Pig Out

It’s a commonly known fact that pork is a taboo product in the Middle East.  Of course this fact only serves to make pork somewhat of a delicacy.  Being from Ireland and having a heightened appreciation for the lowly swine,  I would make the comparison that Ireland is to Pork as what Waterford is to Crystal.   For this reason,  it has become my signature smuggle.  Galtee Rashers, Denny Sausages, Clonakilty Pudding, Irish farm pork loin and chops and Carroll’s Ham.   Over two years of packing sausages and rashers deftly between my undies and my skinny jeans,  (suitcase, not person), we have hoarded quite the stash of piggy products, big enough in fact to constitute a second freezer.

Like with any collection be it art, stamps, first edition book, antiques etc, as the collection grows so too does the hunger of collector.  I have firsthand experience in this area, as back in the eighties I owned a desirable collection of fancy papers, rubbers, toppers,  (erasers and sharpeners as they have since been renamed)  and notepads, some of which were even scented.   As the collection grow so did my greed,  in the end I was loathe to swapping even a single sheet from a notebook and woe betide the girl who used one of the fancy rubbers and scuffed a corner,  this was an offence that could have a fatal effect on the friendship.   So the collection remained largely untouched until twenty years later when I decided to bestow the collection to my daughter who lost it within ten days.

The same pattern has emerged again twenty five years later with the pork.  Much stocking and careful consideration as to the ratio of the pork products being stocked in the contraband freezer and the collection was nearing completion.   The perfect display of Irish pork products fit for a pork lovin’ king.   Like any collection it had developed into something more,  it became a source of comfort, a little bit of home was always there when you needed it, only when you needed it mind, this collection was not for everyday use.    Extreme good or bad news would result in the packet of Denny’s finest sausages together with Galtee  traditional back rashers being opened and fried in silence, as the kids looked on and tried to calculate how they would be divvied up.  The meal would be eaten in silence out of respect for the bounty and quickly out of fear that someone would mutter the words, “are you eating that sausage?” while their fork hovered threatening over same.

So while we were throwing beef sausages on the barbie for friends we had the Denny ones for ourselves.  Family members would come to the Middle East to visit and bring some items for the collection only to be thanked with turkey rashers for tea.  Fellow Irish expats would plea that they had no ham for Christmas, we listening and stood protectively outside the freezer door, where inside out four juicy hams lay. The greed grew.  We never shared.

It was a day like any other, the house was far from domestic bliss and work pressures were heightening, the only antidote was, chops for tea.   Everyone looked forward to teatime and the option of chips and peas or mash and peas as the accompaniment, was the surprise element.  It wasn’t until the next morning that the real surprise sprung, the freezer door had been left ajar and all inside was defrosting, the water dripping down the front of the freezer, like tears.  All our efforts lost.  All goods to be eaten within 2 weeks.

Day after day and night after night, we fed on the pork products.  Kids had sausages for breakfast, rashers for lunch and ham for tea.   Silence surrounded every meal, as we gorged, each one eyeballed the other the question hung in the air, “Who left the door open?”

Chinese torture was nothing in comparison to the two weeks of hell we endured devouring bacon, pudding and pork.   The family was coming apart at the seams as the children cried for chicken and the open door issue became taboo.  My failure to share with others was haunting me and I couldn’t see passed the stocks we had to finish.  A conveyor belt of punishment, traditional, smoked, maple, hickory, it kept coming.  I consoled myself that maybe it was teaching the children the quality of sharing, until our eldest piped up,”Next time we should close the door”.  I sighed.  This was truly the fruit of our loins.

Non-Muslim Section

“Non-Muslim Section” the sign read.  Being non-Muslim and human, I just had to take a look behind the beaded streamers at the rear of the local supermarket.

Coming from the fairly stringent Muslim society of Doha, the slightly more liberal laws of Abu Dhabi were welcome.  Since arrival in Abu Dhabi four weeks ago, it has become evident that in many areas the ratio of Expat to Emiratis is more equal than expats to Qataris, which possibly has the side effect of diluting the Middle Eastern culture and shaping a new Arab society with a western twist.

So although the Muslim culture is still very much alive and kicking, Abu Dhabi has accommodated western culture and beliefs to a small degree at least. Shoulders still need to be covered and knees should also be kept under wraps for ladies heading out.  Alcohol is still only available in select hotel bars with alcohol shops requiring a liquor license; however, it is not always requested, as it was in Qatar, and so the rule is not as strict.   There are ways around sponsorship which enable you to stay in the country after ceasing employment and there is no agreement in place which prevents moving employment from one company to another within Abu Dhabi.   The nightlife in Abu Dhabi is a lot more diverse with ladies nights and happy hours available in a lot of the hotels. So, aware of the little pockets of opportunity available to express our Non-Muslim religion, I was intrigued to see the sign “Non-Muslim Only” in the local supermarket.   Having a vivid imagination and a natural curiosity for what goes on behind closed doors, or in this case, plastic beads, I couldn’t wait to see behind the curtain in the section that was off limits to my Muslim counterparts.

I decided to drop the kids home and come back alone later for a proper look, after all, liberal as I considered myself to be, I didn’t want to expose the children to multi person sex acts being performed by feral Christians in the back of the supermarket, or a smoke filled casino frequented by a handful of clapped out Catholics, down in the mount and down in their luck, angry and aggressive at their growing losses.  Whatever was behind curtain, I would experience alone, when the kids were in the bed.

Later that evening, inquisitiveness high and mind wide open, I got ready to go back to the supermarket.   Mentally running through the possibilities and deciding if I would partake or not, rows of slot machines and roulette tables, not for me,  pole dancing pagans to uncut Eminem, maybe, key parties with wall to wall mattresses areas, I dabbed on a spot of perfume just in case.  Walking through the doors of the supermarket, I thought it a good idea to linger behind the well appointed fruit stand for a while to get a look at the kind of clientele going in and out.   Behind the stand of massive African imported yellow bananas, I got a good view of the beads and from what I could see it was mostly young to middle aged professional men, walking in an out with ties loosened as they mopped their brows before entering the den.  Tension rose and I found I began to falter, but it was time I bit the bullet and entered the lair.

Sweeping the beaded curtain to the side with an air of tentative caution and bubbling excitement, I squinted my eyes before opening wide and taking in the full view before me.  This was what separated Muslims from Non Muslim right before my eyes was German, Polish, Irish, Australian, American, English and French, Pork Sausages, stacked neatly by order of country in refrigerated display units.   Turning to inspect the other side of the area, I saw ham and pineapple pizza, pork chops, ham joints, rashers, gammon steaks you name it was in it.  This den was filthier than any Muslim could ever imagine.  A real find.  Finally the laws were bending to accommodate us piggy lovin’ people. I felt accepted, acknowledged.  So then, with the full fare available, I went home and had chicken.

End

denisehession@gmail.com

Drink Less Enjoy More

Born into a society that sells alcohol in every local convenience shop and supermarket, every day of the week and that also has designated alcohol stores, like, party shops, wine retailers and of course the run of the mill off-license, it can feel a little like strange living in Doha and not having the same access to the anesthesia to which we’ve become so accustomed.   No nipping out to Super Valu for a cheeky bottle of Wally’s Hut midweek, no impulsive bottle of red whilst in the petrol station on a Friday evening to congratulate yourself on getting through another week and no temptation of a chilled pinot grigio with lunch in town on Saturday.    

At this point I should clarify that as arid as the landscape in Qatar is, it is not a dry country altogether. To put a bad rumour to rights, alcohol is available in Qatar. It can be obtained for consumption in your own home if you hold a liquor license.  To obtain a liquor license you need to apply through the company that sponsors you, they will follow through on the license application and you are given an allowed monthly quota in Qatar Riyals (to be treated as limit not a target).  Depending on the religion and nationality stated on your passport, you will be granted a liquor license.  You are not allowed to purchase alcohol for anyone else and if you do so, and get caught, it will result in deportation.  Interestingly, there is a cut-off point of QR. 4000 salary per month, so those earning below that amount, are not eligible for a license, ironic, that the people probably most in need a drink can’t get one!  

As there are no bars in Qatar, alcohol can only be served in hotels and only to passport holders and those that carry a Qatari ID, stating religion and sponsor details.   Before you purchase a drink you must first produce all the relevant documentation to the hotel where you are then required to purchase a permit card for that premises i.e. pass to buy alcohol at that hotel and hey presto, you can then relax and enjoy the measly glass of beer that you wanted,  Phew!

Having suffered the red tape in my first weeks in Doha, I gave up on the notion of having a social life outside of the sitting room with mugs of tea and Skype and I noticed that most expats in Doha, visit the QDC (Qatar Distribution Company ) just once a month and purchase their quota in one go.  I would follow suit.  I would visit the QDC, well actually I wouldn’t, because I personally am not allowed to purchase alcohol in Qatar, I would have to ask my husband and sponsor to pick up the estimated month’s supply, I reminded him that any alcohol purchased must be covered over and not visible in the car.  My mind quickly thought of the car roof box, we had used in France three years ago, as I pulled out the largest bath towel I had to place over the offending goods in the boot space.

A trip to the QDC is an item on your to-do list, I’m told, and not the enjoyable browse down the ale aisles at home in Tesco as you stray off the beaten grocery track and take a meander through the Valpolicella’s and Chardonnays.  A limited selection of overpriced, undervalued bottles is the extent of choice along with a small array of beers. In appreciation, I prepare the fattened calf (Indian take-out in this case) for the hunter’s return with the precious bounty, which has become a monthly ritual and strangely the order decreases each month.   Secure in the knowledge that with significant effort and a good dollop of inconvenience that booze is available the taboo lifts and the effort required obtaining it, increases the satisfaction of each glass of wine and so re-born, we enjoy one glass of wine (large) with dinner most nights, mindful of the limited monthly allowance and the happy in the knowledge that there won’t be a glimpse of liquor in any shop or supermarket to whet the appetite. It raises the question, if alcohol wasn’t so freely available in Ireland, right there in your local supermarket somewhere between the milk and the magazines would we drink less and enjoy more?

Not a Sausage

Living in a country where pork and all pork products are banned makes the humble sausage somewhat of a delicacy.  The idea of bacon and cabbage is like an oasis in the middle of the desert, literally, and a pork chop would be on a similar pedestal to caviar.

The consumption of pork and all pork products has been denounced in the Qur’an. Nowhere in this Muslim society is there a trace of pork for sale, not a sliver of bacon, not a sausage. There is a misconception that Muslims do not eat pigs because they are sacred (the pigs not the Muslims), however the reason is that Allah forbids it and has marked the pig as being unclean and therefore unsafe for humans to eat.  “Forbidden to you (for food) are: dead meat, blood, the flesh of swine, and that on which hath been invoked the name of other than Allah.” [Al-Qur’an 5:3]

The smuggling of pork and bacon through customs at Doha airport is common practice and something that is largely ignored by Qatari customs officers if the amount being smuggled is deemed for personal consumption.  Who sets out the guidelines for how many sausages and rashers a person could eat? I don’t know. If honey was illegal, I’d probably have a beehive in my back yard and a top-of-the-range beekeeper suit hanging up in the hot press. I don’t like honey, I don’t have a hot press either, but such would be my compulsion to have what is not allowed. While in a different climate you may judge the status of man on the stock of his wine cellar or whether his brandy was Hennessy or Courvoisier, but here in the Doha, the true mark of a man, is how much bacon he has in his freezer.  As an implication of pork being contraband and me being Irish, I just had to then have as much in stock as possible, happy with my plug and play religion I disregarded the words in the book of Deuteronomy, “And the swine, because it divideth the hoof, yet cheweth not the cud, it is unclean unto you. Ye shall not eat of their flesh, nor touch their dead carcass.” Deuteronomy 14:8]

The number one request I have from any visitors coming to Doha, is of course, bacon.  So when my mother-in-law politely asked what we’d like her to bring, it was obvious. Of course I sprinkled the tall order with fake hankerings for Barry’s Tea and other harmless products but be in no doubt, my eye was on the prize, oink!

Being a cautious traveler and law-abiding citizen my mother-in-law was hesitant to bring pork and bacon to Qatar.  The night before her flight, she expressed her concern about getting questioned and possibly deported after being held captive in some back room in Doha Airport for hours, with a bright light shining in her pensioner’s eyes as she endures hours and hours of grueling cross examination.  Meanwhile I, being fully aware of the total restriction on the sale and consumption of pork in a Muslim country decided that sacrificing my mother-in-law’s freedom and sanity for a day or two was a good trade off in exchange for O’Herliys sausages and a few packets of rashers.   The day came when Granny was put to the test, I assured her all would be fine, two things could happen, either she could prove to be a successful smuggler and get to see her grandson for two weeks or she would return to Ireland a stronger person, with a story to tell, maybe get an appearance on the Late Late Show to promote her from-the-heart book, “Why I’ll never eat sausages again”.  Next day she arrived in Doha, all went well, I had a BLT for lunch as she bounced her grandson on her knee.