Fire at the Villagio

Doha News report for the story as reports continue to come in.

A few hours ago, I learned of a fire at the Villagio Mall in Doha, a shopping center and mall that we spent countless hours at while we were in Qatar. Not once did I ever think to look up and see if there were sprinklers installed as a fire safety. The fire seems to have started in Gympanzee, a children's play area. Thus far, 13 children are dead and 6 adults. The really miraculous thing is that emergency personnel arrived in 8 minutes. Only those who've live in a part of the world like the Middle East can truly understand how traffic there operates. Drivers usually pay little to no attention to ambulances trying to make their way to an emergency, and they certainly are in no hurry to get out of the way.

I am saddened by this tragedy and pray for those hurt and the families of those who died in the fire. Eliza is worried about her friends in Doha, so we're saying a special prayer that they are safe.

You might take a few minutes to be thankful that we live in a place where our safety during emergency situations is something that most people take seriously. We have regulations in place to keep buildings relatively safe in the case of a fire, and that's just one of a million things that people in other parts of the world don't have.

Doha Diaries, no. 11: Another Body in the Road

I haven't been here two years, yet I have already seen 3 dead or injured bodies in the middle of the road in Doha. First, there was last year's accident, at which I stopped to help. Last night may have been just as bad.


Everyone who lives here knows that the face of Qatar is a dark-skinned man--from Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, India, or one of several other South Asian countries--usually clad in a blue jumpsuit with a scarf around his fact to protect him from the sand and sun. This man has most likely left his family, any wife or children he may have, to come here and do the very hard manual labor that the citizens of this country are not willing to do. They work for barely nothing, are housed in labor camps, where they are sometimes abused and often live on nothing but rice and some fruit. God only knows how long they go without seeing their families, or if some of them ever get to. These men make up a good 50% of the population in Doha (nationals only make up approximately 30%). The rest of us, myself included, are the hired help.

As Hubby and I were driving to another compound where we were meeting friends for a double date, we went through one of the busier roundabouts close to our compound, and about half a mile down the road, I suddenly looked to my left and saw a man's body lying in the middle of the road. Three lanes of traffic were still driving past him. Nobody was standing next to him trying to help him or divert traffic. Nothing! Hubby pulled a u-turn at the stop light, and I called 999 (the equivalent of 911 here). They had already gotten the report and the ambulance was on its way. By the time we made it back to the scene, a group of workers in another vehicle had stopped to try and divert traffic, as did one young Qatari man. For all we know, it could have been the same man that hit him, but I doubt it.

As we passed the body, I looked at him, praying to see open eyes, no blood, some movement--any movement. There was nothing. A small pool of blood. One bare foot. Face down on the concrete. A white pool of foam near his mouth. No movement.

I felt like I needed to puke. I couldn't help but burst into tears and sob for this man, this loss of his precious human life. I wondered how long he'd been lying there? How many cars drove over him, not even realizing it was a human body? How many simply drove by, without a care, unwilling to stop and try to help him or prevent him from being run over again? Did he have a family? Kids? How long would it take before they would get the news? Would his body be returned to them? Would anyone be there at the hospital to identify him? Will there be an obituary for him? Who will remember his life and how? Who will mourn for him?

I can only remember his face in death, and I'm so tired of seeing it here. This isn't right, it isn't fair, it isn't normal....I want to scream at everyone on the road and ask them "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING CARE?!" I don't understand it, and I probablly never will. I can't shake the image of his body lying there, and I'm pissed that nobody here seemed to give a shit that there was a dead fucking body in the road!! They won't have nightmares, they won't reflect on this loss, and they won't wonder what this says about their culture or they're way of life.

This is the part they don't tell you about on the recruitment visit.

RBoC: Sunday Edition

• I've finished what will be my first publication (an essay in a collected edition) one day ahead of schedule--woohoo! I'm using this last day to take care of any stylistic revisions that need to be made, since I'm not familiar with the style the editors are using. I'm happy with what I've written and the research it's based on, and I'm really looking forward to seeing the other essays in the collection (as well as any suggestions for further revision the editors might have).
• Now, I look forward to ASECS in March. I'm participating in a roundtable, so my paper will be short and sweet. I'm excited to get together with all the 18th-c. peeps, but I do not look forward to the OMG number of travel hours that are required to get to Vancouver. The only saving grace is that I was able to use my Qmiles through Qatar Airways to upgrade to business class on the flight to Houston (16 hours!).
• The spring job market is non-existent. Really and truly, there is nothing to speak of at this point, and it makes me want to crawl into bed and never come out.
• Hannah's birthday is coming up, and that will make me the mother of a 12-year old daughter. I sure hope 12 will be easier than 11, but something tells me it won't. I've tried some new parenting strategies since we returned from holiday break, and they've worked well so far. Really, it just amounts to me setting firmer boundaries and not engaging her when those boundaries are crossed. We'll see how this goes.
• The best discovery we made upon returning to our compound was that our evil heathen neighbors had been moved!! YIPPEEE!! It's almost unbelievable the difference that it's made in the dynamics of this compound. You see, there are only 16 villas (houses) here. To compare, many of the other compounds (think gated living, Middle East style) have between 100-250 villas. The latter results in a greater mixture of types, personalities, etc. of the residents. Our compound, however, is comprised solely of people who work for the same university, and almost all of them have children (mainly girls). So, if you have a problem at home, it has a much higher chance of carrying over to a problem at work, even if it's just an HR issue of requesting a house change. But now, we don't worry about our kids going to play outside, there's no more drama, and it's soooooo much more quiet!
• At some point, I will have to turn my attention to revising the dissertation. I'm trying to get myself psyched up for this, but I haven't had much success yet. I know I'll need to get Bill Germano's work, From Dissertation to Book, but I realize that I'm still very much isolated from any kind of intellectual community remotely related to my field, and that's something that can't be duplicated.