I recently asked one class what “lullaby” meant and one answer I heard was “candy.” I like those moments when I can make sense of where the distortion is as the ‘b’/ ‘p’ distinction is sometime difficult for native speakers of Arabic. I walked to the board and wrote “lullaby” and “lollypop.”

I explained the difference between the two words, then we started another loop of misunderstandings.  I said, “lullaby sounds like your term: lowlay.” My students looked at me in confusion, so I said, “lowlay” again. They were still confused so I tried to change my pronunciation,  “lowlie,” but the word had no meaning for them.

At the start of a different class, I asked, “Does the term ‘lowlay’ mean anything to you?” A few students called out, “it’s a lullaby.”  Aha! I had thought lowlay was a general Arabic term, but it turns out it has only a regional usage.

It’s sometimes exhausting, sometimes fun to be constantly in the middle of making meaning. Of course I expect this when I am teaching and walking my students through color metaphors (such as the connotations of saying “I’m blue,” “she looked green” and “he’s yellow”) and the various shifting frameworks that come up, such as how it’s polite in some cultures to hand cash directly to a person and in other cultures that is rude.

But I believe that as soon as you leave your door-yard, you are confused. I was recently at a grocery store check-out counter sorting things into different bags as some items needed to go to my house, some stayed in the car for camping and some had to go to my office. When I was done, I looked at the clerk and she asked me in Arabic, “Why are you doing this?” and pressed her lips together. “Are you sick?”

Pressing lips together in the States is a common physical reaction to concentrating but it did not hold that meaning for her; she thought it was a reaction to being in pain. I said, “I do this when I am trying to think carefully.” She nodded. I am glad she asked because there are so many chances to misunderstand something or guess the wrong meaning, it’s always better to check.

This makes those moments when I know what to do so much sweeter. Last week I went to an ATM on salary day, the 21st of the month when almost every company in Oman pays the monthly salary and ATMs are very busy. As expected a few men were waiting, not in a line but spaced out to the left and right of the ATM.

I got out of my car and instead of going to stand as close to the ATM as possible (which would signal that I was trying to claim the female and/or expat privilege of cutting into the line), I leaned against the side of the hood. I glanced quickly at the other men, then gazed off into the middle distance. When new men came, I glanced at them quickly and when all the men who were there before me had taken cash, I walked up to the machine.

Because that’s how you do it. There is no clear queue; you need to look at everyone who was scattered around the ATM when you arrived and instantly memorize them (it’s not polite to stare!). Then you wait and watch so that when all the people who were there before you have finished, you move towards the machine. (Make a QUICK first move so the guys who are waiting won’t try to jump ahead of you, then walk slowly.)

When I got back into my car, one of the research guys walked past. He glanced at me and kept walking. So I rolled down the window and read articles on my phone; when he was done, he came to my car and we chatted for 10 minutes.

He first walked by without acknowledging me because to stop would throw off the rhythm; the men who came after him would not know that he was waiting for the ATM. Better to take his position, get his cash, then talk to me. If I had driven off, he would assume that I was in a hurry or that I felt ‘shy’ to speak to him in front of so many men. By waiting and putting the window down, I was signaling that I was happy to talk. If he had walked away without speaking, it would mean he was in a hurry or that there was an older person in the car (i.e. he should not keep that person waiting).

It took a lot of questions in similar circumstances to figure out the permutations of dealing with ATMS and running into research guys by chance. Now I am glad I’ve got the basics down. Sometimes it’s “every new day is a chance to wildly misunderstand what is going on” and sometimes it’s  “every new day is a chance to learn.”

Reflections on Ethnographic Research: What is Missing and What Changes

Reflections on Ethnographic Research: Claiming Knowledge and Shifting Perceptions

Reflections on Ethnographic Research: Getting it Wrong