Half the day is over, another half to go. Then sleep. Then wake up. Then start the cycle again.

And again, I am starting to get restless, like that hamster in the wheel in the cage; going round and round and round; toiling all day, and getting no where.

But that isn't entirely true. This year alone, and it's only April 15 today, I have crisscrossed the Atlantic several times. In fact, I have been home to Bahrain twice, and a third and a fourth trip are in the making - probably a fifth too, but that isn't until the end of the year - and the dynamics of the trip are likely to be different then as I will be making a trek from Bahrain, where I will hopefully be settled, to here ... Ok, enough blabbering about being cocooned - strapped to an airline seat, surrounded by people I don't even know - many without even the courtesy to greet me and smile. I mean, in our culture, we are taught, that when you enter a room full of people, you smile and greet them all. But our culture, traditions and teachings have no place in the real world, do they?

Again I am like Tarzan, jumping from one tree to the other when once, not so long ago, I was able to recollect my thoughts and string them neatly in a publishable article, starting with one explosive missile, sleekly moving on to the other, and finally culminating with a climax which still left some of my readers confused - those who didn't get the Cliff Notes to go with the article.

So where was I? I was in the cage on the wheel, going in circles, which isn't entirely true because I did go to places, crossing boundaries, and oceans, meeting people and speaking, listening and learning, and explaining to amused customs and immigration officers my circumstances, like this one:

London Heathrow officer 1: Why are you going to Canada?

Me: My husband is there.

LHO1: What does he do there?

Me: He's studying.

LHO1: What do you do there?

Me: I vacuum and clean, wash his dishes and do his laundry.

LHO1 shoots me a furious look.

What am I supposed to tell him? I am in Canada, after all, accompanying my better half. What do I do here? Fishing is by a permit. The weather is friggin' cold - even ducks migrate. Two blocks past the downtown mall is a no go zone, because of all the homeless people, the drug gangs and the stabbings and shootings - and my building is full of doctors, surgeons, filthy rich students, bankers and lawyers - so NO thanks - I would rather face my computer screen than hear them enjoying listening to their own voices.

So going back to my point, in four years, I have been reduced from a people's person - to an introvert, who prefers my own company and who is able to fill all hours of day and night, being content doing whatever I do alone. Little by little, I think I have also lost my patience for nonsense and being nice to stupid people.

Take this little retard who questioned me on my return from Frankfurt on my way to Toronto recently.

Frankfurt Officer: Do you have a valid visa to Canada?

Me: Yes -- showing him the Visa

FO: What do you do there?

Me: I am a journalist by profession but I am currently accompanying my husband in Canada.

FO: What does he do there?

Me: He's doing his PhD.

FO: What is he doing his PhD in?

Me: Health policy, research and economics ... erm ..

FO: What is it about?

Me: erm ... (my turn to shoot an angry look at an officer) ... Not entirely sure, but if you give me your email or address I can send you a summary and once he's done with his thesis, I can certainly forward it to you.

He gazes at me.

I gaze back at him. What am I supposed to do? What is his research in you moron?? Seriously?

FO: You can go through

Me: Thank you

As I pass, I turn around and see his neck going crimson red! I don't want to be in the place of the person standing behind me in the queue. He would probably ask her what her husband's favourite underwear colour is - if she is married and off to rejoin her husband in Toronto. How I wished he had asked me that!

But seriously, where do they pick those immigration and customs officers from? And why are men in uniform, everywhere, anywhere, so ... erm ... not-too-smart?


MissNoName said...

They like to pick on us arabs. We're special! Joking aside, I agree with you. On my way to Heathrow from Canada to UAE, the officer didn't only ask me why do I have an e-ticket or what I'm doing in Canada or why am I going to Dubia, but he was pretty sure I had no right to be in the airport without a transit visa. He gave it to me forcefully. It doesnt even end here, being new to the travelling-alone experience I asked him what would be my next step and he simply said you should the one who knows. I gave him a mental punch in the face and left. :)

Post a Comment

Copyright © Silly Bahraini Girl