Saint Augustine of Hippo was Algerian, a Christian, and a renowned theologian and philosopher who wrote that men admire high mountains, stormy seas, long rivers, vast oceans and the stars in the skies, yet rarely consider the mysteries of themselves. I wonder if we expatriates, here in this remarkable country have a similar attitude to ourselves, and our unique experience.
For a start, there is barely a day that I do not express fulsome regret at not having taken the time or trouble to learn Arabic here. More than 10 years after my arrival I scold myself, while consoling myself with the knowledge that I have improved the English language capabilities of thousands of university students, and hundreds of teachers. I ward off criticism by speaking of myself in a deprecating manner, that I am a “wonderful teacher, but a bad student!”
It usually gets me through that conversation, but is not an attitude that will stand scrutiny.
Adam Gopnik, writing in ‘Paris to the Moon,’ of the expatriate experience, wrote “The loneliness of an expatriate is of an odd and complicated kind, for it is inseparable from the feeling of being free, of having escaped.”
He continues to ponder the ‘escape’ as being from an absolute need to respond to, or to have an immediate opinion on everything, the escape giving one the opportunity to deliberate, and “that you have had a kind of an operation, removing your instant reflexive, side-taking instinct.”
I think he gives many of us too much credit, for our expatriate perspectives begin to appear remarkably shallow.
When visitors arrive, semi-intruding on our experience, and our world, do we really want them to share all we enjoy here? Probably not, but we do want them to understand that we are privileged to be here, or should that be, that Oman is fortunate to have us?
A remarkably candid, or obnoxious, visitor passing through told me once, “You’re only here because you couldn’t ‘make it’ at home.” He was being blunt, not bitter though, and I thought, “Is there a fear among expatriates of not being able to survive in the more demanding environment of ‘home,’ where being ‘good’ is not good enough?” Maybe, but my key response is “We can’t all be outstanding,” and what comes to mind for me is the opinion of Mark Twain that, “Twenty years from now you’ll be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do, than by the things that you did.”
Are many of us washed-up ‘has beens?’ Are we mediocre? Are we the unwitting remnants, or bastions of empires long gone? Do we have a fear of living in a society where a ‘good’ passport doesn’t guarantee an audience, companionship, or ‘social circle?’ Is our generic focus more on change and colonisation, than to adapt to the local cultures? Where do we get this over-riding belief that our societies, and our ways, are better? Are we culturally insensitive and do we thrive on, or in, an environment where we commonly have maids, gardeners, cleaners, and even drivers? Are we predators, with big claws and bigger teeth, forcing the locals to withdraw even deeper into their own society and culture? Do we fiddle as Rome burns? Are we like the Titanic’s crew reorganising the deck chairs, or its orchestra, playing on as we go under? Do I need to be so cynical? Probably not, but hearing others try to take down my ivory towers gets my back up just a little. Having returned home once or twice a year over the last 20 years or so, I have loved every minute of my expatriate experience, and it has rarely been coloured with any more regret than I would have suffered at home. Novelist Jodi Picault wrote that you had to leave a place to love it, and to realise how much you love it. We, living in Oman, can have our cake and eat it too!
petersen_ray@hotmail.com
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