Eventually he found it and in true Arab fashion the appointments had all gone wrong but the Chief Executive was summoned from home and all was well. He even commiserated with Lionel about the difficulties of finding the place and reassured him that next time would be easier. There was no suggestion that maps or directions might be offered to newcomers in the future.
7. Going native
It is Christmas Eve and we have already clocked up a hundred days in the Middle East, so it’s a good time for reflection. It is fascinating, infuriating, at times weird, but always interesting and intriguing. The biggest revelation for me has been the character of the Arabs. If I am honest, I had never really thought much about Arabs as a race. I knew that Arabs had been slave traders so that might have coloured my thoughts and of course they are now very wealthy from oil, and there is the added fundamentalist religious aspect plus the zealous Sharia law, evident in places like Saudi Arabia.
Re-reading the last sentence, it might be construed that I harboured some sort of unspoken prejudice. Maybe I did, deep down, and if so, how very wrong I was. This Christmas season in particular has made me appreciate their warmth, generosity and hospitality. Most Europeans escape home for the festive season but we elected to stay and work as usual. This gesture was really appreciated by the locals, who gave us gifts, told us not to work at all on Christmas Day (but we did) and one of the highly respected Arab leaders who, it is rumoured, is anti-British, loitered outside my office door, smiled at me and admonished, “You are doing all the work. All the other Britons have gone home.”
Tentatively, I invited him in to sit and chat, which he did for an hour. Apparently this was a tremendous honour, hitherto almost unheard of.
However, nothing is simple, so although the Arabs are really charming, amusing and helpful to me, they are unashamedly racially prejudiced. An example is in the instructions for recruiting new members of staff: try to appoint a Qatari, failing that a Gulf Arab, failing that any other Arab, failing that, a foreigner will do. Foreigners encompass any non-Arab. However, there is a pecking order, but exactly where Filipinos come in relation to Indians and in relation to Westerners, is difficult to ascertain. I assumed that a female Brit would be pretty low down the pecking order but I am assured that this is not the case. Certainly I am treated with the utmost respect.
Interestingly, the racial prejudice is not overtly colour prejudice. Gulf Arabs can be traced from three genetic roots, Arabia, Africa and Persia. The phenotypes or observable characteristics of these peoples are very different. Those from northern Iran are often fair with blue eyes whereas those from Africa have dark skin and this diversity is evident in the Arabs. There are some who are very dark and some who with their small neat moustaches could be British bank managers from Tunbridge Wells, though with the thobe and ghutra removed obviously.
[Lionel is having difficulty coping with the prospect of a naked moustachioed Tunbridge Wells bank manager.]
Families are large, with consanguinity an issue and marriage between first cousins not uncommon. They are unashamedly tribal as explained by a consultant colleague whose elderly mother was ill and needed treatment abroad. The decision to travel was debated not by the mother or her children but by the whole extended family before eventually, they turned to my colleague saying, “You’re a doctor so you can decide.”
He was then able to discuss the pros and cons with his mother, who agreed to travel for the treatment. Its success meant that she was able to enjoy six more years of good quality life, go on pilgrimage and enjoy her grandchildren. A happy ending, but not without some effort on his part.
Family bonds are stronger in the Middle East than in western societies where elderly people are sometimes marginalised and end up living alone, far from their families. In spite of the flaws in Arab society I feel we can learn from them, particularly in the strength of their family ties which are genuine and not seen as an onerous duty.
Arab social mores, culture and customs are difficult to understand. I am working late when one of the office boys literally thrusts a young Arab into my office and hastily retreats. The young man, who is about thirty years old, is polite but very angry. He introduces himself, shakes my hand and voices his concerns. Apparently his wife, currently in hospital, has been examined by a male doctor. He explains that in his culture this is completely unacceptable and moreover it was an intimate examination, which makes it even worse. He feels personally violated.
We have a long discussion and he concedes that in a dire emergency, treatment of a female patient by a male doctor would be allowed. However, this is not such a case and although I hesitantly ask him if he wishes to make an official complaint, he is adamant that he does not, nor does he want to meet the doctor concerned; the implication being that if he does, he would have to kill him.
The conversation continues and the young husband appears somewhat appeased, but requests that I speak to his wife. So we go up to the Gynaecology wards, where his wife is not on her bed but we find her, a lone figure dressed in black, with her face completely covered, pacing the corridor. She is upset and I suggest going back to her room for some privacy, whereupon she leaps up onto her bed, whips off the abaya and veil and underneath is barely clad in skinny jeans and strappy T-shirt. She looks like any young woman bouncing along Oxford Street on a summer afternoon.
We discuss her concerns which are mainly around an impending MRI scan and I am able to reassure her. A vigorous discussion ensues between husband and wife about the morning’s examination. It all sounds fine to me. She had been properly chaperoned, her dignity was respected, she was covered and the doctor explained everything, so in essence she had no complaints. Eventually the atmosphere eases and all seems well. The husband is appeased and both are very grateful to me for taking the time to listen and explain.
It seems appropriate to leave them so I stand up and proffer my hand to the husband, slightly hesitantly, checking, “You will shake my hand?”
“Oh yes,” replies his wife. “He’s very progressive.”
There are two postscripts to this story. The first concerns the consultant in charge of Gynaecology radiology. She is blazing when I relate the tale and insists that I send the young man to her so that she can explain to him. She will eat him alive, even though she also is completely veiled apart from her eyes, seen through a thin slit.
The other colleague, with whom I discuss the case, is a gentle Qatari doctor in charge of patient complaints. He agrees with my approach and also explains that the husband might never have spoken to him because he is a man and the husband’s honour was at stake, whereas I am no threat, being female and a westerner. Nothing is simple or predictable.
Anthropologists talk about ‘going native’ and I confess that in spite of my reservations about the driving here, I have done exactly that. Yesterday I found myself heading off-road onto the desert scrub in order to bypass a long queue of traffic - they all do it - undertaking a bus (a thing I would never do in the UK) and texting a colleague while sitting in traffic, as I moved slowly up to a roundabout. I have also discovered the horn.
The unusual has started to become normal, so I happily stand while someone unpacks my trolley at the supermarket checkout, puts the purchases into bags then wheels the trolley back to my car and packs the boot for me. How on earth will I cope in Tesco’s when I return home?
The culmination of the first hundred days is a conference organised by me and co-hosted with a local colleague. The British have all gone home for Christmas, so Lionel and I are the only Westerners in the room. It is a tremendous success. I put them into groups, with a facilitator chosen from the group, a question posed for discussion, and a requirement for feedback. They go to the task with gusto and although the culture is different, the issues facing the medical profession are similar to those at home and the attitudes of the doctors towards their patients are the same.
I hear tales here o
f poor communication and lack of patient involvement, notably from the Arabs who are vociferous and demanding about their treatment, while the ex-pats - particularly the unskilled labourers - are compliant. Yet in my session the overriding concern is to improve care for our patients. Change is a fact of life out here.
His Highness the Emir and his wife Her Highness the Sheikha want to establish a ‘knowledge economy’ in this country and there are numerous partnerships with prestigious western universities, in stunning buildings grouped in Education City. The whole city is growing by the day, with new buildings and roads, yet only two generations ago, many of the locals were still living in the desert, possibly nomadic or scraping a living as fishermen, the pearl trade having died earlier in the twentieth century. So it is not surprising that there are conflicts, as the outer show clashes with the deep-seated traditions of this proud and ancient culture.
8. Beyond the veil
After a year of living here I sometimes get a glimpse of understanding about why the women dress as they do. I have been told that wearing the veil gives women an anonymity that they enjoy. Personally I am not convinced and yet perhaps they enjoy the air of mystery?
The really difficult one is the niqab, which is the covering of the face so that only the eyes show. To western eyes this seems an imposition, imprisonment, and paradoxically the wearers of this garb look somewhat sinister. However, having lived and worked among such women, my views are now less clear.
Lionel has numerous members of staff who dress in this way and they are affronted if he does not recognise them. Moreover they use their eyes very expressively and often flirtatiously. We ex-pats hold up Britain as a beacon of religious and racial tolerance so were shocked at reports of a journalist wearing the niqab being verbally abused and threatened on the streets of Britain recently. Ostensibly the niqab is worn for religious reasons but I am not convinced by the portrayal of this custom in the British press. It is undoubtedly cultural and many women who wear it here dress completely differently when abroad.
The hijab, which covers the head, is different. This is worn by most Muslim women, certainly those from the Middle East and the Philippines. The covering of the head denotes religious observance, whereas the face covering would seem to represent more of a cultural phenomenon. Muslims from the Indian sub-continent tend to have a more relaxed attitude but that might just be my impression.
Iraqis, Egyptians and other non-Gulf Arab nations are as incredulous as we British are of this face-covering concept. Looking back at our own culture, covering the head was very common. In the mid-twentieth century hats were commonly worn and always in church and in Victorian times, women would usually cover their head. Maybe we contemporary women are the unusual ones in the history of civilisation.
I work with many highly educated women who wear the niqab. They have all been educated in the west and I found myself in a fascinating conversation with such a woman recently. She is a leading paediatrician, much lauded in the national press for her work with diabetic children and much photographed, except in her niqab she looks exactly like everyone else. Having lunch with her recently I remarked on her wonderful shoes, which were glitzy animal print with eye-popping platform soles and heels.
She smiled, with her eyes of course, and asked my opinion of her blouse, naming a well-known Italian designer. I had to look twice because she was wearing a long black abaya, but sure enough, peeping below the sleeves were cuffs of matching silk animal print. We then embarked on a long conversation about fashion and her love of New York where she would pass several good shops on her way to and from work. This woman is not subjugated but she chooses to dress in this way in her own country.
Another example of dress customs occurred in a local restaurant, much frequented by locals and ex-pats. It is situated within a hotel so alcohol is served. A local couple arrived and sat a table next to me where I was eating with a female friend. The man was in traditional robes and the woman’s face was completely covered by the thin gauzy niqab, which only allows vision outwards. Once settled at the table she threw her veil back to reveal a beautiful face, exquisitely made-up, and the pair carried on with their meal like any other couple out on a date. Interestingly, her back was to the restaurant so very few people would have seen her face.
Beautiful eyes do not always mean a beautiful face and I know that the promise of a beautiful face, having seen the eyes, can be a disappointment when the face fails to meet expectations. But not always.
One of Lionel’s female, fully veiled, niqab-wearing members of staff came to see him about a car parking problem. It is amazing how such banal issues can inflame passions. Her interests became more obvious when she showed him a photo on her mobile phone. It was of her, wearing scanty western dress and apparently looking very beautiful. He had the sense to steer the conversation back to parking.
Women are very aware of their clothes and bodies. One of my staff was in hospital after the summer break. Naturally I was concerned but all was revealed, literally, when she bounced into my office on her return to work, and proudly opened her abaya to reveal a massive new cleavage. The dermatologists, male and female, happily Botox each other and liposuction is a common operation.
I am given a beautiful abaya by a local friend. It is black but embroidered extravagantly with silver thread and comes with a matching shayla - a long rectangular scarf. I cannot wear the shayla without it slipping off my hair, but if I wear it loosely round my head with a bit of hair showing it looks fine and is perfectly acceptable because I am neither Muslim nor Arab.
I wore it to work, mainly to demonstrate my gratitude to my friend but I was concerned that it might be construed as disrespectful. In fact, it was the opposite. They all loved it and several photos were taken, then posted around to other colleagues. I ensured that I did the full works i.e. plenty of eye makeup, extravagant mascara, killer heels, designer sunglasses and bag. Surprisingly enough it was all quite comfortable and easy to wear, although I couldn’t quite master the Arab ladies’ glide. They walk very slowly, sashaying along the corridors without obviously touching the ground.
I am afraid that I hitched up my skirts and rattled along at fast pace, tripping over my heels and looking extremely inelegant as my shayla fell off and my abaya flew open.
I have been organising several workshops in a five-star hotel. Having lunch with some Arab colleagues, we are treated to a model wandering through the dining area, wearing an exquisitely embroidered dress in flaming colours. My friend Mustafa chatted to her.
“That’s a beautiful dress. Is something special going on?” he asks.
“It’s the Arabian fashion show upstairs,” she replies and tantalisingly adds, “But you can’t come because you’re a man.”
But I can.
Seizing my chance, I suggest that one of my female colleagues take me to have a look. It is a revelation. Immediately on entering the room, headgear is removed and I realise that many women wear false headpieces like huge scrunchies that lift their veils from underneath and add to the elegant poised look. It feels like I have walked into Aladdin’s cave. If someone asks me to step on a magic carpet, I won’t be a bit surprised.
They wear silk dresses and robes in jewelled colours, exquisite jewellery and make-up, particularly heavy kohl and the stuff they wear on the eyebrows to make them heavy and prominent. My dress is completely out of kilter, a pencil skirt and fitted jacket, but several of the women admire it. I have seen pictures of women at weddings and parties and they wear western clothes, often very skimpy but always colourful and exuberant.
My own flirty member of staff, Aliya, speaks very little English, but is able to say, “Sexy and beautiful,” to my husband, while looking at me. Her ambition in life is to come to London with me, in order to learn English. I point out that this is not an option but I organise some English lessons for her in work time. She tells me that husband is not keen so she has not
pursued the offer. Is he really making objections? Or is she just lazy and using him as an excuse? I will never know.
Although most Arab women cover their heads, not all wear the full abaya and niqab. There has been a recent flurry of emails about dress and the company lawyers have been particularly bothered. They seem to think they have a responsibility for upholding traditional Arab customs, although the Qatari doctors are less concerned as long as the medical practice is of a high standard. This is an extract from the first email:
I myself noted yesterday evening that two young female doctors (not to mention nationality) among a group of young doctors wore a short lab coat, well above the knees, and under they wore tight stretch pants instead of the normal loose pants.
I believe that I also spied one of the offending females, a beautiful medical student. The reply to the email from one of the Associate Directors of medical education is polite and thanks the lawyer for drawing everyone’s attention to this important matter. (Incidentally he is the one with the pencil moustache, like the Tunbridge Wells bank manager). He goes on to describe how he takes aside miscreants and advises them accordingly. His email describes this:
But it seems they are still not aware of the seriousness of this issue and deviate! I will take care of that personally by directly advising them in a general quiet way (as we do not advise such critical issues to be disclosed to them or dealt by public either directly or indirectly).
This tempered message is not to the lawyer’s satisfaction. He is not happy with a “general quiet way” but wants a policy that is clearly articulated, with sanctions. Moreover when he is presented with the existing policy, it isn’t good enough.
There are clear loopholes in the policy attached:
a - it does not tell about the specifications, and dimensions nor the colour. Is it allowed that every resident or doctor shall decide for him/herself how his apparel should look like?
800 Days in Doha Page 7
