The joys of home schooling

Bahrain's education authorities have re-closed the primary schools until 18 October. Swine flu strikes again!

The girls' school is preparing weekly packs so that parents can teach their children at home until schools reopen. In other words, we have had home schooling forced upon us.

While many parents have been venting their spleen in the local press, a lone mother wrote in trying to sound a positive note. We must, said she, view this as an extraordinary opportunity to bond with our children. People should be more positive and start seeing this as a situation where the cup is half full rather than half empty. Coffee mornings and gym sessions should be put on hold for a month while we rally round our offspring.

Stirring words! But maybe she's right, I thought. I've never had the remotest desire to home school, but now that I have no choice, why not at least try to do it with a smile on my face?

We started today. After the first hour, I was finding it very difficult to view my cold, only partially-drunk cafe latte as a cup half full. After a further hour of Olivia's arguing, the only bonding I was interested in was of her lips, tightly together, preferably with super glue.

Only another four days to the weekend! And if anyone reading this home schools, my hat goes off to you - I don't know how you do it.

Double celebration

This weekend was a double celebration in our household: it was our 11th wedding anniversary and the end of Ramadan.

According to a friend of mine, 11 years is your steel anniversary - presumably because that's what you need nerves of to get this far in matrimony.

Neither Ian nor I are very good at remembering our anniversary, but luckily Isabelle and Olivia had elaborate plans in place to make up for our shortcomings. Isabelle ensured Ian was given an anniversary card out of her private hand-made collection on which to write suitable sweet-nothings and Olivia was in cahoots with him to buy flowers and lay a special anniversary dinner table.

Bahrain's preparations for Eid (the holiday at the end of Ramadan) were no less elaborate. Timing is crucial. The start of the three day holiday depends on four criteria being fulfilled. According to the vice-president of the Bahrain Astronomical Society these are:"...first, the moon must be born before the sunset, secondly it must be seen after sunset, thirdly the epoch of the calculations must be at Mecca, and fourthly the moon must be witnessed by people". Yes, I was confused too. For the fourth requirement, Bahrain has an imaginatively-named moon sighting committee.

Quaint as all this moon searching is, it does cause organisational problems. School calendars have entries like "Eid holiday starts - probably", which makes holiday planning a bit tricky.

For Muslims, the holiday is a time for great celebration when family and friends to get together, and wish each other "Eid Mubarak!" (Happy Eid). Children traditionally receive the "Eidiah" - a gift of money - from family, friends and neighbours.

I had a hair appointment on Sunday (the first day of Eid). The salon I use is owned by the daughter of a prominent local businessman and it was full of the females in her family being primped, preened and plucked in preparation for the festivities ahead.

Arab women take their grooming extremely seriously; most of them looked more polished when they entered the salon than I did when I left it. I thought the French and Belgians were beauty addicts - hairdressers in Brussels seem to outnumber all other professions - but Bahraini and Saudi ladies are in a different league. My appointment was at 10am and there was already more Prada and Jimmy Choo in the room than on an Oscar red carpet.

My hairdresser (an Aussie) took great delight in whispering a running who's-who commentary of the great and the good coming into the salon. The anecdote of the morning was the story of the lost watch. Apparently one of these poor ladies had misplaced her timepiece the previous week and thought she may have left it in the salon. It was gold with lots of diamonds - bling is big here - and a gift from her father. Estimated value? BD 14,000 (around GBP 22,700). Not really the sort of item you leave lying around while having your weekly mani-pedi then.

Ramadan Kareem!

The Holy Month of Ramadan, when Muslims believe Allah revealed his Holy law to the Prophet Muhammed, is drawing to a close.

During Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. The fasting is designed to focus attention on Allah and to bring home the plight of the poor and hungry. The whole pace of the Kingdom changes. People start work later (to allow them to have another nap after taking their breakfast or "Suhoor" at about 4.30am) and finish earlier - around 2pm - because by then they are so exhausted from eating and drinking nothing all day in searing temperatures that the only thing they are fit for is bed.

The fast is broken after the "Maghrib" prayers at sunset. The meal taken at this time is called "Iftar", and traditionally consists of a few dates followed by a wholesome soup or stew. Later in the evening, usually around 9 or 10pm, people meet for a "Ghabga" or "gathering" and a more substantial meal. This is a chance to catch up with friends and family. Mosques offer Iftar in their courtyards, especially for the under-privileged and most companies and societies have some sort of ghabga during the month. Here I am with my friend, Jane, heading off to meet other friends for a ghabga in the Ramadan tent at the Novotel. The buffet was sumptuous with extensive hot and cold mezzahs, biryanis and shawarmas, all washed down with juice or soft drinks (the only downside).

During Ramadan no-one is allowed to serve food or drink during the day (so all the restuarants and coffee shops are closed) and anyone caught eating or drinking in public gets a stern warning from the police. Some poor bloke was arrested last week for lighting a cigarette in public. He claims he forgot it was Ramadan. I have resorted to crouching down in the car for furtive sips of water while out and about.

I find the whole fasting thing amazing. Bahrainis must have incredible willpower. This is not some poxy 2-day detox. This is a whole month. Not everyone fasts, of course. Children, the sick, the elderly, and pregnant or menstruating women are exempted. For others, it is a personal choice. I was visiting an Iraqi friend last week and she offered me a glass of vino at 3pm - which was welcome as we have run out of white wine and no more will be on sale until after Ramadan finishes. Neither she nor her family fast, she told me. Nor do many of her friends. She tried it once when she was in her teens. Never again.

Yet many do fast for the entire month. I overheard a Bahraini woman at the girls' gym class yesterday describing how she was suffering from the most debilitating headaches each day as she was so dehydrated. Although she did not drink anything, she did allow herself to crunch a paracetemol now and again to get through the day.

It's the labourers I really feel for. Stuck out in the heat of the day, they must work without food or drink. Despite not having to work during the two or three hottest hours, I don't know how more of them don't keel over with heatstroke or worse.

Shopping hours also change during Ramadan, with shops closed in the afternoon and then re-opening in the early evening until at least 11pm. Shopping malls are packed until well after midnight, with loads of activities for kids and music and entertainment. All to ensure that everyone has a happy Ramadan - or Ramadan Kareem!

Back to school - at last

School re-opened yesterday. At last. Thankfully the relevant Ministries in Bahrain have not gone the way of those in Oman, where primary schools are now closed until December because of the swine flu epidemic.

The girls were a bit nervous; new school and all that. Here they are in their new uniforms.


By the time we reached their new classrooms, we were all somewhat more disheveled. The humidity was so high that the apparent temperature yesterday was 50 degrees. Yes, 50 degrees! It's hard trying to play the part of the Yummy Mummy when your hair is in frizzy corkscrew curls, your make-up is streaming down your face and you have large wet patches all over your torso.

When I got home (and got changed), I read the story of Fawziya Abdullah Youssef in the local paper. Fawziya was from Yemen. When she was 11, her father married her to a 24-year-old man who works in Saudi Arabia. She has just died giving birth to a stillborn after a difficult delivery. She was 12.

All of which puts into sharp perspective any jitters my girls may have been feeling about their first day at their swanky new private school.

Swine flu fever

Yesterday the girls and I dutifully showed up for the induction at their new school - an hour of meet-the-teacher and learn the rules before the start of school proper today. And the start of term can't come soon enough. It's way too hot to do much outside and there is only so much of Hannah Montana and Disney Channel a mother can take.

As we entered the school building we were leapt upon by Efficient Mummy volunteers aiming thermometers at our foreheads. Swine flu prevention. Anyone with even an inkling of a temperature was refused further access. Anyone deemed OK had a smiley face stamped on their hand accompanied by a cheery "Welcome to St Christophers!"

The girls got smiley faces. I got a fail sticker slapped on my chest and told to stand in a corner until another reading could be taken. It's been a while since I've been sent to the naughty corner. Luckily my friend Anne was there too, so we could giggle conspiratorially in true schoolgirl fashion until an Efficient Mummy re-took our reading.

We passed second-time round. It seems the drive in a stinking hot car coupled with the walk into school in searing heat had been to blame.

Later in the day we received a message from the school. The start of term has been delayed for a week. The youngest kids are to stay away until October. Swine flu prevention. I'm not sure I understand the logic. Will it all have gone away by next Monday?

One thing's for sure - if school doesn't reopen soon, the wards of the local hospitals will be overflowing with mothers on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

RIP Big Brother

Big Brother - we're no longer watching him. At least not in the UK. Although I have to admit I only ever watched part of one episode after a friend in the Netherlands (where the whole fiasco started and one contestant actually gave birth in the house)told me about it. I really couldn't see the point - it was dull, dull, dull!

It now seems that after 11 years the programmers at Channel Four finally agree with me and the show which brought us Jade Goody among others is being axed in favour of comedies, films and dramas. Hurrah - much more up my street!

At its height, the show was screened in nearly 70 countries. In Australia it was so explicit that it was nicknamed "Big Brothel" and the government threatened new censorship laws after a contestant appeared to rub his crotch in a female contestant's face.

Interestingly, there was even an Arab version of the show filmed here in Bahrain. It was called Al-Ra'is (The Boss). 12 contestants, 6 men and 6 women, were put in a purpose built house on Amwaj Island (a swish new housing development).The show had segregated sleeping quarters and men and women were forbidden from visiting each other's bedrooms. There was also a women's lounge, prayer room and a mixed-sex communal area.

But these modifications were not enough to satisfy those who saw the show as a threat to Islam and it was suspended after seven days, following a street protest. "This is entertainment for animals!" declared one female protester.

I have to agree.

Safe, innit?

I flew back from a visit to the UK yesterday. I had a minor altercation with the BA check-in guy at Heathrow Terminal 5 over a particularly heavy suitcase (courtesy of the Amazon booksale).

BA now charge a hefty excess baggage charge for any bag over 23kg, even if your total luggage allowance has not been exceeded. Health and safety of the baggage handlers, don't you know. Although I, a slip of a thing at 8 stone, managed successfully to manoeuvre said suitcase in and out of a car boot and onto the scales, it was too heavy for the blokes out the back. Apparently I should have more bags and expect my 7 year old daughter to lug one of them.

Anyway, in the midst of our discussion, one of BA check-in guy's friends came over, I think, to say goodbye and wish him a pleasant day. The conversation went something like this:

Friend: Yo, bro!
BA guy: Yo, bro, howzit travelling?
Friend: (something incomprehensible)...,innit?
BA guy: Safe, man.
Friend: Yeah, safe, bro, safe.
They embraced. Friend left.

They were speaking English, but I have absolutely no idea what their conversation was about. Still, it was obviously good news, as I got off the excess baggage charge.