Chaptette 19: Insignificant Differences

So, two Muslims, a Jew, a lapsed Lutheran, and a Dean (religion, unknown) walk into a Doha shisha joint....

You might be able to tell who is who from the pictures. Muslims, clearly, wear dark shirts. The non-Muslims apparently favor khaki. Each side has its uniform, so we can tell each other apart!

My last dinner out in Doha was simply, incredibly, delightfully marvelous. From left to right around the table sat Ibrahim (a Palestinian-American), Hilmi (Sri Lankan), Mark (Lutheran-American), Craig (American-American, I think...Wait! Is Craig on the left of Mark, or the right? It's hard to tell), and John (Dean-American; I usually don't give last names, but his is just too rich to omit: Christ. Well, "Crist" if you want to get technical about it, but if I were an author I would have added the H, just to complete the religious circle we have going here). To "hammour" me (humor me, get it! bada bing!) that's what we ordered all around (yeah, we got totally "hammoured"!) [NB: Hammour is a popular local fish.]

And we talked. And we laughed. Hilmi has worked in conflict zones all over the world, and is now doing charity work in Doha. Ibrahim directs a large project for an American education non-profit; they are training teachers in Qatar. Ibrahim also has a Ph.D. in conflict resolution, and that's how he, Hilmi, Craig all know each other: they are all professional peacemakers.

And fine company. I learned more about Islam in our two hours together than I had learned in my entire life, safe to say. One key point: like Baptists, Muslims have no central authority, no highest leader, for the faithful. Each believer has a direct connection to God. Each cluster of believers has its own views about dogma, its respected leaders, and so forth. I learned much about "fatwas" (Islamic legal pronouncements, most typically concerning behavior) -- and how different scholars/leaders issue different fatwas, which are often in conflict, sometimes reversed, etc. Sort of like the Southern Baptist Convention (as I understand that mysterious, foreign religion). Equally important: this may come as a surprise, or maybe not, but these guys were hilarious....and very, very smart...and genuinely friendly, curious, lively, engaging, and kind.

After dinner, we smoked shishas. To respect my people, I ordered apple-flavored tobacco. I also had turkish coffee. And a Red Bull. And Meth. And crack. No wonder I have trouble sleeping.

Leaving the Souq, I see the lights of the Islamic Cultural Center in the distance. You can study Arabic there, for free. Maybe next time I will.

Chaptette 18: Calculations and Interpretations

(74-70.5)*2.2*3500/150 = 179.67

The students in my "Quantitative Methods for International Politics" class -- at least some of them -- are freaking out now. The semester ends in two days, and they have to complete some online quizzes, a problem set, and a small research project. The research projects I graded last night and returned today were highly variable (mean = 81.something, standard deviation = 18.something. In other words, the class average was a low "B" grade, but the scores were all over the place. The highest was 100, of 100. The lowest? 18).

When the class began, the students were freaking out for a different reason. Statistics is often feared because it contains...numbers...formulae...greek symbols...and calculations. As it turns out, these are not the difficult part, as one can always look up a formula and use a computer to do the calculations. That's cookbook stuff. The difficult part is interpretation.

First, a digression. Even cookbook recipes can sometimes be hard to follow, and it is easy to make mistakes (I remember from my Boy Scout days when a fellow tenderfoot thought the pankcake recipe called for 8/4 cups of water, rather than 3/4 cups. The resulting flapjacks were just a bit runny.) On the most recent project set, a fair number of students made similarly catastrophic mistakes. When I levied heavy point deductions, they protested: Hey! I got the rest of the problem right! Why are you taking off so many points?

My response: You are rushed to the emergency room, and the doctor has to decide whether you've had a heart attack. If you have, you'll need the full emergency room barrage. If you haven't, the doctor will give you antacids (for the heartburn), advil (for the muscle ache), and fluid (for the dehydration). In fact, if you have had the heartattack, and the doctor does the wrong test and gives you the wrong answer, you will not exactly be reassured by the doctor telling you that "Hey! I did everything right after the misdiagnosis!"

As you can see, I'm in full-bore teaching mode now. I better snap out of it before I see my family, or I'm going to drive them crazy.

Now, back to the calculations and interpretations. Take the formula at the top of the page. The first part of it ((74-70.5)*2.2*3500)) came to me right after I got off the treadmill this morning. As I have every morning since I've been here, I weighed in: 70.5 kilos (155.1 pounds). When I got here, I weighed 74 kilos (162.8 pounds). In the last month, I've lost 7.7 pounds. At 3500 calories per pound, this means I've burned almost 27,000 calories more than I've ingested. That's the math.

The interesting part, at least for me, is in finding the meaning of this: how did it happen? Ok, class, let's break it down: a) I've consumed less; b) I've burned more. But which is it, and why?

In thinking how I've ingested calories, I considered my diet. Hmm, I'm always eating good healthy breakfasts, which I often skip back home. Implication: Almost certainly more calories for breakfast. Hmm, I'm eating big (varied, and generally wholesome) lunches almost every day in the cafeteria. Implication: On average, I'm probably getting more calories for lunch.

Then it comes to me: There's no beer here! Quickly, I look up the needed information ("the typical beer has about 150 calories") and plug it in to the formula at the top, dividing the total excess calories I've burned by 150.

The result: 27,000 calories equals about 180 beers.

The 180 beers I haven't drunk in the past five weeks. Here's what happened next:

Inside Mark's head:

Inside Mark's head:

Inside Mark's head: Whoa, that's a LOT of beer.

Inside Mark's head: I want one.

That can't be the entire explanation. Can it?

No, the weight loss must involve the exercise side as well as the eating side. (Picture of my actual brand of running shoe below! You owe me, Brooks!)

In fact, I have been exercising more, either riding the bike or running on the treadmill virtually every day. But again, Sherlock, the question is Why?

The answer is obvious, and obviously wrong. I exercise because I want to be healthy, and because I like it, and because it allows me to do other things. Ha! The sophisticated scholar knows not to trust such simplistic rationalizations, especially when a person explains his own life with them.

The correct answer, Part 1: Vanity. Yes, you heard me. Vanity. You think health clubs put mirrors on the walls so individuals have "proper" form? Have you noticed that, now that I'm writing about me, this blog is getting pretty -- oh, so very pretty -- long?

The correct answer, Part 2: It's like this. As a youth, my Boy Scout Manual dispensed such wise advice (as I recall) as, um, when a boy gets those "urges" he should take a cold shower or exercise, or something like that, to distract the mind.

Cold showers are literally impossible here. My apartment must store its water supply in Hell, as when I turn the shower on it is cool for about 5 seconds (as pipes in my apartment are cool) before it scalds. My Hobbesian showers are nasty, scaldish, and short.

The other "healthy" alternative is exercise. Eureka! So that's why I'm riding and running so much....

The Doha Diet: Subtract beer, add vanity and unrequited lust, lose weight fast!

See? That's the difference between mere calculation and astute interpretation.

Chaptette 17: Variance

Who said "Variety is the spice of life," anyway?

a) Winston Churchill
b) Abraham Lincoln
c) Mr. (or is it Ms.?) McCormick
d) William Cowper

The answer, you correctly guessed, is "Who cares?"

If you care about spices, though, the Souq Waqif is the place to be.

There, you can actually say, "Nadim, how about two scoops of [spice name here]? To go, please."

Here is where knowledge of variety and spice would help. I think I can identify the cumin, and perhaps the turmeric, but after that I get a little woozy. Or is it sneezy. I do love looking at the Spice Range, though, and I imagine a little Harrison Ford (in his Raiders of the Lost Ark stage) climbing up and over one of the mounds in search of [nefarious enemy name here].

The spices in my apartment: Salt. Black pepper. Garlic. Soy sauce if that counts. Mint, parsley, and cilantro, if we count herbs.

This next picture doesn't exactly fit in, but I like it anyway: the vibrancy of the nuts, seeds, sweets, the mystery of the abaya (robes). I feel a bit sheepish about posting this, as some women in abaya refuse to be photographed, and I want to honor their preference. Since their faces aren't showing, I hope I am sufficiently respecting their privacy.

Craig and I visited the fruit market on Saturday. All the fruits and vegetables are imported, from it seems every country, in every variety. I bought some figs, but didn't like them. Let me know if you want them.

The wholesale fish market stank, literally. Here, the word "literally" means literally, unlike those who use it to mean figuratively ("I literally lost my head today!"). Craig and I almost bought some hammour (like a grouper, minus the Jimmy Buffet attitude), but since nothing was on ice we took a pass. Outside, under the awning, an entire school of shrimp shuckers were kneeling and peeling.

I like the guy photographed below. Don't you? He reminds me of a stoic watermelon.

Chaptette 16: Probability

The probability that you will be born a Qatari is approximately 0.00445 percent, or something like 4 out of 100,000. Pretty slim odds, eh? Not as bad as Powerball, but a whole lot worse than the odds that you'll get, say, an offer for 12 FREE CDs (if you buy 1 now and commit to buying 3 more each year for the next three years, plus shipping and handling).



Don't let my statistical precision fool you. The probability that you will be born a Qatari is exactly "zero", unless you actually are a Qatari, in which case the odds prove to be pretty decisively in your favor. The point is: being born a Qatari is a pretty rare event.

If you did win that particular genetic lottery, material life is going to be pretty good to you. Qatar has either the highest or second highest per capita income, or gross domestic product per person, and all that other stuff, in the world: they all mean that Qatar is in the money. And these figures usually are calculated something like "all the Booty (in the pirate sense) that Qatar has, divided by all the people living in Qatar". That formula is clearly false, however, as the more relevant calculation is "Booty/Qataris" or, as we in the profession call it, the B/Q ratio. THIS ratio is pretty high; there's a lot of money to spread amongst the locals, and the money is spread pretty widely.



The chances that a person will not be born Qatari are overwhelming. Even in Qatar, the odds of being Qatari are pretty low: I think they are about 3-1. (Perversely, the other type of booty/Qatari ratio is also minuscule). The non-Qataris don't get there share of the share the wealth, so they have to work hard to make a living. All the manual labor and service jobs are done by non-Qataris (mainly, I think, Philipinnos, Malaysians, Indians, and so forth.



I don't really know much about what their life is like here. All the workers I have met personally have been unfailingly polite and nice, but then again while I'm here I suppose I'm seen as working for The Man. But I do have eyes and legs and, yes, sometimes I even walk outside my garden compound. Virtually all the homes/apartments are behind security/privacy walls, so it is difficult to see much about what's going on inside. Laborers have less privacy and security.



These pictures are from the lot right across from Samrya Gardens, where I live. If you look closely, you might see some of these details: a makeshift weightlifting (is not enough being lifted at work?), TV antennae and satellite dishes, a basketball backboard, construction rubble -- ok, that's a gimme -- and my apartment in the background, as I walk back home pondering about probabilities under the setting son.

Chaptette 15: Qatar from the Air

I am wondering if individuals relate to their blogs the same way they relate to their lovers. Some blogs, it seems, at first are filled to overflowing, the words spilling out, page after page, day after day...the writer simply can't get enough of the blog. Then, the postings gradually diminish in frequency, intensity, length, and passion, although they may have an occasional burst of energy.


Other blogs continue to grow in skill, enthusiasm, and interest. Yet others are the steady ones: no single blog may seem very exciting, but you sure can count on them to post, day in and day out.


Some appear for only a few days before vanishing. And some -- maybe like this one -- are simply inscrutable. But, then again, so are some relationships.

Or maybe I'm just trying to come up with something to blog about.

Here's an idea: let's take an aerial tour of Qatar. I flew over it at a very low altitude (about 18 inches above the ground) and at a very slow speed. You see here what I saw there. Qatar also looks like this from 30,000 ft, but I couldn't jump that high and hold the camera still. I hope you enjoy the oasis I found, and I hope you can find it in one of these pictures.

Chaptette 14: Doha Downer

Nothing like a summer sinus infection.

One benefit: a neologism, I think.

Jocelyn Mitchell (a Georgetown Ph.D. candidate and fantastic TA, now in Doha to conduct field research) showed me the blog that she and her husband Nick are writing (oddly enough named -- can you get this! -- Doha Diary. Copycats. Oh...right, that's been the name of their blog for a couple years...You can find it at http://nickandjoce.blogspot.com/) Good stuff. Thank you for allowing me to show some blogger love.

Jocelyn introduced me to the term "Qatarded," as in "That's so qatarded." If the uses aren't self evident, check out their blog. Please send any critiques of this term to them or to Ben Affleck.

Sunny optimist that I am, my new term is "Qatariffic" as in "That's just qatariffic!" (Go ahead, skeptics: google it. You won't find any prior citations. Qatarded has 111!)

Here's the context. After (figuratively) licking the camel's shank, rubbing my eyes with his tail, and inhaling his eructations, I felt like a "Camel Light" (gratuitous cigarette reference).


In medical terms -- and I am a "Doctor" -- I picked up a sinus infection. As usual, I wallow in bed for awhile, basting myself with self-pity every few minutes. I've had sinus infections many times, however, and I know what works (in addition to self-pity): Amoxil or Zithromax. Trying to find a real doctor seems like a lot of time and energy, especially when at the end Herr Doktor will say "You have a sinus infection and need Amoxil or Zithromax." I decide to cut out the middle-man, as I've heard that pharmacies will provide meds without a prescription.

I trudge across the dessert for forty years to get to the drug store. (I'm watching The Ten Commandments now, and it does seem like the Hebrews had a tougher go of it than I am.)

Me: I have a sinus infection. Can you give me A or Z?

Pharmacist: I can't give them to you without a prescription. Do you have one?

Me:

Me: (Sad puppy eyes)

Pharmacist: Ok, here's a box of 500 MG Amoxil for you. Oh, and do you need a prescription cortisone inhaler, too?

Me: (Happy puppy eyes)

So I now wait for the drugs to work. I hope they kick in soon, as I know my students must be eager to learn more statistics.

My assessment?

My experience with the health care system here was Qatariffic!

Future Chaptettes

Good afternoon....I've been down with a cold of late, and earlier I "pulled" a post at the advice of some friends here. So the blog has been silent. Ahh, fleeting life!

Some forthcoming chapters may include (feel free to send me a topic):

Qatar Couches: A pictorial tour.

Touring Qatar in 3 hours or less.

Dust.

Markets of Fish and Fruit.