"Living for 'the girls'"
Feb 21, 2007
When the invitation came, my first thought was: No way! Teaching writing in the Middle East? Never.
OK, the gig's in Qatar, not Baghdad, and according to the sponsors, it's safe -- populated by ex-pats from America, Europe and other Arab countries. And trying to be open to fresh ideas, recently, Qatar hosted the Asian Games. There are branches of U.S. college campuses (the deal UNC's business school never panned out), but there are no creative writing programs. Business, science centers, yes, and traffic congestion, and lots of oil. And high rises and desert. And maybe camels. But not the arts.
I took my dog for her daily woods walk to think. The Middle East? Terrifying. Impossible. Even at the idea, my ancient mother would get "the vapors." I walked on, noticing the crisp air and the breeze whipping high in the trees. These days, taking walks makes me think of my two friends who have died in the last six months. "This walk is for you, girls," I said aloud.
As I traipsed and watched my old dog's gimpy but happy lope, I thought about Ellen, my brave friend, who died last month of breast cancer that had metastasized to her bones. Back in September, she took a three-hour bus ride to get to the memorial service for her uncle Frank, my best friend Susie's dad. Ellen could no longer drive because two days earlier she had woken up blind in one eye. She spent most of her time in bed, sometimes rallying mid-afternoon to visit with friends, who took her to the store for kitty litter and the tiny meals she forced herself to eat.
But Ellen had insisted on coming to the service, on the bus from Iowa -- newly blind in one eye, walking with a cane, and waif thin.Susie and I went to meet her bus at the Omaha, Neb., depot. We asked at the counter when the bus would arrive.
"Oh, that bus burned up," the Greyhound woman told us. "Another went to get the passengers, but it'll be hours late."
As we sat in the dimly lit terminal, among the lines of people waiting to board a late-night bus to El Paso, we thought of Ellen, barely able to stand up, fleeing a burning bus.
Finally, the bus arrived. The driver helped Ellen down the steps."What an adventure," she said, her navy blue eyes glistening. "The bus filled with smoke and we had to run off. Me, run! Then we had to climb this steep embankment, so we wouldn't get hit by passing traffic. It was dark and cold, but I made some new buddies." Susie and I looked at each other and smiled at Ellen's extreme pluck. "And hey," she added. "Let's go have a drink to celebrate my good eye."
Hiking up from the stream with the dog, I wondered what Ellen would have said about going to Qatar. "Woman, do it. And ride a camel for me." And I thought of my other friend, Sue, a gutsy teacher-poet and my entrepreneurial mentor, who died in August. What would she say? "GO. Seize every chance to teach and to learn and to absorb this glorious world."
By the time I was back home from the woods my "No way" had evaporated into a solid "Yes!" Despite my fear -- and dread of the 24-hour flight -- I will be going to Qatar to teach writing.
"This is an oral culture," the residency organizer told me. "Not so much a reading and writing culture. But people want to learn more about writing."
"That's fine," I said, thinking of what my friend, writing guru Pat Schneider, says: Talking is writing on the air.
Capture what's said on the air and you've got writing. Capture what's out there, right now, and you've got...LIFE.
