Interlude: The Glue-sniffing Omani of Ruwi

Ruwi is the Little India of Muscat, and it is there that we encountered the glue-sniffer. I had been nagging Sophie to visit Ruwi since I heard that it was an ideal place to buy Jubba or Kurta (and pajama), two types of traditional Indian garb. I thought it would be suitable for the hot weather here, and I'm not particularly keen on the giant art smock frocks that are the traditional Omani style. Getting into Ruwi was a feat of intuition in itself, as we had only a map drawn by someone that didn't drive a car (which is essential unless you're Indian in which case taxis are cheap) and Sophie's confusion of left and right to guide us. Incredibly, we came upon a busy street lined with shops that jiggled something in Sophie's memory, actually is mostly incredible that it jiggled something in Sophie's memory rather than the fact that we found the street. (She is reading over my shoulder as I write this.) We turned onto this busy street with a mixture of positive hope and desperation that there was no other choice. Within moments we were almost hysterical with glee as we pulled into a parking space directly in front of our holy grail of hindustan attire, Fashion Planet. It was as we fumbled with 25 baiza coins and deliberated on which shop might change them into 50 baiza coins without expecting us to buy something that he appeared. Drawn of face and arched of back, he lurched into view on the busy footpath in his dirty dishdasha, clutching his can of 7-Up. Sophie and I knew what was coming next and locked our doors. (As a rule, I don't give money to beggars, but not out of disregard for their plight.) Gesticulating enigmatically with jerky affect yet moving at a viscous pace, he moved around the car to saw and grasp at the air with his free hand before Sophie's window, pausing occasionally to drink awkwardly and ineffectively from his softdrink can. Feeling threatened and awkward in our ignorance of the social mores of this society, and resentful of the untenable position in which we felt ourselves placed, we looked at each other and conversed stiffly about what to do. Meanwhile, the mostly toothless mouth in the centre of the saggy, stubbly skin continued to bob to and fro outside. Sophie's resentment overcame her feeling of embarassment, and we waited a tense few moments until he ambled off back to the sidewalk to pester a local about our lack of generosity no doubt. Quickly, we left the vehicle and made a bee-line for Fashion Planet. Our transferal from one safe haven to the next did not go unnoticed by our persistent friend, however, and he pursued us at his halting step, into the shop. Like good timid Westerners, we just let the staff of the shop confront and usher him out. Sophie half watched him go, and thought she even saw him kick our car on his way past. That little incident over, we went upstairs where I selected a jubba & pajama outfit from the enormous range of two (in white). It has some pretty embroidery around the button placard and at the seams where the sleave joins the shoulder. Unfortunately, I think it has a lot of polyester in it, 'cause I was sweating terribly on the day I wore it. However, this is made up for by the fact that the brand name and logo is "Swastika".