I did not expect to be culturally shocked in Cleveland. I had lived for five years away from home, and was misguided thinking I should not be expecting to have a culture shock. I was wrong. My first two months in Cleveland were tough. My first day was a series of encounters that left me at best wondering. I had trouble taking the bus, queuing in Starbucks, and standing in the street.

I guess my first- and maybe main- cause of discomfort and shock was how to behave around strangers, or rather, how strangers behaved around me. My university is towards the East, not so far from East of Cleveland, an economically troubled area. Every time I waited for my bus and a stranger approached and said hi and started asking where I’m heading to, where I work, and talked about the journey of their day my nerves were on edge. I never knew whether they were being friendly, or were intending mug me. It took me almost two months to figure it out.

During orientation sessions held to help international students understand the American way of life, one point has been repeatedly stressed: “Americans avoid asking strangers about religion, politics and sex, so they expect the same from you”, and I honestly find that statement very bizarre. I am still not sure what benchmark was used to compare Americans to, but one thing that I observed here was that many people I met felt at liberty of asking about all three of those. Some people told me this was specific to the “Mid-West”, while others said it was specific to certain ethnic groups. I don’t have an aswer.

While riding the bus people would ask  me where I came from, if I was from India, what my religion is, and discuss various “hot” topics of international politics they assume would be of interest to me. By now I feel fully accustomed to how things are here, and I no longer feel that uncomfortable talking to strangers. I can distinguish friendly people who want to talk about the agonies of their day from those who are waiting for a chance to runaway with my purse, I enjoy small talk with people heading to work and it amazes me how simple people here are. I still, though, kind of dislike hearing “where are you from”, and I am not sure exactly why.

People in Cleveland also surprised me in so many positive ways. People here are very generous. They invite you for meals, offer to get you coffee on their way and have no problems giving you a ride without splitting gas money even when gas was $4/gallon. The day I moved in, my next door neighbours were moving out, and they gave me their TV, and their air-conditioner, at no charge.

I think I came to Cleveland expecting to find Cardiff, and that’s why I was shocked. I found that every time I was surprised by something, it wasn’t because it was different than Bahrain, but because it was different than Cardiff. I think my subconscious established already that Cleveland should and would be different than Bahrain, and choose Cardiff for comparison. What’s amazing is that Cleveland has- I think- more in common with Bahrain.

I sometimes dread it when people ask where I come from.  Not more than 10% of people who hear “Bahrain” as answer have some sort of idea where that country might be, but that’s not my cause of annoyance.For those who know that Bahrain is indeed in the Persian Gulf, there is one thing that comes to mind- wealth.

Some people might ask, but it’s those who assume who annoy me the most. For the past two months I made a lot of friends, mainly Indians given the demographics of the student body in my program. Despite the fact that most of these are actually Indian elites, owners of chains of businesses and are wealthy themselves- they love to point out that I must be wealthy. When at some occasions I said just that, it appeared that some have the notion that we’re unnecessarily wealthy, that is, it’s undeserved wealth; while theirs is hard worked for. Oh, and they use Bahrain and Dubai interchangeably.

-    Public transport here is not very good, but getting a car is very expensive. I would’ve got one
-    Used or new?
-    Used, I’m only here for a short period of time.
-    Get a new one it’s better
-    It’ll be much more expensive
-    But you come from Bahrain, you can buy a car!

-    You mean you’re not rich?
-    Actually, no.
-    Everyone in Dubai was rich.
-    I don’t know about that, but not everyone in Bahrain is rich.
-    Only expats are poor.
-    That’s very misguided.

-    No one speaks Arabic there.
-    Expats tend to not learn it.
-    No, I stayed in Dubai for four years and no one speaks Arabic.

-    You live on your own?
-    Yes.
-    Doesn’t it work out to be expensive? But it’s ok for you, you’re from Bahrain.
-    I live 2 miles away from the university, you live across the street. Apartments where I live are much cheaper. Oh, and my scholarship actually pays for the rent not my dad.
-    But your dad would, if they didn’t.
-    He would if he could.
-    You mean he couldn’t?
-    No.
-    Come on.
-    I’m serious.

“Not excatly” was mum’s reply when I complained why we were to have an Eidless Ramadan this year. “We are having Eid, we are just not having Eid lunch”. “So what is it we are having for Eid then, mother?”

She herself seemed rather distressed but tried hard to appear otherwise. She composed herself; “some of your aunts are leaving for a short break during the holiday” she explained. Both my paternal and maternal side of the family decided that there were too few of them to hold a feast for Eid. “We can go out for lunch, with your brothers” she proposed. I was still sore and annoyed and did not hold from stating that the idea did not appeal to me, and that I felt that my Eid was sabotaged- by everybody.

My brother felt quite the same, “You mean no one is gathering at all?” he said with an incredulous look when I broke the news to him four days ahead of Eid. “Is that some collaborative work to ruin Eid?” he questioned. In fact, it seemed that way.

It is moments like those that I feel that my society is caught up between its collective past and a newly introduced individualistic trend.  While I do not mind either ways of life, I indeed mind having to do with no Eid plans- thinking there would be the usual collective one- only to find out four days ahead that there won’t be, since everyone is having their own little plan or vacation. I would have loved a short city break somewhere, but how could I have left the grand annual gathering that follows the holy month? If I had done that then all would have complained- I wasn’t even considerate enough to put an effort to attend something that only comes once a year.

Who is to blame, for my Eidless Ramadan? I wondered. The problem persists, since the lack of Eid feast this year does not necessarily mean abolishing it for the years to come. You cannot possibly guess or plan ahead, simply live on hope that your pick of holiday style would the correct one: choosing to travel the year everybody decides to leave or staying the year they stay.

My uncle lamented the absence of his mother- my paternal grandmother- and commented on how this would have never been the case if she, may she rest in peace, was around. “See, they need the dictator to impose some discipline on them, they cannot even shoulder the responsibility of their own Eid” he said.

It feels good though, that I managed to gather those of my family who were left on the island and still got my ever-so-great maternal grandmother to cook her delicious Eid Feast which she religiously refused to have ready from any catering.

I do, indeed, find it gruelling to start my day without my morning coffee, not forgetting food and water of course. Towards sunset no longer am I craving food; but needing it. I like Ramadan, nonetheless.

I like Ramadan because it is the only time of the year during which all my family members gather for a meal- everyday. They are all punctual, too. I like Ramadan because it is a change from the year-round routine. People’s schedules, meals and greetings all change for Ramadan; I like how special Ramadan is treated.

I like the change of air, just how I like the change of seasons and how life and people change to adapt for it. The snow, the coats, the boats, shorter days and longer nights, then the blossom, followed by the sun- flip-flops, beaches and dining alfresco style. A change seen nearly in all aspects of life- I love it.

Almost deprived from the four seasons, watching people revel in Ramadan is refreshing. Ramadan brings with it a feel of togetherness and a connection to tradition not seen any other time of the year.

It stays true though, that every year we manage to successfully sabotage its spirit and extinguish its spark squabbling about when it should start. No, we do not stop there; we squabble once again about when it should end. I care not about Wednesdays or Thursdays, for the joy of Ramadan and Eid would always be one.

In spite of some Ramadaners’ temper and confused start dates, Ramadan Kareem to all of you.

The night before last was indeed one of a kind. The 14th of the Arabic lunar month Sha’baan, the month preceding the holly month of Ramadan, is a spectacular day to visit Bahrain. A grand festival is held throughout the island’s villages and towns; the largest of which is held in the capital, Manama, where I spent my night. It is believed that the 15th Sha’baan is the birth date of the last Shia Imam, who is thought to be still alive since his birth in the 12th century. Shia believe that the Imam, called Al Mahdi, is their saviour, whose location is concealed from everyone awaiting the day of his expected return, in Makka. Nonetheless, a stroll in Manama last night is enough to show that the event metamorphosed from a religious congregation into an enchanting social event.

Free food and (soft) drinks is served to everyone. Short after sunset prayer (Maghrib), the narrow alleys of Manama were heaving with buffet tables that offered a wide range of dishes for the passers-by. Open barbecues, fried to order kebabs and dumplings, vine leaves, sandwiches, puddings and baklava are few amongst many one can pick while enjoying the background music of the Hussaini Studio Band meandering around the old town. Where the band was not present, was the Islamic DJ van, whose beat resonated through the neighbourhoods of Manama. Yes, all was for free. You are most likely to be receiving coins and treats (which used to be mostly chocolates and sweets but have now diversified to include miniature dolls and figures) from people around you.

Yet, there was more to be seen. Cork figures depicting various prophets are also seen. One that I can clearly recall was a cork figure of a big fish (whale) which has inside it a man praying, representing the story of prophet Jonah (Yunus in Arabic), which according to both the biblical and Qura’nic story was thrown overboard a ship and swallowed by a big fish. My hometown was resplendent in colours: paintings, figures and neon lights. Even the dusty walls of the old houses were draped in ornate hangings.

If it wasn’t for the humid August weather that makes our nights hotter than our days and the piles of litter along the sides of the streets I would say my night was perfect. Not any of the decoration or the festival modernization stopped people from littering the streets with empty plastic cups, plates and tissues.  Towards the end of the festival, you could see lines of white – everywhere. It was such a painful scene, given how much time and effort people put into making this event perfect, but not when it comes to rubbish.

I was, however, positively surprised by how naturally everything happened. No forced segregation lines between the ladies and the gentlemen or dictated code of conduct. People were simply themselves: conservative, yet not all the way, allowing themselves to simply enjoy the moment. The happy look on people’s faces, not distracted by beads of sweat on their foreheads really made my night.

Never had I read anything that referred to alcohol with such passion. The amount of love described surpasses that in a lot of orthodox love poetry. Abu Nawas is indeed a unique and an interesting historical character to investigate. Indulgence in alcohol, homosexuality and fornication are his main poetry subjects, with verses that do not shy away from explicitness.

Celebrating his love for boys, he describes the young bartender and declares to ladies his lack of guilt for pederasty. He asks fellow men to “piss on the milk”, because they always have the better alternative, wine. Women still had a share of his love, for there was always the seductive female bartender, the singer, the dancer and the slave. Abu Nawas had earned himself a prestigious seat in “Mujun Poets”, or indecent poets.

Mujun poets were the rebels of their time, against social and Islamic norms they called for indulgence in pleasures- in public- with no shame. Given the amount of obscenity Mujun literature can be considered pornography.

It is inconceivable how a society which was tolerant enough to allow pornography to develop into a literature and poetry genre, can be in its state today. Blasphemy was inseparable to it, shocking the society into tolerance. Some Sukhf (ridicule) literature was the South Park of its time, rich in parody and satire.

In the twenty first century we stand, shocked by Majnoon Laila, Danish Cartoons and Nizar Qabbani’s Poetry. Westernized we call everything sexual, on a secret mission to adulterate our pure culture.

Wiking Abu Nawas in Arabic leads to an article where he’s described as a poet and a man of religion, with selected poetry verses of praise, pride, and better yet, repentance. The same search in English results in an article more informative with references to what Abu Nawas was notorious for, his Khamriyyat (Wine Poetry) and boy love. Saddening how such socially imposed censorship can do to our culture and literature, and how selective teaching of history can mislead our young, for many still think that men’s long hair is a Western export.

In year 800 Arabs believed in more freedom of speech than they do in 2007.

No matter how people try to merge both into one, culture and religion are two different things. In his article about decaying Khaleeji values, emoodz blurs the borders of culture and religion on our part of the world, and looks at the society as one piece. Confused and puzzled he writes about the double standards of societies of the Gulf States.

Islam and the Arabs, although tightly related, are two different entities. The Arabian culture was- and still is- rich with customs and rituals that are not particularly Islamic. Islam nurtured some, tried to abolish some, and said nothing about most. During the 1400 years of post-Islam Arabia, the interaction between the Arabian culture and Islam was dynamic. Islam added to the Arabian culture, and so did the culture to Islam. New Hadiths came to the surface and often with odd culturally endorsed concepts.

No matter how stern Islam was on trying to shape a new nation out of the Arabs, abolishing the Arab nationalism into a new Islamic Identity- this was never entirely achieved. Humans have multiple feelings of belonging, and the hierarchy of such feelings changes with the change of time, circumstances and surroundings.

The majority of the Khaleeji population is not in a yes-or-no, take-it-or-leave-it position with Islam. They pick and chose what suits their personal beliefs and lifestyle, what the society makes an easy option and what they are accustomed to do. The blend of Islam and Arabia is what makes up our society, the components of which vary in proportion from one person to another.

I remember being asked once what the Bahraini culture thought of food. Is it something that you should save, not waste and never cook a lot of, or is cooking a lot of food part of being a good host?

I stopped for two seconds before answering. There were both perceptions in our society: the former being the Islamic one and the latter being the Arabian one. Islam condemns the waste of food, while Arabia mandates a good host to provide multiple amounts of food more than needed by his guest. “So, what do people usually do?” He asked. “One or the other, it depends on the person” I answered.

In another incident, I heard an English friend say that when she was on holiday to Egypt, they were in a secluded desert area that only had the tents of the locals. “The Bedouins sold us food and beer!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know Bedouins drink”.

Truth is, there is nothing particularly Bedouin or even Arab about not drinking. The existence of distinctively Arab alcoholic drinks (e.g. Arak) being the best evidence. Islam forbids drinking, not Bedouins.

Islam promoted women’s modesty in their dress code. Pre-Islamic Arabia had the face-cover, the veil or the Burqa, which was used to protect a woman’s face from the sand and to cover their identity. Women did not cover all other parts of their body- as preserved by women adhering to the Islamic dress code. Yes, they might cover their faces, but they showed their arms, hair and cleavage.

Every culture has its form of dirty dance, and Arabia is no exception. The counter-Islamic notion of dirty dance would never abolish dirty dancing from any society. The face cover in the dancing clip in emoodz blog is rather normal; it is an ancient Arabian custom for women to dance with their face covered- some men find it a turn on and that is exactly the point. The Islamic background of the society has nothing to do with this part of their lives; the dancers’ face cover is a display of her culture rather than her religion, part of the whole theme. An Arabian themed porn movie with a face covered woman- double standards? Obviously the face cover has no religious notion here. Women cover their faces when they’re performing some dances even in the women-only weddings and gatherings.

The dirty dances of all cultures- including lap dances are of the same principle. I do not see why this should be linked to women needing sex. Women perform such sexual acts implied dances in clubs all the time- and I wouldn’t assume these girls to be sexually deprived.

Next thing we will hear is how Caracalla dancers were dancing with their heads covered with the costume they were wearing- what double standards.

Mind you, I don’t like the dance after all.