Leaving Oman

TRANSIT ZONE, Muscat- I’m back in no-man’s-land. The transit zone.

There are no bars in this one, but there is a group of young Ugandan woman. They are wearing extremely colorful robes. One is all yellow, the girl sitting next to her is all red, next to her is blue, white, and then the one on the end is wearing a mix of purple, black, and green. They are around 22 or so years old — a group of domestic workers going home after serving their terms in the homes of Muscat’s rich. They are talking loud and laughing.

I began to talking with one of them. While all the rest were colorfully clad in robes and head scarves, she was decked out in dark western style clothes — a tight black long sleeve athletic shirt, dark grey sweat pants, and a dark grey hoodie. It was L.A. style — dark colors to blend in with the streets. Urban camouflage.

The contrast between how this girl was dressed and the rest of the group made me curious. I began talking with her. I seemed to have freaked her out.

***

This is one of those heavy-hearted departures. Some countries I don’t really care about leaving. Others I know I’ll probably return to, so leaving is no a big deal. But in some others I have a real good time but I’m not so sure when I will be coming back again, so leaving is much like departing from a friend. Oman was of the latter group for me.

This visit to Oman seems to have been a success for a first visit on a new city project. I got what I was after, I was able to make friends, and engage the place a little closer because of it.

This is one of the major benefits of my work. I have a people job. I need to meet people, talk with people, learn from and about people. Through this, friendships often develop, which makes it all the more difficult to get on that plane and leave.

This is a good thing, and is exactly what I strive to feel every time I enter a new country.