embedded in the floating world
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nmazca.blog embedded in the floating world |
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All day I've wanted to reply to part of a message that I received from an old college friend this morning. He only just found out that I'm out here in Doha. Basically, he said "Sounds great, but remember that you're in a part of the world where anti-American feeling is high; have an emergency exit strategy worked out; hope for the best, plan for the worst..." And this all really bothered me, for many reasons. First, I prodded the teens in my classes about their take on America and the West for the first few days. Any projection that they might have wanted to engage in -- casting me as a representative of the Devil Nation of the West -- simply didn't happen. And it's not that they buy the "We're out there fighting for democracy" line. These kids know the score, and they have quite insightful, eloquent ideas about what is going on, which players on both sides who are adding to the problem, and what steps can be taken to redress the ignorance, violence and demonization that's at work these days. I work in the midst of many Indian, Arab and immigrant Muslim people every day. I walk the same streets, go to the same stores, and it seems that it doesn't take me speaking for most people to know that I'm an American. And not one second of tension or confrontation has resulted. I think, more than anything, the typical sentiment might be bewilderment or bemusement -- why is this American walking around in this commercial back alley? How'd he end up in this convenience store a couple miles from the airport? "Where are you from?" "What do you do?" I went on a long walk south on Najma, a main street that runs north-south and parallel to the airport. I was marveling at the rich, dirty, tired and colorful scenes that passed before my eyes in the bakeries, the barbershops, the motorcycle garages and air-conditioning repair shops. I didn't have a camera on me, and no fast film even if I had had it. I just walked on toward The Mall (that's what it's called) because I needed to buy an iron. On the opposite side of the intersection, just past C Ring Road, my eyes followed the overgrown cascades of jasmine that grew over a high wall... and which led to The Garden Centre. And you know how I like houseplants. The Pakistani man who assisted me was very courteous and diligent, and I ended up walking out of the joint with about $70 worth of flora and pots... but with no way to get them home. So he directed me to what he thought was the best spot to stand so that a taxi could roll up with ease. While I waited, someone honked from the northbound lanes on Najma. A hand waved from a white Oldsmobile and I thought, "OK, messing with the guy on the street." A taxi rolled up just a few moments later, and I was so fixated on making my wave-down that I didn't see that same white car come to a quick halt right next to me. "Where are you going? Do you want a ride?" the Egyptian driver asked. "It's OK, the taxi's right there." But then the taxi driver mockingly waved back to me without slowing down. So it seemed that I might have to take the offer from the these two guys in the Olds. Only for a moment did I hesitate and wonder, "What if this a street grab?" But I tend to sense when things might be shaky... and the guy seemed for impatient about confirming that I'd pay 15 riyals (twice what the taxi would've cost) than getting me into the vehicle. His friend was helping get all the bags into the backseat while I agreed to the terms, and we were off. And so, again, they wanted to know where I was from, and I mentioned Seattle. It seemed funny that I was an American. To the question about what I was doing in Qatar, I responded that I was a teacher at an international school. The driver turned back toward me (while still accelerating, of course) with a ridiculously exuberant look, made some hand gesture, and bellowed, "Ah, good American!!!" His reaction was so cranked up, I had to laugh... We managed to get home easily enough, they helped shuttle the bags inside of the doorway, and I gave his friend 20 riyals (the equivalent of $5). We shook hands and they shot down the road. This is the kind of way that humans act, and this is the kind of looseness, camaraderie and makeshift entreprenurial enterprise that you can see all over town. It's experiences like that, or blithely walking down the street on Friday, munching on an almond ice cream bar, or puttering through the lanes at LuLu Hypermarket, that remind that I'm just around regular people. So what's the point, or my point of contention? This is not a war zone. Every person out here is not looking to slit an American's throat and send the tape to Al Jazeera (which is based in Doha, y'know). As the kids are quick to point out, the jihadis are in the vast minority -- they're the bad seeds that one can find in any society or religion, they told me -- and the everyday goings-on in this city present no greater danger than the need to look three or four times before stepping in the street. Cinnamon asked me about any anti-American sentiment a couple days ago, and while it's almost certainly in people's minds and on their tongues in conversation (not that I can pick that out), I simply sense and see no turmoil, roiling, slow boiling anger that would find me the target of some misplaced aggression. It's not like that out here, people. Not in Qatar, which I need to remind you is not Iraq. OK, the smoke fumes have made me a bit ill and the clock is ticking down to the end of tonight's business. Don't let yourself get played by the Rage in the Arab Street shtick that is being sold by your friendly corporate infotainers. What I'm talking about are my experiences with people on the living earth, not sound and fury from your dead TV. Syncing in |
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