It's getting hot in here so take off your burqa

That is, if you want to get into the clubs. And the fellas can’t be rockin’ the thawb- the traditional white robes men wear in Saudi Arabia and other Persian Gulf countries. The clubs enforce a strict dress code that specifies “no national/local clothing allowed.” And I was really hoping to get to see a bunch of burqa, actually abaya-clad women grinding to Snoop Dogg's "Sensual Seduction."

So Nishi, Julissa, (co-worker and Sloan alum) and I headed to a club on Thursday night- the big party night in Bahrain given the Friday/Saturday weekend. Ketan's been out in Cairo auditioning to be the next Pharaoh. The club was kind of an ex-pat hang out, but there were still quite a few locals (mostly guys) out as well. Overall we had a great time out, but the DJ has got to be one of the worst DJs I’ve ever experienced. His transitions were about as complex as stopping one song and switching to the next one, and every 2 and ½ minutes you’d hear him yap into the mic in this God awful faux Euro-trash accent “Eaaawhatuupintake night’s being flow!!” “Easternwindhills are up and down canteflas out like this one eh?” God knows what he was saying… but the words were all English. I tried to help him out by loudly suggesting he “shut up!” from the corner, but he declined my kind advice.

This might sound ridiculous, but one of my concerns coming out here was what it would be like to be an Indian guy out in the club. Given that 50% of the menial labor here is Indian (the other half Filipino), I had this image of these rich Bahraini and Saudi guys coming out to the clubs and handing me their empty drinks. Maybe I would pick up a tip or two? I realize now that I have nothing to be worried about. The locals at bars and clubs are really nice. Even if someone so much as lightly bumps you they’ll place a hand on your shoulder in way of apology. Upon learning that I’m American, a Bahraini guy actually insisted that I cut in front of him in line at the bar, stating “please, you are my guest.”

The experience might be a bit different for ex-pat women here, but at least the other night no local guys approached either of my friends. One US Naval officer asked quite politely if Julissa was my girlfriend. I explained that she’s a friend, but that she’s engaged. I found out that the guy was from LA and that he’d been stationed in Bahrain for two years. His parting words “No offense asking you about your friend dude, it’s just that it’s pretty rough out here as far as women go.”

Yup, two years seems like an awfully long time.

Catch Me If I Fall

So, I’ve been titling my blog entries as titles or lyrics of songs. This title is from a great song by Barenaked Ladies. It a song about contrasting social classes in our society. You can download it here (it will come as a zip file): https://download.yousendit.com/8CAF8E21020C7FFB

The other day, I saw two Indian guys in a large platform glide up the other side of the window of our office. A colleague casually remarked, "Yeah those guys have been out there all morning, no idea what the hell they're doing." Seeing them there, I couldn’t help but wonder how it was ever decided who’s inside the window and who’s out?

Imagine ever since you were a young child, you had control of a tremendous amount of money. Anything you didn't want to do, you could always pay someone else to do. This in many ways is the story of Bahrain and its neighboring countries. To be fair, Bahrain has invested much more in education and infrastructure outside of oil than its neighbors, but the feeling that any unpleasant task will be handled by others is pervasive.

At our company, we have an “Office Boy.” His name is Rajiv. He’s, in fact, not a boy, but a thirty-something Indian man here from Kerala. He serves tea, coffee, and water (not from the tap of course) to everyone in the office. He also does the dishes in the break room and wipes down desks and the glass doors. Despite my clear awkwardness, Rajiv brings me a glass of water every morning which I insist on refilling myself throughout the day. This is in stark contrast to my first job out of undergrad where there was a sign prominently posted in the break room “Your mother doesn’t work here, so do your own damn dishes.”

Now Rajiv is a really nice guy, always smiling and helpful, and everyone in the office treats him with the utmost respect despite his absurdly demeaning title. And I imagine if you were to ask Rajiv if he would rather join his south Indian brethren on the numerous construction crews working in the 120 degree heat, his answer would be a resounding “Hell no, but would you like some more water?”

In the end the Indian and Filipino workers here contribute tremendously to their communities back home through remittances. OFW’s (Overseas Filipino Workers) send home over a 1 billion USD a year, that’s over 12 percent of the Philippines GDP. So I don’t really have a problem with the way things are, my only observation is that spending proceeds from oil to fund an army to do anything unpleasant is not a good way to run your country.

If I were to bet on the success of one of two people… the first: a guy from a wealthy family who’s had everything provided and walks around with a sense of entitlement that makes MBAs look humble, or the second guy: a scrappy fighter who grew up in the Bronx, went to public schools, and truly went all out for everything he’s gotten in life— I would without hesitation put my money on the second. The Persian Gulf countries are trying hard to diversify from oil with many grand schemes in the works. From what I can see, the implementation is what is truly lacking, people expect things to fall in place beneath them, and root cause of that entitlement mindset is clear.

If people here can’t change that mentality, then they should be prepared 50 years from now to send their next generation to the Philippines and India to clean pools and fill cups of tea.

Bring Me to Life (with beer)

So Thursday is quite the party night in Bahrain, not because it's a thriving college town where no one has class on Friday, but because the weekend in most Muslim nations is Thursday-Friday or Friday-Saturday. Here in Bahrain, many workers work on Saturday as well. Apparently not all deities take the same day of rest after the hard work of creation.

We ended up at the Sea Shell, a small bar reminiscent of the BHP, but complete with a rocking Filipino cover band nailing songs from "I Will Always Love You" to "November Rain." My favorite part of the night was a pretty good rendition of Evanescence - "Bring Me to Life."

There's something more than surreal about listening to a girl from the Philippines rock out to a song by a Gothic chick from Riverside, in a bar full of people from Britain, east asia, and India. There was a middle aged couple holding hands- a Saudi man in full local regalia and a Filipina woman, two random drunk asian guys who kept standing up and spilling their beers, and a weird American who kept buying beads for the female band members- somebody's got to fund those remittances right?

People from all over the world came to the bar to let loose a bit from their 6-day work week. Filipinos, Indians and others all brought to a desert near the cradle of civilization. Summoned to this hot and sandy place by the power of oil. Don't get me wrong, people are here for construction, for software, for cleaning pools, and for business, but if it wasn't for the oil... the Sea Shell would be a lonely place.

Shut up, just shut up shut up

So nothing really pisses me off more than people talking through a movie. But when you're sitting half way around the world in a foreign culture, you have be more accepting of different social norms, so I wasn't complaining. Still, when Ketan and I sat through the Forbidden Kingdom (movies are a big part of entertainment here, we're not going to be choosey about selection) there were a few guys behind us shouting things at the screen and talking loudly to one another… in a lot of ways I felt like I was back home in Oakland. Still, it's not as bad when you can't understand the language.

The greatest source of comedy wasn't so much the movie, but the fact that one of the dudes behind us would bray like a fucking donkey exactly 3 seconds after something humorous transpired on screen. HEEE HAW HAW!!! God only knows. He went completely ape shit when Jet Li urinated on Jackie Chan (don't ask).

This was not our only exposure to the culture that day. We had lunch earlier in one of the food courts (there's great food in the food courts out here), and after eating we got up to empty our trays in the waste bin. As Ketan and I walked over to the trash receptacles, everyone there gave us these really bewildered looks. In a land where Indians and Filipinos scrub and clean for their day jobs, here were two Indian guys who even as customers were insisting on bussing our own trays. We joked later about the locals looking at us and thinking, "These Indians must have it in their genes to clean, even on their day off they just can't help themselves..."

We really had a field day at the food court that day. Lately, we've had trouble getting a glass of tap water anywhere, and that day at lunch we ordered from a friendly south Indian lady, so we tried our luck. You have to take into account the following conversation took place with a lot of laughing from both parties, so it wasn't as adversarial as it might come across…

"Could we get glasses of tap water?"

*confused look*

"Oh we don't have a tap for water."

"You don't have running water? "

"No, we don't serve it for drinking."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't drink tap water."

"What do you mean? Tap water's fine."

"No no, it's salty."

"It's not salty. Have you tried it? I mean _you personally_ have you ever tried tap water here?"

"No no, I don't drink tap water, you can't drink tap water, it's salty."

Now usually it's the Americans in a foreign land insisting on bottled water, afraid to drink what the locals do, but here it was quite the opposite. Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here to attest, the water in Bahrain tastes fine and dandy right from the tap.

Also, for your viewing pleasure here's a bit of American Arabic fusion cuisine... (you should know that I got yelled at for taking this picture)

Ya gotta get that sand of your shoulder…

Ketan, and our pimped out whip

Now there really is a lot of sand in Bahrain… trees, grass, not so much, but truly- shit loads of sand. The other day my fellow Sloanie and intern, Ketan, and I were forced to park in the sand lot a ways from our office. After a hard working morning, we went back to the car on a mission to find some shawarma. Problem was the lot was packed with cars blocking any decent exits out of the lot. After driving around in the sand and feeling like I was in training to command the next Mars rover we finally got fed up trying to find a way out, so I turned the car around and started to pick up speed.

Ketan looks over, "Dude, you're taking this thing off the curb ?"

"It's a rental, I was a consultant, it's only natural… faster is better for something like this right?"

"Uh, yeah that kinda makes sense."

"Ok."

Pedal to the floor, over a dirt mound, off the curb, and safely on our way to shawarma- gotta love it.

Driving in Bahrain is like driving in Boston, just with more sand, better drivers, and just as many pointless roundabouts.

Then again, you don't see this is Boston. MTV's got nothing on this baby...

I got 99 problems but the heat ain't one

Well, not yet anyway... word on the street is that it will hit 130 degrees. We'll see how smart I am when that K-9 comes.

Enough shouts for Jay-Z and back to me...

I'm out in Bahrain where I'm happy to be

where the chicks are covered and the gas is free (almost)

and where the sand is flying but we're surrounded by sea.

Welcome to my first ever blog, where I'll chronicle the misadventures of my time here in the Persian Gulf and Africa. I'm here working with a small startup company over my summer internship from MIT Sloan.

On the last leg of my flight out here, the pilot announced that the weather in Bahrain was "sandy." Now I don't know about the rest of y'all, but "sandy" to me is the texture of sugar cookies, but I got off the plane I found out pretty quick what he meant. The visibility was probably less than a mile, and I couldn't walk more than a few minutes without sand blowing in my eyes or mouth. It's no great mystery why people here spend so much time in shopping malls.

I arrived here on Sunday night, and avoided my first social faux pas at the office on Monday morning. As I was introduced to the female office secretary (yes they still call them that here) I _did not_ extend my hand to shake hers! And it was a good thing else it likely would've hung out there unshaken like a martini forgotten by Mr. Bond. In the middle east men should not extend a hand when meeting local women, as many women here prefer not to engage in that traditional western greeting.

Well with the sand blowing around and the women and men in their flowing black and white robes, it's clear that I have arrived somewhere truly different. I look forward to keeping you all posted on the trouble I get into and how I worm out of it.

Keep rocking the free world (cuz Lord knows that I'm not),

Ananda of Arabia