Yesterday- Tuesday- marked exactly two months for me in Kuwait. How did I celebrate this “anniversary?” Flat on my back, victim to what I’ve satirically dubbed the “camel flu.” I didn’t really understand the lost-in-translation explanation offered by the doctor nor have I ever experienced anything quite like it before, so I figure this label is as good as any. Without gifting you with all the gory details, I lost my voice, got a whopping cough in its place, ran a fever, had a blocked nose, and pretty much wanted to lie in bed exhausted all day.
The “camel flu” kept me confined to my house for four days, and those four days are the closest I’ve come to throwing in the proverbial towel. The illness probably did account for most of the downward spiral. Those of you who know me are aware that I have a pronounced fear- phobia, if you will, of doctors and hospitals. I won’t bother you with the how’s and the why’s of that, but pretty much any doctor’s visit devolves into a panic attack. Compound that reflex with a foreign health clinic and it’s a recipe for disaster. I’ve been told that public government clinics here can be quite pristine, but for whatever reason I experienced a noisy, chaotic building stuffed with people. I walked up to a reception window where a fragmented exchange that I half understood resulted in my forking over 5KD and receiving a paper with a number on it, akin to what you would get at a deli counter. There were a series of rooms with doctors in them, and over each door was a sign displaying which number they were now servicing. The sign blinked my number 15 minutes later. I took my seat outside one of the rooms attending to my series of number and waited for my turn. I took a seat at a desk in front of a female doctor and her assistant. She briefly asked me my symptoms, took my temperature, and looked in my throat. About 2 minutes later, she was dismissing me from the room with a paper filled with four prescriptions that I was supposed to bring to the pharmacy. The “pharmacy” was a series of windows- kind of like those you would see at a box office or movie theatre. Two were open and one pharmacist worked behind each. Once more I was given a number and the number of the person being helped was displayed over the window. A quick calculation left me feeling helpless- there were at least 80 people in front of me. The waiting area was rows of metal chairs, like an uncomfortable gate at the airport. Infants screamed, people coughed, and those unable to find a seat stood around or leaned against the walls. I waited for over an hour feeling claustrophobic, nauseous, and downright lost. When they did call me, I made sure to get clear instructions about the doses; I had the pharmacist write in English numerals how many times and when to take the prescriptions each day. I’m still not exactly sure what cocktail I’m on (I do recognize an antibiotic, augmentin), but I do know I’m diligently taking 3 sets of pills and one oral cough suppressant. Even when the clinic was behind me, the ensuing illness continued to test my resolve. Obviously I felt physically terrible. However, no job to go to left me with too much time alone with my thoughts as well. My confidence nose-dived and I longed for my home.
It wasn’t just the illness, though, that made me consider jumping a plane and never looking back. I know that “a series of unfortunate events” is already a copywritten book title, but it certainly would sum up some of the occurrences the past few weeks. For starters, someone I trusted- considered a friend even- took a significant amount of money from me. Dishonesty from a stranger is one thing, but being stolen from by a purported friend is betrayal. I understand retrospectively I could have exercised better judgment, but still. Moreover, I’d been having significant trouble with my visa. With my residency permit due to expire in three days, I found that all three of my contacts in the company were MIA. The two responsible for my visa turned out to be out of the country entirely and my recruiter was sick himself. I found myself growing increasingly frustrated and doubting the people I had to rely on for security in this foreign place. Finally, I have had some setbacks at work recently. Mistakes and errors and par for the course- and learning experiences. In and of themselves, they wouldn’t be enough to make me question my place here or consider walking away. But with everything else, it was like adding kindling to the fire.
All of these thoughts continued bouncing around in my head, even this afternoon as I roamed around my apartment myself. I felt so excited on some levels, but other things felt downright hopeless. Finally I changed into pants (as the shorts I was wearing wouldn’t have been acceptable), got my purse, and decided to go for a walk. Sick or not, fresh air (albeit dusty) would do me good. I left my front door, went in a direction I hadn’t gone before, and just started walking. At first, I recognized some of the stores as ones I’d seen from the car on the way home. I gradually made my way to the main traffic circle leading to my neighborhood. And then, just beyond it, nestled behind some buildings, I saw the greenery of trees protruding from behind a disheveled apartment building. Intrigued by the fauna in the dry milleiu, I walked closer for a better look
.
Gardens! A Middle Eastern Central Park! Right there, in the heart of my neighborhood, was a perfectly maintained beautiful park filled with walkers, runners, and children playing. Despite the heat and dessert climate, there were grass, trees, and flowers. My eyes settled on gravel paths running through the gardens and benches for people to sit. I set out on one of the paths, passing exercisers and people just out for a stroll. There were people of all cultures, a microcosm of the neighborhood. “I can come walking here in the mornings or my day off!” I thought to myself. I had found a new little niche in my urban block.
This, I realized, is why I can persevere- thrive, even- for the rest of my time in Kuwait. I had no idea that the garden was there. I had wandered up and down the dusty streets of my neighborhood numerous times without ever encountering the sanctuary before. It took me a full month to discover the gardens, but now that I had I felt as though a whole new world had opened to me. I had only walked down one of the paths- which one would I walk down tomorrow?
And so it goes with Kuwait. Sometimes it feels confined and limited. Overbearing and daunting. And then beauty emerged when- and where- I least expect it. I don’t know what beauty will emerge in the days ahead, but those gardens reminded me that there can be unknown wonders around each corner.
“You are like a secret garden as I shuffle through this broken town…” –Dave Matthews Band, Snow Outside
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