elemental

 

This past week, the wind blew in from the desert. You could hear the Empty Quarter in the air on Wednesday, feel the hot breath of nothingness down your neck. My mother got out of town just in time. I don't know how my in-laws are going to make it when they come at the end of May.

We had a terrific sand storm on Wednesday morning, obliterating most of the lagoon and the towers a block away. it was the kind of sandstorm that blew a fine layer of sand up your pant legs as soon as you stepped foot outside, the kind of sand storm that shows where all the leaks in your windows are with a pool of powder-fine particulate on the windowsills. The wind outside was high and insistent and like a breath of fever: hot, moist, unforgiving.

We went out anyway.

We went to this fabric shop called Indian Heritage, two doors down from what expats call 'the Blue Mosque', a tiny little treasure tucked away in the fabric souqs near Al Faheidi Street. The men were called to prayer while we passed the mosque, so my mother didn't take any of her fantastic photos... I'll have to get a snapshot of it instead. The prices aren't bargain basement, but the silks are exquisite. They have a natural striped silk i'm dying to take home and fondle, but not for 60 Dh/yard. Which is still a great price, but i'm not willing to pay for fabric i'm just going to drool over.

What they have in abundance are shawls, gorgeous hand-embroidered shawls. the duponi silk bedspread I bought there last year is no longer in evidence (bought it for 200 dh, that's 60 USD, more or less), but if you are a fabric junkie like I am, there's no better place to go.

I am in search of fabric for my guest room curtains. I know exactly what I want, I saw it at this shop a year ago. Of course it isn't there anymore. But I will find it. I will.

 

I carry my child in a Maya Wrap. He's 3 years old and I still tuck him up into the sling and away we go. I've never been much of a stroller person, unless I had too much gear, or we were going to the grocery store and I needed that basket underneath to stash my culinary loot. And although Sharjah is a bit more sympathetic to foot traffic than Dubai ever was... strollers are more hassle than they are worth. Combine that with the unfortunate fact that we loaned our last stroller to someone who didn't know how it worked, and she broke it... suffice to say, the Pitame either walks, or I carry him. It's amazing. Especially when he is out of sorts, if he pops into the sling he is immediately better, and often takes a nap up there while I wander around.

No less amazing is the reaction I get when this long-legged boy of mine is cosy up against my neck and hanging in this instant mama hammock. We live in a country where eye contact is unusual, and open stares just don't happen. But when I wear my kid, there is this ripple effect of women looking and smiling and whispering and pointing, the men and fathers stare openly, and the nannies look jealous. ;-)

I wish I could turn everyone on to the wonders of baby wearing. I am dismayed by what I see as child raising here. Children are left with the maids, who have no authority, control or respect, who openly resent their position and seem to hate the kids in their charge. I have seen children beat their maids, maids scream at their children; I have watched the faces of entirely detatched maids carry a heartbroken toddler with total disregard for the child's emotional needs. I have seen kids hurt themselves or others while their caregivers talk amongst themselves with their backs turned to the unfolding disaster.

A perfectly lovely couple we knew, locals, locked their maid in her room at night to keep her from running away. The maid hadn't seen her child in three years, although Emirates law requires that maids be sent home once a year or once every other year, I disremember which. And Amina was a kind woman, kind to the little boy she looked after, quiet and unassuming. She had a rotten tooth that was not being tended to. She did not get a day off, not even Friday. And these were 'nice' employers. it makes you wonder what happens to the poor maids who don't make such a lucky draw in the maid lottery.

Maids here make on average 800 dh/month. That is just over $200/month. They get room and board, most of them, though some are required to buy their own food. Some are allowed a phone call home on their employers' dime.

If and when we get a live-in maid, I worry. Our maids room is little bigger than a closet: you can't get a single bed in there and close the door, and there is no room for a wardrobe. We'd have to get a sleep chair from Ikea, a single chair that folds out into a single bed. You can't even fit a sleep sofa in there. There are no windows, though she does have her own small bathroom with a shower stall, etc.

We're in a social bind because we can't find a reliable, available babysitter, and when we do have a sitter, we have to be home by midnight. Our son sleeps through the night, so a baby monitor is sufficient for a sleeping maid. But what of her? Who should she be? I want a single woman, or at the very least, a woman without children back home. I don't want her to resent my kid because hers are not with her. Younger or older? Widowed? Who knows? But she has to be willing to learn how to care for my son, with patience, love, and respect, or she'll find herself back on the plane to where ever she was born.

A child who has been carried close to his or her mama, or another caring person, since birth, has certain expectations of the world. The Pitame's needs have been met, time and time again, and he's a very secure little chum. He knows when someone's not playing nice, and even reminds his mama and papa, from time to time, "You have to speak nicer to me." Can you see him with one of these angry maids? I think not.