The Bubbles

So this is part of the micro view of my life over the last 2 and a half months. The big picture isn’t entirely filled in, so it may give you a distorted view of things, but sometimes there’s no avoiding that. (In other words, my life in Oman has not revolved around bubbles, despite what it may seem like at the end of this post).

We were told that it would be good to bring small gifts for our host family and also some gifts for small children with us when we came. I brought some bubbles, some Frisbees, and some sidewalk chalk. I, in my intelligence, decided to strategically space out when I would give the kids the gifts. The first thing I broke out, towards the beginning of homestay period, was the bubbles. I was initially glad because I had brought four little bottles of bubbles and there were four kids in my host family (although there are up to a dozen kids who come through the house some days). Not too surprisingly, the two oldest took a short but limited interest in them, while the younger ones couldn’t quite figure out how to use them properly. Here’s the key, though—after they were done using them, they returned the bubbles to me. They didn’t seem to understand that it was a gift, despite my efforts. After a bit I thought, “well hey, it’s a small house, so I guess my room is a logical place to store them anyways.”

The heart of the saga, though, is in the later developments with the two youngest children, Selma(4) and Sarah(18months). Their initial shyness began to dissipate with the bubbles, which they call “Saboon” = soap. That’s part of my surprise, actually. At first I was almost offended that bubbles should be called soap. They’re so much more than that---but then I realized…. that “bubble solution” actually is just soap. Marketing has ruined us. But anyways, Selma and Sarah really love the bubbles, which is odd, becaue Sarah hasn’t produced one bubble yet. She loves holding it though, and occasionally laughing as if she’s having fun with them.

And it has been perpetual drama in my room ever since then. For starters, everyone decided that the blue bubbles were superior to the other ones—and somehow the younger girl can seriously bully her older sister around enough to get them. My host sister’s friends have gotten in on the act, exacerbating the mob mentality surrounding the bubble culture. Also, there is this really intense process where they hand the bubbles back to me, then demand them back every 20 seconds or so. The bubbles have been refilled with soap several times now, but for the last 2 weeks, no one has actually blown any bubbles. Still the sheer joy of possessing them, passing them around, crying about them, handing them back to me, running around for five seconds then asking for them back has become somewhat of a neighborhood obsession, or “fad” if you will. The bubbles have been treated so roughly that all but one of the wands are actually broken now. The soap in the bottles is now some solution that’s inferior to the high quality American-engineered and Chinese made bubble solution available at your local Wal-Mart. The sidewalk chalk goes mostly unused as well, yet holding it, opening it, pointing at it, and passing it around are all gaining in popularity as well.

When it comes to children, I think I have the timidity of a five year old (I just hate seeing kids cry), and the grouchiness of a 70 year old (I can’t even describe how many diatribes I’ve prepared telling the kids about the futility of their actions, the false happiness of possession, the importance of sharing, etc.—unfortunately the diatribes are in English, and the kids speak highly colloquial Arabic, or don’t speak at all yet, so very few of the diatribes have been delivered).

The saga is continuing. To write this post, I decided to lock the door and not answer it. (I sometimes lock the door, but the kids have figured out that when they knock, I open the door, and they can run into my room then). It took a while for them to understand that I had wised up and wasn’t going to answer the door (even if they kept knocking for five minutes, and tried the handle every 5 seconds to see if I had unlocked it!)

And this is what cultural immersion is about I guess. There’s something to be learned here about views on property, personal boundaries, private space, public space, etc. but I don’t know what it is exactly.