LITTLE BUNNIES

It has been a while since I posted anything on this site… so long in fact, I forgot my blasted username and password! Well in this time I have tentatively been alerting a few of my nearest and dearest of my first offering on the world wide web. I have to confess feeling a little awkward at first about this whole blogging lark. I mean it is a little wierd that anyone in the world could potentially stumble across my musings-- worse still It could be about them ( how mortifying!).

I had a list of topics I could wax lyrical about such as the boring perenial coffee morning dicussions about maids (how much/how little they do,) whether to go Sri Lankan, or Filipino, part-time or Full time. Then there was the scandal of the American teenagers on our respectable compound being a little too horny in the pool area, I could talk about the various folks I've run into on the island, but that definately would get a little too personal. I'll stick to what I do best and talk about myself!

I've been truly struggling a little at times, with insecurities about giving up work, loosing the weight I gained during pregnancy and being so far away from my family and close friends. This has led me to retreat into the busy-ness of motherhood-- Avoiding falling into a routine and setting aside time for me to deal with these insecurities head on, and by extension having no time to blog.

The last couple of months have been full on dotage. I am thankful that I have this opportunity to unashamedly ogle, coo, stare, cuddle, hold, share fattening baby food with, sing out of tune to my 8 month little man who doesn't appear to mind a bit of it. But even I realise that this can't be healthy or good for the two of us. We need to get out more (particularly before I loose the ability to hold a conversation with another adult).

I found listings for mother and toddler groups on the island and excitedly rang up to book us a place at the Little Bunnies playgroup. The lady who took the call was Scandanavian and talked about educational toys, little play stations which promoted skills and co-ordination, crawling etc. and cookies and tea for the mothers.-Perfect. I could not have been more excited. My little Omer would make other crawling friends. I day-dreamed about meeting other mothers who I had things in common with.

The next day, I rocked up, to find in the front yard was the most ferocious dog I've ever ever seen (there is a slim possibility I may be exagerating here -- for those of you reading who don't know me-- I have a terrible fear of dogs.) Anyhow I could not just turn back as the lady at the door saw me, warmly shouted a greeting and tried to allay my fears by holding the dog while I ran inside holding onto Omer for dear life. Once inside I had a huge sinking feeling, there was no-one else there, I panicked that perhaps in my eager anticipation I had got the wrong day, worse still in a super uncool move I had arrived too early! The lady motioned me towards a tired looking lounge with toys thrown around everywhere. Perhaps the play stations hadn't yet been set up. After some cursory brief introductions she directed me to set Omer down. She turned on the lights. As I crouched down on the nearest playmat I noticed it encrusted with .... well I hate to imagine what... recugitated milk, vomit-- I really couldn't be too sure. I kept Omer in my lap crouching uncomfortably then looked towards the toys but they were the same. I had brought my innocent, unsuspecting son into bacteria heaven! My mind whirred into action about finding a way to escape. I was trapped the ferocious dog in the front yard, me stuck crouched holding on to Omer, and then it began... this lady was on autopilot, she started telling me about how she met her oil engineer Australian husband through a pen pal she went to visit 12 years ago in Australia. Her free spirit which she expressed in canvas and sculpture made from junk. Her longing to go back to Sweden and that no one ever came back to her playgroup after their first visit. At this point I got a lump in my throat and my heart sank. I knew that someone ought to tell this lovely woman that she just needs to dip all the toys in dettol and run the play mats in the wash and shoot the dog and she'd be in business. Unfortunately my courage failed me. I made some pathetic excuse, gingerly made my way past the the beast in the front yard, and drove speedily home.

A few weeks have passed now, I think I've recovered. I still harbour dreams of my little bunny finding other tumbling tots to play with. This time a friend has recommended a new gym for kids called 'Chaos' -- at least you know what you are getting into before you enter. I think I'll call them tomorrow.

DIARIES OF A MISFIT

November 2005

by Natasha Haque

Everyone has been talking about the Desperate Housewives of Wisteria Lane, but all over the world there are gaggles of them suffering their own solitary desperation. Nowhere is that more true than in expatriot communities dotted along the Arabian Gulf. Women have left their professions, left their homelands, left their singleton identities far, far, far behind and have entered the world of Corporate wifery and motherhood. Corporate wifery (for those who don’t know) is when you see your ever travelling husband less and less frequently, where the people who visit your home fall into two categories- your husband’s colleagues, or your children’s school friends parents. The desperate housewife in these parts jealously guards her position as hostess with the mostest almost as vehemently as her role of mother. School events, birthday parties provide the perfect forum to establish who exactly the alpha mother in the pack really truly is.

My last salary slip was deposited into my bank account 9 weeks ago and with it the last link of my singleton life with my married life, the last vestige of seperateness from my husband. I never took a gap year just sailed on through from school to school to school, then university to university to university and job to job. My own little bundle of joy arrived a mere 11 weeks ago, so I too now find myself a mother and a housewife. I have already taken my first tentative steps into the shallow end of this new watering hole. Like those who dangle their toes at the waters edge I am busily observing every minute, tedious detail of my new status and surroundings.

For me not only is staying at home new but so is the country in which I live. The fish bowl I find myself in now is a tiny postage stamp sized island in the Arabian Gulf linked historically to Britain, by bridge to Saudi Arabia, a boat ride away from Iran.

The island I live on has been called the site of the Garden of Eden, by some historians—but I see no garden. It was the island of Tyrol for the Macedonian kings, the island of Awali where the locals worshipped the pagan God Awal, The island of 1000 palms, where ships stopped at Muharraq to go to market, or for a rest taking their wares through the Arabian Gulf, the island of the Pearl divers, the island where the Portugese built a fort, the British decided to call a protectorate and then the Arabs claimed as their very own Bahrain.

Yes, I find myself a housewife on this island in the Arabian Gulf, far away from anything familiar, yet very close to everything too. The situation in Iraq to the north, the nuclear stand off in Iran to the east, and yet life ambles along at its own pace, oblivious to the great human melodramas and tragedies occurring in such close proximity.

My new home is in Janabiya Oasis, a lovely well manicured expatriot compound of 11 houses. It is not too large and not too small, just perfect really. It is like a small island on the island, a model united nations, representatives from France, Scotland, Italy, England, India, Singapore, Saudi Arabia, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Japan, South Africa and America inhabit my little oasis. I can't help wandering that if we can all live so harmoniously together why our respective countries don't do the same.

However I digress since arriving here, my biggest issue, has not been the move, or indeed becoming a mother, but rather the age old debate as to go back to work or not. I think I'm straight in my head now-- I want to stay home with my baby. It is such a good feeling to not be wresting with oneself anymore. I am cured of the cacophony of opposing voices pounding in my head about going back to work. True, in some ways my circumstances helped me to arrive at this conclusion, but it is still an active rather than passive decision.

After 6 months of re-identifying myself, I thought I was finally ready with a skip in my step to embark on my merry mothering way, only to find I have to defend my choices most to other …(wait for it)…WOMEN! Although my experience spans less than a year, I have found motherhood is frought with defensiveness, infighting and judgement about what is best for children, family and women- a real catfight.

On the dilemma of staying at home or pursuing a career, mothers are more divided than ever into hostile and defensive camps. Those who don’t work feel sorry for those who do, imagining they don’t have time for their children, their husband or their life; and those who do work feel sorry for those who don’t, imagining that they feel un-intellectually stimulated, have to suffer the humiliation of being financially dependent and well are ‘traditional’. The two groups misunderstand and envy each other in the corrosive, fake smiling way only we women have perfected over the centuries. I’ve realised that each woman’s situation is unique, and amongst us women, we’d be far better off accepting and supporting rather than disparaging each other.

Let me explain how I arrived at my current choice
I love children. I want several and now after having one I realise what a blessing they are.
My parents: both have worked and been highly successful but neither has ever compromised on our care despite pursuing their careers.I have to remind myself, that until love intervened and brought me to the middle-east for 4 years I had been successfully working. It all seems a lifetime ago. Limited opportunities, a years experience at a less progressive work environment in Dubai and child care constraints have forced me to think outside the box. It has brought me to blogging. Now let's see where blogging takes me!