To Kuwait: Pt 4 (Settling In)
This is the final part of my Moving to Kuwait series.
Closer to the coast, were I was to live, the temperature was cooler. When I reached my new apartment, I found it very agreeable (especially coming from the conditions of the transient camp). My place had an ocean view, and I remember being surprised at how much tile was plastered everywhere. Later I learned that tile was easier had than the wood rarer to the desert.
Something was broken in my apartment (I can’t remember what), and I remember naively asking the Bangladeshi maintenance man how long he’d lived here and if he liked it. He said he’d been here a long time and also, with a smirk, “No, sir. That’s the problem; nobody likes living here, it’s just for the money.”
Several times when I first moved to Kuwait, I felt like I was coming face to face with something I had been avoiding: I’m much luckier and richer than most people in the world. The stark difference in class was immediately apparent. It was like seeing poorer foreign workers in the US that do menial jobs but much, much more so.
Although this didn’t seem to apply to neighborhoods. It was difficult for me to point out any dedicated slums as everything seemed to be mishmashed together with no zoning laws or planned neighborhoods. Being a small, desolate, desert country, after all, and there seemed to be a lack of respect for nature combined with a messy mix of people (many foreign). On one side of the road a you would see a gorgeous mansion while on the other side a big pile of trash.
I was struck by the feeling of things being too familiar. It was almost too easy for us Americans to feel at home here. Signs were printed in English as well as Arabic, there were many familiar American fast food chains and retail stores, everyone spoke English, and even the models of cars were familiar. I thought I would be more immersed in a foreign environment and tongue, but there are so many conveniences for us that the tendency for a lot of people was to continuing doing the familiar.
Actually, the first time I felt like I was immersed in a large group of Kuwaitis was when I went to one of the malls. With a large portion of the native population having money to burn, it was no surprise that there were several large, elaborate malls - the number of which was disproportionate to the size of the country. There were many fashionable, high-end brands in these malls too: Gucci, TAG Heuer, Oakley, Bulgari, etc. There were several European brands that I was unfamiliar with, also. I was impressed, actually, at the style level of younger Kuwaitis, which was much higher than I was accustomed to.
Not everything was familiar, though, and definitely not up to the quality level of America I was used to. This made me appreciate my life in the U.S. more. Lots of little things stuck out; it was as if everything from the electrical outlets to forks was a little off. I was surprised how dirty and dusty everything was, too. It’s easy to think that, for such a country perceived to be rich, that the standards weren’t higher.
Kuwait is a third-world country with first-world money.
It’s like when someone from a trailer park wins the lottery.
I realized later that this was a common, unrealistic expectation. Kuwait, being relatively young, simply hadn’t had the time to progress to the level I was familiar with in the West. The money was there maybe, but it takes time for such physical and cultural change, and it was foolish to assume otherwise.
I primarily worked with other Americans, and in my brief off hours, I tended to stick with these same people. Our inflated salaries was an elephant in many rooms, and it was interesting to see how this motivated and influenced people (to some detriment at many times). Many of my fellow expats came to pay off debt. There were some people (“bounce backs”) who would get used to the lifestyle that their increased salaries afforded them and return to the US, only to return on another contract in the area.
One looming factor, of course, that colored my life in Kuwait was being without my wife. I knew living without her would be hard, but I didn’t realize just how difficult it would be. We met every few months on vacation for about a week each trip, and it felt like I was preparing for a big date every time I would get close to seeing her again. Spending time with her during this period was very passionate and precious, and it was crushing whenever I would return from vacation.
Living in a foreign country was novel for several months, but I remember when I starting losing this enthusiasm after awhile. I became slightly grizzled and bitter. My impressions of Kuwait started to change as I gained more perspective. The poorness of the Indians, Sri Lankans, et al didn’t strike me as it did before. I felt more comfortable walking around woman completely veiled in black. The sight of refineries along the highway belching plumes of exhaust fire didn’t strike me as unusual.
