The Nanny State-ment

"We were reluctant at first, but let me tell you, it was the best thing we ever did." Thus ended the persuasive declamation of our acquaintance on the advantages, nay the blessings, of acquiring a live-in nanny. Now, to someone from the States the idea of a live-in nanny sounds, well, elitist, expensive, and just plain uncomfortable. That's there, but in the Gulf (Persian that is) the "nanny state" takes on a whole new meaning. Not only do the governments hand out entitlements that would have Vladimir Lenin turning in his ice box, but there also happens to be an abundance of third-world nannies ready to make your dreams of self-actualiztion possible at the expense of your children's future. These nannies can be quickly pressed into service as your modern-day indentured servants for the low price of a plane ticket from Indonesia and a few bucks to line the pockets of sundry shady businessmen.

Yes, slavery is alive and well, and you don't have to turn on some sappy Indie film or watch CNN's Anderson Cooper wax strong about it with a feigned tone of sincerity to learn about its pernicious and pervasive presence throughout the world. No, you can experience it and exploit it for yourself; all you need is a job in the Gulf. What is even better is that you don't have to feel bad about exploiting these people because they are not really slaves. Sure, they look like it--they have no skills, they have no education, and they spend their lives with a dour, depressed look on their faces--but they aren't slaves. They signed away their lives because "it is so bad in their own countries they'd rather come here and be your slave." To put this all in persective, as one of my lessons devolved into tangential conversation with my Qatari students, the topic of nannies came up. I confided to my students, who of course were all raised by these nanny slaves, that "I just don't think I would feel confortable having some strange person living in my house." My substitute: "I'd rather get some sort of a helper monkey. You know, a little monkey that could fetch the paper for me, wash the dishes, maybe even play the accordion if I so desire." Of course, I was just being silly, but one of my students responded to my ramblings with grave sincerity. "Teacher, no, you no want helper monkey. Monkey very expensive. Monkey, like 10,000. Human, like 1,000" (dollars, I assume he meant). The lesson: humans are cheaper than monkeys.

So, we have these cheap pseudo slaves and we can feel OK about it because it's really an act of charity taking these people in from war-torn Sri Lanka or impoverished Nepal (one is reminded of the mid-nineteenth-century defence of slavery as a patriarchal institition), but the real clencher is that these nannies don't just make our lives easier, they make it better. We can finally forget about cooking, cleaning, and all the other desultory and meaningless chores of life. Now we can spend our lives creating what we really want to with our life: learn to paint, sail, ski; open your own business; see the world. No longer do we need to worry about home; like some less glamorous expat incarnation of the Kennedys, we can stroll the malls of Doha childless(they're at home with the nanny), our I-Phone in one hand and our shopping cart in the other.

This would all be a marvelous life if we lived in a sitcom world where children rarely appear due to child labor laws. The problem is our children are always there even if we are not. We can build our childless self-actualized life with cheap imported labor, but this is not tantamount to having our cake and eating it too. At the end of the day parenting takes time, and that time is often gruelling and seemingly unrewarding. We expats spend hours making sure our kids get into the best schools, after-school activities, and sports, yet we rarely think of the hours they spend being watched by people we purchased at the lowest price. What are our children learning when they are not at school? That brown poor people should do all remedial labor? That mommy and daddy are too busy pursuing their "dreams" to sit down with their babies and give them a bottle? That manners are to be employed only when conversing with Westerners? Ultimately, we leave our children to be raised by people who, for the large part, have had no formal education and for whose culture we have little appreciation and understanding and then we have the audacity to tell ourselves that we're doing the best thing for our family. Perhaps those hours we spend at home doing the day-to-day routine are the most valuable time we have with our children. After all, shouldn't we be grateful for every moment we have been given with them even if it may involve the family cleaning up that nasty poo stain the potty trainee left on the toilet seat?

Is the Sediment Weighing me Down?

If one thing can be said of my wife and I, it is that we are not sedentary folk. Live in the same place all our lives? What are we, from Utah or something? After one year in most locations we're usually anxious to pull up the stakes and move on. Sometimes when the watchful eyes of my spouse are directed elsewhere, I take a few minutes to look at the world map on our wall and imagine where our next adventure will lead us.

These moments, however, are becoming few and far between. In the few minutes of silence I enjoy, the more pressing matters of financing our ever growing tribe seem to encumber my thoughts. Ibn Khaldun, the famed fourteenth-century "Herodotus of the Arabs", observed in his treatise on universal history that the growth of empires resulted from powerful nomads who, trained by the harsh conditions of their lifestyle, directed their military prowess against their wealthy but impotent sedentary neighbors. Once wealth accrued, according to Ibn Khaldun, impuissance and decline were inevitable. The once vibrant force of nomadic life gave way to the luxuries of city life, a malaise invariably ensued until another nomadic and bellicose force absorbed the city dwellers into their new empire. Hence, Alexander's march across the decadent Achaemenid Persian Empire, the Germanic migrations that usurped the power of Rome, or the Bedouin Arabs that toppled the Sassanids and sent the Greeks cowering behind the walls of Constantinople.

Where is my family located on Ibn Khaldun's cycle of growth and decline? My gaze, once fixated on the horizon, now concentrates on the numbers in my bank statement. Our cushy job here in Doha makes us reluctant to move; it is the lure of the sedentary lifestyle. Like Shahs or Caesars of old I am more preoccupied with my coffers than the glory of the advance into the unknown. Full of financial worries and longing for the insouciance of my earlier life I now confront our dilemma: should we stay or should we go?