Same Same Only Different

When Chris returned from Thailand a few years ago, he told me about the phrase, "Same, same, only different." It's what the Thai say to explain something that is, well, the same - only different. That's a bit how I am feeling about Doha right now. It possesses much of the same characteristics of the West, only different. Sort of.

We drive on the same side of the road here, except the roads are punctuated with a plethora of roundabouts, and u-turns are common. The driving is aggressive and fast, and there is a zero tolerance law for drinking and driving (meaning an automatic fine and definite jail time). Only people in the front seat have to wear seatbelts, there are many SUV's, and the locals get annoyed with the non-Qataris. So it's the same, only different.

The school, The American School of Doha, offers an "enriched American curriculum" to its students and has many of the same sports as any American school. These sport teams may travel to Cairo or Kuwait or Bahrain for tournaments, but they are still kids dressed in handsome uniforms playing their best game. It also has, however, three swimming pools, a gym the size of Xtreme Fitness, small class sizes (I have one class of 20 and three classes of 16), fabulous technology resources, two libraries, art programs for all students, and one counselor for every two grades. It is one of the top international schools on the planet and my kids get to go there!!! Sorry, I just had to throw that in . . .

Doha has a Dairy Queen. And a Chili's. And KFC, H&M, Prada, Haagen-Dazs, McDonald's, and Starbucks. Same, same. Very different from the island.

One thing that is truly different about our life here so far is having a nanny. She lives with us five days every week (Sunday-Thursday) then goes home to her husband on the weekends (Friday and Saturday). She has already done more ironing in two days than I have done in my entire life, cleans the house, and does the laundry. She has already proved to be resourceful and a bargain shoppper. We went shopping for provisions and she let me know which soap, rice, and brooms were the best deal. Food shopping, by the way, is fun. I love seeing all the different food items from different countries and not knowing exactly what every item is. I loved seeing Eden Organic Sauerkraut on the shelf next to a jar of an unkown pickled vegetable. There is a large Indian grocery store I want to explore called the Lulu Hypermarket. It looks enormous from the road and its name alone is enticing. Tomorrow we are going to the Museum of Islamic Art and the old souk.

I have to address the issue of jet lag before I wrap up this post. It has been, by far, the most difficult obstacle since arriving (more than seeing the local women in their abayas, more than the heat). For the first week I felt like I had a newborn baby in the house. I was awake at 3 AM, craving a nap by 9, struggling to keep my eyes open at 6 PM, and forcing myself to stay awake until 10 because someone (Nolan) needed to eat. The exhaustion was exacerbated by the tiny but irritating knot of queasiness I carried in my stomach for the first six days. Am I sick? Did I contract some awful illness on the flight? Am I pregnant? No, no, no, I realized, I am simply stressed and nervous. What could I possibly be stressed and nervous about? Uprooting my family to move to Qatar? Knowing that my first year teaching is at the top school in the Middle East and wanting desperately to do well? Oh yeah, that. And knowing I am so very far away from everyone and everything my family has known. And feeling so very tired.

Now that it is the weekend and we have kicked jet lag's sorry biscuits, we are going to check out the beach (same), hit the playground (same), then order in some Turkish food (different) while we set up Skype - just another Friday in Doha.

Bon Voyage

Last night we drove out to the west side of the island for a little family excursion (a.k.a. we really needed to get out of the house after a day of packing). We glued ourselves to a rocky perch and watched the sun settle behind the mountains and saw the whales swim by. This island, our (mostly) idyllic home for the past six years, is so incredible. It's not simply the naturally beautiful surroundings that we love, it's all the truly amazing people who choose to call the island their home. Sitting quietly with my family and absorbing the view, I wondered, "When exactly did the island became home?"

Was it when I started playing Bunco once every month with eleven hilarious women, rolling dice and chatting nonstop and laughing like only twelve ladies can? Thank you Deb Vermiere for asking me to be a part of this raucous, inspiring group of women. Or was it when I started running several mornings each week with Kerry, Adrienne, and Shannon? We tested our strength, our endurance, and our friendships. Perhaps the island became home when I had hyperemesis gravidarum (translation: the worst morning sickness possible) while pregnant with our son? Word traveled quickly (as it usually does here) that I was too ill to assume anything but the couch potato position, and soon Kathy Babbitt, Val Curtis, Lovell Pratt, Cheryl Opalski, and Amy Harold (others too, though my memory is a little fuzzy concerning that time period) knocked on the door with delicious dinners in hand for Chris and Greta. I think, too, it could have been when I started volunteering at the library just two months after we moved here. I coveted my Thursday afternoon shift that I shared with Beth Hudson as time away from being a mom and time devoted to the library, a place I grew to love. Of course, the island becoming home is a summation of all these examples . . . and many, many, many more.

I think I have grown up a lot since moving here. I have learned to navigate life with two kids (more challenging and more joyous than I could have predicted), to run 13.1 miles and cross the finish line with a smile, and to be courageous enough to embark on this adventure. It's difficult to leave such a lovely paradise. The consolation is knowing that this place, this island with its tremendous people, gave me the confidence to simply go for it.

Seventy-five Days and Counting

Seventy-five days until the insanely hot desert greets us. Seventy-five days until we arrive in Doha, sleep in our new house, hear the call to prayer, and begin a barrage of meetings in preparation for the school year. Seventy-five days! Is that enough time to begin a blog, purchase new running shoes, catch up on inoculations, shuffle our finances, stash stuff in storage, and say goodbye to everyone? I suppose it has to be.

It's been honeymoon-ish dreaming about our new life abroad. In February, we ceremoniously signed our teaching contracts in Iowa and pledged our lives to ASD. I donned a dress and Chris sported a tie. We've been blissed out ever since.

The honeymoon glow is fading. Slightly. Now, it seems, reality is setting in. I am nervous about being in the classroom full time, anxious about feeling deflated by the heat, and uneasy about helping the kids adjust to life abroad. We have made the right decision to move overseas, that I know. Chris and I are lucky to have secured these jobs. It's been a goal of ours for years to teach internationally, and it feels so fantastic to embark upon our dream. Honestly, there are moments when I am so thrilled about Doha I could turn a cartwheel on the kitchen floor and others when I am queasy with uncertainty about teaching.

I hope seventy-five days is enough time complete my growing to do list, quiet the queasiness, and perfect my kitchen cartwheels.