Day 220 - Contrasts

While there were some similarities between Qatar and Barnados - the climate is hot, hot, hot in both places, the countries are both small, the U.S. ambassadors in both countries at the times I was there were political appointees - there were many more differences, even putting political issues aside.

Both countries were hot most of the time, but in spite of the temperature readings in Qatar far exceeding what we saw in Barbados, Barbados was much more uncomfortable because the humidity was so high. For three years, I never felt that I got dry after showering. We had air conditioning in our bedrooms, so those rooms were comfortable enough. Still, I never felt dry.

image of rusted keyby Ava Babili,
via Flickr.com

The humidity in Barbados had a greater impact on us than that feeling of never getting dry. Leather shoes and purses grew mold in the closets; everything metal, including paper clips and staples in file folders, rusted; books swelled in size as the pages mildewed; and brass lamps, pots, and furniture tarnished. Clothing and other cloth items such as table cloths and napkins also sometimes mildewed. I had heard these things happened, but I expected to escape them since we didn't expect to be in Barbados longer than three years. It happened within the first year.

Culturally, the countries were about as far apart as possible. In Doha, just as I had while living in Iran, I wore very conservative clothing, covering as much of my body as I could without adopting Arab dress styles. My sleeves were at least down to my elbows, my necklines were modestly high, often covered further with scarves, and the length of my dresses was always at least to mid-calf. While I didn't adopt Caribbean clothing styles, I had to get used to seeing a lot more skin on everyone else. In addition, clothing on display in the shop windows often included T-shirts with drawings on them more suitable for under-the-counter in an adult book and toy store.

image of censored magazine by Mink, via Flickr.com

Qatar had a Ministry of Information which may have been more accurately referred to as the Ministry of Controlling Information because this was the government office responsible for censoring news, books, and radio program content. The Ministry of Information made sure that any page in an atlas that referred to Israel was removed from the book. The Ministry also made sure that references to the Persian Gulf were edited with magic marker blotting out the word Persian. Magazines that showed too much cleavage would similarly be edited with magic marker additions to cover up what the Ministry felt shouldn't be seen. When British news papers arrived on the island with articles cut out of them, the phone lines between Qatar and England would be jammed with calls to family members there to find out what had been in that space in the unexcised versions. Books critical of the country would never be imported into the country. My favorite bit of censoring was on the English language radio station when a British woman on a cooking show explained how to make a grape tart. One of the ingredients she referred to was white liquid flavoring. Initially I thought there must be something on the market in England called white liquid flavoring. As she continued to describe the process of making the tart, it finally dawned on me that white liquid flavoring was the Qatari-code for white wine.

There was a second couple in Doha who had lived previously in the Caribbean who responded to my news of the Barbados assignment slightly more enthusiastically. They recommended I read a Herman Wouk book, Don't Stop the Carnival, before going to Barbados. While the novel is set in a fictional Caribbean island, the challenges faced by the New York City publisher main character are recognizable to any westerner on any of the Caribbean islands. And since the images conjured up in the novel are not all that positive, I hadn't expected to find a copy of the novel in Barbados. I had gotten accustomed to countries controlling reading material available within them. So I made sure I read the book before leaving for Barbados. I was surprised to find copies of the 1965 book for sale in grocery stores, book stores, hotel lobbies, and other stores that catered to tourists.

Image of cloudy skies by Mr. T in DC, via Flickr.com

The weather forecasts in both countries could reliably written weeks in advance. In Qatar that forecast would be for sunny skies and high temperatures. In Barbados, that forecast would be for cloudy skies with the temperatures in the 80s and a chance of rain. The contrast in the frequency of rain kept drawing me to the windows of the consular section for the first two months as the sound of rain hit the roof. I would end up standing at the window, staring at the rain with a big smile until someone caught my attention and reminded me there were applicants in the waiting room.

Another contrast for me personally was the difference in the amount of work and the scope of responsibilities. In Doha, I was the administrative officer with responsibilities that at a larger embassy would have been handled by at least five different officers - Admin, General Services, Financial Management, Personnel, and Security. In Barbados I was one of six consular officers, the Consul General, the Deputy Consul General, and four Vice Consuls, all of whom had equal responsibilities for handling non-immigrant visa applicants. And since the Deputy insisted that we be available at our interview windows from the moment we opened the doors, in spite of the fact that we wouldn't see the first applicant with a completed application in hand for at least thirty minutes, I spent time reading the Foreign Affairs Manual while I waited. Because I had to look like I was working.

Finally, in Qatar, knowing someone's family name usually conveyed a lot of information about the person because of the importance of tribe and clan in the middle east. I had thought knowing the last name of someone in Barbados would similarly convey information because the population was so small. But there really weren't many family names on the island, a likely consequence of Barbados' history of slavery where the family name of the owner was often passed to slaves. As a result, knowing someone's last name offered no clues since the cream of society and the inmates of the prison might share the same last name.

I had a lot to learn.