A couple of years ago I did some work out in Bahrain, indirectly for the Crown Prince. It was a very unusual project, looking at the social impact of a major series of planned economic, social and employment law reforms. This required us to interview a range of Bahrainis both from the Shia majority and the ruling Sunni minority. As recent events have gone one to prove, Bahrain has its fair share of religious tensions so the project was a bit of a roller-coaster.
The project included a number of ‘firsts’ for me:
– I had previously never seen a man get so angry that he took his shoe off and started banging the table in front of him (actually a bit scary, he was a big chap)
– We interviewed a number of more religiously conservative Shia women who,of course, were all wearing Niquabs. This meant that all I could see were their eyes and consequently I had no idea which one was talking at any particular time. I ended up relying on minute movements of the head to work out who was speaking.
One evening in my hotel, after a long and stressful day, in temperatures in the mid 40s I thought I would indulge myself in that classic Middle Eastern delicacy – a water pipe, also known as a Shisha pipe or Hookah. Some time previously, whilst working in Cairo, I’d been introduced to them and, having got steadily stoned on an Apple Wood pipe I realised why the Muslim world has no need for alcohol to unwind after a busy day.
Since I was staying in quite a nice hotel in the centre of downtown Manama, the capital, I felt pretty sure they’d have one so I confidently turned to the waitress and asked if the hotel had any Hookahs. She shook her head vigorously with a look of growing disgust on her face. I assumed that was not understanding me and so I persisted, this time using my fist to vigorously go up and down towards my mouth, trying to mimic the act of sucking on the water pipe. Her horror only increased and she rapidly fled. This puzzled me greatly and my confusion only grew when the manager sidled over to tell me and, in an oddly furtive manner, told me that whilst the hotel was unable to oblige my request, there would be some Belly Dancers on later; which seemed at the time a complete non-sequitur – I wasn’t interested in Belly Dancers, I wanted a Hookah.
It was only some time later that the grim realisation struck me that perhaps the hotel had assumed I was seeking a different type of, ahem ‘entertainment’…..tricky word ‘Hookah’, easily mis-construed I find.