This is my favourite mango. It is hanging from one of 3 mango trees in my garden, and I have dubbed it my "prize mango". I check on it every day to make sure that the bats or monkeys (or whatever the creatures are that chitter chatter all night in the darkness) haven't stolen it. I may have prayed over it, but you can't prove it. I have heard that once the mangoes show even a hint of yellow, the monkeys/bats will steal it. Criminals.

Many have asked me what I do with my time - "What does a typical day look like for you in the desert, white girl?" Now you know. I stare at and obsess over one mango.

Hope with me, will you?

P.S. my son is reading over my shoulder as I type this and he read "Hope with me, will you?" out loud and then chuckled while muttering "That is just sad." Who told the 7 year old he could be so smart?

As I'm in the long process of learning a new language, and as I've gotten to the point where I've learned just enough to get myself into trouble, I figured now is as good a time as any to begin a potentially-ongoing series about the "lost in translation"moments that come along. Let's be honest, those that know me well (and even those that don't) can confidently attest to the fact that I have lanugage mishaps in my own mother tongue. Add in a whole new set of vocabulary and inuendos, and I've got a great recipe for disaster.



Obviously, I have had a remarkable moment, or I wouldn't begin the series.

My husband I attend school for 4 class hours a day, 5 days a week. Between each class, we have a 10 minute break and then one longer break for 30 minutes. Often, especially during the shorter 10 minute breaks, the teachers will stick around in the common area to chat with the students. On one particular day, I walked out of the class, and my teacher offered me a stool to sit on that was directly in front of her. Seeing that the stool was, literally, right at her knees which created a "close talker" scenario, I decided to try out my new vocabulary. Attempting to say, "I'm face to face with you," I mistakenly conjugated a different verb entirely and ended up proposing marriage!

My teacher's face fell and she screamed, "Haram! (forbidden)!"

No. Actually, she laughed and accepted my proposal, thinking that I knew what I was saying, but the situation became much more amusing for her when she realized that I had no clue what I had said. Disgusted with myself and wanting to pick up the few pieces left of my honour, I tried to tell her that this is forbidden. We live in the desert! My efforts only made her laugh harder. At least I kind of know how to be funny in Arabic. A funny lesbian. Awesome.

For the first time since moving to the desert 6 months ago, (and for the first time wearing it seriously, not as a lark) I went out in public last week hidden behind a veil. A large portion of fabric,the face veil is fashioned in such a way to provide an opening across the eyes for the user's visual purposes, leaving only the eyes exposed and the rest of the facial features up to the imagination. There is an extra, nearly transparent piece of fabric that can be thrown back, or pulled forward to cover even the eyes, for added anonymity.

The reason I chose to wear the veil was because I was wearing a crap load of makeup, much more than I ever would when going out in my western-home country, and the idea of going out in public with my face exposed while so made up was enough to make me want to hide. What better way to hide than right out on in the open. With a veil.

My initial impression was suffocation. I haven't had material so close to my face, apart from that time my mother tried to kill me with a pillow.

I jest.

Once my breathing became more regular and I avoided inhaling the fabric and gagging on it as it tried to enter my esophogus, I was alright. Looking in the mirror, I was shocked to see that I looked just like so many women I had seen on the street before. My son entered the room and exclaimed, "My Arabic teacher wears that!" He seemed oddly amused. My husband thought it was hot and asked if I'd wear just the veil for him later. Trust him to turn an instrument of modesty to the exact opposite.

I enjoyed driving through public, in relative anonymity. My husband is well-known, so by association I am as well. I'm sure the stares we were getting were related to curiousities such as, "Is that his wife? Is he giving a local woman a ride somewhere? If so, why is she sitting right beside him? The nerve!" And so on.

Later, in the wedding, when it was necessary to put on the veil once again after I had already entered the wedding and taken it off, I was given quite an intrusive lesson on how to wear it. By intrusive, I mean, an older woman came to me, smiled, grabbed my head on either side, and pulled it down so that the top of my head was resting on her belly. She untied the knot I had just pulled tight, pushed my head back up, readjusted my veil, pushed my head back down and retied it. Pushing my head up once again, she threw the extra, transparent veil back over my head and exclaimed, "Better!" My eyebrows were now sufficiently hidden. Heaven forbid a man sees ANY of my hair. I didn't realize eyebrow hair was that seductive. I learn something new all the time. Except, that the readjustment wasn't "better" as in "I can see better and more clearly." In fact, the veil now pressed on my upper eyelid (just the left one, though) in such a way that my vision was distored in a way I imagine it would look if I was sticking my finger in my eye, just beside the lens. Warped and warbly. I spent the rest of the evening trying to relieve the pressure by pulling back on the veil, but not too forcefully in fear of showing that all-too sexy eyebrow hair.

Now that I know how to wear the veil correctly, and I am confident that I look very much like one of the local women when I wear it (my neighbour didn't even recognize me when I passed her in the grocery store, even though she knew I must be inside because our vehicle was parked out front), I am thinking that perhaps, from time to time, I might just wear it in public even when I'm not wearing a crap-load of makeup. When the staring gets to be just too much, I am tempted to hide.

I just wonder if it would be appropriate to cut out an emergency breathing hole.