MIT – “the nicest of geniuses” – explaining

MIT – “the nicest of geniuses” – knowing the world

MIT – “the nicest of geniuses” – being pleasant and helpful

MIT decided to partner with the company gapingvoid for a series of whimsical drawings with sayings that distill MIT Sloan School of Management’s cultural frameworks, one of which is “We hang out with the nicest of geniuses.”

That might seem a little self-serving, but I worked at MIT for 5 years (2 1/2 years at Sloan and 2 1/2 years in the Office of the Dean, School of Engineering) before I went to Oman. When I moved back to the States, I returned to Sloan.

The “genius” part is justified by the awards given to people who work at MIT; the “nicest” part is justified by the MIT expectation that the more important the position held, the kinder the demeanor. When I came back to Sloan in Sept. 2024, I had not worked in the States in 19 years. I had a lot of catching up to do and, during my first weeks, I often bothered my boss with basic questions and I always got a serene explanation, no “just look it up” or “ask X.” The person with the least spare time is the person most willing to walk me through the details I need to know.

But my stronger example comes from my previous job in the School of Engineering. I did stewardship which means explaining to donors what was done with their money, i.e., asking professors who were given funds for their labs to write (or have me write) a letter back to the donor.

When I started that job, I was a little nervous going into the office of world-rated, much-decorated, famous professors to ask them to write a letter in lay-man’s terms for their donors, but what I found is that every single academic was able to say what they were doing in a simple and straightforward way without condescension or impatience.

After I would tell them why I wanted a letter about their work, they would usually ask, “Do you have a background in…” whatever their field of engineering was. I would shake my head and say, “I was an English Lit major.” They would nod and start in on a cognizant explanation. Every letter they wrote included both gratitude for the gift to MIT and a clear description of how they money furthered important research.

The visual metaphor I have is someone standing lost on the ground floor of a building with a large atrium. There is a crowd of people up on the 10th floor balcony, trying to tell the lost person where to go. Some point; some yell, “Go to the East 6 cubits, then turn South for 18 cubits.” Some hold up their phone saying. “Here are the directions” and others yell, “It’s easy! What is your problem?” And then there is the person who walks to the elevator, goes down to the ground floor, walks up to the person and says, “Please follow me.”

MIT hires the people who go to the elevator.

Practicalities: Managing a Short Research Trip to the Arabian Peninsula

Practicalities of Moving to the Arabian Peninsula: Using the Arabic Language

Practicalities of Moving to the Arabian Peninsula: Dealing with Loss

One Year Away – Missing Oman

Research: Article on Theodore and Mabel Bent Has Been Published

I am happy to announce that my article on Theodore and Mabel Bent has been published at: http://tambent.com/2025/08/07/ya-mabel-and-the-duchess-by-marielle-risse/

Abstract: What are the conditions in which ‘imagination and humility necessary to climb into the head of people who live by a very different set of assumptions’ is created? Later travellers to southern Oman have seen and reported only what was most unusual, most foreign and more recent books about the Dhofar region show less understanding of the culture than articles and books written in the 1800s. We will discuss two specific examples of this odd juxtaposition: a Victorian, female traveller who is more accurate about Dhofaris than a modern, female traveller.

Keywords: Dhofar, Mabel Bent, Oman, Qara Mountains, Theodore Bent, travel writing; Jan Morris, Suzanna St. Albans, Wilfred Thesiger

The homepage of the Bent Archive : http://tambent.com/

How NOT to Describe People Who Are Foreign to You: Exoticizing Omanis

Annotated Bibliography of Texts Pertaining to the Dhofar Region of Oman

Cultural Refraction: Using Travel Writing, Anthropology and Fiction to Understand the Culture of Southern Arabia – 2009

Verstehen/ Einfühlen in Arabian Sands (1959): Wilfred Thesiger as Traveler and Anthropologist – 2013

Reflections – Dhofari Conversations

A few months ago, I joined a conversation group which discusses Middle East issues and at the start of each meeting, each person introduces themselves. Usually people simply say their first name and where they work, but I always add that I lived in Oman for 19 years. At the last meeting, someone asked me about my time in Oman and as I was answering, I realized that I always mention Oman because I am hoping that one day someone will say, “Oh, I work with an Omani” or “My neighbor is Omani!” and I might be able to meet someone from Oman.

And in thinking through that, I realized this will probably not happen, and I might never have another face-to face conversation with someone from the qara tribes. That’s devastating for several reasons; one is that it took years to learn how to have a proper Omani conversation and now I might not have one again.

To me, the hallmarks of Dhofari conversations are issues pertaining to time.

First of all, conversations are rarely arranged ahead of time – perhaps you might make a plan in the morning to meet in the evening, but usually you plan between 5 minutes and 1 hour ahead. I would get a message from the research guys, “are you free?” and if I said “yes,” the answer was usually “I am in the parking lot” or “I will come in 10 minutes.”

The second issue is that meeting friends usually involves more than 5 hours of talking. In the States, meeting up with friends for coffee is usually 1-2 hours. Longer meetings often involves alcohol (going out for the night), computer games, sports or artistic events, etc.; these are fun activities but are not set up for long, sustained story-telling.

Third, Dhofaris can banter but they can also launch into a 45-minute monolog, and everyone will listen carefully without interruption. Dhofaris pay attention and remember what is said as they are accustomed to learning through hearing stories. When you lay out the background of an topic, they will remember so if, two months or two years later, you want to talk about the same topic, you can just mention it and they will mentally pull up all the data. There is no need to repeat anything you have said about your family tree, previous jobs, neighbors, food preferences, where you live(d), etc.; that information is safely stored.

I take advantage of this trait when I am doing research. A story I heard years ago from one of the research guys is pertinent to the project I am working on now, so I left him a message and asked him if he remembered it. Of course he did, as well as where we were when he told me and who else was in the car. Then he retold me the same story.

Lastly, conversations with the research guys and female friends followed pretty clear conventions:

  • no complaining (I violate this one, the research guys never do)
  • no looking at your phone (unless you get a message, need to check to make sure it is not your mom who needs something)
  • no talking about yourself unless it is an amusing story in which you did something stupid or you were in a funny situation
  • no bragging in any form, e.g., you can’t mention all the things that you have to do (i.e. how “busy” you are) or anything positive you have done
  • no discussing
    • people you know who aren’t with you
    • work/ people at work (I violate this one, the research guys never do)
    • your immediate family or relatives (except you MUST ask about everyone’s parents!)
    • national politics (local elections and world events are ok)
    • sports
    • tv shows or movies
    • celebrities

This leaves you with:

  • weather
  • religion
  • dumb things that you have done
  • fishing
  • humorous stories
  • interesting stories from the past

The result is a group of people who are actively trying to be entertaining and who are used to listening/ taking turns telling stories for many hours. Specifically, the emphasis is always, always on good behavior. If I complained (usually about work) the advice was always to improve myself. When pushed, the research guys might admit that I was in the right or that X person was a twit, but the correct behavior was for me to be patient and to “hold myself.

No Omani ever told me, “Wow – what a jerk! Slap him!” It was always “be strong” and “don’t let someone think that they can bother you.” This could be really annoying, but it in the long term, it made me infinitesimally more like them – calmer, quieter, more watchful.

I miss stories.

Recreating Culture – Lessons from Bakeries and Cafeterias

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 1

Practicalities: Managing a Short Research Trip to the Arabian Peninsula

Ethnography – Finding the Middle Ground, part 1 of Discussing Photographs

Crafting a Home: Interior Home Design in Southern Oman

This essay is based on the presentation given at the Home/Making Symposium, Concordia University, Montreal on May 12, 2023, with editing suggestions from Elaine Cheasley Paterson and Molly-Claire Gillett

  • Introduction
  • My Positionality
  • Designing a house
  • Rooms
  • Foyer/ main hallway
  • Majlis
  • Salle     
  • Kitchen/ Dining Room
  • Bedrooms
  • Bathrooms
  • Who decorates
  • Decorating a house
  • Generating Ideas       
  • Handmade objects
  • Conclusion
  • Related bibliographies, books, publications and conference presentations

Introduction

Most of the writing about architecture and design on the Arabian Peninsula focuses on either ancient, archeological finds or huge modern edifices. This essay concentrates on the domestic sphere, specifically common practices in decorating a middle-class family house in Dhofar, the southernmost of the 11 governorates in Oman. Dhofar is 99,300 square km and the southern border is the coast of the Indian Ocean. Yemen lies to the west, Saudi Arabia is north, and the other Omani governates are to the east/ north-east.

This paper begins with an overview of how houses are designed, then gives a description of the types of rooms. There is then is a discussion of who decorates the house and how decorations are decided/ agreed on. At the end are several bibliographies on various aspects related to housing on the Arabian Peninsula and links to images of houses.

My Positionality

I lived in Salalah for 19 years, teaching at a small, local university. I taught education, literature and cultural studies classes; my research circled around the question: how do middle-class, Arab, Muslim, tribal, Dhofari people live day to day?

I started research on houses in the summer of 2019 as I was working on my book about foodways. I had to write about how kitchens are situated, designed, decorated and used in Dhofari houses and I found this work so interesting, I started taking notes and asking questions about other rooms in houses, as well as collecting photographs. When the food book was sent to the publisher, I began working on houses full-time by finding and reading texts about houses on the Arabian Peninsula. Between 2020-22, I did targeted interviews and went back through my research notes to compile charts about which houses I had been in and for what reason.

The information presented here is the result of academic research and interviews, as well as simply being friends with Dhofaris and thus being invited by women into their homes for social visits, birthday parties, wedding parties and condolence visits. There are Dhofari houses I have been in more than 30 times and “social visits” include Eid visits, iftar meals at sunset during Ramadan, to meet a new baby, a formal dinner party and to be given a tour of a new house.

With the men in my research group I have been on almost 400 picnics, more than 30 camping trips and over a dozen boat trips. As it is less common for an American woman to be friends with a Dhofari man, I have only been in a few of their houses, for a meal with other men, but eight of the men have sent me photos of their houses and explained the layout.

I also have been invited to see several houses that were being built by Dhofari friends and snuck into more than a dozen houses that were being built in the neighborhoods where I have lived. In addition, I lived in two Dhofari-designed houses within Dhofari neighborhoods for a total of 17 of the 19 years I lived in Oman.

There are no texts which deal with interior design/ room layout in the Dhofar region. As houses are predominately a space for family, the way people know what the inside of other houses look like are ads for rental houses and photos taken on special occasions which circulate through social media. So while I was focusing on houses, I spent a lot of time reviewing what Dhofari friends were posting about houses.

I would like to make clear two limitations of my knowledge. First, all the houses I was in/ saw photos of belonged to middle-class families. Extreme poverty is very rare among Omanis; the government gives subsidies for electricity, water and gas as well as monthly pensions for people in need. There is no homelessness, healthcare is free or with a minimal fee and students with high grades are given free university tuition. I do not know anyone with food scarcity or who could not afford the basics of shelter, clothing, transportation and the ability to host friends, celebrate religious days, hold weddings, etc. On the other side of the scale, I don’t know anyone with extreme wealth, e.g. multiple houses, several cars, ability to pay thousands of dollars for non-essentials such as vacations or jewelry.

Secondly, the houses I describe are Dhofari-designed and decorated. Most of the houses I visited belonged to people who were part of the hakli (Gibali-speaking) tribes. I visited many houses which are rented by expats, but have only included descriptions of the layout if the structures were Dhofari-designed. I have not included descriptions of interior decoration of houses which were lived in by expats or non-Dhofari Omanis.

I have aggregated the evidence I collected into the data presented below, with caveats about personal choices.

Finally, I would also like to be clear that I was visiting houses for many years before I approached design as an academic topic. When I decided to start research on houses, I let my Dhofari friends and informants know this. I asked permission to use descriptions of their houses and did over a dozen interviews. I asked them to please send me photos of their houses (as this was during Covid) if they wanted to. Thus for several houses, I first saw the space as a guest, then as a researcher, then again as a regular guest.

Designing a house

The Dhofar region is considered BWh [arid-desert-hot] in the Köppen-Geiger climate classification. But is often described in non-scientific texts, especially tourist brochures, as tropical or subtropical. From March to the beginning of June is the hot season, with temperatures often in the high 90s with high humidity. In the middle of June, temperatures drop as clouds move in for the South-East khareef (monsoon) season; there is frequent drizzle, occasional rain storms and high seas until the start of September. In the middle of September, the clouds disperse, leaving a green landscape and pleasantly warm weather with blue skies. By December, the grasses have died off, leaving the hills brown and people prepare for the frequent, strong, sand-bearing, north winds from December to March.

This weather pattern means that all houses built in the last 40 years are made of cement block which keeps the wind and drizzle out, but are not energy effective. The houses need air conditioners constantly working to keep cool and the metal and wood window frames and door frames often let in sand and rain during storms.

Dhofari houses are designed by the people who will live in the space so the rooms are built to the families’ specifications.[1] Given than most Dhofaris live in multi-generational clusters of thirty or more family members, this means consulting the wishes of many people. This also means that many people can help contribute. For example a sister might give cash from her salary for building supplies while a brother who does not have a job can do the work of finding the right equipment to rent, bringing workers to and from the job site, supervising, being on hand to answer questions, etc.

The decision to build does not rest solely with the men of a family. Mothers, wives, sisters and daughters are part of decisions relating to the home. Men may not say publicly that they are making decisions based on their relatives’ wishes, but it is expected that the women’s opinions will be consulted. I have heard complaints from Dhofari women that, for example, the kitchen is not well-designed, but among my informants in the hakli group of tribes and in the hakli houses I have visited and seen photos of, the women always had a say in how the house was set up. Several hakli men I know simply handed over the room location and decoration to the women.

Rooms

The most important rooms are the majlis, usually explained as the male or male visitor’s sitting room, and the salle, usually explained as the women’s or family’s sitting room.[2] As the majlis is used more frequently for guests, it is often more showy with a larger TV, elaborate curtains, wall hangings, and gypsum decorations on the ceiling. Care is taken that the two rooms do not have the same color scheme but the spaces are not color-coded for gender in Western terms. For example, the majlis might be light purple or peach while the salle is dark blue or brown.

I think of Dhofari houses as the antithesis of expensive Victorian-era houses in the United Kingdom with many little rooms which each have a separate purpose: the morning room, the seamstress’ room, billiard room, the music room, the library, etc.. In Dhofari houses, there are usually only four types of rooms: sitting room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom and the first three types are furnished with the same pattern of furniture next to the walls and empty space in the middle.

Another way to think about types of rooms is to consider that many middle- and upper-class North American homes have rooms for work, relaxation and/ or exercise such as a home office, craft room, gym, yoga studio, etc. which might be the former bedroom of a child who has moved out. There is a standard trope of a child going to college and his/ her room ‘disappears’ as it has been entirely repurposed.

In Dhofar, while the people who stay in a room might change, the purpose seldom does. For example, three brothers might share a bedroom on the ground floor. In time, an additional story is added and two boys move to an upstairs bedroom while the original room is redone for the oldest boy and his bride. After this couple have a few children, they move to a suite on the first floor and the bedroom is refurbished for a grandparent who cannot manage to walk upstairs.

Foyer/ main hallway

Looking at the front of a Dhofar house, there are almost always two doors. The smaller/ less decorated door leads to the majlis, explained below, and the larger door opens into a large, wide hallway. This hallway, which runs from the front to the back of most houses, is widest by the front door. There is usually no furniture in the hallway except perhaps a tall, rectangular side table pushed against the wall near the door with a mirror above it or nearby. 

This is a staging-area that is used only for a few moments of time several times during the day but is necessary given common Dhofar behaviors. A large foyer is needed because there are usually more than five small children living in one house and they can use the space as a play area in hot weather; also, children love to run together to the door when someone knocks (or they are sent to see who it is).

As children like to move in groups, they often stand near the door to look at a person arriving or leaving; for example, younger children often gather in the entrance way when older children are going to school. With a large foyer, there is space for the mom, the children who are going to school and young children to all wait inside where it is cool. Or the space can be used by a group of sisters waiting for a car to take them shopping or visiting relatives so they don’t have to stand outside the house in view of the neighborhood.

In some large, recently-built houses, there is no hallway but a circular, open area with a salle through a wide-open archway, the door to the majlis, the door to the kitchen and the steps leading to upper floors. This space is sometimes big enough for chairs/ a sofa and is used as a play area for children, a pass-through/ staging area and an intermediate/ indeterminate location.

For example, a strange man would come to the majlis through the outside door, but a new bride’s brother who wants to visit might not want to ask her to come to the majlis (where there are other men) and might not be comfortable in the salle (where there are women he doesn’t know and is not related to) but could stand with her in this open space to chat.

Majlis

In some cultures on the Arabian Peninsula, the majlis is strictly male territory but in Dhofar among the hakli tribes, a woman, for example, might sit in the majlis and speak with her uncles or male cousins who have come to visit. Further, the space might be used for children to have lessons with a tutor in the early evening. Women use it to entertain female guests or for wedding parties, during which women usually take over the whole house while men are entertained outside. A husband might sit in the majlis in his wife’s parent’s house as a place to talk to his wife when she is temporarily living at her parent’s house if she is caring for a sick member of her family.

When I visit female Dhofari friends at home, where we sit depends on several factors. If their husbands and/ or brothers are not at home, we sit in the majlis. When I visited one male Dhofari friend, we sat in the majlis, but I went to the salle to eat lunch with the women.

The majlis is usually decorated with sofas or cushions on a low wooden frame surrounding the sides of the room, a few coffee tables, a TV, and sometimes decorations such as photos of the Sultan Qaboos or Sultan Haitham. There is an AC and the walls are always painted to coordinate with the curtains and sofas. Often there is a rug in the (empty) center of the room; the color scheme might be shades of beige, pastels or dark shades of brown, blue, or green.

Majlis always have two doors; the first leads to the outside, so that guests may come and go without moving through or seeing other spaces in the interior of the house. The second door leads to the main hallway of the house and is always closed, if not locked. There is often an open sink, to wash hands before and after eating, and a small toilet/ shower room. 

In a very small house, sometimes the majlis is completely repurposed by becoming a bedroom. Then the salle functions as majlis. In one house which was arranged like this, when I was sitting with women and a man entered to meet with the husband, the women and I went to sit in the couple’s bedroom.

There can also be a majlis in the house as well as another majlis in a separate building. This is not common in Dhofar and is usually a marker of a religiously conservative and/ or wealthy family. The outside majlis is usually located close to the wall (sometimes with a doorway cut into the wall) so that visitors do not go anywhere near the house. This majlis often has a large sitting room and bathroom with sometimes a small kitchen (with its own entrance) and/ or a bedroom. When I was with some of the men in the research group visiting a man we knew, we sat in the separate majlis and lunch was brought to us, carried by our friend.

Salle

In the same way that the majlis can be used by women in Dhofar, the salle can be used by men who are not in the family, for example older men who are close, long-term neighbors might sit with women in the salle if there are no men in the house to entertain them.

The salle is always at the front of the house, close to but usually not visible from the front door. The room has three sides, often with windows to the front and side of the house, the side to the front hallway completely open, with a blank back wall. Like the majlis, it is usually decorated with sofas or cushions on a low wooden frame surrounding the sides of the room, a few coffee tables, a TV, and decorative elements such as vases. The bathroom area might be attached to the salle or further down the main hallway of the house.

Although the norm in Dhofar is for a house to have one majlis and one salle, some larger houses have a series of rooms, i.e., a formal salle at the front of the house and then a (usually less formal) salle further inside. Sometimes also a few sofas are placed upstairs in an open area at the head of the stairs (out of sight of the front door) for family members only.

A salle can be a place for siblings to watch horror movies at 1am, somber when the house is in mourning and women come to pay condolence visits, joyful for a graduation celebration, intimate when sisters come to visit and share all the family news, loud when the children are playing, and welcoming for neighbors and guests. The salle is the center of a Dhofari house.

This could be seen as valid for a North American family as well, i.e., someone in Wisconsin might say that the family room is the heart of the house, yet North Americans may also use different home spaces. They might gather in the kitchen or dining room for a meal; go to the den, basement or spare bedroom to watch TV; sit in the living room for formal visits and send children to their bedrooms to play with toys. All of those activities would take place in the salle of a Dhofari house.

Kitchen/ Dining Room

The kitchen is located to the side or back of the house; in newer houses it has its own entrance used by family members if there is parking near that entrance, as well as those who don’t live in the house, for example people bringing in supplies such as bags of groceries and/ or jugs of water for water dispensers. Like bathrooms, kitchens have tiled walls and floors, usually in shades of grey, beige or brown. There are florescent tube lights, a ceiling fan and an extractor fan, but usually not AC. If there is a window (most often over the sink) it has opaque glass.

Often there are long, high counters along one or two walls, with shelving underneath and cupboards above. The below-counter cupboards, as well as the stove, fridge and washing machine are set slightly above floor-level on platforms so that the floor can be cleaned by mopping/ sluicing. Usually the gas canisters for the stoves are located outside the house, next to the kitchen door, with a small hole drilled in the cement wall to bring the gas pipe to the stove/ oven.

As it is common to have thirty or more people (from different generations) in one house, kitchens are big enough to make large meals. Like most rooms, everything is placed around the sides of the room. Sometimes there is a table, but often you can find an empty area in the middle of the room that is five feet square or larger. This is so a lot of women can work together for parties and also because some cooking is done on the floor. For example, large pots of meat are sometimes cooked on gas rings set on the floor because it is easier to stir from a standing position than trying to reach into a pot set on the stovetop. Some kinds of bread are cooked using small gas burners set on the floor.

Kitchens are utilitarian; pretty trays might be leaned against the back-splash or there might be a vase to hold wooden spoons, etc., but kitchens are seldom decorated or set up as welcoming/ comforting spaces in which to sit and relax.

As soon as you walk in, it’s easy to visually orient yourself; often the cupboards have glass fronts so you can see inside them. Most families will have items for hosting in sight and easy to reach: several sets of teacups and saucers, tea and coffee pots, carafes, glass bowls or plates. There are usually several trays as almost all food, drinks and eating utensils, plates, cups, etc. are moved on trays, not carried by hand

Larger and newer houses may have small suites for each married son. This will usually consist of a bedroom with an attached bathroom and a sitting room which might have a galley kitchen with a small sink and microwave so they can make tea and simple meals for themselves. Thus, there will be one large kitchen for a house, with perhaps a few smaller mini-kitchens for couples.

Bedrooms

If the house has one floor, bedrooms are at the back of the house, usually behind the kitchen. In a two- or three-story house there are often one or two bedrooms on the ground floor for older and senior relatives with the rest of the bedrooms on the upper floors.

There is usually a bed with matching nightstands and large wardrobes, as well as a sofa or padded chairs and coffee table. Sometimes there is a desk and chair if the inhabitant is school-age. I have never seen a built-in closet; everything is stored on or in shelving units or cupboards.

In addition to the overhead, usually fluorescent, lights, bedrooms often have a sconce (wall light) with a low-watt or colored bulb so, if the room is shared, one person can move around and/ or parents can look in on children without turning on the bright overhead lights. There is always a fan and AC.  

It is very common for the upper stories to have a series of suites, meaning a door on the main corridor which leads to a small foyer space with three or four doors: two rooms and a bathroom, perhaps a storage room. This configuration can be easily changed as needed. For example, the two rooms might be used as a bedroom and a sitting room for a newly married couple or single older relative; a shared bedroom and a study/ play room for several children; or two shared bedrooms with a variety of configurations such as younger children in one room with an older child in the other or a married couple in one room, children in the other, etc. If the second room is used as a sitting room, there is often a small kitchen area.

If a man has more than one wife in the same house, each suite will be considered as belonging to the wife and the husband will move between the suites. If his second wife is in another house, he will move between houses as, in Islam, a man should spend equal time with each wife. In old-age or in times of sickness, an older man might sleep alone in what was a room for guests.

Sometimes a Dhofari woman will stay in her parent’s house and her husband will move in with her. This doesn’t happen often; usually it occurs when the husband works close to his wife’s family house, if she is the only daughter or her mother has no sons living with her.

Bathrooms

For some houses built in the mountains in the 1980s and before, the bathroom can be a small, separate building. In this case it is a low ceilinged, tiled space with a toilet, sink, shower and washing machine.

Since the 1980s, bathrooms are within the house, usually rectangular and built with the narrow end on an outside wall or lightwell to allow for the window and extractor fan. They usually have tiled walls and floors with an open design (e.g. no interior walls such as a low partition to screen the toilet) with a pedestal sink or sink on a counter with empty space beneath and a shelving unit next to the wall. The sink is always closest to the door.

The shower area usually does not have a curtain and is marked off with a slightly lowered floor with a drain. Some have tiled steps along one side. Bathtubs are rare; if there is one, it usually has a seat. The steps and seat are for the ritual washing before Muslim prayers during which face, hands and feet must be cleaned.

Bathrooms in the family/ private area of the house are often plainly decorated and are built open-plan for one person to use at a time, unless it is a parent helping a small child. Some North American bathrooms are set up with the toilet half-hidden behind a low wall and shower curtains so that two people might use the room at the same time but I have not heard of that in Dhofar. For unmarried inhabitants, if there is not a bathroom attached to the bedroom, there is one nearby.

The guest bathroom that is attached to or near the majlis and salle often has a space with one or more sinks, then there is an inner door which leads to a small room with a toilet, shower and sink so that guests might wash their hands while the toilet/ shower room is in use. These rooms are usually nicely appointed with fancy faucets and attractive tiles.

Who decorates

Given that most Dhofaris live in multi-generational clusters of thirty or more family members, interior design means consulting the wishes of many people. Usually older family members have a more decisive say but different people can be in control of different areas. For example, the senior woman might be in charge of decorating the kitchen, the senior man might choose the colors of the main sitting room, while a sister might design the room for her brother and his new wife. If there is one person in the family who is known for their flair, they might be given responsibility for the salle, main hallway and majlis. Adults usually decorate their own bedrooms.

Some Dhofari women are frustrated that they don’t have a say in designing and decorating but this is often a function of age and tribe. In the hakli families I know mothers, sisters, wives and/or daughters are always consulted or had design control over the parts of houses they lived in and used daily, i.e., salle, kitchen and bedroom.

However, unmarried women in their teens or early twenties might not be consulted, except for the color choices in their rooms, because of age and the expectation that they will not stay in the house for long given that almost all women move to their husband’s house when married.

When a man is getting married, he is either given a new room or his room is completely redone: re-painted, new furniture, new lighting and often a new dropped or decorated ceiling. This room, out of respect for whoever decorated it, should not be changed for several years, so a woman might not have power over her living space until she is in her late twenties or thirties, but from then on, the decorating is made in consultation with her or left entirely up to her.    

Decorating a house

Houses are decorated when they are new or when the family moves in. Usually, a family will bring all new furniture as the old furniture is given away. Refurbishment, new furniture and/ or painting, usually takes place before the two Eids (Muslim holidays) and/ or before a wedding.        

Generating Ideas

Getting design ideas for the exterior of houses is simple, one only has to drive around and see what other people have done. But there are not many chances to get design ideas about interior spaces beyond a few, large furnishing stores that have opened in the past few years. Dhofaris will visit relative’s houses and might stay in hotels or vacation rentals, but there are limited opportunities to see a wide variety of interior styles.

Dhofaris might post photos of a newly decorated room on social media and people who manage rental houses might post photos of interiors but there is, for example, no Omani equivalent of Zillow or Redfin with photos of the inside of millions of homes.

On the other hand, there are many carpenters, iron-mongers and tailors so that Dhofaris are not limited to furniture and curtains they find in stores. As with designing the house, people can take a photo or hand-drawn sketch to a workshop and have beds, wardrobes, sofas, chairs, drapes, etc. made to their specifications.   

Handmade objects

In North America, people often design their houses with personal items which reflect their travels, accomplishments and interests. But in a majlis or salle, there are usually few or no signs of the individuals who live in the house such as photos, books, souvenirs or knickknacks. The window might be decorated with five kinds of fabric, tassels, pull-backs, swags and ruffles, but you won’t be able to tell very much about the family.

While many Dhofaris have an interest in design per se, it is usually manifested in the design of clothes and making of perfumes, not in creating objects that would be on display such as quilts, crocheted afghans/ throws, needlepoint cushions and paintings. The one handmade object which is found is a majmar, a small clay, footed bowl which is used to hold a lit piece of charcoal with a piece of frankincense. The burning tree sap produces clouds of perfumed smoke which create a lovely fragrance in the house. 

Conclusion

Most Dhofaris follow the principle of “people, not things.” When visiting a hakli at home, the house itself is never the focus of the conversation. If it’s a new house, there will be compliments and a short discussion about where and how items were bought but that is only a few moments but the important most element of owning a house is to create a comfortable place for one’s family to gather.

 Risse – bibliographies, essays and images for Houseways

main webpages on research about houses: 

references list: Selected references related to Houseways in Southern Oman, Oct. 2022

images: 

Risse – publications – books

This book outlines strategies for current or soon-to-be business professionals, government employees, anthropologists, researchers and teachers to communicate, study and work effectively on the Arabian Peninsula. Using first-person accounts, as well as scholarly research from the fields of anthropology, history, literature, political science and travel writing, this text gives clear advice so long- and short-term visitors can create successful interactions with people from Arabian Peninsula societies. By discussing how the practicalities of work and research intersect with cultural norms, this book fills the gap between guides aimed at the casual tourists and academic texts on narrowly defined topics.

This book explains how modern, middle-class houses are sited, designed, built, decorated and lived in with an emphasis on how room-usage is determined by age, gender, time of day and the presence of guests. Dhofari houses are also compared to houses in other Arabian Peninsula countries and positioned within the theoretical frameworks of the “Islamic city” and the “Islamic house.”

This book examines the objects, practices and beliefs relating to producing, obtaining, cooking, eating and disposing of food in the Dhofar region of southern Oman. The chapters consider food preparation, who makes what kind of food, and how and when meals are eaten. Dr. Risse connects what is consumed to themes such as land usage, gender, age, purity, privacy and generosity. She also discusses how foodways are related to issues of morality, safety, religion, and tourism. The volume is a result of fourteen years of collecting data and insights in Dhofar, covering topics such as catching fish, herding camels, growing fruits, designing kitchens, cooking meals and setting leftovers out for animals.

This book explores how, in cultures which prize conformity, there is latitude for people who choose not to conform either for a short time and how the chances to assert independence change over time. The main focus is on how the traits of self-control and self-respect are manifested in the everyday actions of several groups of tribes whose first language is Gibali (Jebbali/ Jebali, also referred to as Shari/ Shahri), a non-written, Modern South Arabian language. Although no work can express the totality of a culture, this text describes how Gibalis are constantly shifting between preserving autonomy and signaling membership in family, tribal and national communities.

 Risse – publications

“Lifeways of Traditional Fishermen in Dhofar, Oman,” in Fish as Food: Lifestyle and a Sustainable Future. Helen Macbeth, ed. International Commission on the Anthropology of Food and Nutrition – Alimenta Populorum series. 2024: 155-170. https://archive.org/details/macbeth-young-and-roberts-ed-fish-as-food-anthropological-and-cross-disciplinary

“An Ethnographic Discussion of Fairy Tales from Southern Oman,” Fabula: Zeitschrift für Erzählforschung / Journal of Folktale Studies / Revue d’Etudes sur le Conte Populaire 60.3-4 (De Gruyter, Berlin) 2019: 318–335.

 “Understanding Communication in Southern Oman,” North Dakota Quarterly 84.1 (Special Issue on Transnationalism) 2017: 174-184.

“Generosity, Gift-giving and Gift-avoiding in Southern Oman,” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 45 (Oxford: Archeopress) 2015: 289-296. 

“Cultural Refraction: Using Travel Writing, Anthropology and Fiction to Understand the Culture of Southern Arabia,” Interdisciplinary Humanities 26:1, 2009: 63-78.

 Risse – conference presentations

“Conducting Research on the Arabian Peninsula: Creating Effective Interactions,” Middle East Studies Association Annual Conference. Upcoming, Nov. 11-15, 2024.

“Windguru and Other Gurus: Fishing off the Coast of Dhofar, Oman,” Navigating the Transcultural Indian Ocean: Texts and Practices in Contact Conference, sponsored by the Rutter Project. June 5, 2024

“Crafting a Home: Interior Home Design in Southern Oman.” Home/Making Symposium, Concordia University. Montreal. May 12, 2023. https://www.concordia.ca/finearts/events/home-making.html

“Good Governance and Open Spaces: How the State and Residents Negotiate the Use of Government Land in Dhofar, Oman.” AnthroState Talks for the European Association of Social Anthropologists Network on Anthropologies of the State. May 4, 2023. https://easaonline.org/networks/anthrostate/talks

“Private Lives in Public Spaces: Perceptions of Space-Usage in Southern Oman.” Middle East Studies Association annual conference. Montreal, Quebec. December 2, 2021.

“The Costs and Benefits of Fishing in Southern Oman.” Fish as Food: Lifestyle and a Sustainable Future, annual conference of the International Commission on the Anthropology of Food and Nutrition, hosted at the University of Liverpool. Sept. 1, 2021.

“Ethical Eating in Southern Oman.” Just Food, virtual conference of the Association for the Study of Food and Society; Agriculture, Food and Human Values Society; Canadian Association for Food Studies and the Society for the Anthropology of Food and Nutrition, hosted by the Culinary Institute of America and New York University. June 12, 2021.

“Foodways in Southern Oman,” for the session “Uncovering Truths, Building Responsibility in A Pandemic: Insights from Emerging Monographs at the Nexus of Culture, Food, and Agriculture.” American Anthropological Association. Nov. 9, 2020.

with Keye Tersmette. “Ghurba at Home – Views from Oman.” The Arab World as Ghurba: Citizenship, Identity and Belonging in Literature and Popular Culture, University of Warwick. June 21, 2019.

“Female, Femininity, Male and Masculinity in the Gibali-speaking Tribes of Southern Oman.” The Gulf Research Conference, Cambridge University. August 2, 2017.

“‘I Came to You for Good’: An Ethnographic Discussion of Folk Tales from Southern Oman.” Third Joint Seminar of The Folklore Society and the Royal Anthropological Institute, Royal Anthropological Institute, London. Oct. 26, 2017.

“‘Words Mean Nothing’: Fluency in Language and Fluency in Culture in Anthropology Fieldwork in Southern Oman.” British Society for Middle Eastern Studies, University of Wales. July 15, 2016.

 ***********

            [1] To help pay for the building costs, the house might be rented out for a few years before the owner moves in. Also, if a family moves into a new house, they may give their previous one to a relative.

            [2] Salle is pronounced ‘sall-la,’ not as the French, ‘sall.’

 

Outline and Chapter Abstracts for ‘Researching, Teaching and Working on the Arabian Peninsula: Creating Effective Interactions’

Practicalities: Managing a Short Research Trip to the Arabian Peninsula

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 1

Adjusting to Oman: My Dangerous Taxi

Recreating Culture – Lessons from Bakeries and Cafeterias

Culture reproduces – kids and outsiders learn what to do because of written rules and standards and/or people inside the culture explaining and enforcing.

The how of that replication is always interesting to me because it is so easy to see when parents instruct children, but not always clear in every-day life.

This morning I had a good example at the check-out line in the cafeteria. I put my carton of food on the scale and as soon as the clerk told me the price, I picked up the carton and set it in my purse, then I pulled out my wallet.

As soon as I picked up my carton, the person in line behind put their carton on the scale, making me realize that I was working on the assumption that people don’t put their food to be weighed until the person ahead of them has paid.

As I was handing over the cash, the person behind me asked the clerk a question, which the clerk answered. Then, as I was putting the change into my wallet, preparing to walk away, I heard the clerk say to the person behind me, “Usually, just wait for the person ahead to finish.”

I thought that was an interesting statement first, because the clerk was making expectations clear. Often in the States, there are few or no written directions, especially in stores or restaurants. In this cafeteria, you serve yourself and pay by the weight of the food but there are food workers standing near the food so someone might expect, for example, that the staff will put the food in the container or that there is a certain amount that you can take.

Second, the clerk’s statement is an order (verb first, no “you”) but it’s softened by the “Usually” and “just.” It’s bringing someone into cultural rules gently, without “you did it wrong” or “this is what WE do.”

This makes me think about how an adult corrects another adult about a cultural convention. Sometimes people uses glares or “excuse me” to point out mistakes, or they ignore the person. But when it’s a simple mistake, how does a stranger learn the right way to navigate?

When I lived in Germany, I was terrified of bakeries which were full of fierce, elderly clerks. I could read and write about difficult 1600s German texts, but the glare of a little old lady behind the counter utterly disarmed me. I was confused and made do with pointing at the kind of roll and holding up my fingers to show how many I wanted. It took for weeks until I was confident enough to say my order.

In Oman, I watched the same kind of learning curve with people in bakeries who were used to first-come, first-serve. They would wait until all the people who were in the store before them had ordered, then start to speak, only to realize that the clerk was ignoring them.

Sometimes they would speak louder or try to say “I was here first” but no one would pay attention. Clerks do not care about the order in which customers walk into the store. The order of service is: Omani women, Omani men, foreign women, foreign men and oldest to youngest within each category. I would sometimes point to an expat man and say “he was here first” but the clerks would not care. I was female; I got served first.

Now that I am in the States, it’s first-come, first-served. You spend years learning how to behave, then you have to re-learn how to behave. 

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 1

Celebrating Khareef

Adjusting to Oman: My Dangerous Taxi

How NOT to Describe People Who Are Foreign to You: Exoticizing Omanis

 

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 2

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 1

The first authentic (not classroom) Arabic I understood was in a grocery store: an Omani man asked a clerk “wayn shokolata?” (where’s the chocolate?). I think it was very fitting that my first identification involved candy. It is also fitting that there wasn’t a verb.

Arabic is the fourth foreign language I have studied and, given that I am dyslexic and didn’t really start learning it until I was 42 years old, I am stuck at an odd mix of linguistic abilities. I have inadvertently created my own pidgin.

I know hundreds of Arabic nouns. From teaching literature and metaphors, I know colors, animals, birds and geographical features, but I never remember the words for parts of the body such as arm, foot and ears. I know “eyes” because you need it for metaphors of love, but I have no idea about nose or fingers. I know many words for furniture, types of food, rooms in the house and clothes, but I don’t know the word for “fork.”

I know pronouns and lots of adjectives and thank heavens you don’t need the verb “to be” for basic Arabic sentences: just give a pronoun or noun and a modifier: I happy/ he sick

I can rarely conjugate the verbs ‘to go’ and ‘come’ as fast as I need them so I make do with a pronoun, preposition, noun and time-markers: I to store yesterday. It’s incorrect but I can make myself understood in most situations.

After I had been in Oman for 7 years, I paid for an intensive, 6-week, Arabic language summer school in Muscat. All the students lived in an apartment building and took the bus to school every morning – it was like being in summer camp.

When I got back to Dhofar, the first time I met the research guys I ended up (I can’t remember why) explaining the story of Joseph from the Bible. It was the first time I could do an extended story in Arabic and from then on, I gained more and more confidence telling stories and having long conversations and arguments. I paid for another 4-week Arabic language program at the same school the following year and solidified my low intermediate status.

Now I can talk for hours in Arabic with the research guys, but our communication has aspects of a personal language. For example the verb for “talk” has the root of t-k-l-m, and I grasped that as tatakeleum not conjugated, not inflected for gender or tense – whenever I needed to express anything to do with speech, I throw in that word and they extrapolate the meaning.

And then there is learning in the opposite direction, when you are a native speaker of English on the Arabian Peninsula, you are always relearning your own language. When I bought a slice of “coffee cake” I was surprised that it tasted like… coffee. “Coffee cake” is not supposed to taste like coffee; it’s supposed to taste like butter-sugar-flour-eggs-cinnamon.

When female students said: “My mister told me” I assumed they meant husband or father, but they meant teacher. And I had to grit my teeth at being called “Miss,” not “Miss” with my last name, just “Miss.”

And I had to reexplain English to my students, such as the fact that that they could not use the fun cuss words they heard in movies and songs in the classroom. It was so amusing when a shy, quiet student who never wanted to speak in class would yell “#&*)!” when their books slid off the desk. “No,” I would say shaking my head, “you can’t say that at the university.”

We also a lot of time delineating bear/ bare – profit/ prophet – fair/ fare – merry/ marry/ Mary. I clarify that “I’m sorry” in English means “I am not happy to hear your bad news”; in Arabic it means “I am entirely responsible for the negative event that occurred.” So in English if you tell me your father is sick, I say “I’m sorry” but if I say that to someone in Dhofar they will respond, “Why? You don’t make him ill.” And “How are you?” in English means “I am not planning to slap you in the next five minutes,” not “please tell me all the details of your life.”

But with all my efforts to translation words and meanings, I am often happy to have a language barrier. Sitting in cafés amidst a swirl of languages is relaxing; I don’t have to focus on what someone else is talking about. On picnics, the research guys chat in Gibali, and I could just admire the stars. A few times one of them would offer to teach me Gibali, but an unwritten language is a bridge too far for me.

Adjusting to Oman: My Dangerous Taxi

New Essay: “Ṭâ Is For Talisman” on The Arabic Alphabet website

Practicalities: Managing a Short Business Trip to the Arabian Peninsula

Bibliography for ‘Researching and Working on the Arabian Peninsula’ (2025, Palgrave Macmillan)

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 1

My favorite depiction of language learning is in the movie The 13th Warrior. Antonio Banderas’ character, Ahmad ibn Fadlan, picks up Old Norse in a matter of weeks by merely listening. Once he understands the words, he begins speaking fluently with conjugated verbs and perfect accent! I wish it were that easy!

I started learning French in middle school, then switched to German in high school. After I got my BA in German literature, I started on Ancient Greek when I was doing my PhD. After graduation, I got a teaching job at a new university in the Emirates.

During the weeks before I moved to Sharjah, I sat in cafés in Bethesda, Maryland practicing my Arabic letters in a beginner’s language book. Sipping lattes and writing out the shapes in my new calligraphy pen, I felt like I was quite the woman of the world.

During my first year of teaching in the Emirates, it was all I could do to keep up with my own students, but at the start of the second year I was part of a group of expat faculty and staff who requested that the administration create an Arabic class for us. I gradually realized, as we jumped through hoop after hoop, that no one wanted the expats to learn Arabic. English was for whatever needed to be said in public; the real decisions were made in Arabic.

We finally got a Westerner who knew Arabic to teach us and we soldiered on twice a week at lunch time for 4 or 5 months. I could transliterate, say simple phrases and bargain in stores but not do anything really useful.

I went back to the States for a few years, then returned to the Middle East. The first semester I was in Oman, I was simply surviving and getting over my culture shock, then I finally got to the point where I was ready to start learning Arabic again. There was an official class but the teacher was not very pleasant, so I asked a Lebanese co-worker if we could met once a week for lessons.

He was a kind man but it took a long time to find the right level for me. He started me on children’s stories without diacritics. Short Arabic vowels are not written as a letter but as a small mark above or below the consonant it is pared with; in regular writing such as in a newspaper, you will see “ktb” and if you don’t know the word, you can’t know if it is kataba, kitibi, kutubu, katibu, kituba, etc. I would sound out the consonants painfully slowly, then make random guesses as to the consonants. Total speculation.

He finally moved to an easier children’s book with diacritics: the mean mouse and the friendly turtle who rescued him. But it was rough going. And at the end of the semester the professor moved away.

In the fall, another American woman happened to remark that she had studied Arabic. “Can you teach me?” I asked and I started my next attempt. She had a young son who she was trying to teach Arabic to, so it worked out well; she would read him baby books in Arabic, then hand them off to me to struggle through. It is amazing to work out a language from the beginning, like a child. Amazing meaning, of course, frustrating.

I am a grown woman. I have navigated foreign countries and unruly students; I have a car and an IRA, and what is that papa hedgehog saying to baby hedgehog – ‘come here’ or ‘I will come’? Is that a past tense verb or a preposition? Where’s the vowel? I read with perfect interest and concentration about Shelly the Shell who got a grain of sand stuck in her mouth, would she recover? Why is that squirrel crying? Will the frog help her friend the turtle turn over? If the painter put blue over the cat’s yellow leg, what would happen? Drama! Tension!

I was happy to pay for the teaching and many Arabic children’s books, but I was always hoping to find a class so I could learn with other students.

One chance was an Arabic class that was offered at a local language school. I went to the first meeting which was difficult as I kept getting stuck in cultural chasms. Most of the other students were expat teachers so they kept articulating their needs (I would like interactive speaking exercises, I would like to have graduated listening activities, etc.) but our Arabic teacher had never taught before, so it was unlikely that they would understand, much less be able to produce what the students wanted.

The second issue was the choice of vocabulary. When our teacher asked us what expressions did we want to know, I said, “You are a brilliant student!” The woman next to me said with scorn, “Oh, you just want someone to say that to you!”

I thought, most of us are teachers, wouldn’t we want to have something positive to say to our students? But no one else was interested in being positive. We did not  learn “please” or “thank you”; we learned third person commands: “Sit! stand up! read! repeat! listen!” as if we were in a dog-training class. We did learn, “Excuse me” but only because one expat wanted to know how to say, “Get out of my way!”

The third issue was the teaching style. During the third class, the teacher presented us with a list of 16 sentences in Arabic. He read them aloud, then we had to put the sentences in the correct order to make a conversation. As I was working on it, I asked him the meaning of one word. He said, “You can figure it out” and said the word slowly.

I said, “No, I don’t know that word, can you please tell me?” As the teacher was fluent in English, I knew that he knew the meaning.

He repeated the word again in Arabic and I said, “I am sorry – repeating it doesn’t help, I don’t understand, could you please just tell me in English what this word means?”

He said, “If you think about it, you will get it.”

I said, “This is not really effective. I am lost here, can you please tell me what this word means?”

He said it again in Arabic.

I didn’t return to that class, but I eventually found an Arabic language summer school to attend, and with the help of Jane Wightwick and Mahmoud Gaafar’s books, I got to a low intermediate level.

Me Talk Pretty Never: Learning Arabic, part 2

Practicalities of Moving to the Arabian Peninsula: Using the Arabic Language

New essay: “’Ayn is for Arab” on “The Arabic Alphabet” website (by Michael Beard)

Selected Books on Dhofar in Arabic

One Year Away – Missing Oman

Adjusting to Oman: My Dangerous Taxi

I left Oman exactly one year ago and I miss Salalah every day. This is one of the first essays I wrote about Dhofar, sent to friends in October 2005

When I said I was moving to the Middle East and people asked me, “Isn’t that dangerous?” I replied “Not really.” What I meant to say was “What is ‘dangerous’ is not what you would understand nor what I would I be able to foretell.” Witness my taxi driver.

In many place in the Middle East, taxis don’t have meters and there is an accepted ‘in-town’ fare for ‘just go’ and one for ‘go and come back’ which, considering how long it takes to get a check cashed, find the right form, mail the letter, etc. basically means the driver will wait 10 minutes or so for free. And since usually you are running around trying to get your errands done Thursday morning (ME equivalent of Saturday morning) from 9 to 12, if you have a driver who doesn’t smoke, spit, leer or drive like a maniac, you will often just keep him all morning, giving him one lump sum when he takes you home.

If you find a really good driver (knows some English but doesn’t ask if you are married), you can work out a weekly rate for taking you to and from work every day and Thursday morning errands. As you can’t lease or buy a car without your official visa, which can take up to a month once you are in-country, getting a good driver quickly is essential. This is usually a process of having a lot of bad taxi rides (blaring music; passing on the wrong side; getting lost) until you find a guy you like. The paradox is that drivers who offer to be a regular driver are usually exactly the wrong kind of guy (a “any club who would have me as a member…” issue – you want a taxi driver who does not particularly want to talk to a Western woman, who treats you as one more anonymous fare).

My second night I was in town, I stopped by a schwarma stand (a few tables inside, clean, well-lit) and sat for a few minutes to have my chicken wrapped in pita bread and fresh fruit juice in peace. My colleague, X, walked in by chance so I started to ask him what some of the items on the menu were. X didn’t know what “Maryam” meant in this country and as we were discussing, a middle-aged local sitting at another table, explained the meaning (mixture of orange and mango juice) to X in Arabic. I asked about another term; X asked the local guy, who explained with a few smiles and gestures, fruit juice and frozen ice cream. I tried a third item; X, not interested in my linguistics endeavors, left. As I was paying, the local man introduced himself as N and asked if I wanted a taxi.

I said no, but, impressed that he had kept talking to X, not trying to talk directly to me until X had left, I asked for his mobile number. After he gave it to me, a man walked up to me and asked “You want a taxi,” I laughed, then glanced at N, who met my eye and laughed too. Ah, a sense of humor!

The next day I asked one of the secretaries to call N to pick me up from work. We went to the telephone company – I wanted a mobile, the ne plus ultra necessity of ME life. I had various forms, all of which were rejected by the clerk. N, who had wandered over to see what the problem was, jumped right in. Fifteen minutes of heated discussion later, the clerk agreed I could have a cell phone. Then it was two hours of paperwork and waiting. Once I had the phone chip in hand, back in the taxi. “Could you please take me somewhere to buy a phone?”

This was a request, but also a test – were we going to end up in his cousin’s overpriced House of Cell Phones? Nope, straight to a real store (i.e. you would get a warranty). But the man at the cell phone counter hadn’t shown up for work yet. I told N I would go to the grocery section for 15 minutes. When I returned 20 minutes later, he tapped his watch and said “I have been waiting five minutes!” Part of me thought “give me a break, I have been in-country 48 hours, I don’t even own a coffee cup”; part of me thought “Getting scolded by your taxi guy is a good sign. The more he sees you as a regular person, the better.”

Cell phone man arrives; I pick out a phone; N takes over. He installs the chip, sets the date and time, adjusts all my settings, programs a password, calls my phone and puts his name on my contact list, then calls himself on my phone so he has my number. We are now joined.

I put my groceries in the truck and collapse into the back seat; “Time to go home” I say. N drives off in the opposite direction. I am going to get a tour of the town and there will be a quiz: “This is Water Roundabout. What is the name of this roundabout?”

“Water.”

“Very good.” Then he heads out of town – as in away from all buildings and up a mountain road. Hmmmm, then he turns off the main road and onto a small side road. I contemplate whether I should ask him to turn around, attempt to jump out of the car or scream. I wonder how one calls the police, given that I have a brand-new cell phone in my purse, which for all he I know he has sabotaged. I wonder if this qualifies as “dangerous.”

I don’t do anything – trust? stupidity? jetlag and culture shock and general weariness? Ten minutes later he pulls up at beautiful scenic overlook. “Too much beautiful” he proclaims. Well yes, not that I wanted to go a scenic overlook, but then I hadn’t seen anything of the town yet except the inside of offices, so it was rather nice.

After sufficiently impressing upon me how nice his town was, he pulls into an open air restaurant and disappears for 5 minutes. When he comes back he hands me over a carefully wrapped plate of something. “Fish,” he says with a smile. “Special fish.”

 Then he drives me home. Where I discover it is a plate of grilled beef cubes. Ok.

Two days later we are out for more errands. We go to find me two small lamps, which he insists on plugging in to make sure they work; fuse boxes, which he inspects carefully; plastic bath mats, which he allows me to choose in peace; cleaning supplies, he picks up and looks at, but doesn’t comment on. I’m starving.

He pulls up to a mini-cafeteria, toots the horn and asks me “chicken or egg?” Well that is a Mobius strip sort of question. The guy comes out of his shop and looks at N. N looks at me. OK. “Egg.”

After a few minutes, the restaurant comes back and hands me a wrapped sandwich which is a bun shaped like a hotdog roll, but sweeter, with a chopped up boiled egg, cucumbers, tomatoes, ketchup, mystery sauce and cold French fries – which pretty much covers whatever one could possibly want or need.

 “Nice?” N asks.

Nice indeed.

He has a real job besides taxi driving so he can’t take me to and from work every day, but I call him for errands and for longer missions. When I was stuck at a hotel far from town with 2 obnoxious Brits and a bunch of local taxi drivers who wanted 5 times the going rate, I called N.

“Let’s take one of these taxis and just pay what we want to pay when we get there, not what we have agreed to pay,” said one of the obnoxious guys.

“You can’t do that. And N said he would come, he’ll come.”

“Why would he come all the way here?”

 You can’t explain the intricacies of the taxi relationship to Middle Eastern newbies, so I keep quiet. N comes; the guys start to ask him why the hotel taxi drivers were ‘so stupid’ as to charge so high a price that I ended up calling him instead. N doesn’t understand the question, thank goodness, and I try to steer the conversation to other issues. But both men spend the taxi ride complaining about Middle Eastern taxis and the Middle East in general.

When we drop off the second guy, N gets out a piece of paper to write his mobile number. “No, no, no,” I say softly in Arabic. N looks at me – why am I depriving him of a customer? – but puts the paper away.

As we head to my home, he says accusingly, “I give my number; you say no.”

“Those men too much bad, argue with you, not pay you fair price. My friend, I give your number. Not bad men.”

“Bad men?” He looks at me in the rearview mirror, not quite believing but sometimes you just have to trust across that cultural divide.

“Too much bad men,” I say.

“Ok.” He drives me home then refuses to let me pay him. “I was sitting, no work, you call, I am happy.” I tell him to look over there, he looks, I drop the cash in the front passenger seat. He laughs.

He goes to his village for a week and brings me back a large plate of fresh dates and an indescribably ugly black plastic bath mat.

I call him to ‘go round.’ He picks me up and we drive out of town. I don’t say where I want to go, just that I need to be back home at 6pm. “7pm,” he says. He switches on the English language radio station and, carefully avoiding the herds of camels in the road, drives for two hours – beautiful scenery flashes by. I drink the water and eat the ‘pizza’ flavored potato chips he insisted on buying for me.

I trust N with my life on steep, winding roads with camel obstacles; I trust him as he drives lonely roads hours outside town to places I couldn’t find on a map. I get in his taxi, say “Bookcase” and he takes me to the, by his carefully reasoned standards, the best place for bookcases in town.

When I said I was moving to the Middle East and people asked, “Isn’t that dangerous?”, I replied “Not really.” What I meant to say was “I have a lot of fresh dates in my kitchen I am trying to give away and a very ugly black plastic mat I am trying to discreetly throw away.” What I meant to say is, “May I introduce you to N?”

Practicalities of Moving to the Arabian Peninsula: How to Sit, Not Wear Shoes and Use Your Hands

Practicalities of Moving to the Arabian Peninsula: Dealing with Loss

Ethnography – Staying Calm

Ethnography – Navigating Shaking Hands on the Arabian Peninsula

 

One Year Away – Missing Oman

I left Salalah a year ago and am still processing that loss. I miss my friends and so many aspects of Dhofari life, especially:

  • Long conversations – When you sit down to talk to a friend in Oman, it’s expected you will talk for hours. I miss having coffee with a female friend for 2 or 3 hours; picnic dinners with the research guys which could mean 6 or 7 hours of chatting.
  • Gorgeous Nature – Pristine, empty beaches; snorkeling over reefs; boat rides, skimming along next to pods of leaping dolphins; sitting in the desert or on a beach with no ambient lights so you could a dark night sky full of stars; green mountains in the monsoon season
  • Animals – lizards and chameleons; seeing foxes, hearing wolves; the parrots which came to my guava tree; flamingos; camels, especially baby camels
  • Plants – palm trees; banana trees; lemon trees; fig trees; my gardens with papaya trees, henna trees, neem trees, olive trees, hibiscus, bougainvillea, oleander, gardenia, jasmine, aloes, lemongrass, yellow trumpet flower
  • Food – fresh coconut milk, schwarmas, fresh Yemeni bread, lobsters cooked over coals, fresh fruit juice, Balbek (if you know, you know), fresh lemon and mint, fresh fish
  • Teaching literature and 98% of my students – Although it cost me $100s a year, it was fun buying and reading books as I searched for new poems and stories to teach. It was a joy to craft syllabi with texts from different time periods and cultures with similar characters, plots and/ or themes and then the best part, talking about these texts with students who had great insights and could make connections to other texts and their own lives. Some classes were an uphill climb but in some classes we laughed all semester.
  • Discussing religion – Everyone I knew believed in God and was up for talking about religious beliefs; I could say, “I will pray for you” and ask, “Will you pray for me?” as a part of ordinary conversations
  • Multi-cultural everythings – Walking through the grocery store and not knowing what I was looking at: new vegetables, new fruit, words I didn’t understand on jars; all different kinds of clothes and fabrics
  • Active ethnography – I was always watching, listening, trying to figure out what was going on: What was that word? Why did that person do that? It was exhausting but always interesting
  • Constantly learning – students were always teaching me new expressions and gestures; the research guys teaching me how to how to drive on sand (only getting stuck three times!), up steep inclines and over rocks
  • Language barriers – Being able to go through the day without understanding most of the conversations around me was relaxing; now I constantly overhear people venting when I walk home or sit in a café
  • My truck – Driving in Oman is so fun on flat desert roads, twisting mountain roads, roads that curve along the shoreline
  • Houses – High ceilings, archways, lots of counter-space in the kitchen, well-designed bathrooms

What’s nice about where I am

  • Being able to easily see/ talk to friends, my mom and family
  • Working with kind and competent people: no lying, no back-stabbing, no drama and every single person says “Hello”
  • Flower stores, especially Kendall Flower Shop, Brattle Square Florist and Petali
  • Breakfast sandwiches, pizza, salads and ice cream without freezer burn
  • Not sharing my apartment with mice, spiders, bees or armies of ants – quiet ACs

Outline and Chapter Abstracts for ‘Researching, Teaching and Working on the Arabian Peninsula: Creating Effective Interactions’

Practicalities of Moving to the Arabian Peninsula: Using the Arabic Language

Ethnography – Finding the Middle Ground, part 1 of Discussing Photographs

Returning to USA – Culture Shock essays