Kuwait Days 12 & 13: Farewell to Friends

As I reflect on these last 2 days, I am sad. Tomorrow, we will go to the airport to fly back to our real lives. Back to reality. Away from this land of childhood memories, rich with emotion and soaked in sun. I know some of you may be thinking that I am seeing everything in this dry, choked land with rose-colored glasses. It is natural for one to look back upon a happy youth with fondness, remembering only the good, savoring the sweetness and blocking out the bitter. Yet this time around I have cherished the beauty of this country while being hyperaware of its faults. I am not completely naiive. I know it is a vast desert, and scorching hot, even miserably so. (I’m talking 110 degrees F average this week.) I know it is dirty, and hopeless in many ways. I know the discrepancy between the classes is enormous and unfair. I know there is hypocrisy and corruption, abuse and prejudice here. I know it is a land scarred by war and tainted by the flavors of many nations.
But I also know that the people are generally friendly, faithful people. I know that the culture and tradition is ancient, proud and strong. I know this country is capable of great growth and prosperity. And more importantly, I know that I will always feel a deep connection to the Arab world, and that a part of my heart will forever be drawn to embrace this tiny country.

Even though we’ve been so busy, I’ve been pausing every so often to have a quiet moment to myself, to soak in this truth with all of my soul: I am in Kuwait again. I am in Kuwait for my last time.
Though I really wish I could say differently, I feel that my eyes may never set their sights on these familiar scenes again in this lifetime. I am trying to take it in, absorb the sights and sounds, aromas, feelings. I hope to take them all, selfishly, and lock them away in my heart for safekeeping. I stood on the beach today, squinting out onto the blue-green water, small waves crashing with a steady rhythm onto the smooth sand…the humid air wrapped around my skin, the hair on my arms standing still…only a slight breeze rustling my skirt and around my neck. This was the place of my joyful childhood, where I had freedom and ran wild with carefree abandon. This was the place where I learned many lessons of life, made friends from all over the world…This place was my home.

Yesterday, Mom, Jonny and I drove out to Wafra (about an hour west into the desert) to visit Dad at work. After a series of funny, very Kuwait-like events (think paperwork and guardgates and nodding and smiling and arguing and inconsistencies), we were able to get through to the office and meet some of Dad’s co-workers, as well as to the oil fields to get a quick tour of the powerplant he built last time he was here, and the hundreds of donkey-pumps/oil derricks, which make Dad's heart all warm and fuzzy...oil is the most beautiful thing to him. Black gold. We talked about the Allied forces, Sadaam, the invasion and hand grenades and monitoring systems. It was fun to see where Dad works and learn a little more about the oil business that is so fruitful for this area of the world.
In the afternoon, Jonny and I concocted an idea about how to store all of our shells to get them back home without cracking or crushing. Then it was time to get ready for Tombola! I remember my parents going to Tombola night once a month with the Beachcombers club here when I was a kid. Now I’m old enough to go! It was a lot of fun. Too bad the luck wasn’t with us and we didn’t come home with any of the fantastic prizes (its just as well, I’m not sure I could have fit those wooden nesting tables in my carry-on).

Today was more socialization. After church this morning in the same old apartment building, we attended a Branch potluck at someone’s giant villa in the city. It was so interesting to talk to the members of the Church here…they come from all over the world to Kuwait for various reasons. Mostly for work. On the way home, I skimmed through an Arabic dictionary and read more of my book, Small Kingdoms.
When we got home, our old friend Amjed from Pakistan came over to introduce us to his wife and little girl…he spoke of wanting to travel, and visas and work permits and sponsors…the complicated life of an individual not so fortunate as us born into the U.S.A. As Americans, we take so much for granted…like the fact that we can live in the same country as our spouse. Or that we can afford to go to college, to choose our profession, to arrange our own marriages, or to provide the things we need for our kids. Basic things you don’t think to even add to your ‘thankful’ list…you assume they are normal and average. But they are not. They are blessings. And never even a sliver of reality for many people in this part of the world. Try not to take your full, prosperous life for granted.

[On a side note, I’ve been thinking about friendship here in this culture. Once you are friends, you are friends for life. A thought that I had been turning over in my head this whole week, Jonny articulated perfectly yesterday, “Friendships (here) involve less maintenance and more loyalty.” An interesting observation…but true as far as I have seen. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t seen someone for 10 years, or if you only talk to them once every few months, they will greet you with enthusiasm and sincere concern for the welfare of yourself and your family. They will do anything for a friend in need, but they do not require constant gifts or phonecalls or lunch dates to know that you care.]

We spent the evening with Mom and Dad’s friends (from South Africa, Trinidad, Canada, and Texas) here in camp for a birthday party and sang Karaoke till the cows came home, (or should I say camels)? What a journey it has been. As always, gone by too quickly.
On that note (teehee) I’ll leave you…until I’m back on Patriot soil. Ta Ta for now. Thanks for reading!

~ M

To read previous posts on our Kuwait experience, see below:
1. Day one
2. Day two
3. Day three
4. Day four
5. Day five
6. Days 6,7,8
7. Day nine
8. Days 10,11
9. Days 12,13