here do the exact same thing, except the difference here is that instead of going to the gas station up the street like my former students, they have their corner stores or have their help go get their items.

Ditching in the counselor office- Same Same. As hard as I tried with my students at West Gary, they knew exactly the right thing to say to hang in my office and get out of class. Or stop by on the way to the bathroom, or their locker, or leaving the principal's office. No difference. The kids here do the same, except the load is shared with two brilliant co-workers and an Egyptian mom in the form of the office secretary.

Talking in class, all the time- Same Same. The biggest issue I have heard from teachers is that students constantly talk all the time. They never seem to know when to shut up. That goes for the students in Kuwait and my former students at home. The only difference is that here the students do know how to be quiet during testing.

Concern for each other- Same Same. Students here and at home just seem to be able to put differences to the side when things get rough. We recently had a student whose parent died in their sleep. The outpouring of support and love towards the kid was unparalleled  except for when my former students took care of each other in the face of tragedy. The openness in their spirit is just amazing, no matter who their families are or what side of town they live on. No difference.

My excitement in their goals and dreams- Same Same. I never thought that there would be room in my heart for another set of kids, with another set of hopes and dreams, but somehow my spirit gets fed even more when they share what they want to accomplish, or finish a task or a plan that they spent time in putting together coming to light. The only difference is that I know I am missing out on soo much back at home, but embracing all the new that is set before me.

Through it all, it is because of my former students that I am able to be a part of this experience. They are probably the biggest reason that I have embraced who I am as an educator/counselor and held on to pieces of me that are the same, but given me enough faith to know that my path just simply had to be different. 

Call to Prayer

"Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is a daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words, then words without  a heart." 

Mahatma Gandhi

My eyes fluttered open at 3:30am. I know because I stared at my bedside clock, figuring out how long it will be before my alarm goes off (2 hours). So I laid in bed willing myself to go back to sleep, and then I hear a voice from outside: It's time for today's call to prayer. Now I can't go back to sleep.

So I open my windows and listen to the voice blaring outside from a tower not faraway from my home. I look down on the streets of Hawalli, watching men scramble towards the mosque a few blocks away. There is a glimpse of the the sky beginning to lighten over the horizon of the Gulf,  and I begin to wonder: why do they pray so much?

Living in this Muslim country, it still amazes me the number of times a practitioner of this faith goes into prayer. The Adhan (Call to Prayer) is the first thing that you do in the morning, and last thing you do when you go to bed. According to Beliefnet.com, having someone call others to prayer was approved by the Muslim prophet as a way to gather everyone together. The person who does it has to have a beautiful, clear voice. The more melodious of the voice, the more beautiful the Adhan. Praying five times a day is one of the pillars of Islam. With each prayer there are movements and supplications one must do. As a follower stated through CNN's Belief Blog, you stop what you doing and you pray making sure that you are doing the right things.

Now, I am not typing this to say I am converting or anything, but I think there is a point to all of this from a Christian point of view. Taking time to truly pray to God often can be a wonderful practice. Maybe some of you who read this blog may already do their own version of the Adhan in their daily life. I know that one of my faults is that I don't do a full on my knees prayer everyday. I pray in the shower, while I walk, sometimes at my desk, but I see those things as sometimes being a little lazy. But getting on your knees praying to God, can be a wonderful thing.

I remember as a kid having to recite the Lord's Prayer in church, and thinking that why did Jesus have to pray? Isn't he God? But even looking at that prayer, it was about praising, thanking and supplication. I do not profess to be Bible scholar. Actually, some of my Christian acquaintances believe I am a little to "liberal" with my point of view of faith, but ultimately I do feel that there is something that we can learn from a little bit more prayer discipline.

I do not know if I will start praying five times a day and use the prayer room that the school provides to students and staff. I know that I am not planning to convert. But I do know that when I rolled out of my bed at 4am this morning and got on my knees, I was grateful to do it. And maybe the loud speaker call to prayer for Muslims, can be integrated into my own walk of faith. Maybe if I take the mind out of prayer and bring in more of my heart, my call to prayer will be just as beautiful as the voice that rings out over the streets of my home here in Kuwait. 

No Sex in the City =)

"Dating is about finding out who you are and who others are. 

If you show up in a masquerade outfit, neither is going to happen."

Henry Cloud

So I must admit that as I prepared to make this journey to a new land I did have the thought that maybe God is sending me here to find my husband. At least that was the opinion of a lot people that I met as I prepared for this journey. It didn't make sense to those outside of my family that a single, non-military woman of Christian faith will willingly just show up to a foreign country on her own with no family. SHE MUST BE IN SEARCH FOR A HUSBAND!

I remember various conversations from women that I met during the summer:
"Wow, you're going to Kuwait and your single? God is going to bless you with a husband."
"A Muslim guy doesn't date to date, they date to marry. That will be good for you."
"I had a friend who went overseas, and met her husband as soon as she landed," (I heard several of those stories).
"You're still young, you will find the right guy for you there," (just a reference to my age).
Even my mom (who didn't have much of an opinion on dating) got into the act a little bit, "I just don't want to have a Not Without My Daughter Incident."
 Etc., etc. etc.

I do admit that as much as people talked, I did allow the little phrases and quotes seep into my mind. I can't help it, I am girl. And although I try to ignore the hopeless romantic in me, I still have this latent hope that I will be blessed with a husband, a guy truly designed just for me. On the other hand, the cynic in me feels that will never happen or that I will fall in love with some random guy who uses me for an American citizenship.

So imagine my shock last week when I actually had intelligent men (yes, multiple) flirt with me that were not American or taxi drivers and secure in their jobs and citizenship (I haven't had a week like that since....Well it's been awhile). I even went on a date last week, which was a very traditional date that I have only read about in my secret chick lit folder on my kindle: Guy picks girl up on time in clean vehicle. Guy opens all doors during the date. Guy laces flirty phrases with good conversation. Guy delivers girl home in one piece with no funny business. Guy wants to go out again. I think the nicest part was the fact that I was not accosted at the end of the date, something that as an American girl we tend to get used to, or figure out a quick exit plan in case something like that happens. If this is dating in the Middle East, I'll take it.

But unfortunately  it's not that easy. Because at the end of the day in this country or any country, you have to figure out the intentions of the people you go out with, along with your own. Because honestly if the guy is Muslim, they do date for marriage and companionship. And although the American point of view is a more in the school of hit and quit it when it comes to dating, my perspective is filtered through the prism of my faith and my family.  So I have to figure out what my intentions are, who I am as a woman, and who I would like to be in a relationship.

I do think back to my last serious relationship, and being in the space of distance and time, you reflect on who you were in that relationship, and who you do not want to be in the next one. Was I fully, truly myself? Were they? Hindsight being 20/20, what would you do differently? But the thing about the past is that its best to learn from it and move forward than moving backwards always. What I did learn about myself is that I have got to speak up and say what I feel, damn the consequences.

And that will be my approach here. I think that as long as I am truly, authentically myself, I will be the better person for it. My best relationships stem from my honesty and my vulnerability. That is just me, and that will not change. But what I will not do is date with a big blinking light on my forehead flashing "Looking for husband." I instead will allow myself to be open to meeting people, and being my true authentic self.

Social Class and Acceptance

"We must stop thinking of the individual and start thinking about what is best for society."

Hillary Clinton

I started this week getting my first paycheck. Although I knew my amount (I did agree to what was in my contract), the realization that I could pay down my debt while also not living on noodles and tuna during my time here became a little heavy. So much so that I haven't had the courage to even touch my paycheck or do anything yet.

With the discussion of first pay comes the discussion of plans for the first pay. Several people are now making plans for their trips during the holiday in October and going home for Christmas. Others are doing the numbers game like I am figuring what needs to go home and what needs to stay, to take care of student loans, mortgages, and family responsibilities. But the other discussion that people have been having has been centered around getting maids.

I have thoughts about the whole maid thing. Having someone come into my apartment to clean up after me I think is a little lazy. It's just me, and although I tend to get a little junky, I keep a clean house. The fear of roaches and little bugs appearing because of my laziness is the biggest thing that prevents me from totally trashing a place and leaving food out regularly. The other issue I have is just this thought of employing someone to do cheap labor. I didn't even realize that feeling until I was talking with a friend this week.

So of course I called my mom, and of course she supplied some wisdom into the whole perspective. She reminded me about the research I conducted prior to coming here about how I told her that there were distinct differences in workers in this economy, and how I said people here get paid very little and that many take on these jobs to send money home to their families. Then she started to talk about the Jeffersons, and how Florence was a friend to the family, although she gave them lip, she just wanted to be respected for her work. At the end of the day, its my job to help someone and treat them with dignity and pay fairly to do work that helps their family.

There are definite class distinctions here. The Kuwaitis really do not work because of their investments in oil and in other areas. But the working class scale goes as such: Westerners are here to educate and help build industry, South Asians provide the retail customer service help, and Indian/Sri Lankan/Bangladesh workers do the labor (there is a different category in regards to taxi drivers, which I will have to write about later). It is the Indian/Sri Lankan workers that have it pretty bad, getting paid maybe 2KD (about $6.50) a week to do the hard labor. Many depend on the maid jobs just to send money home.

I thought about that all weekend as I looked at the country where I am living and working. I even shopped at a yard sale to help with a cause that supplies clothes, shoes, food, and tickets home to the workers who can't afford to. Every little bit that I do, really truly has an impact on someone else.

Although I have not hired a maid yet, I am going to do it. I need to get over myself and realize that I am doing my part to help society here. It's just odd to me that I have never been in a financial position to do just that.