Accessibility in Kuwait FFF-

Originally uploaded by The Toze
Another example of accessibility in Kuwait. This disabled parking place was near the restaurant we went to, El Gaucho, which is very common here and not quite as upscale as it is in the states, for my welcome dinner. It was funny in the Sunday staff meeting when Yassin, my boss who is from Sudan, assigned Chris, American, to organized it I could have sworn we agreed on Weds., But on Tuesday, Feryal said that we were all going out to dinner that night. Alex who is a head of office and from Serbia also thought it was Weds. Almost the entire office went and some of them even brought their families. So in the Kuwait office there is a Deputy Country Director, Yassin, four heads of office, for each off the Iraq governates that we work in. Yassin serves as a head of office and the country director and then his deputy head of office, is also in the Kuwait office.

The four heads of office are Yassin, Chris from America, Alex from Serbia and Javanshir (Java) from Azberbijan.

The reporting department consists of Ali, who is from Sudan, an intern Seth from the states and Linda who is from India.

Two Iraqis run procurement, for security reasons I’ll call them AJ and R.

One engineer who is also from Iraq AN.

The finance department is run by Nata who is from Azerbijan and she works with Leesa and Thennal both from India.

Senineit (sp?) who brings us coffee, cleans the office and does some other administrative things aroung the office is from Eritrea, Africa.

And then there is me and my assistant Feryal. On Sunday we are hosting a five day Conflict Management Conference so we also currently have a ton of visitors in the office. Eva is the office manager from Jordan and she is really Bette Ruedaish, for those of you who don’t know Bette she is kick ass, no nonsense woman who can get things done like nobody’s business. If Bette and Eva got together we would all be in trouble.

Eva is from Romania and grew up there under the communist curtain. In college she met her husband, a Jordanian and he convinced her to marry him and move to Jordan. Becuase she didn’t have access to outside information she had no idea what Jordan was like. She said she got there and there were no flowers, no greenery and it was a real culture shock. She first moved there in 1984 with her husband. She returned three times to Romania with the intention of never going back to Jordan. She has one son and he speaks fluent Arabic and English. She said when her husband’s family came for the wedding, one of his male relatives covered his hand with his Dishdashah, the one piece robe they wear before he shook her hand.

She said “I was really upset and I go to room and I’m crying and my husband has to explain to me that to shake hands with a woman is a very intimate act, you can pass feelings through a handshake. Thinking back at some of the hand shakes I’ve been subjected to, it gave me the heebie jeebies. She is a fascinating woman.

Iraqis on Iraq – A novel concept.

The other day I was talking to R about the war in Iraq. I asked him whether or not the Americans should leave. He said no, but he thinks that we need to come up with a new plan. He said that the problem was that they invaded the country, disposed the dictator and then there was no plan for what next. So under Saddam they had electricity sometimes and now they never have it. So, the problem is not the disposal of a totalitarian regime, but rather that there was no plan after the initial plan of disposing Saddam.

R is married with a daughter who is a little more than a year older. Since the MC operation moved to Kuwait he only gets to see his family around once a year. I asked him if he would prefer to be stationed in Iraq. He said he is working on getting his family to Kuwait, but it’s expensive around $8,000. He said that it was his responsibility as a father and a husband to get his family out of Iraq because there is no future there.

AJ who is the father of four children, his wife had twins a year ago said that he also wants to get his children out of Iraq, because it will be better for them. When I asked him if he would leave Iraq forever he said no that one day it would be his responsibility to go back. As I sat there and talked to them it didn’t matter what country they were from or what their native language was, they were just two family men concerned about providing for their families and ensuring their children have a future. Both AJ and R are trained as teachers.

At the table we got into a discussion about the lack of accurate reporting on the war and Alex told me that only one in five suicide bombers is Iraqi. I asked why and he said because if you’re an Iraqi who kills other Iraqis then the family members of the Iraqis you killed come after you. AJ and R also said that it’s not the Sunnis fighting the Shias, but rather it is infighting that is occurring so Sunnis fighting Sunnis and Shias fighting Shias.

All the Iraqis I’ve talked to think the Americans should stay and Alex said if the Americans leave there will just be another dictatorship. There was also consensus on the need for a new plan.

“There was a plan?” I asked Alex.

“Yes, the plan was they were going to do what they did in Kuwait. America would go into Iraq, depose Saddam and then it would be a big party, just like it was in Kuwait.”

“That was the plan?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. I looked at him and remarked that it didn’t sound like a plan and he shrugged his shoulders. If that was the plan, I still don’t think there was one, I wonder why it worked in Kuwait and not in Iraq? I’ll have to ask Alex. Alex was actually stationed in Iraq, before the office was moved to Kuwait. He and his wife are expecting a baby and she will join him here in October. He has been working for MC for seven years, he started in Serbia, after a U.S. action there. He is very direct and open. He said “Everyone thinks Serbians are baby-eating monsters, but that is because of the media.”

Ever since I arrived AJ has seemed very serious to me. When were at dinner I asked him, why are you always so serious. AN answered, “Because he has four children.”

AJ laughed.

After shopping on Saturday, I made plans to meet Karen for dinner. She told me she was staying at the Holiday Inn which wasn’t far from the offices. I needed a nap so I told her I would push over there around 5:00 p.m. When I got back to my apartment it was incredibly hot and it had been incredibly hot since I arrived. Rafid showed me how to adjust the thermostat and I kept adjusting it down. Finally I asked him if I was adjusting it in the wrong direction, he said no. So, after 4 days of sweating in my apartment I realized the air conditioning wasn’t working properly. I told the manager and now I have air conditioning, thank goodness.

I woke up in my hot apartment and headed downstairs to find the Holiday Inn. I asked Hasif who is Bangladeshi and works here how to get to the Holiday Inn. He pointed vaguely in some direction and then looked at me like I had two heads when I told him I didn’t want a Taxi. A Taxi is at least 1.5 KD which translates into about $10.00.

I started pushing and worried that I was going in the opposite direction I asked an older man about the Holiday Inn. He pointed in the opposite direction that Hasif had, so I started pushing that way, you all know how good I am at directions. Worried about my conflicting directions I stopped to ask another man who was painting a small auto part store front, “I don’t speak English was his reply.” At least he was willing to admit the truth I hate it when people pretend that they understand what your asking when really all they have understood is blah, blah, blah and the fact you’re American. I continued in my current direction when I noticed two white women dressed western style picking their way across a debris strewn parking lot.

“Do speak English?” I called to them.

“Yes,” they replied.

“My saviors!” I said. And asked them where the Holiday Inn was. They affirmed what Hasif had told me, so the older man in the van either didn’t know or didn’t understand what I was asking. It turns out the two women are from Canada and one is a teacher and the other is an administrator working at a local bi-ligual school. Megan is a teacher on a one-year contract and Susanna is an administrator on a three-year contract. We talked a little bit about Kuwait. Megan inquired as too whether everyone thought I was crazy for coming here, she said her friends were really shocked that she would go to such a dangerous place. “Dangerous,” she scoffed, “I see women running along the promenade after dark, you couldn’t do that in Canada.” She does have a point. Before renewing my quest I gave Megan my number she seems like she might be up for some adventures.

Megan had told me that the easiest way to get to the Holiday Inn was to go to the promenade, they have a beautiful paved walkway that runs along the beach, and follow it until I saw the hotel. I turned up the next street to get to the promenade, but it didn’t go through, so I backtracked and then took the next possible right and climb over a curb in a parking lot, cut through the front entrance of a restaurant which included carrying my chair down two stairs, only to find that the sidewalk, one of only two sidewalks in all of Kuwait City, was under construction. So I backtracked again. I passed up two side streets choosing what looked like a main road and tried to cut right again to get to the sidewalk. I could move along the sidewalk for awhile, but it was still under construction, with piles of pavers blocking the way. At one point I went up a ramp to an apartment complex to avoid the pavers, but there was no way back down after clearing the obstruction so I headed back down the ramp which was covered with sand. Sandstone covered with sand is a very slippery surface so as I started back down the ramp I slipped sideways and slid the rest of the way down the ramp. It was like the scene in Forest Gump where Lt. Dan is on the icy ramp.

Backtracking again I took what looked like the next main road and finally was able to pick my way through the piles of pavers and holes to a roundabout and the Holiday Inn. I could see the Holiday Inn, but between me and it was a pile of cars and a large road with no pedestrian crossing, and huge 12 inch curbs. I later learned that Kuwait City is not pedestrian friendly, there are barely any sidewalks, in fact the only one may be the beach promenade and no pedestrian crossings. They do not provide lights or crosswalks. When I inquired as to why that was the case I was told that Kuwaiti’s don’t walk anywhere, they drive. And the only people who would use crosswalks or sidewalks are foreigners. If is doesn’t benefit Kuwaitis, they don’t do it. Interesting, they could definately use more excercise and their lack of sidewalks could come back to haunt them in the form of high cholesterol and heart attacks.

“What about the Kuwaiti’s with disabilities?” I asked Chris.

“They have cars and drivers,” he said.

“All of them?” He informed me that Kuwait was one of, if not the only nation that divided it’s oil wealth amongst its citizens and all Kuwaitis are rich.

I surveyed my situation for a moment, then when all the cars were held up by a red light, they do at least have traffic lights, I popped the curb, rolled in front of a man whose expression of shock can only be described as comical, then reaching the median I hopped out of the chair, pulled it up sat back down and popped the second curb and pushed like hell to get out of the road.

Seeing that my goal was in sight I started looking for the entrance. The entire front was under construction, so I had to push around to the side. I made my way into an entrance that looked liked it provided access to the shops, but not the hotel, as I was getting ready to back track yet again, I heard “Handicappee” in an Arabic accented voice. Two young boys came running toward me. I asked them how to get into the Holiday Inn and they pointed me in the correct direction. I had left my apartment around 5:00 p.m. it was now about 6:30 p.m. my hair is completely drenched with sweat and I have perspiration spots all over my shirt and a huge one running down my back. My face is red with exertion and I look like I’ve been working out, hard.

I make my way to the entrance which has a, you won’t believe it, a ramp! Finally some accessibility. When I reached the top of the ramp there were three benches blocking access to the doorway. Rolling my eyes I pushed one out of the way and then tried to open one of the side doors, there was no way in hell I was attempting the revolving door. It was locked. One of the hotel employees came and let me through the other side door and I called Karen to tell her that after an hour an half I had finally made it.

In the bathroom in an attempt to make myself partially presentable, it was lost cause, I noticed that I had sweated through my pants and the entire back was see through, my underwear and skin peered out at me through the wet fabric. Great, I’m supposed to dress modestly and I’m wearing see through pants. I decided I wouldn’t and shouldn’t stand up anymore for the rest of the evening. So looking back on it I wonder if I mooned that sheik in the fancy car? Oh well, if they aren’t going to have crosswalks what can they expect?

Due to my ordeal in getting to my destination, Karen and I decided to eat in the hotel at the Lebanese restaurant. To get into the restaurant there was a small bridge that had one step up to it. I looked at Karen rolled my eyes, popped a wheelie and pulled myself onto the bridge, upon reaching the other end, five waiters rushed to help me, but by this time I’d had it, I waved them off and jumped the last stair. Finally I was there!

The heat has been surpressing my appetite and I wasn’t very hungry so I just ordered some sausages. Karen also ordered sausages, fried cheese and a hummus type dip. To drink they offered fancy non-alcoholic drinks and non-alcoholic beer. I ordered a Bahamas Sea Breeze. The first thing they brought to out table was the salad:

I call it Rabbit’s Delight or Foray into Uncle Derward’s garden. I was too tired to make my own salad so I just munched on some of the lettuce. I took a taxi home and will be walking to destinations from here on out.

Apartment building where MC offices are located

Originally uploaded by The Toze

I was woken up briefly at some ungodly hour in the morning by the Adhan or call to prayer. I just briefly acknowledged it and then rolled over and went back to bed. My alarm rang at 6:00 a.m., but my wristwatch said 5:00 a.m. After debating which time was correct, I didn’t want to be late to work my first day I opted for the time on my wristwatch. I had set it the night before when I was fairly coherent. I reset my alarm and went back to bed for an hour.

Stumbling into the kitchen around 7:00 a.m. I made myself some instant Nescafe with cream and sugar and ate a slice of poundcake. I climbed into the shower, my head was only about 4 inches from the ceiling and the bathroom was incredibly hot with a lovely sewage smell coming from some unidentifiable source.

There is no counter space in the bathroom, which is probably karma from hogging the bathroom from my brother as a teenager and other incidents of poor bathroom sharing, so I set up my junk on the vanity which I believe was designed for a midget. I looked in vain for an electrical outlet in the bathroom or the bedroom — the only electrical outlets appear to be in the living room, the minimalist or unwanted guest bedroom and the kitchen.

Lacking other choices I moved to dry my hair in the living room using the TV as a mirror. I plugged in the blow dryer forgetting that I needed a converter as well as an adapter. Blue sparks flew accompanied by a loud pop!

“Oh shit,” I thought what an impression I’ll make coming into my first day of work with my hair all askew because I couldn’t blow dry it. Luckily my blow dryer was still working and once I attached the converter I was able to use it albeit with some power surges and scary moments. Hair appliances have always been the bane of existence in overseas travel. I singed my bangs off right before closing ceremonies in Barcelona, 1992, so I had to attend the ceremonies with the eaux de brunt feathers clinging to me. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but everyone kept asking “What’s that smell?” and Margaret, my teammate kept telling them.

My second bang loss occurred at the 1994 Gold Cup Games in Aylesbury, England when I was tyring to make myself presentable for something or other. Once again I smelled like burnt feathers. So priority number one buy a hair dryer.

8:15 .am. – I arrived at the office and greeted Rafid, it was nice to see a familiar face, I was one of the first people there. As I was sitting at my new desk, my assistant Feryal (pronounced Fair e elle) came in. I struggled with her name for awhile and then she said “Can you say Fufu? That is my short name.”

I don’t think I can call her Fufu, because she is a sassy woman. She is Palastinian, born in Kuwait. Approximately 5′5, she was wearing jeans, a black blouse with 3/4 length sleeves and a head covering. Her eyes were accentuated by heavy make-up. She is married with 5 children and one of her sons has Downs Syndrome. Upon first meeting and after spending a day with her, she is a competent, strong no nonsense woman a little Bette Ruedaish like for those of you who work at The Standard. I’m going to like working with her.

After she sat down the office manager (I’m not sure what her exact position is or how to spell her name) Sen nigh came in and asked if we would like coffee. Wow! I of course said yes and she brought both Feryal and me Turkish coffee. It woke me right up.

Karen Saba the woman who previously had my position came in around nine. She is 36, petite with glasses. She has cerebral palsy which affects her motor skills and speech. She looks frail, but I think she has a steel core. Karen introduced me to the rest off the office. The Iraq operation is divided into four parts by area and all four of the head of offices in Iraq are stationed in Kuwait. There is also a finance area, procurement area, reporting area and office management.

Karen gave me some information to read and I kept trying to get set up. Feryal kept telling me to relax, she was having computer issues. By noon I still didn’t have a computer or an MC e-mail, but I had met with Yassin, my boss and Karen about the basics. MC will pay for my housing and food for one week and then it’s on my own. He also gave me the security protocols for Kuwait:

• Importation and consumption of alcohol and pork are forbidden; If you are caught bringing them into the country, the products will be confiscated and you may face deportation. (Please do not send me a pig or alcohol.)

• Be aware that Kuwaitis have deported expatriates arrested by the police for public drunkenness.

• Driving while intoxicate is punishable by imprisonment in Kuwait (minimum 10 years) (I like this country.)

• When driving an MC vehicle, you must be very careful. Kuwaities drive very fast and if you are involved in a traffic accident where you injure or kill a Kuwaiti, the consequences can be severe. (Not sure I’m going to get my international driver’s license . . .)

• All travel from Kuwait to Iraq must be approved by the Regional Direcor and the Country Director.

• If traveling outside of Kuwait City or Kuwait (e.g. over the week end) you must notify the Iraq Country Director or his/her delegate.

• Use of illegal drugs is strictly forbidden. (I definately like this country.)

• Relations with Kuwaiti women are forbidden. (It’s a good thing my assistant is from Palestine.)

As of noon I didn’t have a computer or an MC e-mail address so Karen took Feryal and me to lunch at Diva, which has American food and prides itself on being the meeting place of Divas. Elvis Preseley and Marilyn Monroe grace the outside of the building. I ordered a chef’s salad, Karen had quesadillas and Feryal had a chicken Ceasar. My salad was o.k., but the tomatoes were bland and if I remember correctly most of the veggies in the Middle East are bland unless purchased at a farmer’s market. I also had a second cup of coffee.

After lunch we met with Ahmed, another man in procurement about a public service announcement that is being filmed about inclusion of people with disabilities (PWDs) and will be aired in Iraq. The script was in Arabic so I was a big help. The rallying cry for my people in Iraq is “IRAQ FOR ALL!” The discussion centered around the final message. Because of the nuances Arabic does not translate well, so the tagline sounded odd to me. Which underscorces the fact that I need to learn Arabic or I will be coming up with taglines such as “Wheeled people are the sidewalks of Iraq.” or “The Sheep is Between the Ramp and Screen.” But Karen speaks Arabic and was happy with it. Java one of the Heads of Office for Iraq is from Azerbijan and he has been learning Arabic. He said he would help me get enrolled in a class. After five weeks he is writing and reading it. Of course, I can’t even pronounce Feryal’s name correctly.

I was truly struggling with fatigue by the afternoon and had a third cup of coffee. Feryal remarked that she was glad it was Thrusday and the weekend. I looked at her funny and insisted it was Wednesday. She insisted it was Thursday and after double-checking my calendar I discovered she was right and apologized for doubting her. We had a laugh over my jetlag. I was misinformed about the work week, it is a five-day work week and the weekend is on Friday and Saturday. So, after one day of work I was headed for a weekend.

My final meeting that afteroon was with Karen and Feryal about my position, the reporting structure and an overview of the projects we are working on. In each of the four offices there is a person with a dotted line to me for both the gender program and the PWD program. I work with them to implement projects that preferably come from the Community Action Groups (CAGs) that have been mobilized in Iraq. The funding comes from the CAPII Program and is a collaborative effort between four international organizations. It’s primary focus is to help facilitate community action which includes:

• establishing mechanisms for citizen input in local governemnt decision-making.

• to involve local CAG members in government -intitial formal mechanisms for citizen input.

• to support CAG’s local activities, and

• to help the community programs create short and long-term jobs.

In effect we are helping Iraqis learn how to become advocates for themselves, their communties and the issues that are important to them.
That was my first day, other than another bologna sandwich for dinner and spending my evening struggling to learn how to post photos,which I’m still having some difficulty with please be patient. I should have been working on this instead of playing Wii.

My apartment #13Originally uploaded by The Toze

Yes, that’s right, I’m in temporary housing #13, but I thought you might be interested in what it actually looks like. It is a two bedbroom, one semi-bedroom apartment. Two of the bedrooms have doors and armoires, one which is mine the other I call the guest bedroom, the semi-bedroom is where I will be putting guests who I don’t want to stay a long time. It doesn’t have a door and it gets light super early.

Take a photo tour.

There are two bathrooms one with a toilet, sink and a shower, but no toilet seat or shower curtain. I refer to this as my minimalist bathroom or “The Men’s Room.” The room in which I’m staying has a bathroom off of it with a tub/shower, sink and toilet. The toilet has a seat and the shower has a curtain. I have taken to showering in “The Men’s Room” as it is easier to get in and out of the shower and I like the fact that the water goes all over the floor, luckily there is a lip in the doorway so it doesn’t overflow into the hallway. Hee hee.

Please note my oven and stove top, cooking is going to be an adventure. I went shopping yesterday, first because I needed to buy a blow dryer, you can read about my blow dryer incident in the first day of work entry. I also needed to buy an electric toothbrush, because I promised my dentist, and some food. Karen, my predecesssor in this job was nice enough to take me shopping. There is a co-op next to the apartment, but it doesn’t carry stuff like blow dryers.

We took a Taxi to Carrefour, which is the French version of Fred Meyer. I bought a blow dryer and Karen bought a tea kettle. In the food section I bought ground beef, salsa, cold cuts, cheese, mustard and little Arabic sausages. For my first home cooked meal apart from the home-made bologna sandwiches I’m going to make Mexican pitas. Ole! I also need to start taking my lunch to the office or as it stands right now, upstairs. I guess taking the elevator a couple of floors down to make lunch would be o.k., but I’m not sure I want to get in that habit as I think I shouldn’t live in the building in which I work.

The Sugar Incident

Someone in MC was nice enough to stalk a little food. When I woke up the first morning I started making coffee. Looking around for the sugar I noticed a jar on the counter. It looked like sea salt so being the prudent person I am (not) I dipped one finger into it for a taste — Sugar!

The main writing on the jar was in Arabic, but in English in small print it said “Refrigerate after opening.” So, I’m in Kuwait, if they refrigerate their sugar, I’m all for it, whatever the reasoning behind it. So I put some in my coffee and then refrigerate the rest. It wasn’t until this morning (2 days later) that I noticed the jar the sugar comes in, isn’t actually its original container. Someone put some sugar in a jar for me, the jar originally contained processed cheese spread.

So I’ve been refrigerating my sugar because it was in a processed cheese spread jar, not because they refrigerate sugar in the Middle East, nor does sugar come in a jar.

Let the misadventures begin! – Oh, they already have.

I rolled off the plane and down a corridor lined with men in traditional Arab dress. Long white robes, called a dish-dash-ah or thoub and the scarf-like head covering called a Shumagg. Most of the men sported red and white checkered Schumaggs, some men worn hats, in what we would call a pillbox style for women and some men simply had a white cap like a Yamaka on their heads. All the women in the gate area, except those of us getting off the plane were covered. As I passed the elevator a fully-veiled woman passed me children in tow. In a sea a black only her eyes were visible. The veil covering the lower half of her face stayed in place by way of a small black thread over the bridge of her nose. Her face looked similar to the men Frodo and Sam encountered with the Oliphant in Lord of the Rings.

As I rode in my everyday chair pushing my sports chair laden with bags and a pillow in front of me I could feel the curious stares. I was much more of ananomly to them than they were to me. At immigration a tall, bearded immigrations official singled me out of the line to help me get through customs. I could have just gone through the line, but he took my passport and got it stamped for me. It of course took three times as long as if I had just gone through the line, but he was trying to be helpful and I couldn’t speak enough Arabic to refuse. After customs we passed through another long corridor lined with people behind metal barriers. It was like they had never seen a 6 ft blond in a wheelchair and they probably hadn’t. I didn’t return the stares or even acknowledge them. I felt a little bit like I was in a parade, either that or a freak show and I just kept scanning the crowd for a sign with my name. At the very end of the corridor a short dark man in a button down shirt and dress pants stepped forward and introduced himself as Chacko.

He and another man, Abu Saman, our driver escorted me out of the airport along with the skycap who was pushing a giant cart loaded with my baggage. Exiting the airport it felt like I’d rolled into an oven. Arriving at the car I pulled Chacko aside and asked him if I should tip the man. He said yes, but when I tried to offer him money he said “No, I like this woman, no money.” I looked at Chacko who nodded yes and said 1 Kuwaiti Dinear (1 KD) would be appropriate, but when I pulled it out of my purse, the skycap indicated that it wasn’t enough. It was my first confusing experience with someone saying something they don’t really mean. So I gave him a second KD and called it good, but I didn’t feel good about the interaction. Chacko told me in the future that 1 is plenty. I asked him what the whole situation was about and he said, “He is Bangladeshi,” as way of explanation. I guess I need to learn about that culture now also, but they will probably be saying that about me in a month or so. “She is American.”

Leaving the airport we passed a sign that said “Welcome to the state of Kuwait,” I wonder if that is similar to being in a state of euphoria or denial. The radio said it was 38 C which is 100.4 F. We headed into town through a sea of sand, spotted with palm trees. The buildings were all done in what we would call Southwestern colors, creams, browns and pale pinks, as if to blend into the sand. One pale green and one pastel violet building stood out amoung the pale city scape. Checking out the cars next to me I noticed that almost no one wore seatbelts. A Pepsi sign and a Seattle’s Best Coffee, paired with a Cinnabon were the most familar sites.

Arriving at the apartment complex where Mercy Corps is headquartered I was greeted by Rafid, an Iraqi in charge of procurement. He took me to a three-bedroom two bath apartment on the first floor, showed me where the food was and how to operate the thermostat. For dinner I made a sandwich, three slices of beef bologna with cream cheese on a mini hotdog bun. For dessert vanilla poundcake. Each of the bedrooms had two beds a little smaller than a twin bed. They don’t use box springs here, so the mattress is almost even with the wooden box. I had a bottom sheet and a light comforter. The apartment complex is right behind a mosque, so I heard the call to prayer three times my first night. The bedrooms also have armoires, tiny two drawer dressers and in one room a dressing table. In one bathroom there is no toilet seat, so I desginated that the men’s room and have been using the bathroom off my bedroom. They are very small with no counter space and there is a spray attachment next to the toilet, like American’s have on their kitchen sinks, that you can use instead of toilet paper.

The kitchen has a tall skinny refrigerator and a mini oven, the size of a microwave, with two hot plates on top of it. All the floors are tile, I guess because you don’t have to worry about it getting cold. After Rafid showed me the apartment, he took me upstairs to the offices. The offices consist of three apartments that have been converted with some cubicles, we also have two kitchens. It is extremely warm passing through the hallway to the other offices and very cool in the actual office space. My boss Yassin, came down to greet me and I asked him what time we started work. “8:00 a.m.” he told me.

It is 7:30 p.m. and I am headed to bed.

Goodnight!

So, I am officially t minus one day, and staying with Chris (the crazy-haired man) and Tami. They’ve forced me to sleep on the floor and the couch, play with their wii and watch British “comedies.” And yet, I am still going to miss them and all my friends in good ole Portland.

Went out with Lissa and Kari last night, Tami tagged along, and we had drinks, drinks, drinks and some e-San Thai food. All in all a good night. I still haven’t beaten Chris at tennis, but am apparently snaking up on him for bowling. I think it’s the home court advantage he has.

My next blog will be from Kuwait.

Tiana Tozer here. If you’re interested in my intrepid travels, read on.