Mighty Healthy

Experiences with the universal health care system have been hot and cold. Last year, the wife had a virus that went undiagnosed for a dangerously long time, to the point that she felt like she couldn't find out what was wrong if she remained here. Further aggravating her situation were the cultural barriers, me not being able to accompany her to certain parts of the hospital, or her having long wait times because, apparently, she wasn't a V.I.P. But at least there is the option of going to another state-run hospital for free or nearly free service before deciding to take an expensive flight home to have a very expensive uninsured doctors visit. One just has to anticipate semi-crowded facilities (depending on day/time of day) and appointments that may be far in the future. Though the hospitals are calm and clean, and there seems to be an initiative to improve customer service (Hamad, the central hospital, now has people in "Can I help you?" shirts floating around), one may still seek service at a private hospital to either have a more familiar experience (i.e. husbands allowed in all facilities) or to be seen sooner. However, we've had long wait times and crowded facilities at private hospitals and easy, comfortable experiences at public hospitals, so by no means is any of this a general guide to health services in Doha. These are just some of our experiences. 

Your health is one of the hardest things to trust someone else to take care of, but it's an area that, even though we should be more intuitive about, the average person seems to know very little of. So you can imagine how nerve-wracking it can be to seek care in an Arab country when you're from New York. In my opinion, the health care system is quite good here. We've had a baby and survived a major health scare, and although the system isn't without it's glaring flaws, I can't see how the average person who has to put up with the (to put it nicely) convoluted system back home, wouldn't prefer it. 

Still, the difficulties can turn your day, and smile, upside down pretty quickly. Sometimes it's neither your fault, nor the system's. When my wife was going through her health scare, eventually she received a diagnosis, but it was after so long, and seemed so unhelpful, that it was hard to trust. It took so long because they were eliminating all possibilities since it was hard to figure out. This isn't a typical experience for us, and it was just pretty scary. The doctors were doing their jobs, but language barriers and rude customer service made it all harder to deal with. The good thing was having the option to try another place. The Cuban Hospital is 45 minutes across the desert, but that wasn't far to go to have a completely different experience. Being from New York, the Latin influence of the hospital was very welcoming. But the diagnosis was the same. It's just that the comfort level made a difference concerning how much trust we put into each set of professionals.

That's not the whole hospital, trust me.

Then there are the times when we are caught up in a system that is still in the process of updating and modernizing. Since the building of capable facilities can't keep up with population growth, which is the fastest on the planet, clinics are backing up in the city, and residents are being sent to be treated on the outskirts. After recently discovering what our assigned clinic is, we went there to get shots for the baby. But we were told that appointments were full and we'd have to take Sage to a hospital in a municipality we weren't familiar with, a good ways from home. This is the map and instructions we were given:

I wish I was making this up.

Right, they're gonna have to do better than this. They might as well have given us this map:

"Keep going past Africa, stop before you get to Iran. Can't miss it."

This is a city that is still being mapped, and GPS can't get you to a lot of places. Getting lost is the best way to find your way around. It's a very small city and all roads lead back to the city centre so there's never much need to worry. Even still, I'd much rather go to a hospital across town than one across the desert. But beggars can't be choosers and the sick must often be highly accommodating. All in all, as long as the apple a day we get for being teachers offsets the germs we're exposed to by...being teachers, we shouldn't have to become too cozy with any of the medical facilities. ¡Salud! 

Do(g)ha

As I approached the house I tutor at today, I heard the barking of what sounded like a large dog, which is unusual because dogs are rarely kept as pets in Muslim households for cultural reasons. My hope was that the dog was actually in the yard next door because the house I tutor at is pretty lawless and not the place you'd want to see a large dog with free reign. 

Also, no house is a place I'd like to see a large dog with free reign. 

To my dismay, and fear, more fear than dismay, the dog belonged to them, and I was rerouted from my normal path as I walked through the entrance gate, but not rerouted enough to feel safe. 

My student told me that the dog was returned to them after being stolen, possibly sold back to them by the person who stole it. Yea I know that sounds pretty weird but that was my best guess through the language barrier, which is more problematic at certain times than others. He also told me that the dog hadn't eaten since being taken, which is hard to believe because the dog was gone for well over a month, possibly multiple months, but not THAT hard to believe as I watched the dog ravenously chew on a piece of meat I hoped it would continue to focus on as I slid past it. 

Because of the alleged time that elapsed since the dog's last meal, I was told during our session that I had to avoid it because if not, it would probably jump on my back and kill me by attacking my neck. 

That's not something I'd want to happen. 

I'd want that to not happen to me.

And because I'd want that to not happen to me, I tutored with one eye and ear towards the door, just in case the dog made it inside the room and I had to make a split-second decision that involved one of us being fed to the dog, and me escaping as that happened. Thankfully, no one was eaten, polygons were studied, and the dog wasn't outside when I exited an hour later. Because you KNOW that was the final obstacle that ran through my head as the session wound down. Hopefully, the dog isn't stolen again, but if so, I hope the thief feeds it this time.

The threat of unexpected violence, or being hurt, isn't without purpose in everyday life. 

Such a threat had to have compelled our ancestors to build shelters that protected them from animals or each other. In many cases, the threat of harm makes sure people act a little better than they would like to, as in the concept of MAD (no, not a buncha angry people - MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION). And of course, there's the most relatable example, childhood, which most of us would've never escaped alive without the constant possible repercussion of having our "head gon' upside of." ("Go upside your head" is blackparentese for physical discipline.) 

I don't condone violence, but living in Qatar proves to me that at the very least, people have to feel like they MIGHT suffer physical repercussions for the nonsense they wish to inflict on others. Because the level of passive-aggression, mostly but not exclusively, expressed through car culture is nearly intolerable. 

Knowing that most people, especially ex-pats, won't respond with violence when someone tries to blind you with their lights, cut in front of you on line or speaks to you like you're beneath them, predictably makes the people here behave very boldly. I've found that a little threat of menace goes a long way - crowding the space of someone I feel is being rude to me, leaning far forward on the desk of someone who's providing me customer service, giving a hip/elbow/shoulder bump to someone who wants to stand in my way, glaring at people or way longer than they've ever been glared at, pulling out my phone and taking video of people who do stupid things, etc. This is me losing it on Instagram lol:

"This is how it sometimes is with herbs out here. (Yes I called him a herb like its NY in 1993.) Flashes me with his high beams over and over, then changes lanes so he can speed around and then in front of me like a jerk, only to end up parallel to me at the light. So I slowed down to see what's on this punk's mind. He gets a look at my face and things change. He won't move up behind the car in front of him and keeps a huge space just so he doesn't have to be right on the side of me. Because he's scared I'm going to say or do something. What a vagina. In these parts, my car tells him that I'm probably an indentured laborer, and guys in his type of car think that they can treat guys who usually drive my type of car any way they want to. It's always interesting to see how things change up once my window goes down and they see a dude like me driving and hear some French Montana coming at them. All of that luxury SUV-gangsta somehow disappears."

This isn't the better version of me, I know. And this isn't my complete existence here. My experience here has been way more good than bad, but this post comes from a place of frustration. I've been better, I am better, I will be better. For the most part. Deportation isn't on my to-do list. But it it happens, well...I may have given you a heads up haha.

Power vs Influence?

The lasting effects of British colonization is crazy. Makes me reflect on a conversation I had with Malcolm. America might be the world's sole superpower by definition, but British culture is ingrained in more societies than America could ever dream of.

It's crazy how in all of my travels I see countries valuing the British way as the correct and best way to do things. I made a similar observation years back regarding Caribbeans I knew in America who'd always talk about their superior British education and other non-indigenous aspects of the culture (I understand this ideology more now; at the time I was just annoyed). But when you travel, particularly in the east, you really feel the extent to which Britain has a stranglehold on societies in seemingly half the world. This seems to be done mostly, and most effectively, through compulsory education.

America still gets love and American practices are still valued, but my impression travelling abroad is that the British way is the established, proper way and the American way is the exciting, trendy way. I guess this makes perfect sense considering America is Britain's younger, roided-up, rebellious younger sibling.

This is how it feels to me:

A foreigner is inviting Britain and America to his home. He sees Britain, politely smiles, looks around to makes sure everything is acceptable, gets on his best behavior, says "Welcome. I hope you like my home. I'm honored you've come to visit; I have so much respect for your country. May I offer you a beverage?" He sees the American, he smiles big, assumes a relaxed posture, tells him what kinda alcohol he has and says, "How are you? Good to see you! I love you crazy Americans; you guys are so much fun with your electing black presidents and giving important music awards to Macklemore - it's great!"

MRI, PTC, BL.A.M.s (The Week In Letters)

Last week was a bit crazy, in a good way. It provided the kind of stimulation I’ve been so used to the past few years, minus much of the stress that made me leave New York. A routine haircut become something a bit more as I sat in the barber’s chair and saw something odd reflected in the mirror (I was about to write “through the mirror,” but for the first time, I realized how incorrect and creepy that sounds).

This is what my family imagines
my barbershop looking like, I bet

Anytime a black dude comes into the barbershop I take notice, for obvious reasons. But this time was different – this guy had the markings of a blamerican (read back through the blog to my post on black American males to understand what those markings are, and how a bl.a.m. is distinguishable from an African). Once I heard him speak on his cell I was 99% sure that dude was American. Not wanting to let the opportunity to let him know that there are more of us here pass by (I know, it sounds like I’m making this out to be an alien planet, but sometimes that’s what it feels like), I decided I’d holla at him. Only, my barber then decided to do a long, drawn-out manscaping of my chin and ‘stace area, which is of course, ironic because I barely have facial hair. This made it uncomfortable to speak so I just waited until he was finished. The dude ended up sitting in the chair next to me, and at the first chance I got I said “You from the States?” He replied in a kind of disinterested, curt manner, which only let me know for sure that I was talking to a brother from America. “Yea” he said, not really looking up from his phone. That was exciting news to me – finally I can say I met my first confirmed black American male in Qatar after living here for 17 months. I asked him what part, and then we exchanged some info about each other before settling into convo about (what else?) sports. 7,000 miles from home and barbershop talk is still the same, I guess. He’s working at a military base. We exchanged cell numbers, ‘cause like he said, “You never know” (interesting what just a few words can mean when you’re talking to someone who speaks your language - "You never know" as in "You never know when having another black person's contact will work out for you somehow, some way, some day"). The barbers, mostly Sri Lankan as far as I can tell, seemed pretty interested in this impromptu bl.a.m. meeting. I was grateful to have a cool convo with a cool cat from back home (even if Florida is nowhere near NY, it’s damn near in the neighborhood compared to Qatar), and maybe we’ll chill someday.

I got my life-hack on and made one of these because transporting my dock to the bathroom to hear my iPod is a hassle (y'all don't even know the struggle of needing an adapter for half of your electronics). 

I also made it because it looked fun, easy and I got a crapload (ha, get it? "crapload?") of tissue rolls laying around.

Another first was me attending parent teacher conference for the first time since 2008 as something other than a teacher (well, and a big brother). The child I tutor hasn’t been doing so hot (thus, the need for me), so I attended his conference to see what kind of support he needs.

 It was your typical conference, if not a bit tangential as the dad decided to tell us about the pressures of building a new house (dad is mad cool though), but the best part was going back and talking to my old colleagues. That kind of thing is always a lot more fun when you’re not in the trenches stressed out with them. I was asked if I’m thinking of coming back, and that answer is the same as it always was – no, because it’s not the right fit for me. However, there’s another opportunity that’s arisen, an opportunity that would take up the next coupla paragraphs…if only I could talk about it at this time. Sorry to be so secretive, but at the moment I have way too much incentive to NOT talk about it, even though I really really want to.

So I took an MRI on my shoulder, which is something I should have done 20 years ago. It was my first MRI – why didn’t anyone tell me what an MRI was like?? Sonuvagun, that thing was not pleasant. I mean, I didn’t expect it to feel like a massage, and it wasn’t painful. But I think I’d almost prefer pain to the boredom of lying very still inside of an empty toothpaste tube for 30 minutes, with only elevator music in headphones to keep me entertained. I wanted to be like, "I'd like the option that doesn't make me feel like I'm being euthanized." It was all to the good though, even with that 30 minutes feeling like 30 hours. (I did find myself freestyling over the sounds of the scanner. Nothing else to do in there besides trying not to pop off boners here and there.) I’m one step closer to getting this shoulder repaired, at which point I will be the bionic, supersonic, ironic, ionic, iconic, slightly moronic StarPower. The Indian technician walked up to me and started a conversation about Barack Obama, which happens about as much as you’d expect. He said that he’d like Barry to take a crack at India in 2 years, and I was like, “Barack is having a devil of a time with 300 million people; 1.3 billion people trying to figure out Obamacare might be slightly problematic.” 

I’m talking about Obamacare like I know ANYTHING about how it works. Social networking provides the bulk of my “what’s going on back home” info, the delivery of which can be anything from surprisingly sophisticated to hilariously inept. Kinda like me.

I had my first conference call for my health coaching program, and it was nice and painless. I’m horrible over the phone but having 6 people to share the load made things much easier. I set a goal this week of incorporating a new, unfamiliar green into my diet and using a new recipe. I’ve been a rock star in the kitchen lately, if I may say so myself (and I do), and although the food will humble you, I’m anxious to see what I can do with these leeks I bought. My health coaching class has affected my life positively thus far, particularly in the way of what we call “primary foods,” things like spirituality, relationships, joy, finances, creativity and social life. It’s made me really focus on becoming balanced in all areas of my life. Living here has provided me the understated luxury of peace. I’ve been able to become more grounded and strip away ego in places I didn’t think I had any. But it’s also enabled me to accept that I’m exceptional and start to not shrink from the brightness I give off.

We’re going to Oman this week, because the lady has a conference. This will be the 7th country we’ve visited in the 17 months we’ve been here, which is dope. Honestly, I don’t reaaally feel like going (plus we’re taking separate planes, grrr), but I know that I’ll be excited once we arrive. My next blog post’ll probably happen sometime around then, but if something fresh happens beforehand, then I’ll jump right back in. Otherwise, y’all be cool like how y’all be cool, and if you feel the blog, share it with your human friends. Peace.

Qatari Aggression, Repression and Expression

All of the students know my wife since she is pretty much in each class every week supporting and guiding the teachers. So my tutoring kids get tickled when I call "Ms. Selina" and ask a question about their instruction during a session. It's like I can see them thinking, "You be holdin it down Mr. Roderick, but I see you gotta check in with the big dog." 

And I want to be like, "Word but I'm hittin' that though."

I'm sorry Qatar, but the representatives of your country that I usually come into contact with compel me to stereotype your people as extremely entitled, rude, and shockingly self-absorbed. I see so many examples of this each day that it could strictly be the theme of this blog if I wanted it to be. But Qatar is more than that, and there is no need to dedicate my blog to your ugly side. But...This lady honked me very loudly today after I had to slow down in the fast lane because the car in front of me suddenly put on hazards, had to change speed and switch lanes. Meaning I also had to change speed or hit the car from behind. Me being annoyed with the way she honked at me, not caring WHY I had to slow down (it was obvious even from her POV), I threw my hand up at her a couple of times. Nothing profane, just a few flicks of the forearm to show my displeasure. Maybe she took it as an aggressive gesture (I know, I know, different cultural norms and body language and yada yada), because she then proceeded to drive up very closely on me, deliberately get in front of me even though she didn't need to be in that lane, and press her breaks a few times as to mess up my driving rhythm. I simply decided to let her wear herself out since I wasn't in a rush, and that happened pretty quickly. They seem to express all of their emotions through their cars in this repressed-ass country. 

Later on as I drove out of the mall parking lot, two Qatari males walked right into my driving path and looked at me as if daring me to keep driving. I stared them down, drove very close to them and honked as I passed. This is the kind of behavior I often see Qatari males engage in as their way of showing some sort of dominance. I get it, I'm getting used to it, but I'm from a different culture and I probably won't fully adapt. One step out of my car and things change very quickly. But the society here is built on the person in my position not getting out of the car. I'm usually the wild card though, because my music and dress often reveal that when confronted with me they are dealing with an element they aren't used to. Usually I let them rock because we meet in a fleeting moment that doesn't have to become more than that, or they back down after realizing I'm not an underclass worker scared to engage them. One day though, this will all come to a head, and I hope I remain cool. Knowing that any confrontation between me and a Qatari will undoubtedly lead to the Qatari's story being believed over mine, I assure you that if I'm in line for a flogging, the other party would have told their version of events through a feng shui-ed face.

I'm pretty sure that black Qatari women are intrigued by me. Maybe I'm looking too much into it, but there have been multiple instances in which black Qatari women have done enough to at least make me feel nervous about being on the other end of their attentions. First there were the women who very clearly flirted with me, surprised to see a brother like me in their office, smiling, joking and asking me personal questions while they processed my drivers license pictures. (You'd be right to assume Ms. Selina wasn't into it.) Then there was the lady who took my paid parking ticket as I drove out of the mall, all the while not taking her eyes off of me and giving me an enthusiastic "You too" after I told her to enjoy her evening. (I know this doesn't read like much, but understand that this is a Muslim country, liberal by their standards, but way conservative by western standards, and interactions like this are not the norm. At all. Especially with a black dude.) And today we had the two women in the Benz who wouldn't break their stares and seemed to purposely drive alongside me while I knocked my music loudly, arm hanging out of the window. I mean, yeah, OF COURSE I'm full of myself. We all know this. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about this. I just think black Qatari women (and let's be honest, probably the others as well) think I'm the ish. Nothing disrespectful or anything, just the expression of recognizing "top flight" when they see it, haha. 

Y'all be cool like how y'all be cool, and share the blog if ya dig it. Peace.

My student brought home very low scores on his report card today. Not just in the subjects I teach, but in Arabic, Islamic and Qatar History as well. I assume this means that his parents understand that he has bad habits in general, and he's not just sucking in the subjects I tutor him in. But assumptions are often useless. It's hard to explain to his parents that his struggles are due to a collection of bad habits acquired over a long period of time, and that there is no progress for him unless this changes. There is an interesting dichotomy within the culture. They baby the kids and give them free reign to do what they want (like sit in the front seat w/o a seatbelt or run wild in the restaurant), but they expect that their kids learn everything if they are taught everything. There isn't much room for understanding a child's particular needs, and what must specifically be done to meet them. In defense of the parents, the schools don't do a good job of this either. My intervention more than anything, is supposed to lead to direct improvement, and improvement strictly means "better grades." This is the pressure-filled downside of tutoring for a living...

The Qatar Open concluded recently. Rafael Nadal won. I lost, because I missed it for the second straight year. This year I was out of town, last years was just sleeping. Grrr. Plan on catching it next year. Hopefully Serena plays. She didn't like how empty the stadium was last year. Somebody tell her I'm coming next year and I'm bringing the hood.

I got some beats from the boyfriend of a teacher here that I know. I'm expecting them to be good. If so, I already know my rhymes are good, and some good music can go down out here, finally.

They're out here interviewing for the position that I told them they needed, that I would've stayed at the school to do (for no more money than they were paying me), that I'm the most qualified to do, and that they told me they didn't need and weren't creating.

-_-

I know that leaving the school was the first step to me doing something much better in my life, something I really NEED to do, but it still stings, I can't front. I feel lied to and unappreciated. Still, I know that it's not important to focus on what I perceive was "done to me." They had their plans, I had mine, and God is laughing at all of it. 

And I tend to be alright when it's all said and done. And I'm well into a much more lucrative next move, so, you know.

Weather is nice and cool hear, my wife says a cold front is coming through, 40 Fahrenheit at night-type of stuff. Beats that 4 degrees back in New York that I narrowly escaped.

What if you measured yourself by how well you kept your New Years resolutions?

Reading w/my godson was fun and tiring practice.

My wife is a superheroine - HNIC at work, planned this amazing 3 country holiday, doesn't sleep well and still gives me love that helps me be a confident king among kings. She's fragile though, bc she's exquisitely designed. And I have to take great care of her. Better care.

In about 4 months, my body will be a machine again for the first time since about a year and a half ago.

I'm gonna have some difficult conversations when I return to Doha.

I had one in America. 

I lost all ties to New York as home this holiday, although it remains my favorite place and I want to return under circumstances I haven't figured out yet. 

2013 was my unsexiest year in a long time. I got my sexy back over the last week or so. It was fun. Gonna shed it during the plane ride and acquire a new element over 2014.

I lied - I DO have the answers. All of them. That's what makes me StarPo. I gotta stop acting like I don't so that I can shirk responsibility.

I'm getting my shoulders fixed this year, possibly braces as well. At which point, I'll be bionic.

I don't even wanna imagine what a me at peak health, with a parent's perspective and 2 consecutive years of clarity will be like. 

I do fear that moment though, when The Comedian is gunning down his pregnant mistress and I'm so detached that I don't turn the gun into goddamn snowflakes. Bc my disenchantment with people is becoming detachment.

There will be new gold chains and tattoos on me, more likely in '15.

No idea is original, but that just speaks to IDEAS. There are still many things that haven't gone from idea to conception. I may find my ideal medium this year. The art I have inside of me is too powerful to keep locked in there, only to be glimpsed on the occasional rap song.

I'm intimidated by the challenge of starting my own business. And that intimidation, a rare emotion for me, is the stimulation that is driving me.

Looking forward to "Adventure Time" on my couch. 

Unpacking sucks everything.

'Everybody changes. As long as you change for the better, I don't see how anybody can be mad atcha.'

More deep breaths, don't let the illusion of time distort your efforts, small and big. You know the phrase "Take your time?" Yes. YOUR time. Let's learn to control it better. We can make 2014 feel like 30 days or 30 months, depending on what we need out of it. 

All articles with plans for Knicks improvement make no sense if they don't involve a change in ownership, or how ownership thinks. It's about CULTURE, not PERSONNEL, sheesh. That's probably my biggest professional lesson of 2013.

Happy New Year folks.

Oh, and AGAIN, you owe almost no one your energy, it's not your fault that someone is dumb, save room for you, physically turn and stop engaging people at the point that they start to drain you, no relationship (besides child/spouse) obligates you to put up with ANY nonsense, a straight line is the shortest distance between 2 points so be as direct as possible, the more you are the real you, the more you'll see who else is real and that number of people will be 99% fewer than any number you can imagine, as well as shocking and hard to handle when you initially see who no longer should be in your life, YOU determine what LOVE and POSITIVITY looks/feels like, don't be pressured to accept some meme-ified idea of it. If I die this year, I would have lived enough for a book that rivals the greatest biographies, but the stuff I don't have the courage to share is much more vast, and has the deeper lessons. We mirror the universe, and the universe consists of a majority dark matter. Is it a black man thing to wonder if this will be your final year, even though you're in good health, young and stable?

Ok, that's that. Enjoy your day.