My Cereal Bowl

She sat elegantly before me upon the table covered in crisp white linen. Gleaming with pride at her heritage and the great role of importance she played. Each and every day. Protectively securing the desirable contents of daily health and vitality. The value of her work and what she beholds, will remain of great importance. Forever nurturing the bodies and souls of Mankind.

Looking with longing and sheer delight deep into that bowl, I discovered a world of Middle Eastern delights. Mounds of delicate pine nuts. Handfuls of pistachio nuts intermingled with fresh walnuts. All lazily resting at the bottom of the dish. Stewed fruit gently balancing on top. Thick Arabian yoghurt meandering silently  between the layers, creating a blanket of health. Golden clear honey drizzled, forming a crown and embracing all that lies beneath it. The silver spoon softly lifting and transporting the deliciousness into my mouth. 

What else would my bowl of goodness present to me on this day in Doha …

More delights. More treasures. Strong, full bodied black coffee made especially for me by the bronze hands of the Moroccan. Flashing smile. Brilliant white teeth. Superb manners. The Moroccan gently explained the value of real coffee. Passion and a deep understanding of the liquid, combined with the art of excellence and service, enticed him to create the perfect cup of coffee. Just for me. Just for my satisfaction. On leaving the Al Hubara restaurant that morning, I carried a take-away mug of that same delicious black liquid – made for me by the Moroccan. He insisted that whilst walking along the Al Corniche, I would desire the company of a second cup of magic.

During my culinary experiences in Doha, I was to meet the most beautiful people. Each with their own story. Each from their own exotic culture. Each one trying to make a living. To survive. To send money home to their people. In turn, they stopped to make the time to offer me friendliness, warmth and outstanding hospitality. They shared stories with Miss Ingrid. They showed interest in mine. They offered me safety and care. I will forever be grateful for my life. The life that has taught me to understand and to embrace these people. To accept them without judgement. To have the ability, with sincerity, to communicate with them on all levels. Always being fascinated. Always learning more about humanity. 

I watched the men in white. Walking with determination and a sense of purposeful power. Regal. Their red and white turbans held steady on their heads. Dark brown feet comfortably encased in expensive leather sandals, peeked out from beneath the cascading whiteness of robes. I watched the ladies in black floating by silently. I watched them with respect as they huddled with girlfriends, talking on mobiles, giggling and eating. Perhaps this was their only time to be who they truly are. As I submerged myself into the warmth of the jacuzzi, it offered me some protection, as at times, I felt a sense of guilt, being free to choose what I wear. My full costume did little for my suddenly very strong sense of being exposed and of being vulnerable.  I watched them as they drove off in their million-dollar cars, displaying a certain powerful statement of silent independence. Freshly painted bright red nails gripping the leather steering wheel. Almost in defiance. Inaudibly shrieking out to the world, “I am woman!”

The man from Egypt. Tall, regal and beautiful. “Be sure to visit Egypt Ma’m. Not just Cairo. We are a people with full hearts and love.” My Bangladeshi friends were joyful and uncomplicated. So too the Sri Lankan man. True beauties from Kazakstan displayed the art of hospitality at its highest level. The man from an unpronounceable place in the Middle East somewhere was tall, well-built and exuded warmth. He presented me with the most delicious ginger crème brulee. Forgetting to charge me, I pointed it out to him. He smiled and said, “Why ma’m, just enjoy the treat.” 

Word soon got out that the tall lady traveling alone was from Africa. The Kenyans made a point of greeting me with a sense of old family lost. They too, had come from afar to create an easier life. At this stage, I had to wonder just how easy is the life they have chosen. Doha is for hard work. There is no play. High standards and perfection have been the priority targets and in most areas, they have been gloriously achieved. On and on they continue to achieve a perfect state of everything. Lawns are manicured. Cleanliness is evident. So much so, that one could eat off the benches!

Perfection has certainly been achieved in the creation of the city. From nothing but sand, wind and inhumane heat, the eclectic buildings of Doha stand tall as dominate the skyline. Powerful statements of wealth and achievement. But within this statement, lies absolute beauty and grace. The Palm Towers, standing at 245 metres each, are breathtakingly beautiful. However, the exquisite Burj Qatar is seemingly one of the most beautiful structures, when at night, it is shrouded in a gown of deep bronze lattice work. A beacon of light. Powerful. The future. Burj Qatar. The jewel.

What Man has created from nothingness. This is the revelation. The power of Mankind. The ingenious mind. Creating land – borrowing from the sea. Oil and Man have given birth to Doha.

Despite the harsh environment of desert sands and extreme heat, there exists a gentleness. The energy of Doha is powerful. But not strong enough to lessen or weaken the gentleness that comes with the breeze. Some days are softness in itself – powder blues and smouldering greys melting into one aura of serenity. Horizons become non-existent. Everything is one. The deep sense of calmness envelops the landscape as far as the eye can see. Even the constant stream of jet engines above, cannot diminish this healing of the land.

Palm trees laden with dates, Lambourghinis, camels, malls, mosques – all existing side by side. All under the strong, firmly placed rules and respect of discipline. It is understood. When in a taxi, exceeding the speed limit, a mysterious, but polite voice says, “Please slow down. You are breaking the speed limit.” 

It only rains six days a year in Doha. On my second morning the gentle moisture fell delicately, making silver splashes on the surface of the water in the outdoor jacuzzi. It only added to the glorious sense of serenity I was experiencing. It brought warmth and new life. Delicious moisture quietly seeping into the life force of all things growing majestically in that normally very harsh climate. At 20 degrees, my friends from all countries were running around, putting on jerseys. “It is so cold now M’am.” Chuckling quietly to myself, I sank deeper into the warm waters of the jacuzzi. The long, dark days of Beijing with its minus 10 degrees C seemed so far away.

Early evenings were serenaded in with the sweet sounds of thousands of birds in the trees below. They continued their crescendo of natures’ melodies throughout the night, into the dawn hours. The droning of dhow’s engines returning to harbour intermingled with the silver grey mists upon the calm waters. Slowly Doha came alive in a dance of lights. Across the waters, along the Al Corniche and in the gardens surrounding me, millions of lights, tastefully placed, showed themselves, creating a golden wonderland. The state of art buildings burst forth in splendour. Igniting the night sky. Each and every palm tree is honoured through being shrouded in lights. Another day put to rest. Another dawn to bring forth new beginnings. 

To this splendour, I will return. To walk your streets. To breathe your air. To sail your waters. To Souq Waqif I will travel. To appreciate the treasures in the Museum of Islamic Art. I will do.