#expatsinkuwait

The Pan-Arab Classroom

With classes representing a mixed mezze of Egyptians, Kuwaitis, Palestinians, Lebanese, Syrians and Iranians, of Sunnis, Shia’, Christian and Druze leanings; the merry band of students I taught provided a more harmonious image of the Middle East then the one we have become accustomed to. I guess this is what can happen without the meddling of imperialists, ruler wielding cartographers and religious fanatics.

The students at my school were an absolute riot (pun, fully intended) and had me constantly in stitches with their infectious humour and just plain ‘Arabness’. Whether it’s a kid shouting “bassssssss!” (enough!) in the middle of an exam at an annoying pen clicker or a student taking particular delight –  first, at the realisation, then, at the constant utterance of the British Empire as the British Vampire, these students will be difficult to forget.

Although the students were generally really well mannered, the British Vampire student did prove elusive when it came to doing any actual work. When he bought in his turtle for a school project, and then insisted that he had to clean his hands before nimbly picking it up for presentation; it proved difficult not to laugh at the unexpected philotherian who would often be the cause of much raucous in class.

Their tokens of appreciation were many but the real extent of their generosity is measured in how they interacted with others less fortunate. An older boy was once observed warmly giving his salaam to a street cleaner and discreetly passing money into his palm with an earnest handshake. I don’t even mind if this was the same street cleaner who tried to hit on me outside of school. We each are in need of our own bread.

When the students possess a maturity beyond their years and are enamoured with everyone they meet, they will always remain the single most important source of inspiration for the region.

Of Friends and Enemies

She said tears were pouring down her face after the torrent of abuse waged against him.  Mu-ham-mad, with a soft beloved ‘hum’ in the middle. May peace and blessings be upon him. 

She is a convert, as are most of the expats I’ve been introduced to.  What was intended as a note on the women I’ve met here had been put off.  Social media felt enraged.  How indecorous of me, writing of trivialities when people had been murdered by Muslims in Paris.

But thousands have been murdered by Muslims.   "Oh Lord do not make us a tribulation for those that have disbelieved" warns a Qur’anic verse.  An admonishment against our excesses and distortions.The anguish and embarrassment is perpetual. It’s not confined to one instance of European grief.

A mention of marginalisation and subversion. Racially charged drawings and journalism that seeks to debase and abuse. I know, our blood is cheap. But we’ve cheapened our religion.

Then she brings me back. We’ve gathered at the home of an American convert this time.  While I joke that we should create a series on expat wives of Kuwaitis’ Someone makes mention of the Prophet (saw) and my oversaturated brain starts to drain. Gatherings with family have been replaced with the warmth of Kuwaiti coffee and newly forged friendships. A cool wintry desert camping trip, tours of the old souk, breakfasts of ful and falafel.