Driving, Tanning, Yoga and The Black People Meeting

Year 2 has been so different from Year 1, it’s like I’m living a new life. An expected feature of my life this year is that it seems like I spend most of my time…driving. Yes, driving. Driving in Doha is precarious at best, suicidal at worst. Traffic laws seem non-existent, if they do exist, they are rarely followed, even seldomly enforced. What’s a brother to do? “When in Rome”-style driving? Well, you have to adopt the local customs to an extent. There are certain things I do here that I’d never do back home, but if you aren’t willing to cut people off, squeeze into tight spaces and speed when necessary, it seems to me like you won’t last very long as a motorist. At the very least, you’ll never be able to drive comfortably. As a New Yorker, I can navigate these troubling waters with a high degree of skill, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I’ve already gotent my first accident out of the way. This is what happened:

Traffic is a nightmare, of course. It’s a little city with a lot of cars and not enough roads to accommodate them. Everyone here wants to get everywhere as fast as possible at the expense of everybody. I’ve just gotten used to using roundabouts, and they are already switching up the game, closing a very crucial roundabout and re-routing cars to points unknown on the way to work and other places. Hilarity ensues:

A great thing about living in a place that is always sunny and rarely cold is that you can always unwind by taking in fresh air. On days momma said would be “like this,” we like to head down to the pool where the pale and not-so-pale (amazing how many olive-skinned Arabs seek the sun) squeeze into the tiniest slivers of sun, on the squash court, in the corner of the building, wherever, just to get a tan. I realized that being tanned-by-God, I could never understand their pain; I don’t judge, but I do reserve the right to be amused by a white girl using a sliver of sun not much bigger than her body to get a little color. Either way, laying outside writing, reading and or annoying my wife is something I didn’t really get to experience last year. It’s much appreciated.

Promise we're actually happy about it.

I’m doing 30-Day Yoga because I no longer want the title of “World’s Least Flexible Man:”

Think we’re going to Redbull Flugtag Qatar next week.

Tutoring is coming along sloooowly. We’re just not at the point where parents are panicking (report card time), but it’s coming. Also, teachers seem to be loading up on students themselves, and probably passing kids along to teachers who are at the school, leaving precious few left over for me. That’ll change soon. I just need two more families. I might have to show up and do a little soliciting. I might stand in front of the school hustling my services like drug dealers back home.

“Yo…ayo…come here right quick. Real quick tho. Yo, check it out – I got that math, literacy, science and social studies. Might could even get you a little p.e. My stuff is good, I got the best stuff. Guarantee your DRA score goes up CRAZY high. And I got the good price. How much they chargin’ you now? Whaaat? My dude, listen, I could beat that AND I got my own whip. Kind of. Don’t sleep. This is my number. Holla at me if you want that real spike on your report card tho. Them other tutors got garbage, my stuff is pure...And by the way, I don’t use this kinda grammar while I’m working; this is my solicitation speech.”

Of course, baby is on the way. This apartment is so baby-unfriendly it aint funny. BUT, we, the parents are very baby-friendly.

So, we met some black people this year. One I met through an artist friend back home. She is very cool. Sadly, she is gone as of this blog post, because she was working for a maniac. I had my issues with my school, but they at least they weren’t maniacs. I think she would have had a much better experience if she worked for the school I did. Her colleague is still here, a black English girl. And we also have become acquainted with a principal at another school here. A few weeks back, they all came over and we had some drinks, a swim, all that. It was pretty damn cool. It was like a black people meeting. We set the agenda for all black activities going forward in Doha. A coupla weeks later we had a party in our house, and we invited a reggae band from Barbados I met through a friend back home (who ironically, isn’t black – what, do you think I only like to be around black people? Shame on you for being somewhat right. Kidding. Somewhat. No really, I like a balance. I don’t like to be around “too many of us or too many of them,” as my man Staff Ace once said.) There were up to TEN black people in the house at one time, sweartogod. We shared the agenda with them and now black people activities are starting to be carried out in different places around Doha.

Not having a support system is really sucking. I think we stay here no more than two more years, but who knows, maybe the baby becomes school age in Doha. Doubt it, but I’ve doubted MANY things I shouldn’t have. No I haven’t, I was being humble. Usually when I doubt something, it’s doubtworthy and I'm eventually proven right for having doubts..

Starting class today! Online health coaching program. My goal is to get my health coaching business into effect for 2015, or even late 2014. In the meantime, upward and onward. 

Y’all be cool like how y’all be cool.

To My Mom, Via My Unborn Child

I have been thinking a great deal about your grandma lately, who of course, is far, far away. I miss her a lot. Your grandma is an incredibly interesting person and you will come to know this over time. She was very, very young when I was born, 14 years old, and my father was much older. Furthermore, he did not help grandma to raise me. And we were quite poor. She once told me that it was so cold inside of our apartment when I was a baby that icicles formed on the inside of the windows, and she stayed awake nights, with me held close to her wrapped inside of blankets during the winter because she feared that I would freeze. Our neighborhood had considerable crime. I’m sure if she had the choices I have, she would have chosen to raise me somewhere quieter, safer. I love her for not giving up even though we had it pretty rough. It’s because she didn’t that I have the chance to raise you in a far better place than I was raised. She often told me that her peers expected me to grow up and become something far less than I have. They thought I might grow up to be involved in illegal activities or just nothing at all. But grandma was extremely determined to make sure I turned out well, putting all of her young self into my development. As a child, I blossomed very early because of this, starting school before age 3, because grandma told a story to get me into a headstart program. I don’t condone telling stories, but I know that grandma did it because she knew it was the only way that my potential could be brought out. She read to me from the time I was in the crib, and somehow, this led to me being literate at a very young age. She was also very protective and open with me from very young. Her being so young herself had a lot to do with that. Later on, grandma and I would go through some really difficult times, but when I think about her nowadays, these are the things I think about. I am many times more comfortable than she was when she had me, I have your mommy to help me, as well as your aunts, uncles and countless supportive friends, yet I still get nervous about raising you. How must she have felt? Sometimes I think she doesn’t quite believe how remarkable she is. Maybe I should call her to let her know.