Twilight of Separation

I’m in Amsterdam right now, on the way back home. This isn’t a regularly scheduled leave, I just asked for a few weeks to finalize my worker’s visa for Saudi Arabia, which is the last link in the chain of events that should lead to actual employment, and most importantly, the end of my 13 month separation from my family. All this last year I’ve been an independent contractor working under a visitor’s visa, with no benefits or paid leaves, and no legal means to have my family in Saudi with me. That all should change in a few weeks. I’m greatly looking forward to it. As much as it was nice to be able to have a lot of time to myself without much in the way of obligations, it never felt like a very healthy way to be a father and husband. It also got harder and harder for Maddy to let go of me when it was time to go back at the end of my three week leaves. I don’t know if I could have handled much more of that. I look forward to quickly working back into a much more active role in parenting Maddy and relating with both her and Nikki (a new and improved spelling). It was nice to be able to talk to them and see them every day via the Internet, but there was still a relational deficit that can only be remedied by physical presence, I believe.

This brief interlude away from the normal, has provided me some unique opportunities that I will always cherish. Besides having the time to learn a bit of guitar, and Arabic, I have been able to develop some friendships with some very special people. Some, I’ve gravitated to more than others, but I don’t think I would have had opportunity to spend half as much time with these guys had I also been living with my family. What has also been a unique and growing experience has been the attempt to let go of the desire to have to categorize and define my life experiences. In an attempt to be more honest with myself, I have allowed a much greater amount of questions to remain unanswered. I don’t know if this has been a healthy move or not, but I have at least seen an apparent relational advantage. A guy with less answers, is more prone to listen to others. This has a remarkably positive affect relationally … and if I have learned anything this year, this would have to be it. Both Socrates and Solomon said that the person who thinks himself wise, is not. My certainty of so many important things remains illusive, but what I have become convinced of is that relationships are just about the only thing worth living for, and no relationship works without love expressed through a listening ear.

Another confirmation of the power of honesty has come to me through literature. I had an epiphany the other day as I realized, a bit more clearly, why I have loved Steinbach so much over the years, as well as Pearl S Buck, and Khaled Hosseini. This was made clear while I was reading a different author that just didn’t feel like it was of the same caliber. I realized, as I was reading, that great literature is often great because of its honesty. The book I was reading was a biography, and it was reminiscent of many biographies I used to read when I was much younger, as well as many funerals I’ve attended. The main character was overly praised and seemed larger than life, and therefore unreal. This might be necessary for biographies and/or funerals, as it would be very disrespectful to a main character’s family to paint too real of a portrait. The beauty of good fiction, I’ve now decided, is that it provides a platform for less restrained honesty. When the “hero” does wrong, and experiences guilt or shame etc., the effect on the reader is powerful. It puts writing on a whole new level, as far as I’m concerned...

Certainty

I’ve wondered lately about the role of doubt in the life of a Christian. What is a bit ironic to me is that the gripe many unbelievers have with Christians is their dishonesty. The appearance of certainty seems fake and therefore uninviting. I wonder if we can have a more open dialogue with unbelievers if we are honest about our doubts. I wonder if less answers and more questions is a better approach to life.

In fairness, I see dishonesty on both sides of the belief threshold. Unbelievers often tend to not be honest about their motivations for seeking justification for their unbelief. Most of the time, I believe that an underlying urge to shed accountability fuels the fervency of their pursuit against religion. They want to do whatever they feel like doing without feeling guilty. If they can somehow prove that there is no God that is interested in their behavior, they can truly be free.

I don’t see any reason to hide behind a pretense of certainty. Faith is what we do despite our doubt. If there were no doubt, there would be no opportunity for faith.

But faith is also not blind. We have to have a reason to believe. For many of us it’s the easiest way we know how to function. It’s the path of least resistance. For others, it’s the best answer to our deepest questions. Many of us are driven to faith because we have experienced things that we can’t explain rationally. What has fueled my faith lately are the intangibles; stuff that can’t be explained rationally. It’s the sense of hope and wonder; the sense that I am being heard when I am alone; the beauty of music and art; the discovery that I am able to love others and not sense a need for their love in return (or for that matter the need for a drug or destructive habit to fill the void that is created when I don’t get what I feel I need from others). All of these, I believe, are fingerprints of the divine. I can’t explain many parts of the bible and why much of it rubs me the wrong way. I can’t explain why the earth seems older than 6000 years to people much smarter than me. I can’t explain why horrible tragedy is endured by relatively innocent people. I can’t explain much at all, but I’m not really sure I have to. There is still something inside of me that causes me to believe anyway; something mysterious and other-worldly that is much stronger than anything I could conjure up on my own. It was almost as if …, well as if it was intentionally placed there by someone else.

Ramadan

The moon is almost full, which means that the month of Ramadan is almost half over. The Arabic calendar is based on the moon so each new moon starts a new month. This makes the Muslim year a bit shorter than ours and makes all holidays and special events slowly migrate year after year on our calendar which is solar. This also means that in the next few years, the holy month of Ramadan will slowly migrate closer and closer to the hottest part of the summer, and coincide with the longest days of the year. I mention this because the month of Ramadan is a collective fast of all food, water, tobacco and sexual intercourse from sunrise to sunset. With few exceptions, all Islamic people are expected to participate in this sacrifice. It is incredible to watch such solidarity and devotion of so many people especially when it’s 115 degrees outside with 80% humidity, and the days are 14 hours long. But I’ve come to learn that it is so much more than a collective fast. People really get excited about this time, and it has the meaningfulness that Christmas has to us, without the materialism. Everyone wishes each other “Ramadan Kareem” (which literally means “Have a generous Ramadan”). Work all but stops. People will typically shorten their work day to about 3 – 4 hours and take long naps. As soon as the sun sets, the “break-fast” becomes a huge celebration and everyone gathers together and eats with wild abandon. Then they stay up the rest of the night either in prayer, reading the Qur’an, or just enjoying each other’s company. Finally, a last big meal is consumed before sunrise (about 4 am in these parts) and if possible people go to bed for a few hours before going in for another short day of work.

“Credits” is the term my Arabic first officer used to explain why people spend so much more time in the mosque during Ramadan praying and reading the Qur’an. The closer to the end of Ramadan it is, the more credits one gets for religious activities (reading, praying, giving to the poor etc.) At first I was reluctant to ask, but I had to know, so I asked him what these “credits” were good for. I said, “Do you mean that people are able to get closer to God than they would otherwise at other times of the year?” He said, “no”. God is close to everyone no matter what they do. What these credits are good for is hierarchy in heaven. He said that there is heaven and hell, and if one goes to heaven, the religious activities they do on earth will determine their status in heaven in the afterlife. He said that some people spend incredible amounts of time in the mosque during Ramadan and are able to get lots of credits. Credits are also achieved throughout the rest of the year as people diligently comply with what is called “The Five Pillars of Islam”. They consist of a profession of faith, five daily prayers at specific times, giving to the poor, fasting during Ramadan, and at least one pilgrimage to Mecca.

Although most people gain a few pounds during Ramadan because of all the eating that happens at night, the fasting during the day has the purpose of not only helping people focus on God, but also helping them identify with the poor. Fasting is obligatory for all but the sick and those who are traveling. If a day of fasting is broken due to one of these reasons (which most of the Muslim pilots do if they are assigned a long day of flying) they are to make up the fast during the following month for the equivalent amount of days they broke fast during Ramadan. An exception is made for diabetics (of which there are many here). Safety is stressed by the company and little things are done to help people avoid making foolish mistakes when they are hungry. The most notable one is that free little boxes of food (dates, juice and yogurt) are passed out by volunteers at the compound entrance right at sundown so people won’t drive unsafely in their eagerness to get home or to any other feasting ground.

What amazes me about all this in how willing everyone is to fast. It seems to be more than an obligation. It is something they are proud of, something that helps define them and give them a sense of identity and purpose. It gives structure to their lives and a sense of moral superiority. All this is worth a little hunger and a little thirst.

What also is intriguing and a little puzzling is that I have been asked a few times if I am fasting, by people that are well aware that I’m not a Muslim. No one has asked me if I pray five times a day, or if I go to the mosque or on pilgrimages, but they have asked me if I fast. I am always honest in my answer, and say “no”, but I wonder how they feel about that. Why is this the only sacred pillar of Islam that I am being invited to participate in? Does it say something about my lack of respect toward their religion not to fast? I mean, I don’t eat or drink purposefully in front of them. Expats have been asked by the company to be discreet in their consumption. But why am I being asked if I fast? I wonder if I should? What would that say to them? There is so much more to learn here and I’m so eager to do it. I’ve been here now more than nine months, and my fascination with this place and it’s people, culture and religion continues to grow in intensity. The more I know, the more I want to know.

The Guilt of Fortune

Eight months now and I’m taking a look back. I feel very fortunate to be where I am, despite the 120 degree temperature outside and the geographical rift between myself and my favorite two people. The economic climate in the U.S. looks pretty grim especially in the airlines. Many airlines have announced upcoming furloughs. Others are doing the same, or going under. My employer has recently hired at least three ex-Aloha pilots after they closed for business. I suspect the rate of pilots knocking on their door will only increase in the next coming months.

Another fortunate thing for me is the hierarchy here. As with the U.S. it all comes down to seats – what seat you drive the airplane from (left or right) and how many seats are behind you when you do. The natural order of things in the U.S. is that one starts off as a first officer for a regional airline, then “upgrades” to a captain position in that same regional airline (the position I was in when I left). In a few years that captain might find himself with enough experience to interview for a major airline where he starts over as a first officer in a bigger airplane. Finally, after 10 years or so he might find himself eligible for a captain position that same airline where he ends his career slowly improving his pay and lifestyle by means of his longevity with the company and/or advancement to ever larger airplanes. Let’s call these levels 1, 2, 3, and 4 respectively. Here things operate a bit differently. A first officer in the small airplane finds that his next opportunity for advancement is as a first officer in a big airplane (the Boeing 737 – which is the same airplane many major airlines use) instead of as captain of the small plane. After he has proved himself there, he can finally advance to being a captain of the small airplane he started in. As with the U.S. his final step will more than likely be the captain position of the big airplane. So in effect the order, as compared with the U.S., is 1,3,2,4. What that means for me is that since I am in level 2, I have unwittingly skipped a step, and find myself ahead of the guys that came over from the American system as level 3 pilots. Unfortunately for them, they have to retrace some of their steps. A few guys I know, were actually captains in the big airplane back home, and came here as first officers in that plane, which in effect bumped them down two “levels”.

Despite this reshuffling of our career advancement plans all the ex-pats here are pretty mature, and we all treat each other as equals. What continues to be harder for me to rectify, however, is the disparity of the South Asian workers here. I can see it in their eyes as they watch me and notice how easy my life is. I wonder what goes on in their minds. They are all really polite and friendly to me and many of them I know by name and interact with on a daily basis, but, I can’t help but think about the tinge of jealousy they must feel. For whatever reason God wrapped me in white skin, gave me a pointy nose and large ears. He also chose to give me access to American citizenship and English as a first language. Coincidentally this little “starter package” put me well ahead of most of the rest of the world in terms of opportunity. None of this would be anything I could logically boast about, as I really had nothing to do with it, yet here I am in Saudi Arabia with slightly darker fellow humans begging to serve my every need for pennies.

It’s hard for me to enjoy my affluence. Part of me would rather not have it, as it comes with a good share of what Khaled Hosseini calls the “guilt of fortune.” Hosseini is an Afghan doctor - turned author in San Francisco, who wrote two of my favorite books: “Kite Runner” and “A Thousand Splendid Suns”. I heard him once on an interview where he talked about a feeling he shared with the main character of his first book. The character was a Sunni boy in Afghanistan who was part of a wealthy and prestigious family and was served by a lower class Shi’a boy who became his best friend. The class difference was always unsettling for this Sunni boy and became all the more unsettling the more eager his friend was to serve him. Without ruining the story, I’ll just say that the Sunni boy turns out to have the lower character of the two, and lives the rest of his life bearing the guilt of the realization that the consequences of his moral ineptitude were suffered more by his much more “righteous” childhood friend. The very lack of external consequence he himself experiences does more to aggravate his inner turmoil leading to drastic efforts made in his adult life to appease his guilt. It’s a powerful book, and if you haven’t read it, I would strongly recommend it. Don’t watch the movie though. The acting wasn’t that great.

I wonder how life would be if social hierarchy were actually determined by personal character. In some ways it seems like it actually is. Everyone seems to be constantly evaluating each other on moral grounds, and despite their economic and political disadvantages, they appease themselves with the idea that they have a higher standing on this invisible moral scale. The more unsure a person is about this, however, the more effort they seems to make to point out the moral flaws of the more “well heeled” among them. Out here, the name “Ali Baba” is synonymous with “corruption”, and is frequently credited as the ultimate reason for all discomfort. (My bus driver friend, Anur, emphasizes his disgust with an over-dramatic mime of a person putting money in his front pocket whenever he speaks of the “Ali Baba” of his superiors. Somehow, highlighting the moral failure of others makes one’s discomfort (long hours, low pay, lack of appreciation etc.) seem more tolerable. Because of this, those of us that are more comfortable are watched like a hawk. Every reluctance we might display to share our “wealth,” is a moral point against us, and the more sensitive we are to this sense of guilt, the more chance we have of getting fleeced.

I wonder how much of my behavior is motivated by this guilt. I find myself smiling at and giving eye contact to as many of these disenfranchised workers as I can. Usually they smile back, and are eager to shake my hand when I offer it. If I get to know their name or a bit of their language they seem overly grateful … and it makes me feel good. The fact that it makes me feel good … and less guilty makes me question my altruism. Do I do all this for myself or for them? Oh, to not be plagued by this constant over-analysis. I long to not even think about myself; to operate out of a pure desire to help others, oblivious to any emotional benefit I might receive in the process. This will never be true in any pure sense, this side of heaven, but I can at least hope for true love to slowly replace my guilt as a means of motivation … love that I am only at the mercy of receiving from God, and am completely incapable of conjuring up on my own.