Sit Down & Shut Up!

We got our first taste of Kuwaiti Bureaucracy today. Unlike Honduras, where we were the top of the chain, in Kuwait we fall much more in the middle of the hierarchy. Not only do we need to know the right people to get service, it would also be a huge boon if those right people were Kuwaiti and not white.

The story. Tomorrow is the first day with students. All of us are giddy, nervous, excited and filled with that fluttery first day feeling that every teacher gets, no matter how many first days you’ve had. We are suddenly blessed with this huge blast of energy. Our minds are filled with plans and stories and lessons and creations and we are ready to go and work and prepare. It is the absolute worst day to have us leave early and get fingerprinted, so that is exactly what we did.

Instead of working in our classes, putting our energy to good use, we spent the morning learning about Kuwaiti bank accounts and health plans. Good and important meetings, but not nearly fun and creative enough for my taste. Then at 1:00 we were loaded onto a bus and taken to a government office. We had heard this could take awhile so most of us had books and snacks to get us through the afternoon.

We arrived in a mass of laughs and noise. We are teachers. We are loud and assertive by nature. Put 40 of us in a room, the majority women, and we are going to garnish attention. Add to the fact that we are the only women in a small room filled with Kuwaiti and other Arab men. We are dressed western. Ankles are showing, hair is down and opposite sexes are intermingling.

For the first hour, we talk and laugh and chat and yell and eat and giggle and generally act like happy, boisterous North Americans. In hour 2 we are hushed. A man walks around and politely tells us to quiet down or we will be kicked out. We quiet, but not enough. 5 minutes later he clarifies, NO talking or we are out in the desert heat. It is silent, for a minute, maybe two, then, just like our students, we begin whispering, chatting, quietly laughing and nibbling on food. Minutes later we are told to stand up and move.

So we do. We are moved to a smaller, more crowded room, with chairs closer together and men standing and watching us. I am not uncomfortable. I wish for the bathroom (it is behind closely guarded locked doors) but otherwise I am content with my kindle and B with his ipad. We wait. Honduras has prepared us well.

Other teachers are not so content. Many of the teachers feel it is unfair that the Arab men and even the male teachers can talk, but if one of the female teachers open their mouths they are promptly scolded and reprimanded. There is more and more crumbling as we sit there. Then the final straw breaks. We are told we should not and cannot be eating. Moments after this a teacher accidently drops her soda bottle on the floor. Glass and pop are everywhere. Before anyone can react we are hustled out the door and into the hot, hot air. Eventually we load back onto the bus. There we sit for the remaining 3 hours. The bus has air-conditioning and we are allowed to speak but that is the limit of its perks. It is small and cramped and noisy. B and I are lucky to secure the long back seat so we settle in for a game of ipad chess and wait. (I lost.)

Finally, we are told we may reenter and form a line to be fingerprinted. We must be silent. We must not speak or stand near those of the opposite sex. We must not act like North Americans. We have learned. We walk in meekly and obediently to form our 2 lines. We wait and wait and wait.   Another group of North Americans come in as we wait. They are teachers from a different school. They are predominantly white and loud. Oh, so loud. We begin to cower in fear. What if they associate these teachers with us? What if we get kicked out again? We are so, so close to being fingerprinted. Don’t kick us out. Please, don’t kick us out.

Luckily, before any of this can happen, a very short man comes out from behind a wall. He screams (and I mean, SCREAMS!!) in Arabic at all of us. He gestures and screams some more. He yells at the school official from the new school to translate. He does – the translation is basically “SHUT UP! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Seriously, SHUT UP! I have been working in this hot, sweaty office since 7 this morning and it is now 6 at night and I am trying to keep working and you all are giving me a headache so SHUT UP!” (This is not an exaggeration; this is more or less what was translated to us.)

So they shut up and we stayed silent with our fingers and toes crossed and we made it. We all got fingerprinted. We are that much closer to being Kuwaiti citizens. The only thing stopping us now is chest X-rays and blood tests on Tuesday. Let’s hope for more patient officials and calmer teachers.

Cheers from Kuwait!