Mubarak bin London

There is probably a term for it, falling somewhere between arrogance and racism.  At any rate, it's an unpleasant experience, seeing it manifest in the everyday interactions of ex-pats and locals, or more likely listening to what we have to say about our hosts after they leave.  Being so far away from home - 20,000 light years ain't in it, speaking culturally, can be lonely and that has to be why the Europeans [which includes any other native English speaking nationals] clump together like the curds in sour milk.  I'm using the term with reason.  Listening to us talk about 'the way they do things around here' can shade over from telling a funny story all the way to outright racism.  I tend to leave about the time people start talking about 'rag heads' or 'camel jockeys.'  Not that I'm really any better; I marvel at the labyrinthine procedures followed to achieve anything and bitch constantly about the driving.  If my car is bugged then I'm likely to be deported any day now.

But really, it isn't right.  I should think that amongst other causes this is the source of the dislike that we run up against from time to time.  It's the arrogance of the Expat, which for want of another label I shall refer to as colonialism.  There's a subtle hint of it in all of us, whether we like it or not, the implication of superiority to which we assume a right, often with no other reason than our language and its given cultural domination.  face it, English is an All-Comers, Open Championship Language Olympiad Gold Medalist.  There really isn't any competition and having an easy command of the imperial language makes you an imperialist.  So there it is, we're over here, over paid and over confident.  Really, we should make a virtue of the fact that we are, after all, guests in someone's home.  Luckily for us, the traditions surrounding guests in Arabian culture allow us a lot of leeway for our ignorant condescension.  As a friend of mine put it they pay us more than we'd get elsewhere and if all they want is to get the fast lane to themselves, is it a lot to ask?

So it was a surprise to woolly liberal me to realize just how guilty I was of the exact same sin I've been describing above.  In different guise, admittedly, but then isn't that always the way with error?  How often do you hear in a classroom "It was an ACCIDENT!  It was a MISTAKE!  I didn't KNOW!"  Sure, I didn't know.  But I do now.  We have a system here in High School of investigative learning.  This Trimester the research statement is "The desert makes us who we are."  I decided to share my fascination with the English Arabists of the past, Burton, Philby and most of all, Thesiger.  I've been reading Thesiger and about Thesiger for some time now.  If you haven't read the accounts of his journeys in the Empty Quarter [Rub Al Khali to us old sand hands] 'Arabian Sands' then give your sense of wonder a treat and look it up.  There happened to be an article in a local magazine this month as he came through Al Ain on his way to the great somewhere else.  With that, a copy of his book and a lot of photographs I reckoned I was on my way to a great learning experience.  Well, I was, but not in the way I first intended.

Wilfred Thesiger came through Al Wagan in the late 1940's.  My students hadn't heard of him.  My sense of superiority swelled - I was going to open their eyes.

"Here's a picture of him when he was young," I said, "and here he is again, later in life.  Let's compare the pictures.."

"That is Mubarak bin London," said Hamad.

"Who?" I asked.

"Mubarak bin London," Hamad replied.  "Everyone here knows about Mubarak bin London.  He made many journeys with the Bedu.  My Grandfather travelled with him across the Rub al Khali."

It was time to sit back and listen.  Some of the students had relatives who had known, travelled with, met or otherwise knew about this man.  Me, I didn't even know his Bedu name.  Caught out by my own sneaky sense of superiority.