I open my eyes sensing stares on my face. I must have drifted into an unplanned nap as I was reading my book. There are three young Omani women, junior faculty, who are designated to pick me up. We chuckle and head out to the dinner site, set out on the lawn outside. The dinner turns out to be an interesting time as well, although not as peaceful as I hoped it to be. Initially, I am introduced to the president of the university, who is a humble man, shakes my hand eagerly. This has been a comforting experience in Oman. The only two men, who intimated that they weren’t willing to shake hands with me turned out to be from Saudi Arabia!
Not knowing, who will accept my hand and who won’t, I have been very cautious about reading social cues the last 24 hours. My hostess gave me a very good clue. She said, a man, who is not willing to shake hands, would put their hand onto their heart letting me know he is honored with my acquaintance! Now I am a radar for the right hand movement. Is it going out toward me or up toward the guy!!! Anyway, all went fine in that regard and most men have been eager to shake my hand with no awkward moments.
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| Haven't experienced this, yet, in Oman at least, but that's what it will look like when a woman extends her hand to a traditional Muslim man, I guess. |
I am all willing to give the Omani men the opportunity to define a common ground for us all, Omani men and women and I to work together respectfully. How we are going to do that is still an unknown, requires more learning each other. For them to understand, I am not after any additional reputation, I would like to give them whatever they need professionally in return, I will gain knowledge of a new culture, a way of being, dynamic, changing, moving forward. I may influence them in ways, they may start addressing child abuse and neglect in a more compassionate and structured manner, which may in turn start changing the culture itself. They may influence me in a way, I may become their advocate in the western world. Down the road, in several to many decades, both of our good sets of deeds may soften the pain and loneliness of our individual final journey to death.
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| Sometimes a western man will find their hand left in the air by a traditional Muslim woman, too. |
I finally connect with the German speaker and his son, who both turn out to be very humble and personable. We chat quite a bit, going even to politics about USA, Germany, etc. Hmmm, he thinks, with all the resources, “USA, of course should be the advocate of freedoms on earth”, which sounds very much Bush-like a statement. He probably reads the concern on my face and states “Of course, there are financial benefits driving such advocacy, but still…”. I ask him whether he watched “ZEITgeist”, which outlines, how USA has been eager to create circumstances to enter wars from WWII, to Vietnam, even to 9/11 that led to the invasion of first Afghanistan then Iraq.
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| I found myself well prepared with Saudi looking men (by their attire) just like this lady not to put either myself or the man in an uncomfortable position. |
As I am typing these lines, I wonder how people of lands torn apart with wars perceive death, when it is their daily companion. Do they still fear it with the fervor of us westerners, who have reached longevity in the 80s and 90s? Or have all of them become suicide bombers in a way, not caring about when they will meet the death angel? Or are they so present, they appreciate every moment they breathe better than us, every person, who has done good to them much more gratefully than us? Do they set better examples and role models for their children by their courage and dignity in facing their and their loved ones’ death? Are they better than us to find a way to imbue their lives, to its very end, with meaning? How do they help each other in findings the right questions to bring out each other’s right answers about life, their troubles and death?
As these questions run every which way in my mind, I see that people are moving around to get settled at a table. Being one of the speakers invited to influence the process here in Oman, I am eager to sit at the table with the German speaker, the president and the conference organizers to connect a bit better. However, it so happens that men invite one another to their table but not me! I resolve sitting at the table, where my female companions had seated me. It is good to experience this forced humility that Omani and Muslim women experience day in day out. Very clearly, there is segregation here that bothers nobody but me. There are three tables of men and two tables of women. We are segregated from the opposite sex with invisible curtains...
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| Just like these two groups, we were also segregated from men around gender-dedicated tables. |
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