Sunday, January 10, 2010

Just Call Me Cornish, or Day 7 in Doha


It was my first day of classes, and, like most things around here, CMU-Q professors never know when enough is enough. So I got quite a few books today. (Granted, four of them are for classes I'm TAing.)



Now, to return to a previous conversation, I took a pictur
e of a license plate for you all (with some of the numbers blocked out to keep privacy) so you can see how I learned my Arabic and Indian numbers. I felt very practiced when I went to the mall and could read the "7.%" signs that mean 60% off.

Since it is so hot around her, they have these funny umbrellas for the cars to be under, too. Melissa (the exchange coordinator) was talking about how a few years back, there were only white cars on the road, which makes sense. Now, white is a majority, but there are quite a few people driving around these big, black 4WD, which I'm sure must be ovens in the summer. But I'll keep you updated.

Back to today, however, after be laden with books, then returning back to the dorm for lunch and to de-laden, I went back to get eight more books. In addition, I got to meet with
the two professors who are co-teaching Technical Communication for Computer Scientists (TechComm) and work on the syllabus. Let me just say, little "sophamores", they wanted to add quizzes and have 12 hours of work a week, but I talked them down. I'm sure you will still complain though.

Now, today was also quite a day for life stories. One of my professors started off class with a list of significant years in her life, so I got to learn about her Uruguayan roots, her husband and toddler, and her doctorate in English.

The second story did not come out so straight-forwardly.

After classes were out, I found Shaza chatting at the cafe, so I then forced her to introduce me to everyone around her (though I don't remember anyone's name). I did re-meet the CMU-Q guy who deejayed for an SDC (Student Dormitory Council) event last year when he was at Pittsburgh.

Shaza and I sat at the bench-stair-thing (which has a name that starts with an "m" that I can't remember) and chatting with whoever would come our way, which included my suitemate, some other classmates, and Zaid.

One, Varun, was having difficulties with my name, as many people have been. A curse I've had since birth, but as strange as all these Arabic names are to me, my funny English/French one is tricky too. They pronounce the "e" at the end of words, so, in writing, they say "Corny" or "Courney." Then, when I pronounce it for them, they hear "Courtney" or "Coreen." Then, when they try to spell it, they get "Karin" and "Corin." So, Varun, in his simplification of many things, dubbed me "Cornish", like the waterfront on the bay in Doha. That is pronounced "core-neesh"... close enough.

Well, when all was said and done, Zaid and I ate pasta and read our respective textbooks while Shaza rode the mini-roller coasters at the mall. Let's not compare, ok?


Zaid and I, after a productive few hours (minus his 15-minute power nap), ended up meeting Shaza halfway down the stairs. And, for some reason, there we stayed, as I met a few Azerbaijans, a few other CMU students, and the jokes about name continued. It was only when I was on the phone with Abdalla (a friend of a friend), that calling me Cornish became an impetus to actually go to the cornish.

As we were headed out to his car, I asked Zaid for Abdalla's background, since I enjoy hearing the stories of how people ended up in Doha. "I like it better when he tells it" was his reply. And thus started my quest to find out about Abdalla.


We drove to a tea stand by the Sheraton, and, in addition to the lovely view, I had a lot of fun with the very diverse group (though they enjoying picking on each other). We all got to talk about outrageous things in our lives, so of course I mentioned my ancestors on the Mayflower, my German heritage, and my mother who worked for the CIA. Of course, there were comments on the family and naming ("Maria? See, that is a name everybody knows. And Valerie? That sounds like Marjorie. And Valkyrie. Your parents must have just wanted to name every-other kid normally.")

Now, you are going to ha
ve to meet Abdalla to ask him yourself why he knows Uru, Arabic, and English, holds an Omani passport, and has two African parents. Why, he might even buy you some tea. (But only the first time. Don't push the Arabian hospitality, or next time, he might "forget" his wallet.)

And, of course, double-fisting a burger and a 1-riyal ($0.30) ice cream cone was the correct way to end the evening.

(Added bonus for those that lasted until the end. See many of my Qatar pictures here
.)

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