Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.


You may remember me complaining about the fact that there was no grass in our backyard when we moved in. Not complaining, really, but remarking, or commenting on it, let's say. The university people told us that we were in the grass-installing queue and it would happen when it happened. I made a mental note to count on at least a year of having a giant sandbox for a backyard.

But then, on Saturday morning, we woke up to this:
 A huge pile of sand outside our backyard door.

Today (Tuesday) it has progressed to this:
Men shoveling sand into our backyard through the backyard door.

This can only mean one thing: GRASS IS COMING. First they put in the sand, then they put in the sprinklers, then they put in the grass. I had hoped they would get it all done before Eid next week (a national holiday, for five days) so as not to lose momentum, but it looks like that's not going to happen.

After all, remember the streetlights? The fixtures are all in place and yet, they do not turn on at night. Somebody somewhere needs to flick a switch or sign a paper or report a problem and it's just not happening. Sigh.

Between lighted streets at night and grass in my backyard, though, I'll take the grass any day. As such, I am shamelessly feeding the worker guys. I even had Magdalena help me serve it to them to butter them up even more. Though that backfired a little when she tried to steal the pita bread back.

Now I'm hiding out on the staircase writing this blog post so it's not so awkward with these dudes in my backyard. It was just weird when it was me on one side of the sliding glass door and them on the other. I know I could close the curtains but I think that would be even more awkward. So I'll just pretend I'm not here for a little while.

And I hope I hope I hope that one of these mornings the girls and I wake up, come downstairs, and see beautiful green grass in our backyard.

Return of sickness

Driving in Dubai