Home Delivered

After moving into the compound with our air mattresses and not much else we decided to make a few small purchases. G naturally required a BBQ and I needed more large wooden Asian furniture that will probably never fit in to a normal sized house in Australia. The great thing about Doha shopping is just about everything can be delivered (even KFC and McDonalds) and in our experience it all happens pretty quickly.

The little travelers rushed to the door when the truck arrived to see if anything exciting had arrived and quickly decided it wasn’t and disappeared. After a quick chat in the doorway about where things would go, my two new BFF’s (Imran and Hussein) started unloading the truck.

Both men are dressed head to toe in white. They are wearing white long pants, white shirts to their knees (salwar kameez) and a small white hat which I think is called a topi. As a woman who has a close and intimate relationship with her washing machine (currently doing two loads a day, thanks to a combination of the compound sandpit and four children with eating disorders…the food keeps missing their mouths), I’m overly curious to how, in their line of business, they keep their clothes so white. I’m amazed when Imran tells me he changes his outfit at least three times a day. He seems amazed that I’m amazed and we both nervously giggle. He asks me if I was at home in my country what would he wear and I am so tempted to tell him that I would have seen his butt crack at least five times by now. With the language barrier I decide it’s probably best I keep that information to myself as I’m pretty sure it will be lost in translation and Imran may think I have ideas of where his Salwar Kameez would look best.

We then start sharing stories of home.

Imran and Hussein tell me they are from Pakistan and like hundreds and thousands of other immigrants they have come in search of the opportunities this amazing country provides. We all agree it’s a pretty good place to be. Although I’m pretty sure my daily routine looks a little different, although possibly the same amount of driving. I tell them I’m reading a biography of Benazir Bhutto and they tell me their thoughts and I learn more from them than I have from any book or newspaper.

When I come back inside from waving goodbye number two asks who the men were and why was I talking to them for so long. I tell her that they were fascinating guys and I could have spoken to them for hours. She says “you find everyone fascinating” and does a very good eye roll with a head shake and wanders off. Okay, back to the washing machine.