Zayed University in Dubai

We spent a few hours at Zayed University chatting with a professor, getting a tour from some students, and sacking the library. We were first greeted by an official who said nice things to us, got photographed with us, and then left. We chatted rather intensively next with a professor from the Department of Islamic Studies. He made quite a point of telling us that they took more a social science perspective on the modern realizations of Islam rather than a doctrinal approach. He told us that there were 2,400 students there, but that the campus could handle 5,000. The principal issue is that t is a public university. This means that Emirati nationals can attend for free, and they get their books for free. The university does not have dorms, so everybody has to live at home. It is also gender segregated. At the moment, all the students are female, but they will begin to admit males. However, this does not mean that men and women will be chatting with each other. Women take classes from 8:00-3:00 and men will arrive to take classes from 8:30 to 10:30pm. The buildings are beautiful, spacious, and well appointed. However, 15 feet outside the walls of the university, the desert laps in dry waves of sand up against those walls and be-palmed fountained courts.

All the young ladies wear abaya and shayla and some even use niqab. That was very interesting. In our group, we talked about how it was not a problem to chat with women wearing the head covering, but as soon as they covered their mouths and left nothing but eyes to talk to, then it felt uncomfortable. Studies show that when Westerners view a face, the saccadic rhythms of the eye follow a clear triangular pattern from eyes to mouth. I wonder what the saccadic rhythm is for a face that only offers the eyes for viewing?

The tour wound through spacious airy corridors and the young students who were giving the tour were quite forthcoming on some topics and not on others. At one point in the tour, we passed a square of tables that had a huge load of used books in English. These books included such classics as Goldfinger, Hell Blazer, and one called Space Prophet. I turned to our guide who was wearing the niqab and asked, “Why are these books here? “, “Oh,” she said, “A charity group donated them.” “Don’t you think some of the topics are not proper?” I asked, trying to understand the elusive concept of modesty, and she replied, “Oh, well. It doesn’t really matter because they are in English.” Very interesting! We then went to the University Bookstore (where students come to get their free books!), and for their most recent English lit class, they were reading, the Epic of Gilgamesh, some Euripides, Homer’s Odyssey, Mrs. Dalloway, and The Scarlet Letter, all in English. When I considered Mrs. Dalloway from the point of view of a conservative Muslim woman, it put a whole new spin on it. There was also a piece of art on the wall, which I was unable to photograph for you, gentle reader, which was a drawing of the last supper except that all the individuals in the da Vinci original positions were faceless women in abayas and shaylas. Whole new spin. I reeled down the hall after the group trying to get my cognitive dissonance under control.

Dubai: the cutting edge....of some things

If you read the websites and tourist info about the United Arab Emirates, it is the cutting edge of technology, architecture, and education in the Arab world. Oddly enough, one cannot get a wireless connection in this town. Nevertheless, Dubai has some truly funkyrific modern architecture. Here is the skyline of downtown Dubai:
I read that Dubai is trying to keep a distinctive Gulf flavor to the buildings by making the windows be shaped in a more traditional manner, but these marvels of glass and steel look more forwards than backwards. Near the hotel where we are living, things are little more on the normal urban scale.
But there are things about people that never change, like laundry. As we do our laundry every night, we just festoon the room with our damp clothes, but these folks have their urban clotheslines right out there on the main avenue.
The traditional architecture that is supposed to maintain the national identity are the dhow (the traditional pearling boat that sometimes did a bit of pirating but is now used on dinner cruises) And the other emblematic bit of architecture is the wind tower. Now, all the buildings are totally air conditioned, but the wind tower hearkens back to the non-air-conditioned days of the 20th century (may it rest in peace) when these towers caught breezes and funneled them through the stone walls to cool the air so it would flow through the houses. When we visited the University, they gave us little wooden models of it. This omiage created a certain amount of confusion before it was figured out.
Part of our trip was a lecture and lunch at the Sheikh Mohammed Center for Cultural Understanding. Evidently this place opened up several years ago to help foreigners understand Gulf culture. However, as modernization has gripped the UAE by the throat, local people show up for their lecture/demos to reconnect with their heritage. Two very nice hosts, a young woman and an older man, entertained our questions. They were very gracious and offered quite heartfelt and earnest answers. On the concept of modesty, it seemed that their concept was that one does not engage in modest behavior because it is the law or because it is doctrine but because it is a way of being polite and showing respect for others. In our American understanding of “modest behavior”, it seems that we often see what these people are describing as personal restrictions on individual expression. As I listened to them describe their understanding of what it means to be polite, it was clear that this was an issue of Individualistic Orientation in contrast with Group Orientation. If I value the individual over the group, them I will value (tolerate?) individual expression regardless of social convention. If I value the group over the individual, I will value social convention regardless of the desires of individual expression. I read this very same sentiment in the student newspaper of the American University of Sharja, where a young lady was praising personal restraint as a way of being nice to other people.
After this discussion we had lunch, which was coffee with cardamom, noodles with sugar and cardamom, fried bred with date syrup, and an omelet like dish with cardamom. This was all followed by tea that was much stronger than the coffee. Cardamom is so tasty, I didn’t mind its pervasiveness, but I remember the last time I bought some at the grocery store and I minded how much it cost!

The Dinner Where Ismet Caught Fire

As an anthropologist, gentle reader, I tell you that food is a very important part of social relationships and interior adventure. With that introduction, I want to tell you about dinner where Ismet caught fire. Mimsy, Beth, Brian, Ismet, and I went to a Thai restaurant for dinner last night. Mimsy took charge, made the reservations and charged out of the hotel in the lead of our dining party. Mimsy and Beth set a brisk pace to Pasara Thai. We hit a minor snag on the street where the restaurant was supposed to be located since the street was busy and the doors were confusing. Mimsy did not break stride and briskly approach a large man dressed in black standing at a door with a neon sign and red ropes leading up to the door. For context of this interaction, there’s Mimsy, Yoga teacher and Academic Advisor, confidently approaching this Bouncer, with four humanities professors clustering confusedly behind her. None of us were wearing strappy sandals, nor cute little tops, nor short flirty skirts of any kind. The Bouncer ran his eyes over our academic huddle, looked down a Mimsy (petite in any context, but tiny next to Big Bouncer Dude), and haughtily indicated the restaurant next door. We obediently got out of the way of the chicks in strappy sandals, cute tops, and flirty skirts and entered the restaurant. Undaunted by the Haughty Bouncer, Mimsy briskly marched into the restaurant and got the tables rearranged for our group. No Fear: Mimsy’s Here!

The menus arrived and positively clunked when they hit the table because the plastic pages were enclosed in ½inch plywood binders. They could have been used as weapons had the occasion presented itself. In any restaurant where spice is involved, one has to deal with the amorphous scale of heat. I ordered a Pad Thai and said to the waiter, “High Medium, please”, and he repeated to me, “Medium?” and so I figured I should follow his lead and merely said, “Yes.” Ismet was less compliant. The waiter said to him also, “Medium?” and poor Ismet, trying to order some spicy food said, “Could you kick it up a notch?” and the die was cast. Was it a battle of testosterone? Was a merely a misunderstanding? Whatever it was, when our food arrived mine was predictably mild. Ismet began eating and became suddenly very quiet. He was eating very deliberately and fairly slowly. Neither of these behaviors was normal. Mimsy offered him a tissue as it looked like he really needed one at that point. “Are you okay?” I asked as he appeared to burst into flames. In a strained voice, he answered, “This is beyond hot. I am melting,” and he regarded his plate with a certain amount of distress. I offered him some of my mild Pad Thai, but he resolutely refused, claiming, “I can do this. I used to eat half a kilo of ornamental peppers for lunch. I can do this, “ but he did seem to waiver, and it did seem that he was trying to convince himself more than convince us. He doggedly made it though the volcanic Drunken Noodles, but he did seem a bit singed by the end.

And so we strolled back to the hotel, quite full of food, and Ismet slightly smoking.

Introductions and Ice-breakers

So we few, we happy few, we band of siblings, as it were, gathered all together and awkwardly stood around trying to figure out who we were. Luckily, there were these little cardboard signs that had our names an institutions on them. The leader of the group, an intense man with little hair, asked us to introduce ourselves. Lo and behold, we went around the table and each person recited what was on our cardboard cards sitting prominently in front of us: name and institution. I must admit that I am irritated by presenters who read their power point slides, so I thought I would add my research interest, misguided geek that I am. Everybody else just read their card. This made me worry about the dreaded ice-breaker. I so did not want to have to describe myself as some kind of carbohydrate rich dessert, but my fears were unfounded: it was a rather more mature ice-breaker. We were to interview someone not sitting next to us, and then introduce that person. I think that is a pretty good ice-breaker. However, they gave us a list of questions in case we couldn't think of what to ask. They consisted of questions like, "what was your first job", "what do you like to do in your free time", "what are you looking forward to" and such. Most everyone abandoned them summarily and had conversations about teaching. That was a relief!

Then the past ambassador to the Middle East, David Mack, addressed us. What an amazing person! He must have been in his 70s, and he was intense, energetic, well informed, and opinionated. He had been around long enough to have no illusions about human nature or the functions of diplomacy: he was an utter pragmatist and quite the Obama fan. His opinion is that the United States will benefit from listening more and focusing on common interests rather than trying to be a global nanny. He really said that. Then he did some hilarious Henry Kissinger imitations.

Then we talked briefly about the colonial history of the Gulf area, and some of the important pieces of political intrigue such as how the Gulf area has important geography issues. If you are from Iran, you say, "Persian Gulf" and if you are from the Gulf states, you say "Arabian Gulf" and if you want to be safe, you just say "Gulf" unless you are talking to an American who might get confused and think you mean "Gulf of Mexico" when you say "Gulf", so you need to qualify that. This is the same in Ulster where you communicate political orientation by whether you refer to Derry or Londonderry. Or the US where you refer to the Civil War or the War Between the States. Or the Webster Avenue Cafe where you refer to Budweiser as "Beer" or "Carmel Water".

Phase 1: Inside the Beltway

Yesterday my faithful MacBook died. Computers don't die in spectacular ways: they just go gently into that good night. The color wheel turned, and then it went black. In keeping with Dr. Kuhbler-Ross's stages, I pushed the on button so it the color wheel could turn and the screen go black a few more times until I understood what had happened. Then I bargained with it: what about a hard reboot? No. Then I got mad: Now of all times! But then I zipped straight off to acceptance when Ralph said, "Well, looks like it's time for a trip to the Apple store," and he rubbed his hands gleefully. Now I have a nice new MacBook pro that is doing yeoman work already. Ralph also has a nice new Ipod classic. We had a good time at the Apple store.

I got up at 4:30 am for our early trip to the airport, and the blessed hounds have such good internal clocks that they just stayed in bed until 5:00. On the other hand, Rocket, the not-so-very-clever was thrilled humans were up so early and insisted the my swinging the Bird Toy around for her was a billion times more important than any shower I had planned to take. Rocket's priorities are always quite clear though not always coherent.

I have one courier bag for my electronics and paper, and one Timbuck2 suitcase which, I found out at the Delta checkin counter, weighs 28 pounds. This was the most challenging packing ever because the concept of "Business Casual" confuses me, and this was an informal dress code splashed all across our itinerary. "Business" I understand: that means suit. "Casual" means jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, right? But "Business Casual" is a profoundly grey area in women's clothing. I looked it up online, and it was very strange. Essentially, the web says it is not a suit, and not jeans. I am not always happy with negative definitions (not what something is, but what it is not). Anyways, I'm from the Humanities, so our dress code is "Eccentric Flakey". I tried to translate that to "Business Eccentric Flakey" and though my dart might hit the target somewhere near acceptable.

Today is the Great Meeting Time. They are threatening to have a one hour ice-breaker on the schedule. Robin, I will tell you all about how this ice-breaker for "older academics" goes. My Faculty Development Radar senses disaster brewing. If I am asked to say what kind of cookie I am, I honestly don't know what I'll do.

Presenting information on something I know nothing about

So we got this flood of emails from AMIDEAST, the agency that is organizing all this for us, about how we need to be flexible, be ready for anything, and to give up any OCD tendencies that might include promptness and schedules. Quite sage advice, I would say. In that vein, they also asked us to present our curriculum projects. I think they need to be flexible about this and give up any OCD tendencies that would make them think I have any real idea about what is going to happen. I don't know who we will be seeing, I don't know if I can go to the mall by myself, I don't know what institutions we will be visiting, who we will be talking to, or anything. How can I present a project when I don't know what my data will be?

Anyway, as part of our pay-back for this experience, we are supposed to do some kind of curriculum project that cannot be just a blog or just a photo essay. I'm doing both, since it only makes sense, but I am also revamping a Middle Eastern Literature class that I will be teaching in the fall, gathering resources for my colleagues, and creating that verboten photo essay for a cultural presentation. It would be cool to get some e-pals for my classes to chat about the literature. In my Dr. Pangloss incarnation, I would like to hook up with an English Lit professor who has a lit class going on during my Middle Eastern Lit class, and have students comment on each other's blogs, which would be reflections on the literature. This way the students could be engaged in some real conversation about a literature that, on either side, could be considered highly wacky (to use a technical lit term).

In my imaginative preparations, I got into my car yesterday, wearing a business suit for a meeting, and it was toasting inside the car. I sat there for a minute before opening the windows first reflecting on how one must really adjust one's physical orientation for the kind of heat in that part of the world, and then I thought, "If I were a dog in this car, I would be dead." I kept the windows open all the way down to the main campus, but I'm still gonna have get some Dryell for that poor suit.

Getting Ready for the Next Great Adventure

In September 2009, I asked my-very-good-friend Ralph if I should apply for the Fulbright Hays Seminar in Senegal or the Gulf States, in this case, Kuwait, the UAE, and Qatar. He promptly said, "Gulf States. That seems safer." Now he says he should have said, "Neither: the garden needs you," but that is necessarily water under the garden bridge since I'm going to the Gulf States.

As of April 15th, the US Department of Education has not been very specific about very much like where we will be when, who we will see, what we will do, how much freedom we will have to do our own research. It is a rather predictable Hurry Up and Wait. Of course, they briskly wanted to know if we had enough insurance to "repatriate the remains" and if we were healthy enough not to spontaneously require such patriation, but aside from that, not much detail. The trip leader, Dr. Jill Crystal, has sent us some readings and links of a general orientation. Great. So, in this dearth of information what does an enthusiastic, action oriented kinda gal do? Sign up for Arabic Lessons! Get a handful of books! Spend some time on Youtube! Go shopping for baggy clothes!

I am taking Arabic lessons at the local technical high school in an interesting demographic mix. More than 1/2 of the class are young women in their 20s who are married to Palestinians. 1/4 are men who want to read the Quran, and my 1/4, which is women-of-a-certain-age who are doing it for reasons that amount, essentially, to entertainment. The teacher is a former student of mine from an ESL course. She is absolutely wonderful: energetic, interactive, patient, friendly, rigorous. Thank goodness the teacher is good because Arabic makes my head spin. I have had to repeat, "Wa alaykum a-salaam" to myself over and over just to be able to respond appropriately to "Salaam alaykum." Yesterday, to my great delight, I was chatting at a reception with a colleague about the impending trip, and when we parted he said, "Salaam Alaykum." I was successfully, and only after a short pause, able to cheerily respons, "Wa alaykum a-salaam." I was so proud of myself. I guess if I get one formulaic phrase a week, I'll be able to be nominally polite to the excellent English speakers who will be hosting us. I aspire to being able to read the signs on doors, you know, push/pull, open/closed. That's about as far as I got in Gaeilge.

As for history books, I got a cool collection of modern Arabic langauge fiction (in English) for my e-reader, but it is all, not surprisingly, from Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, and Syria. I ordered an Emirati collection of short stories from the library, and I have roger Allen's Introduction to Arabic Literature. Thick stuff!

This brings me to Youtube: I found reference to Freej, a 2006 cartoon about four old ladies who deal with modernity. It looked really cool! I need to find the DVD with English subtitles, but I may have wait until I can go to the mall in Abu Dhabi.

But it is the shopping thing that has consumed as much time as the reading and research. Through Travel Smith, the Sierra Trading Post, Timbuktu, and Hydrochic, I have collected a sufficient wardrobe to need only one bag and be a reasonably modest professional. Still, the shoe issue haunts me.

So I wait for more information: who, how, when, how long?