July 2007
Many apologies to faithful readers of this blog for a too-long hiatus and that, now, this blog will have to suffice as the final entry of “Our Life and Times in the Middle East.” Two days ago, we were surrounded by all our earthly belongings; today, we are still surrounded by these same things, but nearly each and every thing has been crated up, wrapped in cardboard, or squeezed into the last cubic centimeter of our luggage. Our trusty laptop, however, which has served us so well, still sits atop a now-empty desk and begs for the final words of this blog to be typed. . . .
We’re leaving at a good time in some ways. The cost of living in Dubai has gone up considerably, and nowadays even gasoline has crept up to over 60 dirham per 30-liter tank (about a buck and a quarter per gallon). We know what you’re all thinking: “These guys are gonna get a rude awakening when they come back and fill up their 1985 Chevy Suburban at over three dollars a gallon!” But I must say in our defense that we have always known that we have been living a petrol dream; and for the record, we pay the difference in string cheese which works out to about $2.50 a stick. But I digress. The point is that driving in Dubai, along with a lot of other things, has become quite pricey. Just today they installed the first toll plazas in Dubai. Average drivers can expect to pay over $1500 per year in tolls.
(As a side note, this entire toll-road issue has become quite controversial. Local officials have stated that the toll’s purpose is not to raise revenue but to control traffic. Residents called their bluff, and the officials’ response to this criticism demonstrates a somewhat amusing philosophy of public service: see this hyperlink to read the toll authorities calling the public whom they should be serving ignorant!)
I thought the last three weeks in the office would be a gentle slope towards the pleasant meadow of departure . . . . Unfortunately, my managers are not familiar with the words “gentle,” “pleasant,” or even “departure”: they seem to be in denial that I WILL get on that plane. This denial is demonstrated by the mid-tour level of to-do items that they have been dropping in my inbox. Last Thursday, I finally pointed out that I would not have enough time to do yet another “cut the text of one report and paste it into another report” project. Given the past two years, I was hardly surprised when my supervisor tried to negotiate with me on this and actually spent more time arguing than if he had just done the job himself!
My most immediate supervisor, like us, is departing soon. Her own anxiousness to move on distracts her from my attempts to scale down my workload. Still, it was different even a short time ago when she asked—no, begged me to return for four or a few weeks to cover the summer turnover. (It’s amazing how dispensable you are in the early days and then how indispensable you become as your departure nears!) Despite my overall professional unhappiness in this position, I have yet to lock down another job offer anyway and think it would be a good chance to earn a little overtime and per diem, so I agreed.
Knowing that I want to move on, but not knowing what to move on to, has been frustrating. I have attempted to dialog about three different internal positions, all of which were resolutely and quickly shot down. My sponsoring office in Washington is going through something of a reorganization and is not about to let a single warm body out the door. So, here I am: stuck with a bureaucrat’s job on a bureaucrat’s salary, living in one of the most expensive cities on the globe. Since we’d much sooner change jobs than send Amy job hunting, we’re looking at a range of other options. (Months ago, we looked at San Francisco, but this is also a bit out of our price range right now.) One place that seems quite reasonable and might allow us to live normally is Portland, Oregon. There is a job there for which I am well qualified and which might provide future opportunities to live overseas again. It’s with Department of Homeland Security, one that has offices all across the country as well as overseas opportunities. When that two-year itch comes up again, we can no doubt look at Orlando, Sioux City, New England, or Arkansas . . . Well, maybe not Arkansas—Amy’s not going to chop on that anytime soon . . . .
The kids are taking the move well enough, we suppose. Christian was excited to see all of our things in so many boxes. Borrowed toys (which we were lent to us by friends) are about as good as new toys for both Christian and Henry, so, added to the repeated messages about flying on an airplane to see grandma and grandpa, this is practically as good as Christmastime for them! Luckily, we have flights to Washington that start at the crack of dawn and go till evening of the next day; this means that even if the kids don’t sleep until we’re in Washington, they shouldn’t be a bother to folks trying to get some shut eye over the Atlantic Ocean. And in-flight entertainment should do a lot of the hard labor of airplane parenting. What we have, however, is Cyrus: an unknown quantity when it comes to flying for nearly a full day. He’s such a good baby almost all the time, but he’s a Bangerter true to form: if he doesn’t get his nap, somebody, anybody, everybody’s gonna pay.
Henry is in his bossy stage. He goes around ordering everyone to “Don’t talk to me,” “Stop it,” and “That’s ‘nuff.” Last night we sat down to dinner and he pointed to Amy and then me and said very sternly, “You don’t say prayer. I say prayer,” and began his sweet-but-incomprehensible prayer whisper. He begins with mumbling; somewhere in the middle we always hear “Mommy, daddy, Sheshing, Henny, Bay-beece,” and then more mumbling which would continue non-stop unless one of us suggests the word, “Amen.”
Cyrus is crawling around and, strangely enough, explores less by putting things in his mouth (what most kids his age do) and more by slapping them with his palm! He’s definitely a mouther, too, but more often than not, he’ll give something (or someone) a good whack or two to figure out what/who it is. His next choice for sensory learning is still tactile: he’ll grab the thing (or person) with his kung-fu grip and just mush it around in his hand for a spell. Cyrus has done this so often to people that my face has begun to resemble a bull dog! Cyrus is also very happy (most of the time) and quite smiley. Several people in Dubai Ward (our Church group here) call him the ward baby; almost every Friday, he is being looked after by this friend or that. In fact, a friend of ours at Church paid us a very nice compliment a few weeks ago, nothing that on any given Friday all three of our boys will be off sitting with different people!
Well, it really is sinking in now: how much we’ll miss good friends we’ve made here in Dubai and how much we miss friends and family in the States. One thing we’ve learned about ourselves is that overall we do like living abroad. It’s hard to be so far away from family and from certain aspects of American culture. Still, there’s so much adventure involved in getting out of our comfort zone and having to do with what’s at hand. Besides, being overseas is a great platform for accomplishing another of our life’s dreams: world travel. And maybe some of you will be able to benefit from us living abroad: a free place to stay in Istanbul, Shanghai, or Nairobi. Our door is always open, even if we’re in plain ol’ Virginia!